warnings: sukuna's kind of mean, degrading, overstim, reader is a freak, lwk all i can think of loll
a/n: idk why i have horny thoughts at like 2am but here we are
sukuna knows he's mean, it's not necessarily something he tries to hide. he knows that when he touches it isn't gentle.
what he doesn't know, is how he ended up in bed with you.
a sweet college girl with flowers practically blooming at your sides. you were smart, never really went to parties and didn't have much of a social life.
you played up the part of the righteous, quiet girl, who claimed she didn't like trouble.
sukuna saw through it immediately.
the way your eyes lingered just a second too long, how your breathing changed when he leaned in a little too close.
you weren't innocent, just restrained. patiently waiting, longing for someone to strip away your composure. well, he was determined to change that.
so when he has you face down on the bed, your ass up in the air and both hands gathered in one of his, he isn't surprised to hear cries. your sounds of pleasure only slightly muffled by the pillow underneath you.
"f-fuck sukuna, please. please i can't s' too much" you cry, a mix of tears and drool staining your pillowcase.
"yeah, yeah. ya keep whinin'" he whispers, ears lowering to the shell of your ear, "but your pussy's are being more honest"," he smirks, landing two loud smacks to the globes of your ass. your body lurches forward from the newfound stimulation, tears flowing like rapids down the fat of your cheeks. he slows his pace just testing the waters, rapid and shallow thrusts now turning slow and deep. his eyes watched as you whined, hips writhing on his dick like a carousel.
he knew you wanted it, he just wanted you to stop denying it. his hips thrusting even slower than before, watching as you fall apart. that didn't last for long though.
"no, faster, fuck. please. please faster" you begged, arms lifting to prop yourself up as you moved your hips back onto him. he smirked, his interest piqued just for a second, what was once amusement, now replaced with pride. a small smirk gracing his lips as he flips you onto your back, your feet resting on his shoulders.
"that's my girl"
he wastes no time sliding into you once again, his hands moving to cage your head. his lips find yours in a heated kiss, teeth clashing as you adjust to his size.
"see? you kept bitchin about it being too much a second ago, where'd that go princess?" he huffed. he ruts against your hips in short, brutal thrusts, his cock kissing your g-spot with each move.
he feels it coming, that thin line splitting between himself and ecstasy. he's lost count of the amount of times you've finished, priding himself on never being the one who lost control first. but he can't ignore the fact that it's been the first time he's ever had to try and restrain himself from finishing too early.
"'m gonna cum- fuck"
"yeah? cum for me, show me how much of a greedy fuckin' slut you are"
those words are all you need to push you over the edge as you tighten around him, periodic spasms of pleasure washing over you. sukuna follows you shortly after, white streams coating your stomach, his cock twitching after his release.
he collapses next to you, the sweat from his body suddenly more present than it was before. his head turns towards you, red eyes taking in your tired form.
'yeah she'll be sleeping for days' he thinks, hands resting behind his head as he allows his eyes to finally shut. his relaxation is cut short when he hears the soft rustling of the sheets, your hands coming to rest on his broad chest, legs on either side of his hips. you looked insatiable.
Synopsis. When he’s gonna hit it, he’s gonna hit it till your mind breaks.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, dúmbifícation, running from it, cervíx kíssing, matíng presses, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, bréeding, GOJO’S POWERS, mentions of kíds, p talking, headIocks, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, cúmplay, MEAN Geto, breaking the béd, p spánking, marathons, proposals, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. PHEW hoping you have the loveliest week <3
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 3 min. 12 secs
“Tch- where the hell do ya think you’re runnin’ off to, doll?”
Toji’s trapping both your droopy ankles with one dextrous set of his thick fingers, dragging you about halfway down the king-sized mattress in an instant. He’s oh-so-greedily pinning them over the curvaceous dip of his deltoids with a mean, sweat-slicked palm, “Don’t tell me yer hah- tapping out after only three minutes?”
Punctuating his filthy push and pull with a few syrupy thwack! thwack! thwacks! of his strawberry-pink tip down your sappy slit. He’s leaving generous wiry ribbons of pre that smudge and smear a pretty lipgloss as you clench.
“N-nooo m’not–” You’re shaking your dizzy head as urgently as you could, huffing at the utter teasing in Toji’s sleazy, dimpled smirk. “I’m just…”
But what could you even say at this point?
“Oh?” Toji’s letting his dark brows scrunch at your hypnotized silence, the way your gaze was practically plastered with little heart-eyes and- Oh. Oh. He can’t help but loosen a breathy snicker as the realization hits. “Already?”
Yes, already.
Because Toji Fushiguro never held back - he never ever hid that his exact goal in these lecherous sheets was to fuck you until you saw stars.
Always ruthless whenever he’s kissing your spongy cervix with such copious French kisses of his fat, rotund head. Always swollen so thick, with probing little veins sprinting against every one of your tender spots.
The stretch so maddening that it left a translucent trail of dribble spilling from the corners of your mouth. Puddling out with every pressurized pound to swirl wet splotches all over that magical spot until you were sure it was bruised and battered.
Until you were sure you couldn’t even formulate the thought process let alone the words to vocalize that he’d utterly fucked you stupid in all but three minutes.
“Heh- shiiiit-” You’re blinking away the glazed film of lust that’d taken over your eyes, just in time to catch the way that Toji peeks his willowy eyes down below. Letting out the sexiest low whistle at the mess he’s making, “Think s’ a new record. Now, where’d my ngh- mouthy girl go, huh?”
Roughened circles of his digits dig into your legs, tightening and tightening when - with a ragged grunt - Toji bends. He hunches his bulky body until you’re compressed in half, washboard abs melting into your front, your heels imprinting into his back - into the dirtiest mating press. Gruffing, “Have ya seen her?”
And you swear you catch the way that Toji’s fattened tip only stretched tautly wider, swabbing around your sloppy hole in a teasing circle. He’s buttering you up with numerous lecherous slurps until you were dripping.
But he was so slow - so taunting. Sharp malachite eyes dazzling with sheer amusement when you’re raking frustrated red, red lines down his muscular back. Mumbling tearily, I-If you’re not gonna hngh- fuck me properly already then–”
“Mhm- ya really are fucked dumb already.”
Hah, as if he already needed to confirm.
Because of course he was waiting for just this exact moment.
Flooding your honeyed lips with the prettiest broken whines when he’s plugging you mind-splittingly full. Rasping out a low fuck! at the gummy resistance, Toji’s vice-like restraint on your legs grow even sounder as he all but hauls you down every snug inch of his cock.
So solidly and completely spearheading his upright curve into your molten walls, it’s like you were scorching all around him. Sucking him up for more more more-
“Heh, do ya even r-realize how much you’re ngh- milkin’ me?” He’s cooing, pumping you with grinding ram after ram that has your clit massaging against Toji’s tufted black happy trail. Scratching. Filthily.
“T-Toji—” And it’s the only thing you can say - the only thing replaying in your mind again and again and- Your maw slacks so scandalously open when his gluttonous fat head sugarcoats your g-spot in a melty mess of precum. Sloshing and sheathing your rummaged insides in a sticky second layer. “There- more- more please- m-more-”
You didn’t even have to ask.
Because Toji’s second-ever weakness was having you completely cockdrunk and stupid on his swollen length - his first being, well, you in all your entirety - and his third? Making you even stupider.
Breath hitching, he’s angling his toned hips just right to brush up recoiling pecks on your precious spots exactly the way you like it. Making the splintering bedframe creak and whine almost as much as you.
Eyes lounging lazily to the back of your head, your tongue lolls out with every dredge of creamy pre making it’s home near your g-spot. “Ngh- yeah- m-m…” Couldn’t even speak.
With a hoarse belt of chuckles, Toji’s free hand pokes your fuzzily cotton-filled head. “Oiiii- d’ya even hngh- have anythin’ else in yer cockdrunk mind? Ya always get so ah- greedy when yer like this, hm?” Those very same fingerpads hovering over your buttony clit, he’s giving you a sudden pinch. “Especially…her.”
Oh, that did it - just as Toji knew it would.
Because you’re giving such a gluey squeeze of your adhesive-like walls around Toji’s throbbing shaft - making his chest stutter with a condensed heave, mouth lathering in a fresh batch of saliva that coats his sinful scar, and his brain short-circuiting just enough to feel the way you cum.
And not just any old orgasm - Toji’s spitting out a sharp few slews of profanity when he feels his hefty base soak in shiny, vicious waves of your slick. Blinking his dazed eyes down at his glistening abs - his pecs - to titter at how drenched he was.
How you’d squirted until his weepy cock was dripping with every ounce of sopping wet juices. That blankly loving filter in your stare that made him wonder if you even realized how hard you’d squirted - or whether you realized that you did at all.
You looked so tempting that he really, really can’t help but drag a thick thumb around your saturated pussy lips, drawing little hearts round and round where you were still bulging with all his bloated inches.
“Awwww– already?” Toji’s hips were still so mean, panted out through each scouring jackhammer of his cock. He’s drenching little puddles on his digit, slipping it into his mouth with a greedy pop! And- shit, maybe he’s the one fucked stupid now. “How sweet. S-sooo generous this pretty pussy is.”
Because in a split-second he’s coiled two big, beefy arms around your waist. Biceps digging into your mounds of flesh, silky sheets hot against his back as he manhandles you to pliantly flip over however he wanted.
Ruddied cock still buried deep into your goopy depths. So easy. So filthy. “Don’t think we’re gonna be hah- done for a long, long time, doll.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7 min. 4 secs
“My love.” Nanami’s engulfing hand oh-so-sweetly cradles one side of your pretty face as you ride him senseless. Running his fat thumb down the tear-slicked rim of your lips. He’s warm, soft - the complete opposite of that chilling wedding band of his against your scorching flesh. “My love- a-are you alright?”
“Mhm— M’doin’ juuuust fine.” you’re barely able to mumble out, head lolling behind you as he thwacks his plump tip once more against your gummy cervix. Twice more. Thrice. “Ngh- easy, baby, the k-kids are sleeping.”
But your dear husband can sense that something is off. Something is…different.
Maybe in the way that you’re looking up at him with bigger and bigger heart eyes after every rolling jackhammer, maybe in the way you’re practically plastered against his hulking body. Soft tits glissading up and down up and down the sweat-slicked plane of his wide, cushiony pecs. So drunken. So pliant. And he can’t help but plant a soppy smack! against the hooded of your puffy clit with one free hand.
“Oh!” Your back curls into such a slutty arch - such a heavenly sight that makes him wish he had a photographic memory - squirmy hips bucking down harder and- “H-harder- Kentooo- wan’ some more–”
Oh?
And Nanami’s feeling his thickened head splurge your gooey insides with creamy wads upon wads of glossy pre at the mere thought - just the simple idea of you fucking yourself dumb while riding him.
He could probably cum just from watching you like this.
Breath hitching choppily, he’s grabbing your throat - dragging you like some ragdoll until you were only mere condensed inches away from him. You couldn’t be…could you?
“Ken—” Your spit-slicked bottom lip juts out, weighty shuffling forward to press a pretty peck against that shallow dimple on the corner of his lip. Oh, you’d meant for it to land on his lips…but. “Awww, I missed.”
Oh.
But of course he can’t leave his dear wife hanging - especially not when you’re all fucking yourself stupid on him like this.
He’s gifting you with an utterly dizzying kiss - making your tummy so melty with butterflies even after all these years. And you can’t help but keen-
“D-darlin’-” Nanami almost feels like he’s the utterly speechless one now, curling a singular hand around your waist to help your stumbling hips use his cock steadier. Deepening the angle to pound battered hit after hit against your tenderized favorite spots. Those manicured nails of his leave pretty crescent marks all over your fleshy skin when his uprightly curved cock thwacks! upwards. Feral. “Do you- ngh- know how b-beautiful you look right now?”
“Huh?” It’s so adorable how you’re stealing a few sloppy gyrations first before even registering what he’s asking. Cockdrunk and wordless that he’s coaxing out your answer with a sodden thumb smearing your waterfalling drool. “N-no?”
And without a second’s warning - without even a single speck of hesitation - the hand around your tender throat turns vice-like. Shackling. Cutting off both your airway and your heavenly view of a sexily prespired, half-lidded Nanami - turning that bleary gaze of yours towards the specially-installed mirror by your bed.
Head craning to the side to catch how fucking ruined you looked right now, hips moving out of control. Cunt just bawling with a syrupy slick mess pooling underneath you two with every shuddering spearhead of his cock.
“See? Just see h-how ngh- pretty my wife is.” Nanami’s rasping out, utterly wrecking your insides despite his sweet, sweet words. Branding circular divots of his head right into the very resiny bottom of your cervix. His lightning bolted veins just thump cheekily against your g-spot. “Always so pretty- could cum j-jus’ from seeing your ah- gorgeous face ‘nyways b-but…” Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have caught the way his stoic ears burn red. “...especially when you’re dumb like this.”
“Kento-” You’re crying out, mussing a hand through his dampened strands of blond. Tugging. Pulling to make him hiss. “C-cum inside me. Please. Wan’ it all i-inside- want you to make me pregn-”
“A-another?”
“Another.”
Fuck.
You were making him lose it.
So rudely swatting your hands away to pin them behind your back with only one of his - metallic wristwatch cold against your heated skin. He’s curling your back into a simpering inflection before hammering you with the almost-inhuman thick curvature of his cock, splotching out a wet few wisps of creamy white-
“Not yet- not yet-” Nanami’s muttering, and in your stupidly fucked state you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself. “Can’t- can’t ngh- yet-”
Rapturing it like a mantra over and over while blotting your g-spot with sloppy, dirty remnants of precum. Sloshing and glazing his bulky base and all the way down to his tight, thwacking balls. Making such a mess that only leaves you whining incoherently, jolting as if spiked by a sudden million volts of bliss when Nanami’s scooping up the sugary gloss and smearing it back into your gaping entrance.
Until you’re curling your toes taut enough that you can barely move, fingers digging into the pale skin of his back, your vision tinging with a sudden flurry of stars as you cum.
“Tha’s it- that’s right–” he’s breathing out, labored and throaty. So fucking grateful for those sound-proofed walls he installed when you had your first. Voice dipping into almost whiny territory as your husband’s babbling everything that your dumbfounded maw can’t, “Ride me- f-fuck- ride me until ya cum. Ruin me until I can…”
And with a sopping pivot of his fat shaft to hit right against the edges of your womb, he’s flooding your melty cunt with copious ribbons upon ribbons of thick seed. Milky. Heavy. Icing your weepy insides in his favorite white.
“M’gonna take c-care of it- take care of ya-” Nanami’s whispering in a hot pant against your ear, breath so strained and heated that it’s sending shivers down your spine. “Got a place hah- alllll safe n’ sound right- here-”
Nanami can only grin at that inflationary little nudge of where he’s feeling his spattering cum seep press gluey little kisses into your glutinous walls. Because yes, you were gorgeous when you’re fucked dumb like this…but you were even more gorgeous when you’re all round and glowing for him. Patting your pretty tummy, just so impatient for his newborn daughter - yes, daughter - already.
He’s batting his loving eyes down at your fatigued figure with so much adoration that it’s practically palpable. Sensitive tip twitching a perking jerk dangerously…Nanami licks his lips. When you look like this, he wants m-
“Kento—”
Your needy whine snaps him out of his pussydrunken hypnosis, smacking a few innocent smooches against the side of your forehead. “Yes, my love?”
“More.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - 4 min. 27 secs
Shit- shit.
You were so fucking cute - so dangerously ruined on Geto’s cock after only a few sloppy slathers of his thickened shaft down your spongy cervix that it was almost dangerous. That the ever-teasing Geto Suguru is finding his smirking mouth fill up with a few sing-songy coos.
“Awwww, always so ngh- mouthy. What happened- you doin’ alright, gorgeous?” he’s breathing out in a hot baritone up against your ear, opaline white canines sinking into your lobe eagerly. “Though- guess she’s hah- talkin’ in yer place now, hm?”
She being your goopy cunt, the way it was resonating out the most sinfully saturated squelches! with every sheathing lamination of Geto’s cock inside your gummy walls. Practically talking - begging for more with every probing jackhammer of his angry, ample tip.
And with your teary gaze tiredly panned over your shoulder, you can make out the way that Geto was nodding. Dewy eyes scrunched shut like he was in deep thought, pretty lips moving to speak absolute filth. “Mhm– you’re heh- right. That would feel b-better, huh?”
Conversing - but not to you.
And within one frowzy bat of your lashes, Geto drags up one of his thick, muscular legs. Years upon years of flexibility in battle being taken advantage of when he’s planting a foot down on your dizzy head and pinning you there.
“Ngh! Sugu—” you can only whine, struggling and soaking yourself with the deepening change in angle.
He’s only tutting at your sappy cunt, “I know- such a nasty girl, huh? So fuckin’- loud- too.”
Loud. So loud - and you weren’t even trying to be. Streamy rivulets of your glossed slick slurp out with every thudding thwack! of Geto’s sweltering hot tip drilling its way inside your elastic depths. He was so burning hot - feverish.
Shoulders slumping, head bowing at just how lecherously you were sucking up every. Single. Blow he gave. And he can already feel the languid trickle of drool spattering at at the corners of his lips, “So cute- sooo cute- but the- ngh- the whole fuckin’ association’s gonna hear ya, y’know~”
Before you know it you’re being engulfed with one of Geto’s massive palms - cold, slender, reaching over to muffle the utterly scandalous noises spilling uncontrollably from your sagging mouth.
“Not you, though-” he’s tittering, eyes locked down on the way all those weighty inches of his were disappearing and dabbing its way into your needy cunt. “You—” Leaving a particularly wet drag down your mushy insides, “Can ngh- talk allll you like- hah, because you didn’t get fucked stupid after only f-four minutes.”
“Ugh! So mean S-Sugu—” you’re sobbing out when his puffy head sponges against your poor g-spot for the nth time this night. Throbbing veins massaging your walls until you were sure your own heartbeat was syncing up with that staggering cadence. Nails raking down his strong forearm, “M-more–”
“What was that—?” He’s leering his head as close as possible, making your mouth lacquer with a greedy volume of saliva at the way his shoulders flex. Overflowing down his palm. “Heh- making such a m-mess, filthy girl. If ya want something, say it l-louder.”
Oh, by now you’re not just dumbstruck by his relentless pace - but also by how pretty Geto looks. With his long, inky hair freefalling in a soft curtain that tickles your curvaceous spine, half-lidded eyes unfocused and mean, cheeks flushed an innocent pink that matches his weepy tip.
And it’s just about all your melty mind can manage to hiccup out, “More.”
“Awww how cute- s’that all you can s-say?” He’s chuckling in a delirious little tone from above you, free hand nuzzling against your pulsing clit softly. Teasingly. Fully enjoying how you’re struggling against his hold to let out just a few more pretty noises. “Tell me.”
You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard that Geto snickers.
But, well, who ever said that Geto Suguru was a merciless man?
“Fine- I’ll let ya have yer little fun.” He’s rasping out with a hoarse sort of shudder at the very thought that makes him whimper. But- shit, was he glad that you’re too stupidly ruined on his achy cock to notice. Too drunkenly ecstatic when he’s suddenly setting free your wobbly mouth, “If you can first hah- speak a proper s-sentence while takin’ my fuckin’ cock- how about it?”
“I-I- ngh!”
But, shit, Geto wasn’t making it easy for you - the weight of his herculean body being pressurized into his foot even harder. He’s driving his hips into you so rocky that you’re sure you spot a few purplish bruises on his sultry hip bones.
“Heheh-” Ah, he’s having so much fun leaving you stupidly speechless like this. You’re only whining when he toys a thick thumb around your clit, before pressing down on that buttony hood. Hard. “Biiiig stretch makin’ you stupid, gorgeous?”
It was. Oh, it really, really was - and right now you’re so far gone that the only thing you can do is take it.
And Geto’s so perfectly practised in ruining you this way, too. Planting dense drivels of his fleshy tip against your sweetened spots, dragging the tubby divot in wet little smears in expert time with every squeeze of your clit.
“Yes-” you’re mewling out a belated response to his question. “Yes yes yes-”
Only to be cut off with Geto’s palms smearing back onto your dozy mouth, blocking out the slews of addicted whines that just won’t stop.
And, honestly, that heartbrokenly teary look in your eyes is so adorable that Geto’s throat clogs up with his own little whine.
God, you were breathtakingly contagious.
Voice strained - halfway through breaking - dipping a few octaves higher than usual when he’s hushing out, “Shh shhh- no needa force that ah- pretty lil’ head to overwork-” Leveraging the hold around your mouth to drag you backwards into his cadence. Filthier. More. “-you jus’ focus on t-taking my cock like a ngh- good girl and I-” Oh, he’s almost collapsing onto you - already in for a long, long night waking up the association. “-will focus on fillin’ this talkative cunt up.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - 6 min. 18 secs
“Ch-Choso–”
And, to Choso, it was like the pearly gates of heaven had already opened their way up - and sat right front and center waiting on the other side for him was you.
With your trembly legs splayed out on either side of his vicious hips, hands sticking oh-so-desperately to the leather seat of his sleek black Hellcat. You’re lathering his swollen cock with thick, lustrous coatings of his cum from just before - when he’d crashed into his orgasm simply from putting it in. Drowning out your thoughts with the most saccharine sweet slurps from down below-
“Cho, baby–” Tapping his lovingly blushed cheeks a few times to knock your dear best friend back to at least an ounce of his senses. You brush away a few chestnut strands sticking to his prespired forehead, “D-dunno how m’gonna face your f-family after- ngh- this!”
And it takes him a few sloppy seconds - it takes him everything to even think of a jumble of words that might count as a reply.
Clammy hands latching on greedily to your vigorous hips, Choso has to force your cadence to slow down until he can string together a few syllables with his slack mouth. “Wh-why? I already hngh- parked a few blocks away from dad’s, s-so they won’t catch-”
“I know but—” your whining comes out so treacly condensed in the heady air of his car. Making him mindlessly ram another syrupy snog into your cervix. “But- you’re just fucking me so- so stupid.”
Oh.
That’s enough for Choso’s head to fall attractively backwards until his full weighty body was being supported solely by the cushiony seat. Pretty twinkling tears of sensitivity clinging onto his batting lashes, he’s whimpering, “M-me? I’m fuckin’ you hngh- stupid, baby?”
“Mhm—”
Nodding your head, your thighs just burn after every shuddering dab of Choso’s thickened length probing inside your gooey insides. Mushing up a spot modeled after him, an angry circumference of his fat tip indented into your poor g-spot. You’re feeling rivulets of his veins reaching each and every sensitive spot you never could.
He was drilling into you so filthily. So dirtily that your head was spinning with each sloshing wad of his seed swirling your insides.
And Choso - fuck, Choso looked like he was on the very urge of sobbing. Or, perhaps he was, you were much too cross-eyed at this point after every ram to confirm.
“I’m fuckin’ you s-stupid- Me.” he’s breathing out with such an air of worship. Blindly clasping one of your hands smeared against the foggy window to guide up to his lips and kiss. “S-say it again, my pretty baby. Heh…”
And right now, you don’t think you would’ve wanted to even if you could.
Jostling your hips with fresh pound after pound that leaves your soppy mounds of flesh stinging at the impact, every doughy thwack! of Choso’s plump, cum-filled balls against your ass has you gasping. “F-feel so- hngh- dumbstruck right now, Cho–”
“Because of m-my cock?” He’s giggling - giggling, a sleazy grin splitting that handsome face of his. Choso’s steering your needy hips to bounce down his copious inches faster. And faster. “Heh- is takin’ my cock like a hah- good girl m-makin’ you feel good?”
Fuck- and you can only nod.
“After o-only a few minutes?”
Punching your fists against his broad chest, but to Choso it only feels like a few kittenish bumps. “Cho! M’gonna g-get off if you t-”
“No! No no no no—” His knees thwack! against the car interior when he’s manspreading even wider. Legs jerking tightly up and down to collide your tender insides with plumpish mushroomy cockhead, “Stay- stay. Hngh! Hafta fuck you s-soooo much stupider.”
Fully as stupidly speechless as Choso was right about now, you didn’t know who was faring worse.
His muscular thighs slipping and sliding against yours with a glazed coating of cum and your honeyed slick. A low ah! ah! ah! slipping out every few seconds from those rosy pink lips of his with every drooling blow into your slobbery pussy.
“R-ride me until ya can’t even think, baby-” He’s pleading - begging. Viscous ropes of spit spattering out between his slack maw, he was drooling. Lips trembling, “Ride me- hngh- ride me a-and…choke me.”
Oh, the very second those pretty fingers of yours take Choso’s favorite position around his neck, his proudly globular head racks up a few gauzy wisps of pre. Dangerously creamy. Icing down your walls and making his overstimulated self keen.
Unable to even your sentence, your face hides in the very crook of his neck. Nuzzling against his sweat-simmered skin with how positively heavy your entire body felt. “G-god- feels s-so…”
“Nuh uh.” Choso lets his words drag out into a cute whine, chest hitching purely parched when your digits block off his airway even more snugly. “N-need to see your ngh- pretty face, baby- please- I need you to- need-” Sheer yearning flashes in his eyes when you’re tilting your head towards his fucked-out features once more, “-need you to kiss me.”
You’re giggling out, words airy. “S-so bossy, Cho–”
“Jus’ can’t get ‘nough of you.” He’s mumbling - hot and and heavy against your rawly kissed lips.
And it was a wonder that Choso could manage to strangle it out from his heaving chest, that he could even manage to breathe. Because with one last shuddering smooch of his rotund crown into your g-spot, you’re both tumbling headfirst into your high - Choso’s second orgasm of tonight.
And with every toe-curling flash of white, he’s smearing such streamlined splatters of seed into your melty insides. Hot. Sploshing down your walls and milking velvety rings upon rings around Choso’s hefty base - so viscous that you could almost taste it.
He’s making such a mess, too, giggling at how utterly speechless you were. Shrilling out nothing but mewling calls of his name.
Shit, music to his ears that Choso finds himself hypnotized to. Barely even registering when he’s patting the nudge of his puffy tip against your womb, pushing - just slightly - enough for tumbling dredges of cum to spill down your seeping slit and luster him until he was drenched.
“G-gonna hafta clean the c-car before we get back and ah- announce…” He’s looking up at you with stars in his eyes, so adoring that you could almost cum again from just this. “-our engagement.”
Your words choke up into a rolling ball of lead - an engagement? To your best friend? All the way before dating? And, yet, maybe it’s because your mind is still left in completely stupid shambles from before that you find your lips curling-
THUD! THUD! THUD!
A knock, and Sukuna’s voice through the black-tinted windows.
“OI! Jin is searching for you brats all over the place- SO YOU BETTER BE IN HERE-”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2 min. 8 secs
“Fuck- fuuuuck would ya look at that cute lil’ bulge.” Sukuna’s chest heaves with rumbling little chuckles that echo against your back, two out of his four beefy arms pinning you so helplessly into his cushiony chest. “Well…heh, not little.”
The notorious king of curses was standing so tall - towering - and his dually rock-hard cocks were just the same. Swabbing open your slickly flooded insides in such a lecherous full nelson, he’s splitting open your glutinous walls with branding, thorough thrusts.
Knocking up against each and every bullseye of magical spots that he’d already memorized. You’re being shovelled with a girthy indent of his upper tip against your mushy cervix, managing out a broken K-Kuna—
“Tch, I know I know-” he’s rolling his eyes, leveraging the sinful uses of gravity below to watch you slip and slide your snug channel languidly down his left-curved shafts. “Ya want more- ‘sn’t that right, spoiled brat?”
But the only thing that thunders in Sukuna’s ears are the melodies of your sweetly singing cunt, slushy squelches of your puffed-up pussy lips slurping up every one of his numerous inches.
And, now, don’t get Sukuna wrong - it’s one of his favorite songs, one of his few weaknesses - but where was your honeyed voice?
“Oi- silly girl- forgot how ta ngh- speak?” You’re hearing from above you, all monstrous seven feet of Sukuna’s figure hunching over just enough for him to snarl hotly against your ear. “How else is the ngh- entire palace gonna know that m’makin’ my wife feel good?”
Punishing your plump clit with a lingering swat! of his thick fingertips, “Not answerin’ your king, huh? Guess I’ll jus’ hafta-”
“Ngh- m-more-”
Oh? That tone sounded familiar.
And now usually Sukuna would growl at you for speaking out of turn, usually he’ll plant a few sodden thwacks against your battered cervix to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with. But right now, he’s only scoffing, “The hell was that? Speak up.”
“More, Kuna—” Fuck, the utterly primal neediness in your voice has even Sukuna stuttering his vicious hips - much to your disappointment. And you’re wrangling in his vice-like grasp to gulp down a few more clingy gyrations of his cocks inside your gluey depths. “More- I n-need more- harder.”
“More?” he’s whispering. Seething. Shaking with a humorless little grin that oh couldn’t have been directed by anyone but you. “More. Heh fuckin’ slut. M-my little human wants more- oh, new record.”
Ah, new record indeed.
It’s been only what? A minute? Two? And here was his beautiful queen, all fucked dumb on his cocks again. So ruined that you could barely even speak, a smooth staccato of only wanting more replaying in your mind when your husband plunges in a capsizing few jackhammers.
You barely even register it when one of his hands tighten on your scalp, overgrown fingernails craning your head uncomfortably up, up, up for him to splatter your tongue dripping wet with a sleazy wad of his saliva. “Yer fuckin’ gone arentcha?”
And he might just be, too, with how pliantly you’re letting that thickened mass slide all the way down your tastebuds. Huffing, “F-fuck- more.”
“Greedy lil’ thing.” He’s puckering up your sodden folds with a slow circles of his fingers, before clashing another good smack! Dragging out velvety ribbons of your honeyed slick that cling to his digits, “Such a filthy pussy, even after- hah- after I can see my bulge in that ah- puny human cunt o’ yours, woman. Ya still want more?”
“B-bulge?” Your head lolls over to rest against one of the curvaceous cushions of Sukuna’s muscular deltoids, glazed eyes drifting all the way down-
Oh.
Fuck- the sight as complete heaven.
Your lips were parting way for Sukuna like butter, slobbering down your sweet sap of juices to him like you were glossing every inch of him. Bludgeoning in his rotund mushroom tip until your ass was bruising against the unruly trail of drenched pink that led to his swollen hilts. And the bulge- shit.
The bulge was rummaging itself to all the way up about halfway down your tummy - edging at your fucking lungs it felt like - was such a perfectly cylindrical outline of Sukuna’s matching cocks. Smearing open your gluttonous walls so widely agape, he’s crashing his smooching tips against your g-spot, your cervix. Both at the same time. Everywhere and anywhere that you could see now.
“Oh-oh-” you’re whining out, lower lip trembling every more frenzied with every glissading dab against those spots. The way that Sukuna had your clingy walls milking him so tight. “S-s’so big, Kuna–”
“Oh? So ya can speak other words.” He’s chuckling, fat fingers pressing a curving little pattern down on your sensitive nub. Pinching. Tugging. So harshly that you can’t help but flail in his hold mid-air. “Easy, easy there, brat. Jus’ thought ya f-forgot how to, heh.”
Oh, he was such a tease.
Such feral darkness oozing into his words when a third of his hands guide your own to caress that lecherous bulge. “Here- don’ be shy- wanna touch it, ngh- dontcha?” And of course, you do. Rubbing over the creamed divots of his outlined tips. In awe. “-yeah like- fuuuck like that- heh…such a cutie when you’re all f-fucked dumb.”
Shit- so utterly adorable that he can’t help but leave another sopping wet smack! on your clit. Another. And another. And another and another until the heat curls up scorchingly in your stomach, and Sukuna’s taking your star-struck moment to snicker, “Mhm– m’feelin’ a little bad for this ngh- p-poor cunt though. Maybe I should take out one cock…”
“No!” You’re crying out, hips trying so ravenously to scoop up every sloshing glob of pre that butters up your insides. And you’re sucking in every inch that you get, every merciless ram. All while boring your eyes into Sukuna’s tearfully, “N-nooo I wan’ it- wan’ them both s-so badly.”
Fuck, you were dangerous.
And the most powerful can’t do a single thing. Because, really, who was he against you?
Can’t do anything but lacquer your drooly tastebuds with another syrupy ball of spit - enough to make you cum.
Sparks of your high sprinting throughout your body, sheening an almost-sparkling wet slobber around Sukuna’s bucking cocks - all the way down to his flexing thighs. It’s thwacking and skidding your jiggling ass against his mounds of muscles even harder, riding out your orgasm on the way that Sukuna’s gifting sopping smacks! on that poor hooded peak of your clit.
Blinking back overstimulated tears, “Kuna–”
“Ah ah- ignorin’ the king when he’s t-talking to ya, cutting me off, cumming with no warning…” he spits hotly against your ear. “I should make ya pay for treason, woman.”
“H-how?” Still so cockdrunken. Still uselessly struggling against his twitchy gyrations, zig-zagging little wet paintings down your inner walls.
Sukuna pretends to think, a sleazy grin plastered permanently on his face. “Hmmm, how about…ya ah- squirt f’me.” All the while boring his devilishly red eyes into your heart-eyed ones. How cute. “If that pretty lil’ empty head remembers how that is, h-heh.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - 11 min. 6 secs
“C-can I cum inside? Again? P-please?” Ino’s hissing - more to himself than anything. Words bubbling out after each and every lazy swat! of his fat, ruddied tip down the very bottom of your pappy wet cervix. He wants more. He need more. “Shhh sh sh- jus’ a lil’ more- please. Just some- ah-”
Shit- it’s been what feels like hours now.
Your beloved boyfriend stuffing you full of ropy smears of cum over and over. Until your slick-filled cunt was flooded with an excess of his seed, until you couldn’t even think over the deafeningly saturated slurps of thick wads oozing out from you down below.
Until you were fucked stupid after only a few greedy hits of Ino’s fattened tip into your melty core - until he was utterly spellbound, too, after about solely ten minutes into this new round.
“T-Taku…” You yelp, throat scratchy with how strained your poor whines have become. Your legs dangle helplessly off his strong shoulders, such a sloppy mating press by now that it would be embarrassed to even be called one. “Baby- harder. Wan’ more…wan’ you to f-fill me up.”
Fuck.
Now, Ino knew that you were thoroughly drowned and cockdrunk - but he didn’t know you were this ruined. And fuck- fuck, he’s giving the side of his fatigued thigh a harsh pinch. Once. Twice.
Trying oh-so-hard to blink back some semblance of thought into his dizzy mind. He feels like he’s nodding drunkenly, planting a damp trail of pecks down your cheek because shit, he missed your mouth. “Oh. Wh-what was that? Ngh- say it again f’me, pretty? P-please–”
“Taku—” you’re whining impatiently. Cloying wet grinds of your hips swirling his thickened length around you so blissfully, sugarcoating thick rings of pre around your insides. “J-jus’ cum inside me again.”
“Sh-shit-” Ino’s pretty features scrunch up in such bliss, plumped-up balls squeezing to dredge out another wispy chain of cum. “Ohh ya have n-no idea what ya do to me.” Decorating your familiarly bruised cervix with a freshly lathered glaze, he’s whimpering. “C-can you say that f’me a-again, sweetness?”
And you’re letting your pouty maw fall slack in order to - to demand for more. A few stupidly mewling sentences on the edge of your tongue when Ino’s reeling his hips back and thudding numerous wet collides into your sloppy cunt. Prespired body glissading easily - so sloppily - against yours in determined smack! smack! smacks! such a tangled mess of limbs and need.
God- it almost hurts. Overstimulation and pleasure hitting him doubly all at once, he’s gritting his teeth with a rough groan of your name before planting more pounds after pounds.
“D-didn’t say it f’me- ngh- ah! again–” Ino’s panting into your dumbstruck-open mouth, sweat-lacquered forehead resting against yours. Pinching his thigh over and over to just keep his senses. And his deep voice cracks into a whine at the very end, “Talk to me. Please, tell me- ngh- t-talk me through it, pretty. Please-”
But his actions spoke the complete opposite.
Ino was clashing the steamy curve of his rotund tip against your g-spot so hard, beating it like a sloppy drum with every jackhammering dab of his hips. Fucking out every thought and gurgling syllable out of you with a pussydrunkenly boyish grin.
Spitting a thick pwah! of saliva onto two of his slender fingers, he’s dipping them down, down, down to roll a few zig-zagging patterns on your pulpy clit.
“C’mon- w-wanna hear your pretty voice—” he’s babbling, pearly tears making their home at the crinkled ends of his delicately pretty eyes.
“T-Taku–” You don’t think you could’ve spoken even if you wanted to, tugging through his smooth woody hair. Until it makes him hiss, and his sultry crownhead gush out wet globules of precum. “No ngh- fair.”
“Heh. Who has ya f-feelin’ like ah- this, sweetness?” He’s snickering into the corner of your mouth, chestnut eyes drooping further and further half-closed the deeper his veiny shaft was poking into the goopy bottom of your pussy. The further he was milking his seething tip on every miniscule cling of your walls. Teasing, “Who? Oh whoops- h-heh- tha’s right…you can’t talk right now.”
But oh, Ino had forgotten that just how fucked stupid that his brain was meant the exact same for his body, too.
Because in a split-second, you’re elbowing the pillowy mattress determinedly to flip the two of you over - Ino’s swollen girth still sunken inside, your brain still woozy. Even more so when straddling the slender curve of your boyfriend’s hips, trembly palms trekking down his mountainous pecs to push him flat onto the silky sheets.
Ino has such a sexy look of drunken adoration in his eyes when you’re bouncing your squelching cunt to ride him out of his mind. Prattling with your currently one-tracked brain, “S-said I wan’ you to f-fill me up, Taku–”
Oh. oh. And then he is - both of you are.
You’re jerking almost-violently at the wracking bouts of high that take over your body, flashing silvery stars behind your scrunched-up lids. Those sobbing thwack! thwack! thwacks! of his bulbous tip have you shrilling, letting Ino reach out a hand to draw little circles over your overwhelmed clit.
And he isn’t any better off - has his eyes sliding all the way back until all you could see was pure ivory, Ino’s chest arching deliciously into yours. His lower lip strawberry-red from being bitten hard enough gulp back those wrenching whimpers threatening to burst pathetically free.
One hand leaving a quick smack! to the fat of your ass before swirling it in hypnotic little circles to feel those ribbony globs of his cum sloshing around. Ah, he can feel it steaming thick masses so deep inside you - jittery fingers feeling for that familiar hot nudge at your womb. Such voluminous amounts that laminate his twitchy shaft with layers upon dripping wet layers of glistening seed, making such a mess-
Ino ends off with a giggle - a giggle. “Oh, I love it when yer r-rough w’me, pretty.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - 25 secs
“-twenty-three…twenty fouuuur-” Gojo’s dragging out, rounded tips of his fingers ghosting over your pulpy clit - just far enough to zap! your sensitive hood with an atomic buzz of jujutsu. Grinning down at you from where he’s holding you captive in a lecherous prone bone, “-twenty-five- h-heh…n’ already gone. New record, sweetheart.”
And you would’ve snapped back at your utterly ecstatic boyfriend if you could, you would’ve huffed out that he totally drawled on the count far longer than it should’ve lasted - but how could you?
Because just the sappy peck! of Gojo’s globular tip down the treacly pucker of your slit makes you dizzy. Meady wet spurts of his precum strolling languidly down your pussy lips, making such a mess - and he’d barely even shovelled you overly snug of his full, thickened tip.
But oh what was unfair - what was so completely dirty - is the way he was buzzing his filthy fingerpads with a shimmer of cursed energy, pinching your sensitive clit just enough to make you see stars.
“Ngh- oh my god.” you’re babbling out through slacked lips that feel like they’re fucking numb. Hips dizzily confused whether to bury yourself in a cocoon of those silken navy sheets or to run away.
“Yes- yes tha’s right–” he’s cooing, one hand swiping away the globular pearls of sweat that trek down your forehead, the other ringing out against your peaked clit with a miry swat! “Talk t’me ngh- l-loove hearin’ what that empty lil’ haaah- cockdrunk mind of yours has ta say.”
Sobbing out, “S’jus’ so- so big, Toru—”
“Heh…see?”
Yeah, he loved the cute wafting nonsense that spilled from your lips whenever you were fucked stupid on his thick, throbbing length. Red and angry to make your head even emptier-
And you’re scrambling helplessly towards the plushy pillows, the edge of the bed, the fucking headboard - only for Gojo to slam! one massive palm down on the mahogany headrest. Splitting it straight down the middle-
Muttering in your ear so sultry, Gojo’s slurring out a stumbling, “Now now- where’d ya think you’re going?” Your entirely shivering body being scooped up with a single curl of his bulging forearm around your throat. Fuck- his sweat-glossed biceps flex as you’re hauled back down, down, down onto his thoroughly rummaging cock.
“B-barely even halfway in n’ yer already so heheh- fucked dumb.” Giggling - giggling - deliriously in your ear in condensed little pants, he’s so hot glissading his weighty body down your back. Rows of ivory white teeth sinking into your precious ear lobe, you’re graced with a firm set of six-inch fingers on your waist. “Get- get ready for a hah- biiiig stretch, sweetheart.”
And a big stretch, it was.
It feels like you’re being rawly split apart - Gojo’s intruding girth caving out a bulging cylindrical pathway down your slobbery pussy. Puffy, crowned cockhead smearing open your gluey walls until you were sure you could feel every ridge, every thumping vein. Feel him poking his weepy divot into your mushy cervix in thick drags - you could cum from just this.
And you think you do - without your poor, spellbound goo of a brain even realizing. Your back arches into an almost painful curvature when you’re throwing your head back and cumming.
“Please- please please-” Garbling out, so fucking cute that he can’t help but lick a sleazy stripe down the glistening middle of your back and hum.
You’re gasping at the thickly vicious splatter of something on your shoulder - only to bleary your heart-filled eyes over your shoulder at the way that Gojo was drooling.
Whining, with every pap! of his prettily full balls against your ass. Slumping his heavy bodyweight like he was melting into your, ridged washboard abs massaging your back, hefty bodyweight pinning you down onto the mattress. His bicep curls into an even tighter headlock around your straining neck, “Yeah- ohoho yeahh that’s the stuff- t-talk to me s’more, my girl.”
“C-can’t even-” You’re whimpering out, hips jostling upwards in embarrassing little grinds that swirl the very rounded tip of Gojo’s tip around your melty insides. Milking out heaps upon heaps of creamy precum with every one of his greedy drives. “-can’t even think- can’t even b-breathe. J-jus’ want you…”
God - he was making a sheerly sludgy mess out of you. Branding your sweet insides with sugary coatings of precum, with thorough bruises.
“What do ya w-want, sweetheart?” Gojo’s muttering all over again, bearing your puffed-up clit with another pinch. Then another. And another. “Anything m’gonna give ya- ahhh, fuck- anything.”
Blinking up tearily, “A-anything?”
Which only makes him fuck you hard enough to practically mesh into one with the mattress - and then some. And it’s like he was pounding himself just as stupid on your cunt as you were with every one of his animalistic rams.
Sodden. Heavy. French mushes against your bruised g-spot - and you could already tell by the scarily bittersweet accuracy and those stray bolts of tiny blue lightning that Gojo was using his six eyes to cheat his way buttering your pretty cunt with lethal hits.
To spy your sweetest spots inside-
“M’gonna marry ya-” Promising over and over when he’s routing a wet trail of kisses down your perfectly arched spine. “-buy us a niiice big mansion- or a small one- your hah- choice. Grow old together, n’ I’ll kill off anyone that dares object.”
“Satoru…”
“Yes- yes?” Sapphire eyes wide and wild now - like he was in the middle of a fight, like he was prowling for prey just the way his fat tip was probing down every orifice of yours. “Tell me- tell me, sweetheart.”
“I-I want-” your lower lip wobbles adorably, and Gojo can’t help but slither his own down and suck like his favorite gummy candy. Making you mewl, “-wan’ a baby.”
And you swear you could hear the lilting crack in Gojo’s voice when he’s echoing out a highly-pitched. “A b-baby?”
The only thing your poor brain can manage out is a nod, and the only thing he can manage out is to just barely not fucking snap.
THUD!
Gojo’s got you locked in his powerful hold - muscled figure pinning you to the soiled bed, his deadlocked bicep hauling your mouth onto his. And he’s snapping his hips to yours so hard that you wince ever-so-slightly at the bruise surely formulating by now - or, well, would have formulated had it not been for Gojo’s reversed curse technique.
Working overtime now to not break a bone when he’s plugging your sodden insides with thick knots of cum. He’s cumming and cumming so hard that Gojo thinks he can’t stop - thinks he doesn’t want to.
“H-how I love when ya talk outta yer ngh- pussy, sweetheart-” Your shoulder stains with a few more translucent spatters of drool - and tears. Big and overstimulated, beading behind his glazed lids.
Gojo can’t let a single swashing wad of his seed drizzle to waste, plugging in numerously overspilling ounces back in through your puckered pussy lips. The sheer volume making his achy balls twitch with more and more. Doubly penetrating your sloppy hole with two fingers, he’s taking the sinful opportunity to slither a few spiralling patterns around your sensitive entrance.
A baby.
“A baby. A…a fuckin’ baby.” Gojo’s shaking his head - crazed. Smile humorless and dangerous where it was directed at you, and for a moment you’re wondering who really is the one fucked stupid right about now. “Oh, my girl, I’ll give you ten.”
A/N. Smooches to that one nonnie for sparking the idea hehe <3
His arms squeezed around your legs as he looked up at you. Katsuki couldn't wait any longer, he needed you. He kept begging, "Please- please baby, I'll be so good for you. Just let me-" a long whine left his lips as you grabbed him by his hair and pulled him off your legs.
He stumbled around on the floor before getting back up. "Look at what you're doing to me, I never act like this- this is cruel! Just let me have a taste.."
Katsuki looked up at you, big red eyes wobbling and he looked like he might cry. You felt a little bad for tormenting him so much. It was true, he would never act like this. But he has lost all shame by this point.
"Fine." You sighed.
Within seconds Katsuki had torn off your shorts and panties. He was like a rabid animal now you've let him. You swear you even hear a growl. You gasp at the feeling of cold air hitting your warm pussy.
Katsuki gets up and places you on the counter, cold marble against your bare skin makes you shiver. He dropped down again and pushes open your legs and he moaned at the sight in front of him.
He pushes his face in and begins lapping at your slick, fat tongue giving broad stripes that spread you open. You tipped your head back in pleasure and moaned under your breath. Katsuki would tell you to be louder but he was too focused on drinking your slick.
Making his way up to your clit you whine. Your hips buckled into him when he gives the bud a good and loud slurp. He cursed into your heat and held your hips still with his giant hands.
Katsuki focused his tongue on that spot, finding out what made you moan the loudest. And without even you realising he slipped two thick digits into your hole and scissored it open.
It felt like you were floating in heaven. The knot in your tummy growing tighter and tighter and tighter.. until it snapped.
You gripped his hair and with a quiet and broken moan you came, squirting hard all over Katsuki's face. You gasped for air as he drank it all up. Hips twitching when he licked over your cunt again.
"Mfg..thank you baby." He said, mouth filled with slick.
when you leave it got me feeling like so depressed.
timeskip!MSBY!bokuto kōtarō x f!reader
being MSBY’s and bokuto’s beloved manager is easy until you get sick, and bokuto loses the light of his life.
entropy is a scientific concept, but in the msby black jackals’ gym, it looked exactly like a six-foot-two man slumped in the corner behind a stray ball cart.
the atmosphere was practically tectonic. usually, the gym vibrated with the sound of ‘HEY HEY HEY!’ and the thunderous percussion of spikes hitting the floor. today? it sounded like a funeral for a very loud bird.
bokuto was currently experiencing the psychological equivalent of a total solar eclipse. you weren’t there. for the first time in the history of his professional career, the spot three feet to the left of the bench—the spot where you usually stood with a clipboard and that specific, grounding smile—was vacant. empty. a void.
“he’s been there for twenty minutes,” atsumu whispered, gesturing toward the ball cart where bokuto was currently trying to make himself small, which is physically impossible for a man built like a greek god made of boulders. “he’s sulking.”
“it’s pathetic,” sakusa muttered, eyeing bokuto from a safe, ten-foot distance. “he thinks she’s dead. or worse, that she moved to brazil without telling him.”
bokuto was convinced the universe had finally decided to punish him for his ‘emo modes’ by taking away his north star. by the second day of your absence, the ‘thick cloud of sadness’ had evolved into a localized weather system. he hadn’t spiked a single ball into the court. he’d missed every serve. he spent most of the morning staring at his phone, waiting for a text that never came because your migraine was so aggressive that even the thought of a blue-light screen felt like an ice pick to the brain.
it wasn’t until sakusa—driven to the brink of insanity by the lack of structural integrity in the team—snapped and texted the coach.
sakusa: where is the manager? bokuto is currently trying to merge with the floor tiles.
coach foster: oh! right. she’s got a nasty flu. told her to take the week. forgot to mention it. my bad.
when sakusa relayed the news, the transformation was instantaneous. bokuto detonated.
“she’s sick?!” the roar echoed off the rafters. “she’s dying?! i have to go. omi-omi, i have to go right now.”
he didn’t wait for permission. he was a white-and-black blur, bolting out of the gym with the frantic energy of a man who had just realized he left the stove on—if the stove was the love of his life and currently suffering from a 40°C fever.
𓏵
the convenience store clerk had never seen a man move with such desperate, feral intent. bokuto was tossing things into a basket with the precision of a hawk: expensive honey-lemon tea, every flavor of jelly drink available, the softest tissues in the prefecture, and three different types of high-end porridge.
then came the pharmacy. he stood in the aisle, looking like a deer in headlights, staring at a wall of cold medicine as if it were a complex offensive formation. naturally, he called the only person who could tether him to reality.
“agaashiiii! if she has a headache but also a cough, do i get the blue box or the red box? does the red one taste bad? she likes peaches! is there a peach-flavored medicine for adults?!”
“bokuto, please breathe,” came the weary, yet fond voice over the speaker. “get the standard tablets. and don’t give her caffeine. also, did you buy flowers?”
“flowers. yes. strawberries too. she needs vitamins. i’m a genius, akaashi.”
𓏵
when the doorbell rang at 2:00 pm, you were currently a cocoon of blankets, feeling like your brain had been replaced by wet cement. your eyes were puffy, your nose was a shade of pink that would rival a sunset, and your hair looked like a bird’s nest that had survived a hurricane.
you shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. all you saw was a giant bouquet of sunflowers and a mop of silver-and-black hair.
the moment you turned the deadbolt, the door flew open—not with force, but with a desperate kind of urgency.
“my favorite human!”
bokuto lunged. for a split second, you braced for the impact of a 190-pound professional athlete, but he slowed down at the last centimeter. he caught you in a hug that was as light as a feather, his large hands hovering over your back as if you were made of the finest, most fragile porcelain.
he pulled back, his golden eyes scanning your face with enough intensity to melt lead. “you look... you look...”
you winced, expecting him to say ‘terrible.’
“…absolutely stunning,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “even when you’re melting, you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen. i thought you quit! i thought you hated me! i thought i did a spike so bad you decided to never look at me again!”
his knees actually buckled a little. he looked like a kicked puppy who had just been offered a steak. before you could even protest that you were contagious, his arms were under your knees and behind your back. he swept you up in a bridal carry so smooth it felt like you were floating.
𓏵
“bokuto, you’ll get sick,” you croaked, your voice sounding like a rusted gate.
“i have the immune system of a mountain lion!” he declared, marching toward your bedroom. “and even if i catch it, then we can be sick together. it’ll be a team bonding exercise!”
he settled you into bed with more care than he’d ever given a volleyball. then, the babbling started. it was as if two days of silenced thoughts were bursting out of him.
“the gym was so quiet,” he whispered, tucking the duvet around your chin. “i kept looking at the spot where you stand. i even sat there for a while, just hoping i’d catch your scent or something. everyone told me to stop being weird, but they don’t understand. i can’t function without hearing your voice telling me my form is slightly off. i missed your voice so much it felt like my ears were broken.”
he was peeling an orange for you, his large, calloused fingers working with surprising delicacy.
“i even tried to hide in that little gap between the equipment shed and the wall,” he admitted, looking genuinely ashamed. “like a lost dog. hinata tried to lure me out with buns, but i wasn’t hungry. how can i eat when my manager—my favorite person in the whole wide world—is suffering alone?”
he fed you the orange slices one by one. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, the way he was looking at you—like you were the center of his entire solar system—was doing more for your recovery than any pill could.
when you mentioned you needed to freshen up, he went into full bodyguard mode. he prepped the bathroom, steamed it up just right, and then insisted on waiting right outside the door.
“if you slip, just yell! i’m right here!”
when you emerged, damp and shaky, he was sitting on the floor with a literal blindfold tied over his eyes.
“bokuto... what are you doing?”
“akaashi said i have to be a gentleman! i’m not looking! but i’m here if you need balance!”
you laughed and he visibly brightened, his head whipping toward the sound of your voice. “that! i missed that! that’s the best sound in the league! forget the roar of the crowd, i want that on a loop!”
he spent the next twenty minutes drying your hair. he used the lowest heat setting, his fingers combing through your strands with a gentleness that made your heart do backflips. he was so focused, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, ensuring he didn’t pull a single hair.
“there,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head once it was dry. “now, medicine time.”
he watched you swallow the tablets with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. it was the look of a man who was completely and utterly gone for you. he was at the bottom of the ocean, and he didn’t want air.
𓏵
by evening, the exhaustion of being a full-time nurse-slash-fanboy caught up to him. you were drifting off, the medicine finally kicking in, when you felt a weight settle on the side of your mattress.
bokuto was sitting on the floor, his head resting on the edge of the bed, his hand firmly but carefully clutching yours. he looked so small in the dim light, the usual bravado replaced by a quiet, desperate need for proximity.
you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly from the fever, and brushed a stray lock of silver hair away from his forehead.
“i like you too, kōtarō,” you whispered into the quiet room, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his brow. “so much.”
you fell asleep shortly after, missing the way his eyelashes fluttered and the way his entire body went rigid the moment your lips touched his skin.
𓏵
the next morning, the fever had broken. you woke up feeling lighter, the cement in your head having turned back into actual thoughts. however, there was a new weight—a very warm, very solid weight.
bokuto was in the bed. he wasn’t technically under the covers, but he was on top of them, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, suffocatingly sweet embrace. he was staring at you with wide, awake eyes. he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink, but he also looked like he’d just won the olympic gold.
“you’re awake!” he chirped, though his voice was uncharacteristically soft.
“i feel much better,” you smiled, trying to shift, but his grip only tightened.
“so...” he started, his lower lip trembling in a way that was almost tragically cute. “about last night. you said you liked me. and you kissed my head. and i’ve been thinking about it for six hours and twelve minutes.”
he sat up, pulling you with him so you were sitting in his lap, encased in his warmth. he looked at you with such yearning, such raw, pathetic hope, that your heart felt like it was going to burst.
“i already decided in my head that we’re dating,” he whispered, his face inches from yours. “i already told the group chat we’re ‘engaged in spirit.’ but... i should probably ask the official way, right?”
he took a deep breath, his golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of devotion and sheer desperation. “would you let me be your boyfriend? i’ll take care of you every day. i’ll spike every ball for you. i’ll even let you have the last bite of my meat buns. please?”
you didn’t even have time to get the ‘yes’ out before his face transformed. when you nodded, he looked completely discombobulated, his brain short-circuiting at the sheer joy of it.
“really?! yes?! hey hey hey!”
he peppered every single inch of your face with tiny, frantic kisses. your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your chin—he was like a heat-seeking missile of affection.
“i’m gonna be the best boyfriend ever,” he promised, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his tail-wagging energy practically shaking the bed. “i’m never letting you get sick again. i’m banning germs. i’m fighting the flu with my bare hands!”
as he pulled you back down into the pillows, refusing to let go for even a second, you realized that being managed by bokuto was going to be a lot more intense than managing him—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
n: i love it when men are pathetically in love. yk? y’all get me? right? RIGHT??
love when you’re around, i just can’t sleep without you here.
sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader
enemy!kiyoomi hates your guts, your behavior, your laugh, your pretty lips, your hypnotic voice, and your beautiful eyes.
if sakusa had his way, he would live inside a giant, vacuum-sealed tupperware container, preferably one stored in a dark pantry away from the teeming, sneezing masses. instead, he was stuck in a humid gymnasium that smelled like unwashed kneepads and the distinct, looming threat of your existence.
you were, by all scientific definitions, a biohazard.
it wasn’t that you were actually dirty—in fact, you smelled vaguely of expensive laundry detergent and some sort of citrusy shampoo that made his sinuses itch in a way he couldn’t quite hate—but you were chaotic. you were the type of person who ate chips with your bare hands and then reached for a volleyball. you were the type of person who hugged people without a written 3-to-5 business day notice.
“komori,” sakusa muttered, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of his mask as he watched you trip over a ball cart across the gym. “why is it here again? did someone leave the door open and it just… wandered in?”
komori, sakusa’s cousin and the only person with a high enough tolerance for his nonsense to be considered a best friend, didn’t even look up from his stretching. “it has a name, kiyoomi. and her name is y/n. she’s literally here to bring me the notes I left in her locker.”
“she’s shedding,” sakusa deadpanned, eyes narrowed at a stray strand of your hair that had the audacity to float through the air. “i can see the epithelial cells drifting off her. it’s like a blizzard of filth.”
“you’re such a hater,” komori laughed, finally standing up. “you’ve been staring at her for ten minutes. if you hate her so much, look at the wall. the wall is very uhh.. what do you call that? ..sterile. the wall won’t give you the cooties.”
sakusa didn’t look at the wall. he couldn’t. his eyes were magnetically locked onto the way you were currently doubled over, laughing at something a passing teammate of his had said. you were loud. you were messy. you were the exact opposite of everything his nervous system required to remain in a state of equilibrium.
naturally, he wanted to boil you in hot water and then maybe, perhaps, hold your hand for three seconds (with gloves on).
his unreasonable hatred for you had started three months ago when you had accidentally spilled a drop of iced coffee on his pristine white training shoes. sakusa had looked at the spot with the same expression a victorian orphan might have if they saw a ghost. you had tried to wipe it off with a napkin, which he had recoiled from like you were wielding a rusted saw.
since then, it was war. a war fought with sharp glares, scathing remarks about your lack of spatial awareness, and your relentless pursuit of making him ‘crack a damn smile for once in your life, kiyoomi.’
“hey, mask man!” you yelled from across the court, waving a hand wildly. “stop thinking about how to bleach the floor and come help komori with the boxes! don’t worry, i haven’t touched them with my ‘filthy’ hands in at least five minutes!”
sakusa’s brows knitted together under his curls. “don’t address me. the air quality in your immediate radius is sub-optimal.”
“the air quality is fine! i’m a breath of fresh air!” you chirped, skipping toward them.
sakusa took three very calculated steps backward. you were a localized hurricane of bad decisions. you reached komori and shoved a pile of notebooks into his chest, beaming. then, you turned that beam toward sakusa. it was bright. it was offensive. it felt like being stared at by a high-intensity surgical lamp.
“you’re looking particularly grumpy today,” you noted, tilting your head. “is it because the humidity is at forty-two percent? i know that’s your ‘i’m going to commit a crime’ threshold.”
“forty-four percent,” he corrected icily. “and your presence is a pollutant.”
“i love you too, sourpuss,” you grinned, intentionally leaning a little too close into his personal bubble.
sakusa felt his heart do a weird, frantic tap-dance against his ribs—purely out of fear for his immune system, he told himself. he watched you walk away, noting the way your hair swung like a pendulum. he hated that pendulum. he wanted to study it. he wanted to document its bounce rate.
“he’s doing it again,” komori whispered to iizuna who just sighs. “he’s complaining about the smog while inhaling it like it’s oxygen.”
the thing about sakusa was that he was a creature of habit, and you had somehow become his most annoying, most essential habit.
during away games, his routine was simple: sanitize the bus seat, put on noise-canceling headphones, and scan the bleachers until he found the specific shade of your hair. if you weren’t there, the entire match felt... wrong. the court felt too big, the air felt too still, and his spikes felt like they were lacking their usual lethal precision.
he told himself he looked for you so he could keep track of the enemy’s position. keep your friends close and your biological hazards closer.
at a mid-season tournament, the crowd was a mosh pit of screaming teenagers and sweaty athletes. sakusa was vibrating with the urge to crawl into a hole. he was scanning the stands, his eyes darting back and forth with a frantic energy that komori recognized immediately.
“she’s in the third row, left side, wearing that ridiculous neon yellow sweater,” komori said, not even looking up from his water bottle.
sakusa stiffened. “i wasn’t looking for her. i was looking for... the exit. in case of a fire.”
“right. the exit that happens to be wearing a neon sweater and waving a ‘GO ITACHIYAMA’ sign with your name misspelled on the back.”
sakusa looked. there you were. you had painted two small, messy black dots under your eyes with eyeliner to mimic his moles. it was the most disrespectful, hideous, endearing thing he had ever seen. you were screaming something—likely an insult directed at his personality—and when your eyes finally met his, you stuck your tongue out.
sakusa turned away immediately, his face heating up beneath his mask. he felt like he was losing a war he hadn’t even realized he was fighting. his chest felt tight, like he’d swallowed a gallon of disinfectant.
“she spelled it ‘sakusa kiyommy’,” he grumbled, his voice cracking slightly. “she’s illiterate. she’s a menace. i want her banned from the premises.”
“you want her to buy you a soda after the game,” komori countered.
“i want her to stay six feet away from me at all times,” sakusa lied.
the lie tasted like copper. in reality, he was already calculating how many wet wipes he would need to use on his hands after he inevitably let you drag him to a convenience store later. he was already thinking about the way you would laugh when he refused to share his straw, and how he would secretly buy two of whatever you were eyeing just so you wouldn’t have to ask.
he was a goner. he was a sinking ship in a sea of your making, and he didn’t even want a life jacket. he just wanted you to stop being so far away.
as the whistle blew for the start of the set, sakusa took his position. he felt your gaze on him from the stands—hot, messy, and loud. he took a deep breath of the gym air, the same air you were breathing, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the need to hold his breath.
he just wanted to play. he wanted to win. and then, he wanted to go find his favorite catastrophe and tell her she looked stupid in neon yellow, just to see the way her eyes would light up when she challenged him to a fight.
𝓼.𝓴.
on a random thursday, the sky had decided to throw a temper tantrum. it was as if the clouds had collectively decided to dump the entire contents of the pacific ocean onto the pavement in one go. for sakusa, this was the apocalypse. it was sky-diluted filth, city grime made liquid, a slurry of wet pavement and damp public transit odors.
naturally, you were standing in the middle of it without an umbrella, trying to catch raindrops on your tongue like a particularly enthusiastic golden retriever.
“you’re going to get pneumonia,” sakusa’s voice cut through the heavy rhythm of the downpour. he was standing under the school’s concrete overhang, his umbrella—a sturdy, black, industrial-strength shield—held firmly over his head. “and then you’ll sneeze on everything i own. it’s a biological hit job.”
you wiped a wet strand of hair from your face, grinning at him. your school blazer was already soaked through, sticking to your shoulders in a way that made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable somersault. “it’s just water, kiyo! it’s refreshing! plus, i missed the bus because i was busy finding your lost knee sleeve in the locker room. you’re welcome, by the way.”
sakusa froze. his left knee sleeve—the one he’d spent a good few minutes sanitizing—had gone missing after practice. he’d assumed it had been abducted by aliens or, worse, dropped into a trash can. the fact that you’d stayed behind to find it for him sent a localized earthquake through his chest.
“i didn’t ask you to do that,” he snapped, though his grip on the umbrella handle tightened. “you’ve contaminated it now. i’ll have to wash it twice.”
“i used a plastic bag to pick it up, you absolute drama queen! i know your rules!” you laughed, trotting toward him.
as you stepped under the overhang, the smell of wet pavement and that damn citrus shampoo hit him. you were shivering. your lips were pale, and your teeth were chattering like a wind-up toy. sakusa looked at you and felt a wave of irritation so intense it could only be described as buried, panicked affection.
“get under here,” he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.
“what?”
“the umbrella. get under it. now.”
you blinked, eyes wide. “but kiyo... the ‘radius.’ the ‘filth.’ the ‘epithelial cells.’ won’t i pollute your air supply?”
“i’m wearing a mask,” he grumbled, though his ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink. “and if you catch a cold, komori will make me visit you, and then i’ll have to enter your house, which i assume is a breeding ground for black mold and dust mites. this is a preventative measure.”
you stepped closer, tentatively entering the small, dry sanctuary of his umbrella. the space was cramped. sakusa had to adjust his stance, bringing his arm over your shoulder to keep the rain off your back. for someone who treated human contact like a death sentence, he was currently inches away from your damp, shivering form.
“wow,” you whispered, looking up at the black fabric above you. “it’s like a tiny, sterile cave.”
“don’t talk. you’re exhaling carbon dioxide too close to my face.”
“you love my carbon dioxide,” you teased, though your voice was softer than usual.
the walk to the train station was a slow, rhythmic torture. every time your shoulder brushed against his arm, sakusa felt a physical jolt, like he’d touched a live wire. he was hyper-aware of everything: the way you were trying to make yourself smaller so you wouldn’t touch him, the way your breath hitched when the wind blew, and the fact that his heart was currently attempting to exit his ribcage via his throat.
he was desperate. he was absolutely, miserably desperate to reach out and pull you against his side. he wanted to wrap his coat around you. he wanted to take you home and put you in a sterile, heated room and feed you soup until your cheeks puff up again.
“you’re shaking,” he noted, his voice uncharacteristically thick.
“i’m fine! i’m just... vibrating.”
sakusa stopped walking. the rain was drumming against the umbrella with a deafening roar, creating a private world for just the two of you. he looked down at you, his eyes dark and intense. slowly, with the kind of deliberation one might use to defuse a bomb, he shifted the umbrella to his left hand and used his right to reach into his bag.
he pulled out a small, vacuum-sealed hand towel—freshly laundered and smelling of nothing but clean air.
without a word, he reached out and draped it over your head. he didn’t pull away. instead, his hand lingered, his fingers gently tucking a wet lock of hair behind your ear through the fabric of the towel.
“you’re a nuisance,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes. “the most inconvenient, messy, loud-mouthed nuisance i have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”
you didn’t fire back a joke. you couldn’t. the intensity in his eyes was enough to melt the polar ice caps. “and?” you prompted, your heart hammering against your chest.
“and i find that the gym is too quiet when you aren’t there making a fool of yourself,” he admitted, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of him. “i find that i... dislike the silence.”
you reached up, your cold hand brushing against his wrist. sakusa didn’t flinch. he didn’t pull back. he just watched you with a look that was so raw, so utterly devoted in its frustration, that you felt your knees go weak.
“kiyo,” you breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “are you saying you missed me at the away game on tuesday?”
“i’m saying the air quality was marginally better today because you were in the room,” he lied, his voice trembling just the slightest bit. “now move. we’re going to miss the express train, and if i have to stand on a platform with you for another ten minutes, i’m going to lose my mind.”
he started walking again, faster this time, but he didn’t pull his arm back. he kept the umbrella centered over you, letting the rain soak his own left shoulder just to ensure you stayed dry.
you followed him, clutching the sterile towel to your head like it was a holy relic. you knew he was complaining. you knew he was probably thinking about how many germs were currently transferring from your sleeve to his blazer.
but you also knew that he had just let you into his ‘tupperware container’ world, and he wasn’t looking for the exit anymore.
𝓼.𝓴.
the locker room smelled like industrial-grade bleach and sakusa’s simmering existential crisis. practice had ended twenty minutes ago, and while the rest of the team had scrambled out to catch the late-night bus, sakusa was still there, meticulously wiping down his locker for the third time.
his hands were steady, but his brain was a chaotic browser window with fifty tabs open, and every single one of them was a high-definition video of you.
you were currently sitting on the bench behind him, swinging your legs and eating a protein bar with a reckless disregard for crumbs. he could hear the faint crinkle of the wrapper. he could hear the rhythmic thump of your sneakers against the metal. it was the most irritating, beautiful percussion he had ever been forced to endure.
“kiyoomi,” you said, your voice bouncing off the tiled walls. “if you scrub that metal any harder, you’re going to phase through the atoms and end up in another dimension. and i don’t think they have hand sanitizer in the fifth dimension.”
“the fifth dimension is likely a vacuum,” he replied without turning around. “it would be significantly more hygienic than this room. why are you still here? komori left ten minutes ago.”
“i was waiting for my favorite hater,” you chirped. you stood up, the crumbs on your lap fluttering to the floor like tiny, edible confetti. sakusa winced at the sight, but he didn’t move away when you stepped into his personal space.
you were close. too close. the air between you was thick with the scent of his sterile soap and your chaotic vitality. he finally turned, the spray bottle still in his hand, and found himself staring directly into your eyes. you weren’t teasing him now. your expression was soft, curious, and devastatingly sincere.
“you’ve been looking at me all week,” you whispered, tilting your head. “and not the ‘i’m-judging-your-entire-bloodline’ look. the other one.”
sakusa’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. “i don’t have another look.”
“you do. it’s the one where you look like you’ve swallowed a lightbulb and you’re trying to pretend your mouth isn’t glowing.” you reached out, your fingers hovering just an inch from his masked cheek. “kiyo, are you going to keep pretending you hate my guts, or are we going to acknowledge that you’ve sanitized my desk every morning for the last month?”
the silence that followed was so heavy it felt like it had its own gravity. sakusa felt the mask over his face become a suffocating barrier. he was desperate—so profoundly, painfully desperate to close the gap that his vision actually blurred. his logic was screaming pathogens!, but his soul was screaming please.
“your desk was a disgrace,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “it was a petri dish. i was doing the school a public service.”
“you hate public service,” you countered, stepping even closer. your shoes were touching the tips of his sneakers. “you hate everyone. except maybe komori. and yet, you let me use your special, imported-from-germany hand cream yesterday. the one you don’t even let the coach touch.”
sakusa dropped the spray bottle. it hit the floor with a plastic thud, rolling away unheeded. his hands, reached out and gripped your waist with a sudden, jarring intensity. it wasn’t a gentle hold; it was the grip of a man who was drowning and had finally found a piece of driftwood.
“you’re a disaster,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. the contact was electric. “you’re loud, and you’re messy, and you never close your bag properly, and you’re going to ruin my life. i’m going to be sick for the rest of my natural existence because of you.”
“is that a confession, kiyoomi?” you teased, though your breath was hitching in your throat.
“it’s a medical diagnosis,” he growled.
then, with a trembling hand, he reached up and hooked a finger ontop of his mask. he pulled it down, baring his face—his sharp jawline, his pink lips, and his pale, beautiful skin—to the open, unfiltered air of the locker room. he looked like a god coming out of hiding.
he didn’t wait for you to say anything. he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with a hunger that was almost terrifying.
it was a sweet, desperate, clumsy kiss, that smelled like mint and adrenaline. sakusa was kissing you like you were the cure to a disease he hadn’t known he had, his tongue dances with yours as he tastes you like a man who hasn’t had a drop of water in decades. his hands moved from your waist to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands he’d spent months pretending to ignore.
he was ruined. he was absolutely, biologically compromised, and he had never felt more alive.
when he finally pulled back just an inch, his eyes were blown wide, his face flushed a deep, frantic red. he looked like he’d just run a marathon through a field of pollen.
“i’m going to need to gargle with saltwater for an hour after this,” he rasped, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.
“shut up and do it again,” you laughed, pulling him back down by his collar.
sakusa, the man who feared everything he couldn’t see under a microscope, didn’t hesitate. he dove back in, deciding right then and there that if he was going to catch anything from you, he wanted to catch it all.
you were the only mess he ever wanted to clean up.
n: no, i’m not stereotyping him as just a germaphobe, it just fits right for the story this time :3
i won’t let you down, i’ll give you everything i got.
timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader
husband!wakatoshi who’ll do absolutely anything just for your smile.
the floor of the ushijima household is polished to such a high shine that a person could probably perform surgery on it, but that isn’t what has ushijima currently vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass.
no, it’s the fact that you, his wife—the literal center of his gravity, the person who makes his heart do backflips like an over-caffeinated gymnast—simply mentioned that you had a ‘minor craving’ for a specific brand of limited-edition strawberry shortcake.
ushijima launched himself from the sofa like a surface-to-air missile. if there were a leaderboard for ‘fastest human to put on shoes,’ he would be the undisputed world champion, holding a record that would remain unbroken for a millennium.
“i’ll return shortly,” he declared, his voice carrying the solemnity of a king going off to reclaim his stolen kingdom. he looked at you with an intensity that could melt lead. “don’t move. conserve your energy. i shall secure the cake.”
to anyone else, ushijima is a pillar of stoicism, a man of few words and immovable resolve. but to you? he‘s a giant, muscular puddle of golden retriever energy masquerading as an elite athlete. he isn’t merely ‘in love’ with you; he’s legally and spiritually bound to your existence. he treats your happiness like a top-priority national security issue.
𓏵
when he reached the grocery store, he hunted. his eyes scanned the aisles with the precision of a high-tech laser, terrifying three elderly ladies and a stock boy in the process. when he found the last box of the shortcake, he shielded it with his massive frame, looking around as if a rival volleyball team might swoop in and attempt a block.
he sprinted to the checkout line. he didn’t care that he was breathing like he’d just finished a five-set match against schweiden adlers’ rivals. he had the goods. he had the nectar of the gods. he had the one thing that would make your eyes crinkle at the corners in that specific way that makes his soul leave his body for a few seconds.
𓏵
he burst through the front door, slightly winded but triumphant. he looked like he’d just survived a trek across the sahara rather than a ten-minute trip to the convenience store.
“i have it,” he panted, presenting the box to you as if it were a holy relic.
you laughed, reaching out to take it, but he hesitated, pulling it back for a split second. “wait. let me plate it. the presentation must be adequate for you.”
you watched from the doorway as this absolute unit of a man—a man who could probably crush a coconut with his bare hands—carefully arranged the cake on your favorite ceramic plate. he spent three whole minutes ensuring the strawberry was perfectly centered. his brow was furrowed in deeper concentration than he ever used during a national tournament.
“wakatoshi, honey, it’s just cake,” you teased, leaning against the counter.
he froze, looking up at you with those wide, earnest eyes. “it’s not ‘just’ cake. it’s something you desired. therefore, it’s the most important object in this prefecture.”
he walked over to you, placing the plate on the table before folding his large hands into yours. he looked down at you, and the sheer volume of affection in his gaze was enough to make your knees feel like they were made of lukewarm pudding.
“i told you before we married,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant tone that vibrates in your chest. “i’ll give you everything i got.”
and he meant it. if you asked for the moon, he wouldn’t ask why; he’d simply start calculating the trajectory needed to jump high enough to snag it for you.
𓏵
later that evening, as you were tucked under his arm on the sofa, he was staring at you again. he wasn’t watching the movie. he was just… observing. like you were a rare celestial event that only happened once every ten thousand years.
“is there something on my face?” you asked, tilting your head.
“no,” he replied instantly, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleness that felt illegal for someone with his grip strength. “i’m simply recalibrating my appreciation for your presence. it appears i find you more captivating than i did at 4:00 PM. the rate of growth is exponential.”
you buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady, thumping drum of his heart. it was fast. it was always fast when you were this close. for all his strength and power, he was completely and utterly defenseless against you.
he leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you as if he were trying to merge your atoms together.
“you’re my entire world,” he whispered into your hair, sounding breathless, like he still couldn’t believe his luck. “i’m quite literally your shadow. wherever you go, i’m already there, waiting to make sure the path is smooth for you.”
you looked up and saw the raw, unfiltered devotion in his eyes—a look that promised a lifetime of strawberry cakes, defended honor, and a love so heavy and solid it could hold up the entire sky if the clouds ever decided to fall.
you pulled him down by his collar, and as his lips met yours, he sighed into the kiss, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. he was a titan, a champion, a force of nature—but in your arms, he was simply a man who had found his home and intended to guard it with every single fiber of his being.
𓏵
the kiss ended, but he didn’t pull away; he just rested his forehead against yours, breathing your air like it was the only oxygen supply left on the planet. his hands, large enough to palm a basketball with insulting ease, were cupping your face with the fragility one might use to hold a literal soap bubble.
“you liked the cake,” he stated, though it sounded more like he was recording a divine decree into the annals of history. “but the store-bought quality was... statistically average. i’ve determined that you deserve a higher tier of craftsmanship.”
you blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “toshi, you don’t have to—”
“i must,” he interrupted, his eyes igniting with a fire usually reserved for crushing oikawa’s spirit at the net. “if it can be improved for your sake, then it’s my duty to improve it. i shall construct a confection from the primal elements. flour. sugar. eggs.”
before you could even process the mental image of him in an apron, he was already in the kitchen. he marched. it was the stride of a man going to war with a bag of all-purpose flour.
𓏵
you leaned against the doorframe, watching the spectacle. ushijima did not ‘dabble’ in hobbies. he conquered them. he had three different tabs open on his tablet, each one a different scientific breakdown of the maillard reaction.
“wakatoshi, do you even know where the whisk is?”
he paused, a measuring cup held aloft like a chalice. “i’ve located the rotational blending tool, yes. it’s positioned behind the salad spinner. an inefficient storage choice, but i’ve rectified it.”
he began to measure the flour. he leveled it off with a ruler. a literal, plastic school ruler. if it was even a microgram off, he dumped it back and started over, his jaw set in a line so hard it could probably deflect bullets. he was sweating. actual beads of perspiration were rolling down his neck because the stakes of making you a snack were higher than the olympic finals.
“the recipe calls for ‘softened’ butter,” he muttered, staring at the golden stick on the counter with a look of profound betrayal. “it’s currently at 18°C. the optimal spreadability occurs at 21°C. i’ll wait.”
he stood there. he actually stood there, arms crossed, staring at a stick of butter for three minutes, willing it to warm up through the sheer power of his monumental ego and love for you.
𓏵
thirty minutes later, the kitchen looked like a snow globe had exploded. there was flour on the ceiling. there was a dusting of cocoa powder on his nose. he looked like a very handsome, very muscular baker who had just survived a landslide.
“are you okay in here?” you asked, stifling a giggle as he tried to crack an egg with one hand.
he succeeded, but the force was so calculated and intense that the yolk landed in the bowl with a sound like a wet slap. he looked at the bowl, then at you, his expression one of pure, unbridled desperation.
“the consistency is... thicker than anticipated,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “i fear i have over-kneaded my emotions into the dough.”
you walked over, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into his broad, flour-dusted back. he immediately melted, his rigid posture softening as he leaned back into your touch.
“it looks perfect, toshi. i’m sure it’ll taste like heaven because you made it.”
he turned in your arms, ignoring the mess, and looked down at you with a gaze so heavy with adoration it felt like a physical weight. “i would burn down the entire culinary world if it meant providing you with a single moment of genuine satisfaction. i’m not a baker, but for you, i’ll become a master of the hearth.”
he leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose, leaving a little smudge of white flour behind. he looked at it and actually smiled—that rare, earth-shattering ushijima smile that makes your heart do a triple-axel.
“you have flour on your face,” he whispered, his voice thick with a tenderness that made your soul ache. “i’ll clean it. but first, i must ensure this cake survives the oven. i will not let the heat defeat my promise to you.”
he turned back to the oven with the intensity of a commander watching a missile launch, guarding the glass door as if he were protecting a sacred flame. he was completely, hopelessly, and hilariously under your spell, and honestly? the cake was probably going to be as dense as a brick, but you knew you’d eat every single crumb because it tasted like a man who loved you more than he loved winning.
n: why do i keep getting asks with people telling me to peg them.. i mean, speak your truth but
timeskip!MSBY!miya atsumu x f!reader
bf!atsumu being utterly obsessed with your existence.
the speedometer of the black suv was currently doing a very suggestive dance toward numbers that would make a highway patrolman weep, all because at 11:47 pm, a certain text bubble had appeared on atsumu’s lock screen.
it wasn’t a summon. it wasn’t an emergency. it was a casual, sleepy, “kinda miss ya, tsumu,” followed by a sad emoji.
most professional athletes would have smiled, sent a heart back, and gone to sleep to preserve their precious fast-twitch muscle fibers for morning practice. atsumu, however, possessed the impulse control of a golden retriever in a tennis ball factory. he was out of his silk sheets and into his keys before the phone screen had even dimmed.
he drove like his car had unresolved childhood issues, taking corners with the kind of audacity that suggested he viewed traffic laws as mere suggestions for people who weren’t deeply, pathologically in love. his heart was doing a drum solo against his ribs, a rhythmic chant of she-misses-me-she-misses-me-she-misses-me.
when he finally pulled up to your apartment, tires practically steaming, he didn’t even wait for the elevator. he took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning with a fire that had nothing to do with cardio and everything to do with the fact that he was about to see the only person who made his brain chemistry resemble a glitter bomb.
you opened the door in your oversized pajamas, blinking at him with sleep-heavy eyes. “tsumu? what are you—it’s midnight.”
he didn’t say a word. he just stepped into your space, smelling like cool night air and expensive cologne, and wrapped his arms around your waist so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your molecular structures. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your shampoo like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
“ya said ya missed me,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. “did ya think i was gonna just sit at home after that? i’m not made of stone, darlin’.”
you laughed, the sound warm and melodic, as your hands found the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “i said kinda miss you. i didn’t realize that was a signal for a high-speed pursuit.”
atsumu pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes blown wide and shimmering with a devotion so intense it was bordering on a medical concern. he looked at you the way an ancient civilization might look at a solar eclipse—with a mixture of terror and absolute awe.
“well, i’m a sucker for you so you don’t have a choice now,” he chirped, his trademark smirk tilting his lips, though his eyes remained terrifyingly sincere.
he said it with a wink, draped in the casual armor of a joke, but as he hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist, he knew it wasn't a joke at all. he was a goner. he was a puddle. he was a man who would happily jump into a volcano if you mentioned you liked the aesthetic of lava.
“you really drove all the way across town for a text?” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his.
“i’d walk across the ocean on my hands if ya told me ya were lonely,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave, losing the playful edge for something raw and hungry. “yer my entire world. yer the sun, the moon, and every single star in the sky, and i’m just a little satellite loopin’ around ya forever. i’m yours. lock, stock, and barrel.”
he peppered your face with kisses—tiny, frantic, reverent touches on your temples, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. he treated your skin like it was made of thin glass and ancient magic.
atsumu thrived on this. he lived for the dramatic late-night arrivals, the over-the-top declarations, the way his chest felt like it was going to burst whenever you smiled at him. he didn’t want a quiet, sensible love. he wanted the kind of love that required a warning label.
he carried you to the sofa, refusing to let go for even a second, as if the moment he lost physical contact, he might simply cease to exist. he tucked your head under his chin, his large hand splayed across your back, grounding you both.
“stay the night?” you asked, already feeling your eyes drift shut against the steady, frantic thrum of his pulse.
“try and kick me out,” he challenged, his grip tightening. “i’m stayin’ right here. i’m gonna watch ya sleep like a beautiful, golden-haired gargoyle. i’m the luckiest man in history. call the museums, tell ‘em they can stop lookin’ for the eighth wonder of the world, ‘cause she’s currently usin’ my arm as a pillow.”
you drifted off to the sound of his voice—a soft, rambling stream of consciousness about how your eyelashes were ‘unfairly long’ and how he was going to buy you a literal castle one day just to see if it matched your eyes.
atsumu stayed awake for hours, staring at you with a look of such profound, unadulterated worship that it would have been alarming to anyone else. but to him, it was the only way to breathe. he was sinking into the depths of you, and he had no intention of ever coming up for air.
𓏵
the next morning, atsumu was already vibrating at a frequency that could probably shatter fine china. he hadn’t slept—not because he couldn’t, but because watching you breathe felt like a more productive use of his limited time on earth. he’d spent four hours memorizing the exact cadence of your heart against his chest, convinced that if he listened hard enough, he’d learn the secrets of the universe.
“mornin’, sunshine,” he chirped the second your eyelids fluttered. he was already propped up on one elbow, looking like he’d been hit by a bolt of divine lightning. “i made coffee. well, i found the coffee. i didn’t wanna leave the bed ’cause i thought ya might float away if i wasn’t holdin’ onto ya, so i just… stared at the machine until it felt intimidated enough to start brewin’.”
he hadn’t actually intimidated the machine; he’d just lunged out of bed at 6:00 am, sprinting to the kitchen to ensure everything was perfect before sprinting back to resume his position as your personal space-heater.
you groaned softly, burrowing deeper into his side. “tsumu, you’re hovering.”
“i ain’t hoverin’, i’m protectin’ the love of my life,” he corrected, his hand tracing the curve of your shoulder with a reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. “do ya have any idea how much i adore ya? it’s actually physically painful. like, my ribs are too small for my heart right now. i think i need a medical professional, or maybe just another kiss. yeah, definitely a kiss.”
he didn’t wait for a response before smothering your face in soft, lingering affection. he tasted like mint and desperation. it was the kind of devotion that felt like being wrapped in a heavy, heated blanket—suffocating in the best way possible.
𓏵
later that evening, the msby black jackals were gathered at a noisy izakaya for a team dinner. atsumu was sitting between bokuto and hinata, looking uncharacteristically focused on his phone. his thumb was blurring across the screen, sending a barrage of stickers that ranged from ‘miss u’ to a cartoon fox weeping violently.
“atsumu, you’ve been staring at that screen for twenty minutes,” hinata noted, leaning over. “is something wrong with the wifi?”
“the wifi is fine, sho, but my soul is currently empty,” atsumu sighed dramatically, leaning back so far he nearly tipped his chair. “i haven’t seen my girl in six hours. six. hours. do ya know what happens to a plant without water? it withers. i’m witherin’, guys. look at my skin. am i turnin’ grey?”
sakusa, sitting across from him, looked genuinely pained. “you saw her this morning. you’re being a nuisance.”
“you wouldn’t understand, omi! you don’t have a muse! you don’t have a reason to wake up in the mornin’ other than spite and hand sanitizer!” atsumu clutched his chest, his voice rising to a theatrical pitch. “when she looks at me, i feel like i’ve won the lottery, the olympics, and a lifetime supply of fatty tuna all at once. i’m a changed man. i’m a soft, gooey mess and i don’t even care who knows it.”
“we all know it,” meian muttered, nursing his drink. “you spent the entire practice today trying to serve the ball in the shape of a heart.”
“and i almost pulled it off!” atsumu defended, his eyes lighting up as the door to the izakaya opened.
the second you walked in, the transformation was instantaneous. atsumu practically launched himself across the room like a heat-seeking missile. he reached you in three strides, nearly tripping over a stray shoe in his haste to occupy your immediate vicinity.
“ya came! ya actually came!” he beamed, his hands hovering over your waist as if he needed permission to touch the sun. “i was worried the sidewalk might’ve swallowed ya whole or maybe a talent scout saw ya walkin’ and realized ya were too beautiful for this mundane world and whisked ya away to be a movie star.”
you laughed, patting his cheek. “i was just stuck in traffic, tsumu. it’s only been a few hours.”
“a few hours is a lifetime in miya-time,” he declared, ushering you toward the table with the frantic energy of a shepherd guarding a prize lamb.
he spent the rest of the dinner practically vibrating. he didn’t eat his own food; he spent his time peeling shrimp for you, topping off your drink before it was even half-empty, and leaning in so close that your shoulders were permanently fused. every time you spoke, he watched you with such intense, starry-eyed focus that the rest of the team felt like they were intruding on an intimate ritual.
“is he always like this?” inunaki whispered to you, gesturing to atsumu, who was currently trying to explain to bokuto why your hair smelled better than a summer meadow.
“pretty much,” you smiled, leaning back against atsumu’s chest.
he immediately curled his arms around you, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. he looked like a cat that had successfully claimed the only sunbeam in the house.
“i’m a goner,” he murmured into your ear, loud enough for the whole table to hear, his voice thick with a terrifyingly sweet sincerity. “i’d let ya drive a tractor over my foot if it meant ya’d hold my hand while i was in the hospital. i’m absolutely pathetic for ya, darlin’. i’m the president, secretary, and sole member of the ‘i love you, y/n’ fan club, and i’m never resignin’.”
he looked at his teammates, a defiant, giddy glint in his eyes. “laugh all ya want, ya losers. i’ve got the prettiest girl in the world in my arms and i’m never lettin’ go. i’m gonna cling to her like a barnacle on a luxury cruise ship. i’m the king of the world!”
the rest of the night was a blur of atsumu being utterly, shamelessly whipped. he carried your bag, he opened every door with a flourish, and when he finally walked you back to your car, he looked like he was about to burst into actual tears at the prospect of a fifteen-minute drive apart.
“call me when ya get home?” he pleaded, holding your hand through the open window. “even if it’s just to tell me ya saw a cool rock? i just need to know yer okay. i’m a psycho, remember? a total, complete, uncurable nutcase for ya.”
he leaned in for one last kiss—one that tasted like a promise and felt like a permanent home.
n: it might take long for the next fics since the taglist is ENORMOUS 😮💨 not complaining much, i bought this upon myself thinking that i’ll be ignored, torched, tortured, and beheaded.
your electric touch, got me feeling like i might fold.
oikawa tōru x f!reader
tōru’s brain malfunctions whenever you’re at arm’s reach.
the grand king of aoba johsai is a liar.
it’s a well-documented fact, really. he lies about how much milk bread he’s eaten, he lies about how much his knee hurts, and he most certainly lies about the state of his nervous system whenever you are within a five-mile radius. oikawa operates on a level of theatricality that would make a broadway lead look humble, strutting across the court with a smirk so sharp it could probably slice through the volleyball net.
but here’s the secret: his confidence is a house of cards, and you are a category 5 hurricane.
“i’m simply saying,” oikawa chirps, leaning against the gymnasium wall with a practiced, casual grace that he definitely rehearsed in his bedroom mirror for twenty minutes this morning. “that if you were to witness my jump serve from the front row today, you might actually experience a spiritual awakening. i’m in top form. i’m lethal. i’m basically a biological weapon of mass destruction.”
he’s doing the thing. the thing where he tosses his hair—which is suspiciously soft-looking—and looks at you through his lashes like he’s trying to sell you a luxury perfume you can’t afford. he’s a flirt by trade, a heartbreaker by reputation, and a complete disaster by nature.
you aren't really listening to his lecture on his own greatness. instead, you’re looking at the way his pulse is thrumming at the base of his throat. you reach out, your movements slow and nonchalant, and let your fingertips graze the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, right where his pulse point is jumping like a frantic grasshopper.
the effect is instantaneous.
the sentence ‘i am the pinnacle of athletic evolution’ dies a gruesome death in his throat. oikawa’s entire skeletal structure seems to liquefy. if he were a computer, this is the exact moment the blue screen of death would appear, accompanied by a very loud, high-pitched mechanical whirring sound.
his fingers twitch. the volleyball he was spinning on his other hand hits the floor with a pathetic thud and rolls away, forgotten.
“tōru?” you hum, your voice tilted with genuine curiosity as you trace a small, slow circle over the bone of his wrist. “you stopped talking. did the ‘biological weapon’ run out of batteries?”
oikawa’s brain is currently a soup of static and screaming. he is staring at your hand like it’s a holy relic and a live grenade at the same time. his heart is performing a drum solo against his ribs, a frantic thump-thump-thump that says ‘oh god, she touched us, abort mission, evacuate the building, tell my mother i love her.’
he swallows hard. his throat feels like he’s trying to gulp down a whole cactus.
“i—uh,” he starts. his voice cracks. not a cool, edgy crack. a ‘thirteen-year-old boy going through puberty’ crack. he clears his throat, desperately trying to grab the tattered remains of his dignity from the floor. “i was just… pausing for dramatic effect. to let the weight of my brilliance sink in.”
“you’re shaking,” you point out, your eyes dancing with warmth. you aren't trying to be mean; you just find it genuinely endearing that the boy who gets confessed to ten times a week is currently vibrating like a smartphone.
“shaking with power,” oikawa lies through his teeth. he is actively folding into himself. his knees feel like they’ve been replaced by overcooked udon noodles. he wants to pull his hand away to save face, but the lizard brain responsible for his survival is screaming ‘NO, STAY, LET HER TOUCH YOU MORE, PERHAPS IF YOU’RE LUCKY SHE’LL PAT YOUR HEAD AND YOU CAN DIE HAPPY.’
he is so deeply, pathologically gone for you that it’s actually a safety hazard. iwaizumi often tells him he looks like a kicked puppy when you leave the room, but oikawa prefers the term ‘pining aristocrat.’
in reality, he’s just a boy who has built his entire personality around being untouchable, only to find out that your touch is the only thing that makes him feel like he’s actually standing on solid ground.
“you have a smudge on your face,” you lie, stepping a fraction closer.
the proximity is the final nail in his coffin. oikawa can smell your shampoo—something sweet and soft that makes him want to bury his face in your neck and never emerge back into society. he is a man of many words, most of them annoying, but as you lean in, he becomes a man of zero words. he is a man of zero thoughts. he is a man of white noise.
you reach up, your thumb brushing his cheekbone.
oikawa’s eyes flutter shut. he’s supposed to say something witty. he’s supposed to wink. he’s supposed to tell you that he’s the one who does the flirting around here. instead, he leans into your hand with a tiny, involuntary whimper that he will later deny ever happened, even under threat of torture.
“there,” you whisper, your fingers lingering. “all gone.”
when he opens his eyes, he looks absolutely dazed, like he’s just been hit by a freight train made of marshmallows. he’s staring at you with a level of raw, unadulterated devotion that is honestly borderline embarrassing. he wants to melt into a puddle at your feet. he wants to write your name on every volleyball in the equipment shed. he wants to follow you home and sit on your porch like a gargoyle just to make sure you’re safe.
“you’re… so mean,” he breathes out, though his expression says please do that again or i will perish. “i’m mean? for helping you?”
“it’s a distraction!” he suddenly shouts, waving his arms around with the frantic energy of a man trying to put out a fire with a toothpick. “i have a practice match! i have to be a cold-blooded killer on the court! how am i supposed to serve a ball when my entire body feels like it’s been put through a blender? you’re sabotaging aoba johsai! you’re a spy! a beautiful, terrifying spy sent to ruin my life!”
you laugh, a bright, melodic sound that makes oikawa’s heart do a backflip and land in his stomach. “i think you’ll manage, tōru. you’re the grand king, remember?”
he huffs, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that is far too cute for a six-foot-tall athlete. he’s trying to look annoyed, but the faint pink dusting his ears gives him away. he is so hopelessly whipped that it’s a wonder he hasn't started barking yet.
“yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, though his eyes are soft and melting as they trace your features. “just don’t complain when i lose my focus because i’m too busy thinking about your hands. that’s on you. that’s your burden to bear.”
“i’ll take the blame,” you promise, patting his chest.
his breath hitches. his heart does a little dance. he watches you walk away toward the bleachers, and for a solid thirty seconds, he forgets how to use his legs. he just stands there, a premier setter and the pride of his school, looking like he’s just seen a vision of the afterlife.
iwaizumi walks up behind him and smacks him on the back of the head. “get a grip, loserkawa. the ball is over there.”
oikawa doesn't even complain about the physical assault. he just sighs, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.
“iwa,” he whispers, clutching his wrist where you touched him like it’s been plated in gold. “i think i’m going to marry that girl. i don't think i have a choice. my soul has left my body. i am an empty vessel now.”
“you’re an idiot,” iwaizumi mutters, but oikawa doesn't hear him.
he’s too busy trying to figure out how to get you to touch his other wrist.
the match starts ten minutes later, and oikawa is, predictably, a disaster for the first three points. he steps up to the service line, spins the ball, and looks at you in the stands.
you wave.
oikawa’s brain immediately short-circuits. he tosses the ball, swings, and sends it flying directly into the back of kindaichi’s head with the force of a thousand suns.
“oikawa!” the coach screams.
oikawa stands there, frozen, his face burning a shade of red that shouldn't be biologically possible. he looks at his hand, then at you, then at the floor. he’s folding. he’s folded. he is a crumpled piece of paper at the bottom of a trash can.
he flashes you a shaky, desperate thumbs-up, his smile trembling at the edges.
“all part of the plan!” he yells, his voice an octave too high. “tactical error! i’m in control!”
he is not in control. he is a man possessed by the memory of your thumb on his cheek, and as he prepares for the next serve, he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to earn that look you gave him—the one that makes him feel like the only person in the world who matters.
he’s desperate, he’s a mess, and he’s never been happier to be completely and utterly defeated.
oikawa tōru is a liar, but as he catches your eye again, the way he leans toward your presence like a flower to the sun is the most honest thing he’s ever done.
he’s going to buy you so much milk bread after this.
𓏵
the “tactical error” of hitting his own teammate in the skull is a brand new low, even for him. as the whistle blows for a timeout, oikawa practically evaporates toward it. iwaizumi is looking at him with the kind of expression usually reserved for a dog that’s just tracked mud all over a white carpet, but oikawa is too busy vibrating to care.
he reaches for his water bottle, but his fingers are still buzzing from that brief contact earlier. his hand shakes so violently that he nearly splashes water into his own eye.
“oikawa, if you don’t stop acting like a victorian maiden with the vapors, i’m going to kick you into the equipment room and lock the door,” iwaizumi hisses, looming over him.
“iwa, you don’t understand,” oikawa whispers, his voice sounding like it’s being squeezed through a straw. he looks over his shoulder, squinting toward your spot in the bleachers. “she’s looking at me. she’s doing that thing where her eyes get all crinkly at the corners and i think my soul is actually leaking out of my ears. i’m losing my structural integrity. i’m becoming a gas.” states of matter who?
“you’re becoming a nuisance. play the game.”
oikawa tries. he really, truly tries. he stands back up, rolls his shoulders, and attempts to summon the ‘grand king’ persona. he adjusts his knee supporter. he narrows his eyes. he looks like a lethal, focused predator. then, he catches a glimpse of you leaning over the railing to cheer, and he immediately trips over his own feet while walking onto the court.
he performs a graceful, slow-motion slide that ends with him face-down on the polished wood.
the gym goes silent.
oikawa stays there for a second, cheek pressed against the floor, contemplating if he can simply melt into the floorboards and live the rest of his life as a piece of gym equipment. it would be easier. floors don’t have heart palpitations.
“i’m okay!” he chirps from the ground, muffled and miserable. “just checking the wax quality! it’s superb! ten out of ten!”
he scrambles up, his face a shade of magenta. he manages to survive the rest of the set by sheer muscle memory, though every time he hears your voice call his name, his sets go about three inches higher than they’re supposed to. he’s overcompensating. he’s performing like a circus animal hoping for a treat. he is, in every sense of the word, a goner.
the moment the match ends—a victory, miraculously, mostly because iwaizumi started threatening to bury oikawa in the sand pit if he missed one more serve—oikawa is a blur of motion. he doesn’t even wait to change. he grabs his bag, splashes some water on his face to stop the literal steam from rising off his skin, and sprints toward the exit where you’re waiting.
he stops three feet away from you, chest heaving. he tries to lean coolly against a pillar, but he misjudges the distance and his elbow slips, causing him to do a little awkward jig to stay upright.
“so,” he pants, flashing a smile that is about 40% charisma and 60% pure, unadulterated panic. “did you see that? the way i strategically fell? it was a psychological tactic to make the opponents overconfident. very advanced stuff. you wouldn’t understand the complexities of my genius.”
“it was very graceful, tōru,” you say, reaching out to straighten his rumpled collar.
his heart rate hits a tempo that could rival a techno song. your knuckles graze the skin of his neck, and oikawa’s eyes go wide, his pupils dilating until his chocolate-brown irises are practically gone. he looks like a cat that’s just seen a ghost.
“you… you’re doing it again,” he squeaks.
“doing what?”
“being… like that!” he gestures vaguely at your entire existence. “existing! in my personal space! making me feel like i’m made of marshmallows!”
you laugh, and the sound is so sweet it makes his teeth ache. without thinking, you slide your hand down from his collar and take his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers.
oikawa tōru ceases to function.
his hand is large, calloused from thousands of repetitions at the net, but it feels like it’s made of lead the moment you squeeze it. he stares down at your joined hands. his brain is just playing a loop of high-pitched whistling. he’s hyper-aware of everything: the warmth of your palm, the way your thumb is idly stroking the back of his hand, the fact that he is definitely, 100%, about to pass out in front of the vending machines.
“your hand is really warm,” you comment, looking up at him with a soft, genuine smile.
oikawa makes a noise. it isn’t a word. it’s a tiny, strangled “mnh.”
he is currently undergoing a spiritual crisis. he wants to pull you into a hug and hide his face in your shoulder so nobody can see how much he’s blushing, but he’s also terrified that if he moves, he’ll break the spell. he is a man standing on the edge of a cliff, and you just gave him a gentle nudge.
“walk me to the station?” you ask.
“i—yes. station. trains. transportation. i am familiar with these concepts,” he babbles.
as you walk, he’s basically walking on air, except ‘walking on air’ involves him occasionally bumping into trash cans because he can’t stop looking at you. he’s holding your hand like it’s the most fragile, precious diamond in the world. his palm is a little sweaty—he’s mortified about it, truly, he’s screaming internally about his ‘hygiene’—but you don’t seem to care, which only makes him fall deeper into the abyss of his own devotion.
he’s thinking about the future. he’s thinking about how he’s going to have to win the nationals just so he can dedicate the trophy to you. he’s thinking about how he wants to buy you a giant stuffed bear, but then he realizes he’d be jealous of the bear because it gets to sit on your bed.
he is a terrifyingly competitive athlete, but right now, the only ‘win’ he cares about is the fact that you haven’t let go of his hand yet.
“tōru, you’re staring again,” you tease, swinging your joined hands back and forth.
“i’m not staring,” he lies, his voice full of a tenderness that betrays him completely. “i’m observing. i’m a setter, remember? it’s my job to analyze beautiful… i mean, important… things. i’m analyzing your face. for science.”
“and what does the science say?”
oikawa stops walking. the sun is setting, casting a golden-orange glow over the street, and it catches in your eyes in a way that makes his heart do a painful, soaring leap. he looks at you, and for a split second, the flirting stops. the big talk vanishes. the grand king retreats, leaving behind just a boy who is so profoundly, ridiculously in love that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
he leans down, his face inches from yours. his breath is shaky. he smells like sports drink and adrenaline and something uniquely tōru.
“the science says,” he whispers, his voice dropping into a low, velvety register that makes your own heart skip a beat. “that i’m completely at your mercy. and it’s actually really embarrassing, so you’re not allowed to tell anyone, okay?”
you giggle and stand on your tiptoes, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
oikawa doesn’t move. he stays frozen in that bent-over position for a full ten seconds after you pull away. his brain has finally, mercifully, completely short-circuited. there is no more oikawa. there is only a shell of a man who has been kissed by a goddess.
“tōru?”
he slowly stands up straight, his face a ghostly pale before turning a violent, neon red. he looks like he’s about to burst into tears or song, possibly both.
“i’m buying you a house,” he blurts out. “right now. i don’t have the money, but i’ll figure it out. i’ll sell my soul. i’ll sell iwa’s soul. he wasn’t using it anyway.”
“a house? we’re just going to the station, tōru.”
“it starts with a station! then a house! then a golden retriever! then a small army of children who all have your face!” he’s rambling now, his hands flying everywhere as he walks twice as fast as before, his legs suddenly working on high-octane fuel. “you can’t just do that! you can’t just kiss a man’s cheek and expect him to remain a functioning member of society! i’m a delicate flower! i’m a treasure!”
you catch up to him, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. he’s still talking, listing off all the ways you’ve ‘ruined’ him, but he hasn’t let go of your hand for even a second. in fact, he’s holding it tighter now, his thumb tracing over your knuckles with a frantic, devoted rhythm.
he’s big, he’s loud, and he talks a game that could move mountains. but as he pulls you closer to his side, shielding you from a passing cyclist with a protective arm, it’s clear that the grand king has finally found his queen—and he’s more than happy to spend the rest of his life surrendering.
n: an 8th grade classmate hits me up and tries to make conversation with me, but apparently i’m too stupid to catch on hints so i just kept shutting him down. he’s still trying though.
a/n: i love you guys sm thank you for all the love ( ꈍ◡ꈍ)
—————
s. todoroki
your thighs are shaking on either side of his as you slowly sink down on his leaking tip. your toes curl with every inch, hands braced on his shoulders as you take him fully. he looks up at you with parted lips, hands gripped around your waist as your little pussy sucks him in.
you start off with small, desperate jerks of your hips. rutting against him like a bunny, whimpers spilling from your lips, face all scrunched up. he keeps looking between your breasts that are bouncing in his face and up to your mouth where every sweet sound is spilling out.
“sho..” one of your hands wraps around the back of his neck.
“yeah baby?” he blinks up at you with glassy eyes.
the look on his face has your tummy twisting in pleasure. you start riding him faster, juices leaking all over his legs with every wet smack of your hips against his.
“feels s’good.” you tug his hair.
he groans, leaning forward and sucking one of your perked nipples into his mouth. his tongue circles and lashes against it, hips jerking up to meet yours as you ride him faster.
he kisses messily over to your other nipple, licking against it and looking up at you. you hold him closer, pushing your chest in his face, desperate for more of his mouth.
your tummy is twisting with warmth, orgasm within reach and you know he’s with you from the throaty moans spreading across your skin. you hump against him just right and it’s instant.
“shoto!” you pull his hair, hips stilling as hot pleasure slams through you.
he keeps rutting up into you, elongating your pleasure and finding his own. he pulls back from your chest with wet lips, a low moan as he blinks up at you and fills you until you’re leaking.
—————
k. bakugo
he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. you have your hands pressed to his chest while you straddle his thighs. you lift up on shaky knees and line him up, slowly sucking every inch of him into your dripping pussy.
his fingers dig into your waist, a warning in themselves to do it right. your lip wobbles when you lift up before sinking back down with a sticky smack. he raises his brow at you when you start rolling your hips against him, little whimpers spilling out.
“said you wanted to ride me.” he chuckles. “do it right then.” he spanks you once, jolting you forward against his chest.
“kats..” you whine, humping against him, desperate for anything.
“tch, thought so.” he rolls his eyes.
he props his knees up, arms wrapping around your back as you fall to his chest and bury your head in his neck. he scoots down a little and thrusts up into you hard.
“kats!” you cry out.
“yeah, yeah.” he pants.
he’s fucking up into you mercilessly. using your little pussy just how you like, juices spilling all over his thighs, making the sounds bounce off the walls. all of your whimpers are sent directly in his ear only serving to make him fuck you faster.
one of his hands leaves your back and spanks you again, chuckling when you clamp down around him. he spanks you again and your nails dig into his back. one more spank and you’re pushed over the edge.
“fuck.” he groans, feeling your pussy pulse around him.
he fucks you faster, hips never faltering as he starts to fill you, not caring that it’s leaking out and making a mess. when he finally stops you’re limp against his chest, little pants fanning across the heated skin of his neck.
a/n: i love you guys sm thank you for all the love ( ꈍ◡ꈍ)
—————
s. todoroki
your thighs are shaking on either side of his as you slowly sink down on his leaking tip. your toes curl with every inch, hands braced on his shoulders as you take him fully. he looks up at you with parted lips, hands gripped around your waist as your little pussy sucks him in.
you start off with small, desperate jerks of your hips. rutting against him like a bunny, whimpers spilling from your lips, face all scrunched up. he keeps looking between your breasts that are bouncing in his face and up to your mouth where every sweet sound is spilling out.
“sho..” one of your hands wraps around the back of his neck.
“yeah baby?” he blinks up at you with glassy eyes.
the look on his face has your tummy twisting in pleasure. you start riding him faster, juices leaking all over his legs with every wet smack of your hips against his.
“feels s’good.” you tug his hair.
he groans, leaning forward and sucking one of your perked nipples into his mouth. his tongue circles and lashes against it, hips jerking up to meet yours as you ride him faster.
he kisses messily over to your other nipple, licking against it and looking up at you. you hold him closer, pushing your chest in his face, desperate for more of his mouth.
your tummy is twisting with warmth, orgasm within reach and you know he’s with you from the throaty moans spreading across your skin. you hump against him just right and it’s instant.
“shoto!” you pull his hair, hips stilling as hot pleasure slams through you.
he keeps rutting up into you, elongating your pleasure and finding his own. he pulls back from your chest with wet lips, a low moan as he blinks up at you and fills you until you’re leaking.
—————
k. bakugo
he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. you have your hands pressed to his chest while you straddle his thighs. you lift up on shaky knees and line him up, slowly sucking every inch of him into your dripping pussy.
his fingers dig into your waist, a warning in themselves to do it right. your lip wobbles when you lift up before sinking back down with a sticky smack. he raises his brow at you when you start rolling your hips against him, little whimpers spilling out.
“said you wanted to ride me.” he chuckles. “do it right then.” he spanks you once, jolting you forward against his chest.
“kats..” you whine, humping against him, desperate for anything.
“tch, thought so.” he rolls his eyes.
he props his knees up, arms wrapping around your back as you fall to his chest and bury your head in his neck. he scoots down a little and thrusts up into you hard.
“kats!” you cry out.
“yeah, yeah.” he pants.
he’s fucking up into you mercilessly. using your little pussy just how you like, juices spilling all over his thighs, making the sounds bounce off the walls. all of your whimpers are sent directly in his ear only serving to make him fuck you faster.
one of his hands leaves your back and spanks you again, chuckling when you clamp down around him. he spanks you again and your nails dig into his back. one more spank and you’re pushed over the edge.
“fuck.” he groans, feeling your pussy pulse around him.
he fucks you faster, hips never faltering as he starts to fill you, not caring that it’s leaking out and making a mess. when he finally stops you’re limp against his chest, little pants fanning across the heated skin of his neck.
The heavy leather cuffs were securely fastened to the iron headboard, completely locking Katsuki’s thick, scarred wrists in place. He violently tugged against the restraints, the muscles in his broad shoulders and vascular forearms flexing brutally as he tried to find even an inch of slack. The metal chains rattled against the frame, a sharp contrast to his ragged, heavy breathing.
"You're fucking pushing your luck," he growled, his crimson eyes burning with a dangerous mix of fury and unadulterated heat. His face was flushed dark, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles ticked. "Undo this shit right now, or I swear to god I'm gonna wreck you the second I get loose."
You didn't answer. Instead, you knelt at the foot of the bed, slowly crawling up the mattress until you were hovering just out of his reach. Down below his waistband, his thick, massive erection was already straining violently against the fabric of his dark sweatpants, a heavy wet patch soaking through the front from how turned on he was by the sheer helplessness of the situation.
You didn't reach for his zipper. Instead, you reached over to the nightstand and picked up the heavy, realistic silicone dildo, letting him watch as you coated the slick length in lubricant.
Katsuki’s breath hitched instantly. His eyes went completely wide, the pupils blowing out so dark they almost swallowed the crimson. He stopped fighting the cuffs entirely, his body locking up as he realized exactly what you were planning to do.
"The fuck is that?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a ruined, gravelly octave. His hips gave a desperate, involuntary jerk against the mattress. "No. No way. You are not using that trash when I'm right fucking here. Drop it and get on my lap."
Ignoring his commanding tone, you positioned the toy securely onto the mattress right in his direct line of sight. You slowly slid your underwear down your legs, tossing them onto the floor, exposing your dripping wet center to him.
You straddled the toy, hovering right over the thick head. Keeping your eyes locked entirely onto his, you slowly, deliberately lowered your hips, letting the silicone stretch you wide as you took the entire length inside you in one deep, unhurried stroke.
A high, breathless gasp left your lips, and the sound completely broke him.
"Fuck!" Katsuki roared, throwing his entire weight forward. The headboard groaned under his strength as he violently thrashed against the restraints, desperate to grab your waist, to pull you off the toy, to drive himself inside you instead. "Look at you... you're so fucking tight around it. You're taking it all while looking right at me?!"
You began to ride it, your hips moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. Every time you sank all the way down, you let out a soft whine, your chest heaving as your slick heat coated the toy.
Katsuki was losing his absolute mind. He couldn't look away. His chest was rising and falling in frantic, shallow gasps, his vision entirely consumed by the sight of your flushed skin, your bouncing chest, and the way your wet center clung to the silicone. He was throbbing so hard it was physically painful, his own dripping pre-cum soaking entirely through his sweatpants.
"You're doing this on purpose," he choked out, his head slamming back against the pillow as a heavy shudder ran through his entire frame. "You're fucking torturing me. Keep riding it. Move faster. Let me watch you cream all over it, you beautiful, sadistic bastard."
The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.
Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.
“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”
“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.
It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.
Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.
He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.
Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”
You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.
“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.
“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”
Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.
“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”
Sukuna’s jaw drops.
You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”
“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”
“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.
Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.
“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”
A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.
“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”
“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”
Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”
Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”
Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”
You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.
“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”
Yuji stares at you.
You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”
Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.
“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”
Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”
“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”
Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.
“Dada babe! Juice!”
“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”
“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”
“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”
“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”
“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”
“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.
Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.
“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”
“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”
“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.
“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”
an: i'm laughing my ass out with the tiktoks of toddler calling their parents babe! please let me marey Sukuna :c art by: umeka ryomen on pinterest here! the dividers and GIF i got from pinterest! please let ne know who the owners are if u know!
✧pairing satoru gojo x f!reader
✧summary your husband satoru gojo is finally back home from a three week mission, only to find his loving wife ill and barely conscious! time for a far more important mission to begin
✧wc 2.8k
✧content pure fluff, comfort, care, suguru cameo, just really wholesome vibes all around, reader is ill with an unspecified flu type of illness, mentions of symptoms like coughing, sneezing and sweat, pet names
✧a/n listen i've been fighting the worst flu ever for about six days now this is my little self indulgent fantasy ENJOY
“Honey I’m homeee” your husband’s voice reverberating through the house like that was always sure to bring a smile to your face. Especially now, considering you hadn’t even seen eachother in weeks since Satoru had gone away on his mission.
You wanted nothing more than to get up and run towards the door and throw yourself at him, jump straight onto his lap because you knew he’d catch you and plant the most desperate of kisses to his lips. But you didn’t.
And that’s when he knew something was wrong.
“Baby?” Satoru’s voice came again but full of concern this time. He had expected to see you rushing towards him, and he himself had been aching for the moment of your reunion since the door closed behind him almost three weeks ago. But no sound came from inside.
He was already moving, taking off his blindfold to use his six eyes better as you heard his footsteps hurry towards the bedroom, never wasting any time when it came to your safety.
You tried to call for him, not wanting him to worry, but your voice just came out as a pathetic little rasp that barely projected out of your mouth.
Satoru slammed the bedroom door open with a bang, the sound too loud making you recoil just slightly into the bedsheets. He found you lying there under the covers, even though it was three in the afternoon and warm outside, looking fragile and weak in a way that made his chest cave in. You were flushed and sweaty with fever, and your bedside table was stocked with supplies - tissues, medicine, cough syrup, everything, like you were the world’s saddest little pharmacist attempting to heal yourself all alone.
“What the-” he exclaimed in surprise, bolting towards you as fast as he could. “Baby, you ok?? Are you alive?” he called out, hands hovering over your limp form as if unsure where he could touch you.
You groaned out a noise, managing to extend a helpless hand in his direction. Satoru took it in his immediately, bringing it to his lips. Your hand was too cold despite how hot your face looked, but he let out a relieved laugh at the flushed little smile that appeared on your lips at the gesture. “I missed you” you managed to murmur, inching just a tiny bit closer to him.
“I missed you too” he smiled, placing another kiss to your palm before moving one of his hands to your forehead. As he expected, you were burning up. “Why didn’t you call me, idiot?” he asked, affectionately, struggling to calm down his rushing heart beat.
“Didn’t wanna worry you” you grumbled, leaning into his touch.
“Well I am worried” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead. “How long have you been like this?”
“A couple days” you replied, but it quickly turned into a cough that had your face scrunching at the sheer pain of it.
“Shhh” Satoru tried to comfort you through it, but everything in him hated seeing you in pain like this. He held your body upwards to ease the tension on your chest, rubbing calming circles all over your back. “Fear not, the doctor is here” he announced once the coughing subsided, catching your stray tears with the pad of his thumb. You wanted to roll your eyes or tease him back but you couldn’t even deny how much better his presence alone made everything.
“I feel so shit” you whimpered, falling forwards into his chest. He caught you immediately, pulling you in close like it was exactly where you belonged.
“I know sweetheart, I know” he whispered into your hair, rocking you slightly. “Gave me a fright when you didn’t come to the door. Don’t scare me like that again, yeah?”
“M’sorry Toru” you cried out. “Can’t move”
It hurt to hear you sound this small, to see you this weak and know he hadn’t been here while you needed him. He thought of you having to deal with this fever alone, the evidence of how much you were trying right there next to him on the bedside table. It absolutely gutted him.
“Good news is you don’t have to” he replied then, pulling away just enough to watch your fever flushed face resting on his chest. “Let me take care of you, ok?”
You nodded, managing a smile that had the tension in him loosening up finally. Satoru leaned down to place a firm kiss to your warm forehead, and started readjusting the pillows behind you so that you could sit down with more support. “First things first, water!” he announced.
Gojo came back not even a minute later with as many glasses full of water as he could carry, placing them all neatly within armsreach. One hand helped tilt your chin while the other brought a glass to your lips. “Just a bit pretty, do it for me” he said reassuringly when he noticed the way you scrunched your nose at how painful swallowing was. “There you go. Good girl”
You smiled, coughing a little but the water did do wonders. “See, doing better already!” he said excitedly. “I think I deserve a kiss--” but his happy expression crumbled when you moved your face out of the way.
“Toru” you said, disapprovingly. “I don’t want to get you sick too”
“Don’t worry about me, princess” he said, scrunching your face with his palms and leaning forwards again.
“I’m serious” you complained through squeeshed cheeks. He stopped, looking at you with wide eyes like a lost puppy. “This is miserable, I don’t want to pass it to you too”
Gojo tried his hardest to contain the absolute shock in his expression. “Are you saying after three weeks away I can’t even kiss my beautiful wife?!” he complained again.
“Yes” you replied, firm.
“Betrayal...” he mumbled, throwing himself next to you and snaking his arms around your middle, pulling you in. “Can we at least cuddle?”
The next morning, Suguru Geto was standing outside, ringing the doorbell, eager to say hi to his best friend after he finally got back from what he heard was a difficult mission. He had not expected, however, Satoru to answer the door wearing an apron and a white medical mask under his sunglasses.
“...Satoru?” Geto murmured, tilting his head and squinting his eyes at him.
“Nice to see you, Suguru” Gojo replied, taking off the face mask to smile at his best friend who just stared at him with one eyebrow raised.
The white haired man just kept staring at him, like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Why does it smell like garlic in here?” Geto asked eventually, suspiciously eyeing the inside of the house.
“I’m making soup” Satoru replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Garlic soup?” he asked.
“It’s anti-inflammatory”
“Um, sure”
They kept standing there at the threshold, when Gojo motioned to the inside and held the doorframe tight as if about to close it. “Sorry, I am in the middle of something right now so-”
“Is everything ok?” Geto cut in. “Where’s y/n?”
Satoru exhaled, letting go of the door and allowing his raven haired friend the space to step inside. “She’s sick” he replied, shaking his head. “Very bad flu. You can say hi but you gotta lower your voice”
Suguru stared at him in disbelief at the request because it was obvious who the loud one was out of the two, but he just exhaled and agreed, worried about you too.
He followed his friend further into the large house and into the main bedroom. “Sweetheart, Suguru is here” Gojo called softly as he opened the door slowly. “He won’t be long, but- uh? Baby?”
Satoru was running to your side in a flash, crouching down by your head which was angled in a slightly uncomfortable position against the mountain of pillows Gojo had propped up under you, snoring faintly into them.
“Are you ok? Did you faint?!” Satoru was trying his best not to sound alarmed but failing miserably, as he tried to move your head slowly.
“I think she’s just asleep, Satoru” his friend said, assessing the situation.
“She was wide awake a minute ago!” Gojo replied, worried, like it was a medical mystery.
“Ah” Suguru stepped into the room, picking up something from the bedside table. “I think I might have found the culprit” he extended his arm to Satoru, holding the still open bottle of cough syrup. “How much did you give her?” he asked with a raised brow.
Gojo eyed the bottle guiltily. “I don’t know!” his voice rose higher as he was clearly starting to panic. “She was coughing a lot! So I just held it to her lips, it sounded so painful, I hate hearing her in pain and...oh my god, did I drug her?!”
Suguru struggled to hide his smirk while his friend shook your limp body close. “I think you might have”
“Is she gonna be ok?! Is she-” he turned his attention to your flushed face, still red with fever but looking a lot more peaceful now, curling instinctively into his chest as he held you. “Baby, wake up, please” but you only nuzzled into him and grunted like it was the last thing you wanted to do.
“She’ll be fine” Suguru reassured him. “Looks like maybe she needed it”
Satoru looked down at you, completely out of it but looking very content and safe in his arms. His mind went straight to the night before where you could barely hold still, your body convulsing with every cough, jolting up with every sneeze. The way tears had streaked down your face and he wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to your symptoms or your emotions getting the best of you. He had felt so helpless then.
Gojo brushed your hair away from your face now, moving your body slowly as to not wake you, adjusting you gently so you were more comfortable on the mattress. “They should put warnings on that thing” he complained as he pulled a blanket under your chin with careful precision.
Geto chuckled. “They do”
Gojo exhaled, looking at you breathe deeper than you had in hours. “Come help me with the soup then” he said.
You woke up a couple hours later, a little confused but definitely well rested since your forced slumber sponsored by the cough syrup. The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a mess of white hair over a pair or bright blue eyes looking back at you with so much fondness it made your chest ache.
“Heyy” Gojo called, leaning in from the chair by your bedside and helping you sit up. “Don’t move too fast, you’ve been out for some time now”
“...what happened?” you tried to say, the last thing you remember being the doorbell ringing and Satoru announcing he was gonna go get it, before your body started getting too comfortable all of a sudden.
“I,uh, may or may not have given you too much cough syrup” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry” he completed, sheepishly.
You just laughed, which made everything in him relax. “Of course you did”
“In my defence, you were very peaceful” he added, putting his hands up in defence but whole face softening at the sight of your smile. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, interlacing his fingers with yours.
“A bit better, I think” you replied, grounding yourself in the gentle weight of his hand on yours. You looked over to your bedside table then, intrigued by the smell coming from a steaming mug that sat right in the middle.
He seemed happy you had noticed it. “Here” Gojo picked it up, passing it to you. It smelled of ginger and honey, the smell alone enough to open your airways. “It’s ginger, for your throat” he said.
“Thank you, Toru” you smiled, blushing not from the fever this time.
“Of course, princess” he replied, watching you sip the tea with a satisfied expression. “There’s some soup too”
You swallowed the warm ginger water, soothing your throat immediately. “Is that what this garlic smell is?” you asked.
“It’s anti-inflammatory” he replied proudly.
You laughed at how hard he was trying. “Have you been doing research?”
“Of course” Satoru replied with a grin. “I’m commited to nursing my beautiful wife back to health”
You smiled at him, holding the mug down before he picked it up and placed it on the side for you. His hands lingered on yours, tracing small patterns across your knuckles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here” he said finally, staring at you with those blue eyes of his.
You clutched his hands tighter. “It’s not your fault”
He carried on like he knew you’d say that. “You know if I could choose, I’d-”
“I know baby” you interrupted, and the nickname seemed to ease his guilt spiral a bit. “I’m just happy you’re back” you said, pulling him in closer.
Gojo obviously obliged, getting up from the chair and sitting next to you on the bed, opening his arms so you could rest your head right on your favourite spot. He assessed everything from here, the way you were breathing easier, how your body felt less warm, how your voice seemed to come out which much less strain now. You were getting better, and it meant everything to him.
“You think I can get that kiss now?” he murmured with a devilish smirk while smoothing your hair in gentle, repetitive motions.
“Toru...” you pushed yourself up, squinting at him like a disappointed parent.
“Why am I being punished for your weak immune system?!” he exclaimed, pulling you back to where you were before.
“I’m not punishing you” you laughed, settling into his chest again. “I don’t want to make you sick too”
“Maybe if I got sick I could spend more time at home...” he suggested in a stage whisper.
“Baby...” you shook your head at him.
“Please princess, I’ve missed you so much” Satoru said, holding your shoulders so you could look at his genuine expression, hoping he could convince you with his puppy dog eyes.
You pouted at him, but didn’t push him away this time, feeling some of his infectious energy start to seep into you too. “How much did you miss me?” you asked, looking to the side to hide your little teasing smirk.
Gojo grinned wide, moving to the top of you in one swift motion as he caged you in, earning a giggle out of you. “So much baby, every day. Couldn’t stop thinking about you”
You looked at him, towering above you but resisting coming any closer before he had your permission. “And what were you thinking about?” you asked in a little devilish voice too.
“My wife’s beautiful face, her laugh” he spoke so enthusiastically it was hard to resist, coming down lower and lower while paying attention to your reactions. “The way you say my name, how warm you feel at night, how badly I want to see you round with my baby” he said the last part low, right against your ear.
“Satoru!” you laughed, playfully nudging his shoulder although he didn’t move. He was right on top of you then, noses almost touching, sharing that special warmth you had with one another that you had missed so dearly in these past three weeks.
“I’m sorry” he said, rubbing his nose with yours affectionately. “One kiss? Pretty please?”
“Fine” you smiled.
With a tilt of his chin, Gojo’s lips met yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t even as steamy as you both ideally would have wanted for a “welcome back” kiss, but it said everything you hadn’t been able to say in those weeks away from each other.
I love you. I missed you. Welcome home.
Your fever broke a bit that night, Gojo would never tell you but every few minutes he’d check your temperature just to make sure you weren’t getting worse again. He had to reassure himself you were ok, happy in his arms, not quite healthy yet but soon to be. Every time you whimpered he pulled you closer, every time you coughed he rubbed your back, every sudden movement had him awake in an instant because Satoru Gojo could not bear not being there when you needed him. Never again, he promised.
And when the morning came, you stretched upwards like a new person. Your voice was back, and although the aches and fatigue weren’t completely gone just yet, everything seemed to have eased overnight.
A miracle, you thought, until you heard a little cough come from the tall man behind you, still clutching your arm like his life depended on it.
“Baby” Satoru mumbled, voice raspy and sad. “I don’t feel too good”
going stupid on captain levi's cock! ₊˚⊹♡ ⇾ might be ooc (soz), lowk captain kink, p in v, etc
“no one said stop. so keep going.”
tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and onto levi’s bare skin. your thighs were shaking, your pussy aching from the overstimulation as a result of the past two rounds.
you knew levi had inhuman stamina when it came to everything else, so you weren’t sure what led you to believe that wouldn’t translate to sex.
his hands were cold and tight where they held your hips, doing nothing but providing an anchor between you and unconsciousness. he wasn’t helping you move at all, simply just digging his nails into your skin to get you going again.
“i-i can’t,” you whimpered, clenching your muscles to try and obey. “i’m sorry, captain."
levi scoffed at the use of his official title, a single rut of his hips forcing a cry out of you, the tip of cock hitting places you could never dream of reaching with just your fingers. you’d braced yourself for more, but he stilled– one hand released your hip, going up to grip your jaw and making you look at him through bleary eyes.
“you can,” his encouragement was strained, his own composure slowly starting to slip the longer he stayed inside of you without moving. “if you can keep up with me out there, you can keep up with me here.”
he let himself fall back to lean on the wall, watching you expectantly as you panted, thighs shaking as you strained. your legs felt unstable and your brain was practically mush so the second you attempted to start riding him again you only managed to push yourself up not even halfway before you collapsed on his chest.
you whimpered at the sound of him scoffing, your fingertips digging into the skin of his shoulders while you apologized profusely into his skin. “m’sorry, cap–”
before you could finish, his hips were rutting up into you, the length piercing through you again and making your stomach bulge out slightly with his movements. you screamed, thanking whatever gods existed that the stone walls did a relatively decent job at containing the noise inside.
“mmph! shit, captain!” you cried out, gasping as he tugged you closer by your jaw, his composed breath warming your face. your eyes were wide as you stared into his– the slightest bit of desperation masked behind his equanimity.
“stop callin’ me that.”
levi’s grunts blended perfectly with your moans, neither of you breaking eye contact despite the desperate need you had to let them roll to the back of your head. you blinked at him through damp lashes, seeing the slight furrow in his eyebrows whenever you tightened around him.
you could feel his tip just barely graze your soft spot, more tears falling down your cheeks due to the anticipation that he was nearly there. however, when he pulled you into him further, kissing your lips in a confusing rough yet gentle manner, his hips shifted ever so slightly, thrusting into it with such precision that you felt you might pass out.
your jaw fell slack, forehead pressing into his as a small string drool slipped out the corner of your mouth. “levi! fuck, right there, please don’t stop!”
his hand dropped to slap the plush skin of your ass, letting it rest there while he sped up– his shorter stature irrelevant to his strength. he finally let his restraint slip, head falling back onto the wall while he kept his eyes on you, watching the way your eyes had fallen shut, mind completely gone and solely focused on the pleasure only he could provide you.
levi couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face– watching one of his strongest members fall apart on him again was truly the sight.
the slightest ache began to bloom in his legs, the tightening of his muscles not going unnoticed despite the state you were in. your hand came down to his abs, pushing him flush to the mattress while simultaneously using it as support to ride him again.
he moaned out at the pressure on his stomach, letting himself relax as you retook the reins.
“atta girl, just like that, hm?” he praised, starting to lose himself in you. “gonna cum on me again?”
you nodded rapidly, face warm and words no longer an option. levi scoffed, that lazy smile resting on his face knowing your tells.
“keep going. you’re doin’ so well.”
note: OMFG I ACTUALLY START TWEAKING EVERY TIME I SEE THIS MAN LIKE MMMMPGHHG anyway... i'm back! academic probation was NAWT fun but i locked in and everything is fine now :) focus rn is clearing out my requests, but i hope this holds everyone over for now <3, lynn
megumi’s different when he’s sick, really different. but you can’t say you mind.
your usually stoic, collected, unemotional boyfriend is suddenly all over you, clingy as a koala. it’s pathetically adorable.
your hand is flat against megumi’s forehead, checking for a temperature, and he’s blatantly leaning into your touch. a kiss pressed to your knuckles, another to your palm.
you get up to make soup and he pulls you back towards him with surprising strength, for someone who’s sick. a surprised squeak leaves your mouth as you’re tugged into his warm arms, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
“don’t go,” megumi mumbles, pouting.
you laugh quietly, hand threading through his hair. “i’ll be back in a minute, baby. just gonna make you something warm so you feel better.”
he huffs, tightening his hold on you. “you can do that later. ‘s cold without you.”
“i’ll give you more blankets?”
“it’s not the same,” he grumbles. then he sniffles, a quiet, sickly sound. it tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder whether he was faking it just for the attention.
you exhale, amused yet unrelenting. “i’m sorry, gumi. i have to, okay?” somehow, some way, you untangle yourself from his tight embrace and stand up.
megumi whines, reaching for you, and you fight back a smile.
“i’ll be really quick, baby. promise.” you press a peck to his warm forehead, tucking him more properly into the blankets before slipping out of the bedroom.
not even a minute goes by before you feel megumi’s presence in the kitchen. you smile softly as his arms come around your waist, chin resting heavily on your shoulder.
“you should be in bed, baby.”
“i know,” he mumbles almost guiltily, breath warm on your neck. he watches you cut the vegetables, spiky hair tickling your skin. “it was just really cold without you. horrible.”
“horrible indeed,” you humour him, reaching back to scratch his scalp. he exhales, eyes droopy as he melts into you. “i told you i’d be back soon, no?”
“but you were taking forever,” megumi groans earnestly, eyes opening to peek at you.
“i was away for one minute.”
“a minute too long.” he says, sniffling and shutting his eyes again. “i almost died.”
you giggle, pouring the finished soup into a bowl. “i’m really sorry,” you say as you lead him back into the bedroom, pulling him behind you like a sad puppy. “won’t happen again.”
“good,” megumi huffs, satisfied.
his eyes trail over you as you get him settled in, cocooning him in blankets and pressing the bowl into his hands. you know exactly what’s coming next.
megumi locks his gaze on yours. “is it cuddle time now?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and shiny, lips downturned as though he might burst into tears if you refused.
the sight of him like this is so unexpected, so precious. you almost give in. almost.
“nope,” you say, trying to sound as firm as you can muster. you press the soup bowl further into his hands as his bottom lip quivers. “drink first, then cuddles.”
“and- and you won’t even feed me?” megumi warbles, sniffling sadly. “i’m dying, you know.”
“you’re not dying,” you sigh, sitting down next to him. “but fine, i’ll feed you. only cos’ you’re sick.”
the biggest smile breaks onto his face, eyes clearing up immediately as he hands you the soup bowl. your megumi wouldn’t smile like this in a million years, and you try to savour it.
he’s almost giddy with affection as he presses the soup bowl into your hands, cozying up to you and pressing his face into your chest. “you’re the best,” he mumbles happily.
you can’t wait to tell your boyfriend about this when he’s well again.
you and your husband, nerdjo, rewatching his old science vlogs from his high-school days 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖ ۶ৎ
husband!gojo x f!reader, 16yo nerdjo mentioned, gojo has glasses, fluff | wc 1.3k
“…hey suguru, are you sure the camera’s set up correctly?”
you smile to yourself at the sound of satoru gojo’s voice — albeit a much younger and more boyish version of it — coming from your laptop as you put the video into full-screen.
you lean closer into your husband, the present-day satoru, who’s sat by your side with his brows pinched and lip jutted out as he watches his younger self dart across the camera frantically. you’re both curled up, the laptop upon your legs and your head on your husband’s shoulder, his own head resting atop yours. by his side is a bowl of brownies — a friday evening necessity for you two now — and his legs are tangled with yours beneath the blankets.
on the screen, ivory strands of hair flash across the screen as you watch the much younger version of him fuss with the camera, trying to focus it properly on himself. from the little portion of his face that you can see, he’s evidently stressed, chewing so hard on his lip that you’re sure that it’s bound to start bleeding at some point in the video.
after a few minutes of messing with the camera, a sixteen year old version satoru finally comes into view on your laptop. there’s something softer about him, an almost refreshingly naive sense of youth in his features as he beams at the camera, clearly pleased with himself for finally working it out.
“…okay! hello viewers! today’s video is going to be about determining planck’s constant using….” he rummages through the small tray to his left. “ah- this little guy!”
he holds up a tiny blue LED bulb, a huge grin on his face. “it doesn’t look like much, but there’s a crazy amount of quantum mechanics behind making this thing run!”
you snort at that, playfully nudging present-day satoru, who pouts and turns to face you.
“toru, you were such a dork!”
“i wasn’t! it is a pretty cool piece of physics — you just don’t understand!”
you can’t help but laugh harder at that, at which he groans and lifts a brownie to your lips.
“you’re doing too much laughing. just eat.”
you gasp, scandalised, pushing his hand away playfully. “you’re just trying to shut me up!”
“am not.”
you’re about to offer a witty comeback when you’re interrupted by the slightly distorted sound of video-satoru speaking to the non-existent viewers once more.
“…okay..so you can see here that i’ve set up the circuit. here,” he points at a power pack, “i’ve attached the power supply to a resistor. then i’ve attached the ammeter in series to our LED. oh, and of course the voltmeter is in parallel.” he lifts the LED bulb attached to two crocodile clips, holding it beside his face.
“hey, this shade of blue kinda matches my eyes! see?”
you feel satoru physically tense up a little by your side, clearly cringing at his past self too. you put a arm around him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly as though to comfort him that it isn’t that bad even though it really is.
“okay..now you’re gonna want to roll up a piece of cardboard to form a tube…” he demonstrates, eyes fixed on the surface of the table. his tongue is stuck out just slightly in concentration, a habit that seems to have followed satoru even into adulthood, before finally lifting it to his eye.
“it should look a little like a makeshift telescope….tada! like a pirate, i guess…guess you could say that it really looks like i’m about to walk the planck.” you’re sure you hear somebody snort at the terrible pun — presumably shoko, judging by the pitch of the noise.
you have to bite back your own laugh for the sake of your poor husband, who has now dramatically buried his head in his hands with a groan.
“my own wife hates me.”
“i don’t hate you toru! i think you were cute!”
“you think i was a total loser.”
“a cute loser!” you quip with a giggle, pushing his glasses back so you can study his face clearly and propping them upon his head. carefully, you study his features, as though to gauge whether he’s really embarrassed. of course, he’s got his signature pout on, dramatic as ever, but you can still see the slight crinkle in his eyes as he tries to fight off a smile.
he clearly enjoys the attention.
you sigh and playfully flick his forehead. “you are so dramatic! whatever, eyes on the screen. we still need to see the result of this experiment, right?” you pull his glasses back down, fixing them so that they’re now resting upon his nose.
video-satoru steps back slightly so that he’s fully in view, absentmindedly fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater as he speaks.
“okay! so my friend shoko’s gonna turn off the lights now…and then i’m going to use this,” mini-satoru holds up the cardboard tube, “to block out any remaining light from the windows! my eyes are pretty sensitive to my surroundings already so i could technically skip this step, but for the sake of accuracy i’ll do it anyway.”
the lights flick off and you hear rustling on the screen before his voice sounds once more from somewhere in the dim classroom. the quality is too poor to properly make out his features amongst the sea of darkness.
“okay..so i’m going to keep gradually adjusting the resistance until i see it light up…”
as if on cue, the familiar soft white hair and cheesy grin come into view, illuminated by soft tones of lapis blue. the light seems to bounce off his features. the quality of the LED is much too poor to fully light up the room: instead, it flickers weakly, dancing across the boy’s face in uneven patches. nonetheless, the pleased grin on his face is so distinguishable, so satoru, and you feel your heart swell a little at the boyish look he flashes towards the camera.
with a little kick to his legs under the blanket, you mumble, “you were so cute toru…it’s not fair.”
you keep your eyes fixed on the animated actions of his younger self on screen, leaning further into him subconsciously as you pick up a brownie slice and take a bite.
“hey, aren’t i still cute now?”
“…don’t push it.” you mutter between chews.
the laugh he gives off is warm, hints of the sixteen year old version of him you’re watching on screen just slightly noticeable in it if you listen close enough. something about it all, about current-satoru’s messy white hair, the way his brows relax a little as he smiles, the hints of a cheeky grin evident on his face: it’s all so familiar, so unbelievably sweet and reminiscent of the naiver, smaller version of him currently rambling excitedly on screen.
the video comes to an end as you stare at satoru. you’re zoned out, eyes fixed on his features, staring at him as though deep in thought. eventually you realise that the video has already ended and that he’s already moving to shut the laptop, clearly somewhat relieved at the opportunity to turn it off, before you eventually speak up.
“next week we’re watching the most recent one.”
you murmur it with a sense of finality, and satoru can’t help but raise his eyebrow at the suddenness, a tone of worry seeping into his voice when he finally speaks.
“mm? why that one specifically?”
“…shoko told me you blew something up.”
“oh. that one.”
author’s notes: filler post since exams start tomorrow💔this is so embarrassing but i had to check the notes whilst writing this because i forgot how to do the practical
anyway physics paper 1 tomorrow and i’m writing a fic about one of the practicals do we think i’m getting that A*
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