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# SYNOPSIS : maybe getting too involved with a vampire case will get him... fucked by the vampire..?
content. 18+ MDNI!
note. I may have started this in January and forgot about it... MY BAD GUYSSSS. Props and credits to @sunseraphim for this fun idea!!
starring. satoru gojo (nerdjo)
credits! this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
Satoru Gojo was not meant to be doing this.
He knew that in the abstract, academic sense. The same way he knew caffeine past midnight wrecked his sleep cycles, or that spiralling into unapproved research topics tended to end with academic probation and a disappointed email from the department head.
And yet—knowing all of this—at 2:37 a.m., he sat hunched on his dorm bunk-bed, back curved like a question mark, laptop balanced on a teetering stack of textbooks that smelled faintly of dust.
His glasses slid down his nose for the fifth time in many minutes. He pushed them back up with one finger, blinking hard at the blue glow of the screen. The room was quiet, except for the faint whir of his laptop fan and the ticking radiator, which he never really knew whether it was on or off.
Even his roommate, Geto, was passed out after another one of his frat parties. A stoner is what that man is.
But Gojo has been procrastinating. Again.
Originally, he’d opened his browser to skim a single journal article. Just one, he’d promised himself. It had somehow spread to six open tabs, three half-written notes, and one local news site he had absolutely no business clicking on.
The headline wasn’t even dramatic.
Male University Student Found Dead Near Campus — Cause of Death Under Investigation
Gojo’s cursor hovered. Normally, he scrolled past things like this. Tragic, sure, but distant. Murders just happened, so why was this one captivating?The thumbnail image beneath the headline made his hand still.
Yellow police tape stretched across a brick-lined sidewalk, which he recognized immediately. The south end of campus. Near the older dorms. Near the shortcut he took every morning because it took exactly three minutes off his walk.His stomach tightened, slow and unpleasant. He clicked.
The article was brief. No speculation or useful details. Just the bare bones: a male student, his age, was found unresponsive shortly after midnight. No weapon recovered.
Then his eyes shot to a single sentence.
Authorities noted two small puncture wounds on the victim’s neck. Their origin remains unclear.
Gojo let out a short laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Okay,” he muttered to the empty room. “Sure.”
Two puncture wounds. On the neck. That was… a choice.His rational brain immediately kicked in, lining up explanations like dominoes. Still, he didn’t close the tab. Instead, he opened another. By the time the sky outside his narrow dorm window had lightened from black to a bruised gray, Gojo had found something that made his chest buzz uncomfortably.
There had been others. Not many. Just enough to be missed if you weren’t looking. A student was found dead near the library two months ago. Another near the river path before that. All male. All are enrolled at the same university.
All reported on quietly, briefly, as if no one wanted to linger on the details. And every single one of them had died on the 13th.
Every other month. Same time frame. Same gender. Same wounds.
That wasn’t random. That was a pattern.
His heart thudded faster. Not fear, but something closer to excitement. The kind that made his fingers tremble, and his thoughts race ahead of themselves. He dragged his hands through his already-messy white hair, pushing it back out of his eyes as he leaned closer to the screen.
“Okay,” he whispered, more seriously now. “No way, this is just… crazy.”
He told himself very firmly that vampires weren’t real. They couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. Superstition. Mythology. Horror and Romance movie nonsense. He knew that.
And yet the puncture wounds didn’t line up with any common weapon. It was too clean. Too precise.
He thought.
He needed to run this past someone sane. Someone official.
THE NEXT DAY
You noticed the bags under his eyes before he even sat down.
Gojo slouched into the chair across from your desk later that afternoon, shoulders caved inward, hoodie wrinkled as he’d slept in it. His glasses were slightly crooked as he fumbled with the strap of his backpack.
You leaned back in your chair, eyes dragging over him with open assessment. “You look like shit,” you said mildly.
Gojo flinched, then laughed too quickly. “Uh—yeah. Thanks.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“… Last, last night?”
Your lips curved into a smile. “You’ve been flagged for burnout,” you continued, voice smooth. “Missed meals, extended lab hours… And now you’re pulling all-nighters for a project that isn’t even due… or assigned.”
He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I just— there’s something I wanted to run by you,” he said, pushing his glasses up again. “It’s probably nothing. I mean, it is nothing. But I can’t get it out of my head.”
You tilted your head slightly, an invitation.
He talked.
About the article, the dates, the pattern he wasn’t supposed to see. His words tumbled over each other, too fast and too eager, hands gesturing as if he could physically show the facts in the air between you.
You listened without interrupting, eyes never leaving his face. “That’s a lot of assumptions,” you said. “You’re pattern-matching.”
His shoulders slumped a little. “I know, but—”
“And you’re focusing on the most sensational explanation because you’re exhausted,” you continued calmly. “Two puncture wounds don’t mean anything on their own. You’re letting confirmation bias guide you. Y’know… the tendency to make up new evidence—”
“I know what confirmation bias means,” Gojo says sternly, as if he’s upset you didn’t believe his mad theory.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk. “If you really want to pursue this, you need to slow down. Look for human explanations.”
Human.
Gojo nodded, relief and disappointment tangling in his chest. Of course. Of course, you were right. You always were.
He went back to his room that night and rewrote his theories from scratch, chasing explanations that grew more complicated, more draining, more useless by the hour.
…
Gojo comes back to your office again this week, he’s running highly and strictly on caffeine.
Another day without real sleep. He knows this because he’s started counting in failed naps instead of hours. His hands shake when he presses the elevator button. His reflection in the metal doors looks wrong. Eyes too bright behind his glasses, pupils blown wide like he’s constantly surprised by his own thoughts.
Your door is already open when he arrives. You’re seated exactly where you always are, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. There’s a mug on your desk that smells faintly bitter and metallic. He doesn’t see you drink from it, but he sees red.
And you catch on.
“Wine,” you smile. “Want some?”
“At eight in the morning? I’m okay. Should you even be offering that to students?” You shrug in response, a smile still plastered onto your face.
“You’re early,” you say, glancing at the clock.
“I… I didn’t sleep,” he blurts, then winces. “I mean, I tried but—”
You lift a hand. “Gojo,” you say calmly, almost indulgently. “Sit.” He does. Immediately. The chair legs scrape against the floor, loud in the quiet room. He curls inward without realizing it, shoulders hunched, backpack clutched against his knees like a shield. You look at him for a long moment. “You look worse,” you observe.
He laughs, weak and breathless. “Yeah. I— your suggestions? About chemical sedation and post-mortem staging? I looked into it.”
“And?”
“They don’t work,” he says too fast. “There’s no injection marks, no residue—sorry, I know you said not to fixate, but—”
You click your tongue softly.
“There you go again.”
He freezes.
“You’re doing exactly what I warned you about,” you continue, folding your hands. “Discarding reasonable explanations because they don’t feel right.”
“But they’re not consistent,” he insists, voice pitching higher. “Every time I adjust for—”
“Every time you adjust,” you interrupt, sharp now, “you adjust in the direction you want.Silence drops heavy between you. Then,
“I just—” he exhales, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I can’t stop thinking about it. The timing, the victims, the way it keeps happening on the 13th—”
“Superstition,” you say flatly. “You’re a smart student, not a conspiracy theorist. Do you really want to throw your credibility away chasing folklore?”
“No,” he says immediately. “No, of course not.”
“Then prove it. Start over. Again. I want a full cognitive-bias audit,” you lean forward. “Every assumption you’ve made. Every pattern you think you see, tear it apart.”
“That’ll take weeks,” he whispers.
Your smile is thin. “Good.”
By the time Gojo comes back to your office the last time that week, he’s stubborn. Your office looks the same as it always does. Dim. Cool. Carefully controlled. The blinds are half-drawn, flashing the late-afternoon light into neat bands across your desk.
Gojo stands in the doorway for a second too long. You don’t look surprised when you see him. You glance up slowly from your desk, eyes flicking over him.
“There you are… you’re late.”
His gaze drifts to the mug on your desk. It’s there again. Whatever’s inside is still almost viscous, catching the light in a way that makes his stomach twist.
You follow his line of sight. “Oh,” you say lightly. “Don’t tell me that’s distracting you too now…”
He flushes, embarrassed. “No, I just—”
You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. “No?” you prompt. “Then why are you here, Gojo?”
His chest tightens. “No,” he says, voice unsteady despite his effort to keep it firm. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is just stress,” he says, words spilling out now. “Like I’m imagining things. Every time I get close, every time I talk to you, and suddenly I’m weeks behind in figuring this shit out again! You redirect me and complicate things! You make me… doubt myself.”
You rise from your chair slowly, heels clicking softly against the floor as you circle the desk. The mug stays where it is, untouched.
“So I’m the one to blame for your theories not working?”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “It’s always you. You’re always there when I change direction.”
“Oh, Gojo,” you laugh, shaking your head. “You really have exhausted yourself into something special.” The laughter fades into something cooler. “You’re accusing an academic advisor of manipulating a homicide investigation by a university student because you,” you tap a finger against his chest, “can’t accept that you’re wrong.”
His face burns. “I’m not saying you did anything,” Gojo backtracks. “I just think you’re wrong. About all of it.”
“You’re spiralling,” you say calmly. “And now you’re lashing out at the only person trying to ground you. How… ungrateful.” You sigh, disappointed. “Go home,” you say, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Sleep. Drink water. And stop humiliating yourself.”
The words hit harder than he expected. “I just thought—” he starts.
“That,” you interrupt coolly, “was your mistake.” You lean against the front of your desk, hands at either side of your person. “You’re lucky I don’t report you. Your little breakdown is impacting your grades, which is putting your scholarship at risk.” You take a file that was on the wooden surface and hand it to him. “Read the report I wrote for you. If you can fix yourself within a month, I can change it. If not, the university will be notified about you not meeting the academic requirements.”
He takes the file with a shaky hand, opening it and skimming through it. You can see his eyes through the unclear glasses, scanning each word on the report. The reality crashed down on him. He didn’t know it had been this bad.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
…
The file sits on his desk, which is crowded with other papers and photographs related to the case. But for the first time in forever, he wasn’t focused on that. Gojo’s attention remained on the report. His academic future was on the line because he got too attached to something that shouldn’t concern him. Something that he would’ve considered a disturbance. He was a university student, not a detective.
Ding!
He looked at the notification on his phone. A news article.Before he could put down the phone in retaliation for this case addiction, he read a familiar name.
New Male University Victim Found Dead Near Campus
The victim has been identified as Toji Fushiguro.
The guy who lived down the hall.
The phone drops from his hand as a bead of sweat runs down the back of his neck. He didn’t feel safe anymore. Gojo was conflicted about pursuing the case to put an end to it and minding his own business, so he’s not the priority target. He picks up his phone from the carpet, leaning forward at his desk while he scrolls through the article. Anything to give him a small hint? A push in the right direction.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Three taps on his door bring him out of his thoughts. If it were Geto, the knocking wouldn’t have happened. He had keys. And if he didn’t, he wouldn’t even be at the dorms. This was someone else entirely, and his gut told him that they weren’t good news.
Yet, he stood up, and with a careful sigh, he walked towards the door. A baseball bat was next to the door for emergencies that never seemed necessary until now. His hand reached for it, but didn’t grab it. Gojo’s other hand hovered over the doorknob, and after a quick mental speech to prepare himself for anything on the other side of the door, he quickly turned and pulled it open.
Nothing.
What?
A snicker and a few giggles were heard at the end of the hallway from a group of guys.
“Assholes,” he mumbles to himself. He closes the door and locks it. When he sits back down at his desk and rethinks what the past few weeks have done to him, he starts to feel uneasy. Like something is watching him. He smacks a hand onto his forehead. “Fuck this…” Gojo scoops everything relating to the case into a pile and slides it into the trash. It feels empty.
The next few minutes were spent watching ‘The Game Theorists’ and some old Digimon gameplay on his phone, until he just stared up at the roof of his bunk bed.
“You’re pretty boring for such a smart guy.”
Before his eyes could fully widen, it was too late.
You were on him fast, using one hand to pin down his with an unnatural strength that would leave bruises on his pale skin. He was struggling, but once he opened his eyes and saw who he was dealing with, it stopped.
“Can’t believe you listened to me when I told you that load of bullshit. So fucking stupid…”
Gojo was conflicted to say the least. A voice in his head tells him he’s terrified that there’s an intruder in his house. One that might not even be human. But the other voice—the louder one—is telling him that he was right all along. The “academic advisor” was setting him off his tracks, the culprit. He didn’t know why he was… turned on…?
Your mouth opened as you leaned down to his neck, but then paused when you felt something.
Something by your thigh… by his thigh.Your lips curved into a mean smirk. “God, are you in fucking high school?” His face flushed red as he started to struggle out of your grip again, this time out of embarrassment rather than fear.
“N-no—! It’s not…” Gojo couldn’t even finish that sentence. He had a 4.0 GPA, a full-paid scholarship to a top university and earned many academic awards, but he couldn’t come up with a single excuse for why he was hard at the sight of you almost killing him.
You let go of his wrists, one hand gripping and smushing his cheeks together. “You’re more pathetic than I thought, aren’t you?” Your finger trailed down his neck, then stomach, until it reached the belt of his jeans. “Need a hand?” He didn’t know why he wasn’t screaming for help or why he was agreeing to this. There was no rhyme or reason to his thought process other than you looked fucking amazing on top of him.
When you finish working off his belt and pants, your smirk grows wider at the sight of his cock. Or size.
“A…are you gonna—”
“Shut it,” you swiftly cut him off, emphasizing with you giving his dick a good stroke. You removed his hand from his face and gripped his collar instead. “You have no idea how fucking sick I am of your voice.” Gojo’s head tilts back when you rub your clothed cunt against his member as you speak. “Always whining and complaining. You ask way too many questions; it’s like you don’t know how to zip it.”
His hand finds your waist. “S-sorry, I—”
“I said shut. up,” you repeat. Your fingers wrapped around his neck, squeezing lightly. “You make a sound loud enough to alert anyone that you’re not alone, I kill you right then and there.” It takes an alarming amount of brain power to get his eyes open and nod his head, too high on the feeling of you. “Good boy.”
Oh God, he could cum this very second.
You managed to undress yourself quickly, teasing his tip against your entrance while your hand remained wrapped around his throat. Applying more pressure on your grip, you finally sink onto his length. The sound of his dick filling you up doesn’t go unnoticed in the quiet room.
“F-fuck…” you mumble, barely giving either of you enough time to adjust. Gojo’s expression is nothing short of overwhelmed. By you, the feeling of you and the overall situation of his life being on the line. You couldn’t help but get a kick out of it, wanting to test the waters with how far you could push him. You rise, pulling yourself almost completely off him before slamming back down with more pressure, a choked whine escaping his lips in the process.
“Mmph…! P-please—” he whispers, both hands holding your waist in a sad attempt to slow your pace down. Of course, you don’t. You work yourself towards the edge using him. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room in combination with his pathetic effort to keep quiet.
“T-that’s it…” You squeeze his neck tighter, his cock pulsing inside you in response. Gojo turns his head away, his arm covering his flushed face to hide himself from you. “Don’t you dare,” you warn. “Unless you want this to be painful for you.”
“I-I—hahh—can’t—! It’s—” You cup his cheeks together again, forcing him to look at you. His worthless expression is enough to get you over the edge as your pussy clenches around his member, cumming with a quiet moan. Your head lowers to his neck as you ride through your high.
But through instinct, you bite him.
Fuck. You bit him.
Your eyes widen as you feel ropes of cum flood your hole. But that’s not what has you surprised. No. It’s the look on his face once the two of you realize what you did. When your bloodied teeth are removed from his skin. You expected a worried and terrified look. Instead, you got…
# SYNOPSIS : My imagination believes that while in the bedroom, your partner is most attractive when they act completely opposite to their normal behaviour.
content. 18+ MDNI!
note. yes toji is a selfish fucker, argue with a wall he sold his kid for a couple of bucks and sorry for such a late late late upload... it wont happen again (I hope)
credits! this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
SATORU GOJO - LOVER BOY
From egotistical and confident to… insecure? (fratboy gojo x bimbo reader)
After Gojo’s very first glance at you, he knew he just had to have you in bed. Nothing more, nothing less.
That’s why, after hearing that you were quite easy, it made the chase oh, so easy. What wasn’t easy for him was when he started texting, calling and feeling desperate to hang out with you. Sometimes he would catch himself walking past a store and thinking about what you would and wouldn’t like. Other times, he wondered what it would feel like to be with you… officially… with labels. The very thought scared him to the core.
After your nth encounter with him, he started clinging because of how attached he had gotten to the point where some people questioned your relationship status with him. And the more times he got you in bed, the more shameless he was with his clinginess. Unfortunately for him, you were… an airhead to say the least. You never caught the hints he dropped for you.
Which brings you to your bedroom. You two had come to an unspoken agreement to hook up whenever the mood was right, which commonly took place in your bedroom. If it gave Gojo an excuse to ask more about you by snooping around, he’d take it just to get closer.
“R-random question, sweets, but—shit—do you still think I’m hot?” Gojo asks, looking down at you while struggling to keep it together with…y’know… being balls deep inside you.
The question takes you by surprise as you were too busy being fucked dumb to even process the words. “W-what?” you breathe, looking up with a confused glint in your eyes.
“O-ohh, fuck—” Gojo groans, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deeper. His hair is messed up even more than normal. “I mean—Hah—! D-do you find me attractive? Like…nngh… boyfriend level attractive?” He punctuates the question with a sharp thrust just to watch your reaction. Your nails dig into his back, eyes almost rolling back when he fucks into your hole again.
“B-boyfriend?” you manage to moan out, your voice shaky. You’ve never heard him like this before. So…unsure. Gojo hooks an arm under your knee, hiking it up so his cock hits a better spot inside you.
“Yeah.” He bites his lip, trying to prevent himself from asking you anything more stupid than that. You weren’t responding at first. The only noises that were coming out were those sweet moans and whimpers he loves. But right now, he needed reassurance. He slows down his pace, leaving you with little to no pleasure to work with. “A-answer…”
“Y-yes—!” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist, trying to get him to keep going. He pulls his cock out before slamming it back into your pussy, and you thought this was going to be the last of those questions. That it was just another one of his ways to get you to stroke his ego.
“R-really? You’d—ffuck… you’d date me?”
“Mhm!” You didn’t even know what stupid questions he was asking anymore. You were too close to your orgasm to think.
“’Mhm’ what? Th-that’s not an answer, sweets.” He slows down again, leaving you on the edge. He’s looking down at you again, running a hand over your cheek before tilting your face up.
“Yes—! N-need you s’bad, Satoru!”
God, he feels like he’s gonna cum on the spot just from hearing that.
His hips snap into you hard, teeth biting over your collarbone as you gasp out a choked cry. “Y-yeah? Hahh—! You need me?” His pace is brutal, his thick length filling you completely. All you could do was moan and cry in response, nodding your head helplessly. It was an overwhelming orgasm, and he followed you not long after. “Fuck… I fucking love you—!”
…
What?
SUGURU GETO - CERTIFIED FREAK
From extremely experienced and composed to… outfreaked? (CEO geto x assistant reader)
Suguru Geto didn’t realize he was so vanilla before you. He thought being experienced with sex meant he was set with the kinks he had. He was so wrong.
Being young, rich and undeniably good-looking came with a lot of ladies, which he didn’t resist. Sure, he had developed some little preferences here and there, and he slept around quite a bit. So that’s why when he met you, his new personal assistant, he wanted to make the most of it. At first, you were very sweet and innocent (or that’s what you came off as). When he got you in his bed for the first time, he was… shocked to say the least.
He discovered many things about himself that night. He learned that he enjoyed getting his long, black hair—which he put so much effort into taking care of—pulled by you. He also learned that having sex in rather risky areas was not as pathetic as he thought it’d be. And he also learned that condoms weren’t really necessary.
Long story short, you introduced him to a lot of things.
“This is what you were being a brat about during the meeting?” he leans back in his office chair, making room for you under his desk. “All you had to do was wait a little, angel.”
You smirked at him while unzipping his pants, belt long gone beside you. “It’s not like you were gonna do anything about it. Besides, where’s the fun in waiting?” Geto’s pants dropped to his knees, making space for all the bites and hickeys you were planning to leave behind. But you sat back, moving your face away from his thighs when a thought came to mind. “Take off your shirt.”
“Not even a please?” he raised a brow, already making quick work of the buttons.
“Didn’t think it needed one. You already like everything I do to you.” When it slid off his shoulders, you took the fabric, stood up and made your way behind his office chair. “Hands behind the chair.” Geto does as he’s told after a hesitant second. You bind his hands together with his shirt, making sure to tie the knot tight. Next came off your shirt being used as a blindfold. “Nothing crazy… but it’d do.” You frown at the sight of him completely tied to the chair with his eyes covered. “We’ll have a better time at home.”
“Right. ‘Cause it can’t get better than this…” he mumbles, trying his best to stay calm. You resort back on your knees in front of him.
When your hand reaches his thigh, he flinches. “Sensitive already?” You grinned at his flustered reactions when your fingers travelled higher.
“I can’t see anything, so obviously I’m gonna be on edge about this.” His boxers come off shortly, joining his belt on the ground. His cock was already leaking with pre-cum, aching for your touch.
“Just relax. I’ve given you head before, sir.” Before he could respond or snap at you for calling him ‘sir,’ you run your tongue up his length until you reach the tip.
“You—fuck!” he moans, tilting his head back against the chair. His abs flex in response, tension already building deep inside him. Your hands stroke from the base to the tip, pressing against his slit before your mouth returns. Geto’s hands attempt to move, forgetting about his current position. You bob your head up and down his cock, your tongue swirling around it just the way he likes it. “J-just like that…”
Geto’s eyes squeeze shut despite the blindfold, his back arching when you take him even deeper in your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat briefly. Yet, no reaction is heard by you apart from the slight chuckle that emerges whenever you look up to see how utterly ruined he is already. “Gonna—nngh!—gonna cum!” You quickened your pace, your mouth moving up and down his member, your hand flattening against his lower stomach to keep him from disrupting your efforts.
“Please, please, please—!” With one last bob of your head, ropes of cum rushed down your throat. And Geto? He discovered a new kink just like that.
“Fuck… you’re i—”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Shit…
KENTO NANAMI - WANNABE SELFISH
From generous and reliable to… selfish? (salaryman nanami x girl-next-door reader)
Just from first glance, you could tell this man would give you everything you ever dreamed of and more. Of course, you were right… but also wrong.
When you first met your neighbour by dropping off a welcome basket, you realized two things. First, he was a sexy workaholic. Second, he was a sexy and respectful man. His manners were nothing short of perfect, his kind tone had butterflies spawn in your stomach, and his tight-fitted dress shirt made you want to rip it off. Everything about this gentleman made you believe in love at first sight again.
After coming to that realization, you knew you couldn’t fumble the great Nanami. You started small and baked anything. Cookies, cake, bread. Bread. You could tell he was very fond of it the first time you brought it over for him as a ‘neighbourly duty.’ Next, you started asking for things while wearing rather revealing clothing. And if you passed by him in the elevator, you would purposely brush against him. The more times you saw him, the less subtle you were.
Finally, all that hard work paid off when you found yourself beneath him with your legs pushed back almost to your head. And this was definitely not how you imagined he’d be. You’d thought he would be slow at first, attentive and generous. But with the way he was harshly shoving his thick cock in and out of your pussy, you would’ve thought that this wasn’t the same kind of neighbour you knew.
“K-Ken…!” you moan pathetically, your head tipping back.
“Hm?” he responds, his pace not faltering for a second as his length hits spots that made you see stars.
“Fuck… please! S-slow down!” He didn’t. Instead, his thrusts became more sloppy when he was about to reach his nth orgasm for the night. You felt tears running down your face at the overstimulation.
“D-don’t cry for me to slow down when you were the one begging to—haah—be fucked like this.” His tone was sharp, leaving no room for debate. “You were the one wearing those skimpy shorts in the halls. So…*f-fuck…*take it.” Nanami’s blonde bangs stuck to his forehead, once neat and now messy from when you were tugging them. You forgot how you even got here in the first place.
He had just come back from work, and it was a coincidence that you unfortunately dropped something in front of your door, bending over to pick it up. Next thing you know, you were shoved up against the door as his lips roughly met yours. But not as rough as he was being with you right now. His fingers met your clit, rubbing it slowly as you soaked his fingers and cock with your cum. Nanami followed not long after, spilling deep into you.
You pushed against his chest weakly with one hand, the other trying to lift yourself to put some distance between the two of you. He grabs both arms and wraps them around his shoulders instead as he suddenly kisses you. “Believe me, princess, I’ll be better to you next time.” His lips reach the side of your neck. “But not tonight.” Then your chest before his face returned in front of yours. “I’m not in the mood tonight…”
His pace picked up again, tip bruising your g-spot repeatedly. Your back arches off the bed. “K-Ken! Nngh—n-no more!” you plead, nails raking down his back as your legs wrap around his waist. You didn’t really want him to stop, but all the feelings were getting too much. His cock is pistoning in and out of you harder, reaching a nasty angle.
“Y-you can take more. Fuck… you have to…” His head drops against your shoulder when you clench around him, squeezing him tightly as you hit your release again. This time it was different, and he noticed. Nanami’s eyes widened, his gaze locked on where you two were still connected. Then, they slowly returned to your flushed face, and you realized that you really were in for it tonight.
It may not be what you expected from him, but you weren’t exactly complaining. Not now, not ever.
CHOSO KAMO - HARD HITTER
From whiney and needy to… mean? (childhood best-friend choso x reader)
You always thought of your best friend as someone who’d never snap at you. Who’d always be there for you with gentle care. Fortunately, you were mistaken.
Choso was always next to you ever since you were kids. Being friends with him was mostly easy. He’d be clingy, disapproving of anyone being too close to you that wasn’t him. Sometimes it set off a few arguments, but he always knew how to make it up to you. He knew you the best because he cared. That caring side of him morphed into something else completely when you both were out of high school.
Choso was way less subtle with his dislike for the men he brought home (to your shared apartment), deliberately scaring them off himself with a single look. He was shameless with the way he expressed his very obvious feelings towards you, less scared of what was to come if you didn’t feel the same way, because he knew you reciprocated the feelings. He’s seen the way you’d check him out when he walked by in nothing but his sweats.
Just like tonight, when he successfully chased away another one of the men you were planning to hook up with. You were trying very hard to stay mad, but he was losing his cool, pushing his long, raven hair back out of frustration and had you pinned against the kitchen counter. You were not a strong woman when it came to him. Especially when he told you he’d fuck you better than any other mediocre ass you brought home.
Your face was pressed into the cool marble of the kitchen counter, hands gripping whatever they could as Choso wrecks your pussy from behind.
“See? N-now you’re not—haah—fucking talking,” he murmurs, his tone as rough and brutal as the pace he set. “Just taking this dick…” You didn’t reply, too fucked out of your mind to form a singular sentence.
“Cho—!” you whine when he hits a deeper spot inside you. He grabs your face with one hand and pulls you back.
“Tell me I was right. Tell me this is better than any other fucker you were with.” You moan in response, tears welling up in your eyes. Choso lets your face go only to land a sharp smack on your ass. “S-say it,” he commands.
“Yes! Mmph…!” He fucks you harder now, and you aren’t sure if this is punishment or a reward for your short answer, but you could feel your eyes roll back from the way his cock stretches you open. Your grip on the counter tightens as you feel your legs tremble from both pleasure and slight pain.
“I told you to stop bringing those guys over…” Choso dips down, his face next to your neck as he tries to get a glimpse of you. “You—sh-shit—you never listen to me.” He bites your neck, leaving multiple visible marks before he pulls away. He gave you another hard thrust; the sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the kitchen. “Just waiting to be fucked stupid like the slut you are.” He slaps your ass again, making you squirm and allowing him to take you in an even deeper position.
“Cho… I’m close—!’ You feel his thrusts getting messier, meaning he was close as well. Choso’s hand crawls beneath your shirt, reaching for your tit and squeezing your nipple. The overload of pleasure was too much. You came with a cry, soaking and squeezing his thick length as your legs almost gave out. Choso spilled into not long after, your cunt wringing out ropes of cum.
His hand goes to your throat, applying just enough pressure to snap you out of the aftershocks. “I don’t ever want to see another man in this fucking apartment again. Got it?”
TOJI FUSHIGURO - BOTTOM BITCH
From dominant and slightly selfish to… used? (handyman toji x rich-girl reader)
If there was money involved, Toji doesn’t play. And you just happened to have a lot of it. He’d do about anything for some extra cash, and his options were very open. From repairing a few broken pipes, fixing some lights and maybe working a little overtime if you were offering tips. If you were watching, he would put on more of a show, and you ate it up every single time.
From purposely getting his tight-fitted shirt wet while fixing your sink to flexing his muscles in subtle ways, he never questioned why things were always broken around your place. The reason is something he already knew. You were also not very subtle with the way you were checking him out. If he was offering the free view, you didn’t mind accepting. So yes, you would frequently sabotage your house in many different ways just to have Mike Delfino 2.0 around for a little longer.
And when you found out that he was cash hungry and would do about anything? You did what any powerful person with money would do: buy it.
“Whoa, ma’am, this is… unexpected,” Toji rolls his creeper seat forward, moving from underneath your car. You straddle his lap, placing an arm on his shoulder to balance yourself.
“Yeah, well, I’m getting quite bored with just watching. How much do you charge?” You run your hand underneath his shirt, sliding it up.
“For you, doll, I’ll give a discount.” He places his hands on your hips, focusing on you with that shit-eating grin on his face. “But I don’t really do…” His gaze moves to your current position: you on top of him. The corners of your mouth twitch up, the fingers running up his chest shift to his face instead as you squeeze his cheeks together.
“I know… but you’re gonna have to compromise, Mr. Handyman. I like getting what I pay for.” Your free hand progresses down to his jeans, plopping the button open and slipping under the waistband. “So are you gonna do what I say or walk out without your bonus?” Toji stayed silent, eyes rolling at your tone, which gave you his answer. “Good boy.” His pants were lowered, and you pulled his cock out, already hard and slightly leaking with pre-cum. You smile at the pathetic sight.
His hands slide under your skirt, peeling off your panties in a rush. “You’re pretty stubborn with your money.” You lift your hips, positioning yourself above him. “I don’t do this for just anyone…”
“I know.” You sink onto him with a low moan, you try biting back, the stretch burning more than you had anticipated. Your eyes move to examine his reaction, only to find him covering it with his arm thrown across his face. This man had pride. You slap his arm, using this time to prepare yourself for another thrust on his length. “No covering up. I wanna see you.” And when he moves his arm away? He doesn’t look like the same big and imperious man who fixes about everything in your house anymore.
Toji’s face is red and flustered, his breathing heavier. “S-so demanding, doll…” The view makes you even more wet as it’s something you aren’t used to seeing. A completely opposite side to him, only for you. You lifted yourself again and sank back down on him; the slap of your ass against his thighs echoed in the garage. You set a fast pace, trying to get yourself off first. Hearing the occasional moans and pants from him only made you want to be closer.
You leaned in, face right next to his neck as you bit and sucked a mark onto it. “F-fuck—! Slow down…!” he whines, his hands going to your waist again, only to be smacked off. Your tongue soothed the bite marks and hickeys left on him until your face met his. “Pleas—” Your lips met his in a messy kiss, your tongue meeting his immediately. Pulling back, you felt yourself clench around his cock before you cum with a loud moan.
Then, you stopped.
“The fuck!? I didn’t—”
“You’ll get your turn in the bedroom. This setting is not suitable for me…”
RYOMEN SUKUNA - SWEETEST PIE
From mean and degrading to… nice? (bartender sukuna x shy reader)
When you entered this bar for the first time, you promised yourself that you’d try to step out of your own comfort zone. The bar itself was something you would never willingly walk into if you were in your right mind: too loud, too crowded and too unruly. But you had a promise to keep, and you needed to have fun. So when you saw him for the first time? He was everything you never imagined you’d need.
Multiple piercings, messy pink hair and tattoos that you’d imagine scatter farther than just his face. Ryomen Sukuna was written down on his name tag. Geez, even his name was intimidating, yet everything about him was so alluring. He was the spitting image of what the opposite of your type is. So when you finally convinced yourself to hit on him, you were met with a raised eyebrow and a shady smirk. He could see the tremble in your hands, the nervousness written in your expression with each word you spoke.
You weren’t meant for the kind of life he was going to drag you into, so he stupidly suggested a quickie in the bathroom, expecting you to deny. But when you agreed, he had no idea what to do now that he had you.
He had you pinned against the bathroom door, lips moving against yours in sloppy kisses. You were struggling to keep up, your arms not knowing where to go until he guided them to wrap around his neck. Then unexpectedly, he pulled back. And even more unexpectedly, Sukuna didn’t want to rush things. He didn’t want to be rough and degrading with you.
He buried his face into your neck, leaving soft pecks there. “Fuck… what are you doing to me…?” You even smelled too sweet to be in this bar in the first place.
“Oh… sorry…?” You looked up at him through long eyelashes, ignorant of the things he was thinking about. Fuck. This. He dropped to his knees in front of you, causing panic to rush through you. “What are you—!?”
“Relax,” he kisses your inner leg, right below where the fabric of your shorts ends. “May I?” After a moment of really thinking this through, you nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself. He unbuttons your shorts slowly, dragging them down along with your underwear to be met with the sight of your wet cunt. Your face reddened at how long he was staring as your thighs instinctively tried to close before he stopped them. “Uh-uh.” Sukuna leans in closer, his tongue dragging through your folds. “You’re not hiding from me, pretty…”
You let out a whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his work-uniform. His fingers slipped their way inside your heat, stretching you out as he thrusts his tongue in the mix. Sukuna’s hand retreats from your pussy, shifting to grip your ass and preventing you from moving. “K-Kuna—!” Your fingers find his hair without a thought. He eats you out like a man starved, sucking on your clit before his tongue flicks inside of you.
“So fucking good…” he murmurs in between kisses. “Taking it so good, baby.” Your head drops back against the bathroom door, not making any effort to keep quiet, with him making you feel this good. He stuffs you full with two long fingers again, hitting a spot that makes you moan louder. “Right there?”
You nod immediately, “Mhm! F-feels so good—!” He curls his fingers into that spot, thrusting them in and out over and over again before his mouth returns again. It was all too much; you could feel the tears running down your face. Your walls spasming around his fingers as you cried out soft whines, cumming hard around his digits. He licked every last drop and more, until you were practically prying him off of you.
“You are such a dumbass.” You glared at him, the overhead fluorescent light flickering above. The one light that the boxing club still didn’t have enough money to fix. Sukuna sat across from you, unwrapping the bloodied gauze he was wearing during his fight prior. Even though he had won and gained a little bit of cash, he was now dealing with you.
You were pissed, and rightfully so. There was a lot of word of mouth about a fight tonight. You checked in with Sukuna, to whom he very clearly stated he was not going to be there.
You weren’t stupid.
You went down to the club. Seeing the quick flashes of pink hair and bold tattoos. His wrapped fists connected harshly into another guy's jaw. Taking him down as the crowd cheered or booed, the so-called referee crowning him the winner. The crowd dispersed fast, not wanting to linger just in case the police ever came rolling through. You had enough decency to wait until he got his payout before storming over to his side.
You now poured antiseptic on a cotton ball, sitting on the edge of the ring with him. Taking his hand in yours, gently dabbing over the cuts on his knuckles. Sukuna tensed, letting out a small grunt. “Do you always have to be so damn nagging?” his voice came out rough, exhaustion and annoyance mixed into something familiar.
Your thumb pressed down on the cotton ball, earning a small curse from his lips. “You don’t want me nagging? Then stop doing illegal shit.” Your tone of voice edged on blunt, brows furrowing, causing the crease in between. Once you finished with one hand, you moved on to the other, being just slightly gentler. “God, you piss me off.”
You could practically feel the way his lips tugged into a deeper frown. He didn’t pull his hand away just yet, letting you do the thing you got so good at. Instead, he watched, deciding if he wanted to start shit with you or let it go.
A sigh flew out from your lips. You reach over, grabbing the fresh roll of gauze next to you, easily re-wrapping his raw skin. Making it tight enough to suffocate the lingering burn of the antiseptic. “I’m going to end up wasting my medical degree on you,” an absent-minded murmur. A random thought that just came to mind.
His hand slipped out of yours, leaving you confused. His thumb pushed your chin up while his other fingers sprawled out on your neck. He leaned in, whispering roughly into your ear, “You should be fucking honoured,” tilting his head slowly.
You followed his pursuit, tilting yours even closer. Teeth pulling the inside of your cheek between them, “Fuck you.” rolling your eyes.
He shoved your face away, sliding off the edge of the ring. “Yeah, fuck you too, pretty girl.” He says, walking off as he finishes wrapping his hand.
a/n - Higuruma fic next...? I have been highkey obsessed with him.
@k4rinaviiz please do not repost, translate or copy my work. all my work is originally mine.
# SYNOPSIS : your ex husband fucks the stupid out of you after an embarrassing event at a work party
content. 18+ MDNI!
note. my man my man my man my baby my babyyyy
credits! this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
You were sitting at your assigned table, feeling pathetic about how you thought you were going to make this glamorous comeback into your ex-husband’s life. You weren’t sure why your answer was so quick after hearing about your ex-husband’s appearance at that stupid event.
Stupid fucking Gojo and his stupid fucking “peacemaking.”
Of course, he had to place the two of you at the same table with no one else to soothe the awkwardness.
Your plan was simple: wear the most gorgeous dress you owned, do your makeup and hair perfectly, walk into the party, and capture his attention all over again to make sure he knew what he had lost. But you forgot one fatal flaw in your plan: your ex-husband, Nanami Kento, was a brick wall when it came to socializing in a professional setting.
He wouldn’t even talk with some (Gojo) of his co-workers, let alone his ex-wife. But that wasn’t going to stop you. This plan needed to happen. You took a sip out of your wine glass, mentally preparing yourself to start a conversation with the man you hadn’t spoken to for five months after that divorce.
“So…” you begin, your eyes shooting to him to see that he didn’t quite hear you. Clearing your throat, you try again. “So…” you say louder. This time, it caught his attention.
“Yes…?” Nanami says, politely as always. If there was one thing about your ex-husband that you couldn’t deny, it’d be that he is nothing short of perfect. Smart, respectful as hell, kind, and—god—he had the looks to back it all up. But among all the pros, he had one major con. He was never around. Always away on missions, finishing paperwork. It was what led to the divorce happening. Still, getting over him to find “better” was close to impossible.
“It’s been a while… how are you?” The end of your question sounded like you weren’t even sure what you were asking.
“Busy.” His answer is brief, cold, and distant. The same treatment he’d give to other women when he was married to you.
“Right. Some things never change, I guess,” you mumble the last bit, but not quiet enough that he doesn’t hear. “Must be lighter now that no one’s in the way of your work, right?” There was another question lingering at the tip of your tongue: “Is there someone else?” But you bit it back.
“No, I took up more hours,” he responds, checking the time on his watch.
“Really? You hate overtime…”
“I hated working overtime because I had someone to come home to. There’s no one waiting for me there anymore, so why bother?” Your fingers tense on the wine glass; your heart stops for a moment, as if his words have put a dagger through it. But a hint of comfort sank in when you realized he had escaped the one-word answers. Then… “Sorry, that was out of line for me.” As fast as those walls came down, they built back up instantly.
This man was infuriating. You couldn’t deal with it anymore. So, you did the only logical thing: get drunk.
An hour later, you found yourself at the bar with a line of untouched shots on the counter. You grinned at them and downed each one without a break. Your throat was burning with the taste of strong alcohol, but you held back a few coughs.
“Whoa there, little lady. I can’t tell if these are ‘drown your problems in alcohol’ shots or celebration ones.” A man approached you, a grin plastered onto his face. If you weren’t tipsy, you would’ve rolled your eyes at him and moved on with your night.
“Mmm… both…?” you ponder, mentally weighing the pros and cons of why you’re drinking. “Wanna join?”
“Don’t mind if I do, babe.” The man takes a seat next to you, an arm already slung around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “Wanna tell me why you downed those shots in a few seconds?” You giggle, ordering another one.
“I dunno,” you shrug. “What about you, babe?” You return the pet name with a smile, but you move away out of reflex.
“What about me?”
“Why are you at this party, hm, babe?” Another shot burns down your throat, and then you set it down onto the table with a little slam. Your eyelids felt heavy under the sudden pressure of intoxication.
“To be with some chicks like you.” His hand moves towards your face, but quickly gets shut down when your chair is pulled away, out of his reach. “What the—”
You try to keep your eyes open; you desperately want to know who came to your rescue.
Nanami—who was in the other seat near you—put a jacket around you and gently rested your head on his shoulder. “You can leave now. I can take care of her.” He stares down the man who looks like he’s about to pop a vein out of his head. “And please refrain from referring to my wife as some ‘chick.’ She may be drunk, but she still doesn’t need shit from men like you.”
Then, you let yourself pass out.
THE NEXT MORNING
You wake up with a headache that feels like it’s splitting your skull in two.
Your throat is dry, body heavy, limbs tangled in sheets that don’t feel like yours. They’re too crisp. Too clean. Too… unfamiliar. The pillow smells faintly like detergent and something else… something achingly familiar.
Nanami.
Your eyes snap open.
The ceiling above you is plain. Not your apartment. Not the place you cried in weeks after the divorce. Panic spikes in your chest as you sit up too fast, immediately clutching your head with a groan.
Then it hits you.
The smell.
Butter is melting in a pan. Coffee that smells strong and freshly brewed. Toast, maybe bacon. Something savory and comforting that you haven’t woken up to in months.
Your heart starts pounding for a completely different reason.
“No way,” you mutter, voice hoarse. You look down at yourself.
Gone is your dress from last night. In its place is a familiar white button-up, sleeves long enough to swallow your hands. His shirt. You recognize the way the fabric hangs and the crease near the collar, which he didn’t bother ironing out.
“No fucking way.” Your stomach twists.
Fragments of last night rush back in flashes. You swallow hard and force yourself out of bed, each step toward the doorway feeling heavier than the last. The apartment is quiet except for soft movement from the kitchen.
You round the near corner, and Nanami stands at the stove like this is all normal. Plain, white t-shirt, sleeves barely short enough to reveal his biceps, glasses perched low on his nose. His hair is slightly unkept, like he didn’t bother fixing it after waking up. And his sweats did nothing to help your imagination.
Two mugs sit on the counter, steam curls lazily upward. For a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped backward in time.
“You’re awake,” he says without turning around. “There’s water and aspirin on the counter. Take those first.”
You nod immediately, grab both, swallow the pill, and wash it down with water.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For last night… for bringing me here.”
His expression softens just a fraction. “You were in no condition to go home alone.”
“I know,” you say quietly, defensive without meaning to be. “I didn’t plan to waste like that…”
“Really? The way you downed almost nine shots could’ve made me believe otherwise.” The silence stretches as you fidget with the hem of his shirt.
“I know,” you repeat again. “I wasn’t completely out of line, though… it was a party.” You tried anything to justify your stupid actions, but you knew that it was pointless.
Nanami sets his hands down on the counter, leaning back against it, and turns to face you fully. “No,” he says evenly. “You were.”
He steps closer, “You couldn’t stand straight. You lined up shots like you were trying to disappear, and you let a stranger believe that he was deserving of you.”
His gaze sharpens as your lips part, but he doesn’t let you speak. “I’m not finished.” His words aren’t raised. They don’t need to be. “You are not careless with yourself, you aren’t reckless. So watching you act like you were—watching you forget your own worth—was unacceptable.”
You were begging your brain to think of something to say. But you don’t interrupt. “I stepped in because it was my responsibility,” he continues. “And before you try to argue with that—don’t.” His eyes flick to your mouth, wanting. “You know exactly why I did.”
He takes another step, close enough now that you can smell the faintness of his cologne. “You think I didn’t notice?” he says quietly. “The way you kept checking whether I was looking. The way you drank more every time, I didn’t react.”
Your pulse races. His gaze is fixed on you. It’s focused and intense, like he’s already decided how this conversation is going to end.
“I just—” you start, instinctively trying to explain yourself, embarrassment crawling up your spine. “I didn’t mean to—”
He doesn’t let you finish. His hand comes up fast, firm against your jaw, thumb pressing lightly under your chin as he pulls you into him and kisses you.
You gasp, words dying immediately as your hands lift on instinct to grab his shirt. He breaks the kiss only long enough to breathe before his lips are back onto yours. He deepens the kiss, tongue slipping between your lips.
Nanami’s hand tilts your head back to give him the angle to kiss you better. The counter is cold beneath your hips as he pushes you against it. He tastes like coffee and something so undeniably him.
His tongue slides against yours, licking into your mouth with determination. Your pulse is racing, your head dizzy, and your body arching—because fuck, you missed this.
You moan softly against his mouth, hands slipping upward to grip his shoulders. Your thighs pressed against him as he moved from your mouth, kissing and licking a path down your jaw. His breath against your skin is hot, sending shivers down your spine, and you still want him even closer.
Nanami’s breath hitches as you press against him. The fabric of his sweats is thin enough that the hard line of his length grinds unmistakably into your thigh. When you look up at him with a smirk, you notice his glasses are askew now, and all that sharp control is gone.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his hand gripping your chin as he moves inches closer to your face. “You don’t get to look at me like that unless you’re gonna stay…”
Your hand moves to his, moving it out of the way so you can tilt your head to nip at his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you breathe against his skin. Your hips roll up deliberately. “Or did you forget how loud I could get when I wanted something?”
He stiffens as your voice reaches him. That tone—the one that used to drag him straight to hell. He takes off his glasses and crashes his lips onto yours one last time before spinning you around so your back presses flush against his chest. One hand fists in your hair, yanking just hard enough for his teeth to sink into the back of your neck.
“Say it again,” he demands into the shell of your ear, hips grinding slow and filthy against your ass. “Tell me you won’t leave me again.”
“F-fuck— I won’t leave you, Ken… never again,” you utter as you arch into him—his cock pressing against you from behind. His hands move lower on your body, sliding under the shirt you were wearing. Two fingers slide under the fabric of your panties without warning.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. His two digits thrust deep into you in a way that steals the air from your lungs—because fuck, of course he remembers exactly what makes you choke.
Your back bows, a ragged cry tearing from your throat as his fingers curl just right—
“K-Ken—”
He laughs, a low sound against your ear while his fingers thrust in and out of you with ease. The slight stretch burns in the best way, every drag of his knuckles hitting spots that have you seeing stars. “Close already? Christ…” he mutters, voice wrecked already as his hips jerk forward helplessly when you clench around him. “Missed this that much?”
Your thighs tremble as pleasure rips through you in waves. His name spills from your lips, high and broken. Nanami groans, fingers stilling deep inside you just to feel the way your walls flutter around them greedily.
Your head rests against the counter, but you barely have time to register the sound of fabric rustling behind you before his cock slams into you, burying you to the hilt. “F-fuck—! Missed you so fucking much—!” His hips jerk, balls-deep in one brutal thrust.
“Shit! ’S t-too much—!” But he doesn’t let up. The sound of skin-on-skin is obscenely loud now with each punishing drive forward.
“Never should’ve l-let you leave me…” He pulls out all the way before thrusting back into your pussy with a filthy groan. “That’s it, love… T-take it like you used to—” Every snap of his pelvis is punishing now. Sweat slick skin sticking together between thrusts that leave no room for thought beyond more.
Your hands claw at the counter, not sure if you’re trying to get away or not. The moans leaving your mouth are almost pathetic. “K-Ken, please! Slow down—!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you harder into the counter, the sting only makes you clench tighter around his cock like you’re begging for more, even as your body trembles from overstimulation already.
Nanami feels it. The way your body locks up, the sharp cry tearing from your throat as you cum around him. He huffs, hips stuttering as he fucks you through the orgasm, chasing his own release with rough, uneven thrusts. His forehead drops against your shoulder between panting breaths. “Fuck, love—!” The nickname is a ragged plea on his tongue when he finally spills deep inside you.
You’re practically shaking by the time he pulls out, thighs trembling enough that he has to hold you up against the counter for a moment after turning you around. “…Missed you too,” you smile sweetly at him after being thoroughly ruined.
The sight alone has Nanami’s heart clenching. His head drops to the crook of your neck, placing a kiss there before, “’M sorry I left you alone all those times. I was so fucking stupid…” He cups your face with one hand and leans over you to make eye contact.
“So I’ll promise you this… I won’t ever make you feel like that again, my love…”
ʚɞ Roommate!satoru eating you out at a party mdni (f.oral)
Drinks were being passed around by the time you both got there. The music was actually good for once, stimulating enough to not bore you, but not overly so. The booze made you feel fuzzy but still in control of your own actions. You knew a few faces, making small talk that wasn’t obsolete and pointless. Everything was going great. Better than you could have even imagined.
Well, right up until your roommate, Satoru Gojo, attempted to crowd surf with his beverage in hand. He was barely up there for a second before he came crashing down, people moving out of the way so as not to get hit. His weight hit your front, cold liquid landing on your chest. You both stumbled back, his arm going around to catch you by the waist.
The idiot stood there with wide eyes. You stood there wide-eyed, your hands raised in defense. You could feel your pulse practically popping out of your skin, your eyes on the verge of twitching. “How. Bad. Is. It?” The words come out in a gritted, repressed kind of anger. Before he could even open his mouth, you looked down, seeing the growing red stain on your top, and the smell was already giving you a headache.
A groan left the back of your throat as you shoved past people. Satoru, of course, was quick to follow. You walked to the front of the bathroom line, and the poor girl who was just about to enter. As soon as her eyes fell on you, she stepped aside. You pushed the door shut with what you considered a ‘called for’ amount of strength, only for it to be caught by somebody's foot.
Satoru pushed through, shutting the door behind him with a soft ‘click’. “I am so sorry, I didn't mean to. I mean, you just happened to be in front of me.” he flicked on the sink, waiting for the water to warm up a bit. “Don’t freak out, your Roomie Toru has got this, I can get this out no problem.”
He pulled you closer, taking his damp finger to start rubbing the stain out. Going on and on about how your top was going to look brand new. In reality, the stain was starting to spread, and you were almost sure you would just end up throwing it out.
“Dude, it’s fine, just leave it.” You say quickly, only to be met with his whining.
His head lifted up, his eyes meeting yours, “I’m sorry, please don’t make me sleep outside.” He paused, adding in a lower tone, “I can make it up to you, I swear.”
“Unless it's buying me a new—” a gasp got caught in your throat as he gently pressed you against the bathroom door. His lips find the side of your neck, kissing the same spot repeatedly, slowly. When he stopped to talk, his lips brushed your skin.
“I can make you forget why you're even mad,” he murmured, “Please, lemme show you what this mouth can do.” He was practically pleading, his hand drifting down to your waistband, giving it a light tug. Goosebumps covered your skin like wildfire. Your breathing turned into softer, shorter huffs. The music muffled from inside the bathroom.
“You're serious?” you questioned.
“As a heart attack.” He looked to you with his corny little grin. He waited for you to nod your head, dipping to his knees. Looking to you once again before he even considered taking your pants off. The fabric bunches down at your ankles. He held onto your thighs, kissing up the inner skin. His tongue glides up on the part right before your crotch.
A curse slipped from your lips, so he did it again. A finger comes up to trace the edge of your panties. “I wanna take them off,” he whispered against your skin. You were really starting to hate him.
“Yeah, sure, take them off.” The words came out quickly, almost as quickly as your panties did, more fabric ending up at your ankles. His thumb pressed against your clit, drawing faint little circles that made you squirm. He dragged it down, gliding it through the wetness building.
“Didn’t know my Roomie could have such a pretty pussy.” he whispered, kissing the words to your clit like it was a fucking prayer. Your head fell back against the door, and heat prickled against every part of your flesh. Teeth pulling your lower lip into your mouth, only to open in a hitched moan when he started to suck. His hands gently spread apart your thighs to give himself more room.
The small room filled with the sounds of wet kissing, sucking, and both of your moans. He had been eating you out like he was somehow gaining sexual pleasure from this whole thing. His tongue eagerly slipped inside, blue eyes looking up to you as he pushed it in, then out. repeating it slower, then faster, until you were gripping locks of his hair desperately.
“shit, slow down… Satoru,” you whined, shaking your head as your legs started to shake. Yet, you held him in place. Feeling that queasy feeling build up in your lower stomach. He moved up, dragging his lips along sensitive nerves, a single finger replacing where his tongue once was, hooking into your upper wall. He knew exactly what he was doing, he knew how to bring you what you desired, the feeling of complete and overwhelming pleasure.
You came apart on his finger, using your hand to cover your mouth. Standing there in utter awe at this whole situation. Of course, Satoru just had to make it worse, pulling his finger out and bringing it to his lips. Licking off the glisten on it, “Hm, I think it's kinda sweet.”
a/n — clearly I don't know how to go on hiatus. I had time after a final and just really liked the idea so I thought I'd post it. Pretty happy with how this turned out !! If ya'll have any requests or recs on what you want me to write I would love to hear them.
@k4rinaviiz please do not repost, translate or copy my work. all my work is originally mine.
we have sub!kuna (which im still contemplating doing part 2 for...), popstar!gojo and the third part, we're gonna have ex-husband!nanami soon. but we need to complete the hexalogy with toji, choso and geto... who do we want first?
make your choice...
overworked!choso x brat reader
cop!toji x serial killer reader
yakuza-leader!geto x arranged wife reader
Voting ended onJan 14
im very open to changing the roles up, lemme know what you guys wanna see thooo ^^
It was a frosty mid-evening. Yet another day of doing absolutely nothing. Snow dusting over the garden, flowers and plants starting to wilt. You were under the meticulously made gazebo. The metal of the chair felt cold through the heavy fabric of your dress. An involuntary shudder runs up your neck to your shoulders, gripping your fur shawl tighter. You looked out towards the frozen-over lake, the faint sun hit it, making it glisten.
A book sat discarded on the circular table sitting in the middle of the space. It had been sitting there long enough to get the cold flush; it ran along your cheekbones. Especially prominent on the tip of your nose and your fingers. The sound of heavy, clunky armour filled the chilled silence. A huge smile spread across your face, and you turned to face your approaching knight. “Well, hello there, Ryomen.” You watched him stand at the bottom of the stairs.
“Princess,” he grunted, nodding his head. His eyes flicker down your frame. “Why must you sit out here, freezing your ass off like an idiot?”
You turned to face him directly, crossing one leg over the other. Your fingers are running over the fur of your sleeves. “It's quite peaceful. Relaxing almost.” You shrugged. gesturing with your head to the empty seat on the opposing side. “Care to join?” Your voice came out like a pleasant offering, but the way you looked at him. The way your body leaned just a fraction forward. Well, it barely gives him the room to decline.
He pulled out the chair with one hand, dropping into it with a heavy thud. Leaning back with his arms crossed. “You are going to catch an illness out here, women.” He said, clearly annoyed at how you just choose to freeze out there.
You gasped, turning as you pointed to your winter gown and shawl. “I am very clearly dressed in the correct attire.” A huff of a laugh left your lips, turning into visible air, and I look very, very dear. You sent him a little wink, only to be met with yet another grunt… clearly his signature.
“You are a dumbass,” he said plainly.
You leaned back, copying his pose. Silence fell over both of you, and instead of trying to pick up the conversation, you decided to get his attention differently. Hitting his foot with your black booted heel. His brows furrowed, but he didn't say anything. You kept eye contact with him, dragging your foot up the inside of his leg.
“Stop messing around,” he said roughly, moving his leg away. You leaned in closer, putting your forearms on the table. You moved your foot right up to his inner thigh, barely an inch away from his crotch. Sukuna sucked in a breath. He looked ten times angrier. You could tell he wanted to say something, probably harsh, but he knew he shouldn’t.
You pressed the front of your foot to his crotch. Watching him grit his teeth, he was clenching the edge of the table enough to make his arms flex. Muscle straining against fabric and steel.
Your foot dragged along the length of his cock, forcing a groan out of him. You could tell he was forcing himself not to get up. Not to stop whatever you were doing, but to point out how inappropriate and unethical this was. Yet, he didn't. You could feel the outline growing harder when you applied more pressure. You could basically make out the rough estimate of his side by now.
“Well, I certainly did not expect your… ‘sword’ to be so thick.” You say, tilting with that same shit-eating grin. “May I see it?”
He tipped his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t indulge your idiocy. Your attempts to get under his skin. But god, he could not stop fantasizing about what your hands would feel like wrapped around him. “Then come over here.” He demanded, no longer giving you the option of backing out.
You got up from your seat, so did he. Your hands ran over the fabric of your dress as you watched, waiting for him to do something, anything. He lets out a rasp of a laugh, shaking his head, “If you want it, fucking get it.” Sukuna gestures to the bulge in his pants. Looking at you like he believes nothing is going to happen.
You get closer, your head almost to his chest. You move your gasp down to the amour covered his zipper. Sliding your hands under to carefully undo his pants, pull them down along with his undergarments. His cock sprang free. You tensed, forcing your breath to slow as you looked back up to him. “It's… adequate.”
“Adequate? You're fucking with me,” he grumbled. grasping your hands, moving them towards the base of his length.
“Good lord, what are you doing?” you say quickly, making him stop. He gave you a look. Giving you time to backout. To change your mind about indulging in such vulgar acts with your Knight. You gave a small nod, watching his hand guide yours to wrap around his cock.
Both of you said nothing.
Your fingers flexed, tightening, before relaxing once more. He moved your hand up, letting out a low groan as your skin reached his tip. Slowly, he moved your hand in a rhythm, using your hand to get himself off. Until you got that hang of it, taking over for him. Watching his expression the whole time, watching every held back noise, every time he accidentally bucks his hips.
“Fuck princess…” Sukuna finally voiced, this only gave you confidence to pick up speed. His tip was dripping clear fluid, making everything wet and messy. The sounds that hit your ears were completely obscene.
“Stop, Stop.” He grabbed your hand, pulling it away. Forcing himself to catch his breath.
You shook your head, “What? What did I do?” You looked down, his cock still as hard, flushed and glossy.
He pulled his pants back up, shaking his head. “You are not going to make me finish on this stupid gazebo.” He said harshly, pushing past you. You rushed after him, lifting your skirt so you wouldn't trip.
“This shit is not happening again,” he said, picking up his pace, trying his absolute hardest to get away.
“Why not!?” You called out in frustration.
He didn't even look at you. “If I get some of you now, then I’ll want all of you later. Fucked-out beneath me like a own you.” he paused, as he followed him into the castle. “Trust me, princess, you wouldn't be able to handle that.”
a/n — This is my first time writing stuff like this... please do not mind it being absolute shit. Genuinely just written for one of my dear friends.
also i will be back in February after all my exams are over with. so see you thenn!!
@k4rinaviiz please do not repost, translate or copy my work. all my work is originally mine.
Listen.. no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the bathroom. Need him everywhere on me, in me, around me. 10/10 would smash 😛😛😛😛😛
I was listening to cannibal by Kesha in the car and it sparked a beautiful thought inside my head.
Dunno nerd!jo searching into the mystery of the random people’s death with two marks on their neck cs it doesn’t make sense. Vampires aren’t real and can’t exist so what is this killer doing to their necks cs there’s no way they’re biting into them right…? Reader def isn’t shy at all very dominant, bossy, sassy, sarcastic, egotistical ass bitch. Teasing him, bullying him, finds it ridiculous that he thinks vampires might exist because of this killer going around putting two little holes in their victims necks. Lowkey getting irritated cs he getting more closer to the truth so ykw that means, gotta kill him. Bro’s outside walking alone or maybe in his room playing some stupid nerdy ass game and then reader attacks him trying to kill him and when he see’s it’s reader with fangs and red or yellow eyes he lowkey gets turned on and she feels it WHILE TRYING TO KILL HIM. So she dominates him. Maybe kills him after, dunno.
Change wtv you want. Add wtv you think might make it better, have your own idea.
SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE THIS OR UNDERSTAND WHAT IM SAYING, FEED ME IDC WHO JUST TAG ME IF YOU MAKE THIS
# SYNOPSIS : A sharp-tongued reporter and a world-famous, mean pop icon play enemies in public
content. 18+ MDNI! | sex while on the phone, mean gojo at the start :(
note. going on a little writing spree before I'm forced into slavery again (school)
credits. this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
8:00 PM - THE AURELIAN BENEFIT
“We are live at The Aurelian Benefit, an invitation-only charity gala hosted this year by Director Utahime Iori and sponsored by Nanami Kento! Drenched in gold and tradition, the event attracts only the most untouchable names: Global Pop Icon Satoru Gojo, Film Director and Creative Visionary Suguru Geto, the Inspirational Influencer Shoko Ieri and Award-Winning Actor Toji Fushiguro! All and more gathered for one night where status—”
Blah, blah, blah.
You smooth your blazer down and adjust the press badge at your collar, your thumb brushing the edge of your recorder in a practiced gesture. After covering enough celebrity events, you know exactly when the atmosphere turns. Right now, that shift isn't the usual cash grab hype. Everyone here knows what the Gala means, everyone is poised for something bigger. That’s why you’ve skipped the standard introduction—fifty other news channels will cover that. Instead, you focus on the real reason you’re here: waiting for him.
The energy shifted. It happens now.
Security straightens their stance, photographers rise on their toes, and a murmur ripples down the carpet. He’s arrived. The black car glides to a stop, its surface polished to a mirror shine that catches the lights. The door opens in one smooth motion, drawing everyone's attention.
And then Satoru Gojo steps out.
The reaction is instant and explosive. Flashes detonate, voices surge.
“SATORU—LOOK THIS WAY!” “GOJO, SMILE FOR US!” “WHO ARE YOU HERE WITH?” “IS IT TRUE YOU’RE—”
He moves like he’s immune to it all. Tall, impossible composed and dressed in black tailored so precisely, it looks sculpted onto him. Dark sunglasses shield his eyes, face set into that familiar indifference. You knew all popstars had their persona and this was just his. Cold. Mean. Untouchable.
You lift your recorder and lean forward. Gojo’s halfway down the carpet when his attention snags. His stride is slowed by a fraction. Then he sees you.
“Oh fuck,” he mutters, not quiet enough, “Not you again. Don’t you ever learn?” You smile, already stepping into the narrow space between microphones.
“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Mr. Gojo.” The way his attention is held to you snaps cameras your way when the vultures sense an interview coming. Slowly and deliberately, he turns towards you, sunglasses angled just enough to acknowledge your existence without fully granting you his eyes.
“Is it?” he asks. “Because every time I see your face, my night gets worse.”
You lift your mic. “I prefer to think of it as professional dedication. And it’s my job.” Then you add, pleasantly, “Speaking of dedication, rumor has it you’ve been dedicating a lot of your recent songs to a mystery muse. Care to comment?”
The crowd perks up instantly. Gojo exhales slowly, like he’s counting to ten.
“No,” he says. “And don’t flatter yourself by asking again.”
You tilt your head. “Straight to the point. I respect that.”
He takes a step forward, clearly intending to move on, but you match his pace smoothly, keeping yourself just within range.
“Fans have noticed,” you continued, “that your lyrics have gotten… softer. More romantic. Which is interesting, considering you’ve also gone on record saying love is a distraction.”
“Fans like you notice whatever makes them feel important,” he replies coolly. “Doesn’t mean they’re right. Plus, it’s not my problem.”
You smile, unfazed. “So there’s no one special?”
“Correct.”
“So the rumors about you being seen with the same person multiple times over the past few months are, what? Coincidence?”
His jaw tightens, cameras lean in. And Gojo finally looks directly at you. Even behind the sunglasses, you feel it. The weight of his attention, sharp and focused like a blade. He leans closer, just enough that the space between you feels charged.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he says quietly.
“And you really hate answering questions about your love life,” you shoot back lightly. “Almost like there’s something worth hiding.” A murmur ripples through the crowd.
Gojo straightens, smile cold and deliberate. “Or maybe I just don’t owe parasites front row details about who I fuck.” A few gasps emerge at his reply. Someone laughs.
You blink once, then recover almost instantly. “Strong wording.”
“I don’t sugarcoat things Especially not for people who profit off pretending they know me.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Funny. For someone who claims to hate romance, you seem awfully defensive when it comes up.
He scoffs, “You mistake annoyance for interest. Common mistake. Journalists aren’t known for subtlety.”
“Like I said, it’s my job.”
“And it’s my job,” he counters, stepping closer, voice low, “to make sure people like you remember your place.” For a moment, the world narrows. Noise dulls. All you’re aware of is him, his presence, the way tension coils tight between you like a secret neither of you is supposed to acknowledge. “You’re not clever. You’re just loud.”
Then, you lift your mic again. “One last question,” you say. “Hypothetically—”
He sighs, “Of course.”
“If you were in a relationship,” you continue, tone deceptively casual, “would you ever admit it publicly?” A pause, longer than it should be.
Gojo tilts his head, lips curling faintly. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether the person is worth the headache people like you would cause.” He steps back, mask snapping firmly into place. “This stupid interview’s over.” As he passed you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne and the heat radiating off him, he mutters under his breath, “You’re annoying as hell.”
You don’t look at him when you reply. “You’d be bored if I wasn’t.”
9:07 PM - INSIDE THE AURELIAN BENEFIT
You’ve ditched the blazer. It hangs over the back of your chair at a small press table near the edge of the ballroom. Your notebook is open now, pen smudged faintly with ink where you’d been scribbling half-formed observations. Who arrived with whom, who avoided eye contact, who looked too comfortable for a “networking” event.
You spin around a flute of champagne you’ve really been drinking, eyes scanning the room. Across the room, laughter rises near the bar. Influencers cluster together in shimmering dresses, phones already angled, already capturing. And then, there he is.
Gojo stands near the edge of the ballroom. His jacket is still on, immaculate, but his tie is loosened just enough to suggest something in your brain. Then inevitably, his gaze lifts. It finds you instantly.
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s annoyed by the mere thought of you. He hesitates before excusing himself from the small knot of people around him. When he stops in front of your table, the space suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, despite the crowd.
“You again,” he says dryly. You glance up at him, deliberately slow, pen tapping once against your notebook.
“You say that like I’m stalking you. It’s insulting.”
He leans an elbow on the back of the empty chair beside you, casual yet invasive. “You are.”
“Correction,” you reply with the same pleasant tone. “I’m doing my job. You’re the one who needs to be interesting for me to watch.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s not a compliment.” But you smile anyway. Up close, he smells faintly of something expensive. Clean, sharp with a warmer note underneath. Familiar. “So what now?” he asks. “Gonna ambush me between courses?”
“I already got my red carpet questions in. This is the part where I observe and take notes.”
“And yet,” his gaze flicking to your mostly empty glass, “you’re not writing.”
You glance down, then back up. “I write better when I’m not rushed.”
“Uh-huh,” Gojo hums. He walks behind your chair and places both hands on the table beside your frame, caging you in while he leans into your ear. “Remember, my place after this Gala,” he whispers before walking off to continue socializing.
Oh. You almost forgot about… that.
11:00 PM - MONTCLAIR RESIDENCE
The lobby is decorated in that deliberate, expensive way. Marble floors that enhances the sound of your heels, warm gold lighting that glows instead of shines and a faint scent of cedar with something floral you can’t place. The doorman barely looks up when you pass. He recognizes you now, that thought alone still feels strange.
You swipe your access card, fingers a little stiff from the cold outside, and step into the private elevator reserved for the upper floors. You press the button for the penthouse. The elevators hums to life. The doors slide with a soft, seamless glide. Just before the doors fully close—
A hand wedges between them. The doors recoil, parting again. Your heart jumps before you can stop it and then there he is. Satoru Gojo steps inside like he owns the space. No sunglasses now, hair slightly messed from the night, jacket slung over one shoulder and tie completely abandoned.
His eyes flick to you once, quick and unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. The doors slide shut again, sealing you both into the quiet. Then the second the elevator clears the ground floor—
“Oh thank God,” he says, voice instantly warmer, like someone dropped a curtain. He slumps forward and presses his forehead into your shoulder without warning, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. “That was exhausting.”
You jolt. “Satoru—”
He hums, pleased, already nuzzling closer like he’s been deprived of oxygen for hours. “Do you know how hard it is to pretend like I’m not completely in love with you?”
You scoff, even as your hand comes up to run your fingers through his messy hair. “You’re very convincing.”
“Rude.” He lifts his head just enough to peer down at you, eyes bright and boyish now. “I was fighting for my life out there!”
“You told the entire press line you don’t owe... parasites details about who you fuck.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “And then I spent the next two hours thinking about how much I wanna just kiss you.” Then, the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “Plus, you already knew the answers to all those questions.” As the elevator climbs higher, Gojo shifts, turning so your back leans against the wall until your boxed in between him and the mirrored surface. “You were brutal tonight, by the way.”
“You came over to my table,” you remind him. “You could’ve avoided me.”
He shrugs, “I missed you.” His hand moves up to grip your chin, leaving you with no other option than to remain focused on his eyes. “But those questions… it pisses me off that you have to act clueless about knowing who I love.” His thumb moves higher, tracing along your bottom lip. “And you already know the details about who I fuck.”
—
You barely make it through the door before he’s on you again, his mouth crashing onto yours as he slips your blazer off. You slide your hands under his shirt and he shivers as you drag nails down his spine. “You know what I hate more?” he murmurs, pulling you closer to him by your belt loop.
“What?” you smile.
He kisses your neck, fingers working a button on your blouse. “Having to leave you because of those after parties when all I want is to take you to bed.” Gojo forgets about your blouse for a moment. Instead, he impatiently slides his hands under your thighs to lift you and take you towards the nearest soft surface: the couch.
He pulls you onto his lap, removing your blouse as you gasp at the feeling of his cold, metal rings. Your hands slide under the edges of his shirt and over his abs, and fuck— you’ve seen him shirtless many times but it never gets old. He grips your hips, holding you against him as he tilts his head back, giving you better access to press open-mouthed kisses along his throat.
You feel his breath growing heavy as he pulls you up, hand in your hair, and kisses you with quiet desperation. In a few expert moves, he flips you onto your back, pinning you to the couch. You know that look, it’s the one that has crowds of women swooning everywhere he goes.
But right now, he’s all yours.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he grins. Gojo’s gaze dips down to your mouth, his thumb reaches behind you bra, unclasping and removing it with ease before tossing it aside. “So fucking gorgeous.” He places kisses down your body, you let out a whimper at the contact—
His phone buzzes with a notification he ignores, placing a kiss on your pelvis. Then, his phone buzzes again. “Ugh,” he groans, reaching his arm out to pick it off the coffee table before you stop him.
“Ignore it,” you say. He chuckles, moving his head back between your legs.
“That impatient?” he teases, dragging the lace of your panties down and he groans at the sight of you. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” His thumb circles your clit once—twice—
Before he replaces his fingers with his mouth in one swift motion. You cry out—half gasp, half moan—and his hands clamp around your thighs to hold you in place.
“Tastes so fucking good,” he mumbles against you. He sucks at your clit between his lips and drags a finger inside, crooking it just right. Your back arches off the couch, fingers tangling in his hair as he fucks you deep that that tongue.
“S-Satoru—!” you gasp, thighs trembling around his head. “I-I’m gonna—fuck—!”
He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips glistening. “Come on then,” he dares, “Let me have it.”
And oh, you do exactly what he says.
He drinks you in like a man possessed. Every twitch, every cry, everything. When he finally pulls back, it’s only to drag two fingers through the mess between your thighs and bring them to his lips. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Already ruined, sweets.”
His hands are rough as they flip you over, your stomach pressing into the couch and his breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “This what you want?” He places a kiss there. “Me fucking my pretty muse? Hm?”
The metallic clink of his belt unbuckling is obscenely loud in the quiet penthouse. He doesn’t rush—just drags the leather free with a slow deliberate pull before dropping it to the floor. His length springs free against your thigh, already leaking and flushed with need.
“H-hurry up,” you try to lift yourself up a little to get a peak at what he’s doing.
Gojo pushes your head forward, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face because of your agitated self. “I know, sweets.” He moves his hand on top of yours next to your head softly as he drags the head of his cock through your slick folds.
He gives your hand a squeeze, the feeling sharp enough to make you jolt and take him deeper by accident. “Sh-shit—” he moans. “That’s it… J-just like that.” After giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he slams into you in one brutal thrust, catching you completely off guard.
“F-fuck, Satoru—! Wait—” you shrieked. The slap of skin fills the room as he pounds into you, each stroke dragging over that sweet spot inside until your vision turns slightly white—
Ring, ring ring!
“J-jesus christ—” He keeps fucking you, deep unrelenting thrusts as he brings the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” A sharp snap of his hips punctuates the word. “…No, I don’t give a shit about g-going overseas.” Your eyes widen in shock as you realize he answered the call. You bury your face the pillow in front of you, trying to keep quiet.
His manager’s voice spikes through the phone, “Gojo, we have a contract! You can’t just ignore the—”
Gojo cuts him off with a filthy groan as you clench around him, which surprisingly, his manager doesn’t hear. “Fuck. The. Contract.” Another punishing thrust, his teeth sinking into your neck to muffle his own sounds.
“Seriously?! This is a cash grab and you’re backing d—”
“I don’t care! Reschedule it, cancel it, do whatever you need to do but I won’t— oh fuck—! I w-won’t be on that plane tonight.”
His tone holds no argument, but the manager keeps trying, voice rising in panic. “God, are you even listening to me!?”
He grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he fights to keep his rhythm. “I—hah—! I’m listening,” he lies, voice wrecked. His free hand clamps the second you lift your face from the pillow to smother your moans. The line goes dead silent for three agonizing seconds before:
“…Are you with someone?”
That question is ignored the second you clench around him tightly and cum with a muffled sob against his hand. His manager’s voice cuts off mid-sentence as he snaps, slamming the phone down to the couch beside your head.
“Mmph—!”
“F-fuckfuckfuck—!” He pistons into you through both of your orgasms, sweat-slick chest heaving against your back before spilling inside you with a noisy moan.
His manager’s voice, still squawking from the discarded phone is distant now until he picks it up. He drags you backward into his chest with one arm. “Y-yeah?” he speaks to his stupid manager. “We’re done here.”
# SYNOPSIS : you try to turn your mean boyfriend into a sub!
content. 18+ MDNI! | use of aphrodisiacs (yes, I know this is probably not how aphrodisiacs work or even at all but for the sake of entertainment, let's just say they do!)
note. this is my second time writing something... heh... spicy (be nice) anyways imma jus drop this here and go read steel ball run :D
credits. this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
After three years of dating your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, you’ve yet to come to terms with the fact that he’d never grovel. He’d never beg, and he’d never play into your little “submissive” kinks. But was that going to stop you from trying?
Never.
“Babeee!” you whine, lying on top of him as he rests on his stomach. “C’mon, just consider it!”
“Woman, I said, ‘no.’ Now leave me alone.” Your cheek lay flat on his hard back as you traced his tattoos with your fingertip.
“You’re supposed to do it for me. Y’know… out of love.” Your last resort was guilt tripping. Surely that’d work on your kind-hearted boyfriend, who would never let you down—
“I’d rather cut my dick off than… beg for you,” Sukuna said it with a trace of disgust in his tone. Like the mere thought of getting on his knees for you was a crime that would deflate his ego. “If you want me to fuck you, I can do that. But you’re not getting me to indulge in your kinky shit. So quit being a brat.”
“Asshole,” you spat, placing your hand on the couch beside him to push yourself up.
“I can fuck you there, if that’s what you’d like.” You could feel how proud he was of that comment, which earned him a slap on the ass before you skidaddled away to your room.
‘What a fucking buzzkill,’ you thought, taking your phone out of the back pocket of your pants to scroll through social media. That’s when you came across a post, a rather risky one, to be exact. The video was about couples, chocolates, and Valentine’s Day. But one small detail caught your eye and sent the gears in your brain turning.
You switched to Google as you began to conduct some research. Research that you would never commit to on a normal day. You read an article. The article was brief, exciting, and probably biased in all the wrong ways. Long story short, the article was actually an ad. But you were already sold. You clicked on the website and checked the prices of their product. Not fucking sold enough.
You let out a whine, your fingers running through your hair in frustration as you paced around the bedroom. Then it clicked.
You made your way back into the living room, where Sukuna remained resting on the couch. You stop in front of his territory and kneel down to his face level.
“Where’s your wallet?” you question.
“Table. Why?” he answers.
“I’m being a good girlfriend and buying chocolate for you. See how I actually care about what my partner wants and I—”
“You’re buying me chocolate with my money and stroking your own fucking ego about it. The answer’s still no, woman.” Sukuna turns away, his back facing you.
“It’s the thought that counts!” He lets out a grunt in response. Any remaining arguments in your mind, weighing the pros and cons about this decision, were now gone. You were doing this.
You were going to try aphrodisiacs on your boyfriend.
5 DAYS LATER
Days have gone by since you ordered the chocolate, and you have been waiting with bated breath. So when your doorbell rang, and a golden, heart-shaped box with a pink ribbon around it showed up on your doorstep, you were ecstatic. You quickly got the box inside and opened it. The chocolate looked normal, like every other fancy and overpriced treat. Perfect.
There was a card on top of the tray of chocolates. In cursive writing, it read:
‘Slick on the lips, a spark in the chest,
Patience unravels, restraint laid to rest.
What once stayed willful starts craving the stage,
This sugar ignites a beautiful change.
Sharpness turns soft, the careful grows brave,
One bite at a time, composure misbehaves.’
Kinky… you liked it. You turned the card around, which had the instructions and warnings written on it:
‘The recommended amount is 1 piece. Do not exceed 3 pieces within a 24-hour period. This product is intentionally rich and concentrated. This product is not intended for rapid or continuous eating—’
Blah, blah, blah. All you took from that was not to eat more than three in one day. Simple. You threw the card in the trash, and as you were about to store the chocolates somewhere safe, the doorbell rang.
“Babe, could you get that?” All you got was a grunt in response, which was most definitely a ‘Fuck no,’ in his lazy language. “Ugh, you’re so damn irritating.” As you walked over to the door, you opened it and got introduced to the face of your sweet, old neighbour.
“Sorry to bother you, miss. But could I borrow some sugar? I seem to have run out,” she asks, holding a measuring cup in her hands. Your heart melts at the sight, and you nod immediately, gently taking the cup from her.
“Of course! How do you need, ma’am?” You step aside, letting the old woman inside your house.
“A cup would be great, sweetie. Thank you so much.”
“Aw, no worries!” Making your way to the kitchen, you were met with the most horrific sight. Sukuna had his face stuffed with chocolates and had an extra one in his hand. Your jaw dropped, but you had a mission. You quickly got out the entire bag of sugar from your cabinet and gave it to the old lady along with her measuring cup, sending her confused self on her jolly way. The second the door shut, you let out the most earth-shattering scream.
“What the fuck—”
“You idiot!” you yell, stomping towards the kitchen, grabbing the box from him. “Why’d you eat all of it!?”
“The hell are you yelling for? You said it was for me before you bought it, didn’t you?” Both your hands slap onto each side of his face, turning his head to analyze any difference in his appearance as if the chocolates were gonna turn him into an alien.
“How many did you eat?!”
“I don’t fucking know… six… or seven?” (pls don’t unfollow)
You were fucked.
“What’s the problem?” Sukuna takes your hands in his, removing them from his face as he raises a brow in confusion. “You’re acting as if I ate poison or somethin’.”
Right. He didn’t know. Technically, if he never found out, this didn’t have to be your fault. With the harsh side effects he was most definitely going to face, you could just tell him that he was ovulating. Surely, he would believe that.
“No, no. It’s nothing.” You smiled sweetly, took the chocolates, and ran into your bedroom. You immediately took your phone out and conducted even more research. Your fingers tapped rapidly across your screen, searching up things like: ‘What can overconsumption of aphrodisiac chocolates cause?’ or ‘Will my boyfriend die if he ate 3 or 4 more of the recommended amount of aphrodisiac chocolates?’ and lastly, ‘Will I die because my boyfriend ate 3 or 4 more of the recommended amount of aphrodisiac chocolates which I ordered without him knowing?’
Obviously, Google was no help to you. So you went straight back to the card you threw out. It sat on top of your trash can before you picked it out, and you read it thoroughly this time.
‘The recommended amount is 1 piece. Do not exceed 3 pieces within a 24-hour period. This product is intentionally rich and concentrated. This product is not intended for rapid or continuous eating as it is only intended for occasional indulgence, not daily consumption. Effects from the chocolate normally set after five to ten minutes.
Overconsumption may result in:
Intensified sexual desire
Intensified emotional and physical responsiveness
Difficulty sleeping or winding down
Heightened irritability or impatience
A noticeable change in one’s normal personality.’
Questions were flooding through your mind: What the fuck did the last one even mean? Is this chocolate even legal?
“You’re acting weird. What are you reading?” Sukuna sneaks up on you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he tries to steal a glance at what was consuming all your attention. But before he could look, you threw the card to God knows where.
You turn around and chuckle nervously, “Haha— nothing! What are you doing in the kitchen still?” His brows furrow in suspicion.
“You’re hiding somethi—”
“No, you’re hiding something,” you retort almost too quickly. He steps forward, backing you against the island countertop. “Wh-what’s up?” You held your breath as he set both his hands beside you on the counter. He doesn’t answer, he just stares, letting his heated glare answer him instead.
“… I’m going out to get us food. Gimme a kiss before I leave.”
You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You leaned in closer, placing a kiss on his lips. He melted into the kiss instantly, returning it with softness that was unlike him. As you pulled away, you analyzed him for any shift in behaviour. None. You were in the clear. Maybe those chocolates were just a scam.
“Make sure you get breaded wings instead of the ones you got last time, ‘kay?” You say it casually, already turning away, relief loosening your spine like a weight lifted off your shoulders. But behind you, nothing.
No grunt, no insult, no lazy acknowledgment. Just the faint jingle of keys… stopping. You don’t notice a thing until you make it to the living room. You feel an arm wrapped around your waist. The air feels thicker, warmer, pressing against your skin in a way that makes you suddenly too aware of your own breathing.
“…Don’t move.” His voice is low. Tense. You went still.
A flicker of unease curls in your stomach. “You okay?”
“I don’t know…” His head buries into your neck, as if he’s trying to get as close to you as possible. “You always talk so much,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “Why does it sound better right now?” Your pulse stutters. You try turning around, an attempt to at least put some distance between the two of you.
“Sukuna—” He reaches out without thinking. His arms close around your waist even tighter, just firm enough to keep you there. The contact sends a visible shudder through him, his shoulders hitching like he didn’t expect it to feel like that.
“… Fuck,” he breathes. “I said don’t move…”
You place a hand over his forehead, “You’re burning up. Do you feel sick?” He doesn’t answer. His thumb drags once over the skin peeking under your shirt.
“You’re warm,” he says. “Too warm.”
“That’s just body heat.”
“No.” His grip tightens a fraction. “It’s different.” He swallows. You can tell by the way Sukuna suddenly exhales hard that the chocolates were now taking effect.
You place your hands on his, untangling them from you slowly. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you some water?” Normally, that would earn you a glare. A scoff. A ‘don’t tell me what to do.’
Instead, he hesitates. Then he pulls you with him as he moves to the couch, letting go of your wrist. When he sits, he doesn’t release you.
“I’m sitting down as you asked me to do, okay? Just—fuck—stay…” He pulls you until you’re directly in front of him, standing between his legs. Sukuna looks up at you, “Please.” You stay still. His hand slides from your wrist to your waist once again, fingers splaying like he’s bracing himself.
His grip isn’t possessive; it’s desperate. Like letting go would make everything spike again. “You did this to me,” he admits quietly. “You made me feel… so fucking pathetic. Fix it.”
You ran your fingers through his hair by instinct, but you fixed your face into something concerned, something gentle. But inside, there’s a slow, wicked curl of satisfaction blooming in your chest.
“You’re not pathetic,” you murmur, thumb brushing his temple like you’re soothing a headache instead of savoring the fact that Ryomen Sukuna just said please to you.
He lets out a harsh laugh that dies halfway through. “Whatever. Just… do something about it,” he mutters, forehead dropping forward until it presses against your stomach. “Please— just help me.” His grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips like anchors. “I—” He swallows. Hard. “I need you.”
Your breath hitches. Not with fear, but with the thrill of it. You lace your fingers together behind his neck, pretending it’s to steady him. Really, you’re testing. Pushing. Seeing how far he’ll bend.
“Kuna—”
“Anything,” he says softly. “Anything you want— I need you so fucking bad. Please, just do something. Anything.” He looks up at you sharply, eyes dark and unfocused. You hide your smile by brushing his bangs back, letting your soft actions speak for you.
“Then listen to me,” you say calmly. “Let me take care of you.”
“…Okay,” he says, barely audible.
The word settles between you, heavy and intimate and earned. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, arms locked around you, desperate but obedient in a way you’ve never seen before.
And for the first time since you ordered those chocolates, you realize… This might be even better than you imagined.
~
“See how much you’re enjoying this?” you teased, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles just to watch his face twist with desperation. “All that big talk before about not liking this— look at you now.” A sharp gasp tore from his throat as you lifted yourself just enough to let his tip catch on your entrance, not letting him sink into you just yet. Sukuna’s arm was thrown over his eyes as his face was tilted to the side, hiding his flushed self from you.
“F-fuck, ‘Kuna—” Your nails dig into the sweat-slick skin of his chest as his hands dig into your thighs. “Wh-what’d you say again? You’d rather cut your own dick off than beg for me?” Your hand grabs his face, turning him towards you. “Then fucking do it. Beg.”
You knew you were pushing it. That the second these stupid chocolates wore off, you may not find yourself alive the next day. But—god—you were having so much fun with him right now.
He broke almost instantly. His face twisted as another sob tore from his chest. Those cursed red eyes, dark and glazed with desperation, while his fingers dug into your thighs even harder. “Please… please, baby, I— fuck—!”
You roll your hips torturously slow, just enough to keep him on the edge but not enough to give him any real relief. His voice cracks, like he couldn’t hold back the way he was begging for you if he tried. “Pleasepleaseplease… I-I’ll do anything, j-just please, baby—” A filthy, needy plea. Every fiber of his being ached to be inside you when he was like this.
You couldn’t help the smirk that found its way to you at his voice. The second you sank down on him, a guttural, “F-fuck—!” ripped from his throat as he bottomed out inside you. His hands flew to your hips, fingers digging bruises into your skin. “S-so good!” He sobbed out between ragged breaths, his cock twitching like it was trying to cum already just from how tight you felt around him.
“Hah—! ‘Kuna!” you moan, watching as every bounce of your hips had his face contort with pleasure. Slamming down onto him in one sharp motion just to hear his voice break, his cock felt oversensitive but still hard enough to make you cry out.
“F-fuckin’ hell—” he gasps. His hands lock around your hips like iron, drunk on the way your pussy clamps around him like it was trying to steal every last drop. You rode him harder now, each snap of your hips driving his length deeper with a filthy slap of skin as you chased your release. “Shit— baby, s-slow down—”
A sob wavered from his throat when you didn’t. “Please—fuck—!” You clenched around him again, finally cumming with a loud moan.
“F-fuck—Kuna—! ‘M cumming!”
He followed soon after, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves while trembling. He was drunk on the pleasure, and the way there was nothing left now but shaky breaths tangled together between the two of you.
You thought that was the end of it. You really did… Until you felt him shift underneath you, and before you knew it, you found him on top of you. Sukuna had you pinned to the couch, his hand sliding under your knee to bring it over his shoulder.
“You had your fun, yeah? We’re still not done with this.”
im a little slow who’s the person who posted the list and ijichi with the student in captain‘s clause i feel so dumb
okay so I've been getting a few questions and I now realize how confusing this might be...
HERES MY ANSWERR::
I wanted Gojo's part to focus more on them building trust with each other even with the setbacks like the list and the fights with Kusakabe (if that makes sense) Becuse of that, the culprits behind the list would not be revealed in his part.
Instead, it's going to be a mystery that's going to be solved in Sukuna's part since he's the president of the Kingsmere Chronicle (the university's newsletter club in which the list was posted on). So stay tuned for that and so sorry for the confusion!!
CONTENT : athlete!gojo, soccer captain!gojo, roommate! gojo texts, brother's best friend!gojo, sex, p in v, MDNI!!!!
NOTE : God I hate this freaking captains clause thingggggguhhh don't worry guys, the next part (sukuna's) is gonna be much MUCH better and I'll have wayy more fun with it. but anywaysssss I FINALLY GOT MY HANDS ON THE STEEL BALL RUN MANGA IM SO OBSESSED WITH JJBA ITS NOT FUNNYYYYY
CREDITS! : this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)
masterlist
8:30 AM
You never thought the inside of a charter bus could feel this loud. It’s barely past noon and the Kingsmere soccer team has already made it their personal playground, swapping seats, yelling across the aisle, passing around bags of chips. The windows shake with every pothole on the highway, sunlight peaking through the trees in dizzy flashes.
And somewhere in the middle of it all sits Satoru Gojo. Legs spread like he owns the whole row, one arm thrown over the back of your seat, sunglasses on even though the curtains are half-drawn. He’s relaxed in a way that’s painfully pretend. Because underneath it, he’s tense. You can tell by the subtle tix in his jaw, the barely-there tremor in his fingers, and most obvious: he’s quiet. Too quiet.
You try not to look at him too much, but it’s impossible. Every bump in the road shifts his arm against the back of your seat, his fingertips brushing your shoulder. Every time he exhales, you catch a faint trace of the cologne you tasted when you almost kissed him days ago. The one that still clings to the memory of his breath ghosting over your lips.
You swallow. Focus.
You’re here because the Kingsmere Chronicle needed someone to cover the away game. Because you’re the only one available. Because you thought, stupidly and blindly, that a few days away from the campus might help you and Gojo cool off after everything that happened at Toji’s party.
The bus hits a dip and Gojo’s thigh nudges yours. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts closer.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
“I’m reading.”
“You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, sweets.” He’s right. Annoyingly so.
“Maybe I’m just a slow reader.” He leans in until his breath grazes your ear.
“Really? ‘Cause I’ve seen you finish a whole novel in one night. You’re distracted.” Your fingers tighten around the corner of the page.
“And whose fault is that?” you mutter.
“Mine, obviously.” His grin curves slow and lazy. “And I take great pleasure in being the object of your daydreaming.”
You elbow him gently and he laughs.
“Alright, everyone!” Coach calls from the front. “Two hours left! Try not to kill each other before we get there!”
Your eyes flick toward the back of the bus. Kusakabe is slouched in his seat, headphones in, staring out the window. Something about him set you off the wrong way.
But you turn away quickly.
The ride continues. Conversations merge into white noise. At some point, Gojo falls asleep with his head tilted your way, earphones in, hair brushing your shoulder. You pretend not to notice how your heart steadies at the sound of his breathing.
10:45 AM
The hotel looks nicer than anything a university budget should allow. Gold lobby lights, polished floors, the faint perfume of citrus cleaners. The soccer players barrel toward the elevators like a stampede, throwing bags onto the marble tiles.
You’re barely through the sliding doors when your phone buzzes.
Newsletter Dumbasses
Don’t forget photos of the team before the game! And a quote from the captain! And a summary of the entire game!
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Need help?” Gojo asks lazily, rolling his suitcase beside yours.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You always say that.” You choose not to answer. Mostly because the elevator doors open and Kusakabe steps inside, wiping sweat from his forehead. The moment he sees Gojo, something sour flashes across his face.
“Captain,” he says mockingly.
Gojo doesn’t look at him. “Benchwarmer.”
Your stomach twists. The second the elevator wall cuts him from view, Gojo scrubs a hand through his hair and mutters under his breath.
“Really? You guys are still fighting like children?” you scoff, setting your phone into the back pocket of your pants.
“There was nothing childish going on when I socked him in the face.” That earns an eye roll from you. “You’d really think the fucker would learn but it’s like he’s begging for a black eye. Who knows, maybe he’s a little kinky.”
“Y’know, your ability to turn everything sexual is out of this world.” Gojo turns to look at you and instead of looking ashamed like any normal human would, he looks proud.
“I know, right? It’s like a talent. I should be on America’s Got Talent.”
“Yeah, try Dr. Phil.”
After getting everyone inside the hotel, rooms and cards were given out. Your room is beside his. Of course it is. You don’t know whether to thank the universe or scream into a pillow.
He pauses in front of his door, looking at you with a grin.
“What?” you question.
“Should I ask room service for some earplugs?” Gojo leans against the door, suitcase resting against the wall.
“For what reason?”
“Oh, I don’t know. In case you have another dream about me. Wouldn’t wanna be up in the middle of the night because you’re moaning my name in your sleep. The lack of rest will make me perform bad for the game, sweets.”
You should’ve seen where that was going. And you blame yourself for questioning him in the first place. “Oh my god, get over it! It was one time!”
“I’m kidding,” he raises his hands up in surrender. “Obviously, I wouldn’t ask for earplugs when you moan so prettily.” Before you could jam your room card into his eye, he escapes into his, giggling on his way inside.
You spend the next few hours interviewing players, taking photos, and drafting paragraphs. By the time you return to the hotel, your shoulders aching from holding your camera.
…
The hotel gym smells like cheap lemon disinfectant and sweat, mostly from the handful of athletes killing time before lights-out. The Kingsmere team had scattered themselves between treadmills and bench presses, restless energy pulsing through the room like static.
You weren’t here. You were upstairs, probably editing your first paragraph for the newsletter article, probably chewing on your pen cap the way you always did when you were unsure of a sentence.
Gojo thought about that, thought about you more than he thought about how tight his quads felt after the two hour bus ride. Or how bad his stomach churned knowing who was also in this room.
Kusakabe.
The sound of weighs clanking as someone racked a bar echoed through the room. Gojo rolled his shoulders, letting the tension settle along his spine like a warning. He didn’t want a scene. He didn’t want to blow up.
Kusakabe caught the sight of him in the mirror’s reflection. He had a raised brow and a smug half-smile like he’d won something. Like Gojo was already beneath him.
Gojo tightened his jaw. He forced his focus onto the treadmill settings, pretending to adjust them even though he wasn’t sure what he was clicking.
“Yo, Cap!” his teammate, Ino shouts. “You good, man?”
He gave a wordless thumbs-up, fake and strained. But Kusakabe couldn’t leave it alone. He never could.
“You practicing your running?” he called out. “Or practicing how fast you can chase after a girl who clearly doesn’t want you?” The gym fell quiet around them.
Slowly, he stepped off the treadmill. His shoes hit the floor with soft lethal thuds. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed, too bright and too white.
“You already got your ass handed to you at Toji’s party. You really want that to happen again?” Gojo said, voice low.
Kusakabe smirked, leaning back against the cable machine like he owned it. “What, you don’t like the truth?”
“Satoru,” one of the other players warned from the corner. “Coach will kill you if you start something, man. Just ignore him.”
“Nah,” Kusakabe pushed on, stepping forward. “Let him talk. He’s been looking at me weird all day anyway. What’s wrong, snowflake? Scared that ‘your’ girl might like me more than you?”
Gojo stepped closer. The air between them crackled, static dancing over his skin. “You talk a lot for someone who got called out by a fucking list for being shit at yet another thing in your sad, pathetic life. What, the bench got to boring for you?”
Kusakabe’s smirk faltered but only for a breath. “I remember your girl being on there too for what was it?”
Gojo sighs, “Don’t.”
“Oh right. Talking about another man’s dick. God, it’s like pathetic people are attracted to each other, ri-”
Gojo didn’t remember moving. He only remembered the sound, the hollow, satisfying crack of his fist connecting with Kusakabe’s jaw.
He staggered but caught himself on the dumbbell rack. “Oh, you’re fucked,” he spat, wiping blood from his lip. He lunged. They collided hard, bodies slamming into the mirrored wall hard enough to make it shudder. Someone shouted for them to stop. Someone else ran to grab another teammate.
Gojo didn’t hear any of it. He heard his heartbeat in his ears and he felt the weight of weeks, months, of frustration boiling over.
Kusakabe swung. Gojo ducked and shoved him backward, sending him crashing onto the mats. He went to pin him down but Kusakabe kicked at his shin, scrambling up while panting.
“You think you’re some white-haired prince?” he questions, voice hoarse. “She doesn’t want a guy who bends over backwards-”
“Shut up,” he snaps, grabbing the front of his shirt.
“-and embarrasses her-”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“-and is so fucking lovesick, he can’t see she’s never going to-”
Gojo slammed him down again. Hard enough to leave Kusakabe looking like a mess. The door burst open and the assistant coach stormed in.
“The hell is going on in here!?”
Everything halted. Gojo stood, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin. The coach’s eyes flicked between them: Kusakabe bruised and shaking, Gojo flushed and furious.
“Out. Both of you. Now!”
The walk to the exit of the gym felt like walking through wet cement. Every step heavier than the last. The other players stared. Some whispered. Some avoided his gaze entirely.
And after a thorough scolding in the hotel lobby, Gojo finally made his way to his room. Reprimanded, not suspended, only because the match was tomorrow and they needed him. You were waiting for him in front of his door.
Your expression? Oh, he knew that look.
Anger. Disappointment. Worry you were refusing to show. Your arms were crossed, foot tapped against the carpet. Your eyes found the bruise forming on his cheek and widened.
“What did you do?” you hissed. “Gojo, what the hell happened!?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “We… talked.”
“You call that talking?”
“Sometimes talking involves fists,” he muttered. “How’d you even find out?”
“Ino showed me the video,” you answered and he rolled his eyes. “But that’s not the point!” You pushed away from the door. The hotel hallway was bright with yellow-white lighting that made your shadow stretch across the carpet.
“Do you realize how stupid that was?” you demanded. “What if you got kicked out of the match tomorrow? What if you got suspended from the team? What if-” you cut yourself off. “God, Gojo, you can’t keep doing things without thinking!”
He bristled. “That fucker had it coming.”
“And you gave him exactly what he wanted! You think this makes you look better?”
“It wasn’t about looking better,” the irritation in his voice spiked. “He was talking about you.”
“And? That doesn’t mean you get to start throwing punches!”
“He was trying to humiliate you. I’m not just gonna sit there and let him act like it was nothing-”
“You’re not my bodyguard!”
“But I’m still your friend! So if you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not getting one because I don’t feel bad for defending my friend, especially if it’s you.”
The words hit the air harder than any punch thrown in the gym. Silence slammed between you, thick and hot and suffocating. You stared at him. Really stared. And his chest tightened in response.
“Satoru…” your voice lowered, gentled in a way that sounded like defeat. “You can’t… you can’t keep fighting people because of me.”
“I’m not fighting because of you. I’m fighting for you.” He stopped, his mind lingering on how you finally called him by his first name. “But also because he deserved it.”
You were confused. Not with his response but with your feelings and being around him at the moment certainly wasn’t helping. “I can’t do this,” you said, shaking your head, voice trembling with frustration.
Before he could respond, you turned and walked away, the scent of your perfume lingering after you left. He stood alone in the hallway, heart pounding like it was still fighting even though the match had already ended.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit…”
He’d messed up again. With you.
After a few minutes of suffocating silence, he pushed off the wall and followed. Not because he wanted another fight, because he hated ending a conversation with your shoulders turned away from him.
And because he had no idea how to stop chasing you.
You push through the glass doors leading out to the pool deck, and the temperature drops instantly. Summer-night cold. Chlorine-sharp. The pool lights glow from beneath the water, soft turquoise wavering across the walls like slow-moving ghosts.
You pull of your sandals and sit at the poolside, lowering your feet into the water. It’s warm from the heating system, a soft blanket against your calves. You breathe out, long and shaky, trying to let the anger simmer into something manageable.
The door creaks. You don’t turn, but you feel him the moment he steps inside. His presence shifts the air like static charge rolling across your skin. Soft footfalls behind you. Slower than usual. Hesitant.
He stops a few feet away but you keep staring at the pool. Behind you, Gojo exhales. It sounds like defeat. Like he’s been running laps through his own head and still came up short.
“…You still mad?” he asks quietly.
You laugh once, humorless, “What do you think.”
He moves closer, not touching you but near enough that the faint heat of his body brushes your back.
“You said you wouldn’t start anything this trip,” you finally turn your head, glare burning hot.
“I didn’t start it.”
“Gojo, you punched him.” He’s speechless for a second and huffs a breath, irritated but quieter than usual.
“He wouldn’t stop bringing you up.” Your chest tightens at that. He continues, voice lowering until it’s almost a murmur. “He kept making comments about you. About the list and… about us.”
Something in your anger fractures. Because underneath that athletic arrogance and stupid competitive streak, he’d been hurt. Personally. And worst of all, he had been hurt on your behalf.
You look away, back at the water, heart thumping unevenly. He steps closer again and sits down next to you, his voice hitting that soft, careful tone that he reserves only for you. “I’m not asking you to be okay with it,” he says. “I just… I need you to understand why it happened.”
You take a breath. “Why do you care so much what he says about me?”
There’s a long pause. The kind where you can hear the water lapping, hear the distant voices from the lobby and feel your pulse beating in your toes beneath the surface.
“I thought you’d figured that out already.”
You finally turn to look at him fully, and God he looks wrecked in all the right ways.
T-shirt clinging to the shape of him: broad chest, smaller waist, and tight against his biceps. His cheeks are a little flushed. But his eyes…
His eyes look like he’s standing on the edge of something terrifying.
You swallow. “Well, I haven’t,” you say quietly. “So maybe you should explain yourself.”
For once, Satoru Gojo looks like he has no idea what to say. His knee brushes your thigh, heat ghosting up your skin. “Come closer.”
Your breath catches. “Why?”
“I need to tell you something,” he says. “Something very serious.”
Curiosity wins. You lean closer. Closer until your knee bumps his. His breath grazes your cheek and his hand lifts. It’s hesitant at first but he lightly places it on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as heat floods your skin.
“I’m listening…”
He leans in, lips hover near your ear. “Important confession,” he whispers.
“Out with it!”
He pauses, then:
“Don’t get mad.”
“… What did you do?”
His mouth tilts into a grin. And then he pushes you right into the pool.
Your scream is swallowed by water, bubbles bursting around you as you plunge in with hair floating wildly around your head.
You kick up, gasping.
“Oh my fucking god- Gojo!”
He’s laughing loudly.
“You fucking ass-!” Before you finish, you grab the edge and launch yourself up to snag his wrist and yank.
He yelps, actually yelps as he’s dragged into the water with a splash so big it hits the deck. Water catches him, clothes and all. Gojo surfaces, hair plaster messily across his forehead. His shirt is soaked, clinging to every line of muscle.
“You-” he coughs- “are so violent.”
“You pushed me!”
“I was confessing!” he retorts.
‘That was not a confession, you piece of shit!”
“Yes it was,” he insists, swimming toward you. “I confessed that I’m fucking hilarious.”
You splash him in the face and laugh. A real laugh. The kind that softens something tight in your chest. And before you can turn around and swim to your escape, he grabs your wrist to pull you in closer.
You’re suddenly aware of how close he is. How the water pushes your bodies toward each other. The laughter dies but the air doesn’t go quiet.
He reaches out, slow, fingers brushing wet strands of hair away from your cheek. The touch is feather-light. His other hand drifts to your waist beneath the water, fingers spreading across your hip like he’s afraid you’ll drift away. Your breath stalls.
“Satoru…” you whisper.
His head rests against your shoulder for a few seconds to compose himself before he looks you in the eyes again.
“You scare the shit out of me,” he murmurs.
“Why..?”
“Because I’ve never-” HIs voice tightens. “I’ve never wanted something this badly and still felt like I could lose it at any second.” Your lips part.
He moves even closer, chest brushing yours, water folding around both of you. HIs hand comes up, cupping your cheek fully this time as his thumb traces your lower lip. Slow and careful.
“You wanna hear the real confession?” Your pulse explodes but you nod your head.
Gojo’s forehead presses to yours. “I’m so fucking in love with you…” His eyes are glued to yours, looking for any reaction. And when your hand tightens in his wet shirt, he leans in until the remaining gap between you two is non-existant.
Your eyes flutter shut as his lips claim yours in a kiss.
…
The two of you barely make it through the door before Gojo’s lips crash onto yours again, using his foot to close the door behind him. He presses you against the wall, the kiss heated and messy as he moans into it.
His hands move down to the waist band of your shorts, hurriedly pulling them down. They then travel to hook under your thighs as your arms wrap around his neck for support, not once breaking the kiss. Gojo carries you across his hotel room and drops you onto the soft mattress, falling with you.
He pulls away, lips swollen as he stares at you with hunger in his eyes. Then, a smug look on his face. “Is this what happened in your dream?”
You’re mentally face-palming yourself. “Shut up about the stupid dream already.” His fingers make quick work removing damp your shirt and unclasping your bra with ease.
“I just wanna know what gets you all hot and bothered, sweets. Apart from me in general.” He leans back, admiring you while your face burns with heat under his gaze. “So where’d it happen?” His hand moves down your side, his finger hooking onto the band of your lace panties as he drags them down.
“I’m not f-fucking talking about that right now.”
“Aw, why not? I need a reference.” His fingers graze between your thighs, “C’mon. Tell me what I did to make you moan that good.” What scared you the most is that you contemplated it, but you kept your mouth shut. You’d never hear the end of it once you told him that you let him fuck you in his car of all places.
His fingers finally graze where you’ve been wanting them all along. But as soon as it reached there, he pulled back.
“The hell are you doing?” you question, just seconds away from shoving this loser down to the bed and taking what you want.
“Sorry, sweets. I don’t know what you want me to do,” he shrugs, kissing to your jaw, then your collarbone and kisses down your body. “I need to know what I did—” Gojo presses a kiss to your stomach, “—And what I said.” Then, a kiss to your pelvis, “You can do that f’me, right?” He looks up at you from between your legs, dramatically batting his white lashes at you.
And dammit, you caved faster than you expected…
“I was sitting down…” you begin, “You were kneeling in front of me.” You glance at him, cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “And you used-” Before you could finish, he rubs two fingers right on your clit, giving enough friction to cut your sentence short.
“Used what? My hand?” You let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he slips his two digits inside you, already getting wet in the process. “Shit, you’re fucking soaked.” Your hand manages to find its way to his hair, gripping it enough to pull a groan out of him. “Answer my question, sweets.”
“Mhm—” was all you managed to get out.
“Yeah? I used my hand?” His fingers curl inside of you, making your back arch off the bed. “Like this?” You nod frantically.
“Yes—” you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair while your eyes squeeze shut. But, Gojo being the asshole he is, he pulls his fingers out.
“Keep talking,” he places a kiss on the inside of your thigh, “or you don’t cum.” You whine, your hands untangling from his hair to grip the sheets, a pathetic attempt to lift yourself up a tad bit just to look at him.
“You fucking dipsh—” His fingers thrust back inside you, cutting your insult short.
“That’s the spirit, sweets. Just maybe less mean, yeah? Don’t think you’re in any position to call me those names.” You can feel that bastard’s smirk as he places another kiss on your thigh, this time a little higher. “Let’s continue your little story, ‘kay?” His fingers still, waiting for confirmation. And when you nod, resting your back against the mattress again, he lets out a chuckle.
“You—f-fuck—!” Gojo curls his fingers at an angle that has you seeing stars. “Oh my god!” Tears well up in your eyes as he drives you to the edge. “P-please don’t stop!”
“Of course not.”
He does.
Gojo repositions himself above you, one hand beside your head while the other worked his pants off. “Been too long since you’ve been fucked reaaal good, right?” You made the mistake of glancing down, curiosity getting the better of you and—god—you were not making it out of this hotel room alive. “I can tell…”
His hands move under your knees to lift and hook over his waist as he positions his tip at your entrance. Gojo leans down, his lips right next to your ear. “Gonna make sure I live up to your dream.”
He sinks into you slowly, stretching out your tight walls with his length and instantly, you nails dig into his back.
“Fuck—! T-too much!” you gasp, trying to get used to him fucking so deep into you. “Please-please-please—!” His thrusts aren’t gentle or slow, but rather urgent as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. That he was ruining your pussy, that you wanted him as bad as he wanted you.
“Sh-shit, sweets—so fucking tight,” he whines. “It’s not fair.” The tears that pricked your eyes finally spilled, your nails raking down his back that would surely leave marks the next morning. Gojo leans in closer. His lips meets your cheek as he kisses up to your eye, kissing your tears away. “So fucking pretty…”
You swore that you couldn’t take anymore already before you even came. Your body was shaking, hands moving to his stomach to push him away without your brain even processing it. You didn’t even want him to stop and he seemed to notice that. Gojo takes your hand and pins it over your head. “You can take it, sweetheart. I—f-fuck—know you can,” he pants against your mouth before closing the remaining gap, claiming your lips in a rough kiss. “I know that—hah!—loser ex-boyfriend of yours never made you feel this good.”
“S-Satoru—!” you moan into his mouth as his tip kisses your cervix, hitting that sweet spot inside you.
“Taking me sooo fucking well… ‘s like this pussy was made for me, yeah? Moaning my name like that,” he groans as he feels you clench around him. “F-fuck—!”
“’M s-so close! Please—”
“I gotchu, sweets. J-just—ngh—want you to cum for me.” And when he hit that spot deeper inside you, it was over for you. You crashed over the edge as he fucks you through your orgasm, following behind right after. He spilled inside you before he even knew it, a string of moans and curses coming from the both of you. He collapses on top of you, his face burried in your neck.
And then it clicked for you. “You know you just—”
“I know! I’ll buy you plan B first thing in the morning, just let me have this,” he whines, having no intention of moving any time soon.
“Didn’t know you were the cuddling after sex type…” you murmur, trying to resist running your fingers through his hair.
“’S not my fault my girlfriend felt too good, now is it?” Gojo’s chin rests on your chest as he looks up at you, keeping both his arms wrapped around your waist. Your face flushes as he referrs to you as his and he notices.
Of course he does.
“What? You’re not backing out on me now, are you? Did I not live up to your dream or was I just a hot piece of meat to you?” He feigns offense as his bottom lip sticks out a bit, turning his head away from you but still glued to your chest.
“That’s not even what I was—”
“Nope! Too late. I’m mad at you now. The only way I could forgive you is if you show me how much you love me.” You sigh, confused about how you ended up with such a dramatic man on top of you. You also wondered how this was the same one who had you crying after only one round.
But you decided to play along with his dramatic ways as per usual. You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him into a warm kiss which he immediately melted into. The two of you pulled back with content.
─ ⋆✩ SYNOPSIS: before arriving to a party you've been waiting all week for, dressed up all pretty for, you simply kiss your boyfriend. little did you know what great effect that would have on him. (MDNI!)
ʚɞ Arranged marriage when your knight!sukuna is in love with you.
It was midday, and the sun was shining brightly today. The air was still cold, and a small frost started over the plants in the royal garden. It had been a mere few hours since the announcement.
The public now knew you were to be betrothed to the southern region's heir to the throne. Ryomen Sukuna was your personal, royal knight, and even he wasn’t in the loop until just a few hours ago. The whole thing was kept extremely close to the vest and was arranged rather quickly.
You weren’t exactly thrilled; you didn’t even know the guy, never even spoken to him. So now you walked around the garden trying to get into a clear headspace… which was fairly hard with your royal knight hounding you.
“You can not seriously be allowing this to happen?” he said roughly, his body adorned with armour that glistened in the light. His sword slotted into the side of his belt.
You lifted the skirt of your gown to continue your walk along the cobblestone more easily. Sukuna followed after you, his fist clenching at his side. “Are you really such a brainless woman that you marry the first man your father chooses for you?” his hands wrapped around your wrist, pulling you around to face him.
You were getting increasingly pissed off, his crimson eyes boring into yours. He didn’t understand the situation you were in. The fact that you had much less say in this situation than most people thought you did. “I have an obligation to my people, you know this,” you say, letting a scoff of disbelief pass your lips.
Your hands are smoothing down the pale blue fabric of your dress. You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip, “I do not have the privilege of marrying who I want, or doing what I please.”
His hand slides up your arm; his grip is tight. You would hate to admit it out loud, but you had memorized his touch. It was firm, relentless almost, but never was it painful. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering as he spoke right into your ear.
“Fuck obligations and fuck that asshole prince,” he sounded angry, he always sounded angry, but this time more than ever. His fingers slip in the length of your hair, cupping the nape of your neck.
“You are insane, you know that…?” You murmured, your eyes flickering up to catch his gaze before glancing away towards the flowers. “You are asking me for the impossible,” you say firmly, shaking your head again. He pulled you in closer, forcing you to face him.
The cold steel of his armour pressed against the exposed skin that showed above the collar of your dress. “Then I will make it easier for you,” he whispered, dipping his head to press his lips against the exposed skin of your neck.
The sensation made you gasp, your skin heated up rapidly, causing you to squirm. His lips trailed up, running across the edge of your jaw. His fingers gripping your hair firmly, tilting your head back. His face moved to be right in front of yours, “I have imagined this and so, so much more,” he breathed out, a smirk playing on his lips.
His hands moved to the back of your dress, tugging at the bow. You nodded slowly, “My bed chambers are always available...”
a/n — thank you all sooo much for 100 followers!! Writing is one of my biggest passions and I’m glad that so many people enjoy reading my stuff.
@k4rinaviiz please do not repost, translate or copy my work. all my work is originally mine.
