WHAT IT'S LIKE BEING THE MANAGER OF BOXER!SUKUNA AND BOXER!TOJI. (hcs)
18+, nsfw at the end with a tojikuna slip if you squint
thinking about how, in the underground boxing world, being the manager of both boxer!toji and boxer!sukuna is its own achievement. you've singlehandedly created two monsters — and formed the most infamous boxing duo to date.
breaking up fights between boxer!toji and boxer!sukuna is an almost weekly occurrence for you. sukuna thrives from provoking toji enough to make a vein pop out of his neck. gives him a dopamine rush. it's so spontaneous that they'll get nose-to-nose, sparring, boring into each other's eyes because of a tease here and there, and it'll be you who has to de-escalate before it ever gets out of hand.
"damn, you usually hit harder than that. your ass definitely didn't stretch, huh?"
"sukuna, don't start on me now."
"now? whew, old man's mad. c'mon, uppercut, right on my chin, i dare you— make my day."
"sukuna, save the instigating for when your in matches."
"what, i can't rile him up a little? makes the sparring fun."
on account of your advice and drilling technique's into their heads, boxer!toji will always let boxer!sukuna have the final blow on his opponents. he'll have that signature sadistic smile planted on his face before he lands a right hook that, in most cases, breaks a bone. but that's his goal— when he's too into it, he'll take his boxing gloves off like a madman and land a punch just to see the blood on his fingers of his own opponent and from busting his knuckles open from dealing too heavy of a blow.
on the other hand, unlike sukuna, toji isn't as flashy or jumpy, but he's damn well agile. he's footwork-heavy, excelling in body shots and illegal grappling instincts to dismantle his opponent. he'll read the micro-movements and sport an occasional crazed grin before putting them in a headlock to weaken their breath control. he's sukuna partner for a reason; they're both brutal.
boxer!toji and boxer!sukuna that got lucky with you. of course, they're amazing fighters that in their own right dominate the underground. but in that same setting, 'managers' are only people who achieve sustenance off of gambling and exploitation of their fighters' well-being. you, however, seem to put the financial gain aside—not as if you were making a lot— and prioritise keeping their name known. you're goal orientated, and they forever appreciate it.
boxer!toji and boxer!sukuna that dress like sluts. of course, you don't expect them to dress prim and proper, whatsoever. but your eyes can't help but linger on their bodies when they walk around, sweats and shorts hanging low on their hips, enough to reveal their v-line, and the fact they never have a shirt on. ever. no matter the occasion, the pair will always have their full bodies on display for you to stare. and you'd complain but you don't because you ogle them every time. they always catch it, and share a shared look and a smirk between each other before continuing like nothing happened.
during bulking season, there's always one person sukuna and toji rely on; you. their bulking meals are most often lean, consisting of meals with seasonings only your precious fingers can make. you're their 'professional chef', and they're your 'professional eaters'. but when they feel like dirty bulking to get their muscle/fat up for a match, they know exactly who to come to when they want something off-menu, which may or may not consist of them taking turns eating you out for hours.
and if you're lucky, on a one-time occasion, you'll take one of 'em. it's boxer!sukuna being nothing but obscene as he's got you in a nasty headlock, hips snapping against yours as mean thrusts hit your walls perfectly like he was made for it, boxer!toji getting himself off to the sound of you beside you. "hey—shitt, my dick feel any bigger inside that pretty pussy? bulkin' got 'er feeling tighter than usual."
sukuna would release your neck, guiding his hands down to the plush of your hips, before pausing, and you'd look back at him, utterly confused. "ryo, m-move."
"n-no," he'd mock your voice in a high pitched whine that made toji chuckle, and you glare at them both, but mainly sukuna. "the fuck you looking back at me like that for? arch that back further, woman, c'mon and fuck me back. i'm not dealing with a pillow princess." you'd get a chance to take a small breather from being (happily) suffocated under sukuna's biceps and whine your hips, him using his hands to guide your hips so you two sync in a rhythm.
"you sound corny as shit, lemme fuck her." toji would chime in, palming himself. he wasn't bothered about how pathetic he looked, satisfying himself with his own hands whilst you two were fucking in front of him. no matter what, the two would always bicker. even over fucking you.
he'd then mockingly pout at toji . sukuna leans down to you, speaking loud enough to layer over the straight porn the two of you were making, skin to skin. "awe, you hear that? big guy wants his turn with you, manager." the pink haired man would look up to his teammate with that same vex-worthy grin, "you want it bad, fushiguro? huh? you gonna say please?" toji would only scowl at him, eyes threatening to roll at how easily sukuna could piss him off in a way nobody else could. sukuna would only meet his gaze, a bitch-made sneer planted so wide you could see his canines peaking out from the side. their tension was almost erotic, enough to make you throb inside sukuna just a little.
"ngh— suck my dick, ryomen."
"oh? that an invite or what?"
"die."
sum. new year, new you? well you definitely pick up a new kink or two after a session at the ultra-trendy fitness club, limitless, with personal trainer!sukuna. but when you can't afford another session, will you get your fix with a new obsession?
cw. mdni. major scent kink + sweat kink. reader is down HORRENDOUS. semi-public sex. semi-public masturbation. humiliation. reader is a perv. stalking. reader is a lil degen towel stealing goblin. piv. minor choking/headlocks. gojo is a goof. creampies. unprotected. dry humping. dirty talk. [art by sab_xcvii & sakimenz]
an. so happy to say this was inspired by my bbgirl @sytorusdoll beautifully nasty toji sweat-kink fic so check it out! i know im supposed to be working on other things and tried to toss this over to @yenayaps but she told me i had to write it myself 💞😭 buuuut i am excited to post this on the day of the return of jjk s3 we are soooo back my lil ecchi angels! wc. 7.4k idk how.
The only reason your broke ass is stepping foot into Limitless—the ultra-chic, LED-lit, influencer-infested gym—is because your rich aunt gifted you a year-long membership for Christmas.
You clocked the look she gave you at Thanksgiving—that side-eye scrutiny of you squeezed into a dress that used to fit you perfectly last summer. Let’s just say... the turkey wasn’t the only thing stuffed at the table this year.
But whatever. You’re not complaining about anything that’s free‑99. As a struggling grad student, you’ve been surviving off ramen, iced coffee, and vibes for a year now.
But the second you walk through Limitless’s sleek steel doors, two things hit you—
You’re being sonically assaulted by the unce-unce-unce of euro-house bangers vibrating through the walls like some nightclub in Amsterdam.
The man behind the front desk is unreasonably hot.
Like, offensively hot.
Lounging behind the counter in a black dry-fit shirt that's cropped to showcase his washboard abs, while his toused white hair and stupidly perfect complexion make him look like he's headed to a photoshoot rather than a workout.
Tipping his sunglasses just low enough for you to catch the flash of icy blue eyes, his grin widens as you approach—like he already knows just how completely out of your depth you are.
“Welcome to Limitless!” he chirps. “I’m the owner, Gojo Satoru.”
Like you don’t already know.
Even a ramen-fueled, overworked shut-in like you knows about @ SixPackGod—TikTok’s reigning fitness thirst trap.
Gojo’s got 5 million followers and a cult-like fanbase—naturally, he monetized it by opening a gym. You’ve definitely seen his videos—stretching in ways that should get him banned and somehow making kettlebell swings look erotic.
As if on cue, a group of girls swish by in matching Lulu, Alo, and Vuori sets—tan, toned, and giggling as they wave at him. He winks back, weaponized charm turned up to 100 earning him shrill squees and coos as they exit.
It makes you want to book it the hell out of there. You clearly had no idea what you were getting yourself into, suddenly becoming painfully aware of your ratty anime tee and faded track shorts from high school.
Gojo turns back to you excitedly, completely unbothered by the fact that you look practically homeless. He launches into a rapid-fire tour, rattling off all the high-tech equipment and renovations—some already done, some still on the way.
You nod, clueless, too busy tracing the slope of his arms, the stretch of his shirt, the twitch of long fingers as he talks with his whole body.
Looking back, Gojo catches your totally glazed-over expression.
“Y’know,” he says, flashing you a panty-evaporating grin, “all new members get one free personal training session. Helps you get the most out of the place.”
Gojo steps in closer, charm dialed up to max and absolutely zero concept of personal space.
“Oh—no, thank you,” you say quickly, hands going up in half-surrender, half-subtle plea for him to back the hell up. “I—I can’t afford that. I mean, to continue after.”
You wouldn’t even be in here if your aunt hadn’t paid for your membership. One session probably costs your rent.
And in this economy?
You can barely afford to heat your apartment in the winter.
Gojo just shrugs, all smiles. “It’s freeeeee though! C’mon cutie.”
Cutie!? You!?
“I-I just don’t wanna waste your time,” you mumble, flustered and trying to keep your shit together.
“I don’t mind, you wouldn’t be the first,” Gojo flirts with a wink. “Buuuut, if it eases your worries, I’ll set you up with a girl trainer. Yuki. She’s great! Won’t yell at you… well, much. No strings. Promise. C’monnnnnn babe.”
The drawn-out plea and puppy-dog eyes are ridiculous—but the ‘babe’ seals it.
You fold faster than a wet paper towel in a hurricane, agreeing to sign up for a session on the spot.
What harm could one free session with a girl trainer do?
Except you don’t get Yuki.
Two days later, you show up—and Yuki’s “out sick.”
Instead, standing in front of you is Personal Trainer!Sukuna.
And holy shit—he’s fucking massive.
Like someone compressed chaotic aggression and carved it into pure muscle. Black tribal tattoos snake across his arms and chest, flexing under his tight “trainer” shirt like every inch of him is weaponized.
Your gaze drags from the cut of his shoulders to his chest—and lower, to thighs thick enough to crush a watermelon. And is that—? Oh fuck. There's a heavy print stretching his sweats.
You suddenly get what SZA meant about needing a big boy for winter.
What would it feel like—being pinned under all that weight? Back arched against the mat—
"AYE!"
Sukuna snaps your name like a whip, yanking you out of your fantasy and causing you to flinch so hard your heels lift out of your shoes.
He just looks at you like you’re stupid.
Which, to be fair, at this moment, you absolutely are.
You start babbling, fast and frantic—sputtering about how this is a bad idea, how you’re not going to book more sessions, how you’re probably just wasting his—
He rolls his eyes and gives you a look that screams: I don’t get paid to hear your bullshit.
That shuts you up immediately.
Sukuna’s red eyes then skim over you in a brutally clinical fashion. Unlike your ogling, his glance catalogs every weak point, every soft roll, every underdeveloped muscle in under fifteen seconds.
“Sukuna,” he says flatly. “Your PT.”
That’s it. That’s all the intro he gives you.
“You’re mine for the next sixty minutes,” he says flatly. “Now Move.”
You nod like a bobblehead, eyes wide—but he’s already walking away.
Scrambling after him, heart pounding, you try not to trip over your own feet Sukuna leads you deeper into the gym.
Not surprisingly, Sukuna’s intensity is so fierce that you can barely look at him the entire session. He runs you like a drill sergeant—efficient and merciless.
There's zero flirting, no coddling and definitely no encouraging bullshit beyond clipped commands.
When he needs to correct you, he does it physically—grabbing your hips, waist and shoulders with rough, unapologetic hands. Sukuna moves you into position like you’re a piece of gym equipment needing to be adjusted for his use.
His fingers press into muscle and bone like he already knows exactly how your weak little body is supposed to work for him, and it does, struggling yet ultimately bending to his will.
You can only sort of be thankful that Sukuna doesn’t seem to give a fuck that you freeze under his every touch. He certainly doesn’t blink nor acknowledge when you suck in a sharp breath or let out a shaky, humiliating little sound of anguish when his fingers trace over your ribs to correct your posture.
He just keeps going, dishing out relentless commands that push you harder than you’ve ever worked out in your entire life.
“Stop trying to cheat, brat” Sukuna growls, tapping your soft belly—right over your abs—with just enough force to make you squeak like the Pillsbury Doughboy.
“You’re weak here. Engage it. Squeeze tighter. That’s it, good girl.”
Good girl!?
Little does Sukuna know it’s not your core that’s responding but your pelvic muscles, your pussy fluttering wildly at the command like he's addressing her directly.
By the end of the session, every muscle in your body is cooked. Lungs on fire, like you’ve never worked out a day in your life.
And honestly—if this is what real training entails?
Then yeah. You definitely haven’t. Not even close.
Still, for a one‑off session, Sukuna gave you more than enough to continue on your own—form breakdowns, weak points to target, enough structure to build a routine from scratch.
Not that you’re thinking about fitness anymore. You just want to crawl out of here—and into bed.
You’re so worn down, so light-headed, that you don’t even notice you’ve grabbed the wrong towel—Sukuna’s, damp and still warm from use—instead of one of the cool eucalyptus-scented ones the gym provides. You sling it over your shoulders without thinking, wobbling toward the water fountain.
By the time you bend down for a much-needed drink, it practically slaps you across the face.
The aroma of salty sandalwood and heat, along with a musk so dark and undeniably masculine it makes your belly tingle.
Oh sweet fuck!
Warmth floods your senses, spreading through you all the way down to your toes. Your legs begin to quake once more—worse than they did during the three-minute wall squats Sukuna forced you to hold.
You’re no virgin—but you’ve never been affected by a man’s scent like this.
Ever.
You spot the laundry bin the moment you step into the women’s locker room—your rational brain whispering to just drop the towel and walk away.
Your hand hovers over the bin… but lingers a second too long. Voices now echo behind you as a group of women enter.
Snatching the towel back on instinct, your pulse spikes as you shove it into your locker like illicit contraband. There's no time to think more about it as you rush to the showers, hoping cold water can cool off whatever the hell is happening in your brain.
The shower soothes your muscles but it does nothing for the fire in your belly rapidly increasing.
Already weak, you slide down the cool tile. Water beats against your body as your fingers slip between your thighs on instinct. You circle your clit once, twice, then trail lower, pushing two fingers into your cunt with shaking hands.
You bite your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, acutely aware of how thin the walls are, how public and just wrong this is.
Yet no matter how hard you work your fingers, you can’t scratch the itch.
Even angling yourself so the water beats directly against your clit doesn’t get you there.
Shiiiit. You can’t even get off properly. Argh!
Frustrated and flustered, you finally give up. Shutting off the shower, you towel off in record time and book it out of the locker room—but not before stuffing Sukuna’s sweat-drenched towel deep into your duffel like contraband.
Glancing around you attempt to play it cool as you make your exit… only to duck your head a little too obviously as you pass the front desk.
Gojo, of course, spots you anyway. He waves at you cheerily and you try not to flinch as you force a smile and wave back, doing your best to look inconspicuous.
Nothing at all like the perverted little horn-dog thief you actually are.
You drive home like a woman possessed. The second your door clicks shut behind you, you’re already bolting for your room.
Shoes kicked off in a hurry, your duffel landed on the bed with a heavy thud. Your hands shake as you fumble with the zipper, pulse pounding with the insanity of what you’re about to do.
There it is.
The stolen towel, still damp and filthy, you lift it to your face and inhale like it’s oxygen itself.
God, that hits!
Your eyes lodge into your skull as the odor particles hit your brain, your mouth and pussy watering instantly.
This is wrong.
Disgusting.
Depraved.
And yet—you can’t remember the last time you were this fucking horny.
You don’t even undress properly—just shove your shorts down, kicking them off with your panties as you hurriedly reach into your nightstand.
Got it!
The suction vibrator hums to life in your hand as you collapse back against the pillows, towel pressed over your face.
The second the toy clasps over your clit, a gasp punches out of your chest, your eyes flying open.
Embarrassingly slick and oversensitive, your body reacts like it’s been waiting for this since his hands were on you. Your hips grind into the suction with helpless little thrusts.
The crumpled towel muffles your moans as your brain fills in the blanks—his voice, his hands, his tongue in place of the toy.
His gruff voice berates your thoughts.
Push harder, brat.
Hold it. Take it.
Good fucking girl.
As far as your delusions are concerned the soreness in your muscles isn’t from the workout, but from him folding you over the bench, stretching you open with this hefty cock and working you over until you’re shaking for an entirely different reason.
Trembling, your hand almost slips as your orgasm builds, causing you to arch into the vibrations.
Engage it! You hear him growl.
And you do—just like he taught you as you bury your face deeper into the towel and flick the button increasing the pulsing suction on your throbbing button.
When you come, it hits you all at once.
A breathless cry tears out of you as your body locks up—pleasure tearing through you. You cling to his scent, hips jerking as you ride the overstimulation until you finally go limp.
Lying there afterward, dazed, sweaty, staring at the ceiling in quiet horror because even through your shame the hard truth is—you want more.
And like an addict after the first hit—you’re already clicking the wand back on.
By morning, to your horror, the scent has already started to fade from the towel and the panic that claws up your throat is immediate.
You know you can’t afford another session...
But an unhealthy obsession?
That, you can manage.
After that, the gym doesn’t just become part of your routine—it is the routine. You start showing up religiously, like you’re worshipping at the altar of your own filthy fixations.
Well, for your workouts too. But mostly?
You come for him. Sukuna.
Like a fucking weirdo you start watching Sukuna from a distance.
In mirror reflections. From across the floor. From behind machines.
You just… observe—quietly and patiently—drinking him in like a thirst you can’t quite quench.
You never try to make eye contact though, nor dare to try to make conversation.
Hell no, you’re too terrified of him for that.
Plus Sukuna didn’t seem like the small talk type.
On the rare occasion your eyes do meet in the gym in close passing, you barely manage a stiff and squeaky, “Hi” before darting your eyes away, like you’ve been caught doing something illegal.
Which, honestly, feels kinda accurate.
But you weren’t really doing anything bad right?
You were a gym member. He worked there.
Of course you’d see him. It’s normal.
Super casual.
Just like you casually timing your workouts to use machines near wherever he is training clients. Hoping to get close enough to maybe, just maybe, catch another whiff of those musky pheromones that rewired your brain chemistry and wrecked your sense of normalcy in a single afternoon.
Your jealousy hits fast when those bubbly influencer girls, all high-ponytails and matching sets, laugh way too loud at things he definitely meant as insults and actually have the nerve to try to cling to his adonis-like form.
The only consolation is they are usually crying by the end and few rebook in return, making Sukuna's regulars mainly men who want him to tear them apart so they can have even a fraction of the physique he does.
Yet man or woman, Sukuna runs them into the ground. He doesn’t care how pretty they are or how hard they flirt or how much they protest.
It doesn’t take long to realize something else, either:
Sukuna’s harder to book than Gojo.
You only got him that day by pure fluke—Yuki was out, and someone canceled.
Sure, Gojo’s the golden boy. Content king, the face of the gym and the main draw to why people sign up for the ridiculously expensive membership in the first place.
But Gojo’s sessions are all vibes. He jokes, flirts, counts a few reps, and always films a cute reel for your socials—just as long as you make sure to tag him and the gym.
But Sukuna? Sukuna doesn’t even have social media.
You only go to Sukuna if you’re serious. Or masochistic.
Or just plain obsessed.
Like you.
No one leaves his sessions looking camera-ready. They leave wrecked.
And goddamn—that just makes you want him even more.
Once, while leaving the gym, you spot the personal trainer shift schedule—just left out on the front desk.
Plain as day, just sitting there in the open.
You don’t mean to look. You really don’t.
But the next thing you know, you’re pretending to scan a QR code on a sign advertising the gym app (which you downloaded weeks ago), while sneakily snapping a photo of Sukuna’s hours instead.
You nearly shit yourself when Gojo pops up out of nowhere.
Grinning, smoothie in hand, he starts chatting you up like you didn’t just commit a minor felony.
Panicked, you mumble something about catching your bus—
…while holding your car keys in plain view like a dumbass.
Then you bolt outta there like your name is Usain.
But minor mortification aside, from that day on, your visits become a lot more strategic.
You realize Sukuna comes in at the ass crack of dawn to train before his shift.
So, naturally, you start showing up even earlier—just to watch.
Today’s upper body, apparently.
You find Sukuna posted up at the shoulder press, casually repping weights that are triple your mass. His black tank clings to him, sweat-darkened and stretched across his chest like it’s trying to merge with his skin. You swear it looks just as desperate as you are to be pressed against him.
Getting visibly annoyed at the clingy fabric, Sukuna rips the tank off one-handed, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor like it had personally offended him.
You nearly fall off the elliptical at the sight.
His bare chest is on full display now—tatted pecs glistening, thick and meaty, bouncing slightly as he pumps out reps like it’s nothing.
You’re barely moving.
The machine beeps at you, flashing “INACTIVITY DETECTED.”
Chile, you don't even notice.
You’re too busy imagining burying your face in those muscular mounds, tits squishing against your cheeks while he presses you in deep and lets you suffocate in nirvana.
God, you just want to motorboat your face into them until you pass tf out.
Unknowingly, a soft whine slips out of you.
Louder than it should in the mostly empty gym, even with music pumping.
Sukuna’s eyes flick over toward you.
Fuckkkk.
Caught, your neck twinges from how fast you whip your head away.
You don’t dare look back, but you feel Sukuna watching you. His stare scorches a hole straight through your soul.
You don’t look anywhere other than the ellipticals display until Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice calls Sukuna over from the back office, waving encouragingly like he’s summoning a particularly grumpy doberman.
Leaving all his stuff at the machine, there's a distinct growl of annoyance from Sukuna as he rolls his eyes and stomps away.
Alone now, your gaze slides back to the shoulder press machine.
The black leather shines under the overhead lights—drenched, shining like a fucking beacon, soaked through with Sukuna’s delicious man‑sweat.
Practically calling to you like an obscene siren song.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re already in front of the machine.
You’ve never even used it before—but that’s not about to stop you now.
Under the pretense of adjusting the weights, you crouch down and press your nose to the seat where Sukuna had been sitting.
A salty musk clings to the cushion.
Mmm, pungent. It’s so fresh. God, it’s been too long since you’ve smelled him this intensely.
A shudder rips through your spine as you inhale deep, chest stuttering.
Quickly, you glance around, checking to make sure the coast is clear. It is. Then you do something you never would have considered doing just a few weeks ago—you lean forward, tongue peeking out of your drool glossed lips and lick a lingering bead of sweat straight off the backrest.
Oh damn, Oh fuck!
This must be what heaven tastes like.
Suddenly, a door booms open from the back. You hear Gojo’s laughter, in near hysterics as and Sukuna’s grumbling something you can't quite make out.
Startled, you bolt upright, heart slamming into your ribs.
You don’t think, you just know you can’t get caught licking seats like a freakazoid so—you book it.
By the time you stumble into the locker room, panting you notice something in your hand—
It's practically saturated with sweat, beads dripping down onto your sneakers. Biting your lip, you know you just can't walk out there and give it back to him.
You'd look bonkers.
And worse—you can still feel his warmth in the fabric.
Shit! Darting into the nearest bathroom stall, you slam the door shut, sitting on the toilet lid as you stare at the dirtied tank in your hands.
You are absolutely fucking disgusting.
And you don’t give a solitary fuck.
Without hesitation, you wring the fabric out over your open mouth, catching the salty drip on your tongue. A moan fumbles from your lips as you lick them, before you stuff the fabric into your mouth and slurp it down glutinously like its holy water.
From there, it only escalates further.
A few days later, a long sock falls out of Sukuna’s bag in the lobby.
You bend down like you’re tying your shoe and swipe it when no one’s looking. At home, you loop it around your head—hands‑free—covering your nose while you grind against a pillow until your thighs ache.
You steal water bottles.
Sweatbands.
Once, you even snag a pen he’d been chewing on—lift it straight off his clipboard and stuff it into your pocket. Later, you suck on it like it’s his tongue while your fingers work between your legs in the women’s locker‑room showers.
Yeah. You get over the embarrassment of getting off in the private stalls pretty fast.
It goes on like this for weeks.
No matter how much you take, telling yourself it's the last time. It never is.
It's never enough.
When Sunday rolls around, you show up at 5:30 bright and early—well, not bright exactly.
The sun isn’t even out yet, but as expected the gym’s a ghost town.
Just Gojo behind the front desk, humming to himself as he uploads another fitness thirst trap video, sipping an energy drink he definitely doesn’t need.
“Morning, cutie. You’ve been looking good lately,” he calls out as you enter, flashing a devilish grin that throws you off before you’ve even cleared the threshold. “Reconsider any personal training yet? Sorry again about Yuki bailing. But you enjoyed Sukuna, riiiiight?”
You freeze mid-step.
Gojo hasn’t brought up training since that first—and only—session.
He doesn’t know anything… right? So then why bring it up now?
“Ah, um—no, I did,” you stammer. “It… it was great. Amazing, even. B-but like I said, budget is so tight it’s nonexistent.”
You laugh nervously and Gojo hums like he's thinking something he’s not outright saying. “Mmhmm. Got it.”
Before you can slip past the desk though, he continues: “Oh! We just installed an infrared sauna, you should check it out! No one’s even used it yett, give it a test go for me will ya?”
Gripping your bag tighter, you offer a weak noncommittal smile, eager to get away from Gojo’s amused eyes.
But your mood dips immediately.
No sign of Sukuna.
Goddamn it.
Early Sundays are usually your favorite—You always get a front-row seat to Sukuna’s infamous leg day routine. Full of squats that show off just how dummy thick his ass is.
Still, if you dragged yourself out here, you might as well make it count.
Surprisingly, when you pick up the 25lb dumbbell you used to struggle with, it feels light. Stalking clearly is a workout—your gains speak for themselves.
Usually, your “sessions” don’t last long—mostly an excuse to ogle—but today you grab a towel and decide to hit the new sauna tucked in the back.
You might as well do Gojo the solid, your study group isn’t until noon.
Besides, you’ve never tried the regular Saunas—too self-conscious to sit half-naked next to glossy, influencer types. But the gym’s a ghost town and the new one is down a quiet, empty hall.
Perfect.
Stripping down in the locker room, you wrap the towel around yourself and head down the corridor.
There’s only one sauna, but a paper sign slapped on the door reads Women’s, so you don’t think twice.
Stepping inside, the noise from the main floor vanishes—sealed off by thick walls and steam. The red glow of infrared lights paints the wooden heatbox in a soft, sultry rouge.
It’s oddly peaceful.
You breathe deep, lowering yourself onto one of the benches. Your limbs still ache from your half-hearted workout, but the heat is a balm. Eyes fluttering shut, you let it melt into your muscles, loosening tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying.
But your mind refuses to settle. Ten minutes, maybe less, go by, and all you can think about is Sukuna.
That wild pink hair. That gruff voice. Those hands. And of course—that stench.
You squirm slightly on the hard wooden bench, warmth pressing in from all sides. The silence thickens around you, humid and still. Your legs part just a little. A hand slips beneath your towel, nudging it up past your hips.
Sure, this is way more public than the showers… But no one’s around. Just Gojo up front—too busy refreshing his comments section to do any actual work.
Relaxing, as soon as your fingers dip into your folds—
Creak.
The door swings open.
Scrambling, you snap your legs shut, crossing them tight. Your hands fold in your lap like you’ve been sitting politely this entire time.
Adrenaline in overdrive, just when you think it can’t get worse—Sukuna steps in.
Pool? Since when does he swim? Also, you didn’t even realize the gym had one.
Shirtless, with a towel slung over one shoulder, Sukuna's torso gleams, the visible temperature of the sauna makes him look like a tempting mirage.
You clutch your towel tighter around you, voice barely a whisper.
Breath stuttering you clutch your towel tighter around you.
“Um, e-excuse me, M-Mr. S-Sukuna?” you mumble, refusing to meet his eyes, “T-This is the women’s sauna”
Sukuna just looks at you incredulously.
“Cut that Mister shit out right now brat—tsk, but who the fuck said that?” he huffs, “There’s only one. It’s unisex.”
There’s plenty of room across from you, even on one of the upper levels. But Sukuna sits next to you, the bench creaking under his hefty bulk.
You swallow hard. “Ah, er… b-but the sign—?”
“What sign, you dizzy brat?” he smirks, flashing a single sharp canine.
Scrambling to your feet, you crack the door open and scan the hallway.
You blink at the walls, the floor, the door itself but the sign is nowhere to be seen.
Where the hell did it go!?
“Get your ass back in here and close the damn door,” Sukuna grumbles. “You’re letting all the hot air out.”
You straighten, nearly dropping your towel as you scurry back inside to avoid his wrath. Still mumbling apologies, you hover near the door—until Sukuna throws you a look.
You flinch, then shuffle back to your seat beside him.
Okay, girl, be calm.
But that's near impossible when you are internally freaking the fuck out.
Your thoughts race to find an excuse to leave. But the moment you turn toward Sukuna to speak, every thought evaporates—unlike the thick sweat beading along his tanned skin, your gaze zeroing in on a drop rolling lazily between his sculpted pecs.
You’d kill for a taste of that right now.
“You look good,” he finally says, causing you to jump, which only seems to amuse him.
You blink. He means you!?
Well… you suppose you can slip on your thanksgiving dress without a fight now. But you hadn’t really noticed—too busy splitting your time between school, the gym, and gooning yourself stupid over Sukuna.
Somehow, you’ve turned into a regular gym rat.
“You’ve been doing the sets I taught you, yeah?”
You nod quickly.
Sukuna doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable as silence stretches between you. But you are stuck, frozen like a deer in headlights—fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
Unfortunately for you though, patience has never been a virtue of his.
“Tch.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly fed up.
“Is that it? That all you’re gonna say for yourself?” He sneers. “Didn’t take a freaky lil’ brat like you to be so damn shy.”
Hello!?
“Um, what—?”
Sukuna’s expression hardens, his teeth sucking sharply as he leans in.
“Don’t bullshit me, brat. You’re into some kinda perverted stalker shit, right?”
Well…tea but damn, saying it like that makes you sound crazy.
“I—I don’t—what are you talking—”
“Careful.” Sukuna cuts you off with a sneer. “Lying’s not your strong suit.”
He shifts closer, thigh brushing yours, arm on the upper level bench draping behind you.
Dear god, he's so close you can smell him now.
The scent of his sweat curls around you like a chain, thick and oppressive in the heat, seeping into your pores.
The same scent that lives in the sock under your pillow. The tank you sleep in. The towel on your nightstand. The water bottle. All the stupid little trophies you stole like a greedy hoarding goblin.
“There are cameras in the gym,” Sukuna says casually—like he’s reciting policy, although his eyes never leave yours. “When my shit started going missing, I checked the footage.”
You would die on the spot right now if that was actually a viable option.
“I saw everything, woman” Sukuna spits, “You’re a fuckin’ freak. You should be locked up.”
Shitshitshit—is he actually going to call the cops!?
The sauna feels a thousand degrees hotter. Your instinct screams run—but you know you wouldn’t make it to the door if he decided to stop you.
“Ha, you know…Gojo called me into the office that day on purpose,” Sukuna adds, clicking his tongue, “He didn’t believe me that a quiet lil thing like you would be such a fuckin' weirdo at first, so he’d thought it’d be funny set a lil trap for ya.”
Your stomach drops… trap? Oh god, that day…
"Tch, a'course you fuckin' fell for it too—just like I knew you would…licked that groadie bench down like a slut."
But Sukuna, is unbothered by your falling apart, not softening his blows.
“You think I didn’t see you sniffing benches?”
“Licking the rim of my shaker bottle?”
“And that sock I dropped?” He snorts. “Wore that shit for five days straight. Smelled like rank ass.”
A broken sound slips out of you—half gasp, half whimper as you bury your face in your knees, trying to scrunch up in the tightest ball possible.
You can feel Sukuna looming closer though, his aura utterly overwhelming.
“Just admit.” Sukuna’s voice lowers, a bit gentler but not by much.
“You’ve been stealing my shit to flick your slutty little bean for three months straight. Figured you’d own it, now that I’m giving you a chance.”
Peer up at him from your knees, you look puzzled.
A chance??
“You, um… mean you're not mad?”
His grin widens, sharp teeth flashing.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ pissed,” he says easily. “That some greedy, perverted brat’s too cheap to pay for more sessions, so she creeps on me and steals my shit like a freaked out leprechaun…”
You grip the edge of the bench, ready to run. Out of the sauna. Out of the gym. Out of the goddamn country. Nine months of prepaid membership? You’d flush it down the drain and never look back.
“…but,” Sukuna interrupts your spiral, licking his lips, “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working. Like you’ve got my voice in that nasty little head of yours… telling you what to do.”
He leans in just slightly, voice dropping with heat.
“And that? That gets me hard as fuck.”
Your eyes drop. His shorts are tented—thick, obscene, stretching toward his thigh.
Pulling away from you, Sukuna leans back, spreading his arms along the bench behind you like he owns the place.
“Come here, brat.”
You freeze, just a beat too long—long enough to piss him off and before you know it Sukuna is grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, hauling you into his lap. Your towel slips in the process, falling around your hips.
But you don’t even notice as his thumb presses beneath your jaw, tilting your face up to focus solely on him.
“Look at me, woman.”
Your throat tightens, holding his gaze, forced and trembling as your palms press flat to his chest and your bare pussy rests on his thick cock, still caged in his shorts—yet you still feel the twitch of it through the material.
The contact hits you like a fever, soaking into your naked body like fire. At long last, you are skin to sin, you imagined this more times in the last few weeks than you can count.
You can’t help the tremor that ripples through you.
Sukuna’s lip curls.
“So…”
SMACK.
His palm cracks against your ass, the punishing blow, has you biting down on your lip not to scream.
“You like the way I stink, huh, slut?”
Your bottom lip quivers and sick of holding it in, your degeneracy boils over in your admission.
“Oh fuckfuckfuck… yesss!”
God, that felt good. Like confession—but instead of relief, all it does is stoke the heat rolling through your body. You’re no sinner seeking redemption—you’re reveling in your own depravity.
Sukuna chuckles, pleased at your admission as his grip tightens at the back of your neck, yanking you forward until your face is buried in the thick curve of his raised arm.
Right into his funky pit. The epicenter of everything you’ve been chasing.
“Then get a good whiff, freaky-ass brat.”
And you do. Eyes fluttering shut, you bury your face in the muggy pocket of sweat and inhale—deep, greedy lungfuls that make your pussy clench helplessly around nothing.
Sukuna reeks of unfiltered masculinity. No deodorant. No pretense. Just thick heady pheomones—raw, musky and pungent.
You don’t care that you’re naked. Don’t care that you’re in public.
All you care about is getting more. More of him. More of that addictive stench that’s already rewired your addict brain.
“That’s it,” Sukuna says, “Just like that. Fucking knew a nasty brat like you’d melt.”
You whimper against his skin, but shame doesn’t stand a chance anymore—choked out by sheer, throbbing need.
This is your sickest fantasy made flesh.
You nuzzle deeper, nosing through the soaked pit, surprised by how smooth the skin is—just a faint dusting of pink fuzz tickling your cheek. The texture alone makes your clit throb.
A needy moan slips from your throat as your hips roll forward on instinct, grinding against the fat stiff ridge straining in his shorts.
Already dizzy and feral, you rut shamelessly—slick soaking through the fabric—like you’ve long since forgotten what the concept of dignity even is.
Sukuna growls, teeth clenched as your soppy cunny smears across his thigh.
“Shiiit,” he grits out, voice rough as gravel. One big hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding languidly through your messy folds, far too composed compared to the frantic buck of your hips.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time?”
He snorts at the pitiful sound you make.
“What—never thought to get your fix straight from the source, huh? Fuckin’ scent junkie?”
You whine, helpless, hips jerking as he pushes a thick finger inside your perverted lil’ pussy.
“Where’s your shame, slut?” Sukuna jeers teasingly, “You want someone to walk in here and see you like this?”
You couldn’t care less.
You could die like this. And die happy.
Eager to show your gratitude your tongue drags wet and slow through the sweaty hollow of his pit, flicking, swirling and sucking at the flesh.
Your tongue swirls more obscenely at his praise—devouring the taste of him like you’ll never get another chance.
Exhaling hard, Sukuna knows if he doesn’t stop you, he’s going to fucking bust soon, just from your vulgar lil’ tongue in his pit and from the feral way you dry hump his cock like a deranged, funk-drunk perv.
“Say, brat?” Sukuna’s tone is laced with something dangerous but you’re too far gone to register, only groaning into his skin.
Sukuna loosens his grip on your neck just slightly to stroke the back of it, deceptively gentle.
“You do your warm-ups today? The ones I showed you?”
“Mmm—ah—” Your mouth breaks from his skin just long enough to mumble a blissed-out, “Always do~!”
“Good,” Sukuna chuckles, shaking his head “This shouldn’t break you then.”
Before you can blink, Sukuna yanks you from his pit.
He manhandles you face-down, ass-up on the bench, forcing your spine into a brutal arch.
There’s a rustle behind you—the sound of fabric hitting the floor.
That’s the only warning you get.
Then he slams in.
One brutal, bottomed-out thrust—balls deep—and the air rips straight from your lungs.
“Ngghh!—F-FUH!”
Your thighs spasm, cunt clenching tight as Sukuna rams straight into your G‑spot, slick pulsing out around his cock and soaking him to the heavy sack.
“Called it,” Sukuna snorts, smacking your ass, watching it ripple. “The crazy ones are always fuckin’ gushers.”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Completely incapacitated, you quiver beneath him—already fucked too dumb by his veiny girth splitting you open. No time to brace. No chance to adjust.
Just reduced to a shell, a fucktoy for his use—and fuck, it feels sooo good.
“Quit squirmin’, woman,” Sukuna growls, landing another smack—harder this time—making even the cheek he didn’t hit jiggle.
You’re desperate to follow orders—but you barely know where you are anymore. The sauna’s heat blurs your vision, your brain melted by the fire in your core and the way Sukuna’s cock throbs inside you, turning your guts to mush.
“Tsk. Not stable enough—looks like you need a spot.”
Sukuna plants one foot, swinging the other up to plant on the center of your back, pinning you in a shape exactly to his liking. Locked into position at the perfect depth, angle, and tilt to pound into your spongy walls and pound straight into your womb.
“There,” he grunts satisfied, “Perfect fuckin' form.”
The sauna fills with the sound of sloshing flesh. You’re leaking from everywhere—sweat slicking your skin, tits dripping, cunt gushing around his cock. The bench beneath you is drenched, an obscene puddle collecting under your trembling limbs and dripping onto the floor.
It’s messy, it’s vile and it’s the hottest sex you'd ever had,
“Take it,” Sukuna roars. Spreading your ass cheeks wider, he hunches over you, crescent moons digging into your flesh for leverage lest he slips out of your slick cunt entirely.
“That’s it. Fuckin’—tight little thing, *puh*” Sukuna grits, spitting.
The fat wad of fluids hits the top of your crack, pooling with the sweat dripping off his brow and your own, rolling in rivulets down your back, dribbling down—all messily coalescing in the crack of your ass. The mixture bubbles over your hole as it flutters, struggling to take it in, but Sukuna’s thumbs keep it stretched open, ensuring it does.
Fuck what a filthy sight—it hasn’t even been that long and already his balls are tightening, wanting to explode in your crazy, stalker coochie.
“Look at you,” Sukuna pants, muscles twitching, the sauna’s heat finally catching up to even him. “This is the real training ya needed. Been too long since this freaked-out pussy had a good workout.”
“YESSSSS!” you cry, it feels so good, but it’s all too much. You’re seconds from blacking out.
Your hands claw at the bench, nails leaving streaks in the wood as Sukuna, removes his foot from your back, grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, putting you in a headlock.
Each brutal thrust snaps your body forward, cheeks stinging with every slap of his hips against your ass.
“Sniff,” he orders. Thrusting harder with each word. “Breathe. It. All. In.”
But his arm's tight around your throat—you can’t breathe.
Everything collapses into sensation: the choke of his hold, his scent pouring over you, the heavy weight of his body pressing down, the wet flick of his tongue in your ear before he bites the shell just to hear you squeal.
“You wanted this,” he mocks, voice ragged. “Earned every inch, creepin’ on me like a filthy lil’ perv.”
The moment his palm smacks your swollen clit, your orgasm detonates.
Bruttally ripping through your body, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.
You’re sobbing in pleasure, helpless, as Sukuna swears under his breath—but doesn’t slow.
He fucks you through the aftershocks, pussy squeezing him in erratic, wet pulses that has him coming undone.
With a final, guttural grunt, Sukuna’s cockhead presses flush to your cervix, thick, hot ropes of white flood your womb, searing your insides until you’re dazed and seeing galaxies behind your lids. Keeping you pinned in the headlock, Sukuna holds you there until the worst of your spams subside, finally pulling out with a wet, heavy pop.
You’re half-conscious, limp from exertion—but Sukuna isn’t finished.
He lowers you onto your back, spreads your trembling legs, and drops between them to survey the looks of your battered, swollen cunt, still plugged full of his cum.
“You know,” Sukuna smirks, “You’re not the only one into musky shit, slut.”
You shiver as he licks his lips—then dives in, hungrily sucking his own cum out of your pussy, groaning low as the cocktail of scents flood his senses.
You have no idea how much time passes. Surely there’s no cum left—yet Sukuna’s still down there face buried deep like your folds like your pussy juice was the much needed recovery electrolytes his body craved after fucking you into the bench.
If you had the strength, you’d push him away.
But you don’t.
You just lie there, ruined and twitching, as he rips another body racking orgasm out of you.
Click.
Unexpectedly, the sauna door creaks open.
You can barely see now with all the sweat dripping into your eyes—but the voice is unmistakable.
“…Well, well.”
Gojo.
He’s standing in the doorway, a green smoothie in one hand, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Oh,” he says, sipping through his straw. “Thought I heard some suspicious moaning through the vents. Wanted to make sure no one was dying back here.”
Panicked, you try to sit up—but Sukuna doesn’t let you. His arms lock tight around your thighs, dragging your ass back down onto the bench with a scowl.
He doesn't even look at Gojo.
Gojo snickers, lounging in the doorway. “I know I of all people shouldn’t judge but, Sukuna, buddy. The women’s sauna?”
“Unisex,” Sukuna grunts into your cunt. “You labeled it wrong on purpose, dickhead.”
“Guil-ty~,” Gojo sing-songs. “But hey—look at you! Finally got your dick wet in some crazy stalker pussy. I definitely did you a favor.”
“The both of you actually,” he drawls on, swirling the straw of his smoothie like a martini, “I did leave that trainer schedule out on purpose. Didn’t think you’d go full gremlin though, girliepop, but hey—looks like it paid off!”
A pathetic sob escapes you—half humiliation, half pleasure—especially when Sukuna tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down like a meal that won’t stay still.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna snaps, surfacing just long enough to glare at Gojo’s smug ass. “You’ll scare her off. She’s jumpy enough.”
Gojo merely laughs it off.
“Nah, not this one,” he says, eyes glittering with mischief. “After indulging that freaky lil appetite? You’re the one who should be scared, Kuna~.”
But Sukuna clearly doesn’t give a fuck—he’s already back between your legs, this time sliding his thumb into your ass.
You jolt, thighs shaking violently, muffling a cry behind your hands as your body bucks against his mouth. Although, given the situation, you still are considering skipping town when all of this is over.
“Well, don’t stop on my account.” Gojo hums. “I’ll throw a cone outside so no one wanders in on your little… aroma therapy session~”
Just before disappearing, Gojo pauses in the doorway, faux-pouting.
“Oh—and next time, you fuck little miss agora hills? Invite me. Or I’m docking your pay for unauthorized client sessions—okay toodles~~!”
Click. The door swings shut behind him.
Sukuna doesn’t even look up.
Tch. Like hell he’s inviting that fruity-smelling bastard.
an. this was a hyperfocus brain obsession i had to thug out, soz. going back to work on elevator p2, freddy!sukuna and incel!naoya [if i didnt mention it no im not working on it right at this second, yes i do plan to finish it, please don't bug me about it :) ]
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
your sweaty back melts into the bathroom stall. sticky substances of nights before mingling with every drip of perspiration that runs down your spine. your cheeks just as warm, baby hairs matted against your temple — make up caking on the sides of your face from just how hot it is.
the bathroom stall is tight and muggy, swallowing every thing emitting from both the bodies squeezed inside. every spritz of fragrance that brushed pressure points. bobs and swallows of adams apples and slim throats. aggravated foot taps and nervously jittery fingers licking at the polish around cuticles. a home of misconduct in this club’s bathroom.
the club is filled to the brim with dancing bodies, filled cups of fruity drinks, and pockets full of drugs. you're surprised you made it here in one piece. that you were able to get him in such a 'hidden' corner. his body pressed against your back as you maneuvered the crowd as one to get here.
you hear someone crying in the stall over, sniffling nose and whimpery cries. someone pats their back, harshly — as if to rush them through their emotions so that they make it to the dance floor in time. a pop song thrashing against the walls as more bodies slam into the bathroom, the door on constant movement carrying a creak to the melody of the night.
in front of you stands naoya zenin, in all his egotistical glory. brown slits inching their way down every crevice of your body that isn't your face. narrowed eyes dropping from the tops of your breast in your very revealing dress to where your knees buckle from the gleam of his arrogant grin. he doesn’t offer you eye contact. he doesn’t think you deserve it.
one of his hands is in the front pocket of his jeans, actively twitching as if he's mindlessly playing with the lint that builds up in there. his thick arm is right on the side of your head, hand plaster to the stall you’re up against — probably feeling the outpour of your sweat.
you look up at him from your lashes, blinking slowly — afraid that any quick movement would cause him to pounce. like a scared cat with its new owner; every move from each party studied and the cat is unnerved and the owner confident in their approach.
"couldn't make it to the booth?" the teasing infliction in his tone causes a warmth to creep down your belly, pooling right between your thighs. your eyes darting from the shape of his cheekbones to his hand still in his pocket, fishing for what you know is much more than lint.
he still doesn't look at you as you let out a huff. "you don't want to be seen with me," you mumble, embarrassment encasing each word. the self control you've been so proud of slipping between your fingers and into the toilet behind him. you're not embarrassed that he doesn't want to be seen with you, you understand your positions — but, of your need to allow him slithering back whenever he is ready to have you see him.
you shrug, subtly pushing yourself up from the stall. seeing how much you can get away with by inching yourself closer into his space. "your words," you remind, as if he needed any help remembering.
he lets out an overzealous chuckle, the one that starts in his chest and rushes out in loud bursts of confidence. it sounds almost too loud to fit in this bathroom, not meshing well with the sad whimpers still coming from the stall over.
“i know what i said.”
his hand near your head brushes down the side of your face, unhurried and careless. manicured nails painted black tapping against the beauty mark on your shoulder. his finger tips slightly chilled against your still overheating body. the taps speaking in a code you're not so sure you want to know the meaning of.
half lidded eyes now on his fingers, watching the goosebumps pebble on your smooth skin. his body pressing into yours, sending you back to your original spot — your body openly inviting him to come closer, to live in your skin that's glued to these bathroom walls. every ripple of his muscles taking the invite and fusing into you.
you can feel the beat of his heart, slow and steady. resolute in its domain.
"try again next week," he dips his head down, warm breath fanning against your chest. every other sound in the otherwise much too loud establishment goes quiet. your ears only privy to the way his lashes kisses his cheeks and his hand digs deeper in that pocket. "my wants may be different," he laughs, and it's so harsh you almost try to step back.
"we're here now."
he lets out a scoff, pulling back just enough that you still feel the movement of his body but miss it anyway. you watch from the corner of your eye, watching his jaw click as that hand in his pocket brushes against the front of your body. your thighs clenching, core running hotter than your skin.
"not for long."
the solidness of his voice snaps your eyes to his face. shrouded in the dim lights every angle of his face sharp, almost dangerous. get too close and you'll get cut.
the hand that was rummaging in his front pocket finally sees the light of day. a small baggie waving in between his fingertips, the substance bouncing as it clings to its plastic home.
you breathe through your nose, fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt as he pulls back once again. brown eyes focusing on the drug that's making your mouth water. your body trying to follow the call of the chalky powder — forgetting about naoya and his fingers now dropping from your shoulder and dusting over the apples of your tits.
the bathroom's door creaks slowly, just as every other sound in the tight space. you could only pay attention to the way he so effortlessly moves. body touching body, tongue rolling over bottom lip, fingers pulling your dress lower.
the muggy air crawling against your skin as your arch your back. his eyes still never meeting yours, glued to the way your nipples harden from the freedom thrust upon them.
it's quick, but slow at the same time. your mind already all hazed out from the sight of white and his body intently touching yours — there's no way he can deny the action of his touch as his fingers dip between the valley of your breasts.
"you're not getting any of this," he mutters as the hand with the baggie finally reaches up between you, close enough that if you breathe in deeply you can get a hit just from that. your eyes jump from that to his face, all scrunched up in divine concentration as he fiddles to get the bag open.
your eyes widen, a pout pursing your lips. “you don’t want to be seen with me and now you won’t even shar-,” before you could finish, whine as if he even cared about what you had to say in the first place, he grabs your left tit. fingertips digging into the meaty flesh as he fondles with it. quickly spilling the contents onto your burning skin.
you watch from down your nose, lashes blurring your sight every time you blink. watching the way his body presses into yours — your hands moving from the hem of his designer tshirt to the thick print lining his crotch. shaky fingers gripping at pure girth, his hips voluntarily pushing him closer to your touch. gaze catching the way his head dips lower, chest beating fast as you wait for his nose to brush against your tit and wipe the drug clean from your body. a gentle wash of the sins you know only to do with him.
so you’re surprised, and a croak from your throat signals that. instead of inhaling, he lays his warm tongue flat against the lazily made line. tongue tracing every ounce of the drug and rolling a spit traced line of his need to be over you. your eyes shutting tightly as you let out a line of gasps to accompany that croak.
and you don’t have to wait for it to hit him, because it hits him hard and automatically. his head dipping even lower, strands of his hair brushing your jaw, your chin, your cheek. his pelvis drilling into your hand as his hips move on their own, the length of his cock rubbing against your now flat palm.
his wet lips stay attached to your skin, tongue still rolling to taste every last drop of coke and the lotion you rubbed into your body earlier. hand lifting your tit up, bringing your nipple closer to his mouth. lips enveloping the bud as his tongue flicks speedily around it, drool dripping from his numb mouth.
you let out a string of wet whimpers, back stuck to the stall as you try to grip at him from between his legs. moist lips caressing your nipple in faux gentleness, his tongue lapping around your sensitive nub before it thrashes roughly. his teeth scrapping around your throbbing muscle, resulting more sounds to amplify from your mouth. the sounds of crying and music long forgotten as you can only hear the slurps of his hallowed cheeks around your tit.
"can you be any fucking louder?" and finally, his eyes meet yours. wet lips pulled off with a quiet ‘plop’, strings of salvia connecting your body to his in more ways then one.
his pupils are blown out of proportion, lips swollen and wet from all the suckling he's just done. you push your chest forward, nipple slicked with his spit brushing against the curl of his lips. wanting him to be attached to you again, needing more than your hand fumbling with the buckle of his belt.
"ask me again next week?"
this was done out of complete love for my actual soulmate @eraserbread, in honor of #birthdaelly (and the fact that he’s fine, idc argue with yourself in the mirror). also, this is an added little tidbit in the world where club classic takes part! should be fully meeting partyboy!naoya soon. enjoy!
Your fiancé Hiromi has been so busy at work lately, that he's been neglecting you! He comes home exhausted after finally finishing a case to hear you taking care of yourself. Well, that will not do at all! He needs to make sure to make up for the week he's lost, and put as many loads into you as he can <3
pairings - Higuruma x f! reader
warnings - MDNI, breed kink go brr, face and nose riding hehe, light bondage (he uses his tie ofc) sixty nine, cumplay, established relationship, basically this is completely freaked out smut - 4.5k wc
art is by @aransmind!! dividers by @cafekitsune
this was a commission for @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis for her birthday ahhh! I hope you have an amazing one and enjoy ml <3
Your fiancé Hiromi Higuruma was just completely and utterly tired after work, walking in his house and looking for you, only to hear a distinct little moan. He loosens his tie just a bit from its knot underneath that starch white collar setting his briefcase down with a quiet little thud, cock already leaking pre at the soft, muffled noises escaping.
He knows he's been working too much at the law firm lately, neglecting you due to this huge case he just finished. But for you to have to touch your perfect pussy meant he was failing you. And that’s the last thing he ever wants to do, he lives to spoil you in all aspects, including making you come as much as you wanted.
He tried to eat you out any moment he could, god he loved to bury his face after work every day, the best way to de stress. Sometimes you’d sneak to his private office and he’d prop you right on his desk, other times he’d fuck you against the window of the high rise, relishing in how nervous you get that soumeone could see.
People thought Hiromi was a very serious man, high strung, perhaps a bit of a stickler – yet with you he was the complete opposite. You just brought something out in him even the very day he met you – his cute law assistant, who quickly came into his office a little too much.
Now you’ve been taking a bit of a break to plan your wedding, plus Hiromi loves the thought of you some day just being home and not having to work, though he tried to push back that archaic, possessive idea. It was hard when all he could think of sometimes was putting babies inside you.
But more often than not lately? Well, he was snoring after dinner, waking up much later on to realize it was already three in the morning, and he had to be up by six again. He’d kiss your shoulder, and tug you close against him, aching for more – but so tired he’d fall right back, snuggling with you.
Unacceptable for this, though.
Surely he can make it all up to you!
His steps are quiet against the hallway floor, shoes off by the door, a hand on the doorway as he listens to your sounds, muffled as if you’re covering your mouth up. He hears your shaky little breath, the squelching of your fingers on your pretty cunt, your cute little whines filling his ears.
Fuck.
It’s unacceptable that you should have to do this, really. Maybe he needed to take a good week off and fill you with so much of him you can’t even walk, have you shaking and writhing underneath him – hoarse, desperate cries rather than these cute little sighs of frustration. You’re so soaked he can just hear it, before he peers into the room where you’re snuggled under the blankets.
“Hiromi…” You’re murmuring, whining out again, he exhales, walking over to you, brushing his fingers across your cheek and making you gasp. “You’re home!”
“I see you’re busy without me, princess,” he murmurs, you pull your fingers off, blushing furiously, hand trembling when he grips your wrist. “Very busy.”
“I missed you,” your little whisper is so precious, he can’t take it, leaning over to press a kiss on the bridge of your nose, before bringing your fingers to his lips, kissing your own slick until his mouth is glossy. “Mnh…”
“I’ve been neglecting my pretty wife,” his words make you heat up. “You will be my wife soon, hmm? And then…”
He slips a hand down your body, between your breasts and over your trembling tummy, pressing his huge hand on it, warmth seeping through. “And then?” You tease, leaning up on an elbow to tug at his loosened tie.
“Then, you’ll have all my babies,” your teeth sink into your lip, heart fluttering as you look into his chocolate eyes, so dark right now they’re almost black.
“All of them? How many?” You softly kiss his lips, tasting yourself on them, his hand slipping even lower under the soft covers, cupping you right between your thighs that clamp down, whining out at the pressure.
“Mmm, I want to put so many inside you,” you gasp when his fingertip grazes your clit. “Keep you pregnant, have these perfect tits dripping milk. Fuck…”
He slams his lips down, touching you right where you’re already dripping, your clit twitches right underneath the pressure, jumping for his attention. He knows how bad it fucks you up when he talks like that, you’re pouring down his fingers, his tongue slipping between the parting of your lips, drinking in your little whispers. You can inhale that crisp cologne still lingering on his neck, his wrists, making you ache more.
“Do you want that, princess? Me filling you up,” he whispers, saliva dissolving in a thin little string between your mouths. You swallow and nod eagerly, moaning in frustration when he pulls back.
“I do, please,” he flicks on the lamp, exhaling and slipping off his jacket, you’re already sitting up, undoing his belt when he pauses you.
“I’ve been neglecting you, and you had to touch yourself,” he sighs, hands slipping up your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head. “Let me look at you, your pretty body is all mine, isn’t it?”
“All yours,” his thumbs brush your nipples, making them pucker up for his view, breasts moving up and down with your breaths.
“You should be worshipped every day,” he undoes the buttons of his shirt, undoing a few, showcasing the hard planes of his chest, shadows casting from the lamp along his skin. “I’ve not been doing my job.”
“Oh Hiromi I know how hard you work…”
“No, you touching yourself? I’m furious right now,” he never really shows this side, the jealous, possessive side, but when you see glimpses of it, you can’t help but melt. “You should just use me in my sleep.”
“I can’t!”
“You can,” you giggle now, fingers running down the cuts of his abdomen ever so slowly, watching it flex as he finally opens it, leaving it on when he straddles you on the bed, tugging his tie over his head. “Could ride my face, ride my cock, take all that’s yours.”
“But y-you’re exhausted,” he smiles, dark circles even more prominent, that nose of his bumping yours when he kisses you again, ever so slowly, before leaning up. “I don’t want to wake you.”
“Do you need me?” His words are like whiskey as he speaks, lips brushing faintly over you, not touching but you feel it.
“I need you.” You whisper back, more sure every moment he looks at you.
“Then, whenever you need me? You take it,” you’re trembling underneath him now, he groans and presses against you, letting you feel just how hard he is. You gasp at the contact, he grips your chin between his thumb and two fingers, nose brushing yours. “Answer me princess.”
“Yes sir,” you whisper, lashes lowering just a bit as you study his face, his lips, remembering how good they feel on your cunt when he drinks it up.
“No touching yourself without my permission, hmm?” Fuck you’re hurting now, the more he gently dominates you wrecks your mind.
“Yes sir.” You say it firmer now, earning his soft little tired smile.
“Perfect girl," he trails kisses down your jaw line now, slipping over to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there hard enough to leave glistening marks from his teeth, little indentations in your skin. He exhales at the sight of his marks on you. "Guess what, sweetheart?”
“Hmm?” You’re not even fucking yet – but you’re already fucked out feeling his cock underneath his slacks, the expensive fabric brushing your core over and over.
“I'm not letting you out of this bed until I've wrecked you,” you bite your lip, eyes locking on his, pupils blown out. Hiromi can’t control himself when you look at him like that, his hands tightening their grip on your hips, pressing in. “Not until you're so full of me it's dripping down your thighs tomorrow."
You yank him back down, kissing him once more, desperate and needy as you arch your back, breasts brushing against his hard chest, nipples touching his bare skin, hardening at the contact. He pulls back once more, taking your wrists and running the silk of that black tie on them, tying a knot firmly.
“Like my pretty present,” you giggle breathless when he tests it. He leans back and eyes your pussy, cock leaking pre so much it’s painful, seeing your puffy folds just glistening. "Look at this mess, oh you’re so wet for me. You missed me, didn't you?"
"Yes," you gasp out when his fingers part your folds, hole just dripping and drooling so much it pools down between them. You feel the cool air hit, hole twitching and spasming around nothing, your vision blurring just a bit as he runs his middle finger down your slit. "Missed you s’much, Hiromi."
"I know, baby, I know," he coos those words, but there’s an edge to them, one that’s making your ovaries ache. His eyes are lidded when you blink him into focus. "I'm going to make it up to you, take all week off. Would you like that?”
You nod in a jerky little motion, gasping when he suddenly flips your positions so you’re straddling him, your bound wrists tugged on by his hand. “I would, so much.”
“Good,” he sighs now, pulling you even higher, so you’re straddling his face.
“You want me to… up here!” You suddenly get a little nervous, but he’s dragging your cunt right over his face, his long nose bumping your clit as he just fucking inhales your cunt. “Ah!”
“I'm going to fill this perfect little cunt until you're beggin’ for a break," he whispers. “I’ll give you one, for a bit, then? Fill you up more, push all that come right back in with my cock. Till you can’t even walk – to make up for my neglect.” You’re trembling, he uses your wrists to move you where he wants, your thighs on either side of his face. “Would you enjoy that, me ruining your pretty cunt?”
“Mhm – ah!” His nose bumps it again, he knows that’s your favorite, feeling the curved bridge of it right on your twitchy lil clit. “Nghh!”
“First, I need you to coat my face in it,” he murmurs desperately, hands pressing into your pelvis, looking at you under his lashes. “Show me how much you missed me.”
Your hands tremble just a bit in the grip of that tie, as they slip into his dark locks, gasping out when his tongue slips against your soppy entrance, it quivers in response, gripping his tongue as your eyes roll back. He holds you firm in place, moaning as he fucks you with it, nose pressing your clit again, your hips jolt from it, breath caught in your throat, pleasure shooting through your core.
“Oh m-my… mnh I…” You’re mumbling now, as he drags you firmly on his face, urging you on, slick coating his chin, his lips, his nose, already embarrassingly covered in you when you peek. “Are you sure -”
“Ride it,” he urges, tugging on the tie to drag you even more firmly on him, holding you up just a bit so he can eye your soaking wet pussy. “Fuck look at you, I missed this pussy in my face.”
You’re hiccuping after just a few glides, thighs shaking and trembling, your head falling back as you rock your hips, gliding more firmly on his face, making him an utter mess. He’s groaning against you, reaching down to undo his belt as he works your pretty pussy, drinking every bit of your syrupy arousal down his throat, gulping it greedy, listening to your soft little cries.
“H-hiromi! Ah s’good! Please, please,” he loves when you get like this – all needy, greedy, riding him faster with his urging, freeing his cock to wrap a fist around it, throbbing when you start to suffocate him with your pretty cunt, stroking it as he lets you ride him.
“Mmph – that’s it,” he whispers, mouth muffled by your messy cunt, his tongue laps up every bit of it, between your lips, sucking one in his mouth, pulling back with a quick pop before his tongue works you more. “My entire face.”
You do as he asks, nose buried in your gummy walls, breathing out his mouth and letting you gush down and across his face. It feels so good you can hardly hold yourself up, almost falling when he catches you, chuckling softly.
“You’re so cute,” he whispers, you’re a flustered mess on top of him – lips swollen from your teeth, that pretty color on your cheeks, tears making your eyes glimmer. “Here.”
He unties that silk, rubbing your wrists delicately, now there are lines running across them where the fabric went into your flesh. His face is glistening with how much has drooled out of you. You have no time to be embarrassed, not when he flips you like it’s nothing – so strong it takes a mere little turn of his hands, and you’re facing an already leaky cock, twitching like it’s just waiting for you to clean it up.
“See what you do to me?” He whispers, lifting your ass up and sliding two fingers in your gummy, grippy walls, curving them down to hit that soft little spot that has you drooling from your mouth too. You balance on a hand, tongue slipping over his tip, his breath tickles your cunt as he spreads you wide. “That’s it, good girl.”
You’re whining out, mouth wrapping his cock as he drags you down by your hips, chin hitting your clit as his tongue licks a filthy stripe from your clit all the way to your ass, flicking there and making you spasm, nails pressing into his thighs. He’s moving your hips for you as they fail, fucking into your mouth, his cock stretching your throat so it burns so good.
You suck him hard, cheeks hollowing as you move, up and down ever so slowly, taking more of his thick length in your snug throat. It contracts around his veiny cock, making it thicken even more as he chokes you with it, sounds of you gagging on it filling the room with his flicking tongue and the wetness pouring, his moans mixing with your choked out cries.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he whispers, curving his fingers down again when you tighten up, thighs shaking. “Close?”
Your answer is a little nod and whine on his cock, before sucking him deep, making him almost bust with how his tip glides in your throat.
“Fuck… Come f’me, princess, drown me in it. You can do it, can’t you?”
“Mhm!” He moans as you let go, tight hole loosening up just a bit as his fingers work you faster, the tip of his tongue flicking your clit at the same time until you’re shattering on top of him.
“There you go,” he talks you through it as you’re coming all over his face, throat squeezing him with your strangled little cries, his hips sink back into the soft mattress. “Good job, that’s it, made such a mess.”
You’re weak and sensitive when you pull back with a messy pop, echoing in the roop, your lips parted, his pre all over your tongue. “Gonna again I - ah!”
“Come again then,” he grins and bumps your clit with his nose again, just to have you squirting down his face. “Ah, there she goes, fuck look at that…”
You’re gushing so much he can’t catch it all, humming as he does his best, so wet strands of his hair are damp with your slick, arousal flooding his senses. You’ve pulled back from his cock and buried your face right against it, screaming out, nails digging into his well muscled thighs as you quiver.
“Too much, too much,” you’re shaking more now, breaths coming in little pants as you stroke his cock, sticky with your spit. “H-Hiromi… please… want it in me.”
“I’ll give you anything you ask,” he whispers, turning you again, making your head spin, you brace yourself on his shirt that’s got splatters of your gossamer arousal, falling back together just a bit, bunching up in places. “Want me to fill your cunt up?”
“P-please,” you’re still hit with your aftershocks, dripping down across the dark hair right over his cock, coating it in gloss. It’s stubbly and rough against your clit as you move your hips, rocking them back and forth, so much slick it’s pooling in his flat belly button. He scoops it on his fingers, slipping them into your mouth, watching you suck as you grind on him.
He lifts you then, putting his fat leaky cockhead right against your hole, you’re already clamping down on him from the first moment he puts it in. He moans softly, feeling your grip, so tight his eyes flutter shut, opening them and gazing at you, leaning up on his elbows and pressing in.
“Ready for me?” He whispers, kissing your chin, your collar bone, leaving marks all over your skin.
“Yes, ready, please I – ngh!” He slams you down on his cock, tip pressing on your cervix, a mean stroke that has you so full, his hand grabs yours and makes you press on your tummy where he’s buried.
“Feel me here?” He whispers, it’s overwhelming how deep he is, you nod just a bit but he pulls you up, almost slipping out, making you feel so empty, before slamming you down again, in a messy, achingly slow stroke. You’re gripping onto that open dress shirt, thighs shaking, so full you feel split in half. “That’s where I’m gonna fill you, breed your perfect cunt.”
“Mmm you’re so… you… ah!” You can’t think when he plants his feet on the bed, fucking up into you harder, the sound of skin smacking echoing through the room, you barely cling on as he fucks you harder. “Can’t move!”
“Giving up already?” He teases, smiling lazily, but he knows what you need, to be flipped and folded in half underneath him.
He wastes no time flipping you on your back, taking your thighs in his firm grip, cock dripping the both of you on your blankets, spattering in messy drops that darken the fabric in splotches. His tip collects your slip between your puffy lips, dragging up and down, watching you jolt underneath him from the pressure. The teasing drag of his cock against your slick, swollen folds, has you twitching, him smirking just a bit.
“Did I tell you how sorry I am that I neglected your pretty pussy?” He whispers, eyes dark as he leans over you, breath ghosting your mouth. “That she hasn’t had come inside for a week?”
He presses in fully again, bottoming out so his heavy balls smack your ass, a messy thwack that makes you jolt from it, your nails pressing into his biceps over that material. He kisses you messy and desperate, whispering your name when he glides easier and easier, cunt stretching to accommodate his size.
"Fuck," he hisses out that word, dropping his forehead to yours. "Always so tight and perfect for me."
“Love you,” you whisper against his mouth. “Love you inside me.”
“I love you, my pretty wife,” you love hearing that, smile quickly erased when he lifts your thighs over his hips, fucking even deeper. “Have you pregnant by the wedding, huh?”
“No, crazy,” you’re getting fucked harder now, Hiromi has perfect control of his cock and where it hits, where it drags in your snug little chamber. Your folds swollen as they glided around him, earning his soft moan. “After.”
“But imagine you bred for the wedding,” he grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, some of that dark brown hair falling over his forehead.
“Need to f-fit in the dress – ah!” Hiromi slams deeper, lost in the thought of you round with him, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Fuck I can see it, hah,” he loses himself – pussy drunk off you, rocking his hips faster inside you, every drag and glide making you fall apart more and more. “Pretty tits busting out from that dress, couldn’t fit it anymore.”
“Hiromi! You’re so c-ngh, there, there!” His cock glides easier with the mess you’re making, when he makes you gasp out, shoving your thighs up high until you’re in a mating press.
"Look at you," he pants, his gaze locked on your cunt now, the way it’s spasming around him, leaving trails of slick down his length. "Taking me so well. You’re just such a good girl. Gonna let me breed you?"
You nod, biting your already sore lip, letting him slam his cock even harder.
“I have so much to make up for,” he whispers, pounding you into that mattress, his lips hovering right over yours, nipping your lip so hard it stings. “Need to make it up princess? Fill you s’much, over and over?”
Hiromi drills into your messy, soppy hole with ruthless precision, the way he tries his cases is how he makes sure to hit every fucking spot on your body, down to making sure to grind that hair over his cock on your clit. The stretch feels so fucking good you can't take it, greedily clamping down around him, trying to keep him buried deep, feeling him thicken and pulse.
"M-make up for it," you choke out, nails digging into his shoulders, that shirt slipped down his back. “Don't stop, Hiromi, please, want it."
He groans low in his throat, as he fucks you harder into the mattress, your knees shoved up to your ears in that devastating mating press that you’re not even sure how you got like this. The angle has his cock pummeling against that spongy spot, making you see white stars behind your eyes, filthy sounds of skin smacking mingling with your desperate, weak little whines.
"I won't stop, princess, m’gonna fill you up so deep, keep you full of me. You deserve all that, don’t you?”
You’re nodding when he presses in fully, climax shooting through your body until you’re completely fucked out and drooling from the side of your mouth, eyes going cross with every movement, every drag of his tip. You’re babbling nonsense, unable to form a good word, so sensitive every stroke almost sends you into overstimulation.
“Taste yourself on my lips,” he whispers, kissing you messy, your answer is a pliant little moan, drinking his spit and your arousal deep. “That’s it, how sweet you are, fuck you’re so good for me. Gonna milk me, like a perfect girl?”
You’re past being coherent – all you know is you want his come, still reeling from all the pleasure he’s given you, you’re just weak underneath him now.
“Mnh, w-want it… want it…” His fingers are bruising, using your thighs to brace himself and fuck you harder, rythm finally faltering as your aftershocks try to push him over the edge.
“Then take it all, princess, lemme put all these babies in you,” you’re whining out when Hiromi finally busts deep. “Fuck… perfect little… oh fuck…”
Hiromi whimpers when he comes.
Just a bit, but you don’t know what you love more – how his thick white seed coats your walls, or his weak little whimper he lets out. His nose bumps yours as he turns his face to kiss you, whining out into your mouth. Your hands grip the blankets, crumpling them up as he pours so much white in you, flooding you with his warmth, sighing as he pulls back.
“Took it all,” he praises, cock pressing in ever so slowly, to watch trails of white start to pour down on him. He eases out after a few sensitive strokes, and all that milky seed drools from your hole. “Don’t waste it princess, I need it inside.”
“Ngh! S-sensitive!” You whisper, when he’s gathering it with his tip, scooping it back into you, gasping out as your now sore hole is filled again.
“But I promised to fuck this come back inside,” he sighs, hand slipping up to grip a tit, thumb brushing your nipple. “I need to give you so much, it was too long, wasn’t it?”
You’re sniffling, the sight of his soaked cock filthy, you can hardly form a coherent thought with his cock still almost fully hard, just softening the tiniest bit so it doesn’t stretch you out past your breaking point. Your cunt is a mess that he’s relishing in, smiling lazily at you, sweat slicking the skin of his chest and dripping across your tits, already covered in their own sheen of perspiration.
“I promise that won’t happen again,” he says softly, hovering over you so you feel some of his weight pressing you into the bed, lips moving over yours again. “I will take all week off, we don’t even have to leave this house.”
“Yeah?” You ask softly, gasping out when he pushes more of that dripping white come back in your hole, cock already throbbing back to life. “So I can use you any time I want, hmm? You sure about that?”
“I’m so sure,” you giggle at that, lashes trembling when he eases out for a moment, swiping up that milky substance and coating your lips in it like a gloss. “Mmm… you taste so sweet.”
“You’re sweet,” he whispers, kissing himself off your lips now, the drops pulling between both of your lips. “Mmm, sweet together, aren’t we? You need more, princess, don’t you? Who am I to deny you anything you need.”
Hiromi is back full hard in your already sore hole, but that’s certainly not it for the night – no he makes it up to every pretty inch of your body. Worshipping you with his entire face, his fingers, his cock – his nose of course too, you just love how it feels when it presses on your clit, when it slips into your hole, until he has you a dripping mess, his release oozing out of your hole and down your inner thighs.
He makes sure you get a shower, that you eat, ordering you whatever you want – but you both don’t leave that week, lost in each other, and Hiromi who just loves to be right all the time, gives his best effort to see if you make it to your wedding pregnant or not. <3
hehe this was so much fun thank you sweetheart! i loved writing that sexy ahh man!!
summary. woodcutter! toji fushiguro hates christmas with a passion—until a naked, heat-drunk deer hybrid stumbles into his woods, cold and in heat. one rescue later, his quiet cabin becomes the stage for the nastiest, most claiming christmas eve he never knew he needed. merry fucking christmas.
winter had clamped down on the mountains like an iron trap, like an uninvited guest that refused to leave, blanketing the small rural town in thick layers of snow that crunched underfoot and turned every breath into a visible puff of frost, and as december crept toward its festive peak, everyone around seemed to lose their goddamn minds with decorations—strings of twinkling lights draped over rooftops like glowing veins, plastic reindeer perched on lawns with noses that blinked red in the night.
massive wreaths hung on doors that screamed holiday cheer in a way that made toji’s stomach turn just a little, houses strung with multicolored lights that blinked like overexcited fireflies, porches groaning under the weight of inflatable santas and reindeer, windows painted with fake snow and real desperation, burying the half of the world under endless white, red and green—toji fushiguro felt none of it. and don’t forget about the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made every breath feel sharp against the lungs, and while the distant town below glittered with manic christmas frenzy.
toji didn’t decorate, didn’t hang a single wreath or light, didn’t even own a tree; christmas had always felt like noise dressed up as joy, and joy was something he’d stopped pretending to want a long time ago. alone in his old farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with no family, no visitors, no warm voices to fill the quiet, he simply didn’t care—solitude suited him better than forced cheer ever could, and the holiday season was just another stretch of long, silent nights he could spend chopping wood, drinking black coffee, and letting the fire die down to embers without anyone to complain about the chill.
he stepped out into the late afternoon gray, shirtless as usual because layers only slowed him down and the cold had stopped bothering him years back, his skin weathered and scarred from a life of labor, broad chest dusted with dark hair that caught stray snowflakes as they drifted down. heavy boots crunched through the deep trail he’d worn from the house to the tree line, dirty jeans riding low on his hips, stained with pitch and sawdust and old blood from nicks he never bothered bandaging properly.
in his right hand he carried the axe, its handle worn smooth from countless swings, the blade freshly sharpened that morning because dull tools were an insult to the work. he moved slow, unhurried, shoulders rolling with each step, breath fogging in steady clouds as he followed the narrow path deeper into the pines, the forest swallowing the faint sounds of civilization until there was only wind through branches and the soft thud of his boots.
the forest enveloped him soon enough, tall pines and oaks standing sentinel, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped a cascade of white flakes as he passed. he wasn’t out here for leisure, no, he needed firewood to keep the small fire in his hearth going through the long nights, just enough to chase away the deepest chill without wasting effort on more than necessary, his muscles flexing under his skin with each step, a testament to the life he’d carved out for himself in this remote corner of the world, far from the bustling cities and their endless noise.
the clearing he favored wasn’t far—just far enough to feel separate from everything. he set a thick fallen log upright, tested its balance with a nudge of his boot, then raised the axe in a lazy arc, muscles coiling under scarred skin before he brought it down with a clean, resounding crack that sent wood chips flying into the snow. again and again, rhythmic, almost meditative, sweat starting to bead along his collarbones despite the freeze, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he worked. the pile of split firewood grew steadily beside him, each piece stacked with absent precision while his mind drifted nowhere in particular, content in the repetition, the burn in his arms, the bite of cold air on bare skin.
his body moving in a rhythm born of habit—lift, swing, split, repeat—his breaths steady and deep, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the monotonous drag of winter days, the axe biting into the bark with each strike, chips flying like confetti he had no use for. he paused only to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair matted slightly, green eyes scanning the surroundings out of instinct more than curiosity, the forest silent save for the occasional rustle of wind through the needles above.
it was during one of those pauses—axe resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling slow—that he caught the sound. faint, almost nothing against the wind: a soft, stuttering exhale, maybe a whimper. he didn’t move at first, just tilted his head, green eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. nothing at first, then there it was again, closer this time, a subtle rustle from behind a cluster of snow-laden bushes, like branches shifting under weight that wasn’t wind. and his eyes narrowed, catching a glimpse of movement. then he saw them—antlers, pale and branching, branching out like delicate crowns, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, moving just slightly behind a cluster of snow-heavy firs.
toji lowered the axe, letting the head rest in the snow as he walked forward, boots sinking deep, no rush in his stride even as curiosity tugged at him. he pushed through the low branches, needles scraping across his bare shoulders, and stopped short when he saw you.
you were curled tight on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold the warmth in, completely bare, skin flushed pink from the cold and mottled with cold, lips tinted faint blue and trembling. your deer ears twitched weakly at his approach, flattened against your head, and those antlers rose proud despite your obvious exhaustion, dusted with snow like some forgotten forest ornament. your eyes—large, dark, glassy with cold—lifted to meet his, wide with fear and pain and something desperately human, and toji felt the lazy rhythm of his day stutter, just for a second.
his gaze dropped lower, taking in the details his mind catalogued without permission: the way your body shook in small, uncontrollable waves, goosebumps raised across every inch of exposed skin, nipples drawn tight from the cold, skin flushed from the cold but otherwise smooth and human, no fur to shield you like a true deer might have, just the vulnerable curve of your form huddled in on itself for whatever meager warmth it could muster. the soft curve of your waist disappearing into the snow beneath you. and then he saw the blood—dark streaks frozen against your right thigh, a deep bruise blooming purple and ugly around a gash that looked like it had come from something sharp, maybe a fall against jagged rock or broken branch.
your leg was tucked awkwardly beneath you now as you move from the uncomfortable approach from the unknown man, as if even the slightest shift hurt too much to bear. your deer ears twitched faintly, alert even in your distress, and those antlers—elegant, branching things—framed your face as you lifted your head slightly, your eyes wide and luminous, locking onto his with a mix of wariness and silent plea, the snowflakes dusting your lashes and clinging to your skin, making you look ethereal yet so painfully fragile in the winter's grasp.
toji stopped a few feet away, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his hip as he took you in, his expression unchanging, that signature scar pulling at the corner of his mouth in what might have been the ghost of a smirk if he bothered to let it form fully. “well, ain’t this a sight,” he drawled, his voice low and lazy, unbothered as if stumbling upon a naked hybrid in the woods was just another quirk of his day, the words rolling out slow like he had all the time in the world. he didn’t rush closer, just stood there, his green eyes tracing the way your body trembled slightly, the goosebumps rising on your skin, and he tilted his head, exhaling a puff of breath that fogged the air between you. “you look like you’re freezin’ your ass off out here. what, get lost chasin’ some holiday spirit or somethin’?”
your ears flicked at the sound of his voice, and you shifted a little, drawing your knees tighter to your chest, but your gaze didn’t waver, those big eyes holding his with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—pity, maybe, or just plain intrigue, he couldn't be sure. the wind picked up then, howling softly through the trees, and a fresh flurry of snow began to fall, dusting your antlers like nature’s own decorations, and toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand, his muscles rippling under the motion. “c’mon, don’t just stare at me like i’m the big bad wolf. you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here naked as the day you were born, or do i gotta guess?”
you hesitated, your lips parting slightly, chapped from the cold, and when you spoke, your voice was soft, trembling just a bit, “i… i got separated from my herd. the storm came too fast, and i couldn’t find my way back.” your voice was soft, fragile, carrying that faint tremor of someone who’d been alone in the cold too long. your body language screamed vulnerability, the way your shoulders hunched inward, your tail—barely visible in your curled position—flicking nervously against the snow, and toji noticed it all, his eyes sharp despite the lazy drawl in his tone.
he chuckled lowly, not mocking, just a rumble in his chest that carried no real heat, and he crouched down to your level, balancing on his haunches with ease, his jeans straining against his thighs as he rested his elbows on his knees. “separated, huh? figures. winter’s a bitch like that—sneaks up and bites you when you’re not lookin’.” his gaze softened just a fraction, not that he’d admit it, and he glanced around the forest, the trees closing in like silent witnesses, before looking back at you, noting how your antlers caught the light filtering through the branches, almost like they were meant to be adorned with those christmas lights he despised.
“you ain’t got nothin’ on you? no clothes, no nothin’? that’s just askin’ for trouble in this weather.”
you shook your head slowly, your ears drooping a little, and a shiver wracked your frame, drawing his attention to the way your skin pebbled further, your breaths coming in shallow puffs. he nodded once, eyes flicking back to the wound on your leg, then to your face—lips nearly blue now, lashes clumped with ice. “that cut looks nasty. you been out here long?”
you gave the tiniest shake of your head, ears flicking back further, body curling tighter as another shiver wracked you. toji’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t much like, then he extended one large hand toward you, palm up, fingers relaxed—not grabbing, just offering, his palm rough and steady. “alright, can’t just leave you here to turn into a popsicle, sweetheart. my place ain’t far—got a fire goin’, maybe some clothes that’d fit ya if i dig around. up to you, though. i ain’t draggin’ nobody.”
the endearment slipped out lazy, almost sarcastic, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, unbothered, patient. you stared at his hand—broad, scarred, warm-looking despite the snowflakes melting on his knuckles—and hesitated, body trembling harder now that hope had crept in. finally, your smaller hand reached out, fingers brushing his, cold as ice, soft against his calloused skin, and you let him pull you up.
as you stood, your body unfolded before him, naked and unashamed in its hybrid beauty, antlers proud atop your head, and toji averted his eyes just enough to give you some semblance of privacy, though he couldn’t ignore the heat that stirred low in his gut, voyeuristic curiosity mingling with something protective. “easy there,” he murmured, shrugging off the invisible weight of the moment as he picked up his axe, slinging it over his shoulder. “trail’s slippery—stick close, yeah?”
the moment weight shifted to your injured leg, pain flared white-hot; a sharp whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your knees buckled completely. toji moved without thinking, catching you against his chest as you sagged, one arm sliding around your bare back, the other under your thighs to lift you fully off the ground. you gasped at the sudden warmth of his body—skin hot from exertion, muscles hard and solid beneath you—and instinctively curled closer, face pressing into the crook of his neck, antlers brushing lightly against his hair.
“easy,” he murmured, voice rumbling against your cheek, low and unhurried even as he adjusted his grip so your injured leg didn’t bump anything. “got you. axe can stay—wood ain’t goin’ anywhere.” he left it leaning against the log without a second glance and started walking, boots carving a deeper path through the snow, your weight nothing in his arms.
the walk back was slow, deliberate, his boots carving a path for you to follow, his bare torso unaffected by the cold that had you shivering beside him. “name’s toji, by the way,” he said after a stretch of silence, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “and you? or do i just call you deer-girl for the hell of it?” there was a teasing lilt there, sarcastic but gentle, the kind that didn’t sting, just prodded lightly.
“it’s y/n,” you replied, your voice gaining a bit more strength now that you were moving, though your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, and he noticed, his eyes flicking to the way your body curved, the subtle sway of your hips as you navigated the trail. “y/n, huh? suits ya—simple, no frills.” he glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his scar. “so, what’s a hybrid like you doin’ wanderin’ these woods anyway? thought your kind stuck to warmer spots, not freezin’ their tails off in bumfuck nowhere.”
you explained in bits and pieces, your words punctuated by shivers—the herd migrating for winter, the sudden blizzard scattering everyone, how you'd ended up alone and disoriented, no clothes because hybrids like you didn’t need them in the wild, but human skin wasn’t built for this cold. toji listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his expression unchanging, but his body language spoke volumes—the way he positioned himself to block the wind from hitting you directly.
every step was deliberate, careful, his body shielding yours from the wind as much as possible, the heat radiating off his bare torso seeping slowly into your frozen skin. you could feel his heartbeat steady against your side, smell the faint scent of pine smoke and sweat and something distinctly male clinging to him. your arms looped tentatively around his neck for balance, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape, and he didn’t comment, just kept that lazy pace back toward the farmhouse, breath fogging above your head.
“you’re shakein’ pretty hard,” he said after a minute, voice soft against the wind, almost conversational. “we’ll get that leg cleaned up first—looks like it’s been bleedin’ a while. then food, maybe. you eat regular stuff, or…?” he trailed off, glancing down at you with a faint, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip.
you managed a tiny nod against his shoulder, voice muffled. “regular… mostly.”
“good. got stew on the stove. figured i’d be eatin’ alone again tonight, but plans change.” there was dry humor in his tone, gentle sarcasm that didn’t bite, just floated there like smoke.
the farmhouse came into view sooner than you expected—low roof heavy with snow, a squat, sturdy building, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the snow. thin trail of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, windows glowing faint orange against the dusk. toji shouldered the door open without setting you down, kicking it shut behind him with his heel, and the sudden wave of warmth hit like a physical thing, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips. the inside was sparse, lived-in, smelling of woodsmoke and coffee and old leather; no christmas decorations anywhere save for a half-hearted string of lights someone must have left years ago, dangling forgotten over the mantel, but the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, just a worn couch, a coffee table scarred from years of boots, and the fireplace crackling low.
he carried you straight to the couch, lowering you carefully onto the blankets piled there, making sure your injured leg was elevated on a pillow before straightening up. his hands lingered a second longer on your waist, steadying, then pulled away slow. “go on, warm up. i’ll grab somethin’ for ya to wear—can’t have you prancin’ around like that all night.”
you watched him move—lazy, unhurried strides across the room, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he disappeared down a short hallway. your body still trembled, but the heat was already sinking in, easing the worst of the shivers, and you pulled one of the blankets tighter around yourself, ears twitching toward every sound he made: drawers opening, water running, the soft clink of glass bottles.
when he came back, he had a large flannel shirt draped over one arm and sweatp, and a battered first-aid kit under the other. he dropped onto the couch beside you without ceremony, close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and set the kit on the coffee table. “leg first,” he said, voice low, nodding toward the blanket. “gonna need to see how bad it is.”
you hesitated only a second before easing the blanket aside, exposing the bruised and bloodied thigh. toji’s expression didn’t change—still that lazy half-lidded look—but his hands were careful as he opened the kit, movements practiced and gentle. “this’ll sting,” he warned, voice soft, before pressing a warm, damp cloth to the wound to clean away frozen blood and dirt.
you hissed, body tensing, fingers clutching the blanket, but he murmured, “breathe through it, sweetheart. doin’ good,” his free hand settling lightly on your uninjured thigh, thumb brushing slow circles that somehow grounded you more than the pain sharpened. he worked in silence after that, cleaning, disinfecting, wrapping the gash with steady precision, every touch deliberate but never rushed, his body heat close enough to feel even through the air between you.
when he finished, he sat back slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “not too deep—won’t need stitches if you keep it clean. you’ll keep the leg.” the corner of his mouth lifted, faint sarcasm there, but his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the color slowly returning to your lips, the way your ears had perked forward just a little.
he handed you the flannel next, oversized and soft from countless washes. “throw this on before you turn into a popsicle again. got sweatpants too if you feel like drownin’ in ‘em—your call, but naked’s fine by me either way.”
you slipped the shirt on under the blanket, fabric swallowing you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands, scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean and warm—clinging to the fibers and didn’t bother with the sweatpants. when you emerged, he was watching with that same lazy expression, but his eyes darkened just a fraction as they traced the way the shirt draped over your body, collar slipping off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.
“looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges now, standing to head toward the kitchen. “stew’s still hot. you hungry?”
you nodded, pulling the blanket around your legs again, and he returned minutes later with two bowls, handing you one before settling back beside you—closer this time, thigh pressed fully against yours, like personal space was optional. the silence stretched comfortable, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of spoons, but his presence filled the room, warm and solid and quietly overwhelming.
outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless, erasing the trail he’d left in the woods, sealing the two of you inside this small, undecorated house where christmas didn’t exist—only firelight, stew, and the slow, simmering awareness of bare skin under borrowed flannel, of scarred hands that had carried you home, and green eyes that watched you now with something patient and hungry stirring behind the lazy facade.
the fire crackled low and steady, throwing flickering gold across the worn wooden floorboards that creaked faintly under the shifting weight of the couch, the light dancing over the edges where the two of you sat, thighs still pressed together firmly, like neither of you had found a reason—or wanted—to create even an inch of space after he’d handed you the bowl.
steam curled lazily from the thick stew, rich chunks of potato and carrot and dark venison floating in the gravy—hearty, gamey, the kind of meat he’d likely tracked and dressed himself out in these same woods—carrying that deep, earthy scent through the small room, mingling with the sharp bite of burning pine and the faint, lingering trace of crisp winter cold that still clung to your skin despite the blanket draped over your lap.
you cradled the bowl in both hands, sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed clumsily up to your elbows, the soft worn fabric brushing your forearms as you brought the spoon to your lips in slow, careful bites, letting the heat of the broth slide down your throat and pool warm in your belly, spreading outward like gentle fingers chasing away the last stubborn edges of frost that had burrowed deep during those endless hours alone in the snow.
toji ate the same way he seemed to do everything: unhurried, almost lazy, his broad frame lounged back against the cushions, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch behind your shoulders—not quite touching you, but close enough that the heat radiating from his bare skin warmed the side of your neck and the shell of your ear whenever you turned your head even slightly. his other hand guided the spoon to his mouth in a steady, unconcerned rhythm, jaw working slow and deliberate as he chewed, the faint flex of muscle along his scarred chest visible each time he swallowed, dark hair still a little damp from melted snow at the ends, sticking to the side of his neck.
your gaze stayed fixed on the flames for a long stretch, watching the orange and gold tongues lick up around the logs, the warmth sinking into your cheeks, your chest, the bare skin of your thighs beneath the blanket—and yet another kind of warmth was building low in your belly, slow and insistent, the kind that had nothing to do with the fire or the stew. the cold hadn’t felt so terrible anymore, not with the solid press of his leg against yours, not with the borrowed flannel hanging loose around your body like a claim.
but your heat—it was late, overdue, stirred up by the sudden safety and the overwhelming presence of him—and it crept through you now in quiet, treacherous waves. unconsciously, your thighs brushed together under the blanket, a subtle shift of weight seeking just a whisper of friction against the growing ache, the slickness gathering warm and hidden between your legs. you thought you’d hidden it well, kept your breathing even, face turned toward the fire to mask the flush rising higher on your cheeks.
but toji noticed.
his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for the briefest second, green eyes flicking sideways, catching the small, restless movement of your legs beneath the blanket, the way your hips had tilted just slightly forward before you stilled again. one dark brow lifted slow, lazy, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching in something too subtle to call a full smirk yet, but he said nothing, simply resumed eating as if he hadn’t catalogued every tiny shift of your body in that single glance.
his gaze drifted again—lazy, unapologetic—starting at your profile, lingering on the delicate curve of your antlers catching the firelight, then lower, to the blanket hiding your thighs, and finally to the open front of the flannel you hadn’t bothered to button properly in your exhaustion. the fabric gaped just enough with every breath you took, offering fleeting glimpses of the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples drawn tight and brushing lightly against the worn inside of the shirt with each inhale, the faint friction sending little sparks straight to the heat pooling between your legs.
he took another slow bite, chewed, swallowed, then spoke, voice low and rough around the edges, drawl lazy as ever. “good?” the single word hung there, ambiguous on purpose, his eyes locked on your nipple before on your eyes now, that brow still arched just slightly, the question clearly aimed at more than just the stew.
you blinked, turning your head to meet his gaze, ears twitching forward at the sound of his voice, cheeks warming further under the intensity of those half-lidded green eyes. for a moment you only nodded, small and quick, lashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts through the haze of heat and leftover cold. then words came, soft and a little breathless. “it’s… really good. warm. you cook well.”
toji’s mouth curved then, a slow, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners with quiet amusement. he let out a low hum, almost a chuckle, deep in his chest. “yeah… i can cook,” he murmured, the words rolling out lazy and satisfied, holding your gaze a second longer before he scooped another spoonful, never looking away as he brought it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray drop at the corner of his lips.
the bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds the soft scrape of spoons and the steady pop of burning wood. when yours was finally empty, you held it in your lap, fingers tracing the rim absently, thighs pressing together again beneath the blanket in another subtle search for relief. toji reached over without a word, large hand closing around the bowl along with his own, fingers brushing yours deliberately as he took them both. he rose in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he walked toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floorboards, back broad and shadowed in the firelight.
he wasn’t gone long—just long enough for you to hear the clink of ceramic in the sink, water running briefly, the low thud of cabinet doors. when he returned, he moved with that same unhurried grace, stopping in front of the fireplace and dropping to one knee, the jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he crouched. he picked up two fresh logs from the small stack beside the hearth, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he placed them carefully atop the glowing embers, sparks fluttering upward like tiny orange fireflies. the new wood caught quickly, flames licking higher, throwing brighter gold across the room and over his skin.
he glanced over his shoulder at you then, one arm resting on his raised knee, the other braced against the stone hearth, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth again—knowing, teasing, but still gentle around the edges. “hope you the heat,” he drawled, voice low and rough, eyes glinting dark in the renewed firelight as they held yours for a deliberate beat.
the words landed heavy, laced with something that made your breath catch, a broken little hum escaping your throat before you could stop it. your ears flicked back, then forward again, body shifting restlessly on the couch, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the blanket as another wave of slick warmth pulsed through you. you couldn’t quite meet his gaze after that, eyes dropping to your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of the flannel. (done)
toji lingered there a moment longer, watching the flush climb your neck, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster beneath his shirt, before he pushed to his feet with a soft exhale. he turned fully toward you, hands settling loose on his hips, the fire roaring brighter behind him now, casting his bare torso in sharp relief—broad shoulders, scarred chest, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans—his silhouette framed in flickering light and shadow, towering but relaxed, utterly unbothered.
his green eyes, almost black in the low light, stayed fixed on you—on the way the flannel slipped further off one shoulder as you shifted, on the small, restless movements you couldn’t quite hide, on the delicate points of your antlers catching the glow like they were made for it. he didn’t say anything more, just stood there, patient and quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you.
and for the first time in years, toji realized he wouldn’t be spending another christmas eve alone in this house—certainly not with the quiet, no one to share the fire or the silence or the long winter night. especially not with a deer hybrid curled on his couch, late into her heat, wearing his shirt like it belonged to her, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes while the snow kept falling soft and endless outside.
his eyes lingered on you for a long, unhurried moment, the firelight casting shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the scar that tugged at his lip whenever his mouth curved just slightly, before his gaze drifted upward, slow and deliberate, to the delicate branches of your antlers rising from your hair—not too big, not overwhelming like some hybrids he’d glimpsed from afar in the woods, but not small either, perfectly proportioned, elegant curves catching the golden flicker of the flames like they were strung with invisible christmas lights just for him.
they suited you, framed your face in a way that made you look both fragile and wild, and he tilted his head a fraction, green eyes narrowing lazily as he studied them, then let his stare drop back down to meet yours—you’d already been watching him, wide-eyed and flushed, ears angled forward in quiet anticipation, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smirk.
“those things heavy?” he asked, voice low and drawling, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather outside instead of the intimate weight of bone and velvet perched atop your head, his tone laced with that gentle sarcasm that never quite stung. he didn’t move yet, just stood there with hands loose on his hips, bare chest rising and falling slow, the heat from the fire at his back making his skin gleam faintly with sweat.
you shifted again beneath the blanket, thighs pressing together tighter as another pulse of warmth throbbed low in your belly, the slickness there impossible to ignore now, making the fabric of his borrowed flannel cling slightly to your skin where it brushed your inner thighs. your ears twitched back and then forward, a soft little flick of nervousness and need, and you managed a small shake of your head, voice coming out breathy, almost a whisper. “not… not really. they’re light. just… sensitive right now.”
he hummed deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small space between you, and you caught the subtle movement of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darkening further while he watched another shiver ripple through you—not from cold this time, but from the heat that was blooming hotter with every passing second, late-season instincts making your body ache in ways you couldn’t hide. then, without rush, he stepped closer, closing the distance in two lazy strides until he was right in front of the couch, towering but relaxed, and he bent forward slowly, one foot dipping into the cushion beside your hip, the other planted on the floor, caging you in without touching yet.
his face lowered to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheeks, smell the faint trace of stew and pine smoke and something deeper, masculine, that made your pulse flutter wildly in your throat. he studied you up close like he had all the time in the world—eyes tracing the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the way your lashes trembled when you blinked, the soft shape of your lips parted just slightly on shallow breaths, and especially the deer features blended so seamlessly into your human face: the delicate twitch of your ears, the subtle velvet texture near the base of your antlers, the wide, luminous eyes that gave away every flicker of need. you couldn’t hold his stare for long; your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, ears pinning back briefly before flicking forward, body leaning instinctively into the heat radiating from his bare skin.
his smirk deepened, slow and knowing, scar pulling tight as his lips curved wider, and he lifted one large hand—calloused fingers, warm from the fire—until the tips brushed the base of one antler, feather-light at first, tracing the smooth curve with deliberate care. the contact sent a jolt straight through you, velvet-sensitive skin singing under his touch, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, quiet but unmistakable, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the blanket as another rush of slick warmth coated your thighs.
toji’s eyes hooded further, voice dropping to a murmur, rough and lazy, laced with that teasing edge that made your stomach flip. “fuck… so sensitive, huh? little deer gettin’ all worked up from just this?” his thumb stroked higher along the antler, slow circles that made your breath hitch, before his fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft fur at the base, then gently, deliberately, brushing the edge of one twitching ear. the sensation was electric—your ears were always tender during heat, but his touch lit them up like christmas bulbs, and another moan escaped, louder this time, needy, your head tilting into his palm without permission.
he let out a low chuckle, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours. “look at you, moanin’ like a sweet little hybrid in heat… bet those pretty antlers are achin’ for more, aren’t they? all velvet and ready, just beggin’ to be touched while you’re burnin’ up inside.” his words were dirty but spoken soft, lazy praise wrapped in gentleness, like he was simply stating facts about the weather. “never thought i’d have a needy deer on my couch come christmas… but here you are, drippin’ slick under my shirt, ears twitchin’ every time i get close. you want me to keep goin’, sweetheart? want me to pet you properly till you’re shakin’?”
his fingers traced your ear again, tugging lightly at the tip, and you whimpered, thighs clenching hard beneath the blanket, the ache between them throbbing in time with your heartbeat. your hands fisted in the flannel at your lap, knuckles pale, body arching just slightly toward him as if pulled by invisible string, and he watched every tiny reaction with half-lidded eyes, smirk never fading, completely unbothered and in control while the fire crackled louder behind him, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slow, heated space between your bodies on this quiet, forgotten christmas night.
his hand lingered at the base of your antler, thumb stroking the soft inner fur in slow, lazy circles that made your whole body hum with little electric sparks while the fire snapped and hissed behind him, throwing long shadows that danced across the walls like silent christmas ghosts no one else would ever see. he watched you with that half-lidded stare, green eyes dark and patient, the scar on his lip pulling tighter as his smirk deepened just a fraction. “you late in your heat, aren’t you?” he asked again, voice low and lazy, rolling out like smoke, not pushing, just curious in that unbothered way of his, like the answer wouldn’t change a thing either way.
you couldn’t look at him straight on—your gaze dropped to the strong line of his collarbone, then to the flicker of firelight on his chest, cheeks burning hotter than the flames as another wave of slick pulsed between your thighs, warm and shameful and impossible to hide. your ears twitched hard, forward and back in quick, frantic little flutters that brushed his fingers every time, betraying you completely. a soft, helpless sound caught in your throat, half whimper, half breath, and you pressed your thighs together under the blanket again, hips shifting just slightly on the cushion.
toji hummed, long and low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slid from your antler to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “yeah… real late. can feel you shakin’ from it.” his tone stayed gentle, almost amused, sarcasm light as fresh snow. then he tilted his head, eyes dropping to your lap where the blanket hid the restless press of your legs, and his voice dropped rougher. “ever had a human cock inside you before, sweetheart? or do pretty little deer like you only spread for your own kind when the heat hits?”
the question was filthy, blunt, spoken slow and lazy like he was asking about the weather outside, but it punched straight through you—your cunt clenched hard, another thick rush of slick soaking your folds, dripping slow and hot down toward the couch. you couldn’t answer with words; your mouth opened on a silent gasp, ears pinning flat back against your head, body arching forward without permission as your hands clutched at the flannel over your thighs.
he chuckled softly, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, the hand on your jaw sliding down to splay over your throat, feeling the frantic swallow you couldn’t hide. “fuck, you’re gushin’ just thinkin’ about it, huh? can smell how sweet you’re gettin’.” his other hand moved then, lazy and sure, slipping under the edge of the blanket to palm your bare thigh, fingers spreading wide, thumb stroking high on the soft inner skin, inches from where you ached most. “bet those lips are still cold,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth, “been out in the snow too long. lemme fix that.”
he kissed you slow—no rush, no force—just the warm press of his mouth against yours, lips parted so his tongue could slide in lazy and deep, tasting you like he had all christmas night to savor. you moaned into it immediately, soft and needy, hands coming up to grip his bare shoulders, fingers digging into warm muscle as you opened for him. his tongue curled around yours, sucking gently, drawing out every little sound while his hand on your thigh squeezed slow, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer until the blanket fell away completely and you were half-bare in his lap, flannel hanging open.
he pulled back just enough to speak against your wet lips, voice rough and low. “tell me somethin’, darlin’… how do deer like you take it when you’re burnin’ up? out in the woods, ass up against a tree while your buck mounts you fast? or do you like bein’ held down slow, rutted into till you’re cryin’?” his fingers slid higher, brushing the crease where thigh met hip, thumb tracing the slick that had leaked there, gathering it slow like he was curious how wet you could get. “always wondered if hybrid cunt feels different—tighter, hotter, flutterin’ different when you’re in season.”
you whimpered, rocking into his touch without thinking, and he let you, guiding your hips with one big hand until you were climbing fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs, bare cunt pressing down against the hard bulge straining his jeans. the contact drew a broken moan from you both—yours high and desperate, his a low, lazy growl against your neck as he mouthed along your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“there you go,” he praised, voice husky, both hands sliding under the flannel to cup your ass, squeezing slow, spreading you open so cool air kissed your soaked folds while you ground down instinctively against him. “straddle me just like that, good girl. look at you—my own little christmas deer, antlers all pretty in the firelight, drippin’ slick all over a human’s lap.” his mouth found yours again, kissing deeper this time, tongue fucking slow into your mouth while his hips rolled up once, lazy, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind denim.
he kept it slow—hands groping lazy and thorough, one sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple till it ached, the other kneading your ass in time with the gentle rock of your hips. every kiss was wet, filthy, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours while he murmured between them, “bet you’d milk a human cock real sweet… wonder if you’d lock around me like you do your bucks, or if you’d just keep takin’ it, beggin’ for more till the heat breaks.” his words were pure pervert curiosity wrapped in low praising, lazy and teasing, drawing more slick from you until it soaked through his jeans, the dark patch spreading warm beneath you on this quiet, fire-warm christmas night where nothing existed but the slow, burning friction and the taste of him on your tongue.
your hands couldn’t stay still any longer, fingers uncurling from the loose grip around his neck to wander slow and curious down the broad expanse of his bare chest, palms spreading over warm, scarred skin that flexed subtly under your touch, tracing the ridges of old marks and the coarse scatter of dark hair that dusted across his pecs.
your thumbs brushed lazily over his nipples—flat and dark, hardening just slightly at the grazing contact—and you felt the low rumble of his hum vibrate against your lips as he watched you with those heavy-lidded green eyes, unbothered, patient, like he had all christmas night to let you explore.
your gaze drifted lower, following the faint line of hair that started just below his sternum, thickening into that tempting happy trail that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his jeans, and you murmured softly, almost to yourself, “hair…” as your fingertips dipped into the soft, wiry strands, playing with them absently, tugging just enough to feel the texture.
toji hummed again, deeper this time, the sound lazy and approving as his hands stayed loose on your ass, squeezing slow in encouragement. “yeah… hair,” he drawled, voice rough and amused, scar pulling at his lip as his smirk widened. “haven’t shaved down there either, sweetheart. hope you like it bushy both places—makes me wonder if a pretty little deer like you prefers it wild.” his tone was gentle sarcasm, filthy curiosity wrapped in praise, eyes flicking down to watch your fingers toy with his trail before meeting yours again.
you flushed harder, ears twitching back in shy embarrassment even as your body pressed closer, slick cunt grinding slow against the hard line of his cock still trapped in denim. “i… i like it,” you whispered, voice breathy and small, nails scraping lightly through the hair now, following it lower until your fingertips brushed the button of his jeans.
he let out a low chuckle, head tilting as that lazy, dangerous smirk sharpened just a touch—not mean, never mean, just knowing. “good girl.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the open flannel. “you want me to help you with this heat, darlin’? i can start reallll slow… ease you into it.”
you frowned a little, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, hips still rocking instinctively against him as you searched his face. “slow?” you echoed, voice soft, uncertain—because every heat you’d endured before had been frantic, quick mounts in the woods, over almost before the ache had been scratched, no lingering touches, no real release, just instinct and emptiness after.
toji’s eyes darkened at the confusion flickering across your features—wide eyes, twitching ears, the innocent tilt of your head—and something hot and possessive coiled tighter in his gut at the thought of being the first to show you different. he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your lips. “yeah… slow like this,” he murmured, voice dropping rough and lazy as one big hand pushed the flannel aside completely, baring your tits to the firelight, nipples already tight and begging like itself calling for toji; suck me, suck me, suck me. he didn’t rush—just lowered his mouth slow, lips parting to close around one peak, tongue flicking lazy and wet before he sucked gentle, drawing it deeper into the heat of his mouth.
you gasped sharp, back arching hard as pleasure shot straight to your cunt, fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, careful of your antlers as they tilted back with your head. “toji—” his name left you on a broken moan, thighs clenching around his hips while he hummed approval around your nipple, sucking slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
his free hand slid lower at the same lazy pace—over the curve of your hip, along the soft skin of your inner thigh, until his fingers finally brushed your soaked folds, parting them gently, gathering the slick that coated everything. “fuck, listen to you,” he murmured against your breast, pulling off with a wet pop to switch to the other nipple, tongue swirling slow circles before sucking again. “so wet already… little pussy weepin’ for attention.” two thick fingers traced your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing the rim, spreading your slick up to circle your swollen clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that made your hips jerk but never quite gave enough pressure.
you whimpered, grinding down harder against his hand, chasing more, but he kept the pace maddeningly slow—sucking at your nipple in long, wet pulls, fingers dipping just barely inside you before retreating, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles like he was petting a needy animal. “that’s it,” he praised low, voice muffled against your skin as he laved your breast with his tongue. “take what you need, sweetheart… rock those pretty hips on my fingers. bet no buck ever took his time with you like this, huh? just wanna savor my sweettt christmas deer… make this heat feel real good before i give you anything more.”
every touch was lazy, deliberate, drawing the ache higher without mercy, your slick coating his fingers thicker with every slow circle, dripping down over his wrist while the fire crackled and the snow whispered outside, the whole world reduced to the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits and the filthy, gentle curiosity in his voice as he kept you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.
and the next second, all you feel is how the carpet was rough against your bare back, coarse fibers biting into your skin with every tiny shift of your hips, a harsh contrast to the slick heat building everywhere else, while the fire crackled steady and low behind you, throwing flickering orange light across the room and over your naked body—exposed again, just like when he’d found you curled in the snow, only now flushed hot and trembling for entirely different reasons.
your legs were spread wide, knees bent and fallen open as he pushed it to your chest, thighs quivering as toji knelt between them, broad shoulders forcing you wider, his dark hair tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his mouth worked slow and thorough on your dripping cunt. he’d taken his time getting you here—lazy kisses turning deeper, hands stripping the flannel away inch by inch until you were bare beneath him, guiding you down onto the rug with that same unbothered strength, murmuring how the fire would keep you warm while he tasted you proper.
now you were a mess—tears streaking hot down your temples into your hair, antlers scraping lightly against the carpet with every arch of your neck, one hand clamped tight around his fingers in a desperate grip while the other tangled in his hair, pulling without meaning to whenever his tongue flicked just right over your swollen clit. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream, hips rolling up to meet his mouth even as your thighs shook from the effort of holding still. he ate you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit, sucking gentle then firm, tongue circling lazy before dipping inside to taste how deep your slick ran, humming low every time your cunt fluttered against his lips.
when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his chin and mouth glistened wet in the firelight, eyes lifting to meet yours with that stupid, lazy grin—scarred lip curled, green eyes dark and half-lidded, utterly pleased with himself. “fuckkkk, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough and low, tongue coming out to lick a stray drop of you from the corner of his mouth, “didn’t expect hybrid pussy to taste this sweet—like christmas honey, all warm and ripe just for me. better than any cunt i’ve ever had my mouth on.”
the words hit you hard, filthy and blunt, heat flooding your face even as your cunt clenched around nothing, missing his tongue already. you blinked through the tears, chest heaving, voice small and shaky when you managed, “it’s… it’s good?”
toji chuckled, low and dirty, breath ghosting hot over your soaked folds as he hovered close. “good? darlin’, your little deer cunt’s so fuckin’ delicious i could stay down here till the fire dies out—sweetest present i’ve unwrapped all year.” he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit just to watch you jerk, then reached up with the hand not already laced with yours, gently untangling your fingers from his hair. he guided your trembling hand down, pressing your palm over one breast, curling your fingers so they cupped the soft weight. “ever play with these pretty tits while you’re in heat?” he asked, lazy curiosity thick in his voice, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
you shook your head quick, ears twitching back against the carpet, another tear slipping free as the ache throbbed harder. “no… never,” you whispered, voice cracking on the admission.
he hummed approval, eyes flicking from your face to your hand on your breast. “try it for me, sweetheart. squeeze gentle… yeah, just like that. now roll your nipple between your fingers—slowww, feel how it gets all tight and sensitive.” his mouth lowered again as he spoke, lips sealing soft around your clit, sucking lazy and steady while he watched you obey. your fingers followed his words hesitant at first—pinching lightly, rolling the hard peak, tugging just a little—and the dual sensation punched a loud, broken moan from your throat, back arching off the carpet, thighs clamping around his head.
“there you go,” he praised against your pussy, voice muffled and rough, tongue flicking quick to reward you before he pulled back just enough to speak. “look at you—pinchin’ your own tits while i suck this sweet clit. filthy little deer, learnin’ how good it feels to play with yourself. keep goin’, darlin’… make ‘em ache nice and pretty for me.”
he dove back in fully then, mouth hot and relentless but still slow—long, wet pulls on your clit, tongue lapping broad and lazy through your folds, drinking every fresh gush of slick while your fingers worked your nipple harder under his murmured guidance, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter but never quite snapping, leaving you crying and whimpering and grinding desperately against his face on the rough carpet floor, firelight painting both of you gold on this long, endless christmas night.
the fire had burned lower now, embers glowing deep orange behind you, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough carpet that scraped your shoulders and back with every helpless arch of your spine, but you barely felt it anymore—every nerve was centered between your thighs where toji’s mouth devoured you like a man breaking a centuries-long fast, like he’d been hibernating in some cold, pussy-starved cave and your slick cunt was the first warm salvation offered to him on this forgotten christmas night.
he groaned deep against your folds, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his tongue lapped broad and hungry, gathering every drop of your juices mixed with his own spit, swallowing loud enough that you heard it over your own broken whimpers. his big hands pinned your thighs wider, scarred fingers digging gently into the soft flesh to keep you open while he slurped shamelessly, lips sealing around your swollen clit to suck slow and firm, then flick the sensitive bud quick with the tip of his tongue before sucking again, harder, like he couldn’t decide which taste he wanted more.
your body was no longer your own—hips grinding up desperately into his face, chasing the wet heat of his mouth, tears streaking freely down your temples as your moans grew louder, rawer, echoing off the bare wooden walls. “more—please, toji, more,” you gasped out, voice cracking, ears twitching wildly, antlers scraping the carpet as your head thrashed side to side. he obliged instantly, happily, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked shallow into your entrance, drinking the fresh flood of slick that poured out at the intrusion, swallowing again and again like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.
you were close—so close—the coil in your belly wound tighter with every filthy slurp and suck, thighs trembling violently around his head, but he kept you there, never quite pushing you over, just feeding on you until you were sobbing his name.
finally he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, lips and chin shining slick in the firelight, chest heaving slow as he licked his mouth clean, green eyes dark and feral when they met yours. “fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, lazy drawl almost gone under the hunger, “could eat this pretty pussy for days and still starve for more.” he rose slowly, deliberately, unfolding his big frame until he towered over you on his feet, one hand dropping to squeeze the thick bulge straining his jeans, palming himself with a low groan as he looked down at your wrecked form—tits heaving, thighs spread wide and glistening, tears on your cheeks, antlers catching the ember glow like some sacred christmas offering.
you pushed up on shaky elbows, unable to look away, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as he reached for his belt. the metal buckle clinked soft and slow—agonizingly slow—each tooth of the leather sliding free sounding louder than the fire in the sudden quiet. he unbuttoned his jeans next, one button, then the zipper dragged down inch by inch, revealing more of that dark, curly bush you’d only glimpsed before, the hair catching the dim light in soft waves, not wild or overgrown, just naturally thick, untamed, framing the base of his cock that was already pressing eagerly against the black fabric of his briefs.
your breath hitched, eyes wide and fixed as he hooked his thumbs into waistband and eased everything lower—just a bit at first, letting the curls spill free, then further, the thick root of his cock coming into view, flushed dark and heavy, veins standing out along the length. he paused there, letting you look, before pulling jeans and briefs down over the hard muscle of his thighs in one slow push. his cock sprang free instantly, slapping up against his abs with a soft thud, long and impossibly thick, the head already flushed deep red and glistening. he wrapped one big hand around it immediately, stroking lazy once, twice, the motion making the dark curls above his dick shift and catch the firelight, not too long, not too short—just dense, natural, perfect.
both of you are bare now, nothing between skin and skin and the crackling heat of the hearth.
toji’s smirk returned, lazy and playful even through the hunger, scar pulling at his lip as he gave himself another slow pump, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the fat bead of precum that welled there. he brought it to his mouth without shame, tongue licking it clean while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “salty,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “wonder if your sweet little deer cunt’ll make me taste sweeter when i finally get inside.”
he tilted his head, stroking himself again, slow and unhurried, letting you see every inch. “so, darlin’… you know if other stupid hybrids pack cocks this big, or you think mine’s small?” the sarcasm was gentle, teasing, eyes glinting with filthy amusement because he knew—he fucking knew—how huge he was, thick enough that your thighs pressed together instinctively even as slick leaked steadily onto the carpet beneath you.
you shook your head quick, ears flicking back then forward, voice barely above a whisper. “n-no… never seen… anything like that.”!
his chuckle was dark, satisfied, hand tightening just a fraction on his shaft. “good answer, sweetheart. keep lookin’ at me like that and this christmas might last all week.” he stepped out of the pooled jeans fully, kicking them aside without care, then dropped back to his knees between your spread thighs, cock heavy and bobbing with the motion, curls brushing his lower abs as he leaned over you again, one hand planted beside your head, the other still lazily stroking himself. “gonna take real good care of this heat,” he promised, voice dropping back to that familiar lazy drawl, “but first… think i need another taste of that honey before i feed you somethin’ thicker.”
he didn’t wait for permission—just lowered his mouth again, slower this time, tongue dragging one long, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with the flat of it, humming deep at the fresh flood of slick that met him. your back arched off the carpet instantly, a strangled cry tearing free as your hands flew—one to his hair again, the other clutching the rug—while he settled in like a man with all the time in the world, lapping, sucking, swallowing, breaking his fast all over again on the sweetest pussy he’d ever had on christmas night.
those eager minutes stretched into what felt like hours, toji’s mouth relentless on your clit, sucking your soul straight through the swollen bundle of nerves with long, filthy pulls that left you sobbing openly, hips bucking wild against his face, slick pouring out in waves that he swallowed greedily, tongue flicking quick then slow, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy until your thighs shook so hard they nearly clamped around his head.
when he finally pulled away, it was with a wet, obscene sound, strings of your juices and his spit connecting his lips to your cunt for a second before snapping, and he rose up tall on his knees, chest heaving slow, one hand still wrapped lazy around his thick cock, stroking himself with the same unhurried rhythm while a stray drop of mixed saliva glistened on his chin and fell—slow, deliberate—onto the flushed head of his dick, sliding down the shaft as he spread it with his thumb.
you couldn’t blink, wouldn’t, even though your eyes burned from tears and the heat roaring under your skin, gaze locked on the way his fist moved over that heavy length, curls at the base dark and damp now with everything that had dripped from you. your chest rose and fell fast, antlers scraping the carpet again as you tilted your head back just to breathe, then forward again to watch him, afraid to miss even a second of whatever he’d do next.
toji’s eyes met yours, dark and half-lidded, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that lazy, dangerous grin. “ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost casual, like he was offering another cup of stew instead of the thick cock in his hand.
you shook your head quick, instinctive, ears flicking back flat against your skull, thighs trembling as another helpless pulse of slick leaked out onto the rug. the word came out small, breathy. “no…”
he chuckled, deep and warm, the sound rolling through his chest as he shifted closer on his knees. “cute,” he murmured, affection and amusement thick in the single word, green eyes glinting in the dying firelight. “real fuckin’ cute, shakin’ your head when your little deer cunt’s cryin’ for it.”
one big hand moved then, sliding under the back of your knee, lifting your leg slow and deliberate until it straightened, then guiding it up and over his broad shoulder, opening you wider, folding you nearly in half beneath him. the stretch burned sweet in your hamstring, cool air kissing your soaked folds as you gasped soft, surprised. “oh…” the sound slipped out like you hadn’t expected the position, hadn’t realized how exposed it would make you feel, cunt spread and fluttering visibly under his gaze.
toji just hummed, unbothered, attention fixed between your legs as he leaned forward slightly, free hand guiding his cock closer. the first slap came sudden—heavy, wet, the thick head smacking directly against your clit with a lewd sound that echoed in the quiet room, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through you. strings of your slick and his spit stretched between his cock and your pussy, glistening, clinging, before snapping as he drew back for another. your back arched hard off the carpet, a strangled cry tearing free, hips jerking up for more even as tears welled fresh.
“fuck, look how sensitive you are,” he praised, voice rough with want, eyes dark as he watched your cunt clench around nothing. “one little slap and you’re archin’ like that—makes me so goddamn eager to bury myself in this sweet pussy.” he slapped again, slower this time, dragging the weight of his cock through your folds first, coating himself thicker in your juices before tapping your clit sharp enough to make you whimper. “can’t wait to breed you proper, darlin’… fill this ripe little deer cunt till you’re leakin’ me for days. but i promised slow, remember? gotta get you ready first… stretch you out nice before i ruin you for every other buck you ever let near you.”
another slap, then another—lazy rhythm, each one landing wetter, heavier, your slick stringing between his cock and your folds like obscene christmas tinsel, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug. then he changed it—sliding the length of himself through your folds without entering, dragging slow from entrance to clit and back again, bumping the swollen head against your sensitive nub each pass, teasing, edging, torturing you with the promise of being filled while the heat burned hotter in your bones, your lungs, your blood, nesting deep behind your ribs until it felt like the only cure was the thick cock gliding through your wetness but never giving you what you needed.
you whined high and desperate, hips chasing every slide, trying to angle yourself to take him inside, but he held you steady with the leg over his shoulder, grip firm and patient. “toji—please. . .” the plea cracked out of you, raw, tears spilling again as you reached down with trembling fingers, trying to guide him in.
he chuckled low, catching your wrist gentle and pinning it beside your head instead. “not yet, sweetheart. wanna watch you fall apart on just this a little longer… my pretty deer, drippin’ and beggin’ for cock like it’s the only gift you want this year.”
another slow drag through your folds, head nudging your clit hard enough to make you sob, body writhing on the rough carpet while the fire popped and hissed behind you, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slick, teasing slide of his cock and the lazy, hungry promise in his voice that he’d give you everything—slow, then deep, then ruinous—when he finally decided you were ready.
he stayed there on his knees for what felt like forever, cock dragging slow through your folds again and again, coating himself thicker in your slick until every slide made obscene wet sounds that mingled with the low crackle of the dying fire and your own broken whimpers.
your leg was still hooked high over his shoulder, thigh trembling against his chest, the position keeping you split open and helpless while tears dried salty on your cheeks and fresh ones welled every time the fat head of his cock nudged your clit without mercy.
you were burning alive, heat season roaring through every vein, making your cunt clench desperately around nothing, begging to be filled, bred, soothed, but toji just watched you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, scar pulling at his lip as he teased you to the edge of sanity.
“look at you,” he murmured finally, voice low and rough, almost conversational, as he lined himself up at last, the blunt head pressing gentle against your entrance, parting your folds but not pushing in yet. “pretty little deer cunt flutterin’ like it’s tryin’ to suck me in already. you want this cock bad, don’t you? want it to stuff all that heat right out of you.”
you nodded frantically, ears twitching hard, a choked, “please, toji, pleaseeee,” spilling from your lips as your hips tilted up, trying to take him yourself. he hummed, once again, one big hand splayed over your lower belly to hold you still while the other guided his cock, rubbing the head up and down your slit once, twice, gathering more slick before he finally—finally—pressed forward.
the stretch started slow, agonizingly slow, just the thick tip breaching you, spreading your walls inch by inch as he sank in with deliberate restraint. your breath caught sharp, back arching off the rough carpet, fingers clawing at the fibers while your cunt fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. he was thick, hotter than anything you’d ever felt, and every tiny push forward made you feel impossibly full already, even though he’d barely given you half.
“fuck… that’s it,” he praised, voice dropping rougher, eyes fixed between your legs where his cock disappeared slow into your body. “take me nice and easy, sweetheart. feel how your pretty pussy’s stretchin’ around human cock? never had anything this thick splitting you open before, huh?” he rocked forward another inch, then back, then forward again, shallow little thrusts that fed you more but never rushed, letting you feel every vein, every throb as he worked deeper. “so goddamn tight… like a present i get to unwrap real slow on christmas night.”
you moaned loud, broken, head thrashing side to side, antlers scraping the carpet as your leg over his shoulder tensed, toes curling in the air. the burn was sweet, overwhelming, pleasure and ache blending until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. your free hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing where you were joined, feeling how stretched you were around him, and he groaned low at the sight.
“touch yourself there if you want,” he murmured, lazy encouragement in his tone as he pushed another slow inch inside, bottoming out halfway and holding still to let you breathe. “feel how i’m openin’ you up… gonna ruin this little deer cunt for any buck that ever tries to mount you again.” he pulled back slow, almost all the way out, then slid in again deeper, a smooth, controlled glide that made your walls flutter wildly around him. “but i promised slow, remember? gonna keep that promise till you’re cryin’ for me to breed you harder.”
he set a rhythm then—lazy, deep strokes, never fast, never rough yet, just feeding you his cock inch by thick inch until your cunt was molded to him, slick dripping down your ass with every withdrawal, coating his balls and the dark curls at his base. his hand on your belly pressed gentle, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and he hummed approval every time you clenched, every time your breath hitched, every time a fresh tear slipped free.
“good girl,” he rasped, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin as he rocked in again, deeper this time, almost all the way. “takin’ me so sweet… my perfect deer, all spread out and stuffed full. you feel that? feel how deep i am already?” another slow thrust, bottoming out at last, his hips flush to yours, curls tickling your clit as he held still, letting you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. your cunt spasmed around him, milking instinctively, and he groaned against your throat. “yeah… just like that. keep squeezin’ me, darlin’. we got all night for me to breed this heat right out of you… nice and slow, till you can’t remember anything but my cock.”
he stayed buried deep for a long, breathless moment, hips flush to yours, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching walls while the fire popped softly behind you, casting flickering gold over both your sweat-slick bodies tangled on the rough carpet. your leg was still draped over his shoulder, thigh pressed to his chest, opening you so completely that every tiny shift of his hips made you feel impossibly fuller, the thick base of him stretching you wide, dark curls tickling your clit with every shallow breath he took. he didn’t move at first—just held there, green eyes locked on yours, scar pulling as his mouth curved lazy, watching the way fresh tears slipped down your temples and your ears twitched helplessly against the rug.
“feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost conversational even as his cock pulsed inside you. “human cock all the way in your pretty cunt… stretchin’ you open like you were made for it.” he drew back slow then, agonizingly slow, dragging every thick inch out until only the flushed head remained, your walls fluttering desperately to keep him in, slick dripping down your ass in a steady stream. then he slid forward again—smooth, controlled, bottoming out with a wet sound that made you both groan. “ah—fuck, yeah… just like that. take it nice and easy for me.”
he set the pace deliberate, deep rolling thrusts that never hurried, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in to the hilt, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he fed you his cock again and again. your moans spilled out unbroken now, “toji, ohhh. . . please.” high and needy, back arching off the carpet, fingers clawing at his forearms where they braced beside your head. your free leg wrapped around his hip instinctively, heel digging into the hard muscle of his ass to pull him deeper, antlers scraping the rug as your head tilted back, exposing your throat.
he leaned down, mouth finding your neck, sucking lazy marks into the skin while his hips kept that torturous rhythm. “good girl,” he praised against your pulse, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. “takin’ me so sweet… my little deer finally gettin’ properly bred. you feel how deep i am? right up against your womb, darlin’. gonna make this heat feel real good.”
the slow drag was exquisite torture—every thrust nudging that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids, building the pressure higher but never quite enough to tip you over. your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking him on every withdrawal, slick coating his balls and the curls at his base until they were soaked. you could hear it—the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining, louder than the fire now, louder than your own ragged breathing.
minutes stretched, or maybe hours; time lost meaning under the steady, claiming roll of his hips. but gradually his control frayed—his breaths grew rougher against your neck, hands gripping your thigh and hip tighter, fingers digging into flesh as his thrusts lost their perfect laziness, deepening, lingering a fraction longer at the bottom before pulling back. “fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking just slightly, “you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight… can’t—ah—can’t keep goin’ this slow forever, sweetheart.”
you whimpered in response, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over scarred skin. “toji, more—please, need—”
he pulled back to look at you, eyes dark and wild now, smirk gone, replaced by raw hunger. “yeah? need more?” he thrust in hard once—sharp, sudden, driving the air from your lungs in a broken cry—“like that?” another hard snap of his hips, grinding deep, curls smashing against your clit. “or harder?”
“yes—ahh—harder—” you sobbed, leg tightening over his shoulder, whole body arching to meet him.
that was all it took.
his restraint snapped like a branch under snow—hips pulling back and slamming forward rougher, faster, the gentle rhythm giving way to deep, punishing strokes that jolted your body up the carpet with every thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and obscene, his balls smacking against your ass as he fucked into you without mercy now. “fuck—there weeee go,” he growled, voice low and ragged, one hand sliding under your lower back to tilt your hips higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “been tryin’ to be gentle with my sweet little deer, but you take it so fuckin’ good—ah—makes me wanna ruin this pretty cunt.”
your moans turned into screams—“toji—toji, oh god—” high and desperate, tears streaming freely as pleasure coiled white-hot in your belly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been teetering on all night. your walls fluttered wildly around him, slick gushing with every withdrawal, soaking both of you.
he leaned down again, mouth crashing against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock, swallowing every cry. “that’s it,” he rasped between kisses, hips snapping harder, faster, the carpet burning your back as he drove you up it inch by inch. “scream for me, darlin’… let the whole damn forest know a human’s breedin’ his christmas deer proper. gonna fill you so full—ah—fuck—gonna knot this tight little pussy with my cum till you’re drippin’ for days.”
the pace was relentless now—rough, claiming, perfect—his body covering yours completely, sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits as he fucked you like he’d never get enough, like your cunt was the only thing that could soothe the hunger he’d carried too long. and you took it all, legs locked around him, nails scoring his back, antlers scraping wildly, lost in the brutal, beautiful storm of him finally giving you everything you’d burned for on this long, firelit christmas night.
you never knew a human could fuck like this—pounding into you with such raw, unrelenting force that every thrust sent shockwaves rippling through your body, the carpet beneath you scratching rougher against your sweat-slick back as he drove you higher up the rug with each powerful snap of his hips, but still taking his time in a way that stretched the pleasure out like taffy, savoring every clench of your walls around his thick cock, every desperate flutter that begged him to go deeper, harder, unlike the hurried, instinctual ruts you’d endured before, all quick and mechanical like transactions in the wild where the heat was scratched but never truly quenched, leaving you empty and aching afterward.
with toji, it was worlds apart—his cock dragging out slow on the retreat, veins pulsing hot against your sensitive inner walls, only to slam back in with a brutal depth that nudged right up against your cervix, making your belly bulge faintly under the press of his body, and the pleasure swelled so intensely.
so overwhelmingly, that you couldn’t stop the strange, guttural sounds bubbling up from your throat, high-pitched keens that shattered into animalistic whimpers you didn’t recognize as your own. “toji—ahh—fuck, i can’t—nngh. . .” your eyes rolling back deep into your skull until the world blurred into a hazy white void where you swore you could see the sparking edges of your own brain firing off in overload, mixed with exploding stars that danced like christmas lights strung across the night sky, bright and blinding.
it felt good—so fucking good—that even through the tears streaking hot down your cheeks and the burn in your folded limbs, a delirious, lopsided smile tugged at your lips, cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim firelight, your antlers catching the orange flickers as they tilted with every jolt of your head, body surrendering completely to the rhythm he set, thighs quivering around his waist while your tail flicked erratically against the rug.
your hands reached out blindly again, fingers trembling and desperate for more contact, more of his warm, scarred skin to ground you amid the storm of sensation, brushing over his flexing abs, his broad chest, anything to feel the solid heat of him beyond the overwhelming fullness stretching your cunt to its limits.
toji cooed low and teasing above you, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed closer to yours, green eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lazy amusement even as his hips never faltered in their rough, claiming pace. “aww, sweetheart, gettin’ all sensitive and sentimental on me now?” he drawled, voice unbothered and rough around the edges, laced with that gentle sarcasm that made your heart stutter even as his cock pistoned deeper, folding you in half more with the weight of his body leaning down.
he pulled his large hand away from where it had been splayed possessively over your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and instead captured one of your seeking hands in his, lacing your smaller fingers through his thick ones with a firm squeeze, while your other hand, already near his mouth from your frantic reaching, brushed his scarred lips.
he turned his head slightly, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he muffled a low groan into it. “fuck, yeah... that’s my good little deer, holdin’ on tight while i stuff this pretty cunt full.” the praise rolled out lazy and filthy, his tongue flicking out to trace the lines of your palm before he sucked gently at the base of your thumb, eyes locked on yours through the haze.
those praises, even drenched in his dirty drawl, twisted something deep inside you—igniting fresh sparks that made your walls clamp down harder around his thrusting cock, slick gushing out in thick waves that coated his balls and the dark curls at his base, turning every rough plunge into a wet, obscene symphony of skin slapping skin, louder than the dying crackle of the fire casting long shadows over your tangled forms.
toji gave your palm more lingering kisses, slow and deliberate, lips dragging soft and wet across the sensitive skin before trailing lower to your wrist, nipping gently at the thin flesh there where your pulse thundered under his mouth, humming approval at the frantic beat as if it were music to him. “so damn responsive,” he murmured against your inner arm, voice muffled but husky, hips snapping forward harder now, the angle making his cock grind deep against that spongy spot inside you that pulled another shattered moan from your lips, “toji—oh. . . deeper, please.” your free hand fisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as you tugged, urging him on.
he continued the path without rush, kisses turning to lazy sucks along the curve of your arm, teeth grazing just enough to leave faint red marks blooming on your flushed skin as he reached the bare, sweat-slick slope of your shoulder, nuzzling there briefly before biting down soft and possessive, soothing the sting immediately with his tongue.
“hate christmas, y’know,” he rasped against your collarbone, voice dropping lower as his mouth dipped further, lips brushing the swell of one breast, “all that fake cheer and bullshit lights... but fuck, your sweet deer pussy’s makin’ it enjoyable for once—warm and tight like the best damn present i could unwrap.” the words were pure filth, wrapped in lazy praise that made your toes curl, body arching higher into him as he finally sealed his mouth hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard with a flick of his tongue that sent lightning straight to your clit.
your eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes clumping with fresh tears of overwhelm, the world narrowing to the brutal snap of his hips driving his cock impossibly deeper, the wet heat of his mouth on your tit, and the solid grip of his hand still laced with yours, grounding you even as pleasure threatened to shatter you completely.
your free hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers tangling and tugging harder every time he thrust in rough, the head of his cock nudging so deep you felt it press against your lower belly from inside, a faint bulge that made your breath hitch. “toji—i feel it—ahh—there, right there.” earning a low, guttural groan from him muffled against your breast as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the peaked nipple before soothing with his tongue.
“yeah? feel me rearrangin’ your guts, darlin’?” he pulled off with a wet pop, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort in bliss, smirk curling lazy even as sweat dripped from his brow. “that's my filthy hybrid—tuggin’ my hair like that baby, milkin’ this cock so good... gonna make me spill every drop in this ripe little cunt, breed you till you’re glowin’ like a damn tree.” his hips pounded faster then, rougher, the praise spilling endless as he chased the edge with you, bodies slick and trembling on the fire-warmed rug, the christmas night stretching infinite in the haze of heat and need.
toji pulled away from your tits with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over the swollen nipple, leaving it glistening wet and aching in the cool air that whispered through the room from the snow-sealed windows, his green eyes lifting lazy to meet yours—pure bliss etched across your flushed face, lips parted in that delirious smile, tears clinging to your lashes like dew on pine needles, antlers tilted back against the rug as your body trembled beneath him, every muscle taut and quivering from the relentless pound of his hips.
he held still for a breath, cock buried deep to the hilt, grinding slow against your fluttering walls just to watch the way your expression shattered further, then smirked that crooked, scarred pull of his mouth, voice dropping low and rough even as he rolled his hips once, hard, nudging that bulge in your belly again. “you glad you got separated from the others, sweetheart?” he drawled, unbothered and lazy, thumb brushing over your knuckles in the hand still laced with his, like he was commenting on the weather while his cock throbbed hot inside you.
“cause i’m sure as hell glad i decided to head into those woods earlier—fuck, if i hadn’t, i’d be missin’ out on this sweet cunt for the rest of my life... feels like i’d lose ten years just thinkin’ about it, leavin’ my deer all alone and unfucked.”
you couldn’t even form words—your mouth opened on a helpless whimper, tongue heavy and mind fogged, the pleasure coiling so tight in your belly that all that came out was blabbering nonsense. “toji—ahh, can’t—nngh—close, so close.” body arching high off the rug, thighs clamping around his waist like a vice, slick walls pulsing wildly around his cock as the edge rushed up fast, heat season burning through every nerve until you were nothing but sensation.
tears spilling fresh down your temples, ears twitching back flat against your skull in desperate surrender. the smile on your lips widened, broken and euphoric, as your free hand tugged harder in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper even though he was already splitting you open so completely, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing filthy in the firelit room.
he chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your skin as he leaned closer, folding you even tighter beneath him, your leg over his shoulder pressing your knee to your chest, opening you impossibly wider for the brutal thrusts that followed—harder now, rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that jolted your whole body, cock dragging out to the tip before pounding back in, chasing that clench he felt building in your cunt.
“yeah? can’t talk, huh? too busy cummin’ on my cock like a good little deer?” he teased, voice husky and sarcastic-gentle, eyes locked on your rolling ones as he fucked you through it, the pace turning punishing, every thrust grinding his dark curls against your clit, sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “come on, baby—let go for me, soak this cock with your cum... fuck, that’s it—ahh—squeeze me just like that."
the coil snapped then—white-hot and shattering—your back bowing off the carpet in a sharp arch, antlers scraping deep grooves into the fibers as a scream tore from your throat, “toji—fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. . . cumming, ahh god—” cunt clamping down like a trap around his pistoning cock, walls spasming wildly, slick gushing out in hot waves that soaked his balls and dripped down onto the rug beneath you, pleasure crashing through your body in endless, trembling pulses that left you sobbing, smiling, shaking as he fucked you harder through it, not slowing, hips slamming rough and deep to prolong every flutter.
your hand in his hair pulled tight, the other squeezing his fingers white-knuckled, body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm ripped you apart, stars bursting brighter behind your closed lids, the heat finally breaking in a flood of bliss that made your toes curl and your tail flick frantic against his thigh.
toji groaned low and ragged, feeling your cunt milk him mercilessly, his own control fraying at the edges as he chased his climax right on the heels of yours—thrusts turning erratic, harder, pounding into your oversensitive walls without mercy, the wet sounds obscene and echoing as slick squelched between your bodies.
“fuck—gonna breed you now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice breaking rough against your ear as he leaned down fully, crushing you under his weight, mouth brushing your neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. “hope you’re ready to get knocked up by a human on christmas—gonna fill this ripe deer pussy so full of my cum you’ll be leakin’ for days... ahh—take it, deer, every drop.”
the thought hit you like another wave—pregnant by him, belly swelling with his seed, the image filthy and intoxicating in your heat-addled mind—and your spent cunt clenched tighter around him, gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go, milking him deeper as fresh slick pulsed out. he cursed in bliss, hips stuttering once, twice.
“shit—yeah, you like that? like gettin’ bred by me?” before slamming in one last time, burying deep as he spilled hot and thick inside you, cock throbbing with every heavy spurt, flooding your walls until it leaked out around his base, mixing with your slick in a warm, sticky mess that dripped down your ass. he groaned long and low against your shoulder.
“fuck—yesss—my good little deer, takin’ it all like a christmas miracle,” he groan, hips grinding slow circles to push his cum deeper, riding out the aftershocks while you whimpered beneath him, sensitive and full, body still trembling in the glow of release, the fire crackling softly as the christmas night wrapped around you both in exhausted, sated warmth.
he stayed buried deep inside you for what felt like an eternity after the last thick spurt of his cum flooded your walls, hips grinding slow, lazy circles that pushed his seed deeper, mixing with your slick until it leaked out in warm, sticky rivulets around his base, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug beneath you in a filthy testament to how thoroughly he’d bred you.
his chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking and sliding as he caught his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, dark hair damp and falling over his scarred face while the fire crackled lower now, embers glowing soft orange across the room, casting long, wavering shadows that danced over your tangled limbs and the faint bulge still visible in your lower belly where he filled you so completely.
your body trembled in the aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his softening cock, milking the last drops from him as oversensitivity made every tiny shift send sparks skittering up your spine, thighs quivering uncontrollably around his waist, leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder even as your muscles screamed from being folded so long.
tears dried sticky on your cheeks, but that delirious smile lingered on your lips, soft and sated, ears twitching faint against the rug, antlers tilted at an exhausted angle while your fingers stayed tangled loosely in his hair, the other hand still laced with his, palms slick with sweat.
toji lifted his head slow, green eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that familiar lazy smirk, voice coming out rough and low, unbothered even after everything. “fuck, sweetheart... look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing slow over your knuckles in the hand he held, hips giving one last shallow grind that pulled a weak whimper from your throat, “nngh—toji.” your walls clenching instinctively around him again.
he hummed approval, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, tongue flicking lazy to taste the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of your moans. “all bred and glowin’ like a proper deer... hate the holiday, y’know—too much fake bullshit and glitter—but damn if your hybrid cunt didn’t just make it my favorite one yet. warm, tight, milkin’ me dry like you were waitin’ your whole heat for a me to stuff you full.”
you could only whimper in response, body too spent for words, a soft, broken “ahh...” slipping out as he shifted slightly, cock still half-hard inside you, stirring the mess he'd made. your free hand slid from his hair to trace lazy down his scarred back, fingers brushing the sweat there, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch even in exhaustion.
he chuckled low against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you again, eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow pants, nipples still peaked and glistening from his earlier attention. “can’t even talk, huh? too full of my cum to think straight?” his tone was gentle sarcasm, teasing without bite.
he finally eased out slow—agonizingly slow—the thick drag of his cock pulling free with a wet sound that made you both groan, his seed immediately leaking out in thick globs, coating your folds and dripping down to the rug. he watched it with dark fascination, thumb reaching down to swipe through the mess, spreading it lazy over your swollen clit just to feel you jerk weakly, “toji—sensitive. . .” your hips twitching away even as your body arched for more.
“yeah, i know,” he drawled, unbothered, bringing that thumb to his mouth to lick clean, eyes locked on yours as he tasted the mix of you both. “but look at this pretty mess... my deer all bred and leakin’. gonna keep you like this all night, darlin’—plugged full, warm by the fire. maybe round two when you stop shakin’.”
he shifted then, rolling to his side but pulling you with him, keeping your bodies tangled, your leg draped over his hip as he tucked you against his chest, one big hand splaying possessive over your lower belly where his cum still filled you deep. “best damn present i never asked for,” he muttered against your hair, lips brushing the base of one antler in a soft, unexpected kiss, voice dropping lazy and content. “merry fuckin’ christmas to me.”
part 2 𖠞 frat president!kuna x loser!reader x fratboy!toji
warnings: 18+mdni - slight angst, oral f!receiving, weed, unprotected sex, creampie
part 1 here
chest tight, your lungs burn as you hold your breath, the pungent smell of weed encasing you, holding you within its fog like armor or a hug. your eyelids rest heavy as your pupils lay fixed on the blue light emanating from the little box in your hand.
you try not to look. it's been a week since the embarrassing encounter at the frat house and you really try not to look— but it's hard. you know you should probably just unfollow sukuna. out of sight, out of mind, right? but every time your thumb hovers over the button, there's something that stops you. something that tugs you away and crumbles your resolve whenever you're face to face with his account, deep crimson eyes and inky tattoos staring back at you through the screen.
with an exasperated sigh and a puff of smoke you toss your phone aside, reaching for the ash tray instead. you stub out your joint because it's small enough now to where you can feel the heat from the cherry against your fingertips, threatening to burn you.
you just need a distraction.
something to keep your mind occupied so that you forget about sukuna, and eventually him and everything you never were will just be in the past, and you can move on.
that's what you tell yourself the first time toji texts you, asking if he can come over to pick up some drugs. it's what you tell yourself when he asks if he can stay and hangout for a bit too.
you nod, a small 'sure' accompanying the action because how can you say no? his voice low, carrying a quality that makes it sound like his throat is dry, maybe from talking too much, smoking too much. jade eyes glinting as he gazes down at you, his scar tugging as his lips split into a small grin.
"so, what do ya wanna do?"
something sukuna never asked. he would just give you that look. the one that said exactly what he was there for, even though you could have sworn up and down that there was a hidden meaning lingering beneath the surface. and within minutes he had you naked, stripped down to reveal whatever it was he needed in the moment.
"shit, you got a wii?"
your eyes snap up, a slight shake of your head clearing any remaining thoughts of the pink haired man. "uh yeah, brought it from home. we got it when i was little," you explain, shifting on the couch as your gaze trails over toji.
he's crouched in front of your tv, thumbing through the stack of video games until he seems to make up his mind, pulling out a red box.
"and you got super mario bros, fuck yeah— you wanna play?"
you can't help the smile that graces your lips in response to the genuine interest radiating from the man in front of you. you're quick to turn on the wii and the tv, him inputting the game and grabbing the controllers.
you don't even realize how many hours have gone by until your stomach is cramping and twisting painfully with hunger. reaching for your phone you flip it over to check the time and it's almost midnight. yet you're still seated on your cushion, legs criss-cross, a mere foot away from toji who's hunched over, legs spread in prime gaming position as he uses his last life to try and finish the level solo since you're already dead.
taking advantage of the moment, you reach for the plastic baggie on the table, pressing some green into your grinder before getting to work on rolling another joint.
it's been nice. he's been nice. the time passing quickly because your conversation is flowing smoothly. he'll laugh at your jokes, maybe make a worse one back. you learned about what he's studying and what sports he played growing up, and he asked you about your favorite games and what you'd like to do when you graduate. and honestly, looking back, since the two of you started hanging out, you didn't think about sukuna a single time.
a new record, probably— zero thoughts of the campus dickhead in four hours. go you!
the lighter clicks in your grasp, sparking before lighting, the flame warm, glowing in front of your face as you bring the joint to your lips.
"you want some?" you offer, holding your hand out to toji.
his eyes flit over to yours briefly before returning to the screen, fingers still pressing buttons, his character still jumping across the tv. "yeah yeah," he grunts, looking over at you once more, "feed it to me?"
you freeze, a slight heat pricking your cheeks as you force yourself to think of a reply.
"c'mon, my hands are full right now," toji nods to the controller in his grasp.
"you could pause the game," you blurt out, internally cringing because obviously he knows that. tense, you're waiting. waiting for him to scoff at you, for him to point out the fact that you're being dense, but it never comes.
he just laughs, head tilted back and jawline sharp. "sure, but i don't want to— so be a doll, yeah?"
your face burns hotter, your stomach flipping as you move to sit on your knees facing him. he tilts his head towards you, his eyes drifting down and taking their time rolling over your body, lingering on your thighs before heading back up. lips parting ever so slightly, they're a silent invitation for you as you lean close, placing the joint gently between them.
he inhales deeply before you take it back, fingertips brushing against his skin and making your knees press closer together.
he's hot. hot in that self-assured kind of way. sure, he is physically attractive, there's no doubt about that— all shaggy hair and toned muscle, structured face and deep eyes. but he's quiet about it, a contrast to sukuna who revels in attention, so much so that he tends to create it himself.
toji carries an air about him that makes it seem like he's never been stressed out in his life. like he's never had to worry if things will work out— if he's smart enough, good looking enough, strong enough. and you're nearly certain that it's not an act.
that's just how he is.
"you got the best weed, ya know that?"
you chuckle, breathless and shy as you shake your head at the funny compliment. "well thanks— i'll be sure to tell my supplier we got a good review."
"you do that," toji laughs, setting his controller down on the table before stretching and standing. sweatpants hanging low on his waist and shirt riding up as his arms reach above his head, your vision is drawn to the skin peeking out between the garments. tanned and smooth, you can see the black hair from his happy trail, the ridges of the veins on his abdomen trailing down.
you pretend you weren't staring when he catches you, instead choosing to lead him to the door after he grabs his phone and wallet.
"look, it's late and i gotta hit the gym in the morning, but i had fun—" he starts.
you swallow, throat dry and spit thick as your neck cranes to look up at toji, his broad torso standing between you and your door. and you wonder if he felt it too— the attraction you didn't expect, that came around swiftly between the jokes and the games and the stolen glances.
"can i see you again sometime? still gotta finish that level."
and he means it. toji really did have a good time hanging out with you.
when he saw you for the first time at the party, glassy eyed and rushing to the door, he already knew your name. he'd heard it enough times coming from sukuna's mouth, so much so that he'd looked you up on instagram to see who you were.
so he was smart enough to put two and two together— figured that you must have shown up at the party, tried to talk to sukuna or something just to find out he'd already moved on to his next option. it was always a story similar to that, he'd heard it a million times from a million girls.
toji had no idea what made you different from the others in his eyes. it was more of a gut feeling than anything that drove him to finally follow you after he ran into you that night, but he supposes he should give his intuition some credit. because over the next few weeks the two of you saw each other a lot.
every time he needed to re-up, he'd stay longer to play wii or watch a tv show. but sometimes you'd invite him over when he wasn't buying. you'd invite him over just because you wanted to see him, and he went every time just because he wanted to see you.
you're funny, cracking offbeat jokes that shouldn't be making him laugh as hard as they do. and you're cute, the way you laugh harder when you see that he also finds your joke funny, or the way you get mad and yell at the tv each time you die because it's a "stupid fucking game." toji honestly doesn't remember the last time he's had this much fun with someone— he's been getting sick of his dumbass frat brothers.
which is why he's trying to take it slow. trying to take his time getting to know you first before evolving your relationship but god you make it so fucking hard.
each time he comes over and you're wearing those little pajama shorts, paired with a baggy t-shirt or worse, a much too small tank top. when you're sitting much too close to him and he can smell your perfume and the scent of weed rolling off of you, you body warm against his. he's really trying so fucking hard to be a nice guy and take it slow because he actually likes you. but then you'll lean against him, head resting on his shoulder as you watch tv, pretending you're not aware of the way he can't stop adjusting his sweatpants.
so no one can even blame him when he finally gives in. no one can blame him especially because he doesn't know the way you are when he leaves. when you're alone in your apartment again, laying in bed and scrolling on your phone over that same profile, the one you swore you'd stop looking at. you hate that you're still hung up on him. you still check in, still watch sukuna's stories even though it just grows a pit in your stomach when you catch a glimpse of some girl in the background. you hate that you still scroll through his new posts even though you have an unopened text from toji already asking if he can see you again later that week.
reaching over, a large hand wraps tight around your chin as he tugs you closer, his breath mingling with yours, pupils swallowing green as his eyes drift down to your lips just in time to see your tongue swiping along them.
you taste like coffee and weed, bitter and addictive in a way he thinks he'll never get tired of. your skin soft under his calloused hands, rough from barbells and dumbbells, they glide across your back as you arch into his touch and move to straddle his lap.
"eager?" he grunts, hips grinding up against you, hard cock prominent in his pants and rubbing along your clothed cunt, making you gasp.
you don't reply with words, just nod and pull away enough so you can tug his shirt over his head. a good thing too because when you're finally presented with the sight of his bare torso you're sure that any reply would have been knocked right out of your head. it's a little ridiculous honestly— sukuna is fit, strong in a way that shows he obviously works out but this is an entirely different level. the kind of physique you thought only existed in movies or an anime, each muscle and tendon as if sculpted by hand.
"that's one word for it," you rasp, eyes still locked on his chest.
and when toji fucks you he takes his time despite the fact that he's already been waiting longer than he ever has with anyone else.
his touches are deliberate, each hand exactly where he wants, dancing along your skin with precision as he lays you beneath him and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. he's intentional as he tugs the already damp piece of fabric down your legs, exposing your dripping core to his hungry eyes.
he eats you out like it's the only thing he's been able to think about for the last week because it was. tongue flicking at your clit, dragging languidly between your folds before dipping inside your heat. the saccharine taste of you filling his mouth as he groans against your sex already knowing that he's done for.
he knows he's done for even before he stretches you out around his fingers, curling and pumping, reaching that sweet spot inside you each and every time until you're gripping his hair tight in your hand. black tresses being tugged painfully as you grind your hips against his face mercilessly, because the harder you do, the louder he moans.
he's done for even before you're finally coming undone, shaking thighs wrapped tight around his head, toes curling as you keen. his name falls from your lips, breathless and pitchy as you cum on his tongue and he swears he's never tasted a woman as sweet as you.
so sweet that he misses it even when he's sinking his cock into your warm pussy. your syrupy walls fighting to accommodate his girth as he presses inside, even though he's already made you finish, already tried to stretch you out with his fingers.
"fuck— you feel s'good," he grits out between clenched teeth, fingers digging into your waist. your heads are both bent down, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet. the sight is lewd, your puffy pussy lips enveloping his cock, slick beginning to coat his shaft as he buries himself inside.
"o-oh my god, toji," you mewl, arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him closer. lips wet with spit press chaste kisses to along your jaw, his breath hot on your skin.
he loves the way you say his name, especially when you're both teetering on the edge of your release. when he's running out of stamina and you're graced with a sheen of sweat, your eyes screwed shut and head thrown back into the pillows.
your cunt pulsating around him, the sound of your arousal filling his ears and the smell of sex in the room leaves his mind cloudy, pussydrunk.
toji can hardly form a thought as he's fighting off his climax and trying not to lose himself in the feeling of you. it takes everything in him to string together a mere 5 words— "where do you want me?"
and you don't need to think hard, don't need to string anything together with your one word answer— "inside-" you plead, eyes finally open, pupils blown wide and desperate as you look up at your beautiful distraction.
his cheeks are flushed pink and his hair is clinging to his forehead like his compression shirts when he finally snaps. hips stuttering, pace faltering as you fall over the edge at the same time as he stills. the same time as his cock twitches, still fit snugly inside you as thick, white cum spills from it.
even in the aftermath he's patient, unhurried as he cleans you up. languidly wiping at the translucent seed seeping onto your thighs, he's hypnotized by the way your pussy is pushing him out as you lay in silence catching your breath.
he's gentler than you'd imagined. his touches softer than his hard looks and his abrasive reputation and you can't help but think about how different he is.
toji laughs with you as you make a stupid joke about how he still has to pay for his weed, he laughs even though he was already inside you, he already came tonight. he still smirks, confident and sweet as he asks when he'll see you again, the curve of his lips only dipping when he looks over at you. your phone in hand, you're hunched over as you stare at the screen, expression unreadable.
he isn't trying to be nosy or invade your privacy. it only took a quick look. one quick, accidental look— he was sitting so close to you.
sukuna
hey can we talk?
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a/n: wow ok writers block was really kicking my ass so i am really happy to finally have gotten smth out. i was literally unable to read or write anything for so long idk ;-; we're sooo back tho. tysm for all the love on part 1 of this tiny series, i hope you guys enjoy this one too! there will be a part 3 eventually :p
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summary: two years had passed since you first met gojo satoru, and it was two years of having an agonizingly one-sided crush on the white-haired genius. for the most part, you were okay with keeping it down and acting like the nights you spent fantasizing about what it would be like to be his were normal. you were fine keeping it hidden until something between the two of you shifts, and you're left wondering if this crush you have on him is truly as delirious as you think.
genre: 18+, nerdjo, slow burn, angst + happy ending (duh), fluff, eventual smut (nerdjo being a munch), some mention of insecurities but nothing major
word count: 33k (oops)
note: nerdjo bu set in oxford! art credit! @to00fu
jjk masterlist
It began at one of the English department get-togethers.
Two years ago, when you felt like you had to come to every single event in the hopes of striking expeditious luck at one of them. And it’s not that you particularly disliked these events, but they weren’t the first thing you’d think of when it came to how you’d prefer to spend your free time.
The weather was just getting chilly enough where you’d rather stay in your dorm and wrap yourself in three blankets and a sweater, and the year had been dragging on long enough where you’d rather just talk about the wonders of Shakespeare and his sonnets in the confines of your next research paper and not with academics who made you feel inferior.
You had been invited weeks in advance, and yet you still found yourself dreading being here, the more it led to it, and even more when you were in the thick of it. Awkward small-talk with students you’ve seen around briefly and stiff handshakes with male professors who think that they have better places to be were just mentally taxing, and you counted the seconds until it was all over.
Thankfully, it was busy enough that you could slip into the background without many people even noticing you were there, but not so crowded that you could just slip away entirely without somebody asking where the great Dr. Howard’s research assistant had gone. And anyways, it wasn’t too horrible. You had taken to silently recounting Othello in your mind moments before everything changed.
There was a small tap on your shoulder. It startled you at first, and you looked around in your small corner to see a man waiting patiently behind you, a sheepish look on his face as you tried to gather yourself up.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and you blinked out of your stupor as you tried to recall in your brain if you had met him before to save yourself from the embarrassment of him having to re-introduce himself, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
He looked familiar. His eyes were a deep amethyst, his smile was soft and kind. His dark and shaggy hair was tied behind his head in a small bun, and his ears were adorned with multiple piercings. Although many at Oxford, especially the men, tried to appear as blank as usual, he seemed apt and content with going against the stuffy and old notions.
You must have seemed confused because the man stuttered as he introduced himself.
“I’m Suguru,” he restarted, his hand leaving his side as he extended it to shake yours, “I think we had the same English survey course last semester.”
Your confusion melted away into a wide smile as you shook his hand, his own eyes crinkling around the edges as he grinned back, letting out a breath of relief as you nodded insistently, shaking your head at your own self.
“Right, right, Suguru! I remember you!” You exclaimed, setting your cup down to the side as you watched him tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, “You sat a little bit in front of me, right?”
His head ducked down momentarily as he chukked, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he nodded.
“I did,” he chuckled slightly, “Right in the line of fire for when Howard needed to pick on someone.”
Your lips quirk up slightly as you nod, remembering how the professor you work for now used to terrorize your class and quiz random students on particular syllables and grammatical imperfections in the reading they were supposed to have done.
The class was small, as were most major-specific courses you were taking. Although you didn’t have many of your friends in the class, you had gotten a good sense of who was in there and who Dr. Howard preferred to pick on. Suguru, for the most part, did the reading and did his work, so he came out unscathed compared to some of the other students. He sat near the front with some of his own friends, and you had talked to him in passing a couple of times when the class as a whole would band together to compare comments on assignments. He was kind, from what you remembered, which is probably why you felt your shoulders growing less tense the more you two talked.
“That’s her style,” you say, shrugging as you fiddle with your fingers. “It took a while to get used to it,” you admit. Suguru rolls his eyes at your humility, remembering clearly just how much Dr. Howard favored you, but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue, “I don’t know if you’ve had Creemer yet, but he’s worse with his cold calls and isn’t half as nice.”
“I have him right now for rhetoric and grammar,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head in dismay, “He’s…sadistic, I think.”
You giggle, nodding feverishly at the statement as you recall your past couple of classes with the hellish professor, an infamous name for many English majors and someone that you try to avoid at all costs if possible.
The party, or gathering, as it said on the invitation, drones on in the background as you look around to see if anybody is looking in your direction. Most of the time, you can do what you want, but seeing that Dr. Howard had warned you before tonight that somebody from the department might want to swarm you to ask questions that you most likely didn’t have answers to, had put you on edge.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, motioning to the rest of the people with a knowing glint as you politely smile, shrugging your shoulders as your lips press tightly together. Whether it be your shy nature or how you preferred smaller crowds, it must’ve been evident on your face that you weren’t necessarily having the most amount of fun.
“I am,” you answer, wincing at the way your voice sounded warbled, “I’m trying to make the most of these opportunities, I guess.”
Suguru’s head dipped in understanding, taking a sip of his drink as he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning in slightly as he lowered his voice.
“These things drag on for a bit, though, yeah? I’m feeling my fingers prune from how long I’ve held this glass.”
You let out a sigh of relief, sharing the same sentiment as the two of you share a knowing look.
“I…I, um, I heard that Howard chose you to research with her, though, right? That’s gotta be pretty cool,” Suguru asked after a beat, bringing you back to the conversation as his head tilted slightly, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you swallowed. He seemed kind, not asking the question bitterly as some other people have.
You nodded again, trying to contain your smile as you leaned against the stone pillar next to you. Letting out a small hum, you swallow again, trying to scope out what sort of place he was coming from.
“It is,” you answered, biting on the inside of your cheek as you were still reeling from being selected from such a wide pool of applicants and such a rigorous interview process to work on her next paper analyzing More’s work through a modern lens, “It’s…strenous, sometimes, but I’m having a lot of fun working with her,” you fidgeted with your fingers, “So yeah, it’s pretty cool.” You say sheepishly.
Suguru smiled at your hidden enthusiasm, the tip of his boot nudging something on the ground. He went to usher you to continue before his eye caught something behind your shoulder, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as his smile grew even wider, his hand raising in a wave.
“Sorry,” he apologetically muttered, and you craned your neck around to see what it was, or rather who it was that Suguru had seen, “I think my friend just arrived.”
That’s when you felt your breathing stop.
The bustling group of students and faculty members almost seemed to part theatrically for the man walking towards the two of you, but you couldn’t even blame them.
He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his icy white hair and strikingly beautiful eyes. His lengthy frame made him nearly a head taller than even the tallest man in the room, and his wide shoulders helped him wade through the bodies as he navigated to his friend. His face seemed stoic, bordering on bored, but you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in shock at seeing the most devastatingly gorgeous man to ever exist. He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, his lips moving in quiet apologies as he tried to move through the people without bumping into them.
You suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that it had been days since you had last had a good night's sleep and that the bags under your eyes were most likely even more evident in the dim lighting of the old hall, and how your sweater was lumpy from being shoved in the back of your closet for so long. You swallow thickly as Suguru quickly excused himself as he stepped away and walked a bit away to hug the stranger, exchanging some words with each other as you stood awkwardly to the side.
You watched them silently as they talked for a little bit more before Suguru stepped away, his hand on his friend's back as he, for some horrifying reason, seemed to guide him towards where you were stiffly standing as the two of you made eye contact before you became aware of the way your eyeballs felt in your socket and how heavy your tongue was in your mouth.
When Suguru finally pulled away from the modern-day Adonis, you felt like a creeper and a loner as you wondered whether or not to leave or stand in the corner while they talked, but ever the kind person that he was, Suguru led the man by the back to where the two of you were with a wide smile on his face.
“Sorry about that,” Suguru abashedly apologized, chuckling deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck, “But this is my friend, Satoru,” he said brightly, pushing the man a little harshly towards you as you stared at him silently.
The man, Satoru, gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding once in your direction as he looks around, looking uncomfortable and shifty. Suguru rolled his eyes, sighing deeply as he patted his friend's back.
You grinned back, swallowing the spit in your mouth as you felt him stare at you once he was done looking at the room, your cheeks heating up. You felt his eyes drift over your outfit, at your posture, and the way your hands were clasped tightly together. This stranger assessed the way you swayed slightly, awkwardly, not knowing how to fill the silence as you tapped the tip of your battered shoes on the ground. When he was done, his chin lifted again, his stare lingering on your blinking face as you glanced between him and Suguru, waiting for somebody to say something before you imploded and left with the lingering scent of your vanilla body spray.
Seeing that he was fine with checking you out, you took the time to do the same. He seemed like one of the generational students of the school, the ones whose parents and grandparents and cousins and siblings all came and went and made something important with their lives. They weren’t hard to detect, especially him, with his steamed jumper and his creased pants. His leather shoes were shining back at you, and though his hair was somewhat messy, it seemed to be classily messy, unlike what you and some other students would call freely messy.
“I force him to come to these things with me,” Suguru explained, but you could barely hear him over the rhythm of heartbeats in your ear as you tried to fly, appreciate the man a few feet in front of you, “Our friend Shoko sometimes comes, but she had things to do tonight.”
The man’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly, his brows drawing tightly together as he glanced at his friend with a look.
“I had things to do too,” he muttered, his voice deep as you felt your heart stupidly tumble at the sounds.
Suguru snorted, shaking his head as he shrugged indifferently.
“Sure,” Suguru replied sarcastically and glanced at you, his brow slightly raised at the way you had gone silent, his lips quirking slightly when he noticed the way you couldn’t stop staring at his friend, not voicing anything as his hand on Satoru’s shoulder loosened, “Just act like you want to be here for twenty minutes, yeah?”
You bit your teeth into your cheek, a finger raising slightly as you pointed to the newcomer's face.
“I like your glasses,” you said brightly, your smile gentle as you fidget with your own, watching the way his striking eyes moved over to you again, squinting slightly as his hand raised upwards, as if he had forgotten that his glasses were even there, “They frame your face really well.” Your head tilts a little as you try to place something, “Where’d you get them? If, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine is so old and dingy, and the rims are basically glued on, and I’ve only had them for a few years.”
“Erm, well, thank you,” Satoru says stiffly, not used to the direct attention and compliments, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink as Suguru watches his friend struggle for words, taking the glasses off as he turns them to the side, trying to read the logo, “These are, erm, from Cartier. But I usually wear contacts, anyway.”
You let out a startled laugh, not a stranger to hearing students at this place don expensive items, but this being the first time you’ve seen one of them bashful about it.
You nod, your smile still there, softer as you take in his slightly awkward nature and let him put the glasses back on before you continue.
“Contacts are more practical,” you agree, even though you’ve always had a phobia of things touching your eyes and would never wear contacts unless somebody forced you, shrugging as you say, “But I’ve always appreciated the look of glasses.”
Satoru gnaws on his lips, nodding quietly as Suguru starts talking about his friend's major (biochemistry, you came to find out), and how long they’ve known each other, but you could only feel your stupid feelings when Suguru stayed, his friend included, and talked with you for the rest of the evening.
That was your sophomore year.
Nearly two years passed after befriending Suguru alongside his small group. He introduced you to Shoko after that night, swearing up and down that the two of you were destined to be near each other. And we weren’t wrong, not in the slightest. You two girls bonded strangely fast, as if you were twin flames that were being fanned out. Suguru and Satoru seemed to mirror the two of you, but the group functioned as a whole, for the most part. You spent so many nights over at their dorms that you could walk around blindfolded and still find your way to the others with no issue. It was fun, it was what you had dreamt of for so long. It was something that you were fine with, more than content with, ending your university career in a couple of months.
Well, everything for the most part, you could consider it as such if it wasn’t for your debilitating and soul-crushing feelings for the stranger you met that night.
It’s been four semesters, and you still don’t think Gojo Satoru has a clue. Which, in all honesty, is for the better.
Although his stoic nature spares nobody, it feels as though you're always on the worst end of it. With his lingering stares that seem to border on questioning why you were even there whenever he sees you, to the way he grows dim and quiet around you, it feels like you’re actively attempting to hurt yourself the more you fall in love with the little things you hadn’t noticed the day prior.
Even worse, you know deep down that such feelings are most likely, under this sun and every other universe, with most certainty and heavy grief, unrequited.
But you’re fine keeping it down.
You were fine until recently.
—
“I’m debating switching majors.”
Shoko declared from the couch, her legs hanging off the side, knocking occasionally on your shoulders as you crane your neck back on the cushion form where you were seated on the ground to look at her upside down.
“To what?”
She shrugged, rubbing at her eyes as she held her neuroanatomy textbook in one hand, her phone in the other as she scrolled through the different majors Oxford offered, as if she wasn’t a semester away from graduating.
“Film?” She read out, and you snorted, rolling your eyes at the prospect of Shoko going into film, “Hm…maybe art history?”
“Gave up on the med school dream?” Suguru quips from the other side of the couch, knowing fully that Shoko was just going on another one of her tangents as she shifted slightly to shove him harshly with her socked foot.
“I’m sure your counselor wouldn’t mind,” you reply, looking at her as she glares, her eyes falling back to her phone as she peers at the screen. She looked boredly a little bit before her eyes flitted upwards slightly, squinting as she read the new notification.
“Satoru said he’s going to be here in a few minutes,” she muttered, reading the next message, “And that he wants you,” she nudged Suguru with her foot again to motion that it was him that Satoru was referencing in the text, “To move to your bed so that he can do his work on his side of the couch.”
Suguru peeked up from his doom scrolling to look at Shoko, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he let out a huff of annoyance.
“His side?”
Shoko shrugged, her knee knocking on the side of your head as you knock it back, the book you were reading resting in your hands as you listened to Suguru mutter distastefully about how this was his dorm and that Satoru had no right claiming his couch, but you heard him shuffle to his feet nonetheless.
You tried not to show any peek of interest when the infamous name was called out, but it was hard not to. It had been two grueling years of mulling over your childish crush, yet the sound of his name could still send pulses to your veins that you were sure were minor heart attacks.
Because it was Gojo Satoru. You wanted to bang your head against the coffee table just hearing it.
Truth be told, you weren’t a stranger to having crushes. It was normal, it was human. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself when you were sprawled out on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried not to think about the way his fingers ever so slightly grazed your wrist when he handed you some chopsticks earlier at the restaurant.
But your crushes came few and far between, and you preferred keeping it that way. Seeing that you were too terrified to ever admit them, and the few, very few times you have, they’ve backfired horrifically, you try not to catch feelings as much as possible. But there was something about Gojo, something beyond reason, that pulled you to him.
At first, you bargained. You tried convincing yourself that it was just his appearance that was drawing you in, his suave looks that made people’s heads turn whenever he entered a room. But you have seen him at four in the morning with his old band tees (a sight that still made you swoon), with his hair crusted with glitter and his eyes pink with eyeshadow as Shoko attempted to put him in drag. Even then, he was insanely gorgeous, so you knew it had to be beyond that.
When you had finally accepted that it was a mind-numbing and life-ending crush that you were feeling towards him, you finally gave in and decided to admire the tall brute from afar. It helped that the two of you had gotten somewhat closer over the past two years, but out of everyone in the group, he was the one you talked to the least. In your defense, he didn’t have much to say to anybody, and that was just his nature. He spent most of his time studying and researching, and the other time watching, observant as other people gossiped. It wasn’t his forte, and nobody pushed him.
So you took in his quietness and his stoicism, appreciated his god-like looks and his overwhelming presence. That was fine.
What made it even worse was that he was so unattainably perfect in other ways that your crush festered into something that made you scream into your pillows and throw your balls of clothes at the wall as you wallowed in self-pity.
Everyone at this damned university was intelligent, and you had made amends with them early on. But you loved men who were smart, guys who could actually hold a page down and dissect it and make the most of it. And worst of all, Gojo Satoru was probably the most intellectual person you have ever met, and will ever meet. It seemed like his memory was photographic, his mind working twenty thousand times faster than the regular brain as he computed formulas and equations at speeds that you couldn’t fathom. He made biochemistry seem easy, something that you sometimes felt guilty for not pursuing. And sure, it didn’t help that you were on the other side with your texts about Russian classics and books diving deep into the restoration period, but even Shoko, who could rival Gojo at times, would begrudgingly admit under her breath just how stupidly genius he was.
Therefore, when you put those things together, his charming looks, his bookish self, his brooding structure, and just everything else, it made him unattainably perfect.
And that’s when you get the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with since the moment you saw him at that wretched party that wasn’t a party.
So, when Shoko read off his texts, there was good reason why she looked at the top of your head, a knowing look in her eyes as she playfully nudges you again, watching as you threw her a dark glare to just keep it down seeing that she was the only other soul who knew, despite you trying your best to hide it, about your feelings towards her other friend.
“Did you hear that Toji is graduating a semester late?” Suguru asked, leaning back against his pillows, his long legs strewn along his bed as he chewed on some gum.
You and Shoko both hummed, not looking up from your respective tasks, having found this information out weeks in advance.
Suguru groaned in annoyance, his chest vibrating with the noise as you snorted, rolling your eyes as he threw a small pillow at your head. It bounced off the side of your face, but you didn’t look up from the page you were on, too engrossed to hear the door behind you click open and heavy footsteps suddenly thudding through the dorm.
You shuffled against the couch, your back feeling stiff as you tried to get comfortable, not knowing that the man of your dreams was moving around somewhere behind you as he hung his coat up (vintage leather, something you found out as he grumbled about getting it wet when Shoko and Suguru insisted on walking in the rain once), kicked off his shoes, and slung his bag around as Shoko craned her neck to see what he was doing.
“Hey,” Shoko called out, and your eyes widened slightly when you heard a familiar voice grunt back a tired greeting, trying not to look as your ears suddenly sharpened to pick up on the sound of him pulling on his sweatshirt as he rounded the couch, standing at the opposite end as he plopped his backpack on the cushions.
You finally allowed yourself to peek over, your eyes following his figure upwards until they landed on his face, and your fists balled in frustration at how pretty he was even when he was simply existing.
Gojo sent you a small, tight-lipped and courteous nod, polite and curt as he looked between you and Shoko, glancing back at the bed where Suguru was lying, his fingers barely lifting from his phone as he gave his childhood best friend a lazy three-fingered wave.
“Why’re you here?” His blunt question was directed at Shoko, something that held no bite but mere wondering as he situated himself on the soft cushions, his large hands feeling around his bag as he opened up the zipper to get his laptop.
“I thought that it was allowed,” Shoko replied dryly, “Apologies.”
You chuckle softly, flipping the page, trying not to let his signature cologne distract you from the words in front of you.
“How was your lab?” Suguru asked, sounding monotone as his thumb swiped on the screen.
You watched as Gojo gave him a glare, his nose wrinkling, something he often did when he was frustrated but didn't want to ruin his outward appearance, and rubbed at his tired eyes. His hair was messy with goggle indents lining the upper half of his face.
“An offense to my intelligence,” Gojo grumbled, his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop as he clicked around a little bit, “I can’t believe some people have made it this far.”
You flipped another page, not fully having read the contents of the last one, but in an attempt to seem indifferent, tried to keep up with your regular reading pace as if anybody was keeping track.
Watching as he riffles through his bag again, you know, almost like clockwork, what he’s going to pull out. His routine is one that you’ve familiarized yourself with despite your best judgment, and you know that what comes next are his glasses.
Glasses are normal. You have your own pair that you only wear for lectures and outings, but forgo them for times like this because they sit a little too heavy on your nose. But his glasses are something else.
They elevate his face ever so slightly, but so much so that it makes you want to keel over and scream. They accentuate his perfect nose with the perfect crook and his freckles that sometimes sit just beneath the frames. He looks even more dashing, if that was even possible, with the way he looks up sometimes, and the lenses make his eyes seem even more blue.
He took them off for labs and put them somewhere safe. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how truly stunning this man really was.
Gojo unfolded the two prongs, holding them up to a source of light as his nose wrinkled again.
Smudges.
You watch silently as he dives back into the bag, his long fingers searching through his pockets for something you knew you always kept on hand for yourself and deep down, for him.
After a few seconds of not finding the microfiber cloth that you both silently cherished, you gave in, pulling your own bag towards you as you unzipped the smaller pocket, pulling it out stealthily and motioning for Shoko to hand it to Gojo.
He took it, his face going so far to relax momentarily as he went to clean the lenses, his head nodding once in quiet appreciation in your direction as you allowed yourself a nod in return.
Shoko looked at you with a raised brow, and you chose to hide behind your book.
“Was it Lainey?” Suguru asked, looking over at his friend, the name piquing your interest as you cast a quizzical look at Shoko, but she shrugged, watching Gojo as his expression soured. He handed you back your little cloth, muttering a thanks under his breath as his bitter gaze found Suguru, as if he was cursing him silently for bringing up the sensitive subject.
“What do you think?” He grumbled out, his right eye almost twitching as his fingers stretched out, typing something quickly as Suguru huffed out a laugh, noting how you and Shoko were both confused, and his smile only grew.
“You didn’t tell them?” Suguru asked, a gleam in his eyes as he shuffled to sit upwards, his back resting on the headboard, “Oh, this is class. Do you two know Lainey? Lainey Andrews?”
You cast a look at Shoko, your lips pursing as your eyes squinted, trying to recall the familiar name.
“The ginger?” Shoko asked, her head tilting to the side, her hair falling around her shoulder, “Pixie cut?”
Suguru nodded, his shoulders raising as your brows furrowed before your mouth slightly fell open when your head bobbed quickly, snapping as you matched the face to the name.
“Oh, Lainey!” You exclaimed, “She’s really pretty,” you added, remembering her bright green eyes and the spattered freckles that made her look like a painting, “She’s also crazy smart - she’s double majoring in bio and poli sci."
Shoko laughed softly under her breath, giving you a small look because this was somewhat typical of you to know random people, with nearly everyone on campus having had a conversation with you at some point during your four years here.
Suguru raised a brow, clicking his tongue as he pointed his phone at Gojo, seeming like he was already anticipating one of his sly comments.
“She’s also just crazy,” Gojo muttered, looking above his laptop, above his wispy lashes at you and then to Shoko, “She spent half of the lab playing with my hair.”
Your book almost fell out of your hands as Shoko sat up with a barking out a stunned laugh, your hands mirroring each other as they flew to cover your mouths in shock, and Suguru nodded again, his eyes wide as he clicked his tongue.
Another thing about Gojo? He hated being touched. Despised hugs, only suffered through quick handshakes, and shuddered at the thought of someone touching his face. You’ve seen the way he pulls back whenever someone approaches him with open arms, seen the way he tries to brush people off of him. He can tolerate Suguru and his insistent bear-hugs from time to time, can sometimes allow Shoko to swat a fly away from his face, and for some reason, doesn’t grumble whenever you try to fix his ties before events, but whenever a stranger or someone he isn’t close to attempts to touch him, he grows reclusive for the rest of the day.
“I told her to stop, too,” he adds, his big frame seeming to grow in frustration as he thinks back to it, “It was only after I had to shove her off that she got the hint. I forgot my disinfectant too, so I was just…” he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched him let out a restrained exhale as he dropped it and went back to work.
But, after studying him for as long as you have, you know that he probably washed his hands and his face a couple of times after that. You know that he also wouldn’t feel complete without some sanitizing wipes and a good shower, so you do the closest thing to that and fish out a hand sanitizer from your bag, an item that you refused to move around without due to your own cleanly nature, which was ironically something else that you and Gojo silently shared, and passed it to him, knowing that he was probably itching till he was able to shower again.
Your friends sometimes joked that you had a Mary Poppins bag, but it came in handy for times like this.
Gojo’s ears perked up at the sound of your rumaging, his eyes almost brightening at the sight of the hand sanitizer, and you pinched it between two fingers before throwing it his way, watching as he effortlessly caught it and began spraying his large palms with the lavender scent.
“Thank you,” he mumbled again, his voice slightly losing the edge it had from before as he passed it back to you, and you smiled, nodding once before you zipped it back up.
You tried to ignore the way Shoko was staring at you.
“Lucky us that we don’t have labs, huh?” Suguru called out, throwing another tiny pillow in your direction, but this time you dodged it, moving your head down slightly so that it would miss. You huff a bit, looking over at Suguru as he shrugged, winking as he went back to his phone.
Suguru was another English major, the reason the two of you got familiar in the first place. He liked to say that the two of you balanced out Gojo and Shoko, but you just thought that it pushed you even further down the list of potential people your pathetic crush could be interested in.
There were a couple of things that you had come to terms with if you were going to crush on him. One was that you had to know in full certainty that nothing was going to come from it. You weren’t going to risk the friendship, no matter how small, by going and confessing and having everything be messy. Two, was that you weren’t going to feel, or at least try not to feel, jealous if he entertained the idea of pursuing something with someone else. And three, was that Gojo Satoru was so incredibly picky when it came to potential partners, that it might be impossible for even the most amazing people to snag a chance.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you tried to make out what one of the characters was saying, “You didn’t have to do that project with Armie.”
Suguru hummed, his brow raising as he thought back to your shared class and the project that paired you up with people you didn’t know, Suguru getting the better end of the stick while you were stuck with someone who insisted on plugging the project prompt into a generator.
“Didn’t you report him?” Satoru asked, his eyes still trained on his work, but the question was now directed to you given the fact that he had sat in on a couple of your tirades in which you would drone on about how the boy was nearly about to graduate and still couldn’t cite sources when he, in one of his brief moments of providing comments, would reiterate to report it to the professor.
You sank into your spot, giving him a suppressed look, one where your eyes met before you shared a glimpse with Suguru. Your friend rolled his eyes from across the room, shaking his head in annoyance as Satoru looked between the two of you.
“She said that she didn’t want to ‘be a bitch’,” Suguru said, restating the words as his fingers move up and down in the air, quoting the statement you had said to him moments before you had to present the assignment in front of the class, shushing him as you pushed him away, insisting that even though you had done the entire project on your own, that it wasn’t worth the hassle to make a report with the professor and potentially have someone out for you, “I said otherwise, but she,” Suguru gave you a pointed look, “Said she’d cut my hair if I made it a ‘big deal’.”
Satoru’s eyes lingered on the side of your face, and you purposefully kept your head ducked and the book closer, so close that it was nearly touching your nose, as you tried to shield away their judging eyes in embarrassment.
“You need to stop caring about what other people think,” Shoko said as she shoved you with her knee, this time just a little bit harder because she knows you and knows what you hide in the fear of making others think something of you that wasn’t good, “I really think your professor would’ve heard your case if you made it.”
You groaned, swatting at her leg with your book as you shuffled away, backing into another corner as you tried to readjust to the new position.
“Yeah,” Suguru added, resting his phone momentarily on his chest, “I think it would help if you were more selfish.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the prospect.
“I just hate confrontation,” you murmur defensively, gnawing on your bottom lip as you flip a page, “And, plus…you have to give me some credit - at least I told him that he was being frustrating,” you say, pretending to ignore them, your eyes re-reading the same word over and over again until you were confident that they were going to drop this subject, this horse that they’ve beaten multiple times, one that ended with you assuring them that you were going to speak up more until it all looped back again to times like this.
“Speaking of confrontation, did you ever get a refund for that ticket?”
There was a beat of silence before you let out a frustrated groan when Shoko reminded you of the one task you had forgotten to do in the past couple of days, your head falling to your knees as your palms jammed into your eyes.
“No, oh my god, you’re so right,” your voice is muffled as you bookmark your page, your fists clenching at your own mistake as your eyes crack open, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to follow up on that!”
Shoko chuckled, rolling her eyes as Suguru and Satoru shared a look, them now sharing confusion as you writhe on the floor at the thought of knowing you could’ve saved a couple of bucks had you not forgotten to call up the school of drama help center for accidentally buying an extra ticket to the showing of The Beggar’s Opera. And, seeing that it was Tuesday and just days before the theatre program, one that needed funds, was about to perform, the deadline for your refund was most likely up.
“So does that mean you need me to come with you next Saturday?” Shoko offered, her lips quirking up slightly as your head shot up, nodding quickly as your hands flew to hers, shaking them feverishly.
“Would you? Would you really?” You ask, and her laughter grows, shoving you off playfully by pushing your forehead back to where you were sitting.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, winking at you before she goes back to her phone, and you settle back in your seat as you gnaw on your lips, thinking back to how on earth you could have possibly messed up so bad when you so usually only buy one ticket for yourself, but you push it aside, thankful that your dearest friend was at least going to make use of it.
You, Suguru, and Shoko shared a small laugh and went on with the conversation, but you heard a low, deep noise, something only you could hear, as Suguru and Shoko returned to bickering about which major Shoko was best suited for.
The sound made you glance up briefly, looking over the pages to see Gojo still staring at you, his lashes fluttering before he snapped back to it and went back to doing his work.
Minutes turned into a few hours, and the room was filled with the occasional story and laughter, but mostly the four of you worked together on different assignments, sometimes looking up as you would recall something from the past couple of days that you were saving to tell them in person.
It seemed like everything was going smoothly until Suguru got a notification on his phone, his face lighting up as he swiveled out of his bed, jumping onto the floor as he tugged his shoes on, not explaining anything as the three of you glanced up, waiting.
“My food’s here,” he said over his shoulder, practically gleaming as he cocked his head in Shoko’s direction, “Come down with me, will you? I need some help.”
You scoff, smiling to yourself as you try to imagine just how much food he had ordered, but careful not to be too loud because you knew he would be sharing it with you all after some choice complaints were heard.
Shoko grumbles, but obliged, lifting up from the couch as she stretches, nudging you playing with the tip of her foot as she throws a pillow your way, walking towards Suguru as he holds the door open for her, the two of them calling out some brief goodbye as they head down to the lobby.
When the door clicks behind them, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that it’s only you and Satoru left, and you let your stare linger on the wall for a bit before you look away, suddenly sheepish when you catch his glance from his seat on the couch.
He clears his throat, eyes flickering from his screen to the book in your lap, the highlighters strewn around you, sticky notes sticking out from between the pages, and he points a finger at it.
“What’re you reading?”
Your brows raise slightly, and your chin ducks down to the book, and you sit up a little straighter as you place a bookmark in the middle of your page you lifting the cover, letting him read the cover as he adjusts his glasses over his eyes.
“Oh,” he says, his voice holding a lithe of acknowledgement as he slowly sets his laptop to the side, shifting slightly closer, “I’ve read this, I think.”
Your head tilts a little, lips quirking a little bit at the sides with a small smile as you look back at the cover.
“You’ve read The Norton Anthology, Volume C before?”
His mouth parts, closing it before he gapes at you, and your grin turns into a big smile, waving it away as you shake your head, shrugging at his stammering expression. He’s so cute when caught in a lie.
“I’m only kidding,” you swear, setting your book down, your knees pulled towards your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, “I’m sure you’ve had to read something like this for one of your previous classes.”
“You’re bothersome,” he murmurs, but his voice holds no bite as you let out another barking laugh, rolling your eyes as he tries not to smile, “I’m only trying to be polite.”
You purse your lips together, giving him a questioning look as he shoots you one back.
“I didn’t know politeness was in your artillery,” you quip, and he scoffs, moving his glasses upwards as he rubs at his tired eyes, resting backwards into the cushions as his legs part, and you try not to let your eyes linger on his thighs.
“I have a reserve for choice people,” he says, opening his eyes back as he looks back at you, yawning as he moves on, “How was your presentation?”
Your smile falters for a second as your stare turns questioning, chewing on your lips as it turns into something sweeter, something smitten because he’s asking about the presentation you had mentioned once in passing the last weekend you had hung out, stressing over your slides and sources, and trying to seem nonchalant as you finger traces little patterns on the floor.
“It was good,” you tell him, trying not to seem too prideful as you murmur, “My professor said it was exactly what he was looking for.”
His face shifts, no longer annoyed as you try not to appear bashful, but his teeth shine as his rosy cheeks pull upwards as he gives you one of those smiles that makes you feel warm and happy and giddy.
“Yeah?” He asks, shifting a little bit as he waved his teasingness off, rolling your eyes as you groan, nodding exaggeratedly as you go back to organizing your highlighters and pens, but he seems intent on pushing this: “Didn’t you say it was the hardest assignment of the class?”
You look up at him from above your lashes, trying not to smile again as you shrug indifferently, done with arranging your stationery based on colors as your knees knock together, throwing a pillow his way that he effortlessly catches.
“I mean, everyone told me that it was really, really hard, so-” But you’re cut off by the door swinging open, and the two of you crane your necks around to see Shoko and Suguru arguing over something irrelevant, food nestled in their hands as they close the door behind them with a slam.
They start telling you two about the delivery fee and the outrageousness that one of the containers had tipped over, but you’re still busy thinking about how Satoru remembered something so trivial, giving them quiet hums as they spread out the food on the small coffee table, and trying to act normal.
Like you have for the past two years.
—
The week passed as it usually does, with papers, readings, and assignments that needed to be completed at an unmanageable rate.
You had expected the usual and mundane things, and for the most part, that’s what came your way. Nights spent in each other's rooms as you finish up your work, spliced with moments where you would all talk, days filled with going to lectures and walking around campus till you found a quiet study spot. Things that you could predict and plan for.
For the most part.
Another thing that your little group would occasionally do was meet up at the end of the week at one of the pubs around campus, most of them serving mediocre food and somewhat better drinks, and offer you all a time to reconvene after a usually stressful couple of days.
The pub was small and quaint, but you enjoyed the warmth and laughter that muddled together to make the ambiance somewhat private. Either Suguru or Shoko would arrive there early and try to secure the usual spot at the booth near the end of the establishment, seeing that either of them didn’t have classes on Fridays, while the other three would meet up outside of Satoru’s biophysical chemistry class and walk there together.
Which is why you found yourself back on that Friday, sitting next to Shoko, settling into your seat as she clambered in after you. Suguru almost pushes Satoru in, impatient to sit down and get back to talking, and you watch as the white-haired man sits in front of you, his hands clasped together as he stares at the wood-grain of the table.
“How were classes?” Shoko finally asks, looking between you and Satoru as she takes a sip from her drink.
You sigh, shrugging as your fingers play with the bottom of your cup, the condensation slipping down as you rub at your tired eyes.
“Fine, I guess,” you say, drinking some water as you wipe at the corner of your lips, “My professor could’ve ended the class, like, twenty minutes earlier than he did.”
She nods solemnly, patting your thigh in solidarity as she passes the bowl of crisps towards you, nudging you to take one to help settle your stomach after having back-to-back classes, knowing how hangry it made you.
“Is this the professor who needs you to see a classical play?” Suguru asked, taking some of the snack as his arms crossed on top of the table, leaning in slightly as you licked some of the salt from your lips, nodding.
“Yeah,” you heave another sigh, elbowing Shoko as you continue, “Which is why I’m seeing Beggar’s Opera next week. I mean, the theatre program did a couple of Shakespeare ones earlier this semester, but…ugh, I just can’t watch another performance of Romeo and Juliet.” You murmur with a groan, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as Suguru hums in agreement.
“You don’t like Shakespeare?”
Your eyes shift over to the man in front of you who asked the question.
Your brows furrow slightly in the middle, lips pulling into a small pout as you shake your head, playing with the ring of water your drink had left as you itch your nose, trying not to focus too hard on the pretty pink color on Gojo’s cheeks because of the slightly toasty feel of the room.
“I do,” you say slugishly, “It’s just that when the only work of his that tends to be popular isn’t The Tempest, I get a little annoyed.”
Suguru snorts, shaking his head as his fingers wag at you.
“That’s not even nearly his best stuff,” he argues, and you roll your eyes, your head tilting badly in annoyance after knowing what this was going to lead to, “I can’t believe you still think that it outweighs Richard II.”
Satoru and Shoko’s eyes bounce between you and your ink-haired friend.
“I’d rather die on the hill of petty magic versus royal family drama,” You quip back, your brow slightly raised.
Suguru huffed, shaking his head in dismay as he lightly shoved your foot underneath the table, a small smile on both your faces.
“Is Tempest the one with the shipwreck?” Gojo asks, his head tilting slightly as his glasses lean on his nose bridge. You nod, grinning at the fact that someone in the group was able to identify such a classic piece of literary work.
You open your mouth to agree, but Suguru beats you to it.
“How do you know that?” He glances sideways at his friend, his brow raised in slight shock as Shoko snorts.
Gojo shrugs, his elbows resting on the table as the fabric of his sweater tightens around his arms, making him look delectable and otherworldly. You have to tear your eyes away from it before it becomes too noticeable.
“We went to the same secondary school,” Gojo argues, saying it as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world, “I paid attention…clearly more than others,” he adds under his breath, causing you to drop your hand to your mouth to hide the satisfied grin from when Suguru deflated in slight embarrassment.
“Oh, speaking of blast from the past,” Shoko shuffles, looking at her phone screen as if suddenly remembering something, “Vi’s coming back for break.”
You watch as Gojo and Suguru stop their silent bickering by messing with each other's stuff as they look up to Shoko. Suguru’s thin brow shoots upwards, his mouth turning into a surprised line as Gojo stares blankly, an unreadable expression on his face as you poke Shoko’s thigh, shaking your head in confusion.
“Who?” You murmur, your eyes squinting as Shoko looks at you, her mouth slightly dropping as she also remembers that you didn’t grow up with them.
“Vivienne March,” Suguru explains, beating someone once again to explain something because he could never hold onto a piece of information for longer than three seconds if he knows that somebody in his vicinity doesn’t know it, “She went to school with us for, what? Five, six years?” He looks between Gojo and Shoko, and they both nod, Shoko unlocking her phone as she goes to pull up the girl's instagram to show you what she looks like, “She’s his ex,” he murmurs as if secretly, pointing at his friend next to him as you feel something in your gut shift, but he clearly doesn’t tell because he leaves that point entirely.
“But I thought she preferred to stay in America till her spring semester was over?” He asks, confused, waiting for you to be done looking, as he waits for Shoko to explain it.
You take her phone gingerly, looking at the girl's account as you carefully click through her posts. You’re greeted with an aesthetic array of photos, some of her friends, some of her cat, and pretty pictures of old brick buildings and fall trees. But your eyebrows slowly move up your face when you see her.
Your thumb swipes through each post as you see her stunning hair framing her face in freshly done curls, her eyes striking and delicate as she wanders around a bookstore. Her outfits are always perfectly curated, and her makeup delicately done to accentuate her already natural beauty in a way that makes a part of you, something you tried to bury and starve, twist with envy at the effortlessness of her perfection.
“Guess she had a change of heart this year,” Shoko says, taking her phone back from your outstretched hand, turning it off as she placed it face down on the table, “She texted me this morning saying that she was ‘gonna be here for December and some of January and that she wanted to catch up.”
“You would like her,” Suguru directs his attention back at you, his words matching the genuine smile on his face, “She’s super bright and bubbly. And she’s so funny. Oh, and she's, like, insanely smart. She graduated from Cambridge when she was nineteen, and she’s doing grad school at Harvard.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Shoko hums, “I mean, she almost came here if she didn’t get the call from Harvard,” she nudges you with her shoulder, “But I don’t know how much he,” she points her eyes to Satoru, watching the way his mouth slightly parts at being called out, “Would’ve appreciated that, though.”
He scoffs, his tongue poking at his cheek as he leans in slightly, his arms crossing the table as Suguru snickers.
“I have no issue with Vivienne,” he argues, his brows pulling into a cute little frown, “She was just…”
“What?” Suguru juts in, Shoko scoffing a laugh next to you as Gojo only peers at him from the side of his eyes, “Madly in love with you? Was going to pick Oxford to be with you? And you were…what, days away from breaking up with her when she came sobbing to us that you have the emotional intelligence of a rock?”
Your eyes widen slightly, looking over at Shoko for confirmation, one she returns with a faint grin. Despite the sunken feeling in your heart, one that you often get whenever you are reminded of the fact that, unfortunately, literally everyone is also in love with Gojo Satoru, you have to control your face not to giggle at the statement.
Gojo makes a noise deep in his throat, the tips of his ears slightly pink from the added attention.
You swallow as you try to grapple with all this information. But, as always, the conversation moves on and you push everything back as you find yourself smiling once again, listening to how Suguru animatedly tells the story of how he bombed one of his essays because he forgot which citation format to use, and you try to not make it obvious how you’d peek over at Shoko now and then and see who it was that she was stalking, probably some girl from her class that she was plotting on.
The music lolls on in the background, the pub getting more packed with students and tired workers, and you find yourself content with listening to your friends tell you about their week, taking small sips from your straw as you grin and laugh as poke Shoko’s thigh whenever a cute guy, devastatingly never as cute as Gojo, walks by the table, and she, gripping your knee whenever a girl her type flashes her a look from over their shoulders.
“I think I’m wanted somewhere else at the moment,” she whispers, leaning closer to your ear as you follow her line of sight to a girl sitting at the bar, her long blonde hair thrown over her shoulder as she steals the occasional glance at your friend, “I’ll be back.”
You giggle, pushing at her to go as she swats your hand away playfully, sending you a wink as you send one back, watching her go as Suguru and Gojo watch silently, sending each other knowing looks before Shoko disappears behind the other booths.
“Well, if she’s going, might as well take this time to piss,” Suguru states, putting his hands on the wood as he hoists himself up, sending a cheeky little smile as he imitates Shoko’s sashay, “Don’t wait up.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to watch him leave as if to draw out the silence that will inevitably follow, seeing that it’s just you and Gojo remaining. Your fingers play with your empty glass as you glance back to him, sending him a small smile as you feel chagrin already seeping into your veins.
He clears his throat, his eyes darting from your face to your arms, his tongue poking his cheek as he swallows. You wonder how much he’s dreading the awkward silence that has the possibility of ensuing.
“Water?”
Your eyes squint at the sudden question, looking down to the long finger he has pointed at your glass, and you look back up at him, wondering if he was stating the obvious or if your feelings for him had made you delirious and unable to compute anything that comes out of his mouth.
“Do you want some more water?” He explains, and you feel your cheeks heat again at your blunder, “I’m going up there to get a refill anyway.”
You nod gratefully, swallowing your feelings down as you glance up at him, handing him your empty glass with ice sloshing around as your smile wobbles.
“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” your voice dips slightly as you grin stupidly the longer you look at his long lashes and his pink lips, somewhat glad that he was getting away so you could less opportunities to screw up, and you watch as his beautifully large hand wraps around the glass like it was nothing, sending you a small nod as he crouches slightly so that the overhanging light wouldn’t hit his head on the way out.
Leaving you alone, you pull out your phone, also thankful to have a little moment to yourself as you quickly try to catch up on the notifications you had gotten in the past couple of hours, as the noise around you mixes, adding a comforting ambience as you lean against the old walls, your head leaning against your fist.
You were so engrossed in your own little bubble that you didn’t notice the figure hovering near the other end of the table, only noticing the man when you looked to the side, thinking that either Suguru or Gojo was back, only for your eyes to widen in shock and surprise to be greeted with an unfamiliar face.
Letting out a small noise, adjacent to an audible gulp, you sit up straighter, looking bashfully at him as you turn your phone off, taking in his slender frame and the rectangular-framed glasses that sit wonkily on his nose as he fidgets nervously with the hem of his lumpy sweater. Ironically, having everything that Gojo has but wearing it so drastically differently that you have to snap yourself out of the comparison.
The boy's hair is slightly parted, light blonde, and his eyes framed with what seemed like brown lashes. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and his smile is lopsided as he scratches the back of his neck.
Cute in a schoolish way, you think.
“H-hi,” his voice is high, squeaking and wobbly as he leans on the booth, not knowing what to do with his arms as he uses the back of his hand to push his glasses upwards, “Hi, I just…”
Your head tilts slightly, curiosity filling your eyes as you give him a gentle smile, waiting patiently for him to find his words.
“I’m Kento,” he stammers after a second, scratching behind his ears as a red flush settles over his high cheeks, “I’m sitting over there,” he points to a table behind him, and your neck cranes to see a group of boys his age all staring at his back, “And I just thought-”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but pauses, his gaze drifting to something, or rather someone, coming his way, and you’re too focused on the way sweat dots at his hairline or the way he fidgets with the hem of his sweater to even notice the full glass of water sliding in front of you from the other side of the booth.
Your back straightens as your head whips to the side, eyes widening when you realize that Satoru had returned, his one drink nestled in his hand as his stare bounces between you and, who you evidently had just discovered, Kento.
Blue eyes flicker over your face, a moment's decision faltering in his mind as he slithers into not his original seat in front of you, but next to you, his large frame taking up half of your side of the both as your brows furrow in confusion, lips pulling into a tote as your eyes squint at the way he hunkers in like it was normal.
Is he okay? You try not to have your heart burst out of your chest and flip flop around on the table like a fish out of water at being in such proximity to Satoru, but you don’t even have time to think about that as the rest of your mind falters, trying to make sense of this behavior.
One of his beefy arms unravels from his side as it stretches above your head, resting atop the cushioned seats as he sighs deeply through his nose, taking a sip of his drink as if he hadn’t interrupted anything, and his chin turns over to the boy, waiting.
Kento stammers, even worse than before, as he pushes back his spiky hair with a hand, looking between you and Satoru as you blink slowly, not really knowing what to do, awkwardly lingering in your seat as you wonder if anybody’s going to talk.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks finally, his voice slightly lower than usual, somewhat taunting but hard to tell, seeing that his face was blank, thick as it almost bounces off Kento’s skull, his cheeks turning into a bright pink as you lets out a small exhale of air, something resembling a shocked laugh at the strange and sudden shift in his behavior.
“I, uh, I,” Kento’s voice wobbles as he seizes up Satoru’s size and his overall presence, a strange look of shock and even awe as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, not fully knowing what was going on as Kento’s head dips in embarrassment, “I’m sorry…I didn’t know, uh, that you, you were…yeah…sorry…”
His arm raises in a small wave, quickly turning on his heels, the back of his neck almost red as you blink rapidly, letting out a small huff of air as your neck almost snaps towards the man next to you, stammering as you try to find your words.
Satoru looks at you, taking another sip.
“What?”
You scoff, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you stumble over a slew of words.
“What? W-what do you mean what?” You let out a bewildered laugh, looking across the pub at the boy and his group of friends that almost seem to be comforting him, their hands on his shoulders as he profusely shakes his head, “What the hell was that for?”
His white brows pinch in the middle, as if he doesn't understand your startlement, as if you were the one being crazy.
But you weren’t being crazy. Not in the slightest.
You brushed it off the first time Satoru scared off a guy who was talking to you. You thought it was strange, sure, how in the middle of your lively conversation of John Milton and Paradise Lost that he wandered from the other side of the room, suddenly attached to your side, his height towering over the other guy as he quieted down and scurried away. You just chalked it up to him being bored, despite how annoyed you were.
The second time, a guy was seconds away from putting his phone in your number when Satoru’s voice rang in your ears, and you watched, horrified, as he peered down at the guy's cracked phone screen, scoffing at the fact that he was listening to some stupid band he disapproved of.
Then there was the time when you were at this same pub, getting some drinks for Shoko, waiting at the counter, flirting with the guy next to you when Satoru found his way back to you, as if pulled by a magnet, and asked the guy if he always chose to talk to girls he didn’t know with a fresh hickey on his neck. (That one you weren’t mad at, more so embarrassed).
But it’s happened countless times. At the pub, at gatherings, at galas he’s invited you to as his plus one because he said nobody else could make it, at the library when he came a little too early and a guy from your class was sitting next to you, at the cafe, and at the small party he threw last year.
And if you weren’t so in love with him, you’d be madder than you were. You knew he was just being a protective and caring friend, not wanting you to get hurt, but you knew you’d have to start moving on from this debilitating crush, and he wasn’t making it any easier.
“I just asked him if everything was alright,” he explained, his tone bordering on bored as he pulls out his phone, checking the time as he angles his body slightly to look at you better, and you're somewhat aware of the fact that his arm is still somewhere above your head, “He’s the one that scurried away.”
Your mouth drops open, your palms jamming into your eye sockets as your head hits the table, banging it a couple times as you try to pull away from him, slightly angered, slightly, and very, ever so slightly, internally flustered at something you definitely should be flustered over.
“You…you scared him away!” Your voice is muffled as you groan, not caring much as you shoot him an angry and bitter look.
Satoru’s lashes flutter slightly, his pink lips pulling into a confused line as you shove his knee with your own, realizing that you were, in fact, not joking and were seriously considering the idea of giving that blubbering mess a chance.
“Are you - are you serious?” His thumb jabs in the general direction of where he had gone, “Him?”
You roll your eyes, chest heaving with a sigh as your forehead continues to rest on the cool tabletop, the tip of your nose rubbing against the varnish as you groan.
Deep down, you know that this crush of yours is fruitless and useless. It’s never going to get anywhere, and the only thing it can offer you is more hurt and rejection. You know that you are so far from his type and out of your league that he’d never see you as more than a friend, if that, but you continued to have it because it lit a fire inside of you that you sadistically enjoyed.
That being said, you would prefer, at some point, to have a romantic moment, even if fleeting, and having the man you’ve been in love with for two years chase away the only guy who’s had the balls to come up to you made you irrationally annoyed for some reason that you didn’t fully understand.
“He…he seemed nice,” you argue, your eyes closing shut as your hand shifts, and you rest your cheek on the back of it, your back bent at an angle as you look up at him from your position on the table, “And he was cute-”
Gojo cuts you off with a startled laugh, a disbelieving one as his eyebrows shoot upwards, showing more than the five emotions you usually see him with as genuine shock laces his features, and it only spurs on that angry fire inside of you as you press.
“What? What? He was cute!” Your head lifts quickly from its spot on the table as your body shifts to look at him even better than before, trying not to notice the cute wrinkle of his nose or the frosty irises of his eyes that are looking so intently at you that it could knock the air out of your lungs if you stare long enough, “And I…I don’t know, I think he wanted to talk to me!”
Gojo snorts, his arm tightening around the cushion behind you, his hand dangling off the end, his fingers dangerously close to the side of your ear as you swallow thickly.
“Well, of course, he wanted to talk to you,” his other hand pushes his glasses upwards, the veins on the back of his hand evident, “ I just can’t believe that he’s someone you’d want to entertain.”
You stutter, hurt flashing across your face as it pulls into sour bewilderment.
You’ve barely talked to Satoru for more than a couple of minutes at a time about classes or projects or annoying classmates, and you can’t believe your luck that the first conversation between the two of you that stemmed outside of those points is about this.
“What, what’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice dips slightly, embarrassed, as his own expression slightly shifts at your tone.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly not expecting this to blow up in his face as it did, and he sighs, retreating to his old, composed self as he explains himself.
“Look, I have him in a couple of my classes,” he starts again, lips pulling into a thin line as he looks over his shoulder to Kento and then glances back to you, “He shows up late and never does his work and always asks to most ridiculous questions,” Satoru adds and you try not to have your lips quirk at the sudden revelation, not wanting to give in and let your foolish feeling stake the wheel and guide you to forgiving him, but it’s not use as he continues, “I just figured that…someone like that isn’t someone good for you. Even if he did just want to talk.”
Your mouth dries up, and you try not to let your head burst and remind yourself that he’s thinking about this from a friend's perspective, something kind and caring and companionly, but not in the way you would want from your crush, but Satoru is still waiting on your response so instead you swallow everything down and your lips tote, avoiding eye contact as you attempt to seem indifferent despite your outburst.
“How ridiculous are his questions?” You finally ask, peeking over at him from where your gaze had been training on the ice in your water, and you swear you see a flicker of surprise take over his gorgeous features, as though you were going crazy with the way his blankness faded momentarily and gave way to a little smile.
He sighs, this time lighter, his hand behind you shifting ever so slightly to push at the back of your head, gingerly but in a teasing way as you try not to smile a giddy smile, one that doesn’t reflect the fact that you couldn’t really care about the guy who had come up to talk to you when Satoru cared enough because he didn’t think he was good enough for you to talk to.
“Even more ridiculous than asking if adding ice to rice would help it steam up more than if you used water,” he says, picking up his drink as he nurses it over his mouth, fighting back a smug grin at the way you sputter, pushing him roughly as your cheeks heat up again for bringing up one of your late-night queries.
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll give you this one!” You rub at your eyes, shoulders hunched, “But you have to stop scaring off every single guy that tries to talk to me! He could be a normal guy who’s going to come up, and you’re going to disapprove of him just because he wears mismatched socks or only writes in pen!”
Satoru snorted indifferently, proving your point that he didn’t seem to care.
“Writing solely in pen is psychotic behavior,” he grumbled to himself, recalling the time one of his classmates had the gall to ask you for your number before he quickly shut it down, inserting himself in the middle of the conversation until the guy gave up and left.
You groan, head dropping back onto the table as you tap it lightly, a quiet thud reverberating in your tiny corner of the room.
“One of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that the reason you shut people down is different from the reasons I shut people down.” You say, moving your arms upward so that you could set your cheek on it, looking at the empty seats in front of you instead of the man you’ve had a crush on, sputters.
“What do you mean?” His voice drops a little bit, and you angle your head to look up at him, brows pinching in the middle as you let out a little laugh, something sardonic as you shake your head to yourself.
“You…” you pause, stopping, sighing to yourself as you try to control your words before you say something you’ll regret, “You have like…perfect people coming up to you. And if you choose to reject them, that’s up to you, I get it. But last week you turned a girl down because she said that Star Wars was a waste of money,” the two of you share small laugh because you can recall just how red he got, embarrassed but peeved when somebody just offended his entire lifeline, but you continue, “It…it’s just,” you press your lips together as something in your chest clenched, “I don’t really have that luxury. I don’t have perfect guys coming up to me with little quirks, you know? There’s always something wrong with them, even if I don’t see it then. Like they don’t show up to dates or they make fun of my major, or just…only want to sleep with me, and then when they find out I don’t want that, they leave. And any of the sane ones that have small issues, you’re always there to shoot them down!”
You stop, taking in a deep breath as you try to regulate your emotions, refusing to look at him right now as you let some pent-up feelings loose, just grateful that he hasn’t left and decided to let you figure this out on your own.
“Look,” you glance at him, giving him a small smile, “I’m thankful that you care. Really, I am. But…but I just want to experience something…with someone, y’know? At least once when I’m still in university. I’m almost twenty-one, and I haven’t even had my first kiss!” Despite how embarrassing it is, it slips out, and your chees heat up as you hurry on with your ramble, “And if it has to be with something who asks stupid questions or says my name wrong on the first attempt or doesn’t know what my favorite color is, I guess I’m just gonna have to bite the bullet and take that risk. I,” you look away, back to focusing on the leather cushions in front of you as you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t really have any other option.”
Giving it a moment, you let your shoulders sink, going back to playing with the straw wrapper in front of you as you debate whether it would be better to just throw yourself out the window or risk saying something else that you’d stay awake the next couple of nights pinching yourself over.
You heard him inhale exaggeratingly, the arm behind you moving a little downwards in order to hook one of his fingers around the collar of your sweater, trying to grab your attention. You tilt your chin sideways, lips pursed, and attempt not to let his overwhelming presences budge how bitter you were feeling for some reason.
“I think,” he sighed again, gnawing on his bottom lip as he tried to formulate his thoughts, the overhead lamp casting a soft orange light over his face and it made your pitiful stomach churn with desperate want, “I think that if you’re too pessimistic.”
That get’s a dry laugh from you, and you roll your eyes at his statement. Before he’s able to say anything, he gets interrupted by Suguru rounding the corner, sliding into his seat with a wide grin, one that falls when he sees his friend has changed the seating arrangement.
“Why’d you move?”
Satoru paused, tearing his eyes away from the side of your face as he glanced at his friend, his fingers moving upwards as you tried not to look at him and make anything obvious. You hope he doesn’t bring up Kento and your little meltdown, but he seems to read your mind.
“You were bothering me too much,” he mutters, and Suguru lets out a startled scoff, throwing the hair tie around his wrist at him as Sator just flings it to the side. Suguru doesn’t push, though, and starts telling the two of you that he was held up at the bathroom entrances because a couple was having a ‘lover's spat’, his words not yours, and he just had to hear it before he left.
The rest of the night continued as it usually does.
If you could consider the uneven rhythm of your heart as normal.
—
Another week had passed, another seven days of agonizingly slow school work and duties.
It seemed like the days would flicker away at a snail-like pace until it got you to the one day of the week that you actually wished wouldn’t arrive, and would force you to stalk around the limited space of your dorm room as you think about what to wear to the theatre production that’s taking place in thirty minutes.
Your hand was on your hip, feet tapping against the floor as you looked at the two outfits you had hung on your dresser, lips pursed as your eyes moved back and forth between the one that would go better with those pair of kitten heels you thrifted with Shoko, or the dres that you rarely get to wear.
It took a couple more seconds of deciding, but you ultimately picked the more comfortable option, knowing that the university theater was always freezing, especially in October, and that a cute sweater was probably the better choice.
Thankfully, this gave you some more time to fix your hair and touch up your makeup, humming along to the music as your eye kept wandering down to your phone and then to your door, squinting as you turned it over, confused as to what was taking Shoko so long.
Instantly, your eyes widen at the plethora of messages you have from Shoko, a telltale sign that something was seriously wrong, given the fact that she never sent more than two messages at once.
shoko: pick up
shoko: girl ur literally always on ur phone wya
shoko: pls pls pls pick up
shoko: ur making me beg rn pls can u call me back
shoko: pls
You don’t have time to send her one of your stupid stickers, your fingers fumbling around as you look at the five missed calls you have from her, shaking your head in dismay at how it was possible to leave your phone alone for twenty minutes and come back to this.
It doesn’t take more than a ring before she answers on the other line.
“Are you okay?” Your voice cuts through immediately, rushed and worried, your legs bouncing as you hear some people talking in the background, and you can hear the way Shoko snaps at them to hush so that she can hear you better.
“Hi, yeah, no, no I’m fine - hey can you guys just,” she calls out again, hey annoyance dripping form her tone, some shuffling happening over the line as she moves somewhere where the noise is less, “Hey, hi, sorry for the noise,” she starts again and you just hum, eyebrows still pinches together in worry as you wait for her to continue, “I’m really sorry for spamming you, but I have some news.”
The worry on your face melts as you lean back in your seat.
“Yeah…?” you ask, but already predicting what it was that she was stressing out over telling you, but she lets out another exhale, and you could imagine her nodding wherever it was that she was at.
“I’m so sorry but I’m at work right now and,” some clattering happens in the background, the kitchen in great hustle for the Saturday evening rush it usually has at the restaurant she waitresses for, “God, Tommy just screwed everything up with our shifts and I thought he had written me as off for tonight but he wrote me as off for next Saturday and I wasn’t able to fine somebody to-”
You laugh softly, cutting off her rambling.
“‘Ko, babe, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you stress, leaning in slightly as you hear some silverware being unloaded, “It’s so okay, your job is so much more important than-”
“No, you’re more important than this - believe me,” she cuts you off this time, and you can see her standing hunched in the corner, gnawing on her fingernails in stress, “And I promised you I’d come with you and I can’t, and now I…I feel horrible.”
A smile creeps onto your lips, and you shake your head.
“It’s fine,” you stress, chuckling at her incoherent rambles, “I promise. The play’s going to be lengthy anyway, might as well take the time to make some money while you’re at it.”
You hear nothing except the kitchen roaring in the background for a few seconds before she sighs, clicking her tongue as she hums softly.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you tell her, hearing her chuckle softly over the phone, the disappointment evident in her voice, and you didn’t want to push her over the edge despite the small flicker of disappointment of having to go alone, “I promise you’re not gonna be missing anything.”
“Look, I know it’s not the same, but I was with Suguru when I found out, and he’s said that he could-”
This time, she’s cut off, but not by you.
A knock sounds over your door.
You sigh, smiling at your friend as you slowly rise, “You guys are so sweet, but you should’ve told him I’d be fine. Really, I usually do these things by myself anyway.”
She groans at your antics, somebody calling her name from the back as she tells them that she’s almost done.
“Shit, I have to go, but promise me you’ll tell me about how tonight goes, yeah?” She sounds hurried, and you make a few steps towards your door as you snort, rolling your eyes as you unlock the brass knob, shaking your head at the thought.
“Tell you about what? Oh, like how Suguru has a horrific attention span and can’t…” You swing the door wide open, but you trail off as your mouth hangs slightly, not greeted by your black-haired and eyebrow-pierced friend,
But Satoru.
Shoko seems to have picked up on your silence as meaning that you finally understood what she was talking about, and you can barely register her sing-songy bye as she leaves, the phone in your hand lying limp as Satoru’s brow raises skeptically at your dumbfounded expression.
Damn you, Shoko Ieiri.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, almost stupidly, as your hand falls from behind the door to your side, tilting your head a bit as Satoru just stares, hands in his pockets, and you shake back to reality, laughing apologetically as your neck prickles, “Sorry, I…I was just expecting someone else.”
His brow arches even more, and you huff out a laugh.
“Shoko just said that Suguru was coming,” you explain, stepping back from the entranceway as his mouth parts slightly.
“Right,” he nods, his hair falling gracefully in his face as you churn in your spit at the magnificent sight of him in his denim jeans and the navy sweater he was in, “I hope it’s okay that I came. Suguru couldn’t make it.”
You blink, wanting to say that you were so okay with him, but you swallow that done as you shake your head, waving his statement away.
“This is…this is fine,” You stammer to say, your smile wobbly. You hope that he can’t pick up on the way that your eyes are roaming over the way his button-up sits comfortably on his broad chest, or the way his glasses look on the bridge of his nose, “I, uh, I just have to do my mascara, so give me like,” you look at the clock behind you. Your eyes bulge at the fact that you have only five minutes left, “Two seconds and I’ll be done.”
He nods, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looks at your face and his eyes travel down your outfit. His hand raises, a finger pointed at your sweater.
“Nice sweater,” he says, something teetering on teasing, and you look down, suddenly realizing that it’s the sweater he had given you last year for your birthday, the one that you had seen months prior after walking past a vintage store and exclaimed how much you liked it, only to be stumped by the price.
Your confusion melts into a wide smile, your head still poking out from outside your door as you survey the material, not noticing the way his eyes soften just a smidge at your flighty reaction.
“Oh - right, thank you again for getting it!” You say cheerfully, an entire evening or perfection and romance already forming in your head as you try not to appear too excited, pointing back to your room as you duck away, “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back, then!”
Satoru nods, giving you a small smile as you shut the door behind you, your back hitting it as you give yourself a moment to reciprocate, curse Shoko and her blasted antics, and calm your heartbeat down long enough.
This was so fine, you tried to tell yourself,
Everything was going to be fine.
—-
The lobby of the Oxford theater was unusually packed, and you even voiced your surprise when Satoru led you in, your eyes wide as you took in all the students, some looking at the programs, others waiting in line for the bathroom.
“Damn,” you mutter, squeezing past someone as Satoru follows behind you, “I didn’t think it was going to be this busy.”
The walk here had been…fine. You had talked for most of it, which you had predicted, and with the few times Satoru would interject and give some comments on the stories you told him about your week, you feel like you told five times that amount of embarrassing and lame jokes, shutting yourself up once after wincing at how terrible it was. Satoru cracked a small smile, though, a pitiful one, most likely to keep you from shutting up the entire night.
It’s strange, just how different you act around him. In attempts to make yourself seem cooler and interesting, you wind up embarrassing yourself even more. You could have sworn that you never acted like this with Shoko or Suguru, or literally anybody else, even your old crushes, but when it came to Satoru, you seemed to lose the sense of normalcy you had come to know.
But you don’t have time to worry about that, now trying to put your attention on wondering how many of the students here are from that stupid class you’re taking right now, and even looking in the sea of bodies confirms that answer when you see some familiar faces. The concession stand in the corner, the one run by the theater department to raise some extra funds, seems to be swarmed, and your stomach grumbles instantly at the smell of buttered popcorn that wafts through the air.
“Where’re our seats?” He’s standing by you now, and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him. You sift through your tote, pulling out your wallet and opening it to reveal the tickets tucked inside, and hand one to him while keeping the other for yourself.
“Row H,” you read out loud, “You’re seat 18, and I’m 19.”
He nods, pocketing it before he looks back out into the lobby, his eyes focusing on the wide double doors that led you into the theater, watching the ticket taker check the people’s tickets before looking back at the concessions, remembering how much you were raving on your walk here about how good the snacks were.
“Do you still want some…?” He juts his chin towards the hand-made sign that reads Beggars Snacks!
“Hm?” You look back at the table, and you let out a small laugh, “Oh, yeah, right,” you look through your wallet again, putting your ticket there for safekeeping as you glance back up at his gorgeous face, “Yeah, I’ll be back. You can go find your seat, if you want.”
Satoru opens his mouth and then shuts it, glancing at you and then the doors, and his shoulder straightens slightly.
“Right, well….right,” he murmurs, looking a little torn, his voice drowning out by the roar of sound around you two, but you’re able to make out the low grumble of his after being near him for so long, “I’ll…I’ll see you in a few.”
You smile again, giving him two thumbs up as you turn on your heel, your hands clenching in frustration at how utterly inhuman you seem to act around him, somehow making it seem like it was your first day on this planet.
Peeking over your shoulder, you watch as he leaves towards the entrance of the theater, and you duck your head down as you find your way to the large line leading up to the snacks. Coming here for the past four years has taught you to go for the popcorn, pass on the homemade cookies, and snatch up the little boxes of candy if they have them.
Checking your phone as you wait idly, you text Shoko a slew of messages cursing her and her entire bloodline for blindsiding you like this, hoping she sees them after her grueling shift and only feels worse about leaving you like this.
Keep a tab of the line as it slowly moves, you eye the clock, knowing that the show was going to start soon. It seems to dwindle a bit, as some people in front of you and behind you give and leave, deciding it wasn’t worth it, and after scrolling through your feed a little bit more, you find yourself next in line.
Glancing through the snacks, your stomach protests louder, ravenous after a day fueled on granola bars, a pathetic excuse of a yogurt bowl, and some crisps you had lying around, until you feel your hopes and dreams plummet when you see a small sign at the edge of the table that says only cash.
Fucking bullshit, you think angrily, whipping your wallet out again as you rifle through the confines, who still uses only cash? What medieval system was this? They accepted cards last time, this is entirely-
And you could complain petulantly in your head as much as you want, but your face falls as you search through for the third time, coming to the consensus that you didn’t have a lick of cash on you. The person in front of you is almost done, but your shoulders sag as you begrudgingly step away, shaking your head in dismay as you make your way to the theater entrance, flashing your ticket to the ticket taker as he lets you in with a wide smile.
The ushers point you towards aisle H, and you patiently dispute the hate still inside of you, burning. Waiting as those in front of you find their seats, and it doesn’t take long before you’re able to see a pop of hair standing high amongst the rest of the people in the audience.
You move past a couple of people talking as you move closer, almost skidding when you stop instantly, realizing that Satoru was, in fact, not alone.
From this angle, you could see the girl standing in front of him, a wide grin on her face as she laughs at something he says. Your eyes go to his face, your posture falling even more when you see the little quirk of his lips, a sign that he wasn’t necessarily hating the conversation, and the loss of the popcorn feels pointless now as your stomach churns for another reason.
It was selfish to think that you were the only person who liked Satoru, but it didn’t hurt any less when you were confronted with this fact at least once a week. You knew you couldn’t expect anything from this stupid crush, a theorem forming inside your head that you continued to fall for Gojo Satoru just because you liked the sting of knowing you had no shot with him, and seeing other girls and their gleeful smiles at the fact that you probably had a chance is what maybe hurt the most.
You weren’t ever angry at these girls, understanding them completely, even admiring the way they could flirt so effortlessly, and treated you kindly whenever you were near, but it singed a part inside of you that liked to act that you were in this small fictional bubble that you dreamt of whenever he looked your way.
Like he was right now.
Standing awkwardly to the side, at the end of the row, you sway idly in your spot, looking at the two of them and then around, wondering when the lights were going to start dimming and notify you of when the show was about to start.
You hear your name being called, a familiar cluster of syllables from his throat, and you look away from the painting on the wall to the side as you see Satoru throwing up a hand, trying to grab your attention.
When he sees you finally looking his way, he turns back to the girl, saying a few more words as she nods, her smile still soft as she glances at you, a strange look on her face as she sends you another smile, and you can’t help but return it despite the sinking feeling in your gut.
She leaves through the other end, and you mutter a few apologies as you finally make your way down to where he was standing, ducking your head down sheepishly as you fidget with the strap of your tote.
“Hey,” you say meekly, your cheeks heating as you finally get to him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
One of his hands waved, shaking his head as he looked back to where the girl had retreated with her friends.
“You weren’t interrupting,” he tells you, and your brows furrow slightly because that was a white lie if you’ve ver heard one, “I knew her from my lab,” he he says, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes trace of your face, falling to your empty arms as they squint, the conversation with the girl suddenly feeling his head as he points, “Where’s your popcorn?”
The past couple of moments seem to flee too as you wring your hands awkwardly together, shooting him a tight smile as you try to appear indifferent.
“Oh, they didn’t take card,” you mumble bitterly, “And I forgot my wads of cash back in my dorm, so,” you shrug, laughing it off as you point to the seats, “But it’s fine, I…erm, wasn’t really feeling it anyway,” a lie, since that was all you could talk about, but you push past him as you sit down, setting your tote on your lap as you look at him, waiting for him to do the same.
Satoru peeks at you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he swallows, not doing anything to sit down as one of your brows moves upwards, confused about the mental turmoil that he was going through, which made him reluctant to sit.
“Everything okay?” You ask slowly, shifting your legs, wondering if he was tight for room, but he just nods, tongue poking through his rosy lips as he glances back towards the double doors as he briefly nods.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he mutters, and you nod, lips pursing in understanding as you look over your shoulders, watching as more people start taking their seats.
“Okay,” you sit back a little bit, your finger pointing behind you to where the bathrooms were, “Well, you, you should probably go, like, now. I think the shows going to start,” you say with a light chuckle and check your phone, realizing that there were only five minutes left till the lights turned off, “In a little bit.”
Satoru just nods again, saying spoke few words before he turns to leave, murmuring apologies to the people sitting down as his long legs knock their knees, and you watch him leave the aisle and go before you turn your attention back to the stage, taking the time to admire the props and the set design, trying to think back to the original story and see if it lines up with how you remembering it starting.
When the overhead lights start flickering, and Satoru isn’t back yet, you churn in your seat, looking over your shoulder every couple of seconds, hoping that he doesn’t have to navigate back in the dark.
You send him a small text saying that it was almost going to be lights out when you see his figure in the corner of your eye, watch as he nears your row with his arms full, and you squint, trying to see through the dimness to see what it was that he was holding.
The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see, and it’s only until he’s lowering himself to sit down that you make out the popcorn bag in one hand, and some boxes of sweets in the other.
He says nothing as he shoves the popcorn into your hand, settling in as he looks around the seat, trying to move the armrests up only to see that they’re stuck in place, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare as he lets out a big sigh, resting back as his legs spread out a little bit. He opens a box of Maltesers, adjusting his glasses as he looks at the stage.
“Want some?” He finally says, his voice low as he pushes the red box towards you, and your cheeks are almost on fire as you glance at the paper bag of popcorn in his outstretched hand.
“I…” you blink, holding onto the popcorn so that it doesn’t spill, “Here.” You dumbly give him the bag back, assuming that he had only given it to you so that he could sit down more comfortably.
Only now does he tear his eyes away from the stage, tuning out the voice over the announcements, the regular message of turning off your phones and staying quiet, as his elbow pushes your arm back to your seat.
“Can’t have corn,” he says bluntly, looking over at your startled expression, “It’s yours.”
It’s yours.
Here’s another moment you're going to mull over before another minuscule thing he does happens again, and you spend the next months thinking about that.
“Are you sure?” You whisper, already pulling your phone out to Venmo him for it, but Satoru can already tell what you're about to do as he flicks it away, as if it was repulsive to him, and you don’t have any time to argue because the curtains pull outwards and reveal the actors.
You drag a hand over your face, trying not to look over at him anymore as you begrudgingly accept the kind token, trying to relax in your seat as the show begins, a tentative finger plucking out a popcorn as you bring it to your mouth, hoping that the only person who can what the blood roaring in your ears is you.
—
Nearly a quarter in, and you start to realize just how bad an idea this was.
The play itself was great. The actors were delivering their performance in a manner that felt reminiscent ot the campy nature of the original text, and some people in the audience were keeling over with laughter in certain parts.
You found yourself with a wide smile throughout most of it, recalling some of the bits and others jogging your memory, but you were thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. The issue was, the person next to you seemed to be despising it.
The rare couple of times you peeked over to see his reaction to a couple of things, you noticed his jaw clenched, sitting straight and uptight as his eyes never left the stage. He barely mustered up a smile during the funny portions, looking utterly depleted during the serious bits, and his hands were clasped together, fingers interwoven as he sighed, unamused.
Every time somebody would do something weird, you’d glance his way and would still see the same stone-cold expression on his face. You were aware that the play itself was over exaggerated and strange at times, but that was the whole appeal of it in the first place. But at times, you tried to view it through the lens of someone who didn’t go in-depth into literature and read the nuances of somebody like Satoru, who would rather spend their free time studying and working on their mountain of assignments, not something like this, and you felt your chest getting heavier and heavier with each second.
When it neared intermission, you could’ve sworn you had nearly melted in your seat, your popcorn done as you glanced over at Satoru when the lights finally turned back on, people around you standing up to leave or stretch.
A beat of silence passes before you clear your throat, mustering up a wobbly grin as you jab a thumb to the curtains.
“Funny, huh?”
Satoru blinks, as if coming back to, and you debate if he had been half asleep. The thought makes you sink even deeper in embarrassment.
“It’s, uh,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he swallowed thickly, “It’s…interesting. I haven’t really seen anything like it before.”
You pause, chew on the side of your lip, rubbing at your eyes as you try to think of anything else to say. You’ve spent time with him alone, sure, but never in a situation where it felt like you had to defend yourself, your background, the whole reason why you were here in the first place, like you are now.
People bustle around the two of you, and he sits up a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back as his neck cracks a bit.
“It’s raunchy and… theatrical,” you try to explain, attempting to seem unconcerned as you fold the paper bag up and set it neatly on the ground, making a mental note to pick it up before you leave. “But I think it’s really interesting given the period it was written and how vulgar, everything is, and the characters are all super unlikable, which you don’t really see in these kinds of productions, and, well, it’s supposed to be funny and…fun, I guess,” your voice dies down, your lips almost chewed raw as you wait for a reaction, a facade of interest, a pitiful acknowledgement to what felt like your livelihood, but he just nods.
You suck in a deep breath, gaze darting around the theater as you try to look at anything else.
Noticing your sudden silence, his eyes leave the stage for a moment as they rake over your expression, see the way your lips pull into a small, worried line, the crease between your brows, something that appeared whenever you were stressed or confused. His face seemed to melt to mirror yours.
“Is there a reason why they keep calling the daughter a slut?” He finally asks, and your eyes dart back to him, and your cheeks puff, blinking slowly as you nod, embarrassed for some reason as you stammer to find words.
“It’s, erm, well, it’s in the original material, but,” your words mesh together as you try to call back on the research paper you did for this piece, your mind blanking as your cheeks heat, “But I think they keep it in because it’s supposed to be a demonstration of the degradation of women and the differentiation between men who also exhibit premarital interest in the sex…and it’s not supposed to be funny but they repeat it a lot, so you kind of become numb to the meaning of the word...” Your rambling quiets near the end as you shoot him another tense smile, wringing your hands together as your lips tremble, looking away as a last resort to save your dignity.
After spending two years with him, you’ve become familiar with his routine and what he expects from his day-to-day life. What some describe as the prodigal son, Gojo Satoru, if not with friends, is usually found in the back of the library, in his dorm, or somewhere quiet with papers strewn in front of him, with his laptop out, typing away. He sometimes goes to benefits and galas, some to attend because of his parents, others because of his biochemistry path, but his time isn’t usually spent at the theater watching vulgar plays.
That’s what you did.
And of course, you didn’t come here weekly. You had to be here for that godforsaken Literature in English class. But this was a part of you, this play, this environment, these exaggerated dialogues are what you spent your time obsessing over. The history and the meaning, and the importance of English literature and writings are your life, and having someone next to you, watching a personification of it live, felt like inviting them into a piece of your mind, even if they wouldn’t view it as such.
But to you, you who liked to overcomplicate and read into things, saw it as such, and your heart was thumping erratically when you realized that Satoru probably saw this, you, as equally insane for enjoying something like this.
And you hated how much the thought made you spiral, made you think of yourself less than when there was a possibility that this wasn’t what Satoru was thinking at all, but the slight chance, the small probability, is what stirred the trepidation in you.
“Are you enjoying it?”
His question brings you out of your mental fever, and you bite your cheek, wondering what the right answer would be. He’s watching you, waiting, and you exhale shakily, smiling poorly as you swallow back some bile.
“I, I am,” you say finally, “It’s just…I did this huge essay on this last year, and I’ve been looking for a rendition of it, but there’s only this old movie that’s so far been made, so…seeing this live is pretty cool.”
He nods, looking at your stalled expression as you keep your eyes trained on the curtains, not wanting to show your internal thoughts on your ever-so expressive face, and he tries to keep his slight confusion at bay for your suddenly reserved self.
As you try to feign indifference by going on your phone, you can watch him from the corner of your eyes, look around, and uncharacteristically fidget in his seat as he debates doing the same as you or talking some more, which, at the moment, you don’t appear content to do. But the more you try to ignore him, the more it seems like your body has a physical reaction to it, protesting your desire to keep to yourself.
“Did you do anything fun today?” You ask, putting your phone down as you scratch at the inside of your wrist. He blinks, looking a little quizzically at you before he clears his throat.
“Well, Suguru had set me up for a double date,” he explains, and you feel your chest tighten a little bit, “But…eh,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t really feeling it,” he drags a hand over his face, “If only he knew where I’d end up instead, huh?” He nudges your elbow with his, a teasing grin on his face, but blood roars in your ears upon hearing his words.
Gods, the man who despised dates and unaccounted occasions and strange meetings would rather take that over this.
You let out a little puff of air, trying to give him a smile as you feel sweat dot on the back of your neck, your palms clammy as you wring your hands together, looking down at your shoes as you try to bite back the lump in your throat.
He’d rather be anywhere else than here, your mind blares, the unspoken words ringing in the small expanse of your heart.
There’s a strange gurgle in your stomach, one that shifts sharply, and you wince. This is definitely not a part of your internal trade, and you hope that when you shift to place a hand on it to try and calm it down. You turn your phone off, pocketing it in your tote, and the sudden movement makes you jerk in pain. You sit back up, hoping that he won't notice.
But, of course, he does.
He angles his body towards you, brows cinched as your eyes twitch barely.
“Are you okay?” His voice his deep, tinged with worry, his head leaning towards you just a bit so that you can feel his minty breath fan across your warm cheek.
You wave him off, shooting him a horrifically terrible smile as you shift, your head tilting to the side as your stomach makes another alien noise.
“Yeah,” you mutter, almost like a question because even you don’t know if you’re alright, “Yeah, I just think it’s the popcorn on an empty stomach.” But even that explanation made no sense. It seems like your stomach is churning even more with each passing second, and you really wish that he couldn’t tell that every moment is a testament to your battle for control of your own body.
“Do you want some water?” He asks, looking over his shoulder to the doors, remembering that the concession stand was also selling bottled drinks, “I’ll get some-”
But your hand shoots out, gripping the fabric of his sleeve as you tug on it, shaking your head as you attempt to situate yourself back in your seat, your act going well besides the slight crack in your face at a particularly painful jab.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” the lights flicker again above you, and you’re somewhat grateful for them, grateful hat you can’t see the obvious fear on his face at the prospect of you being sick near his very hygienic self, “The shows starting, anyway, so just,” your voice dips a little as you try to contain a groan, “Just stay.”
He goes to protest, but your hold on him is strangely tight for someone so riddled with pain, and his mouth parts to say something, but the glare you shoot him nearly shuts him up.
“Please,” you mutter, the embarrassment from several things thick in your voice as you wince, your eyes melting into something pleading as the applause begins, and his face falls for a second, but you look away, weakly clapping along with everybody else.
You feel tears prickly in your eyes.
And you hope he can’t see the shining gloss when you try to blink them back.
—
When the show ends, you’re nearly debilitated with the pain in your abdomen, and the mortification from having watched Macheath’s other wife battle it out with Polly alongside Satoru. They mix into a terrible combination, one that forces you to come back into consciousness in the middle of the theater, the bright overhead lights nearly sending you into a psychosis.
There must have been something horrifically wrong with either the popcorn or the butter they put on it, because, despite your blurry view, you can see a few people in the audience huddled up in their seats the same way as you, despite the play ending.
Satoru cleans up next to you, taking his boxes of candy and your strewn popcorn bag, and sits back up to look at you nervously.
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?” His gentle tone is one that you barely register as your hands grip onto the armrest. You can barely even muster up a hum, giving him a shaky thumbs up as your stomach gurgles again, this time, audibly.
You try to stand, but your knees wobble, and you grip onto the back of the seat as your head sways. You can feel his grip on your elbow, nearly knocking over some people's bottles beside him from how fast he stands up, and your clammy face looks upward at him, swearing that he looks like an angel with the light framing his hair.
“I,” you clamp your mouth shut, swallowing thickly as you wince, taking a few seconds before you start again, “I have to use the loo.” The declaration comes out as a whisper, an ashamed one, and you can’t look him in the face, even if his nods insistently, an arm of his wrapping around the expanse of your back as he tries to steady you
“There’s one near the concessions,” he tells you, his voice strangely considerate and temperate, head leaning down to get closer to your ear so that you could hear him better, “Do you think you can make it?”
You feel like a child, but you only nod, neck and face flaring up in embarrassment as you allow him to guide you through the aisle of people, not looking anybody in the eyes as you make it out, your legs shaking slightly. If it weren’t for him, you’re sure you would’ve toppled down in pain by now.
The walk out of the theater becomes a blur, letting him guide you towards the bathrooms with one of your hands wrapped tightly around your stomach, as if it would ease the pain, and you feel the two of you come to a stop as you stand next to the ladies' door.
His arm around you falls, and you miss its warmth. He looks crossed with different emotions as you use the wall to hold yourself up, wobbling towards the bathroom as you shoot a look over your shoulder.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your eyes widening and then shutting instantly at how much it hurts your head, “I’ll…I’ll be back.” The words slur in your mouth, and you don’t give him any time to react before you leave through the wooden door and book it to a stall.
The moments that follow afterwards are what you’d expect from a case of bad butter.
You kneel on the floor, heaving everything up, trying to be as quiet as possible so the girls in the stalls around you can’t hear, but it’s not a process that you’re particularly fond of and can feel your will to continue weakening as you leave back on the wall, your head in yours hands as you hear the toilet automatically flush.
At least getting it out of your system seems to have made the painful throbs dull down to an annoying little jab, but you feel like the bulk of the damage has already been done. Satoru was sweet enough that he’d try to never bring this up again, but you knew you’d have to live with the humiliation of this evening for a couple of months before you did something else that would top it.
You let your head tilt back and heave a gulp of air, palms jamming into your eyes as you attempt to swallow, your mouth too dry to produce any saliva. If Shoko were here, she’d at least try to make you laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. But it’s just you and Satoru, and you don’t know if you can even look at him for the next week after tonight.
Giving yourself a little more time to calm down, you heave yourself up from your position on the floor, careful not to touch the ground, and pluck your bag off the hook, miraculously throwing it on before you hunched, so as it wouldn’t touch anything too icky.
You wash and scrub your hands, feeling dirty and still a little sick as you splash some water on your face, hoping the cool water will help snap you back. The girls around you talk, some drying their hands, others touching up their makeup in the mirror. One of the girls next to you watches you through your reflection, her face pale and strands of hair wet as she splashes some water onto her face.
“Popcorn?” She asks, and your eyes find hers through the mirror, blinking slowly as your hands grip the counter.
“Yeah,” you take a deep inhale of air, sharing a small smile with her as you turn off the faucet, “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” You offer, going to reach into your tote, but she waves it off, giving you a kind smile as she continues to wash her hands, probably feeling just as bad as you were.
Giving her a small nod as you go to the paper towel dispenser, you reach around for your phone, opening it up as you quickly send a text to Shoko to update her on where you were, nothing too long, just to be safe, and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground, debating what to do next.
You could go see Satoru, probably waiting outside, and awkwardly explain that you should probably walk back, seeing how his germaphobic personality might not mesh with the fact that you had basically deposited your entire day in the theater washroom. You could also try to sneak away and hope that he was standing somewhere that granted you the option of stealth, but you quickly shook that off, quickly understanding how pathetic and childish it was.
After another moment of thought, you ball up the towel and throw it away, pushing the door open with your shoulder as you enter back into the lobby, the business having died down just a bit, and look around bravely for the man.
Spotting the pop of white near the end of the room, you take a few steps forward before you halt, stopping near a wall that offered you a little bit of insight as to what he was doing as you peeked around the corner.
2 - 0, you think sunkenly, watching the way Satoru talks to another girl, his broad shoulders shielding her from where you originally were, and that familiar ache enters your chest as you play with the hem of your sweater.
You could be sadistic when it came to your unrequited feelings; that much you had made peace with. But the universe was horrifically masochistic for the situations it thrust you into.
His face is a little more stiff than before, but still polite and kind as he cranes his neck to look at the girl. Her hair is pulled into a sleek bun, one that you always envied with how clean and precise some girls were able to make theirs, and watched how her hand lingered on his arm, something you could never get away with without his face falling into contained disgust.
It’s unfair to think this way of this stranger, you remind yourself, after all, if you had the guts, you’d try to make a move on him too.
So, in another moment of decision-making, you get your phone out again, trying to contain the little tremble in your lips as you start drafting a message to him. It’s for the best, you try to reason, telling him that you were too sick and didn’t want to give him what you had. You send another message, saying that you were going to make your way back to your dorm and that you hope he had fun, thanking him as much as you could without sounding pathetic for how much he did this evening and for coming.
You also sent him the venmo transfer for the popcorn you were going to make earlier for good measure.
Where you were presented you an easy way to slip out of the building, one of the exits a little bit behind you, as you rubbed at your tired eyes, wrapping your arms around your torso as you prepared for the cold gusts of wind that were going to hit you the moment you stepped out.
People around you were talking in muted voices, laughter ringing around your ears as you ducked your head down, hoping that this time by yourself could give you some moments of peace, even though you knew that being alone with your onslaught of thoughts was going to do the exact opposite.
This campus was always bustling on a Saturday night, so you never felt too alone as you made your way away from the theater, pulling out your headphones as you geared up your phone to listen to some music before you heard a muffled shout from behind you.
Brows furrowing and your eyes slightly shifted in confusion, you, along with some other students around you, looked to see what the sound was.
To your utter horror and stupefaction, you watch as Satoru whips his head around, as if he were looking for something, or rather someone.
You stand like a deer in headlights, hands raised mid-way to your ears to put your headphones in them as you see him check his phone and then look up again, not caring that other people were looking at him strangely as he runs a worried hand down his face, typing something furiously fast as he looks around again.
Finally, it seems like he found what he was looking for when your eyes lock, and he sends you an ice-cold, deathly glare, one that made you glance around as if it were someone behind you more deserving of such a look, but before you can do anything, he’s jogging over to where you were frozen in place.
The closer he gets, the more you can see the agitation and vexation in his microexpressions, things you’ve taken pride in before in reading, now not so much because you were on the receiving end of them.
When he comes to a halt, phone still in hand, his chest rises and falls a little fast, as if he were out of breath, and he runs another frustrated hand through his white locks as he pushes them back.
Your mouth gapes, and you suddenly remember that you were supposed to be “deathly ill” according to the text you had sent him, and try to make your breathing seem more labored, your posture more haggard, but that doesn't work as he eyes you like he knows.
“Where the hell are you going?” He snaps, and you wince slightly at his tone, and he reels, shooting you an apologetic look despite the fire burning inside of him from the way you’ve been acting this night.
“Back…back to my place,” you whisper, voice hoarse, and he hears it instantly, expression melting as he takes the time to really dissect the way your eyes are slightly bloodshot, your lips chapped, your lashes clumped with tears, and he takes a small step back, taking in a deep breath.
“No, I, shit,” he stammers, restarting, “Are you…” His voice comes out as thick and low, and you almost feel it in your bones as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his nerves as he gives you a tilted look, “Are you okay?”
This time, he’s not asking because you were exhibiting signs of ailment, but because you had been acting like you were strangers since the moment you saw him tonight. Because your behavior was so off and unlike you, he was struggling to understand if there was something beneath the surface, something that had happened that he wasn’t aware of, that was fueling this shift.
Your eyes seem to waver as you try not to look at him, attempting a nonchalant shrug that is anything but, as you think of how to lower your voice to a deeper register to appear more sick than you really are.
“I feel sick,” you mutter, coughing feigningly as you pull on the straps of your tote upwards, as you clear your throat, trying not to feel the weight of the looks other people were giving the two of you.
A single brow of his raises, one that you know is detecting bullshit as you rub at your nose.
“I’m sure,” he finally murmurs, rolling his eyes at the obvious statement, “I think the entire lobby heard you throwing up your small intestine.” That statement alone almost makes you keel over in shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and disgrace, but he continues, “But…are you…okay? You’ve been…off…the entire night.”
And you know you can’t sidestep this landmine because you know how weird you’ve been acting this evening, knowing that your attempts to make things better have only backfired, and the past couple of hours come screaming back at you, and for some stupid, depressing reason, cause a sting of tears to prick behind your eyes.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your head falls slightly, your stomach still aching, your pride and confidence bruised, and you can still smell the lingering perfume of the girl he had been talking to, another reminder that you probably didn’t smell like that perfume you had spritzed on so long ago.
“I’m okay,” you murmur, looking at the cracks on the ground, your voice shaking and wobbling and so clearly not true that you tilt your head back up to see his reaction, your face crumpling into a little wet laugh when he seems completely unmoved. Upon hearing your little giggle, his anger fades a bit, but is quickly replaced with another emotion when he hears you sniffle.
“Look, you-” he looks down at his phone to reread the text you had sent him, and his confusion seems to grow even more when he reads another notification, “Did you Venmo me?”
You nod again, weakly, and when you look up at him, you see him fighting back a startled laugh, the quiver on his face making your lips pull up into a wobbly smile, your own emotions turning into something strange as you watch him shake his head in dismay, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“Did something happen today?” He asks, not taunting, never taunting, but something you can’t place as you weakly not, a sheen over your eyes as you tug at your sleeves.
“…no,” you whisper, but the two of you know it’s far from the truth because even you can’t hide the way your lips tremble and your hands shake slightly.
He presses his lips together tightly, his jaw ticking as he takes in your sunken form, something he’s never seen before, and chews on his cheek, thinking.
Sighing deeply, he pockets his phone, not able to look at your texts anymore because they made him too nauseous, and moves to be closer to you.
“Come on,” he says after a moment's silence, “Let’s go.”
You peek over at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you huff out a breath of air, trying to contain your tears as you sniffle again. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, and your stomach still has a lingering ache, but there’s something else that’s causing you to be like this, and you don’t like whatever it is.
He’s waiting, his elbow budging yours, and so you heave a sigh, rubbing at your cheeks as you nudge him back slowly.
“Thank you, ‘Toru,” you murmur, and he pauses, his tongue caught between his teeth because you rarely call him by that nickname, rarely use it unless you really mean it, “For everything. And I’m sorry,” you peek over at him from above your lashes, looking back at the ground at your shoe so you couldn’t see his reaction, “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening like this-” But before you can say anything more he raises a hurried hand, cutting you off.
“You didn’t spoil my evening, love,” he says quickly, his tone soft and teetering on worried, the little title slipping out of his mouth like it was natural, and if you weren’t feeling like a pile of shit, you might have fixated on it more, his eyes roaming your anxious face.
But you insistently nod, your lips pressed together as if you were trying your hardest not to let out a pitiful cry in front of him.
“I-I did,” you voice cracks, and you rub at your eyes as some treacherous tears escape, and if only you could truly see the way he looks like he was breaking seeing you like this, “With you getting the popcorn and then me getting sick and then the s-stupid show,” and he winces because he knows you were enjoying the play, could hear your twinkling laugh and he hates it whenever you feel the need to shut down the things you like because you’re worried other people will judge you for doing so, “And…and I wish you had told Shoko o-or me about your date, I would have totally understood,” you try for a smile, your words choked and wobbly and if only you knew what you were doing as you ramble, “I’m just…I’m really sorry for everything." You finish with a quivering chuckle, your heart shaking like a leaf as you finally meet his eyes, hoping he can’t see the little shake in your breathing when you finally do.
He breathes in deeply, and you can hear the gears in his head turning. But you nudge his side again, wanting to leave it at that. You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you don’t want to look.
And you’re grateful that to some extent, he understands that, even if not fully. He murmurs a gentle come on, his hand gingerly wrapping around your arm as he tugs to next to him, his warmth enveloping you as he leads the way.
—
As much as you insist, the one thing he doesn’t seem to budge on is taking you back to your dorm.
You pleaded with him, begged him not to get him sick, but he wouldn’t listen. It’s almost as if he steered you towards his building, a hand hovering over your back as he led you inside and up the elevator and to his room before you could even have the ability to ditch and run away.
“If you’re going to talk, fine, but don’t think I’m insane enough to leave you alone right now.”
That alone could have sent you into a psychosis if you weren’t so worried about puking all over his bed.
With the way his germophobic and clean tendencies forbade him from going to public restrooms, you’re stunned that he’s even standing near you with everything that has happened this night. He even lent you his old band shirt and trousers from when he was going through a phase.
It was a blur as you spun around his room, rifling through his drawers for towels and soap and things he thought you might want to use in the shower. You stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, not sitting down on the mattress because you knew how he felt about outside clothes on his sheets, and you said nothing as he handed everything to you, shooting you a shaky smile, one that was tense because you figured he was most likely worried about you staining or ruining one of his clean things. You don’t say anything as he suddenly ducks, his knees hitting the floor as he starts undoing the laces to your shoes, mumbling something about how you bending over might not be the best for your stomach.
He was lucky enough to be in one of the newer buildings, meaning that he had a personal washroom, so he just led you to it and let you know to use the shower and to call out to him if you needed anything. He even had an extra pack of toothbrushes and boxers that he hadn’t touched that he set aside for you.
You watched as he shut the door, the water roaring behind you as it began to heat up, and you silently stripped, neatly folding your clothes as you set them to the side. You took a tentative step inside his very clean shower, letting the steaming water hit you as you stood there for a couple of minutes, reflecting.
Washing your face, scrubbing roughly at the makeup and the evening away, you feel some salty tears bite at your cheek, and you don’t even know why you’re crying right now. Well, in all honesty, you do, and that’s probably what hurts the most.
You’ve never cried over Gojo Satoru before. You’ve never felt like it was so depressingly lost where you’d need to use these muscles and these feelings that you reserve for truly important things, but it felt like tonight was a confirmation and closure all in one. It felt like you slowly came to your senses, realized that despite your wishes, it was fruitless. You just weren’t the kind of girl that he could cherish, at least, not in the way you wanted him to, and you knew it would be selfish of you to ruin any chance another girl could have of him being hers.
It took you a little longer than expected, but you feel like you were slowly gaining consciousness, the reality at hand as you turned the water off, patting yourself dry with the soft towel he had provided you.
You move carefully, brushing your teeth, pulling on the clothes he left you, as you assess yourself in the fogged-up mirror. Your eyes are a little puffy, but you can just tell him from earlier. Your voice is croaky, but you’ll just bite your words back tonight until you can go back to your place in the morning and start distancing yourself from him until your feelings are choked out. It’s time you began moving on, anyway.
Braving the other side, you take a deep breath before you carefully open the door, peeking around the corner until you see him sitting on the corner of his bed, furiously typing away until he hears the creak, looking up from across the room as you sheepishly smile.
He quickly puts his phone away, standing to his feet as he rubs his hands, not knowing what to do as he buffers.
“Was, erm, was everything good?” He motions to the bathroom, and you quickly nod, walking away as the steam from behind wraps around you, your body adjusting to the shift in temperature as your eyes stray to the couch in the corner, pillows and blankets set up in a makeshift bed.
“It was great, thank you,” you say gently, “I’m sorry, again-” But he holds a hand up, cutting you off as he insistently shakes his head.
“Really, it was nothing,” he stresses, his cheeks dusted pink, his glasses discarded on his desk.
You nod again, embarrassed, and smile stiffly, pointing to the couch as you make your way over.
“Thanks for this, too,” you say, but he seems to awkwardly shuffle, his hands behind his back, looking like he wants to say something, and your brow slightly quirks at his odd reaction.
“That’s…that’s for me,” he explains, moving away from his lofted bed as he shows you the changed sheets and the new pillow case covers, what he must have been doing in the time it took for you to shower, “You can sleep here.” He pats the mattress, and you let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head as you move closer to the couch, feeling like the worst person in the world.
“I couldn’t,” you stress, but he’s already moving closer to you, looking like he wants to move you away from the cushions, “I’ve already imposed enough. I’ll sleep here. It’s fine, really, I like couches.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, lips pressed into a thin line.
“You haven’t imposed,” he finally says, as if that’s all he took away from your rambles, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you wave aside his polite nature and hold your hands up.
“If I sleep on your bed after everything, I’m never going to be able to look you in the eyes again, okay?” You put it bluntly, “So I’ll take the couch, and you’ll take your bed, and it’ll be fine. Okay?”
His tongue darts out, blinking rapidly as if he’s assessing his different options, and he looks at you, to the couch, and then to the bed. He seems like he’s torn, but he figures that the next best thing is to ignore this completely, shaking his head to himself as he moves around you to the cupboards behind your body, shuffling around until he finds what he needs.
“I’m going to wash up,” he mutters, glancing briefly at you as he pulls in his towel to his chest, his new pair of clothes, and you feel your chest tighten at the sudden dismissiveness in his tone, ad if he’s given up with you, and he makes his way to the separate room, “Make yourself comfortable.” He calls over his shoulder before he shuts the door behind him, and you give it a few seconds before you wince, falling back down onto the couch as you pull a pillow to your chest and allow yourself some time to relax before he comes back.
You allow yourself some time to look around, appreciating his tidy room and the mess-free atmosphere. You can smell the lingering scent of bergamot, and you see the warmer on his desk, a candle right under it. The wall that his desk is parallel to is littered with postcards and retro movie posters (mostly Star Wars and Star Trek). There are some polaroids he has pinned up, some with Suguru and Shoko from their years in secondary school, some photos he had taken himself with his camera. His bookshelf, which is nearly leaning over with how heavy it is, is at the end of the couch, and you shift to get a better look at the books he has on his shelf.
You’re so rarely in here, especially by yourself, so you peek around, hearing the water still running, and lift from the cushions, your eyes squinting as you move closer, trying to make out the names on the spines, your curiosity getting the better of you.
Most of the shelves are full of textbooks from previous courses he had taken; therefore, most of them are science-related. Your eyes shift across the spines, seeing some books about botany and a couple about astronomy and astrophysics, a specific interest of his despite specializing in biochemistry. Notes are jammed into the empty spaces, and you make out his cursive on some of them, smiling despite yourself when you pull some of them out, making out his quick scribble from when he was either in class or studying.
The bookshelf itself is insanely tall for no reason, tall enough that you’re sure Suguru or even Satoru, in his sprawling height, would struggle reaching to top, so you have to go onto your toes, stretching your calves as you tilt your head upwards to look at some of the higher shelves, pulling some books out by placing a finger on the top of the spine, careful not to disrupt anything as you let yourself get lost in the names.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the chemistry and biology and Latin names, something familiar catches your eye, a book that was resting on its side on the highest shelf, and you struggle but can wedge yourself up on the edge of the couch to reach it.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Your eyes widen in spite of your heavy emotions riddling your mind, and you turn it around, reading which edition and publisher it was as you scour through the pages, seeing his little citations in blue ink in the margins. You flip through the pages, each one highlighted and marked for different reasons, similar to the way you read through a book, and you close it shut, feeling like you were somehow intruding on something private as you set it back down in its initial place on the shelf until something else caught your attention.
Familiar titles and authors all paint the top level of his bookshelf, books that have nothing to do with his major or classes or even remotely with something you think he might enjoy reading, and you almost fall as you try to get closer.
A small box at the edge of the shelf piques your interest, and your lips catch between your teeth as you put all of your focus on this task, your nimble fingers moving closer, plucking it from its spot as you hold it gingerly in the palm of your hand, looking back to the bathroom as you hear the pipes groan as he turns the water off, an alarming sound, one that meant that you didn't have a lot of time left.
The box itself is also familiar, this one for more reasons than most, because you remember this box; you gave it to him for his previous birthday. amongst other little trinkets, finding it at a flea market, and thinking he could make some use of it. The wooden grain and the carvings on it were delicate, and your hold is even more careful as you unlock the little latch, the top lifting open as you peer inside.
Your eyes adjust to the sight, something you weren’t necessarily expecting, as what you can only describe as junk littered the inside of it. A ticket stub from a movie he had seen, a dried leaf, candy wrappers, spare coins. You huff a little in disappointment, your nosey nature quelled by the contents within as you rifle around a little more, knowing you should stop and sit down and act like you saw nothing when you feel a glossy texture beneath your fingertips.
Gently, you pinch it between your pointer finger and thumb, pulling it out from beneath all rubble as you hold it closer to your face, your breath catching in your throat.
It’s a polaroid of the two of you.
You remember the night well, a couple of months ago, during the summer. The four of you and a couple of mutual friends had rented a car and had gone up to a cabin, one of the many properties Satoru’s family owned, and had spent the weekend there. Suguru had insisted on setting up a fire and eating around it, and you had huddled up next to Shoko as the night got colder. You remember the voices and the laughs and the squeals as some of the friends, people you didn’t know that well, began chasing each other, and you and Shoko watched, amused. You remember how one of the boys had been carrying a jug of water, one meant for inside, when somebody bumped into him, and he tripped, and the water came falling on you. You remember letting out a small laugh, shocked and forgiving as you assured the stranger that it was okay, shivering, nonetheless, as Shoko laughed uncontrollably.
But above all, you remember how Satoru hurried over from wherever he was, his stare worried that you were hurt, everything shifting when he saw the playful glint in your eyes, the fireplace illuminating your features in red, yellow and orange hues as you shrugged his worries off, his hands on your elbows, steadying you as Suguru took a photo of the moment, of your head thrown back in a laugh and his eyebrows pulled into an anxious line while his lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars twinkling in the background as he steadied you to your feet.
You distantly recall hearing the click and asking Suguru about the photo, but hearing him say something along the lines of the lighting being too dark, but clearly that was a lie because you were holding the small photo in your hand, staring at it with no problem.
Before you can spend more time thinking about his junk box and what the hell this photo was doing in it, you heard some shuffling on the other side of the bathroom, the door clicking open as you scramble to put the box back, nearly tripping as you jump down, going back to where you were seated on the couch in a flash, appearing to look nonchalant as he stepped out.
You don’t let your eyes linger too long on the way his shirt stretched tightly across his chest, or the way that the water has caused the fabric to slightly stick to his arms. He shakes his hair into a towel, ringlets of water falling as he pushes his hair back. You also try not to fawn too much over his mismatched pajamas, or how his trousers have prints of lightsabers in different colors all over them.
“Hey,” he calls out gruffly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses his towel into the hamper, his feet padding over to his desk as he checks the clock and then his phone for any notifications. He sighs, and your throat is dry, heart hammering in your chest as you realize a grave mistake.
In your haste to put everything back, the careful clutch you had on the photo had appeared nonexistent, and you had, for some reason, made the blunder of still holding the photograph of the two of you resting in the palm of your hand.
His back is still to you, and you swallow thickly, shuffling across the couch as you try to deposit it onto one of the nearer shelfs, hoping that if he were to see it he would think it had mistakenly fallen out or something less drastic, but his ears turn towards your movement, looking over his broad shoulders at the way you scramble to dispose of the film.
“What are…?” His eyes pierce yours, and you sheepishly snap around to look at him, your hand going behind you as you shake your head, acting confused as his head tilts to the side, jumping from your seat at the edge of the cushion to your leg, angled towards his bookshelf.
“I was just looking at your books,” you quickly state, trying to cover your ass as lips purse together to give you a knowing look, a white brow rising so high that it disappears in his hairline, one calling you out on your obvious bullshit.
“Hm,” he hums, taking a step closer to you, his skin still glowing from the shower as he makes his way to where you were sitting, towering over you as his arms cross deliciously across his chest, “Then what do you have behind you?”
You feign innocence, blinking as you shake your head, acting dumb as you shrug.
“I,” you scoff, leaning back into one of the pillows as you shrug, “I don’t have anything behind me.”
“Right,” he drawls out, his voice slightly deeper, intimidatingly so as he crouches down a little until his face is to face with you, his fingers moving to poke at your arms, twisting at an odd angle to hide behind your back, “Then you wouldn’t mind if I gave you some medicine, yeah? Something that requires both hands?”
Damn him.
You shake your head, swallowing as you shoot him a shaking smile.
“Not at all,” you stress, shifting uncomfortable as he nods, his eyes raking over your face one last time as he moves to his desk, pulling a drawer out, his medicine drawer, you deduce, and watch as he pulls out a bottle that seems to promise helping with stomach aches, and he turns it over, reading the label until he seems satisfied.
He strolls back to where you’re seated, holding the medicine bottle out towards you as he patiently waits.
You shoot him a fake smile, biting back annoyance as you shift awkwardly, wringing out a hand from underneath your body, the one that’s not holding onto the photograph, as you take the bottle from his outstretched hands. You stare at it, realizing that he’s waiting for you to open it, and if it wasn’t for the unimpressed look on his face, you’d almost wager that he was amused.
“Something wrong?” He asks, fully knowing the answer, and you shoot him a glare.
“No,” you bite back, your other hand moving slowly, careful not to crumble or tear the film as you place it under your thigh, showing him both of your hands as you twist the cap of the medicine bottle off, “See?”
He nods, still unbelieving of your little tactic, as he takes the bottle away from you. You watch as he moves to set it down on the table, assessing the situation as he moves down in one swift motion, not giving you any time to understand what was going on as he loops one hands under your knees, another across your back as he lifts you up and over his shoulders like you genuinely weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and you screamed in horror at the rudeness of everything.
“Freak!” You shout, your face looking at his muscular back as he chuckles, not seeing anything yet as you try to kick his face, “This is so degrading, put me down!” You scream, horrified and mortified as he pinches your calf that was near his chest.
“Stop squirming,” he chides, but his voice is anything but chiding as he swivels around, your body jerking sideways as your head drops, motion sickness from already feeling a little off from earlier tonight, and you weakly punch his back, groaning.
“I’m going to puke all over you,” you threaten, but he just chuckles, shaking his head as he pretends to drop you, only to catch you last minute, his chest shaking with the sound, and you go to snap at him again,
But you feel it, hear it the moment he sees the polaroid you had taken.
He goes tense, his grip on you tightening a little bit out of shock, and he’s suddenly silent. You wince, turning around, hoping he could take the hint and set you down, and he finally does, carefully setting you on the ground as he bends, picking up the photograph from where it had fallen onto the floor, and staring blankly at it.
Your hands clench, chest tightening as his eyes flicker from it to you, his face unreadable as his jaw clenches slightly.
Nobody speaks for a moment, the room suddenly as tense as it was when you first entered, and you watch as he puts the photograph face down on a random shelf, turning back to you as he sighs deeply.
“Were you…Were you going through my things?”
The question shakes you, and your mouth parts as you clamp it shut.
“N-no,” you finally say, “Well, no, not really, but I guess…I don’t…I was,” your head drops to your hands in mortification as you motion weakly to the bookshelf, “I was only looking at your books.” You mutter weakly, not even able to look at him as you keep your stare trained on the books and their titles.
“I didn’t mean to see it, but…” You trail off, thousands of emotions racing through you as you try to deny it in your mind, sadness from before, anger with yourself, and suddenly feel vexation towards him for no particular reason as your eyes snap to his, “God, why do you care? It’s just a photo! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to look, but I saw that thing I gave you, and I had thought you would’ve tossed it away by now, and I just wanted to see what you’d keep in there and…yeah, fuck, okay, I looked! I’m sorry, okay? But…I mean, you keep it as a junk box anyway, it’s not like it’s…like it’s an heirloom!” You’re trying to ration and reason and trying to justify your clearly immoral actions as you ramble again, a terrible trait of yours, as he just takes it, takes your anger and your slew of words and your hurt as you feel your eyes water for no reason again as you hug your arms to yourself.
He says nothing for another moment, his eyes dark and piercing.
And then he moves.
His arm reaches upwards, up to the shelf, up behind your head to where the box was resting on the top shelf, and he slowly brings his hand down, your heart in your throat as he nearly throws the lid open, beginning to pull everything out one by one.
“This,” he’s holding the ticket stub, “This is from tonight.”
Your hands instantly drop to your sides as the anger fades and utter confusion floods your senses.
…huh?
You had just looked at the box; how did you not notice? But you look closer at it, the date and the row and seat number nearly the same as the ticket stub you had thrown away after leaving the theater in a hurry, and your eyes flee up towards him, his chest heaving as he continues.
“This is from when we went to the beach,” he pulls out a chipped seashell, and you recognize the pattern instantly, remembering the one time the four of you had gone to the shoreline, a seashell you had picked up and thought was interesting, showing it to him before Shoko called you away, but you don’t have any time to compute that as he pulls out the next time.
“This is from the candy you gave me during a study session we had,” he pulls out a wrinkled wrapper, “This is the hair tie you left at my place and forgot,” he has a simple black elastic band sitting in the palm of his hand, but he could very much so be holding your pittering pattering heart the more he continues, his voice quivering slightly, and you’ve never heard him ramble like this, ramble like you.
“This is the leaf that was stuck in my hair that you pulled out,” he admits quietly, holding up the dried leaf from the time you had been walking next to him in the fall, the trees shaking in the wind, giggling at his white hair littered with the colorful leaves, “These are the coins you gave me because I didn’t have any change,” he’s holding up the spare sterlings you had lent him when he wanted some ice cream but forgot his card at home, and your eyes move up and down, a strange thumping sound in your ears because you feel like you’re about to faint, and he slows to a stop, his cheeks flushed and his hands shaking as his hand fills with all of the things you have given him over the past two years, things that a normal person would have thrown away or used or given back.
“This…” his lips tremble as he shuts them for a second, looking unlike the person you’ve begun to know so deeply as his fingers wrap around something, pulling out a neatly folded white napkin, unused, as he takes in a steadying breath, “This is the, erm, the napkin you lent me. From the night we first met.”
The box is empty now, but the room fills with moments in time, moments that you would cherish in the deepest parts of your mind before you went to bed, and pretended like they were fleeting and didn't matter so that you could face him bravely the next time you saw him. Moments that you thought he treated like normal moments in time that would pass and would never be remembered again, moments that you didn’t think he would…hold onto.
Not the way you did.
“It’s not…junk,” he admits thickly, “For me it’s not.”
He stops, taking in a deep breath as he pushes his hair away from his face, carefully putting everything back in the box, including the photograph, as he sets it down, turning back to face your stunned expression.
“Look, have you ever seen me without my glasses?”
You blink. Realizing that he’s waiting on you to answer, you blank before shaking your head slowly, and he nods.
“Right, right, well, I used to wear contacts. All the time. Ask Suguru o-or Shoko but…ever since you said that you like the way glasses look, I…I don’t know, I kept wearing them, hoping you’d…” he trails off, his cheeks completely red, the tips of his ears a bright pink as he ducks his head down, scratching his nape sheepishly, whispering, “Hoping you’d maybe say it again.”
Your eyes go wide, and you blink owlishly, swearing you look fish-adjacent with the way you can only give him this look on repeat as he takes your silence as an okay for him to go on a rare nervous tangent of his own.
“When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to tie his tie. He said that I should learn how to do it by myself so that I wouldn't need any help when I grow up.”
You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t get angry at your silence, but simply offers you a small, worried smile.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at it,” he confesses with a farce laugh, something empty and shaky, "But you always ask to tie them, and…I always let you. You’re the only person I feel comfortable with; the only person who it doesn’t feel like,” he shivered, wincing slightly as if his skin was prickling at the thought of other people touching him the way you do, “The only person who can touch me and I feel…okay.”
“I have a shelf of all the books you’ve talked about,” he persists, motioning upwards, and you slowly look around to where The Count of Monte Cristo was sitting, along with all the other books you’ve raved about in the past, thinking he’d only listen and give you kind comments, not knowing that he had gone home and sat down and read them all afterwards, “I stopped drinking whenever we go out together because you said you don’t really like the smell of alcohol on people’s breaths. I…” he rakes his hand through his hair again, a nervous fidget of his as he looks pleadingly at you, “I have my spot on Suguru’s couch because your spot is right next to it.”
“And our friends tell me that I’m not crazy, that…that I might have a chance,” he motions a shaking hand between the two of you, and you allow yourself this time to blink again, “But, I don’t know,” his head ducks as he chokes back some tears, and your eyes widen even more, your eyebrows up in your hair at this point because you’ve been rendered speechless, “It’s like any time I try to get closer to you, you leave or immediately want to be anywhere else or seem uncomfortable and I don’t want you to feel that way, especially because of me.”
When he looks up, his eyes are glassy, looking like a stormy ocean, and you feel tears prickle at yours, your breath lodged in your throat as you try to pinch yourself, swearing that you were in some vision, but this is real, and he’s not stopping, saying the words you’ve only dreamt of.
“I know I’m not really…the kind of person that you’d usually go for,” he explains, his voice dim, “I’m not good with literary nuances or dissecting medieval texts. I can’t read the way you read, and I’m not good with understanding people the way you do, but…I want to be. I want to be that, I want to be good for you.”
Your mouth is wide open as you gape at him, trying to make sense of the words that you could only imagine as you stared silently at him saying to you, saying them to you here. The two of you don’t say much for a second, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mind travels faster than the speed of sound, and you realize that he’s not lying or trying to make you laugh. He’s not confessing his love for another girl, but instead clutching his chest because it felt like your silence was leading up to a personal rejection, and you can barely muster up any actual words as you surge towards him, stopping his rambling as your arms wrap around his neck, knees knocking against his as your lips slam against his.
Your heart plummets as you feel him still, his arms still at his sides as his eyes widen in shock, and you feel like you’ve completely screwed things up, going to step away before his hands shoot upwards, wrapping around your waist and legs as he hoists you up, his lips moving against yours hungrily.
“You’re so…so stupid,” you mutter in between breaths, his lips parting yours, soft and gentle and fast and desperate as they chase the way you taste, wanting to savor the plushness of yours as you mewl at the way his fingers dig into your soft skin, moving you effortlessly towards his bed as the two of you smile against each other, laughing in the air as your back hits the mattress. He fidgets with his glasses, pushing them up with his middle finger, coming a little loose after everything.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, happy, giddy, his eyes bright and alive and electric as he nips at your bottom lip, his own shining with spit as he ducks down again, pressing kisses to your face, and you feel lightheaded, “Tell me how I’m stupid, baby.”
You groan, lightly hitting his chest as he chuckles lightly, his kisses moving to your cheek, across your nose, as your smile turns bright enough to power the sun for the rest of eternity if it were to die in this very moment.
“I,” you huff, your chest burning and your hands tangled in his hair, fisting his shirt as you bring him in impossibly closer, “I’ve had this…debilitating crush on you ever since I saw you,” you admit quietly, and he pauses, his sunset dusted cheeks turning into a wide grin as he huffs out a laugh and push his face away from your as you turn away in discomfiture, “And I’ve done everything to get you to notice me. I’ve embarrassed myself like, twenty times a day, hoping you’d look my way.”
Satoru raises a slender brow, and you have the urge to pull him down by the collar, pressing your lips to his as he happily obliges, his tongue poking out to tease yours as he turns to an even bigger taunting menace as he pulls away.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he mumbles shyly, ducking down as he kisses your throat, and you shift slightly to give him more access, your breath catching in your lungs as his kisses turn into him sucking in a patch of skin, licking it over when he’s satisfied it’s going to mark. “I could barely focus on the play tonight because I kept looking over.”
You let out a giggle, curling his soft strands of hair around your finger as he glances up to see your smile, pressing a chaste kiss as if he wanted to taste the way your unabashed happiness felt.
“And I try to sound smarter whenever you’re around,” you admit, and he snorts against the skin of your cheek again, enjoying how plush and soft it was, biting it as you squeal, but it was never hard enough to hurt, just experimental, and he laughs, “And you never even acknowledged the number of times I’d bring up a science-y article I had spent the entire night analyzing just for you to ask me about my stupid book report.” You pout, and he attempts to kiss it off of you, his hands roaming the exposed skin of your waist and stomach, hot against your cold self, and he rolls his eyes.
“That’s only because I was having tiny aneurysms whenever you’d do that,” he reasons, his face morphing into something sweet and gentle and something so entirely new and…yours that you wish you could take a picture of it, “And I wanted you to know that I remembered the things you told me.”
You throw a hand over your face, not wanting him to see the gleefulness on your face, but he just wrings your hands away, slotting his long legs in between yours as he lets out another joyous laugh.
“Come on,” he insists, nudging his nose against your jaw, “How else am I stupid?”
You let out an exaggerated groan, biting your lip as you try to think through your muddled thoughts.
“You…you…you kept only the ridiculous things I gave you!” You argue, and he moves upwards slightly, giving you a pointed look, as if you were offending his lifeline or treasures, “I’ve given so many things and…” But you trail off, feeling his large hand gently wrap around your face, turning it to the side so you could see his room from his point of view.
“Look closely,” he softly urges, and your eyes trail across the walls, the shelves, the tabletops, “This room is full of you.”
And he’s right.
The postcards he has up are the ones you gave the three of them from the time you had gone to Paris with your family over the summer, picking out individual ones you thought each of them would like. Vintage telescopes and microscopes you imagined him enjoying, but never enough to actually put them up. The music box that plays the theme of A New Hope, a simple melody from his favorite movie that you had also gotten for his birthday, sits on his bedside table. The books you had found on sale about plant biology, a little thing you thought he might like, rest on top of his bookshelf.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, and he chuckles at your quiet reaction, dipping down to kiss you again, wanting to nudge those sounds from you, even if he has to take them like this.
“Is this why you’d scare off any guy who came up to me?” You ask, but you already know the answer, just wanting to see the look on his face as he groaned, pinching your side as you giggle at his antics.
“I thought I was being so obvious,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue roaming through your mouth as you part it slightly for him, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, a string of spit connecting the two of you as he pulls away, “Everyone could see how badly I wanted you.”
You shrug, feeling sluggish from his movements.
“I didn’t,” you argue faintly, and he looks up, white lashes fluttering as he grins, kissing the tip of your nose as he smiles.
“Guess I didn’t either,” he whispers teasingly, “Guess we’re both stupid for that.”
You go to fight back, but you let out an embarrassing moan at the way his hands travel across your stomach, pushing your shirt upwards slightly as your back arches upwards to chase the feeling. His hands are large and travel expertly across your body, as if he’s mapped out the small things that make you squirm and the things you itch for, as if he’s spent the past two years studying you instead of his dusty textbooks, and the thought alone makes you shake with anticipation.
“Can’t believe I waited this long,” he murmurs against the skin of your stomach, kissing the plain of it as you shake with an uncontrollable giggle, “Why didn’t you say anything, hm? Did you like tormenting me like this?”
The question makes you stop.
Suddenly, everything from before comes rushing back.
It seems like it sets off alarm bells in your head, as if you had been functioning through a rose-tinted fog for the past couple of minutes, and suddenly reality hits you because…you haven’t told him for a reason. The months and months of pining after him weren’t just because you liked torturing yourself, but because of your frankly very real fears of rejection for more reasons than one.
After a second, you huff, hands clenching by your sides as you feel a surge of feelings, deep ones that you’ve choked on and tried to hide, and he notices the instant way you tense up, stopping his movements as he glances upwards at you.
“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently, tugging the hem of your (his) shirt back down to cover your stomach, and you let out a delicate laugh, a pensive look on your face as you chew worriedly on your face.
Sighing, you rub a hand down your face, sitting upright with your back resting on his headboard, and turn to look back at his desk, feeling the weight of his stare more than before as heat licks at your cheeks.
“What about…what about the others?”
The question rings through the room, bouncing off the walls, and his brows furrow in slight confusion as you still refuse to tear your eyes away from his desk, your hands resting in your lap, and he moves slowly, his large hands encompassing yours, unraveling your fingers, alleviating the tension you didn’t know was building.
“What others?” Satoru asks after a moment, unjudgmentally, tenderly, and caring, patient as you huff out another shaky laugh, shrugging your shoulders as they fall in a heavy drop, your chest rattling with the emotions you had been trying to kill off from the past two years.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, feel his fingers against yours, and your gaze flickers to his before going back to focusing on something to the side.
“This is gonna sound stupid,” you preface, but his thumb presses into the palm of your hand, a small sign that he wasn’t going to judge anything that came out of your mouth because he just showed you that he kept the first napkin you had ever given him.
“But…” you drop your head into your hands, your voice muffled as you continue, “I see the girls that come up to you. O-or your ex. Vi…right?” You peek up, and his eyes are slightly squinted, nodding slowly, as if he wants you to make your point before he says something, “And they’re just so…ugh, I don’t know…perfect? Like, they seem perfect for you. Either they’re stunning, or they’re in your major, or they’re both, or just…so different, and I feel like I’m…not…that.”
He blinks slowly, piecing this together with the fact that he asked you why you hadn’t spoken up sooner, and his lips tug upwards in a little grin, one that makes you want to roll your eyes if not for the storm brewing inside of you, and he tugs you closer, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as he drops his head onto your chest.
“I think you’ve got it backwards,” he says against you, his voice vibrating off of you, and you feel it shake you to your core, his hand moving up and down the expanse of your back as you hand unconsciously move upwards, back to his soft white locks, “Because none of those girls could measure up to my perfect girl.”
You stop, glad he can’t see the large smile on your face as you head falls backwards, thumping against the wood as your chest swells with joy, and when he looks up, his goofy grin could match yours, and you push him away by the cheek, but he just moves, kissing the palm of your hand as you laugh softly.
“You’re so stupid,” you repeat, but he knows you’re only masking the giddiness you feel as he nods against your hand, his eyes shimmering and bright as he sits up a little straighter, nearly encompassing you with his body as he leans closer, his nose nudging yours as the two of you smile against each other's lips.
“You’ve got that right,” he whispers in the small space of air between you, “I’m such a fool for you.”
You decide then that you don’t give him any more time to talk or say something else that could turn your insides to mush, so you tug him down by his neck, his lips curling upwards as they press against yours.
He seems like he’s experimenting with kissing you, as if he knows you’re learning in real time, and has no qualms taking it slow. He lets you take the lead when you want, lets you dart your tongue out slightly, and opens his mouth to welcome you in. When you get a little shyer, he takes the initiative, hands roaming around your hips, pulling you into his lap as you mewl him again. When he could tell you needed some air, he’d pull away, kissing the corners of your lips, your cheeks that he loved so much, the edge of your brows that would pull into the cutest furrows whenever you were confused, and cherished you the way he’d been aching for ever since he saw you at that stupid English department banquet.
You chase the feeling of his skin on yours, the way his fingers feel when they trace your features, the way his hands run up your arms, the way his palm cups your jaw. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, his as well, as they drop down to the drawstring of his trousers, running up the smooth and hard skin of his abs, feeling greedy as you run a finger down his delicious v-line. You feel him shuddering beneath you, and you grin evilly, your mouth water as you untie his pants, your fingers running over the white tufts of hair of his happy trail, and your shuffle around a little bit to help him as he tugs up the hem of his old band shirt that you donned, and you almost let out a whine when they suddenly stop, lashes fluttering open to see what he was going to do next.
His forehead drops onto yours, one of his arms pulling you closer to his chest, the other still cradling your face, and you see the way his face has gone pink, a light hue that you rarely see him in.
“Just so you know, this, em, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.”
You let out a stark laugh, your hands pressing against his as your fingers curl around his hair, tilting your head slightly to the side.
“Yeah? How were things supposed to go?” You ask, trying not to sound too selfishly drunk on him as he shrugs, his lips pressing together as he divulges you in his own fantasies, things he’d only think about when it was the two of you together and he’d be wanting to confess his undying love for you while you’d be rambling on about John Milton or another one of your other favorite authors.
He looks shy, and you want to bite him, watching him gather up some of the courage you had kissed away as he takes one of your hands away from his arms, playing with your fingers as he pushes some of his tousled hair away from his face.
“Well, I was planning on telling you how crazy I am about you after this whole day I had planned out,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck as he turns a little red, “I had, erm, bought tickets to the museum you’ve been wanting to go to,” he says, his eyes flickering from your face to the side as his head drops, and you nudge it back up as he chuckles, “The one displaying the original copies of those old books you like so much.”
He swallows, taking a deep breath, and then continues.
“And I wanted it to just be us, nobody else. I would have obviously read up on all the authors on exhibit, so I wouldn’t look like a total idiot when, or if, you had come, and I’d spend the entire time sweating and hoping you couldn’t see.” You giggle, and he squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it in a soothing gesture. Your eyes drop, urging him gently to continue because you feel like you’re in a dream, and if he stops, you’re going to wake up from it.
“Afterwards, I’d take you to this restaurant I’ve heard is good,” he grins boyishly, tongue poking in between his lips, “And when we were done, I’d walk you back to your place and…tell you that I liked you then.”
You can’t stop smiling, and he can’t stop either.
“Just…just that you liked me?” you tease, humming as he shifts a little, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Not to be…selfish, or anything, but I feel like this way was so much more romantic with your little box of trinkets and your rambling.” He groans, pinching you lightly as you snicker, but he ultimately shakes his head, smoothing over the place he pinched with his soothing touch.
“No, no,” he mutters, his face determined, as if he was recounting everything he had planned to say, “I’d tell you how much I liked the way you look when you start talking about your day,” his thumb brushes across your cheek, running across the soft hair of your brows, “And how much I like the way you care about everything you do and everybody around you. I’d tell you that I really like it when you tell me about the book you just finished, and how much I admire your kind heart. I’d tell you that I…I like how wonderfully weird you are, and how I wish I could be half as interesting as you are on a regular day. I would have told you how you’re always the first person I look for when I enter a room. And…” his shoulders rise and drop as he pulls you impossibly closer, “I would have really hoped that Suguru and Shoko were right about this because I’d be…a little embarrassed if not.”
You hum, pretending to think as you twirl his white strands around your pointer finger even though you feel like you’re on fire and you can’t breathe and everything feels like it’s burning in the best way possible, try not to freak out because the guy you’ve been in love with basically just admitted the most amazing things to you, so you take a steadying breath, your head tilting as you smile.
“And what if I didn’t want you to stop?” You feel heat blossom across your lungs when you hear his breathing hitch, “After…after you’d do all of that?”
He nods, surveying his different options as his blue eyes turn into a slightly different shade, as if they were dependent upon his emotions, and his hands turn a little heavier as they roam across your stomach, up across the skin of your ribcage, and they stop right under your bra.
“Hmm, well, I would’ve have asked you what you wanted to happen next,” his smile is wicked as his face drops down to your neck, leaving wet kisses until he ends up at your collarbone, right at the neck of your shirt as you nearly whine, feeling his teeth scrape just barely over the soft skin, “What is it you want, baby? What else would you want me to do?”
Your breathing stutters, and you arch your back a little, letting his nimble fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra, giving you enough time to turn him down, but you don’t; you want, no, need, for him to continue.
“I,” your breath lodges in your throat when he opens the clasps, helping you tug the straps down until your old ratty bra, the comfortable one that you were sure wouldn’t matter being worn tonight because you never imagined something like this happening, but he doesn’t care, setting it to the side as he wait patiently, menacingly, for you to find your words, “I’d probably ask you to…to come up.”
He groans lightly, a mix between a guttural moan and a laugh.
“Yeah?” It’s not so much a question, but a confirmation as you nod, shivering when his hands move back upwards, your chest heaving as you feel his nimble and long fingers cup your tits, his fingers running over your nipples as your head falls to his shoulders, “Then what? What would I have done after I came up?”
You go down, you want to say tauntingly, but don’t have the willpower as his thumb flicks over a nipple, and you whine.
“Eh, you’d, uh, I’d, we, would probably end up on…on my bed and I’d probably be wearing something cuter than this,” you try to say indifferently, and he rolls his eyes because you could be wearing faux feathers glued to the entirety of your body and he’d still think you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist, “And I’d probably be a little more confident telling you what I,” you gulp audibly, your cheeks heating up, “What I want, seeing that you wouldn’t have just seen me at my virtual lowest hours earlier.” And he chuckles, and it feels right, feels like this was meant to happen as his hands fall from your breasts, trailing down your stomach as you shuffle a little, moving to lie back on his pillow as he shuffles to, situating his body in between your thighs, waiting for your next command.
Satoru’s grin turns soft, like he knows what it is you want, but needs to hear you say it for him to feel okay doing the thing that’s setting him alight. His hand moves, taking yours into his again and intertwining his fingers between yours.
“… what do you want, love?” His voice is thick, and it settles deep in your bones as your head falls, squeezing his fingers as you sheepishly mutter something, and he barely hears you, nudging you to say it a little louder as you groan in embarrassment, an arm flying over your face as your head falls back, not able to look him in the eyes as you timidly whisper;
“For you, like…to do stuff,” you murmur so quietly you think that your lips barely even moved, “To…to eat me out or….or whatever.”
When he says nothing for a moment, you peek between your fingers and see his cheeks flushed, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets his chin down on your stomach, his glasses crooked as his brow arched. He moves, gingerly tugs your arm away from your face, and sits down by your side as he presses a chaste kiss to your stomach.
“Yeah….yeah, I think I can ‘eat you out or whatever’,” he says, and you groan ever louder, flicking his forehead as he chuckles, taking your words as the sign to go, go, go, his fingers moving excruciatingly slow as they start to tug the waistband of your pants and boxers (his, again), down, looking up at you for a little assistance, and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down fully.
You blink, relaxing that you’re completely bare right now, but he doesn't give you any time to be self-conscious as his pupils seem to blow up with lust, hungrily eating up the way your pussy is glistening with want and need, his cheeks a fiery red as his chest moves in a large exhale, like the air had been knocked from him.
His hand raises upwards to take his glasses off, but you make a sudden movement, as if your body was functioning on autopilot, when your hands wrap around his wrist, stopping him from doing anything else.
“Don’t,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “K-keep them on.”
His white lashes flutter slightly, and he gives you one of his boyish smiles that you love so much, his teeth shining as he presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, nodding slowly as he pushes his glasses back on.
“If I knew that waiting so long for you to tell me that you liked my glasses would have been when I’m about to do this, I think I could have waited another couple of years more.” He says honestly, dropping himself down between your thighs, and your eyes flutter shut, head falling back on the pillow as you feel his warm hands slowly move up and up and up, parting you ever so slightly so he could situate himself better between them.
Your mouth parts when you feel his fingers move on the outside of your lips, collecting the slick, and you hold back a wanton moan, your hands flying up to his hair, tugging him closer. You watch as he pushes his glasses up by using his shoulder to move the frames up, and when his lips suddenly latch onto your clit you actually think you’ve gone insane.
His tongue darts out, moaning like a whore when he finally gets to taste your saccharine taste, his eyes rolling back as he parts your lips, the sound greedy as he moves a thumb to circle your clit, moving down to run his tongue selfishly up and down your pussy for his own pleasure, needing to feel you or else he was going to go mad.
“You taste,” his voice is muffled as he pants against your cunt, using a finger to move up and down the slit, “You taste sweet,” he said it like he was startled, like he had spent hours and hours studying female anatomy and how to pleasure a girl and what to do, but never could have expected this unexpected turn, to taste you and realize that you were sweeter and more delicious than any candy he’s ever eaten before, “Why do you taste so…so sweet?”
You would laugh if you weren’t so turned on, saying some jumbled-up words as he ducks down again, your fingers digging into his scalp as his thumb goes a little faster on your swollen nub, his long pointer finger rubbing at the outside of your pussy, getting ready to push it in.
When he finally does, your walls instantly clamp down on it, and you moan, not expecting the stretch, and he gives you some time to adjust. It’s not like you’re a prude, you’ve at least attempted this before, but your fingers aren’t like Gojo Satoru’s, and you feel like you could come just from this.
“Feeling good, baby?” He questions, and you hurriedly nod, hearing him chuckle.
“Yeah,” you stutter out, your teeth clenched as you feel his finger start to move out, and then your mouth falls open as he starts to slowly pump it in and out of you, a mind-bending pace that has you clenching around him, “Feels good.”
He nods, taking it as confirmation to keep going, and he switches between a finger and his tongue, darting them inside of you. He keeps his pressure on your clit, and you grow impossibly wetter when he leans down to lay a cute little kiss on it, his glasses slowly fogging up.
Gojo Satoru eats you out like you’re his last meal, like he’s been living like Tantalus for his twenty years alive, and finally, the fruit tree doesn’t move from his grasp, and he’s able to divulge like the greedy and sinful man he always has been.
Sometimes the hand that’s occupying your clit moves upwards, pulling his old shirt up and over the expanse of your torso to see your supple skin shake beneath his large palms, and he cups your tits, groaning like a slut when he feels your nipples pebble, and he pinches them between his pointer finger and thumb, twisting a little to feel you squeal, and he grins, softening his touch as he smooths it over, moving back down to your nub as if nothing happened.
You watch from hooded eyes, watch the way his eyes close, like he’s savoring your taste. You see the way he slowly ruts into the mattress, like he was getting off to this, and the thought itself makes you gush even more.
When he’s satisfied that you’ve adjusted to his one finger, he decides to slip another one in, and the size alone makes you whine, the stretch something that causes tears to dart in the corner of your eyes in delicious pain.
“Hmm,” you moan, one of your hands fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his white hair as you guide him up and down, and you can swear you feel him smiling against you, as if your reactions were a symphony to his ears, “It’s not like I really have a metric but…you’re good at this.”
Satoru chuckles, looking up at you, and the sight knocks the air out of your lungs. His cheeks are flushed, wet in the dim lighting of the room, his glasses crooked, and his hair a mess, but he looks positively radiant as his smile flashes bright.
“I hope I am,” his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it, and it vibrates against your pussy, “I’ve been studying.”
Despite feeling lightheaded, his statement chased you to come to your senses a bit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked at him through furrowed brows.
“Studying?” You parrot, and he nods eagerly, his thumb putting pressure on your sensitive and swollen clit as your mouth falls open in a silent moan, barely able to keep your eyes open as he explains.
“Mhm,” he hums, his nose, the beautiful nose that you want to kiss all over, rubs expertly on the hood of your clit as he presses chaste, sloppy kisses to your cunt, “I read all these posts and books and papers about what the best way to eat a girl out,” his voice is hoarse, licking up and down your syrupy inner walls, his two fingers never stopping their relentless pace as something deep in your stomach begins to build up, “Brushed up on some….anatomy and the sorts.”
You let out a breathless laugh.
Because of course he had.
“You,” your mouth clamps shut when he hits the spongy part deep inside of you that makes your toes curl, your lashes fluttering against your hot cheeks, and you can’t talk correctly but make the attempt to, barely above a whisper as you mutter, “Y-you’re insane.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it as his thumb swirls in figure eight patterns on your clit, his pointer and middle fingers curling upwards, and you can’t really find it in yourself to chide him when he’s making you feel heavenly.
You feel like you’re unraveling at his skillful hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that whenever you have the guts to open your eyes you’re met with the view of Satoru loosing himself in your cunt, as with each second that passed, he was going just as crazy as you were, and it felt like that familiar feeling of an orgasm building, but unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
It’s almost like he knows, because he seems to go faster, switching between licking and his fingers, and your grip on him tightens, and he moans, welcoming the sting.
“Come on,” he presses, urging, needing you to finish around him, to taste your relief on his tongue, “Come on, baby, I know you wanna come.”
You nod, sweat dotting your forehead, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths, that knot inside of you tightening as your thighs clamp down around his head, your walls pulsing around his fingers.
It gradually builds, but that feeling suddenly snaps, and you jolt, your back arching, moving into him, his fingers never stopping, his thumb and lips on your clit, suctioning in a perfect way that sends you over the edge. You clench tightly around him, creaming, spasming as you gush, your eyes rolling back in your head as you let out the quietest but sweetest moan, and when you feel your orgasms slow to a dull pulse, you fall back onto his mattress, limp as he doesn’t stop instantly.
Instead, he lets his fingers slow down carefully, as if you’d get immediate withdrawal from the feeling of having him inside of you. He kisses your clit once, then twice, and pulls away, connected by a string of spit, slick and your cum, and when you finally have the energy to wring your eyes open, the sight of him wrecked form eating you out makes you even more wet.
You take a few moments to catch your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your hand falling away from his soft locks as it sprawls across your stomach, and you stare helplessly at the ceiling.
Blinking owlishly, you awkwardly scootch upwards until you’re resting on the back of the headboard, and you watch as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, grinning coyly as he moans at the taste of you, and if you could, you’d pinch him, but you just weakly push him with your foot, looking away abashedly.
“Nasty,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice gone, and he coos, crawling towards you, bringing his face towards yours as he nudges his nose with yours, and you’re weak, giving in as he hungrily presses his wet lips to yours.
You can taste yourself on him, and you mewl, feeling his tongue in your mouth, licking inside of you, wanting you to enjoy what he just enjoyed, and your shaking hands grip around his neck. He pulls away a little bit, biting your bottom lip before kissing it, and he rubs a loving thumb across your cheek, his eyes turning gentle as he peers at you through those ocean eyes through those stunning glasses you adore so much.
You don’t trust your voice, so instead you let your hands unravel from his nape, moving upwards towards the expensive frames, straightening them on his nose, making sure they rest correctly on his pink ears, and he watches silently, reverently, as you push him back gently by the chin, making sure that they looked right on the bridge of his nose.
“Hmm, looks better,” you whisper affectionately, kissing the tip of his nose like you’ve always wanted, and that seems to push him over the edge, quickly wrapping his arms around your midsection as he pulls you closer to him, falling back on the bed as he tugs you into his chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
At that moment, you feel it, and your eyes blink rapidly from their hazy state as his hard-on pressed against your thigh.
“Hey,” you murmur, poking his side, but he doesn’t seem like budging, his overwhelming heat and size covering you, his thick arms not moving from caging you to him, and you can’t even wrangle free, “‘Toru, what about you?”
He doesn’t even lift his head, just hums against the skin of your neck, his lips busy leaving hickeys all over it, ones you’re going to deeply regret in the morning but can’t seem to care right now except for the boner you’re sure is deeply uncomfortable.
“What about me?” He dreamily replies, his voice barely audible, and you roll your eyes. From this angle, you can see the way his shirt is riding up, his abs on display, the veins leading downward prominent, and his trail of white hair is calling your name.
You wedge your hand in between your bodies as you press against his cock, the movement causing him to yelp and shudder, whimpering against you as you snicker, sure that now he’s going to give you some more undivided attention.
He sits up a little bit, resting his head on his fist, his elbow on his pillow as he peers down at you, his brow slightly cocked, not looking impressed with being tormented like this after treating you so kindly by giving you the best orgasm of your life.
“Not nice,” he reprimands warmly, poking your side as you yelp, his finger much more sturdy than yours, “You’re not really supposed to grab dicks like that, y’know?”
Your cheeks heat at his choice words, and you shrug, feigning innocence as you bring his hand to yours, admiring the large size a syou play with his fingers, feeling more touchy than usual, and you’re ever so glad that he lets you.
“I’m just saying,” you mumble, flashing him a look that sends a nonexistent punch to his gut, the blood rushing south because you look ethereal like this, “Don’t you want me to…return to favor? Tit for tat?”
He chuckles, his thumb moving across your eyebrow, soothing the furrow as it moves down to rub against your cheek.
“We can do tat later,” he uses your terminology and you giggle, your lips pulling into a bright smile because you’re sitting in a post-orgasm afterglow with your crush, and that stupid theorem you had stressed over doesn’t even matter anymore because the impossible outcome is happening right now and you don’t bother with looking normal because you’re feeling anything but, “I still have a date I need to take you out on.”
You try not to gush like an idiot, your head falling into his sturdy chest, and his hand moves up and down your back, tracing stars and circles and hearts and writing his name, as if he wanted everyone to see the invisible ink that’s bleeding from his fingertips into you.
His finger hooks around your jaw, tilting your head upwards so he can see you better.
“You wanna date me?” You ask breathlessly with dizzingly joy, the question holding no weight because the two of you already know the answer, but he indulges you, his head falling to yours, forehead against yours, glasses sitting perfectly on his perfect face that’s pressing against your perfect one.
“I want to be yours,” he murmurs, vulnerability thick in his voice as your lashes flutter, “So, yeah, I want to date you.”
You giggle again, and you lift your head a little to slot your lips against his plush ones.
“I want to be yours too, Satoru,” you say, and he groans, his eyes rolling back like those were the only words he’s been dying to hear, and he lets out a victorious laugh, something happy and sickeningly sweet because the girl he’s been in love with for the past two years just so happens to love him back.
i write plenty of shy and nice girl!reader x sukuna, but what about sukuna with bitchygf!reader?
the kind of girl who snaps before she asks. who glares harder than she smiles, crosses her arms when she’s not getting her way, and always has something to say—sharp, precise, and mean enough to make a lesser man flinch.
but sukuna isn’t a lesser man.
you bite, he bites back. you insult him, he smirks and drags it lower. you stomp around the kitchen like a storm cloud and bark orders at him like he’s your personal grunt—fix this, grab that, you folded the laundry wrong, again, moron. and he only shrugs, unbothered, licking his teeth like he’s debating whether or not to fuck you on the countertop just to shut you up.
you get under his skin like no one else. not in a “get out of my face” kind of way. in a you piss me off so bad i’m hard kind of way. the attitude. the pout. the venom in your voice when you say “is it that hard to not fuck everything up, sukuna?” like he’s your headache, not your boyfriend. he hates it.
he’s obsessed with it.
because for all the barking, all the snarling, all the glares you throw at him like knives—there’s one place you don’t win. one place you can’t.
and it’s right here, between the sheets, under his weight, with your ankles shoved to your ears and his cock buried so deep in your cunt it feels like you’re choking on it.
“what happened to all that mouth, huh?” he grunts, hips snapping forward hard enough to make your tits bounce, hands wrapped tight around the backs of your knees as he folds you in deeper, tighter, rougher. “thought you were gonna tell me how much i suck.”
but all you do is whimper.
soft and helpless. the exact opposite of what you were an hour ago, slamming the cabinet doors and snapping at him for forgetting to buy your drink at the store. now you’re melting. drooling. pussy clenching so sweet around him he can barely hold himself together. you claw at his shoulders like you want to fight and cry at the same time, lip trembling when you try to form words but only manage a soft, broken “suku—fuck, s’too much—”
he growls. “too much, but still takin’ it like a good girl, huh?”
your glare’s gone. all watery now. no bark. no bite. just a ruined little thing pinned under his weight, crying on his cock with each deep thrust like you’ve never been mean a day in your life.
and he fucking loves it.
loves the way your fight dies out, the way your legs shake when he tells you to keep them open, the way your voice breaks down into whiny little please, please, fuck— when he doesn’t let up. the change is addictive. the way he turns his brat into his baby. makes you soft with nothing but cock and a little pressure on your lower belly.
you can have the last word everywhere else. he’ll let you.
but in this bed, underneath him, fucked too dumb to remember what you were mad about?
You had lost count of the number of rounds, the amount of times Toji had fucked thick loads of cum back into you. It was one of those nights where both of you were insatiable — the two of you having jumped each other's bones the second Toji kicked down the door to your shared bedroom.
So there you were, lying on your back beneath Toji with your legs loosely hooked over the softening angles of his hips. He listened with hot ears the way your breath came out in slow, shaky puffs, all whilst he moved slow. The thick drag of him inside you made your fingers curl into damp sheets, stomach bloated the slightest amount from the aftermath of Toji's previous climaxes.
"Heh, look at you."
Toji brought a hand up, thumbing at the thin frames of your glasses. One of the foggy lenses had knocked to the side after his forehead had nudged against yours earlier when he had you folded in half. Cute.
"They're a bitch to clean, 'ji. Don't touch them . . ."
Your own hand followed, reaching up to grasp weakly at Toji's wrist. His other arm was braced beside your head, thick and tense the moment your skin met his. You felt Toji stroke the contour of your cheek before he slid your glasses off, dangling them above your face for a beat before setting them aside on your nightstand with a clumsy clink.
Immediately, you squinted. The dim lights around you blurred into one, the face above you unintelligible as he chuckled lowly. The sound was affectionate, vibrating straight from his chest to yours as he leaned down. "Damn, you really can't see anything."
You shook your head, blinking away the bleariness that hit your eyes all too suddenly. With warm cheeks, you stopped his teasing — hands fumbling away from your sides and gliding up the bulging muscles of his biceps. Your fingers traced over veins, over the bulk of his shoulders until you eventually buried them into the hair at his nape.
"Then get closer to me so that I can see you, idiot."
Toji was taken aback — you having tugged him hard enough until his face was mere millimetres away from yours. That jagged scar of his came into focus, no longer fuzzy in your eyes. Something about your demeanour screamed vulnerable, but the fogginess in your eyes only made you want Toji to invade your personal space even more.
A look crossed his face very briefly, something soft but it flickered away as fast as it appeared.
How could Toji not give you what you wanted?
The slow rhythm was gone, being replaced by the quick snapping of Toji's hips. It was obscene the way your gummy walls convulsed around his length, soaking it with a bubbly sheen that foamed and gathered in wet strings between you. "Toji—"
Your gasps fuelled the man as the bed creaked over and over under you. Even through your hazy eyesight, your vision sparked with each squelch of his cock head spearing through your warmth.
His hips snapped forward, hard and deep, the slow rhythm gone. He pounded into you, relentless, the bed creaking under the force, your body rocking up the mattress with every thrust. Wet sounds filled the room—slick, obscene—as he drove into you again and again, the head of his cock dragging against that spot that made your vision spark even through the blur.
The hunger in his green eyes, the sweat dripping from his temple, the way he seemed to thrust harder when his name would leave your lips in a breathy whimper — Toji was elated. He remained close to you through it all, wanting you to see him clearly for each and every pleasurable second he was fucking you through.
When you finally came around his cock — clenching with your blunt nails digging into his back with a choked cry — Toji buried your face in the crook of your neck in an attempt to ground himself, keeping you close though the aftershocks of his orgasm.
warnings : smut , threesome, twincest (they never touch eachother, but they’re both inside you at different points), fratboy dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving x2), overstimulation, creampie, spitting, light choking, both gojo’s absolute obsessed with reader, reader is a stem major and stressed
summary: you’ve been crushing on the campus nerd satoru gojo for months. he’s quiet, wears glasses, always reading books. but at the biggest frat party of the semester, you stumble into the wrong gojo… or maybe the right one? turns out there’s two of them, identical in every way except ones a cocky fratboy and the other one is a shy genius. and tonight they both want you.
art creds and inspiration from toriiartz_ on tiktok
you were gonna lose your mind.
finals week was a nightmare. it had you downing five energy drinks a week and you had a lot of sleepless nights. your desk was buried under textbooks on quantum mechanics, organic chemistry notes scribbled in frantic handwriting, and a laptop screen glowing with unsolved problem sets. as a second year STEM major, you’d signed up for this hell, but that didn’t make it any easier. your roommate dragged you out tonight, insisted you needed a break. “two hours maximum!” she said. “just to blow off steam.”
the frat house was sigma chi or whatever generic greek letters were plastered on the banner outside. as you entered all you heard was pulsing bass heavy music that rattled your bones. bodies pressed together in the dim lights, red solo cups everywhere, the air thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and spilled beer. you weren’t a party person. you were the girl who aced exams and tutored freshman for extra cash, not the one who grinded on strangers in basements.
but here you were, nursing a drink in the corner of the living room, trying to ignore the pounding headache from lack of sleep. your roommate hate vanished into the crowd twenty minutes ago, leaving you alone with your thoughts. you scanned the room, debating whether to just uber home and pull another all nighter.
that’s when you saw him.
leaning against the wall near the staircase looking completely out of place. tall—god, ridiculously tall. he had snow white white hair that fell messily over his forehead, and striking blue eyes hidden behind a pair of round glasses that screamed “geek”. he wore a simple black hoodie and jeans, no flashy jewelry or frat gear, just fiddling with his phone like he was checking emails or something academic. he was gorgeous in that effortless way, sharp jawless, pale skin, broad shoulders that his hoodie couldn’t quite hide.
you needed a drink. or human interaction that wasn’t about professor grilling you on thermodynamics. screwing up your courage, you weaved through the crowd and approached him. “hey.” you said, raising your voice over the obnoxious loud music. “you looked as thrilled to be here as i am.”
he glanced up, those bright blue eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. a faint blush crept up his cheeks, which you thought was cute. “oh, uh, yeah. parties aren’t really my thing. my… brother dragged me here. said i needed to ‘socialize’ or whatever.” he scratched the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “i’m satoru.”
“y/n.” you replied, smiling back. you never thought you would meet someone normal here. “i’m a stem major. this is my idea of hell, but my roommate abandoned me.” his eyes lit up. “stem? what field? i’m in physics—astrophysics focus. black holes, quantum entanglement, that kind of stuff. it’s fascinating how—sorry, i ramble when i’m nervous.”
you laughed, genuinely for the first time in days. “no, keep going, i’m in bioengineering. entanglement sounds way cooler than protein folding right now. i have three finals next week and i haven’t sleep in days.”
satoru pushed off the wall, stepping closer so you could hear him better. he smelled clean, like fresh laundry and a hint of mint. “stressed out, huh? i get it. my brothers the opposite, he lives for these kind of parties. i’m pretty sure he’s co-hosting this one. i’d rather be in the library or stargazing.” he adjusted his glasses, peering at you with genuine interest. “you look like you could use a real break. want to talk shop? or.. i don’t know, escape to someplace quieter?”
you bit your lip. he was cute. sweet. the kind of guy who probably aced everything without trying and still blushed when talking to girls. “quieter sounds amazing. but first, i need a refill.” you held up your empty cup.
he nodded “kitchen’s that way. i’ll come with, i don’t want you getting lost in this mess.”
you chatted as you walked, him explaining some wild theory about parallel universes that actually made some sense and distracted you from your impending doom. the kitchen was crowded, people shouting over the counter for drinks. you poured yourself something strong, turning to hand satoru a cup—
and froze.
there he was. leaning against the fridge. smirking like he owned the place. same hair, but styled messily upwards, no glasses, obscuring those piercing blue eyes that locked on you instantly. same tall, built frame, but this one screamed confident. black button up shirt that opened at the collar, sleeves rolled up to show toned forearms, jeans hugging the hip. a chain necklace glinted under the lights. he was surrounded by a group of giggling girls and frat bros, but his gaze cut straight through the crowd to you.
“hey, pretty girl,” he drawled, voice smooth and teasing. “lost? or just looking for some fun.”
you mouth went dry. he looked exactly like satoru, but not…? this version radiated cocky energy, the kind that made your stomach flip. “i…what?” you stammered, glancing between the cup in your hand and to him. hallucinating from stress? too much vodka?
he pushed off the fridge, sauntering over with a grin that was all teeth and mischief. “satoru, but you can call me toru if you’re feeling friendly.” he winked, leaning in close enough that you caught his scent—expensive cologne, something spicy and intoxicating. “what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone?”
before you could respond, a hand gently touched your elbow. the nerdy satoru, the one you’d just been talking to appeared at your side, looking bewildered. “hey, what the—toru? i thought you left.”
the cocky one, toru? laughed, loud and unbothered. “nah, i’ve been here all night. hosting this shitshow, remember? who’s your friend?” his eyes went towards you appreciatively, lingering on your legs, your chest. “damn, she’s gorgeous. you finally talk to a girl without stuttering.”
satoru blush deepened. “shut up. we were just talking. she’s a stem major. smart, unlike you.”
toru’s grin widened. “oh? beauty and brains? my favorite combo.” he stepped closer, crowding your space without touching you. “are you confused, sweetheart? yeah we’re twins, except he’s the boring one who hides behind books and glasses.”
“twins?” you echoed. brain short circuiting. two of them? both gorgeous, both named satoru gojo? their mother was definitely out of name ideas. the universe was mocking you.
satoru sighed, adjusting his glasses. “yeah, fraternal. he’s the older one by like three minutes. thinks that makes him the boss.”
toru slung an arm around his twins shoulders ignoring the way satoru shrugged it off. “come on toru junior. don’t hog her. she’s stressed, look at those pretty eyes, all tired from studying. we could help with that.”
you swallowed hard. the banter between them was electric, teasing but familiar. toru was all bold flirtation, dirty promises in his smirk. satoru, quiet, sweet, but with a spark in his eyes now that his brother was here.
“help… how?” you asked, voice smaller than intended. toru leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “upstairs. private party. just you, me, and my nerdy counterpart. bet we can make you forget about all those finals.”
satoru met your eyes, hesitant but intrigued. “if… if you want. no pressure. but yeah. we could… have fun.”
your heart raced. this is insane. reckless. but you were so tired, so wound up, and they were both looking at you like you were the only person in the room. two identical faces, two version of the same devastating man.
“… okay,” you whispered.
toru’s grin turned predatory. “atta girl.” they led you upstairs. toru in front. hand on your lower back, possessive and guiding. satoru behind, his fingers brushing yours reassuringly. the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, muffling the party noise.
it was a typical frat room. messy, posters on the wall, king bed that looked suspiciously high quality. toru locked the door, turning to you with that smirk. “so, pretty girl. what’s your name?”
“y/n,” you said, breath hitching as he stepped close. “y/n..” he repeated, tilting your chin up. “stressed little stem nerd, huh?” bet you’ve been working so hard. good girl like you deserves a reward.”
behind you satoru pressed against your back hands tentative on your hips. “we’ll take care of you,” he murmured, voice softer but no less intense.
toru chuckled. “listen to him, getting bold. strip her, let’s see what we’re working with.” satori’s hand slid under your shirt, slow and reverent, pulling it over your head. toru watched, eyes dark. “fuck, look at you. perfect tits.” he cupped them through your bra, thumbs teasing your nipples until you gasped.
you were sandwiched between them now, toru’s touch was confident, satoru’s was gemlte. it was overwhelming, the contrast was driving you crazy. toru kissed you first, rough and demanding. his tongue entered your mouth like he owned it. satoru kissed your neck, soft and exploratory. glasses fogging slightly against your skin.
“bed,” toru commanded, breaking the kiss. he pushed you gently onto the mattress, both of them crawling all over you. they worked in tandem, stripping you bare. toru yanked off your jeans, smirking at your underwear. “soaked already? you’re so needy.”
satoru blushed but didn’t disagree, eyes wide behind his glasses as he took in your body. “you’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost awed.
toru spread your legs, settling between them. “gonna eat your pretty pussy first. make sure you scream for us.”
he dove in without warning, tongue flat and licking up a stripe with your folds, groaning at your taste. “fuck, so sweet.”
you arched, moaning loudly. satoru watched for a moment, then leaned down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your sounds. his hand cupped your breast, pinching gently.
toru was relentless—sucking your clit, two fingers sliding inside you easily. “so tight. can’t wait to stretch you out.”
satoru pulled back, eyes dark. “my turn,” he said softly, surprising you both. toru lifted his head, chin glistening. “oh? geek wants a taste?” he moved aside, letting his twin take his place.
satoru’s approach was different—slow, methodical, like he was studying you. he licked tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, tongue circling your clit perfectly. “like that?” he asked, voice muffled.
“yes—oh god, yes.”
toru knelt beside you, stroking his cock through his jeans. “look at you, taking his mouth so well. good girl.” they switched again, toru making you come hard on his tongue, fingers curling just right. satoru praised you through it: “so good. come for us, y/n. you’re doing amazing.”
overstimulated already, tears pricked your eyes. “too much—”
toru laughed. “too much? baby, we’re just starting.”
he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. satoru removed his glasses, setting them aside, hair falling into his eyes as he watched.
toru spat on your pussy, rubbing it in. “gonna fuck you now. you want my big cock, huh? say it.”
“please…i need you.” you whimpered.
he thrust in—huge, stretching you deliciously. “fuck, so tight. taking me so well. Look at you, little stem slut, creaming on frat boy cock.”
satoru stroked your hair. “you’re perfect. so pretty when vocal like this.”
toru pounded into you, seemingly more turned on from your moans. hand light around your throat from behind. “choke on it a little—yeah, good girl.”
he pulled out suddenly, flipping you over. “your turn, bro. fill her up. satoru hesitated, then positioned himself. he was just as big—maybe bigger—sliding in slowly. “oh… fuck. you feel incredible.”
he was gentler at first, but built up, eyes locked on yours. “so good… y/n..” toru watched, stroking himself. “pound her harder. she can take it.” satoru did, losing control, hips snapping. “gonna come inside you..”
“do it,” toru growled.
satoru came with a groan, filing you deep. leaking as he pulled out. toru immediately took his place, thrusting back in. “mixing our cum in you, filthy.”
he fucked you through another orgasm, overstimulating you until you sobbed. “too sensitive—”
“one more,” he demanded, thumb on your clit. satoru kissed you, murmuring praise. “you’re so strong. so beautiful. come again for us.”
toru grabbed your soaked panties from the floor, using them to lightly bind your wrists above your head. “keep those there. don’t move.” he choked you lightly again, spitting into your open mouth. “swallow.”
you did, coming hard around him. he followed, creampie number two, groaning your name.
they untied you gently, cleaning you up with surprising care. toru pulled you against his chest, Satoru spooning from behind.
“finals?” toru teased. “what finals?”
satoru chuckled softly. “we could… tutor you. if you want.” you laughed weakly, exhausted and sated. “deal.”
end notes : came out of retirement to post this one shot , hope u enjoyed!!! happy new year <3
── synopsis .✦ telling your husband, toji fushiguro, that the pair of you can do anything he wants for his birthday ends badly when you forget just how dirty-minded he is. worse, he’s pent-up, tired, and has been taking mental notes every time you’ve teased him without meaning to. by the time you realise your mistake, he’s already decided that birthday plans are cancelled, rescheduled, and relocated entirely… and you’re the main event.
── contains .✦ fem!reader, pure smut with little/no plot, p in v, mating press, doggystyle, full nelson, multiple orgasms, creampies, squirting, teasing, degrading (brief), praise kink, breeding kink, strength kink, size kink, cockdrunk!reader, pussydrunk!toji, overstimulation, manhandling, rough sex, soft sex, marathons, mdni!
── word count .✦ 5.1k!
The dim light of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, flickering just enough to highlight the sweat-slicked skin of Toji and you.
It was his birthday, and you’d made it clear from the moment he walked through the door that tonight was all about him.
“Anything you want.” You’d whispered against his lips, your hands already tugging at his shirt. His grin had been predatory, eyes darkening with that familiar hunger as he scooped you up without a word, carrying you straight to the bed.
Now, hours later - or was it minutes? Time blurred in the haze of relentless pleasure - Toji had you folded beneath him in a brutal mating press.
His massive frame loomed over you, thighs pinning your legs back until your knees nearly touched your shoulders, exposing your dripping core completely. His thick cock, veined and unrelenting, speared deep into your pussy with every punishing thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
You’d lost count of the rounds, each one bleeding into the next as he kept you locked in place, refusing to let up. Your body trembled, walls clenching around him in desperate, overstuffed spasms, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Fuck, look at you.” Toji rasped, his voice rough and breathless, chest heaving as he drove in deeper. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your collarbone, his dark hair slick against his forehead.
He was a beast, muscles bulging with every grind of his hips, but even he was fraying at the edges - groans spilling from his lips unbidden, breath coming in sharp pants. “Takin’ my cock like a goddamn champ. Birthday gift ain’t—shit, so tight—bad, huh?”
You tried to respond, but the words slurred out in a pathetic whine, your mind fogged from the stretch of him filling you so completely. “Y-Yeah—mmh!—s’good, Toji…”
Your head lolled back against the pillows, eyes half-lidded and glassy, every nerve ending alight with the burn of his girth dragging against your insides.
Cockdrunk didn’t even cover it; you were utterly wrecked, reduced to a babbling mess hooked on the way he split you open.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shifted his weight, hooking his arms under your knees to press you even tighter. The angle let him bottom out harder, the fat head of his cock kissing your cervix with each slam.
“Yeah? Tell me how much you love it. C’mon, baby, use that p–pretty mouth.” His teasing was merciless, but his own control was slipping - his thrusts grew erratic, hips stuttering as your pussy milked him greedily.
’Love it—fuck!—love your cock... shooo big...’ The syllables tumbled out sloppy and slow, your tongue heavy in your mouth.
You could feel the slick mess between your thighs, his cum from the previous loads mixing with your arousal, leaking out around where he stuffed you full. It was obscene, filthy, and it only made you clench tighter, chasing that building pressure in your core.
Toji groaned, head dropping to nip at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. This—hnn, f–fuckin’ slut—this pussy’s got me fucked up.”
He was pussydrunk, addicted to the velvet heat gripping him, the way your walls fluttered and sucked him in like they never wanted to let go. He’d already cum once earlier, flooding you deep while you screamed through your first peak, but the sensation was too intoxicating to pull out. Why stop when it felt this good to keep pounding into you, to mark you inside out?
His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with brutal force, the bed creaking under the assault. You felt it coiling low in your belly again, that second orgasm creeping up faster than the first.
“Toji..! Oh god, gonna- gonna cum!” Your voice cracked, slurring into a needy plea as your fingers scrabbled at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the flexing muscle.
“Y-Yeah? Cum on my dick then. Milk me dry, sweetheart.” He panted the words against your ear, his own breath ragged, groans punctuating each thrust.
He hooked one hand around your thigh to hold you open wider, the other bracing beside your head as he rutted into you like an animal. The pressure built unbearably, your clit grinding against his pelvis with every plunge, sparks shooting up your spine.
It hit you like a freight train - your nth orgasm crashing over you, pussy convulsing wildly around his cock. You cried out, back arching as much as the position allowed, walls rippling in waves that tried to push him out even as they pulled him deeper.
“Fuckfuckfuck! Ngh, s’good!” The words dissolved into incoherent babbles, your body shaking uncontrollably, juices squirting out around his shaft in messy spurts.
Toji hissed through his teeth, the tight spasms nearly undoing him right then. “Goddamn, that’s it... so fuckin’ wet for me.”
He didn’t slow, powering through your climax with gritted determination, his cock throbbing inside your spasming heat. Sweat poured down his back, muscles straining as he chased his own release, the drag of your pussy too perfect, too addictive to resist any longer.
“Can’t... fuck—gonna fill you up again.” He growled, voice breaking on a deep moan.
His hips slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, thick ropes of cum erupting from his tip to paint your insides white. He shuddered above you, groans turning guttural, body locking up as he pumped every drop into you.
But even as the aftershocks wracked him, he didn’t pull out - couldn’t. The warmth of your pussy hugging him post-orgasm was heaven, and he was too far gone to stop now.
You whimpered beneath him, oversensitive and still slurring, “M–More... gimme more, pleaseee…” Your mind was a haze, cockdrunk haze sharpening every sensation, making you crave the burn despite the ache.
Toji lifted his head, smirking through his labored breaths, eyes dark with lust.
“More? Greedy little thing. Thought you said I get to pick tonight.” He rolled his hips experimentally, stirring his fresh load inside you, the lewd squelch making you both groan. He was still hard - impossibly so - his stamina a weapon as he started thrusting again, slower at first to build the rhythm back up.
The position kept you pinned, helpless to do anything but take it, your legs trembling from the strain. “Toji, s’ too much... but don’ stop!” The words came out mushy, your lips parting on a gasp as he picked up speed, the friction reigniting that fire in your core.
“Gotta pick one, ma.” He teased, voice husky and strained.
Another groan escaped him as your pussy clenched in response, still fluttering from your last high. He was addicted beyond reason, the slick glide of your combined releases making each slide smoother, deeper.
Adjusting his grip, one large hand splayed across your lower belly to feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. The pressure made you keen, hips bucking weakly against him.
“Feel that? That’s me, ownin’ this sweet—mmf—pussy. All mine tonight.” His teasing drew a slurred moan from you, your responses devolving further into needy sounds.
“Y–Yours..! All yours– ah, harder!” You were lost in it, the world narrowing to the thick length pistoning in and out, stretching you to your limits. Every withdrawal left you empty and whining, every plunge filled you to bursting.
Toji obliged, grunting with effort as he folded you tighter, his thighs pressing your legs back until your ass lifted off the bed. The new angle let him hit that spot inside you relentlessly, sparks exploding behind your eyes. “Like that?”
“Like it... love it... Toji, please!” Slurred and desperate, your voice broke on his name, fingers tangling in the sheets as the pleasure bordered on pain.
He was breathing harder now, chest rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes burned with that unyielding hunger. “Good girl. Keep talkin’ dirty f’me.”
Another deep thrust, and you felt the coil tightening again, even though you’d just cum. The continuous motion kept you on the edge, body hypersensitive and craving more.
The room filled with the sounds of your union: the wet smack of his balls against your ass, your shared pants and moans, the creak of the mattress protesting under his weight. Toji’s hand slid up to pinch your nipple, rolling it roughly between his fingers, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive, ma. This body’s made for my cock.” He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he swallowed your slurred whimpers. His groans vibrated into you, betraying how close he was to the edge again, but he held back, savoring the drag of your walls.
You broke the kiss with a gasp, head thrashing. “G–Gonna cum again, ’Ji!” The words were barely coherent, but he understood, hips snapping faster, chasing your pleasure to fuel his own addiction.
“Cum f’me, pretty girl. Wanna feel you—nhh—soak my dick.” His voice was wrecked, breath hot against your skin as he pounded into you, the pressure building to a fever pitch.
It shattered you - your body seizing in ecstasy, pussy clamping down like a vice as waves of bliss rolled through you. You screamed his name, or tried to, the sound garbled and raw, squirting around him in hot gushes that soaked his groin. Stars burst in your vision, limbs going limp in his hold.
Toji cursed, the vice-like grip pushing him over despite his earlier release. “Shit—fuck!”
He buried deep, cumming hard once more, but this one felt even more intense, his cock pulsing as he flooded you anew. Groans tore from his throat, body trembling as he rode it out, hips grinding to wring out every spurt.
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. As the high faded, he kept moving, slow and deep, stirring the creamy mess inside you.
“One more round.” He panted, voice thick with need. “Can’t get enough of this pussy.”
You nodded weakly, slurring, “Don’ have t’stop... ’s your birthday…” Your mind floated, cockdrunk and sated yet hungry, as he built the pace again.
Toji’s arms trembled slightly from the exertion, but his strength never wavered—that raw, unyielding power that always made your pulse race. With a low grunt, he slid his hands under your thighs, gripping the soft flesh firmly.
“Up you go.” He murmured, voice rough from the strain.
In one fluid motion, he lifted you off the bed, your legs still hooked over his arms as he stood, his cock never leaving the tight clasp of your pussy. The sudden change in position made you gasp, the new depth hitting different, his tip nudging deeper into your oversensitive walls.
You clung to his shoulders, nails scraping over the sweat-dampened skin, but he held you steady, biceps flexing like steel cables.
“W–What’re you…” You questioned, the words tumbling out in awe, your head dropping to his chest as he adjusted his hold. The power he had over you made him smirk, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, and he bounced you lightly on his length, testing the angle.
“Just hold on a minute, ma.” His breath was hot against your ear, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other hooked under your knee, keeping you spread wide. But he wasn’t done repositioning. “C’mere.”
With a shift of his weight, he turned you effortlessly, your back pressing to his broad chest as he locked his arms behind your head in a full nelson. Your elbows were pinned, arms useless above you, your body suspended and exposed, legs dangling apart with his cock still buried to the hilt.
The stretch was immediate and intense - your pussy forced open around his girth, the position leaving you completely at his mercy. Gravity pulled you down harder onto him, every inch of his thick shaft grinding against your insides as he held you aloft.
“Toji— o–oh...” You whimpered, the mixing of words thicker now, your voice breaking on the vulnerability of it all.
Being held like this, folded and controlled by his sheer power, sent a rush of heat through you. His muscles bulged against your skin, the veins in his forearms standing out as he kept you locked in place, and you could feel the controlled strain in his body, the way he breathed steadily despite the effort.
He chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest into your back. “Look at you, all folded up and helpless. This what you wanted me t’have for my birthday? Me usin’ you like—haah, stop t–tightenin’ up—a fucktoy?”
His hips rolled upward experimentally, the motion lifting you slightly before letting you sink back down, his cock dragging slow and deliberate along your walls. The fullness was overwhelming, your clit exposed to the air, ass brushing against his pelvis with each subtle thrust.
“Y-Yeah, so strong…” The words came out mushy, laced with that cockdrunk haze, but the sincerity shone through. Your body trembled in his grip, the position keeping you arched, breasts thrust forward, every nerve attuned to the power radiating from him.
Toji groaned, the vibration traveling straight to your core. He was gone too, the way your slick heat enveloped him from this angle too perfect to ignore.
“Shit, you’re tight like this. Grippin’ me so good, baby.” He started moving then, not rushing, just a steady rhythm - lifting you an inch or two with his arms before dropping you back onto his cock, the wet slide echoing in the room. His thighs flexed beneath you, absorbing the impact, his free hand occasionally drifting to squeeze your hip or pinch your nipple, drawing out sharp gasps.
The pace was torturously slow at first, each descent letting you feel the veined length of him parting your folds, the head catching on that sensitive ridge inside before plunging deeper. You could hear his breaths coming heavier, controlled grunts punctuating the air as he worked you up and down.
“Y’feel me? Every fuckin’ inch stretchin’ you out.” He nuzzled into your neck, teeth grazing the skin, his stubble scraping roughly.
Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the sensations built gradually. “So deep... Toji, you’re—u–ugh!—fillin’ me up!” Dizzy and needy, your voice cracked, body rocking with his movements.
The full nelson amplified everything - your immobility making you hyperaware of his strength, the way his arms didn’t budge no matter how you squirmed. It turned you on fiercely, that kink igniting as you imagined him tossing you around like this for hours.
He picked up the tempo just a fraction, hips thrusting up to meet your downward slide, the slap of your ass against his groin growing rhythmic. Cum from his previous loads leaked out with each withdrawal, trickling down his balls, but he didn’t care - thrusting back in to push it deeper.
His hand released your neck to slide between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, firm circles that matched his pace. “Not rushin’ this, pretty baby. Wanna enjoy my present.”
The dual stimulation had you moaning steadily, the pressure coiling low but not cresting yet - he was dragging it out, savoring the build. You tried to grind down harder, but the position left you powerless, dependent on his control.
“Pl—ah, fuck! Can’t– can’t think when y–you do that…” You babbled, fixated on the flex of his biceps against your ears, the unyielding hold that screamed dominance.
Toji’s response was a ragged groan, his cock twitching inside you at the praise. “Fuck, you love this shit, don’t ya? Me holdin’ you open ’nd fuckin’ you senseless.”
He bounced you higher now, the lift more pronounced, letting gravity do the work on the drop - your pussy swallowing him whole each time, walls fluttering around the invasion. Sweat slicked the connection between your bodies, his chest heaving against your back as he maintained the position without faltering.
Minutes stretched, the room filled with the obscene sounds of your joining - the squelch of his cock plunging into the messy heat, your slurred whimpers, his deepening pants. He varied the rhythm, sometimes holding you still to grind deep, circling his hips to stir you from the inside, the fat head of his dick pressing insistently against your cervix. Other times, he’d thrust shallowly, teasing your entrance before slamming home, drawing out cries that dissolved into nonsense.
“Keep talkin’.” He demanded breathlessly, fingers pressing harder on your clit, rolling it with precise pressure. “Tell me how much you need this dick in you.”
“Need it s’much, ’Ji! I need you… need you so bad, I– I can’t—.” The words spilled out in a haze, your mind lost to the sensation of being utterly possessed. Your legs kicked weakly in the air, toes curling as the pleasure simmered, building layer by layer without mercy.
He growled in approval, the sound primal, and shifted his stance wider for better leverage. Now he was truly powering through, lifting you fully off him before impaling you again. His muscles burned - you could feel the tension in his arms, the subtle tremor of effort that only made your cunt impossibly wetter.
He was a machine, tireless, his cock throbbing with each descent, veins pulsing against your clenching walls.
“That’s it, take it all. This pussy’s m–mine to wreck.” His voice was strained, groans slipping out as your heat milked him relentlessly.
He leaned forward slightly, changing the angle so his thrusts hit that spongy spot inside you dead-on, sparks igniting with every pass. But he kept it measured, drawing out the friction, letting the tension wind tighter without snapping.
Your body responded on instinct, inner muscles rippling around him, chasing more despite the ache. “I forget how big you—mm—how you feel…” Slurring turned to outright babbling, your breaths syncing with his as the coil in your belly tightened incrementally. His fingers on your clit slowed, teasing now—light flicks that kept you hovering on the edge, the position ensuring you couldn’t do a thing but endure the torment.
He nipped at your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark. ’Not yet. Wanna feel you beggin’ first.’ Another deep grind, holding you seated fully, his pelvis flush against yours, pubic bone grinding your clit indirectly. The pressure was exquisite, building that fire without quenching it, his strength the anchor keeping you suspended in bliss.
“Feels too good… can’t– don’t stop… please, Toji— don’t—” You whined, every flex of his arms sending jolts straight to your cunt. He was everywhere: surrounding you, controlling you, his power a tangible force that amplified the pleasure tenfold.
Satisfied with your pleas, he resumed the thrusts, faster now but still controlled, each drop letting you feel the stretch anew. The room spun in your vision, the continuous motion turning your limbs to jelly. His groans grew louder, breath hot and erratic against your neck, betraying how the tight squeeze was fraying his edges too.
“Fuck, stop squeezin’ me, ma… hngh—gonna make me lose it.” But he held on, dragging it out further - thrusting in short, sharp bursts that kept the rhythm unpredictable, then slowing to long, languid slides that let you savor the drag.
His hand abandoned your clit to grip your thigh instead, spreading you wider, the nelson tightening to arch your back more. Fingers dug into your flesh, bruises forming under his touch, a reminder of his dominance.
The build was agonizingly slow, pleasure layering until it bordered on overwhelming. You could feel every ridge of him, the way his cock pulsed with his heartbeat, the slick glide eased by the mess between you.
“Ahn, Toooji! Can’t hold it..!” Your voice was a wrecked slur, body tensing in his unyielding arms.
“Yeah you can. Wait for me.” He panted, hips snapping up harder, the impacts jolting through you and causing your tits to bounce.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing thrusts and grinding holds, the dam broke. Your orgasm crashed over you in shuddering waves, pussy convulsing around his cock in rhythmic squeezes, juices flooding out to coat his length.
You cried out, the sound garbled and raw, back bowing in the nelson as ecstasy ripped through you. “Toji! Yes—fuck!”
The spasms pushed him over, his third release hitting hard. “Shit—takin’ it all…”
He buried deep, hips jerking as hot spurts filled you again, groans vibrating against your skin. His arms locked tighter, holding you impaled through the pulses, refusing to let the connection break.
But even as you both trembled in the aftershocks, he didn’t set you down right away. His arms, still locked in the full nelson, held you suspended a moment longer, his cock twitching inside your spasming pussy as the last spurts of his cum painted your walls. Your body went limp in his grip, breaths coming in ragged gasps, the intensity leaving you boneless and spent.
Finally, with a soft, strained groan, Toji loosened his hold.
“Easy now.” He murmured, voice rough but carrying that familiar edge of control, the dominance peeking through the exhaustion.
He lowered you carefully toward the bed, but your weakened limbs gave way mid-descent, causing you to flop forward onto the mattress in a boneless heap: face down, your ass instinctively lifting just enough to present your cum-dripping pussy and cheeks to him, thighs splayed wide from the lingering haze of pleasure.
He knelt behind you now, eyes dark and hooded as he took in the view.
Thick ropes of his cum, mixed with your own juices, began to ooze from your stretched hole, trickling down your inner thighs in lazy rivulets. The sight was obscene, your pussy puffy and red from the hours of relentless pounding, lips parted slightly as more of his seed leaked out, pooling on the sheets beneath your raised hips.
Toji’s breath hitched, a low whimper escaping his lips - uncharacteristic for him, but the sensitivity from his last orgasm made every throb of his cock ache with lingering pleasure.
“Fuck... look at that.” He whispered, almost to himself, one hand reaching out to spread your folds wider with his thumb and fingers.
He watched intently as another glob of cum pushed free, the creamy white contrasting against your flushed skin. His cock, still half-hard and glistening with your combined mess, twitched visibly, the sight reigniting that primal hunger despite the fatigue.
You were too wrecked to respond coherently, your body heavy and mind foggy, face buried in the pillow with soft, slurred breaths escaping. The position you landed in left you exposed and vulnerable, ass up and quivering, your back arched faintly as if begging for more without words.
Toji’s eyes locked on the presentation, a ragged whimper slipping out as his cock hardened fully again, the sensitivity making it pulse with a mix of pain and need.
“Goddamn, you do that on purpose, don’t ya? Fuckin’ temptin’ me like this.” His voice was breathy, almost predatory now, the whimper underscoring his building intensity.
He couldn’t resist - crawling over you with a predatory glint in his eye, his body hovering like a shadow before he attacked again, hands gripping your hips firmly to pull you back against him.
He aligned himself, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance, smearing the leaking cum back inside with a shallow push that made you both gasp.
“Guess you’re too sensitive for this, huh? But damn, you look too fuckin’ good like this, all spread out and drippin’ for me.” He said, the apology casual, tossed out like he knew it was expected but didn’t really care - his tone laced with that knowing smirk, lips brushing your shoulder in a lazy kiss, stubble grazing your skin as he sank in inch by inch.
The overstimulation hit hard - your walls fluttering weakly around his thickness, clenching on the intrusion despite the exhaustion, while his hypersensitive shaft throbbed with every velvety squeeze, drawing a shaky whimper from deep in his chest.
Once fully sheathed, he draped his massive frame over your back, chest pressing into your spine like a warm, unyielding weight, one arm sliding under your waist to hoist your hips higher into the perfect angle. His free hand tangled in your hair gently, tilting your head just enough to expose your neck for another lazy kiss, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat.
“So perfect... t–takin’ me so deep, even now. My good girl, lettin’ me—hah, shit—wreck you like this.” he praised softly, voice laced with whimpers as he bottomed out, hips grinding slow, deliberate circles that stirred his cum inside you, making obscene squelching sounds with each rotation.
The pace started unhurried, his thrusts measured and deep, pulling back until just the tip kissed your entrance - teasing the sensitive nerves there - before sliding forward steadily, his balls slapping lightly against your clit with each full plunge. He savored the drag, the way your ass jiggled faintly against his pelvis, the ripple of your cheeks under his gripping fingers as he kneaded the flesh, spreading you wider to watch himself disappear into your soaked heat.
“God, you’re grippin’ me...nnh!—so tight. Won’t let go, will you, ma?” He murmured teasingly against your ear, a quiet ’sorry’ slipping in as he nipped the lobe, but it came out half-hearted, more like an acknowledgment of your whimpers than genuine remorse.
You arched into him with a muffled whine, the pillow soaking up your quiet pleas, your body responding on instinct: pushing back weakly to meet his rhythm, the position allowing him to hit that deep spot inside you over and over, building the pressure slow and relentless.
Toji’s breaths came hot and uneven against your skin, his kisses trailing lazily down your spine, pausing to suck a mark into the curve of your shoulder blade. His hand under your waist roamed upward, cupping one breast to pinch and roll the nipple between rough fingers, the dual sensations making your walls spasm around him.
He shifted his weight slightly, angling his hips to grind against that spot with precision, the lazy thrusts turning into a hypnotic roll - forward, deep, hold, then withdraw just enough to let you feel the ache of emptiness before filling you again.
Whimpers punctuated his praises now, his cock so oversensitive that each slide sent sparks of mingled pleasure-pain through him, but he chased it anyway, hips snapping a fraction harder when the need overtook the tenderness.
“You’re doin’ so well... lettin’ me use this pretty pussy one more time.” His fingers intertwined with yours where they clutched the sheets, squeezing in rhythm with his movements, the emotional tether grounding the raw physicality.
The room filled with the wet sounds of his cock plunging into your cum-filled pussy, each thrust pushing more of the mixed fluids out around his girth, dripping down your thighs and soaking the bed further.
Toji’s grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you back harder onto him, the force making your body jolt forward with every impact.
He leaned in closer, his chest fully flush against your back now, trapping you beneath his bulk while his hips pistoned steadily, the friction building heat between your bodies. Sweat slicked your skin where you connected, his muscles flexing with each controlled drive, showcasing the effortless power that had you hooked from the start.
“You sound so pretty when you’re desperate.” He cooed, voice dropping lower as he felt your inner muscles flutter in response to the relentless angle.
He released your hair to brace one hand on the mattress beside your head, using the leverage to deepen his strokes, his cock dragging along your walls in long, unyielding glides that stretched you anew each time.
The head bumped against your cervix with a dull, pleasurable ache, sending jolts up your spine that made your toes curl into the sheets. “N–Nhaa! Shooo deep!”
Toji noticed, chuckling breathlessly against your ear. “Yeah, right there, h–huh? Sorry, baby, but I know you love it when I go deep like this. Makes you—ngh—clench so fuckin’ tight.” The apology was light, teasing almost, as if he was just humoring your sensitivity while reveling in the control.
Your breaths came in short, desperate pants now, muffled into the pillow as the coil in your belly wound tighter with every deliberate push. He varied the rhythm just enough to keep you on edge - slow, grinding rolls that stirred his previous loads inside you, making your pussy feel impossibly full, followed by sharper thrusts that slapped his hips against your ass with a meaty smack.
His free hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before dipping between your legs to circle your swollen clit with rough fingertips, the added stimulation making stars burst behind your eyelids.
Toji’s noises grew more frequent, his hypersensitive length pulsing with each velvet grip of your walls, the overstimulation turning every sensation into a razor-sharp edge of bliss. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his lips parted to suck at the skin there, leaving a fresh bruise amid the constellation of marks he’d already painted on you.
“Fuck... you’re gonna make me cum too quick again. This pussy’s too damn good, suckin’ me in like it never wants me to leave.” His words were punctuated by a particularly deep thrust, holding himself there as he ground his pelvis against you, the pressure on your clit intensifying under his fingers.
Finally, the tension snapped when he angled just right, his cock hitting that sweet spot while his fingers pressed firmly on your clit. “Mm– Toji!”
Your orgasm crashed over you in a shuddering rush, a keening moan escaping into the pillow as your pussy clamped down hard around him, rhythmic contractions milking his length with desperate squeezes.
Juices gushed out weakly around his shaft, mixing with the cum already there, the slick mess easing his final thrusts as he chased his own release.
Toji’s hips stuttered, a deep, whimpering groan rumbling from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt one last time. Hot spurts of cum erupted from his cock, flooding your depths with thinner ropes now from the exhaustion, but still coating your walls in warmth, the creampie overflowing slightly to trickle down your thighs.
He held you there, grinding shallowly to push it deeper, his body shuddering against yours in the throes of it, whimpers softening into satisfied sighs.
Staying seated inside you as he softened, Toji was reluctant to break the connection, his body collapsing gently over yours in a protective drape. Finally, he rolled you both to the side, still joined, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.
Lips pressed a final lazy kiss to your temple, his voice a smug rumble, thick with cocky satisfaction. “Damn, you really are the best birthday present a guy could ask for. Don’t think anythin’ is gonna top this present.”
a/n: happy birthday to my GLORIOUS king, husband, lover, etc etc, toji fushiguro!!!!!!!!!!!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’ve always hated the curse named ryomen sukuna—have always sworn to be the one to exorcise him. though when you finally meet him, things don’t turn out how you expect them to have.
tags. trueform!sukuna x sorcerer!reader. angst, smut. jjk au. enemies with benefits. mentions of blood and murder. p in v (two cawks). fíngerìng. unrealistic double pēnetration & tummy bulge. spǎnking. semi-public. creāmpie. rough. objectification. degredation. reader gets called ‘woman, brat, girl, slut’ :: wc: 6.4k :: not proofread.
ever since graduating from jujutsu high, you harbor a burning hatred for sukuna ryomen. the king of curses. he isn’t just an enemy. no, he is a plague on the world of jujutsu sorcery.
whispers of his atrocities echo through the halls of every sorcerer gathering: how he revels in unnecessary deaths, slaughtering innocents and sorcerers alike with sadistic glee that makes even the most hardened veterans shudder.
japan has been his playground for centuries, resurfacing in vessels or through cursed energy manifestations that leave trails of devastation. every sorcerer who dares challenge him meets a gruesome end. their bodies are often twisted and broken, their cursed energy drained until nothing remains but hollow shells.
even the strongest among you, those hailed as the pillars of the community, fall to his four-armed fury. his name alone instills fear and that fear only amplifies his power, feeding the curse in an endless cycle of terror.
you can’t stand it.
the way he mocks humanity, treating lives as disposable toys. that’s why you make it your mission: to be the one who exorcises him, even if it costs you your life.
you train relentlessly, pushing your body and cursed technique to their limits, vowing that one day you will stand over his crumbling form and end the nightmare.
your first ever meeting happens unexpectedly during one of your routine missions in a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of tokyo. the assignment is straightforward: exorcise a cluster of low-grade curses haunting the area.
though as you dispatch the last writhing spirit with a precise burst of your cursed energy, the air grows heavy and thick with oppressive malice that makes your skin crawl.
you spin around, heart pounding, only to come face-to-face with. . . him.
sukuna ryomen.
in the flesh—or rather, manifested in his true form—towering and monstrous with four arms, tattoos snaking across his skin and those piercing red eyes gleaming with amusement.
he’s just like described and he’s standing right there. in front of you. spawned out of thin air. you hadn’t sensed or heard him at all.
you hope it’s a dream. you pray to whatever god is listening to get you to wake up.
but nothing happens—this is your reality.
fear grips you like icy claws, but you refuse to let it show. your relentless training kicks in and you can’t back down now. you’ve prepared yourself for ages and now he’s finally shown up.
it’s an opportunity you won’t let go of.
“you’re… you’re him,” you spit and clench your teeth hard as your hatred comes back to you tenfold. you channel your energy into a defensive stance for now, “the king of curses—i’ll kill you.”
sukuna laughs. it’s a deep and rumbling sound that echoes off the crumbling walls. it’s scary.
“ah, another little sorcerer playing hero? how quaint,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes before deciding to humor you.
the fight is brutal and one-sided from the start. you unleash everything you have. from cursed blasts to enhanced strikes and barriers. despite it all, he swats them aside like mere flies.
his domain expansion isn’t even necessary—his raw power is enough to overwhelm you.
phantom claws rake across your side and draw blood. “ah—!” you gasp and the air rushes out of your lungs as a casual swing of his fingers sends you crashing into a pile of debris.
pain explodes through your body as you lie there. that final blow is too much on your mortal body. you’re bleeding out and your vision is blurring.
this is it, you think. death at the hands of the monster you’ve sworn to destroy. you’ve trained for… nothing. for death. you should have known you wouldn’t be able to defeat him on your own. that you’re naive for even thinking it.
but as sukuna looms over your prone form, his shadow engulfing you, something shifts in his cold expression.
not pity, never that, but interest. your eyes burn with unyielding hatred even with you bleeding to death. no pleas for mercy, no tears. just pure defiance and despise as you glare up at him.
“hmph. y’re different from the others,” sukuna muses and tilts his head, “that fire in your eyes… keheh, entertaining.”
to your shock, he lazily extends a hand, energy reversing the fatal damage with his reverse cursed technique. wounds knit together, though the phantom pain still lingers as he heals you just enough to survive.
then, with a wicked smirk, he vanishes into the shadows. not a word uttered or an explanation given to his actions.
the king of curses leaves you gasping on the cold floor with your mind reeling about what just happened in the span of less than five minutes.
hours later, your allies find you when you don’t return and rush you back to the headquarters for full recovery.
but the question still haunts you as you lie down in bed: why? sukuna ryomen is merciless, a being of pure evil.
why spare you?
…
recovery is swift, thanks to the skilled doctors you visit, but your mind is a whirlwind. you replay the entire encounter obsessively in your head whenever you’re reminded of it.
his mocking grin, the ease with which he dismantles you, the way he said your hatred for him is ‘entertaining’.
why hasn’t he finished you? after days, it still doesn’t make sense.
maybe it was his way of mocking you. of toying with you. of indirectly saying you aren’t even worth killing. thoughts like that fuel your resolve and hatred only more.
you throw yourself into training harder than ever, honing your technique, studying ancient texts on curses like him.
“i’ll find you again,” you whisper to yourself during late-night sessions with sweat dripping from your brow, “and next time, i’ll exorcise you for real.”
fate—or perhaps something more sinister—brings you together again. it starts randomly on a mission in kyoto, where you feel piercing eyes on you mid-battle, as if something watches from the shadows. just like last time.
i’m ready for it, you tell yourself. you brace your body as you kill off the last curse, finishing the job that bought you here in the first place. you wait patiently while subtly scanning around the place.
a few moments later and he appears, as if summoned by your thoughts.
“surprise,” sukuna mocks as his large form slowly appears from the shadows. his eyes look you up and down with a hum, “missed me?”
you scoff at those words, feeling offended. he’s treating you like nothing but dirt under his shoes. a toy he can play with, beat up a little and then throw aside like you’re nothing.
“never,” you huff and grab your weapon infused with cursed energy, gripping it tight. you take a deep breath, “i have failed before, but i’ll make sure to end you today.”
with that, you launch into combat with renewed ferocity. with more motivation than the previous time.
but again, he toys with you. sukuna bats away your attacks, landing blows that leave you bruised but alive. he has a dozen chances to kill you off in that fight, yet he doesn’t and it enrages you every single time.
each encounter follows the same pattern—he finds you on your daily missions, almost as if he’s actively tracking you.
unbeknownst to you, sukuna has been keeping tabs ever since that first meeting. he’s been drawn to your unyielding spirit like a moth to flame, the first ever human in this era to peak his interest. you are an amusing diversion in his eternal boredom, a plaything that fights back just enough to entertain.
and so, the meetings blur into a twisted routine.
you spot him again in the ruins of a cursed site. this time two weeks after your first meeting. your motivation to end his existence hasn’t faltered one second. no, you’re still as determined as the day you got your first chance to end him.
one of these meetings, as long as he keeps you alive, you’ll reach your goal. you’ll exorcise the king of curses with your own hands. you’ll be the one to do it.
“this time, i'll—“ you start for the nth time, but sukuna interrupts with gruff laughter. he’s heard those threats for so long, he doesn’t even let you finish them anymore before lazily dismantling your efforts once again.
and again. and again. and again.
each loss chips at your pride, but also ignites something darker. a thrill to uncover and hone your skills until the moment you’re able to land a fatal blow to the curse.
however, the mocking and teasing sukuna shows you is also working its magic slowly, eroding your resolve even if you claim that it hasn’t.
during one particularly grueling clash in an abandoned factory, the fight shifts.
you swing with all your might, cursed energy flaring, but he catches your wrist and pulls you close until you’re face to face. the proximity is electric—his heat, his scent of blood and power. your breaths mingle, both heavy and panting from exertion.
sukuna eventually pins you against the cold metal of an old conveyor belt. one massive hand wraps around your throat an holds you there with effortless strength. his lower pair of arms brace against the belt on either side of your hips, caging you completely.
the fourth hand still drips with your blood from the cut he carved across your ribs moments earlier. you feel the warmth of it soaking through your torn uniform, sticky against your skin.
“let me go, asshole,” you hiss and glare up at him, refusing to blink even as your lungs burn for deeper air.
hatred pours out of you in waves, cursed energy crackling faintly around your clenched fists. but beneath it—buried so deep you barely acknowledge it—lies something else.
something hot and treacherous that has been building for months, with every near-death encounter, every mocking laugh, every time he leaves you alive when he shouldn’t.
sukuna leans in closer, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his bare torso and smell the metallic tang of blood. those four unblinking crimson eyes bore into yours. a slow, infuriating smirk curls across his mouth—sharp canines glinting in the next flash of lightning.
“you fight like you mean it, woman,” he growls. the words aren’t praise; they are mockery wrapped in velvet and designed to infuriate, “all that fire, all that pretty little rage… and still so fuckin’ weak.”
your jaw tightens and feel yourself wanting to punch him in the face for it, “shut up!”
you want to spit venom, want to drive your weapon straight through his chest and watch him finally crumble. but your body has other ideas. the proximity is dizzying you for some reason. maybe it’s that hypnotising look in his eyes.
or maybe it’s his tattooed skin inches from yours, the hard lines of muscle flexing with every breath and the sheer overwhelming size of him. you hate how aware you are of it. hate how your pulse isn’t just from adrenaline anymore.
you shift your weight to try to create space, but the movement only brings your hips flush against his. the contact is electric. you feel him and your brows furrow. you feel disgusted at yourself for even thinking about that right now, but you’re feeling two.
two… hard-ons.
the prominent bulge presses insistently through the thin fabric of his loosened pants. a humiliating rush of heat floods between your thighs and you pray the rain disguises the way your breath hitches. you hate everything about this. why is he even turned on?
this is wrong.
sukuna’s smirk widens at your reaction. his eyes narrow with dark amusement as if he can taste your surprise and arousal on the air.
“ohh, what’s this?” he mockingly coos. one of his lower hands slides from the conveyor to grip your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to bruise, “the mighty sorcerer… gettin’ wet for the monster she swore to kill, huh?”
“am not,” you immediately and loudly deny, but your voice cracks on the last syllable which betrays you. you try to shove at his chest out of pure reflex, but your palms linger a fraction too long against the heat of his skin, fingers curling slightly before you catch yourself.
thunder rolls overhead, long and ominous. another flash of lightning lights his face: sharp cheekbones, those mocking eyes focused on every inch of your face, the faint sheen of rain on his lips. something inside you fractures.
hatred and want collide in a single, violent spark.
you don’t think. you can’t. one second you tremble with rage beneath his grip and in the the next, you surge upward as the anger reaches its peak. you fist both hands in the wet fabric of his open robe and yank him down as you crash your mouth against his.
the kiss isn’t gentle. it is a declaration of war.
teeth clash and lips bruise in a punishing collision born of months of pent-up loathing and something far more dangerous. you bite his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. his blood, dark and cursed. you spit it out against his lips, shuddering in disgust but also feeling a wicked thrill of finally succeeding in making him bleed.
even if it’s through such desperate circumstances.
sukuna growls into your mouth, the sound rumbling through your entire body. his grip on your throat tightens for a heartbeat before sliding up to fist in your soaked hair, angling your head exactly how he wants.
you hate him. god, you hate him.
but you kiss him like you want to devour him whole.
reality hits like a cold wave when you feel his fingers brush against a painful wound on your ribs. you shove him back, eyes wide with horror as you realise what you did, “get away from me!”
you’re panting. you feel humiliated. you’re the one who initiated it, yet you’re the one who’s pushing him away. but why would you do such a thing in the first place? it must be a trick.
sukuna must have put some cursed, manipulative spell on you to make you act so rash. disgusting. just a cheap trick, you convince yourself.
the king of curses scoffs at you. he makes a show of licking his lips, tasting your blood mixed with his with a satisfactory hum. “that was unexpected. i’ll give ya that,” he snickers and leans back, eyes roaming over your body this time.
you wanted to sputter out excuses and convince both him and yourself that it was his doing—that he had done something to make you lose your mind like that—but then you notice it.
the slight shift in sukuna’s demeanour. almost laid back. as if he has let his guard down imperceptibly so. but you sense it.
perhaps that kiss was a good thing for you. a tactical distraction.
seizing the moment, you channel a fatal strike, cursed energy surging toward his core in a sharp shape. right at his heart. you put everything into it, your rage and hatred. the amount of time you’ve spent training to defeat him.
but even now, sukuna stops it effortlessly. his expression hardens to ice as he realises what you had wanted to do—that you took that small chance to get at him.
“you humans are all the same, foolish creatures.”
the merciless king that he’s always been depicted at, and the one you’ve heard of, returns. slashes fly, precision cutting you down until you crumple against a broken wall. your blood pools around you and this time, you are sure.
death is coming.
sukuna’s red eyes gleam with cold fury as he raises a hand. he stands over you and even through barely open eyes, you can see the dark aura emanating from him. an unstoppable and merciless beast that doesn’t spare a soul.
you close your eyes and lose consciousness before his death sentence can reach you.
but the fatal blow never comes. instead, he delivers a heavy kick that sends you sprawling like discarded trash.
“tch. not even worth it,” he spits on the floor beside you and turns, walking away and leaving you broken but somewhat breathing.
…
the next recovery is longer. your body is aching with reminders of his power. and again, the thoughts of why he hasn’t finished you yet don’t stop haunting you every day.
eventually, you tell yourself to just forget about it. maybe you should just take one or two missions a week to reduce your chances of meeting him again. you don’t want to come face-to-face with him ever again after what happened last time.
yet, the encounters don’t seem to stop. if anything, they intensify.
you tell yourself it is the missions drawing him out, but deep down, you know he seeks you.
the hatred remains, but now it is laced with something forbidden: an undercurrent of desire you deny vehemently.
it culminates in a rain-slicked night in tokyo’. another mission goes awry: curses swarming a derelict district. you exorcise most, but exhaustion sets in and wounds from earlier fights reopen.
you’re stumbling to cover, some place where you can catch a break, when you feel that inevitable shift in the air. a second later, sukuna appears and materialises from the shadows like a nightmare given form.
you’re not even surprised. but this time, you can’t be bothered to face him with these injuries. you know it’s going to be another loss. and who knows what kind of tricks he has up his sleeve this time?
maybe he’ll do worse than manipulating you to randomly kiss and make out with him like last time. that was totally his doing. totally.
“runnin’ already, woman?” sukuna’s voice booms and is laced with mockery.
you sigh and turn around, eyes flashing with hatred at just his presence. those words motivate you to pick up your weapon and face him. even if you’re already battered.
you don’t bother responding or making conversation.
cursed blasts clash against his barriers and fists meeting unyielding muscle as you try to lay a successful attack on him. but sukuna is relentless, driving you back until you flee into a narrow alleyway, gasping for breath, injured and cornered.
you can’t fight any longer or you’ll pass out. perhaps succumb to your injuries for real this time.
the alley is dim and lit only by flickering streetlights. rain patters against the grimy walls. you lean against the brick, blood trickling from a gash on your arm which stains your uniform.
“hngh,” you let out a small whimper as you press a shaky hand to a cut on your arm.
sukuna stalks in lazily, his massive frame blocking the exit. red eyes glow with predatory hunger as he stares you down from head to toe. he loves this sight—you, beaten and battered, yet still glaring at him with that defiant hatred.
“look at you,” the curse sneers before stepping closer until he towers over you. one arm slams against the wall above your head, caging you in, “pathetic little human. still thinkin’ y’ can defeat me? it’s almost adorable, the way you keep trying.”
your heart races and not just from fear. being pinned like this, his body heat radiating, those crimson eyes boring into yours—it reminds you of what happened last time.
your body betrays you again the same way, a wave of warmth creeping up your cheeks despite the pain.
“it’s.. it’s a trick again,” you mutter to yourself. you’re convinced it is hypnosis—those eyes mesmerizing you.
but no, it is real. the tension crackles like cursed energy, thick and unavoidable.
sukuna leans in and his breath is hot against your ear, “i hate y’r guts, woman. hate seeing insects like ya scramble for cover, so weak and helpless. but this…”
one of his large hands trails down your side, rough and possessive, smearing blood everywhere on your skin, “this bloody mess? it fuckin’ turns me on.”
you shiver at that. you hate how your pussy clenches at his nasty words.
sukuna presses closer and starts subtly grinding against you. you feel it again—him, hard and insistent. there’s no denying the arousal now.
the shift in the air is inevitable. his upper pair of hands fist in your tattered clothing and, just like you had during your previous meeting, lifted you up into a bruising kiss. it is hate-fueled and desperate. teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance.
sukuna growls into your mouth. you’re weak yet still trying to fight him on this. to fight him in the battle that is your shared kiss.
two arms lift you effortlessly before pinning you higher against the wall. the rain soaks you both, mixing with blood and sweat and pooling beneath your feet.
“fuckin’ brat," he mutters, breaking the kiss to bite hard along your jaw, “givin’ in so easily. you humans truly have no shame.”
you want to protest, to deny his claims, but your body arches into him. one of his lower hands rips at your uniform to expose more skin, while another teases the space between your thighs.
all the built up tension explodes right that moment. a dam breaking after months of simmering hatred and forbidden glances during your clashes. his fingers—those rough, calloused ones from centuries of violence—brush against the damp fabric of your panties. it elicits a sharp gasp from your bloody lips.
sukuna smirks against your neck while nipping hard enough to break skin. a fresh trickle of blood joins the rain-slicked mess on your collarbone.
“oh. . . already soaked for me, huh? y’r pussy's betraying ya before i’ve even touched it properly,” he snorts and his voice is a low rumble, laced with mockery.
but there is an edge to it now. a raw hunger that mirrors the twisted desire coiling in your gut. you hate him for it, for making you feel this way, for turning your body into a traitor against your will.
though the tension still builds unbearably. every brush of his fingers sends jolts through you and your hips twitch involuntarily as if seeking more.
sukuna doesn’t make you wait long.
with a harsh yank, he tears your panties aside and the fabric rips like paper under his claws. cool rain hits your exposed slit, but it does nothing to quench the heat there.
“tch,” he scoffs at the sight of your bare cunt pulsing around nothing, aching to be filled even if you refuse to acknowledge it with your words and glares at him, “y’ can deny it all ya want. she’ll talk to me instead.”
his long and meaty fingers delve in without mercy and make you gasp, “fuck!”
two thick digits plunge deep between your slick folds, curling just right to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. you cry out and the sound echoes off the alley walls, a mix of pain from your wounds and the overwhelming pleasure that borders on torture.
“listen to that,” the king of curses taunts and pumps his fingers slowly at first, building the rhythm to match the pounding rain, “your cunt’s slurpin’ me up like it’s starving. what would those colleagues of y’rs think? their precious sorcerer, begging to get finger-fucked by the curse she swore to exorcise, kheheh.”
“i—i’m not begging,” you snarl through gritted teeth, but your denial rings hollow as your sloppy pussy clenches around him. your translucent slick coats his hand and drips down to his wrist.
he adds a third finger and stretches you further, his thumb circling your clit with brutal precision. he does it rough enough to sting, just the way that sends sparks up your spine. it’s one chaotic mess: the blood from your wounds smears across his palm as he works you, mixing with your arousal in a forbidden mess.
sukuna eventually pulls out mid-thrust and brings his bloodied fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a grotesque hum of approval.
“tastes like defeat,” he growls, upper pair of eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away, while the other pair is hyper focused on your spread open cunt.
the tension ratchets higher as he drops you just enough to shove your pants down fully, the fabric pooling at your ankles in the puddle below. you gasp as the cool air hits your pussy and ass fully, but he gives no reprieve.
his own robes part with a casual flick, unceremoniously revealing his two cocks. they’re stacked one atop the other, thick and veined, pulsing and ready.
the upper one is slightly longer, curved wickedly, while the lower is girthier, promising an even more intense stretch. precum beads at both tips and it glistens like venom.
the sight should repulse you—a monstrous anomaly born of his cursed nature—but it only fuels the fire. your mouth is watering despite your disgusted glare, “a curse through and through. nasty.”
“yeah? nasty, huh?” sukuna snickers while stroking the upper one lazily with one hand while the lower nudges against your slick slit, teasing without entering, “this wet cunt says otherwise though.”
he grinds it against your folds, the veined length sliding through your wetness. the tip bumps your clit with each pass. you squirm and muffle your own desperate noises with a hand to your mouth.
“poor you, so desperate you’d let a monster like me ruin you,” sukuna continues teasing while bucking his hips slightly.
“shut up,” you hiss, but your hips buck back involuntarily to chase the friction.
sukuna chuckles darkly before grabbing your thigh with one arm to hitch your leg higher around his waist, opening you up completely. rain cascades down your bodies, making everything slicker and more obscene.
without warning like the monster he is, he thrusts the lower cock inside you in one brutal move. the stretch is intense and immediately borders on pain.
“you—!” you grit your teeth and barely stop yourself from screaming out.
your pussy flutters wildly as it barely accommodates to his size, his dick pulsing like a second heartbeat inside you. you cry out quietly as the tip reaches your cervix, head thrown back against the wall. the rough brick scrapes your scalp almost painfully too.
sukuna doesn’t wait for you to adjust properly either, setting a fast pace the second you let out a moan. his hips snap forward with enough force to jolt your entire body back and forth.
“fuckkkk, y’re a tight one,” he groans. one hand chokes you by your throat lightly. your pulse thunders under his grip, adding a layer of danger that has you teetering on the edge.
another hand pinches your nipple through the torn fabric of your top. he twists it harshly until you whimper, the additional pain shooting straight to your cunt.
“too much—“ you gasp out and see stars form in your vision from the dizzying mix of pleasure and pain.
the pink-haired curse just grunts as he watches his dick disappear in and out of your cunt, “y’re squeezin’ me like a vice, human. y’r body’s honest, even if y’r mouth spews lies.”
sukuna adjusts his angle, the upper cock now grinding insistently against your clit with each thrust. the thick shaft slides against your folds like a promise.
but he isn’t content with that tease. he shifts before pressing the lower cock to your gaping pussy alongside the first, “take it, brat. take both—like the greedy whore ya are.”
sukuna pushes in slowly this time, savoring your gasps and whines as the dual penetration stretches you to your absolute limits. the fullness is overwhelming. pain mingles with pleasure in a haze of sensation, every inch forcing your slick insides to yield and mold to him.
you feel impossibly full, split open, the veined dicks rubbing against each other inside you to create friction that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
“fuuuuck. . .you. ah—nghh!” you scream and your nails dig into his broad shoulders, drawing lines of blood that mingle with the rain running down his back.
“that’s it. scream f’ me,” sukuna growls in a feral way. his thrusts turn relentless, hips slamming into yours with wet echoing slaps that drown out the storm. the alley reverberates with the sounds: your mingled moans, the squelch of your soaked pussy taking him deep and the patter of rain on skin.
one arm holds you up effortlessly. the other toys with your clit, thumb circling roughly, pinching occasionally to send shocks through you. a third hand snakes around to your ass to deliver a sharp spank that makes you jolt. the sting blooms into heat that amplifies every thrust.
“foolish thing, creamin’ on my cocks like a whore— i could kill ya right now, but this ‘s better. breaking you like this, making you crave the enemy you hate,” sukuna’s degrading words whispered in your ear makes you shiver as you’re reminded of what you’re actually doing.
your mind reels and denial wars with ecstasy. “nghhh, i—i do hate you…so much,” you repeatedly whisper under your breath, but your body betrays you.
your wet cunt clenches as your orgasm builds. he senses it and pounds harder in response. the dual cocks hit every sensitive spot—g-spot and depths you didn’t know existed—while his fingers work your clit mercilessly. another spank lands, then another, the chaos and rhythmic pain pushing you closer.
“cum for me, woman. cover my cocks in it,” sukuna groans and bites your shoulder. one of four busy hands press down on your lower abdomen, the outline of his cock visible.
it hits like a curse.
waves crash over you, vision whiting out as you clench around him with force, soaking his fat dicks in a gush that drips down your thighs. your scream tears from your throat and your body convulses uncontrollably in his hold.
sukuna doesn’t stop chasing his own release with savage intensity. his thrusts grow erratic and deeper, his cocks swelling as if feeding off your climax.
“fuck, fuck, fu—take it all," he groans before burying himself to the hilt inside your wet cunt. hot spurts erupt from both shafts and fill you until the point of overflowing.
thick seed pump deep, spilling out around him in sticky ropes that stain your inner thighs. the sensation prolongs your aftershocks, your creamy insides milking him dry as he grinds against you to draw out every drop.
finally, sukuna stills. he pulls out slowly, a wet, obscene pop echoing in the alley as his cocks slip free. cum oozes from your abused pussy in a continuous and humiliating stream.
“ngh,” you slide down the wall with your legs trembling. your body is spent and marked with bruises, bites, blood and his seed. your stomach is slightly bulging with the amount of cum pumped into you. a reminder of what you’ve done.
disgust washes over you then and there, thick and suffocating, yet laced with that twisted satisfaction. you pull at your tattered clothes to cover yourself, hands shaky and body still unable to register what happened.
you don’t meet his eyes at all, though you can feel them on you. watching you. assessing you. wanting to see what you’d do now that he’s got you like this. now that he’s fucked you deep and good.
the same curse you claim to despise.
“this… this didn’t happen,” you mutter. your denial is firm as you refuse to meet his gaze while pulling your clothes back in place. or well, trying to.
sukuna adjusts himself while smirking down at your state. “see how pathetic you humans are? givin’ in so easily to y’r basest urges,” he rolls his eyes when you can only glare at him, “rage all you want, brat. next time, you’ll probably beg for it.”
“there’ll be no next time. fuck you,” you spit and stand up on shaky legs, the pain of your earlier injuries coming back now that the adrenaline and all have disappeared.
you try to kick him, to get back at him, to show him that you mean it—but your blow is so weak that sukuna just stares down at you without bothering to block it. he shakes his head before grabbing your ankle and yanking you to the other side of the alley, making you crumple in a heap.
“i expect less bratty behaviour next time,” the king of curses clicks his tongue before walking off lazily, back into the shadows.
you lie there in the muddy alleyway and can’t feel anything. everything that had just happened between you two made you disgusted, but you can’t deny that there was something about it that was appealing.
no, you can’t. you shake the thought off and focus on getting up and to safety.
though deep down, you know: this is not the end. the cycle of hate and desire will pull you back.
…
you end up being right. the encounters don’t cease after that night. if anything, they become more frequent and charged. you tell yourself each time is the last, that you’ll finally be able to exorcise him, but the pull is undeniable.
sukuna revels in it. in seeing you give in even as you try to pull him away. his taunts are sharper and his touches slowly turn more possessive than aggressive.
the sex is always rough, the hatred oozing from you both and creating a surprisingly sexually tense atmosphere. it’s always degrading and rough; him slamming into you with both cocks, stretching you impossibly, while he whispers absolute filth.
each time, the disgust lingers like a bitter aftertaste, but it only fuels the fire. you train harder by day, plotting his downfall. yet by night, memories of his touch haunt your dreams.
sukuna, for his part, finds endless amusement in your internal war. he hates humans like you, but he also hates the way you’re intriguing him with each encounter.
each time you have sex, he’s got desires to choke you until you can’t breathe. to kill you once he’s done with you like he had to many others before you. but he doesn’t for some wicked reason and that makes him hate your existence.
though, he also relishes in your anger and loves to remind you of it every time with the same couple words;
“admit it, woman—you crave this. your hatred’s just foreplay to me.”
and each meeting you deny it with the same, if not intensified, anger and hatred in your eyes.
“no, this changes nothing. i’ll still kill you. one day.”
the pattern continues for months on end: missions interrupted by his presence, fights turning into rough sex. in a crowded subway tunnel, abandoned warehouses and even in the midst of a burning apartment complex.
disgust mingles with satisfaction each time, creating a toxic brew. you deny it to your core, but the benefits of this enmity are undeniable;
you get to live another day even after crossing ryomen sukuna while slowly learning more about his cursed techniques and powers. you’re the closest to finding out how to defeat him than anyone else ever had.
months pass again in the same haze, a relentless blur of missions by day and shadowed encounters by night. the jujutsu society spins on around you—new threats rising, curses multiplying, briefings stacking up in sterile conference rooms—but your focus fractures.
half of you remains the dedicated sorcerer: sharp, relentless, reporting for duty with techniques honed to a lethal edge. the other half lives in anticipation. a dark current beneath the surface, waiting for the next time the air thickens with his presence.
your colleagues notice the changes long before you admit them to yourself. the increased absences are the first red flag. missions that run longer than expected, radio silence that stretches hours into dawn, returns with excuses too vague to scrutinize.
then come the bruises: dark blooms across your collarbone, finger-shaped marks on your hips, scratches that nothing could explain.
you dismiss them with practiced ease. “tough curse,” you say, tugging your collar higher, “the target put up more fight than intel suggested.” they nod, uneasy but trusting. you are one of the best, after all.
but the exhaustion shows in subtler ways. eyes that linger too long on shadowed corners during patrols. a slight flinch when thunder rolls, as if expecting crimson eyes to materialize from the storm. the way your cursed energy flares hotter and sharper—almost unstable—during training sessions, as though fueled by something far more volatile than determination.
it comes to a head one rainy afternoon in the jujutsu high briefing room. fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the faces gathered around the table.
kento nanami, a senior sorcerer who mentored you years ago, outlines a new cluster of curse activity in the kanto region. you sit near the back with your arms crossed and stare at the projected map without really seeing it. your mind is elsewhere: replaying the last encounter with sukuna that no one knows about, the ghost of rough hands on your skin and the echo of a mocking voice in your ear.
“you’re pushing too hard,” kento says quietly once the others file out after the meeting. he lingers by your chair, concern etched deep in the lines around his eyes, “you’ve been running solo missions back-to-back. the injuries are piling up. whatever you’re chasing… it’s consuming you."
you meet his gaze before forcing a tight smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, “i’m fine. just doing my job.”
the lie tastes familiar now, though still bitter on your tongue. kento studies you for a long moment, as if searching for the bright-eyed graduate he once knew, then sighs and leaves without another word.
the door clicks shut behind him. alone in the empty room, you let your head fall back against the chair and stare at the ceiling. your body still carries reminders of the last clash. those faint bruises shaped like five distinct fingertips on your thigh, a healing cut along your ribs where claws grazed too close.
you should be repulsed. you are repulsed. and yet…
your phone buzzes in your pocket. a new mission alert from colleagues. coordinates flash on the screen. another derelict site on the edge of the city. another night alone in the dark.
you stand slowly. you roll your shoulders, feeling the familiar surge of cursed energy coil beneath your skin. part of you whispers to request backup, to step back, to break the pattern before it breaks you.
but the rest—the darker and hungrier part—already knows you won’t as always.
because somewhere out there, the king of curses waits.
because in this twisted bond, hate and lust fuel an eternal cycle, two forces locked in combat and ecstasy. you are enemies, yes—but with hatred that bind you tighter than any curse.
KKUNAI 2026. honestly wrote this in a hurry and wanted to maybe make this a series when i finish with my outlaw!toji one. so treat this ‘fic’ like a messy concept for a possible series (if you want one) !
# 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.”
summary! frat boy gojo's come to you seeking help on his physics homework (when in reality he just wants to be around you), and when you get to his apartment, you're surprised to see his equally as attractive, yet very nerdy looking twin. if his brother was so smart, why did he need your help? and worser yet, why were they both eying you up like something to eat..? (fratjo is awkward and sweet, nerdjo is flirty and sly.)
gojo was constantly nagging you in physics. if the course wasn't gruelling enough, this 6'4 chunk of awkward muscle was making it worse with his insistence on being the centre of your attention.
"just a few hours at my off campus place! no frat guys involved at all, pleaseeee?" he begged from his seat next to you.
he had his head tilted and propped up in his palm, with his stupid backwards hat and that infuriatingly seductive stare. after a few minutes of pleading, you caved.
“okay,” you mumble after a second, pretty eyes falling over your notebook. “but only because you look really stressed. and just for a bit, yeah?"
yeah, 'stressed'. little did you know he was fine at the subject, he just needed an excuse to hang out with you because he was too shy to ask you out properly. for a notorious charmer like gojo, he was surprisingly bad at talking to you, the one girl he actually wanted.
he gave you quick side hug and scuffled your hair, jumping out of his seat, "you won't regret this!" and he zoomed off mumbling something about needing to 'tell his bro to clean up.' whatever that meant.
you blush at the empty seat he left behind, fingers tapping at your pen. your heart feels a little fast, which is stupid, because it’s just gojo. your silly, overly friendly-friend gojo. you tell yourself you only agreed because you didn’t want him to fail. that’s all!
the thing was, although you and gojo were what most would consider good friends, you'd never seen him as the guy who'd hang around someone like you.
you were shy in the way that made people lean in when you spoke because they couldn't quite hear. the kind of person who listened more than she talked, who remembered the little important things, who said sorry too often even when you didn’t even do anything wrong, and he was this big bravado fratboy who everyone loved and adored.
you two were starkly different.
but, as your relationship started to grow after he'd decided you were his new best friend in physics, you'd come to realise he was more of a nervous wreck hiding behind fake confidence than anything.
he'd always toy impulsively with your cute pens, draw silly doodles all over your notes, then get shy when you drew on his back, he'd shut the lid of your laptop whenever you were typing just to piss you off, then apologise over and over when you ignored him after. he'd call you sweet names like, 'honey,' and 'sweetheart', only to blush like crazy afterwards because when it came to you, all the chivalry he'd accumulated from talking to so many women at parties decided to disappear.
nevertheless, gojo thought you were really cute, so much so that he needed a super intelligent plan to get closer to you without asking you outright. class time wasn't cutting it for him anymore, he wanted more.
so, what better way than to invite you over for a 'study sesh' and try to wow you with his other skills? maybe he'd cook you something, that'll surely make you swoon!
he just had to warn satoru that he'd be coming over with a guest..
~
you [7:34 pm]: hey !!
you [7:34 pm]: i'm outside >_0
gojo stares at your message with a big smile on his too-perfect face. your little emoticons always got him giddy, who even used those anymore? you, apparently. and it was adorable.
then, he's knocked out of his daydreamy cloud when he realises you're out there, waiting.
"oh fuck."
he scrambles off his bed like a clumsy idiot towards his full length mirror, he looks at himself in the reflection and toys with his locks until they looked voluminous and wavy, then flexes his muscles as some sort of confidence boost.
with one big deep breath, he stalks towards the front door and opens it with a grin.
you're there, standing so sweetly with your text books in one hand and laptop in the other.
cute.
in a panic, he spurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
"wow, you look... really.. epic?"
what the fuck gojo.
he cringes so bad. of course the first thing he says to you is something a two year old would say to a drawing his friend showed him. god, strike me down now. i deserve it.
“o-oh,” you say, heat creeping up your neck. “thank you.” you tuck your hair behind your ear, very interested in the concrete by your feet. what did that even mean?
he clears his throat and opens the door further for you to walk in. this night was already turning out bad and he hadn't even started cheffing up.
you decide to disregard gojos comment. after all, he was always like that, right? the same goofy guy you'd been sitting with for a year now. nothing weird!
the apartments nice, he's apparently got good taste when it comes to decor. warm browns and reds, like a cool 2000's mum's house. only, when you place your things down on the kitchen bench, you spot some manga and an unopened pack of digimon cards in the shelving on the wall.
wait, was he into that? really? him?
satoru's the picture perfect frat guy. he's attractive, really athletic, you wanna say smart but you haven't seen proof of that just yet, and loud. especially loud.
he's so outwards with his interests and hobbies there's no way he could of possibly hid this from you. he's too much of a blabber mouth.
did he live with someone? did he have a roommate? this was only his off campus apartment after all..
you stare at the geeky little section with a small smile until you're pulled back to reality when he comes up behind you and slips into the head seat of the dining table.
his laptop's already sitting there ready for 'studying', and you sit down in the closest chair. then, he takes another deep breath as he trys and fails miserably to make some more small talk. maybe score another hang out!
"so, you doing anything this weekend?" please say nothing, please say nothing!
you toy with the sleeve of your sweater, "our finals due on monday, so just studying." you reply softly, opening your first textbook up to the index.
"cool, cool." god, how was he gonna save this? he didn't prepare for the conversation aspect of this as much as he'd prepared the house and the ingredients for whatever he was gonna make you.
before he can cook up another grade A conversation starter, you speak for him.
“um,” you start, then stop. your fingers worry at the edge of your sleeve. “this is silly, but… do you like digimon?” you ask curiously, looking up at him as he leans back into his chair. you couldn't help yourself, you had to know.
he's confused first, then follows your line of sight to the self. shit, he thought he told satoru to move his nerdy crap!
he scoffs, then shakes his head. "o-oh, no, that's my brothers. he's into all that pokémon esk shit." he nervously laughs.
brother?...
on cue, who else but satoru walks out of what looks like a bedroom. and holy wow, he's identical to gojo.
your face must show some kind of shock, because he laughs a bit, smiles, winks at you? then he waves.
you gently wave back and beside you, gojo's staring daggers at this man.
"i told you to stay in your room, toru. you're cramping my style."
satoru just rubs his neck and shoots gojo an apologetic, yet mischievous smile, pushing the bridge of his black rimmed glasses up his nose.
"sorry, bro. didn't mean to interrupt you and your girl, just needed water." he laughs.
oh gosh, his laugh was hot.
on instinct, you accidentally blurt out, "i'm uhm... i'm not his girl." then, you slap a hand over your mouth like you were trying to push the words back in.
satoru raised a brow at your adorable hastiness.
"oh, i'm so sorry, sweetheart. didn't mean to assume anything, i just thought since you were here and gojo only really brings girls he's involved with over i-"
"oh my god, shoosh, satoru." gojo groans. you watch as satoru's face relaxes and he once again, rubs his neck.
he's cute, and surprisingly flirty for such a nerdy looking guy...
where gojo would have mounding bulk, satoru had a slimmer, yet still muscular look. gojo was taller, but satoru had his same, beautiful face.
satoru smirks and lazily steps up to the table, “i’m satoru. gojo’s twin. he didn't tell me he had such a cute friend.” he takes your hand into his and kisses the back softly.
your face goes pink as you choke out a, "hi.. i'm [name], it's uh.. super nice to meet you." you gulp, but satorus too busy looking you fondly in the eye to notice.
from beside you, gojo's scoffing at this little interaction. this was supposed to be a you and him thing, not a you him, and his brother thing.
satoru pulls out a chair and sits on the other side of you, deciding it would be rude to just leave you so abruptly after meeting. not because he thought you were the cutest thing since they brought out biyomon plushies, of course not.
“so, you're the one helping this meat head study, huh?”
you nod quickly. “just a bit. i mean, i’m not amazing or anything.” you bashfully smile.
“oh.” satoru smirks, “that’s so, so nice of you.”
gojo clicks his tongue. “don’t sound so shocked.”
“i’m not,” satoru says with a yawn. “i try to help you out all the time and you brush me off, she must be special. are you smart, honey?" he's now talking to you again, watching your eyes so intently it makes your thighs press together.
“she's very smart, so go away." gojo scoffs, grabbing at your wrist to make you face him, not his snarky brother.
you freeze a little at the sudden tension, shoulders drawing in to yourself. you’re not used to being the reason voices get so sharp like this.
gojo leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. he feels like a poser all of a sudden. his brother with his degrees and his fancy equations and his stupidly suave charm. you with your organised life and perfect mannerisms. and him, who doesn't look the part, but feels like the biggest dork here.
maybe you’d be better off with someone like satoru.
someone who speaks your language. someone who wouldn’t need to beg for help. someone who wouldn’t drag you into his mess just to get your attention because he's too pussy to just ask you out on a proper date. jeez, having a crush sucked.
he clicks his tongue and straightens up, enough with the depressing thoughts, he's better than that, he wanted you, and if satoru was gonna stand in the way, he would just have to prove he's better.
“anyway,” he says, louder than necessary because god forbid you two forget him for more than a minute. “toru here's in astrophysics.”
you look back at satoru, eyes lighting up. “oh wow! really?”
satoru nods,. “yes mam. i’m doing my honours thesis right now, pretty hard stuff...”
“urgh, see?” gojo says, waving a hand at him. “total geek.”
satoru just chuckles, still eyeing you up with his eyes hooded behind those glasses.
you tilt your head, confusion creasing your brow. “wait...”
gojo hums, and you look at him now, not satoru. your voice is still gentle, but there’s curiosity and logic in the undertone.
“if your brothers taking such a high level physics course, why do you need my help?”
yikes. cats outta the bag.
gojo opens his big mouth, but of course, nothing comes out.
his face heats up far too fast, and not in a cool way. not in a smooth way. his ears go red and he rubs the back of his neck hard, suddenly very interested in the grain of the table.
“i mean-" he starts. “it’s not like- god, he’s busy. and it’s not exactly the same material. and i didn’t want to bother him and-"
he looks at you and you're staring up at him with those big, thoughtful eyes, and he sighs. there's no point in lying to you.
he laughs. “okay, yeah. fine.”
satoru looks between the two of you with a smile.
gojo exhales. “i wasn’t desperate. i just-" he shrugs, awkward. “wanted you over, or whatever. i think you're really sweet."
you smile at that, because yeah, you knew, but listening to him ramble made you smile. "you could of just asked to hang out... i would of said yes." you push lightly, and he chokes out a laugh at how suddenly teasing you're being.
"alright then, c'mon." he pushes his chair back and pulls you up too, guiding you towards the kitchen with one strong arm. he gets you infront of the bench then lifts you up, putting you down on the counter with ease. you giggle in shock, but settle as he pats your thigh.
"you're gonna watch me whip up some mean fried rice." he says with a huge grin. "what i really brought you here for, sweets." he has to turn around immediately so you don't see the blush crawling at his cheeks. he bumps into the fridge as he turns like the big guy he is, then apologises to the fridge under his breath, and opens it up to get the ingredients out.
you're really conflicted right now, if you were being honest.
first off, sure, satoru's always been your friend, but you'd assumed he was too out there for your type of personality to mesh with. so, you pushed down whatever romantic feelings begun to blossom the day he started harmlessly teasing you in class because he was that guy, confident and funny, you were just some shy girl in his physics class.
but now, he was pretending to need help just to be in your company? what was the universe playing at?
and to add insult to injury, he's got this secret sexy brother who looks like a slyer, more calculated version of him. was having a crush on two brothers at once a sin or something? if so, you're going to hell.
pulling you out from your thoughts is satoru, who announces from his spot at the dining table, "i'll leave you two too it then." as he stands from his seat. but, just as he's about to head to his room you quickly blurt out a, "wait-" then flush when both of them look at you. “i-i mean… you don’t have to go. if that’s okay.”
"hmm?" he looks over his shoulder at you, smiling like he knew you'd say something to keep him there.
"i- i just... you don’t have to go, right, gojo? do you have enough for three?" you turn back around to look at gojo, you can tell he's about to pout and say no, but when he locks his gaze on yours and you're staring at him with those pleading eyes, he sighs and caves. "of course he can."
satoru grinds then slips onto the stool at the breakfast bar behind you, pulling at the hem of your sweater.
"thanks, sweetheart. you're so kind." he winks.
there's a crack from gojo's direction and you whip around to see he'd accidentally snapped the wooden spoon he was using to stir fry the vegetables.
"oo, someone's antsy."
"shut up, toru."
satoru just chuckles smoothly and leans back in his chair like he owns the place, ankles crossed, eyes flicking between you and gojo with that knowing little curl to his lip.
“so,” he says clicking his teeth. “how’s frat life treating you these days?”
gojo perks up instantly, like a dog who's owner just got home.
“oh, it’s sick,” he says brightly. “the guys are great. loud as hell, but great. we just moved the couch again because suguru kept spilling beer on it and swore it was cursed. friday nights are kinda wild, but sundays we just order dumb amounts of food and pass out watching trash tv.”
he laughs easily, hands moving as he talks. he sounds far more comfortable than he did a minute ago, you loved when he talked about the frat, it was obvious he really loved his friends.
“sounds… lively,” satoru says. his eyes sharpen up just a touch. “and all the girls you bring over? they enjoying the hospitality too?”
... oo, that hit.
gojo stalls, “uh,” he says. “i mean. it's not really like that.”
you look at him, curiously, and he notices immediately.
“i don’t-" he rushes on. “i mean sometimes people come over, sure, but it’s not like a big thing. and it’s not like i’m just dragging random girls back every night or whatever. that’s not really me.”
he laughs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“toru’s understating. like always.”
satoru hums. “am i?”
his eyes flick to you. “i just figured,” he continues, mild, “with his reputation and all, you’d be used to a revolving door.”
gojo swallows. you can tell he hates how that sounds. hates how it might settle with you.
“it’s not like that,” he says again, quieter. “i don’t want you thinking i’m some… i don’t know.. man whore. i don't sleep around with more women than anyone else."
he trails off, glancing at you, then away. the confidence drains right out of him when your attention is on him like this.
before it can stretch too long, he clears his throat and turns to you, desperate for safer ground.
“hey,” he says. “how are you going with finals? you said monday was rough.”
you smile up at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice and the fact he'd remembered such a small detail from the conversation you'd had earlier this week.
“oh gosh..." you sigh. “i'm a bit stressed out, but it's okay. physics is really killing me but i think i’ve got a handle on it all."
“see,” gojo says quickly. “she’s got it.”
satoru smiles.
“i could help you out, [name],” he says.
but it's the way he says it that makes your chest beat faster.
“i’m very good at explaining things,” he adds, eyes on you. “and i have a lot of free time when i’m not buried in my thesis. if you ever needed… extra support.”
gojo spits. “she doesn’t.”
satoru ignores him.
“i mean it,” he says to you. “i’d give you everything you could ever need, all of it.”
you choke on absolutely nothing. the dampness between your thighs is getting worse and worse with each teasing word from satoru and sweet stumble from gojo.
satoru’s mouth perks up, satisfied.
gojo’s neck muscle twitched, he turns back to the stove, stirring the rice with unnecessary force.
“she’s smart,” he says. “she doesn’t need you swooping in like that.”
“i’m not swooping in,” satoru replies. “i’m only offering.”
“yeah, well, stop.”
the rice starts to cook through. gojo doesn’t notice until it crackles, he mutters something under his breath and abandons the pot entirely, stepping over to you instead, wanting to have more of a connection in this now very tense room.
he scans your face, then it seems as if his eyes snag on something because he stands close, like, really close.
“sorry,” he says, suddenly shy again. “your hair’s just.”
he reaches up, hesitates for a second, then gently nudges a strand away from your face. his fingers barely brush your cheek.
“it was in the way,” he adds, stumbling.
you look up at him. his ears are red and his pretty blue eyes won’t stay still. he was adorable, never mind you.
inside his head, he's beating himself up, because he knows how this is supposed to go. he knows how to flirt, how to charm women, how to talk like he knows exactly what he’s doing. he’s done it a hundred times with girls, the difference is, they never look at him like you do. with that understanding smile and kind eyes, no. they stare with lust and passion, they're tarte where you're sweet.
with you, everything's so, so different.
satoru watches this with a very open kinda amusement.
“wow,” he says. “you’re really doing a number on him.”
gojo groans. “shut up.”
“i’ve never seen you like this,” satoru continues. “usually you can’t stop talking. now you’re tripping over yourself.”
you laugh softly.
gojo’s eyes snap back to you.
“i am not,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.
you reach out absentmindedly, your fingers curling around his hand where it rests on the counter. his skin is warm and solid. he stiffens up then relaxes when you don’t pull away.
“the food smells amazing,” you say. “i can't wait to try it.” under your breath, you mouth, "ignore him." and he smiles at you sweetly.
“y- yeah,” he says. “cool. cool.”
he squeezes your hand without realising he’s doing it and his face feels like it’s on display. he turns away fast, back to the stove, bumping his hip on the counter again.
satoru chuckles.
“careful,” he says. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
gojo flips him off without looking.
you stay where you are, hand still where he left it, smiling to yourself. this back and forth was something else...
.
when the foods ready, you end up on the couch.
you're wedged between them on the plush leather, their thighs on either side of yours, brushing up on you every time they moved.
south park starts to play on comedy central and you balance your plate carefully, fork hovering as you take a bite.
holy wow, it’s good, better than good.
“hey,” you say, nudging gojo lightly with your elbow. “you did a really nice job, this is good.”
his face lights up and he laughs like the goof he is.
“yeah?” he asks. “i mean, i kinda eyeballed the seasoning, but i figured-"
“it’s really good,” you repeat softer.
he grins, wide and proud, and satoru clicks his tongue.
“easy there,” satoru says. “don’t inflate his ego too much, sweets."
“i’m so serious,” you say. “the rice is perfect.”
satoru peers at his plate, poking at the vegetables. “except,” he adds, “someone was stingy with the broccoli.”
gojo scoffs. “you literally took extra.”
“i did not.”
“watch me genuinely crash out, you took half of mine already!"
satoru leans over you regardless and plucks a head of green from your plate, he takes it to his mouth and eats it, winking at you before he swallows.
gojo makes a very offended noise on your behalf, "oh, come on,” he says. “that’s rude.”
he stabs one of his own pieces of broccoli and reaches up with his other hand. his fingers tilt your chin toward him and he guides the fork to your mouth.
you freeze for a sec, then open up, taking it from him.
“see,” he says. “much better.”
you can feel both of them watching you. satoru’s smile is sly and gojo’s ears are bright red.
they're so close, you can feel their breathing from time to time, their biceps brushing up against your shoulders, gojo's thick thigh hard against yours while satoru's arm snakes around the back of the couch. you couldn't do this anymore, one more second of this sweet torture and you'd end up in a coma.
“hey, uhm... guys? i should probably head home.” you say, twirling a strand of hair through your finger. you'd wanted to stay longer, maybe have a civil talk to one of them instead of this brotherly banter, but the heat between your legs needed tending to and you weren't taking the chance of if they'd give you what you wanted or not.
gojo’s head snaps toward you. “huh? already?” you swear you see his eyes go glassy.
“i'm sorry gojo, it’s just so late,” you say, even though you don’t sound convinced yourself.
"aw man." he sighs, satoru only laughs at his brothers childish gesture.
you pat his thigh softly then stand, an action you didn't know sent heat straight to his cock. you gather your things, trying your best not to stagger from the shake in your legs.
as you're about to say the last of your goodbyes and retreat to the comfort of your dorm, you hear rain. it's heavy, and it's loud.
how perfect.
you peer through the window and the street is soaked. lightning flashes in the sky, thunder rolling in close behind it.
you sigh. “of course.”
gojo’s stumbling up himself, grabbing the keys to his car. “i can drive you!"
another crack of thunder cuts him off and the rain comes down much harder.
satoru laughs softly. “yeah, that’s not happening.”
you hesitate, fingers tightening around your bag strap.
“you can stay,” gojo says quickly. “i mean, i can pull out a mattress. you can take my bed. i’ll sleep on the floor! it’s fine.”
“or,” satoru says, stepping closer, “you could come stay in my bed.”
he takes your hand before you realise he’s doing it, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“my bed’s bigger,” he adds. “and i’d be happy to share with you, honey.”
your words tangle. “i- i don’t-"
gojo grabs your other wrist, not hard, just gently. “no! stay with me,” he says. “you’re comfortable with me.”
satoru tilts his head. “oh c'mon, could help her study.”
“don’t,” gojo snaps.
“keep you up all night,” satoru continues in your ear now, voice dropping. “i’d teach you everything you wanted to know, sweet girl... and i can tell there's a lot you want to learn."
gojo shakes his head, flustered. “no! no. come with me, we could play games, uno, snakes and ladders. whatever you want, [name].”
gojo usually thrived off of competition, but with his own brother? for a girl he'd been crushing on for months? no thanks.
satoru was eating this up, his cock twitched and pulsed with each small noise that slipped from your mouth. he could tell you needed tending to, he had a good eye. and he was gonna use that to piss off his brother to the best of his ability.
you’re stuck between them, being pulled in two directions. your pulse is loud in your ears. both of them are talking, offering, trying.
then, satoru leans down to whisper one final offer in your ear, he'd spotted the way your thighs were clenched and decided to capitalise on the opportunity.
“i’ll treat you real good if you come sleep with me, baby,” he murmus. “let me make you feel good.”
that’s it.
gojo's pulls you back, shoving satoru away from you with a sharp push.
“what the hell is wrong with you?” he snaps. “don't be so vulgar, she's not used to it.”
satoru laughs, unbothered. “c'mon, relax.”
“and don’t touch her like that,” gojo continues. “you just met her, for gods sake. i’ve known her for ages.”
“oh yeah? and look how far that got you,” satoru shoots back. “you’re too busy tripping over yourself to realise what she really needs.”
“shut up.”
“you don’t get how her brain works,” satoru says calmly. “she needs someone smart enough to keep up.”
your chest tightens. “hey.”
neither of them listens.
“you think cooking rice makes you impressive?” satoru adds. “she deserves more than that.”
"you don’t know what she needs! she'd be better off with a guy whose egos bigger than his dick."
"and you're any better? i bet you couldn't satisfy a girl like her even if you tried. all those sorority hoes have your head inflated."
"you better watch your fucking mouth-"
before gojo flips out, you step forward, placing yourself squarely between them.
they stop.
you look between them, sensing both anger and lust in their eyes.
“i-" you swallow, then steady yourself. “if you’re both going to argue… then maybe you should both stop deciding for me.”
what?
both of them stare straight at you.
"..ever heard of sharing?.."
insert beautifully written smut i guess
N E WAYS IF ANYONE WANTS TO COLLAB AND MAKE THE SECOND SMUT PART HMU 🤗
blakekathryn
stormborns
kianamaiart
2087
germansingergirl
