You and Jungkook are a pair made in hell heaven — you're both stupidly obsessed, crazy and extremely desperate for one another. Being broken up for five months does not stop the both of you from being in each other's lives — whether it's spending quality time, sabotaging each other's dates or even making love...
genre – crazy exes au, SMUT, fluff, rom-com¿
pairing – ex boyfriend jungkook x female reader.
warnings – gulp, I'm walking on thin ice so I'm going to mention a few. y/n and jk are crazy (in a kinda cute way), they're EXTREMELY obsessed with each other, they're both very possessive and jealous (jk is more), oral (both receiving), fingering, titty worship, multiple os, a lot of cracking. (more will be mentioned).
note – just posting my wips to motivate myself to work on them faster lol. lmk if you wanna be tagged in this one, pookies🩷
Your phone was propped against the car, camera facing you and Choso. You start the video, your boyfriend sitting there looking nervous, cookie in hand. "Hey guys, today me and my boyfriend are trying the new crumble cookies." Said boyfriend waving shyly at the camera a small smile on his lips, while you talk excitedly about the food.
Not wasting any time you take a bite of your cookie — Choso does the same, until you both swallow the bite. Finally getting to the main part of the trend you pull him in, kissing him right on the lips, phone still recording.
He lets out a quiet moan, hoping the video wouldn't catch it, putting his hands on your waist from across the seat. Poor Choso didn't know you wouldn't stop at a simple french kiss like everyone else doing the trend.
Your lips move against his greedily, chasing the sweet taste of the cookie in his mouth, tongue battling with his. Twisting your body to face him you crawl from the passenger seat to his, right on his lap.
The kiss continues, every soft sound escaping him getting swallowed by you. "Mhmm—." Choso was always a sucker for kissing, slowly but surely getting worked up from making out.
Well, before it could get to the good part, you pulled back teasingly, making him whimper dissaprovingly — his hands still thight on your waist.
"We have to finish the video Cho." You move back to your seat acting like you didn't just physically and mentally torture your poor boyfriend, who was still flustered, cheeks tinted pink.
It seems your voice tore him out of his little daydream, suddenly remembering the long fogotten cookies.
Let's just say you had to edit out a lot of the video.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
Home doesn’t feel like home when you have a lot of work to do. Hence why you woke up right before your alarm could blare right by your ear, crazy intuition. All you did was change into a (color) shirt and some loose pants before you took off to a diner near your apartment complex, for brunch too, you thought.
Your client had been downright insufferable, the constant check-ins from her every few hours made it unbearable! Not even the sweetness of home sweet home could help; so, here you were parched by the window seat with your laptop rolling across your face, dragging the stylus against the drawing pad sluggishly —with your back hunched, you blew blueberries in annoyance as another notification from your client pops up on the bottom right of the screen, questioning your progress so far.
You pressed on the ‘do not disturb’ feature, cranky from the bad morning. You made it clear to her that she’ll get a progress update every couple of days, and she agreed. Yet, she seemed adamant on checking in everyday like an obsessed girlfriend. Currently, your only fuel was coffee, waiting for the time to strike lunch to eat a two-in-one brunch set from this diner. And so, you were even more cranky —no, more of hangry. Hungry and angry.
Two missed calls from your client was enough for you to archive her message and put her on mute, replying with a simple, “This is the last update for today, I’m currently trying to color in your work. Please, stop checking and resort to calling when I don’t answer every hour as it delays me. Thank you,” sure you’ve had annoying clients before, but this was top notch, you weren’t even sure if it’s consider as annoying anymore.
Another sigh was pushed out of your body, could this morning get any worse?
“I thought I saw someone familiar,” No fucking way.
You don’t need to bat an eyelash or put a thought to it —because you knew that voice better than anyone. 7 years wasted, of course his voice was bound to be engraved into your head. Your head rose up slowly, looking at him. Naoya Zenin stood there with a smug smirk on his face, black tailored suit, and professional looking attire. The expensive watch you saved up for years to buy him which he “considered” as one of the cheapest brands tied around his wrist, “What do you want?”
“Is that a way to greet your ex-boyfriend?”
“No, but it is a way to greet a dickhead, the fuck do you want from me?” Naoya smiled smugly, in a condescending way he stared down at you, his eyes raked over the table; full of your things, the one that he deemed ‘messy’ to his house whenever you stayed over to work or to simply hang out, “Gosh, you are so annoying.”
“How does it feel to be poor?”
You froze. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, “You could have stayed and have anything you want with me,” he drawls out calmly, and even then, you had already have your fists balled tightly, “but over a Reddit post where I was speaking nothing but the truth? You got a little hurt over a . . . Post? Look at you now. Still as pitiful and pathetic as ever when all I wanted was to give you the best.”
“Over a post my boyfriend made about me, of course I’m angry. You don’t believe in me, your own partner,” trying to keep your voice low, you look around the diner. This all made sense now, he had took the time to come inside a lousy and cheap diner just because he caught sight of you, and the sole reason of his appearance was simple, to taunt you. And you’re falling for it, “you are so selfish and so full of yourself. Gosh, I hope you go bankrupt soon.”
“Oh? I gave you everything you needed, didn’t I?” That was partially right, you refused anymore gifts after he suggested to buy you a vaccuum cleaner —which was aggravating, since he hinted that you’d definitely need it to clean his house, “you’ll come back soon, you’re poor. And you have nobody, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t take you in even if you got evicted. She’s not as nice as I am.”
Is he talking about Shoko? You grit your teeth, “Don’t say shit you don’t know. Get the fuck out of my face,” he raised his hands up in mock surrender, knowing he had won pulling your strings today, he was satisfied.
“My door is always open when your career doesn’t work,” he walks away just like that.
The hell is his problem? You grunted under your breath, watching him get into his car, and drove away. The engine he paid hundreds and thousands for roaring loudly along the street, you remembered always getting ashamed when people sparred dirty looks at his car during traffic, “Douchebag,” the insult just came out. First, your client. Then, Naoya. What’s the third one?
When the hours pass by slow and time hangs heavy, you could finally punch in the order for that brunch set. Digging into the large plate, you grip onto the fork with such force that your knuckles trembled slightly. How does one be so annoying, condescending, and ugly hearted at once? Surely he could pick a struggle. Naoya’s words rang in your head, and then again, a wave of second-guesses began crashing into you.
What if this doesn’t turn out good? What if your career don’t work? So many what ifs and none could be answered because your self-doubt was clashing with your confidence, your jaw slacked and tightened every now and then, a strip of seaweed tucked in between your lips from the miso soup.
“That’s Zoro, right? From One Piece?”
The voice made you coax yourself to pan away from the plate of food, only to meet Gjojo Satoru, standing there with a file in his grasp. Swallowing the food, you nod, “It’s a commission I’m doing.”
“The commission from last time we met?” You nodded, “Mind if I join?”
You shook your head, gesturing to the spot across from you, “Not at all if you don’t plan on explaining some physics because my brain can’t take it right now,” he slid into the seat, putting his file aside, “shouldn’t you be teaching right now?”
“Recess.”
“Oh, you’re right.”
“Curiously asking, how much do you charge that?” His finger taps on your laptop gently, signifying the art you were currently drawing, “I’m trying to judge your marketing price here.”
“Enough to buy food for a week . . . Maybe a couple of days more.”
His brow raised, “Charge more.”
“Half a month?”
“A month . . . At best. Maybe a month and a couple weeks, you’re making full body drawings with custom —also handmade— backgrounds. It takes time, brain work, and energy. So, yes, a full month with a little extra,” he advices, with a shy smile lacing on his lips, “people might think you charge too much, but I’ve always thought that they think this is easier said than done. They don’t see what you sacrifice to draw for them, you don’t have to be scared to charge for what’s equal to the amount you give. I’ve seen people charge an art equal to a phone, and people still buy it.”
His words like a soothing balm on your open wound made you smile, the raging storm Naoya brought in slowly swept away and rays of sunshine seeped into your smile, “You think so?”
“I know I’d commission you, you have an unique art style,” he compliments.
“Thank you. But, do you usually eat here for recess?”
“Oddly,” Satoru starts, looking down at his hands neatly folded on the table, “I’ve never been here nor do I wanted to until today. I guess it just brought me here to meet you, since you looked overwhelmed . . .” His laugh echoes softly, lighthearted.
“Yeah . . .” You replied, a solemn smile on your face, “What did you order?”
“What you ordered. The brunch set, it looked great, I just had to get it,” Satoru mutters out, looking around, “and it’s cheap too. Do you go here a lot?”
You hum, “Mhm. Because they’re affordable, and they got free wi-fi too.”
Satoru looks around the area slowly, “Guess I found my second go-to.”
“I gotta head back soon, it was nice spending lunch with you though,” Satoru suddenly said, wiping his lips gently with the extra napkin he had set aside, “I oughta be late if I don’t go now. I’ll catch you sometimes though?” His eyes laced with uncertainity made you chuckle, but you nodded, waving your hand.
Satoru looked back over his shoulder, a small smile popped onto his lips —that he had just smeared with a lipbalm briefly before he stood— and waved at you, mouthing out a simple, ‘bye’.
The pressure and lingering ache in your heart quickly dissipates into pure joy the moment Satoru had spoken the words you yearned to hear from Naoya. This wasn’t Naoya, but you weren’t sad; maybe you would have been months ago, but somehow you were just glad that it isn’t him this time. And the moment the colors in your canvas began blooming under black streaks of sketch, you saved your work and packed up. Prompting to take a picture to send an update to your client because the “23+ messages” from her was not looking good right now.
You: Here is the update, I colored in the sketch. Is the color to your liking or do you need me to change anything?
+1 (310) XXX-XXXX: I don’t like Zoro’s hair color, can you make it a lighter green? It’s too dark. There should be a picture of him online.
You: Yes, I used the dropper for his hair from a picture online. Do you need it to be lighter?
+1 (310) XXX-XXXX: Oh, then no. Should’ve said so. Also, can you get rid of the apple basket by his foot and put it by mine? I changed my mind, I want it to be by my foot instead, thanks!!
You: …
You: Okay, I’ll give you an update later on. How about the colors on your character?
+1 (310) XXX-XXXX: It’s perfect, just revise what I said before, thank you!
You: You’re welcome
Another round of revision, not even the dozen of revisions back and forth from her was enough for the art to be perfect. By far, she was the hardest consument to satisfy, you couldn’t blame her, this was your job. But, sometimes you’d like to just . . . cancel transaction and live on with your day. For gosh sake, you don’t even know this person personally!
Yet again, you couldn’t help but to quietly shake your head, carrying your laptop bag along as you walked down the street. The skies were gradually turning a shade of navy blue from a beautiful harmony of pink and orange hues —the streets were bustling with people racing to go home to their humble abode after a long day of work, honking of cars and motorbikes etched into your eardrums as you turned around a corner to approach a shortcut to your apartment complex.
The faint echoes of water droplets skyrocketing from an AC pipe pattered against the concrete, and you avoided meeting eyes with the couple of scary looking group of boys and girls huddled on the corner, your phone in hand, an act to ensure your safety. Once, the end of the alley greets you, you put your phone aside inside your pocket. Crickets sung inside patches of grass, and frogs sounding their repetitive tone loudly, you made your way inside the apartment building.
With a light push, the door swung open, a soft creak from the slightly rustic hinges made you cringe away slightly. The apartment complex was an old one, it had stood since 5 decades back, and most of the tenants were people with family. It had been an expensive apartment back when it first opened, but with the city eventually growing more and more, people built newer and more innovative places to stay. The prices eventually dropped, but it still made a good place to live despite most of the shortcomings were from the environment solely.
The air hits different when you finally unlocked the door to your room, it still oddly smells like the cheap floral cologne you sprayed on this morning. Oddly, because it never does to stay longer than a couple hours on you. Kicking the door shut with the tip of your toe, you walked towards the kitchen, putting your laptop onto the counter to rest while you venture the cabinets for dinner —instant ramen with eggs, and possibly the week old frozen sausages you kept for this moment— and to your luck, you still had a couple.
A mental note to yourself: get some ramen when you go out tomorrow.
Whilst waiting for the water to boil, you opened your phone. Chopsticks lodged in between your fingers as you typed a quick message to Shoko, eyes going back and forth to the pan. The sausages soaked under running water in the sink to rid of all the ice.
You: Wanna grab coffee and lunch tomorrow?
Shoko: I was about to text you that I won’t be available until 2 weeks from tomorrow.
You: Not surprising, considering that you’re in a medical field. Coffee and lunch in 2 weeks then?
Shoko: Right? I can do that
You: Bumped into Naoya today.
Shoko: Ugh, trigger warning, please? N40y4.
You: Right. I forgot about that, N40y4. He said some dickhead stuff, I’ll tell you all about it in 2 weeks. Also that client too.
Shoko: You can’t say something and leave me on a cliffhanger.
You: Ramen water’s boiling
Shoko: You ate ramen yesterday
You: And today
Shoko: So, that’s not healthy.
You: I’ll be fine, catch you later.
The bubbles began rising to the top of the water surface, and you dropped the noodle inside. Watching the solid noodle soak in the boiling water, you ripped the edge of the seasoning in between your teeth; shaking the tinfoil packaging gently on top of the pan before you began stirring it. While waiting for the noodles to change it’s matter of state, you find yourself chopping a few small cheese-filled sausages, tossing each piece into the pan along with one egg. A soft tune climbed up your throat, fingers drummed against the counter as you counted the seconds, eyeing as the egg began forming into a solid matter on top of the noodles.
When the stove dies under your command, you carried the pan onto the coffee table set in your living room. Already reaching out to the TV remote on the couch, the steam caressed your face gently as your thumb presses along the channels —when something catches your attention, the feast finally begins.
“fuck, you’re perfect” bruce murmurs into your ear, his pelvis hitting against your ass harshly as he fucks you from behind.
“you’re doing so good for me.” bruce praises lazily as if he’s not aware of what he’s doing to you. your body feels on fire, your head dizzy from bruce’s strong arms locking you into a tight headlock. “you’d let me know if it’s too much, right, baby?”
you mange to give him a small nod as his bicep flexes against your jaw, his arm wrapping tighter as he continues his harsh pace.
“feels good.” you slur out dumbly, your hand wrapping around the lower part of his arm.
“yeah?” he questions lazily as he continues to thrust’s into you, slowing down a bit just to tease.
“i’m making you feel good?”
“yes.”
“hm, you’re good for my ego, baby.” bruce mumbles softly into your cheek, his mustache tickling you. his arm unwraps around your neck, just for his hand to grab softly at your jaw to angle your face closer. letting his lips press over your face, kissing you softly.
“you’re so pretty, you know that?” he kisses one more time before he bites into your cheek, making sure not to take a harsh enough bite to leave any mark on your pretty face.
“should keep you for myself.” bruce grumbles, biting your cheek again. “how many?”
“how many what?” you breathe, trying to stay focused on his words, but it’s hard when he’s all over you. you physically can’t pay attention for long, especially while he’s fucking you this good.
“how many boys are you seeing, baby?”
“just you.” you admit, you couldn’t be with any other guys your age after meeting bruce. he raised your expectations. he’s older, he treat’s you with respect, he spoils you rotten, and he knows how to fuck you.
you just couldn’t see yourself with another man.
“good, let’s keep it that way.” he picks up the pace again, thrusting harder as if he’s making a point that no one can make you feel this good. “those boys don’t know how to treat my baby right anyways, hm?”
you nod, stupidly agreeing to whatever he says.
“that’s right, sweetheart.” he grins, letting his arm wrap around you again; trapping you in another headlock.
CW: best friends, double penetration, they are arguing and annoyingly hot, they kiss, creampies
f!reader
idk bruh take my laptop away
Your best friends were really fucking annoying.
Two ego-driven idiots you've known your entire life, and somehow they always dragged you right into the middle of their bullshit. Usually it was harmless, passive aggressive comments over dinner, or petty arguments over who you liked more.
Now it was this.
Your head feels light, thoughts melting into useless static as Satoru's thick cock bullies deep into your pussy while Suguru slowly fucks into your ass from behind, both of them stretching you so full you can barely breathe around it.
And they're still arguing.
Suguru's large hand slides over you waist, fingers tightening as he pulls you back harder on him. "She's shaking," he murmurs against your ear. "You're being too rough."
Satoru scoffs instantly.
His grip bruises your hips as he drags you back onto his cock with a sharp thrust that punches a cry out of you. "She likes it rough. Don't you, sweetheart?" His fingers tap your cheek mockingly soft. "Look at her. Poor thing can't even think."
You whimper at a another brutal slam of his hips, clawing at Satoru's chest while your head falls back against Suguru's shoulder.
"See?" Suguru hums smugly. "Too much." His lips brush your temple, soft compared to the way he's filling you. "Not everything has to be a competition, Satoru."
"Everything is a competition," Satoru laughs, his blue eyes flicking towards his best friend over your shoulder. "You're just pissed I'm winning."
"Winning?" Suguru echoes, then chuckles, continuing to shove himself impossibly deeper.
The next thrusts land in sync. You mewl helplessly, pussy dripping down one cock while your tight hole squeezes the other.
"Fuuuuck," Satoru groans, head tipping back. "Bet you wish you could feel how tight this pussy gets around me." He gives a shallow thrust just to hear you whine. "So slippery and still sucking me back in. She likes me better Sugu. Can't help it."
"Aw, is that so?" Suguru challenges. "Then why is she crying for me?"
You jolt violently at the first torturously soft circle against your puffy clit, a broken 'Suguru' leaving your throat.
"Oh, that's cute," Satoru mutters, annoyed now. "Using your fingers 'cause your cock isn't enough?"
Suguru only smiles against your neck, satisfied as he continues stroking your sensitive bud. "Unlike some people, I'm actually trying to make her cum." His dark eyes lazily flick to Satoru. "You remember that's the point, right?"
"I didn't forget," Satoru hisses.
He grabs your chin, forcing your watery eyes onto his. His hips keep driving hard to reclaim your attention and make your stomach twist.
"C'mon, princess. Look at me." A deep thrust from both ends cuts off your breathing. "I'll make you feel so good, promise."
His thumbs brush over your nipples, pinching just enough to make you arch between them. You're overwhelmed—drooling, twitching, and completely lost as to why these two took so long before fucking you.
When Satoru's thrusts get deeper and faster, Suguru's follow, each one jolting you up the bed.
"O-Oh— s-shit— mmmghhh—"
Satoru groans, leaning down to mark your chest wih messy kisses and sharp bites. "Squeezing me so tight, baby girl. Fuck, you getting close?"
Suguru sucks another bruise into your neck, fingers never slowing over your clit. "You feel amazing, angel. So pretty when you fall apart for me."
"For you?"
"Yeah, for me."
"Please. You think those weak little circles are doing all this?"
"S-Shut u-up—" you finally manage, shaking as your hands thread into the hair at the back of their heads.
They're already close, a strange, heated look passing between them before you shove them together.
To your not-at-all surprise, there's zero resistance. Their lips crash together and it's messy and hungry and mean—all teeth and breathy groans swallowed into their mouth's while they keep fucking you dumb.
It's so hot, you can't help but cum as their tongues dance together in front of your eyes.
Satoru breaks the kiss first with a rough curse, Suguru following with a groan against his mouth. Both of them still at the same time as they cum together, pumping your well used holes with their release.
You can already feel the headache forming for when they start bickering about who made you cum.
tits, thighs or boobs but it's the batfam. No problem if you don't include damien
bruce wayne is a titty man.
he loves a good old handful to cup and play with like a stress ball. he likes to stand behind you and grope your breasts while you’re doing literally anything. cooking, folding clothes, or even working on your laptop. bruce snakes his hands around your waist as they slowly but surely make their path to where he wants them to go. he doesn’t care if you’ve got a bra on and he’ll maneuver it out of his way to get a better feel. you don’t really mind when he does it either, instead you’ll laugh like he’s ridiculous.
imagine you’re laying with your back to his chest, scrolling on your phone while he’s using his to answer emails. he’d have a hand up your shirt, cupping a breast like he’s weighing fruit. squeezing gently before he answers a call and continues his teasing movements. he is on a business call and bruce is responding properly like nothing is happening, giving genuine insight while he moves to roll the peak between his fingers. you’ll gasp and say his name when he leaves the phone between his shoulder and his ear, finger on his lips to tell you to be a little quieter.
he asks you to take your top off if you give him a blowjob. he’ll even suggest fucking your tits instead. he’s not a fan of painting your tits in his cum but he’d rather leave red and purple marks from sucking on them instead.
and if you’re nursing? he’ll beg you to let him have a taste.
when you’re riding him and have your hands on his chest to help you move, bruce will sit up and hold you even closer. attaching his lips to your breast and sucking like it’s genuinely giving him life. moaning egregiously while he holds you still with his other strong arm. your hands moving to bury themselves in his dark locks. gasping and throwing your head back before looking forward to watch your serious boyfriend in his needy state. moaning and groaning as his hips lift off the mattress to meet yours a little harder.
he gets off on the oral fixation more than you do.
dick grayson is an ass man, through and through.
he slaps your ass any chance he can get, even when you’re out in public. it might be a little softer when people are around, just a little smack or a pat as you walk by. but he’ll do it hard enough when you’re alone hating the sound echoes and he actually moans at it. he buys you short dresses just to see a peek of the bottom of your ass, loving the soft curve and dip as much as the rest. dick practically drools at the sight and has to catch his own jaw to stop himself from gaping too hard.
he likes to hold a good handful in each hand when you sit in his lap, even more so if you’re straddling him completely. but dicks favourite part is when you cuddle. when he can press himself hard against you at night and have you hug his little guy too. grinding against you without any intention of really having sex but subconsciously needing you anyways.
though he loves giving backshots in front of the mirror the most. dick loves to watch your face contort just as much as he loves to see your ass ripple at every thrust he delivers. grinding to keep himself seated to the hilt as he pushes the small of your back to make you arch further. he bites his lip before letting his pretty boy whimpers out. he pulls out just in time to paint your ass like a lewd canvas. he’ll even ask if he can take a picture to hold him over during patrol.
jason todd genuinely loves every part of you.
he takes every opportunity to touch you, so gently it’s intimate in its nature. he stares so hard at your naked body that you sometimes can’t even tell where he’s looking. jason buys you lingerie that you’d never buy yourself and he begs you to try it on for him while he sits on the couch manspreading. when you approach him, a little shy and very very horny, he mouths at your clothed tits until there’s a wet spot on the fabric. all the while he’s squeezing your ass and rutting himself against you, murmuring about how fucking hot you are.
but if he had to pick, he loves your thighs immensely.
he likes to have you sitting in the passenger seat of his new blacked out mustang with a hand on your thigh. he massages the plush flesh with tender movements, listening to you talk while he caresses you. it’s not like he means to do it either, it’s just habit to touch you like this. like he needs it to live.
he watches you as you walk around the bedroom in one of his baggy shirts, putting your laundry away. staring so hard at your bare legs when you turn and approach the bed. he loves the way they shift when you walk to the way you clench them when he’s doing something that turns you on.
jason loves to grip your thighs tightly. loves to bite them and leave marks while you squirm and laugh at the feeling. he particularly loves your inner thighs, licking up to his destination with insane slowness. he grips them tight while he eats you out, groaning into you like a man starved. you’re pushing at his head only for him to bury himself deeper and grip onto you tighter. he loves fucking you stupid with his tongue and pushing your thighs close together around his head like he’s trying to cut off his circulation.
but what he loves doing like it’s the most mundane thing ever is when you let him fuck your thighs.
you’re scrolling on your phone and he just came back from patrol. he lays behind you, groaning softly and pressing himself against you. hard just from thinking about you on his way home. murmuring about having a long day and kissing you passionate and needy. he frees himself just enough to rub between your thighs, chasing the friction like an addict to your touch. the sounds he makes then is the most intimate because he only does it when he’s desperate and needy. just utterly yours. he sputters and groans when he lets go, dripping down your thighs. panting softly and thanking you before sealing it with the sweetest kiss.
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
“Seriously? Maybe you’re reading it wrong?” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Shoko had dropped by your apartment half an hour ago to inform you of “something” important, which just happens to be your boyfriend of almost 7 years —Naoya Zenin— posting a whole very much heartfelt message about his opinion on how you should be staying at home while he does all the heavy lifting. You might have tried to tell yourself that it’s maybe someone with the same name . . . But, nobody really is that proud of their own name besides . . . Well, Naoya Zenin, of course.
27 years old, filthy rich, well-known by practically everyone, and has the tendencies to be degrading. He’s been giving you the cold shoulder for the past couple of months before that post surfaced, and you knew that you were betting on losing dogs the second he began pulling away —or maybe, since he agreed to date you.
But, you held on to the fact that maybe someday, he had it in his heart to change.
For the past 7 years, that is. And none of 365 days for 7 years did he change at all. It’s all the same “you should stay home and let me do the hard work” and never “we can do this together and make it work”. Shoko tells you he was a dick, but then again, there goes the saying: “love is blind”. And you depicted that perfectly, way too perfect.
Living in your perfect little world of ‘I can change him’, Shoko lets you eat in your sorrows, listening to you speak about Naoya, the longing in your tone awaiting for the day he’d finally change his attitude. The more you spoke of him, the more she tells you that she wouldn’t listen to you until Naoya takes a hike. You complain to her nonetheless.
“I’m not repeating it for the third time, (Name).”
The look on your face made her groan, “One more?”
“Chat,” she mutters out, staring deep into your soul, “am I the asshole for wanting my twenty-six F girlfriend to stay at home and serve me because I do all the hard work? Is that not enough to tell you it’s him? And his username is literally his name, (Name). Come on.”
You shut your eyes as she continues, “Personally, I think that women belong at home, no offense. My girlfriend and I have been together since college, got together with her cause she was head over heels for me. Can’t deny the love, and she’s a literal definition of obedient. What I say, she does, and what I tell her, she remembers. She draws for the money, and it’s not going well, told her to give up and she was adamant on continuing that career path. Sucks,” Shko spared you a glance of despise, “Been trying to tell her to let go of that career because it won’t add up to anything. Told her to just stay jome, sit pretty, and serve me because I do all the hard work and she gets butt hurt ver my words and leaves me for a couple days before coming back.”
That’s him.
“I’ve been paying for dates and shit since we started dating, and we’re getting old so I’m thinking of proposing under the term that she stays at home and takes care of everything at home. Her best friend thinks I’m an asshole for that, but I think that it’s the least my girlfriend could do if I were to pay for everything and come home tired. Tell me I’m not the asshole,” the post ends right there and you knew this is a lost cause, that is your boyfriend alright. And you couldn’t deny it anymore, as much as you want to, “he isn’t even asking, he’s implying that he’s not an asshole. That is an asshole behavior.”
You sat there. The dizziness crashing in —remembering the moments where he was actually an asshole throughout your relationship, and you just refused to accept it because you love him. Much more than he loves you, apparently.
3 years ago, during a date in an expensive restaurant, Naoya had compared you to the very beautiful waitress. Apparently, you weren’t ‘fit’ enough to be using the dress you spent so hard to match your shoes and purse. And the steak you ordered was too ‘unhealthy’ for you. You ate only half of the steak that night, and might you say, really good and expensive steak.
2 years ago, you got a big commission from someone in the US to draw a portrait of her dog and her. She was willing to pay you hefty for it, and the moment you retold of the whole thing to Naoya, he laughed; mockery intended. Shutting down your efforts by saying that what you made through that one commission was what he makes in a couple of hours time.
Naoya doesn’t appreciate. He was born a silver spoon, he had everything even before he was born. The expensive toys kids wanted, all he had. The expensive shirts? He had all of them. The ranging bottle of perfumes and colognes in his walk in closet? Every single brand. Shoes? Every model, leather made, light up shoes, everything. All he’s had in life is grand; food? He was fed the most expensive milk as a toddler, tried caviar even before he was legal, and even the most expensive meat is . . . Everyday food to him.
You were surprised that he decided to stay with you.
With someone who had to work for everything unlike him. Then again, the post said it all, you were obedient, you remember everything. That was why he stayed because he expected you to do less. Everything begins clicking into place. Of course he never loves you, he stayed because you don’t fight back —you served him everything on a platter and sit still, “You know what? You’re right, he is a dick.”
“I’ve been saying that from seven years ago,” Shoko tossed her phone aside.
On the first day of college, you had bumped into him while running to your first class. Naoya ‘begrudgingly’ picked up something of yours that you dropped, and you’ve liked him since. On the sixth month, you confessed to him, and you weren’t expecting him to reciprocate at all. But with that cheshire smile, he accepted your feelings, and from that day you were a couple. At least that’s what you thought you are.
“This is going to sound stupid.”
“You’re a doctor, you? Stupid?” You asked her, leaning back onto the couch in distress, “I’m listening.”
Shoko shrugs, “Why don’t you get to know one of my friends? They’re nice people, nicer than that dick, I could assure you that,” the disapproving look from your face caught her off guard, but Shoko parts her lips again, before she slammed her jaw shut, the click of her teeth echoing softly, “listen, Naoya’s expecting you to come back like you always do. And . . . I figured that why not just . . . Fake it until he accepts the fact that you aren’t coming back, that he isn’t everything that he perceives himself to be.”
“Jesus. I won’t be coming back to him, I’m desperate but not that desperate,” you brushed your face in annoyance, “and I’m not looking to date, I haven’t even broke up with Naoya.”
“Yet. You fall for his sweet words all the time,” she scrolls through her phone and turns it over, “this, is Satoru. Gojo Satoru, he’s a middle school physics teacher, has been a teacher for years. He’s twenty-seven, and he plays games on his free time, loves Pokemon and desserts. Usually busy in between playing and grading papers, so you won’t have to worry about him cheating or . . . Fucking around.”
The picture shows a white haired male, he was staring into the camera in an uncanny way —especially with those deep blue eyes of him. His glasses framed his face perfectly, in a way that it made his features look more striking. A light blush coated his cheeks and he was holding a peace sign up. Gojo Satoru, you repeat his name internally.
Then Shoko pans the picture to the next one, “Suguru Geto. Twenty-seven years old. Plays bass and is in an indie band with a couple of friends from uni, they’re starting to make it big. Has a lot of piercings, I don’t know if that’s your type. Long hair. He has a busy schedule, so I’m unsure if you could meet up with him anytime soon . . . Also, he’s a gym rat. Goes to the gym every morning before band practice, he’s laidback,” and then you shifted your gaze back to Shoko.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you tell her.
“One or two?”
“One,” the answer comes out way too quickly and Shoko smirks, “I don’t like that look.”
“I knew you’d choose him. Alright, give me a couple of days. Remember,” Shoko repeats, tapping frantically on her phone, “this is —”
“Satoru,” her hand gestured to the male sitting right across from you, then Shoko looks at you, “(Name).”
This is way more awkward than you expected — 2 weeks had went by since the last time Shoko spoke about her friends. You had taken the time to break up with Naoya, and he took it well. So well that it annoyed you, he spoke with such calmness that he expects you to come back. Annoyingly, he reminded you of the spare key he’s going to leave out in case you wanted to come back to him. To hell with him.
Satoru wore a yellow oversized shirt with a Pokemon motive. You weren’t too keen on following the series, but you recognize the motive as Pikachu, and under it was a white colored long sleeved shirt. It was a simple outfit matched with black jeans, but you went simple with (outfit of your choice) as well.
Thank goodness you didn’t opt for the extravaggant choice.
“Um, hi,” you waved, a nervous smile on your face, “I’m (Name). (Name)(Last Name),” you introduced yourself like a robot —Satoru gazes up towards you before his eyes went back to the strawberry smoothie topped with . . . A mountain of whipped cream and colorful sprinkes. His dull reaction made you awkwardly fiddle with the straw inside your drink.
“Gojo. Gojo Satoru,” he blandly replies.
Shoko grunts under her breath, her chin latched onto the top of your palm, “So,” her chapter opens, “(Name) just broke up with her boyfriend. He made a weird post about her on Reddit, and she needs you to help her ex-boyfriend think that she won’t run back to him —don’t cut me off,” Shoko points her finger at Satoru the moment his jaw ticks, “it’s just for a while, that guy just needs convincing that (Name) won’t come back.”
Satoru shook his head immediately, “Absolutely not. I’m busy with work . . . And, I just broke up, so I’m not looking for something like this.”
“It’s not literal,” Shoko answers quickly, “and since when did you have a girlfriend?”
“Since two years ago. But, not anymore, she cheated on me.”
“What?”
You blew a soft sigh, “Sho, I don’t think this is a good idea either . . . I’m not . . . In the mood for this kind of thing too,” Shoko puckered her lips gently, “I thought we came here to grab coffee? I didn’t know we were meeting . . . Gojo.”
Satoru nods, “I was told that too.”
“It’s called a hustle, and you wouldn’t even say yes if I told you about the whole plan beforehand,” Satoru mixed the whip cream into the smoothie, “but, I guess it didn’t work out. I’ll leave it as that then, let’s go?” She packed her bags and ushered you.
synopsis: with no friends and a wallet full of cash, you concoct one last idea to make your final semester one to remember. paying everyone's favorite pretty playboy to pretend to be your boyfriend to complete your college bucket list before you start the life your family is forcing you into. but you might be buying far more than you bargained for.
pairings: broke!Geto x rich!Reader x dropout!Sukuna(+ rich!Gojo)
content: mdni, angst, college au, fake dating, pining, yearning, reader is an emotional mess, we all suffer here, discussions of arranged marriage and wedding planning, uncomfortable conversations, there is so much pining in every direction, anxious/insecure reader, mentions of emotionally abusive/neglectful parenting, reader has a horrible mother, soft sweet gojo, geto is PAINFULLY down bad and in love with reader
art by @aransmind !!
"You look beautiful."
You didn't look anything like yourself.
Squeezed into a wedding dress you hated, your nipple piercings uncomfortably covered as you struggled to keep a straight face in the mirror, too much makeup slathered on to conceal the dark circles under your swollen eyes.
"God, the grandbabies are going to be so gorgeous," your future mother-in-law almost squealed, running her manicured hand over your forearm as she stood next to you, appraising your appearance with a pleased expression.
What little appetite you had left rotted as you tried to shut down the mental images floating up of what she wanted you to look like a year from now. Probably waddling around pregnant, stomach swollen and tight with a baby that would pop out with white hair and blue eyes.
Who would carry the Gojo name and continue this fucked-up cycle of having heirs and marrying them off and doing whatever it took to stay as wealthy as possible.
"What do you think, dear?" Satoru's mom asked, almost sounding sweet, all pretty and perky as her fingers wrapped around your wrist. "Is this the one?"
Your mouth opened, and you did what you always did to make the best of the bad.
Shoved yourself in whatever box everyone else wanted you in.
"I love it," you lied, smiling to hide how hard you were swallowing the huge lump in your throat. Eyes flitting down to the ridiculous ring on your finger, oversized enough that it had slipped to the side, started to cut into your pinky as she started rambling about you getting changed so she could go purchase it for you.
You did what she asked.
Took a few brief seconds for yourself when you were back in the dressing room, leaning against the wall and scrunching your eyes shut, counting your breaths before you had to step back out, not much more comfortable in the dress and heels you'd also chosen with her in mind. But it was one of those days you had to be grateful for the tiny details.
The absence of your own mother. The reminder that all you had to do now was get through a lunch with her and you'd have the rest of the day to be miserable in bed by yourself.
Although, you knew two different men who might be at your door if they didn't get a text back in the evening.
You'd done your best to keep both at a responsible distance. Why get close when you didn't know if you'd ever be able to give either what they wanted?
Your parents had dropped your car back off Monday morning, so you'd at least been able to take yourself to school and work. Keeping your head down and insisting on focusing on studying and finals, letting them know that you were still figuring your stuff out.
Swearing that all you needed was some space.
You'd turned everything around in your head probably thousands of times since you were out in the woods with Sukuna.
No matter what way you sliced it, you only saw a few options. A couple paths you could possibly take.
You chose yourself. Disowned your family and threw away any safety you ever known by risking your parents ruining your life in retaliation. You'd have no money. No way to know if you'd be able to make any if they pulled strings you couldn't see to make sure you couldn't get a job or housing. Probably would need to find a way to steal your passport and important documentations. Sure, the men you'd grown fond of had said they'd help. But would they stick around to support you if your parents turned their vitriol on them?
You chose Suguru, or Sukuna. Told Satoru that you'd still marry him but your heart was in someone else's hands. Tried to come up with excuses on why you couldn't have kids, maybe claim that one of you was infertile and made it work for a few years until you were in a place where you could get divorced.
You chose your family. You did everything they wanted. Everything they asked. Played the bride. The perky housewife. Gave up who you were for who they wanted you to be.
Sukuna would tell you that you're a fucking moron for even including that last option. Scold you and insist that you were worth more than just being a beautiful accessory, or breeding stock.
But you were clinging to Suguru's voice in your head, soft and honeyed and promising you that everything would work out.
Would he still feel that way if he had to play the best man at your wedding? Stand next to Satoru when he said 'I do' in just a few months?
"You okay in there, sweetheart?" A delicate little tap on the door snapped you out of it, chewing on your lip as you glanced back down at your dress, readjusting it again to make sure she wouldn't be able to see your piercings before you cleared your throat.
"Fine," you answered back, hoping she didn't hear how tightly-wound your voice was.
You slung your purse over your shoulder as you stepped back up, plastering a practiced smile back on as she immediately looped her arm in yours, pulling you towards the exit.
"I scheduled another appointment for us come back in a month and a half to get it tailored and fitted for you," she informed you, all chirpy. You couldn't tell if she was just like this, or if it was a act too.
You hoped it was real.
Hoped she didn't secretly hate you or something equally awful, although you supposed you wouldn't really mind it if she was trying to get close to you simply to annoy your actual mother.
Still, it was sort of pleasant to feel welcomed, like you weren't unwanted in the place you were occupying.
She rambled a lot like Satoru did, filling your ear with warm chatter, telling you funny little anecdotes about him as a child, how he'd sneak out of the house in nothing but rubber rain boots or once broke some sentimental family heirloom and tried to hide the shattered pieces underneath his bed for weeks. She laughed when she spoke, and you got the impression she, for one, genuinely loved her kid.
You wondered what that was like.
Did Satoru feel it? Or did he harbor the same resentment you did, and you just didn't know yet? Couldn't see the full picture when she put on such a convincing show?
You listened intently, bookmarked the little details in your brain as she slowed to a stop outside an expensive restaurant, glancing up at her reflection and puckering her lips as the car sat idling.
"Have you been here before?" She hummed, tilting her head to the side.
"Once, maybe?" You shrugged, not totally sure as you stared at the vaguely familiar exterior. "Probably with my parents."
"Satoru should be here in a few minutes to meet you," she hummed, not actually addressing your answer. "You can give them our last name for the reservation."
Our.
"Oh, um, okay," you breathed, taken more aback than you could show, reaching for the handle as you tried to silently thank the universe that your lunch date would be Satoru instead of his mother. "Thank you for today, and the dress-"
"Of course," she waved it away. "Anything for the future mother of my grandchildren."
And that was it.
All you were to her was what you could do for her.
Still, you smiled, thanking her again as you opened the door and stepped out of the car, not sure if you should stand outside the restaurant to wait or walk in and get seated.
You decided on the latter, even if you felt awkward walking up to the hostess alone and telling her you were here for Gojo.
Seeing first hand how much sway those four letters had was...unnerving. Unsettling to see how fast her expression changed, how quickly she rushed to do things for you, getting you set up in a private section at a table for two. asking three times to make sure you didn't need anything before she walked away.
You tapped your nails against the table waiting for Satoru to show up, unsure what you would say to him. Would it be awkward? Would you make him uncomfortable by playing along with what his parents and yours wanted?
Or would he break the tension with some cheesy grin and start telling you absurd stories to lighten the mood?
You didn't need to wonder long.
"Can't you guys just drag like another chair over?" Satoru loudly complained, and you tried not to cringe at how quickly the waiter was stammering a response assuring him they'd do as he pleased.
"Satoru," a warm voice softly scolded him back, and it felt like some invisible blow had suddenly stroke your chest hard, knocking all the air out of you. "Don't be rude to them."
Suguru was with him.
"I'm not being rude," Satoru protested.
They walked into the section two seconds later, waiters rushing in after them with a second small table and an extra chair, dragging it up as they fell into a back-and-forth of drink and appetizer orders. You weren't really listening though. Not when your eyes had landed on the pretty boy who, just a few weeks ago, was calling himself your boyfriend.
And now he was just supposed to be the best friend of the man you were marrying.
The one you weren't supposed to have any feelings for.
It had been doomed from the start. Never meant to work out when your family had been meddling since the beginning. Would never let you love someone who didn't have an important last name or enough wealth to brag about.
You didn't know how she did it.
But you were sure she had something to do with the person who catfished them. Maybe she'd been keeping tabs on you at school. Paying a classmate to update her or make sure you never had anyone else to turn to.
Or perhaps you only told yourself that so you didn't have to deal with the possibility that you were just unlikable. Unlovable.
"Hey," you awkwardly breathed out as they both sat across from you, covering up your left hand with your right one as you folded them over the menu.
"You hungry?" Satoru casually grinned. "How many stores did my mom drag you to?"
"Yeah," you spoke slowly, your eyes unhelpfully drifting back to Suguru every few seconds. "A few."
"We're starving," he continued, and you appreciated his attempts to find some normalcy in the situation. "Jus' came back from the gym."
They were dressed like it too, dark compression shirts and sweats, completely underdressed and out-of-place in a restaurant where the rest of the men were wearing tailored suits and shiny Italian loafers.
But no one would dare say anything to a Gojo.
"How have you been?" Suguru asked you, his warm, dark eyes piercing into you as you squirmed in your stiff seat. "Feels like I've barely seen you around."
"Just busy," you half-lied, knowing that he'd see through the front you tried to put on. "Stressed."
"Okay, I know things are like, sorta terrible right now, but let's just have an hour where we don't talk about all the depressing stuff, okay?" Satoru suggested before Suguru could press and poke at your fresh wounds.
They were both trying to help.
Just in different ways.
You nodded, shrugging a little as Suguru clenched his jaw. It was obvious he was itching to say no. He wanted to lay everything out, make some solid plan, break down every problem so he could solve them. But his stare met yours, and he reluctantly opened his mouth to mutter, "Fine."
And despite his hesitance, you were glad he actually agreed, because it only took ten minutes for the tension to thaw, another fifteen for the lunch to become fun. Giggling and grinning as they bickered and brought up memories of better days, chiming in to settle silly arguments as you nibbled on the appetizer the waiter brought out. Opening up on your own with a couple of stupid anecdotes after the main course came out, cheeks burning as they both intently listened to every word that left your lips.
It was easy.
Sitting there and laughing with them, being apart of their conversation instead of shying away from it, loosening up as you found yourself smiling more than you had all week.
By the time the bill came out and Satoru slid over his card, you didn't actually want to leave.
Didn't want to return to your dim bedroom or disappear under your blankets.
Walking out in between both of them, Satoru's bicep brushing against your arm while Suguru's fingers skimmed over the back of your hand.
"What are you doing this afternoon?" You asked, holding your breath as your gaze slid from one to the other. It was always Suguru you got stuck on though. How his shirt clung to his study shoulders, made him look even broader than normal, muscles bulging as his own stare dragged down your body.
"Studying, probably," he answered, his tone softening for you. "Do you have work?"
"No, um, my next shift is tomorrow," you muttered, halfway hoping he'd offer to spend today with you. That maybe you could slowly try to sort some things out with him, let him come up with some solution you hadn't thought of yet.
Your phone had buzzed a few times in your purse, and you wondered if it was Sukuna, maybe trying to see if he could come over after he closed up shop today.
He'd been more irritated lately, put off by your avoidance, his reassurance burdened by his own reluctance to accept that your fate was't as easy to mold to his liking as his own. That there were circumstances even he couldn't change.
Even if he'd grumbled that he'd 'cuck Gojo' to claim you the last time you'd seen him.
Suguru's fingers drifted a little higher, toying with the charm bracelet you were wearing as your attention returned to his annoyingly perfect face. You caught yourself smiling a little as your eyes met his, his bangs hanging loose and down.
"Do you want to come back to my-"
He didn't get to finish before your full name was being called.
You saw the confusion flash in his half-lidded stare, watched his head snap to the side to find who said it, even though you already knew. Unable to move from where you were standing, heels cemented in the sidewalk as you struggled to so much as breathe.
Helpless.
Some invisible force shoving your head under water, drowning in your own resignation as you saw the way Suguru's expression shifted, morphed into something you couldn't read once he realized who it was.
"Hi, Satoru," your mother greeted, perfectly pleasant. "It's good to see my soon-to-be son-in-law."
"Oh," Satoru awkwardly coughed, clearing his throat as he tried to sound normal. "Yeah, uh, same."
You doubted his parents had bothered to provide half the manners training your own had drilled into you.
"If you'll excuse us, boys," she chirped, all bright and upbeat, deceptively charming as you felt her cold fingers wrap around your wrist. "I must speak to my daughter for a few moments."
It wasn't a question.
She was yanking you away before Satoru could respond, and for once, Suguru was just standing there and staring as you forced your stare forward, humiliation burning under your cheeks.
You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen your mother so visibly pissed. Angry enough that the botox couldn't hide the deep set crease between her brows as her sharp nails cut into your skin as she dragged you far enough from them they wouldn't be able to overhear.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She hissed at you, claws refusing to relent as you resisted her pull.
"I was just having lunch with Satoru and his friend," you murmured, stiff and uncomfortable, unable to even glance back at the pair and see what sort of expressions they were wearing.
Had she noticed how Suguru touched you?
Why the fuck was she even here? Had she been planning on interrupting your lunch with Satoru's mother? Inserting herself in to keep shoving herself in the highest social circle she could?
"I saw the way you looked at him," she accused, and your heart sank. Splintered in a second at the way her shrewd stare shifted past you, directed solely at the dark-haired man who had just made you smile. "How stupid are you?"
Her hand raised, and you flinched for a second, ripping your wrist free and stepping back as your throat constricted tight enough you could hardly get any air in or out.
"It's not-" You started to excuse, but you wouldn't even believe yourself.
"I don't care what kind of crush you might have, but nip it in the fucking bud now," she demanded, glaring hard as she dismissively shook her head. Disappointment in you etched into every one of her filled-in features. "You are engaged. I expect you to act like it."
You opened your mouth to speak only to shut it again in apprehension.
It wasn't like she'd listen to anything you had to say anyway.
"You wouldn't want me to do something about it, would you?" She threatened, and you knew your body gave away how you felt by the sharp little inhale you couldn't help but suck in.
Your mother had never done subtle.
If she got involved, she would go scorched earth. Go to the university and see if she could find some loophole to get him expelled last minute, or invalidate his scholarships or degree. And if that didn't work, she'd find any place he got employed at and try to get him fired. Or maybe she'd make up some fake allegation against him, go to the police just to prove how much power she held over you.
It didn't really matter to her how she got it done. She'd do anything just to teach you a lesson.
You'd spent your entire life learning over and over again that she dictated all your decisions.
"I spent all week looking into what you've been up to lately. You really must think I'm an idiot," she continued, plucked brows pinching together as she scoffed. "That I wouldn't discover your little job, or the scum you've been hanging around. God, I can't even imagine her face if she found out her future daughter-in-law was working at some sleazy tattoo parlor. "
And despite all she'd done to break you down, you were instinctively sputtering out a protest to defend Sukuna. "They're not scum-"
She laughed in your face. Short and bitter.
"Men are only ever going to be interested in you for two things. Your money and your body," she coldly reminded you, disgust dripping off her sharp tone. "You're not a child. Don't be so naive."
You wanted to tell her she was wrong.
That she just didn't know either of them. That she didn't even know you.
"Do you even realize how lucky you are to become a Gojo?" She nagged, her grating voice ripping through what had been left of your resolve as you made yourself nod, no matter how unlucky you felt.
You still felt two sets of eyes burning into your back. What the hell were you even going to say to them? Repeating any of her words back made you want to vomit, stomach churning as you shifted on your heels.
"I'm going to tell you what happens next, and you're going to listen to me," she exhaled hard, and you just nodded again, a useless bobblehead in her presence. "I'll let you finish your pointless degree. But you're quitting that god awful job and moving out of your apartment."
You didn't think you ever hated her more.
Red hot rage boiling underneath your skin, heat crawling up your throat and scalding your tongue as you bit down on it to stop yourself from saying anything that made this worse.
It had always been about control.
And you just never had any.
No cards of your own to play and an entire deck stacked against you.
"You want me to move back in with you?" You asked, your voice coming out broken and jagged as you imagined the prison bars coming down, your old bedroom seeming more like a pastel pink cell than anything else. If it was up to her, she'd throw away the key until it was time to transfer custody to Satoru.
"Unless you can convince your future husband to let you live with him without fucking his friend like a little whore," she scoffed, pressing her lips together as she huffed dramatically.
Satoru would let you, wouldn't he?
You didn't want to acknowledge the alternative. Couldn't bring yourself to imagine the living hell it would be if you had to spend the entirety of your engagement stuck under the same roof as her.
"Can I go now?" You half-whispered, loathing how small you felt when she was in front of you. "I'll ask him if it's okay."
You didn't want to be this person.
The one who'd need her husband's permission for everything.
But that was what she wanted to turn you into. Force your hand to make you fit in the mold she'd set out for you from the day you were fucking conceived.
"You may," she curtly nodded, reaching up to touch her hair, make sure there weren't any strays before plucking her phone from her designer purse.
You wondered what she was checking. To see if her tennis instructor was free to fuck her so she could blow off steam. Or arranging to be chauffeured around while she shopped for stress relief?
Seeing who she could hire to follow you around to make sure you did precisely what she wanted? Making new plans to ruin Suguru's life if you ruined her plans?
You turned around, head hanging down as you glanced back just once to make sure she stopped looking at you. Her face was still scrunched together in frustration as she brought her phone to her ear, barking something into the line as you slowly counted the steps back to the men you left behind.
And as much as you wanted to bury your face in Suguru's chest, let him wrap a strong arm around your back, fingers splayed out across your spine as he comforted you, you knew you couldn't.
"What was that about?" Satoru asked first once you were within range, a hint of thinly-concealed protectiveness carrying through his casual question.
But Suguru was the one to prod, trying to hold a hand out for you while you stiffened just out of reach. "Are you okay?"
You couldn't even look at either of them.
"Um, Satoru?" Your voice cracked on his name, hanging heavy in the air as he did touch you, unsteadily squeezing your shoulder.
"What happened?" He asked, his tone changing to something much sharper, far icier.
"Can I move in with you?"
a/n: gonna temporarily turn anon asks back on for a day for this btw! reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
series | latest oneshots | series | patreon
out of curiosity, if you had to pick one, who would you choose?
thinking abt shoto who was so scared the first time he was with you when you were ovulating he thought his dick was gonna fall off.
who downloaded an app to keep track for him so he was always prepared and when he got the little notification a lil jolt ran through his body thinking abt all the different ways he’s gonna ruin you
who tosses you over his shoulder and brings you to the bed and eats you out for hours. fucking his fingers into your sticky pussy, curling them just right, licking at your puffy clit until you’re sobbing and begging, tears running down your cute cheeks.
who then flips you over onto your tummy and fucks you like it’s the only thing he knows. plunging in and out of you, watching you leak all over him. each sticky smack making him fuck you faster.
who leans over you, pressing your face into the pillows and ruts into you, grunting and moaning in your ear as he fills you over and over.
who thinks he’s finally worn you out and collapses on the bed next to you only for you to climb on top of him and ride him until there are tears in his eyes.
Pairing: StalkerPlug!Choso x Reader
cw: fem!reader, Choso is kinda creepy and awkward, shy, mentions of drugs and alc, frat party, stalker vibes from Choso, Obessed with reader, SMUT, sucking his d, masturbation
for my sweet: @magnol1aaa3 I HOPE U LIKKEE
Your plug, just some alternative looking guy you bought your fix from.
The price for his baggies was suspiciously cheap, but hey, a girl can't complain.
You knew his name and what days were best to meet up with him at the park near your dorm. That's about it. He was kinda cute.
He knew much more.
Much so much muuuch more about you.
Choso Kamo was a bit of a freak- an obsessed, utterly smitten freak.
When he saw you in real life, he was unable to speak, just mumbling a thanks or a hum after getting cash from you, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirts or gnawing on his lip piercings, eyes unable to look at yours- your presence making him shy.
He kept the bills you gave him in his pillowcase.
Never giving them out to anyone, he needed to have some part of you near. Something you had touched.
You never saw him around the campus, but he saw you.
How you walked with friends between lectures, where you went for lunch and how you always booked the corner study spot in the library.
God you looked so pretty.
He liked the days where you didn't have any makeup on, eye bags and all. You just… just were so perfect.
It didn't help that he was a avid weed smoker, every time that he got high, all he could think about was you.
Crying and sniffling while fisting his obscenely large cock to the image of your face, your legs in those skirts you sometimes wore. He had a painfully vivid imagination.
If he got lucky, you'd go out in a tank top. And he could picture the exact spot where your areolas or nipples were.
He wanted you so bad, it made him sob.
Your social media wasn't safe at all.
You had your usual profile, public to family and surface level friends.
But you also had a private one.
A spam account of sorts- and he somehow got in, he kept track of every new post, every new story or what you reposted or liked. He especially liked the thirst traps you'd post there, the videos of you lip syncing or silly clips of you playing a game or with friends.
It felt like he was apart of everything.
He saw it all.
He knew you so well, knew your habits, your schedule.
It was honestly creepy. But he couldn't help himself.
He knew you were single, but if some other guy came up to you or got too friendly… he took note.
And if that sad bastard came to Choso to get some of his supply- he marked it higher than necessary.
Thoughts of lacing their shit crossed his mind… but he wasn't trying to go to jail. Who would get to stalk you daily then?
A party.
A frat party down in one of the houses, hosted by Gojo and his buddy Sukuna.
You were going.
Choso knew.
So he went too.
You had just arrived, in some shorts that hugged your thighs in a delicious way and a top that made your tits look heavenly- Choso was standing in a corner by the kitchen, but he saw you come in.
You split with your friends, starting to walk to the drink and food table. Heading right in his direction.
Choso, the poor guy started to panic, fingers awkwardly fixing the oversized t shirt he wore, rings hitting one another on his stacked fingers, his hair done up in those cute messy buns- he tried to fluff before you got close enough to notice him fumbling around.
"Oh, hey Choso!" You called over the music, giving him a small smile before picking up a fresh cup from the side and filling it up with some mystery jungle juice.
Choso wanted to say hi, but his pale complexion had started to turn pink, nodding his head as a greeting.
What a loser. A really attractive one.
I mean.. he was the most decent one out of anyone you saw right now, so why not chat with him for now.
You found yourself leaning against the wall beside him, sipping on the drink while you tried to form some sort of conversation.
"So how's business, Chos?"
The nickname made him swallow, dark eyes unable to focus on one spot while talking with you.
"Good…i guess.."
"You have any on you?"
"A bit…"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
Now he made eye contact, looking surprised by the question. In his thoughts, you were his wife already but he can't say that, now can he.
"No…"
"I'm single too." You took a drink, looking over to someone screaming about Toji taking his shirt off.
"I know." Choso blurted out, getting jealous that you were trying to peek at the commotion and away from him, not thinking about what his tongue spoke.
You turned your head sideways back to him and laughed, taking it lightheartedly.
"Yeah, it's obvious, right?"
You got a few more drinks in you, even making the quiet guy take some shots to get as tipsy as you.
Choso gained the courage and asked if you wanted to go share what he had on him outside.
Sitting on the steps on the porch, you leaned your shoulder against his, taking a deep inhale and filling your lungs, turning to blow some in his face with a laugh before passing the joint to his trembling fingers.
This was like a dream to him.
You looked so cute… and his mind was so warm and fuzzy.
An awkward smile was on his pierced lips, feeling happy.
You liked this Kamo.
You liked him enough to suggest you dip from the party and just go to his place instead after finishing the smoke sesh.
You held his hand the whole way.
You were too giddy to notice how clammy it was, or how nervous Choso was this whole time, looking like some flustered teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time.
His apartment was clean and well organised, he was tidy like that.
In a lovely high you craved to suck on something.
So you got Choso on his own bed- hungrily pulling his baggy jeans down and getting to work.
You didn't question how he was was painfully hard already… not like hes had a stiffy since the party.
You kissed down the welcoming happy trail.
Poor guy's hands didn't know where to hold on to.
One almost ripping at the bedsheets and the other gently cupping the side of your face, watching as your glossy lips kissed at his pinkish tip.
How they wrapped around his fat base- how the drool bubbled and dribbled down to his trimmed hair and slid down his tightening balls.
He got to cum down your throat, and he swore god was real because no way was this happening.
You stayed the night, haphazardly taking your clothes off and cuddling up to his side. Choso's arms were warm around you, as if he was cradling something more valuable than diamonds. (He was)
He had never fallen asleep so satiated in his life. All of his fantasies of having you all to himself slowly becoming true.
An alarm blaring woke you up, groaning while flopping your arm across the bed to find the annoying sound.
It was Choso's phone.
You hit the stop alarm button and yawned.
The sweet boy was hugging your middle, face buried in the side of your neck- looking like a sleeping baby. How peaceful.
You had a slight headache, but you didn't feel like regret and misery after last night. So that was good.
While Choso babbled about some sort of dream he was having against your skin… you took the sneaky opportunity to look trough his phone.
Cmon, you would too.
The face ID worked on half of his sleepy face.
You opened the home screen…. and there was a picture of you.
Something you never had posted, and for sure you hadn't taken.
The image was cute, don't get me wrong, it got your good side.
But why the hell was it on his phone.
You glanced to the notifications bar.
The alarm you turned off had been called "check @/yneedprivacy".
That was your private account.
You slowly scrolled trough his apps and opened the social media… lo and behold he saw all of your content. You don't remember him requesting to follow you.
Before you could get to anything else, Choso stirred around and started to open his eyes.
The hell do you do now?
Demand answers and humiliate him
Act as if you hadn't discoverer something creepy as fuck
Pairing: StalkerPlug!Choso x Reader
cw: fem!reader, Choso is kinda creepy and awkward, shy, mentions of drugs and alc, frat party, stalker vibes from Choso, Obessed with reader, SMUT, sucking his d, masturbation
for my sweet: @magnol1aaa3 I HOPE U LIKKEE
Your plug, just some alternative looking guy you bought your fix from.
The price for his baggies was suspiciously cheap, but hey, a girl can't complain.
You knew his name and what days were best to meet up with him at the park near your dorm. That's about it. He was kinda cute.
He knew much more.
Much so much muuuch more about you.
Choso Kamo was a bit of a freak- an obsessed, utterly smitten freak.
When he saw you in real life, he was unable to speak, just mumbling a thanks or a hum after getting cash from you, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirts or gnawing on his lip piercings, eyes unable to look at yours- your presence making him shy.
He kept the bills you gave him in his pillowcase.
Never giving them out to anyone, he needed to have some part of you near. Something you had touched.
You never saw him around the campus, but he saw you.
How you walked with friends between lectures, where you went for lunch and how you always booked the corner study spot in the library.
God you looked so pretty.
He liked the days where you didn't have any makeup on, eye bags and all. You just… just were so perfect.
It didn't help that he was a avid weed smoker, every time that he got high, all he could think about was you.
Crying and sniffling while fisting his obscenely large cock to the image of your face, your legs in those skirts you sometimes wore. He had a painfully vivid imagination.
If he got lucky, you'd go out in a tank top. And he could picture the exact spot where your areolas or nipples were.
He wanted you so bad, it made him sob.
Your social media wasn't safe at all.
You had your usual profile, public to family and surface level friends.
But you also had a private one.
A spam account of sorts- and he somehow got in, he kept track of every new post, every new story or what you reposted or liked. He especially liked the thirst traps you'd post there, the videos of you lip syncing or silly clips of you playing a game or with friends.
It felt like he was apart of everything.
He saw it all.
He knew you so well, knew your habits, your schedule.
It was honestly creepy. But he couldn't help himself.
He knew you were single, but if some other guy came up to you or got too friendly… he took note.
And if that sad bastard came to Choso to get some of his supply- he marked it higher than necessary.
Thoughts of lacing their shit crossed his mind… but he wasn't trying to go to jail. Who would get to stalk you daily then?
A party.
A frat party down in one of the houses, hosted by Gojo and his buddy Sukuna.
You were going.
Choso knew.
So he went too.
You had just arrived, in some shorts that hugged your thighs in a delicious way and a top that made your tits look heavenly- Choso was standing in a corner by the kitchen, but he saw you come in.
You split with your friends, starting to walk to the drink and food table. Heading right in his direction.
Choso, the poor guy started to panic, fingers awkwardly fixing the oversized t shirt he wore, rings hitting one another on his stacked fingers, his hair done up in those cute messy buns- he tried to fluff before you got close enough to notice him fumbling around.
"Oh, hey Choso!" You called over the music, giving him a small smile before picking up a fresh cup from the side and filling it up with some mystery jungle juice.
Choso wanted to say hi, but his pale complexion had started to turn pink, nodding his head as a greeting.
What a loser. A really attractive one.
I mean.. he was the most decent one out of anyone you saw right now, so why not chat with him for now.
You found yourself leaning against the wall beside him, sipping on the drink while you tried to form some sort of conversation.
"So how's business, Chos?"
The nickname made him swallow, dark eyes unable to focus on one spot while talking with you.
"Good…i guess.."
"You have any on you?"
"A bit…"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
Now he made eye contact, looking surprised by the question. In his thoughts, you were his wife already but he can't say that, now can he.
"No…"
"I'm single too." You took a drink, looking over to someone screaming about Toji taking his shirt off.
"I know." Choso blurted out, getting jealous that you were trying to peek at the commotion and away from him, not thinking about what his tongue spoke.
You turned your head sideways back to him and laughed, taking it lightheartedly.
"Yeah, it's obvious, right?"
You got a few more drinks in you, even making the quiet guy take some shots to get as tipsy as you.
Choso gained the courage and asked if you wanted to go share what he had on him outside.
Sitting on the steps on the porch, you leaned your shoulder against his, taking a deep inhale and filling your lungs, turning to blow some in his face with a laugh before passing the joint to his trembling fingers.
This was like a dream to him.
You looked so cute… and his mind was so warm and fuzzy.
An awkward smile was on his pierced lips, feeling happy.
You liked this Kamo.
You liked him enough to suggest you dip from the party and just go to his place instead after finishing the smoke sesh.
You held his hand the whole way.
You were too giddy to notice how clammy it was, or how nervous Choso was this whole time, looking like some flustered teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time.
His apartment was clean and well organised, he was tidy like that.
In a lovely high you craved to suck on something.
So you got Choso on his own bed- hungrily pulling his baggy jeans down and getting to work.
You didn't question how he was was painfully hard already… not like hes had a stiffy since the party.
You kissed down the welcoming happy trail.
Poor guy's hands didn't know where to hold on to.
One almost ripping at the bedsheets and the other gently cupping the side of your face, watching as your glossy lips kissed at his pinkish tip.
How they wrapped around his fat base- how the drool bubbled and dribbled down to his trimmed hair and slid down his tightening balls.
He got to cum down your throat, and he swore god was real because no way was this happening.
You stayed the night, haphazardly taking your clothes off and cuddling up to his side. Choso's arms were warm around you, as if he was cradling something more valuable than diamonds. (He was)
He had never fallen asleep so satiated in his life. All of his fantasies of having you all to himself slowly becoming true.
An alarm blaring woke you up, groaning while flopping your arm across the bed to find the annoying sound.
It was Choso's phone.
You hit the stop alarm button and yawned.
The sweet boy was hugging your middle, face buried in the side of your neck- looking like a sleeping baby. How peaceful.
You had a slight headache, but you didn't feel like regret and misery after last night. So that was good.
While Choso babbled about some sort of dream he was having against your skin… you took the sneaky opportunity to look trough his phone.
Cmon, you would too.
The face ID worked on half of his sleepy face.
You opened the home screen…. and there was a picture of you.
Something you never had posted, and for sure you hadn't taken.
The image was cute, don't get me wrong, it got your good side.
But why the hell was it on his phone.
You glanced to the notifications bar.
The alarm you turned off had been called "check @yneedprivacy".
That was your private account.
You slowly scrolled trough his apps and opened the social media… lo and behold he saw all of your content. You don't remember him requesting to follow you.
Before you could get to anything else, Choso stirred around and started to open his eyes.
The hell do you do now?
Demand answers and humiliate him
Act as if you hadn't discoverer something creepy as fuck
