[v4mpyyb4tzz]

Sub!Choso uses blood manipulation on himself

MASTERLIST

"C'mon angel, let's go again."

"Can't...can't do it. It's too much-"

"Just try for me. I know you can do it."

The words are soft. Encouraging. You run a hand through his ruffled hair, sticking up in various directions. His bangs stick to his forehead, already slick with sweat. Mouth raw and still shining with spit. Skin dusted pink.

Choso's brow furrows in concentration.

"Flowing red scale." He whines out.

His technique activates, allowing blood to flow back into his spent cock. It stirs against his upper thigh. Twitching and turning a deep flushed red. His technique amplifies the sensitivity of his skin. Sticky come from the last round highlights the pulsing veins in pearly drips.

"Doing so well for me Cho"

A finger traces along the line of his collarbone. Teasing. Maddening. Torturous.

Slowly, his poor aching cock fills with the surging blood until it stands upright. The purplish tip brushes the hard muscle of his abdomen. He lets out a pained whimper.

He's at his full hardness now. Thick and aching. The engorged length jolts at the slightest stimulation. A strained expression crosses his face while the marks on his face distort with use.

"My poor baby. Does it hurt?"

"...Yeah."

"But does it also feel good?"

There's a pause. Heat rushes to his face, already crimson at the embarrassing admission.

"Really good. Please let me touch."

Wide brown eyes prick with wet tears. Pleading and desperate. His body, despite its need for release, is stuck in place. Crystallised until he gets permission.

For just a moment, you stop to truly enjoy the glorious man before you. A carved figure, disheveled and panting just for you. His porcelain skin is blushed and rosy with the effort of obedience. The powerful pride of the Kamo clan under your divine control.

"You can touch. No hands though." You smile teasingly.

"Huh? How?"

"You have blood manipulation don't you?"

Oh. Oh-

With shaky hands, he draws blood out of his bleeding mark. The flow directs down his chest, sliding through the crevices of his chiselled form and reaching his v-line. From there, the blood weaves to grip the base of his cock.

His hips jolt at the pressure, letting out a strangled moan. The blood stops moving, rendered still by his overwhelmed state.

"Don't stop now, angel."

He blinks deliberately, fresh drops falling from his begging eyes. Strained, Choso nods. His lip trembles, wondering if you might get frustrated at his failure.

"It's okay baby, just keep going for me." You let out a small giggle. His obvious shame is quite intoxicating, but you know sometimes your boyfriend just needs a bit of extra guidance.

"Wrap around the whole shaft."

Blood trickles down the ridges of his cock, enveloping it in hot blood. Choso bucks upwards, back arching off the sheets at the new sensation. He can't help himself. The feeling of humiliating himself like this, performing for you, riles him up in unfamiliar ways.

"Just like that. Yeah. Now move up and down. Good boy."

You devour him with your eyes, absorbing every detail of his submission. The wet cheeks. His gentle shaking. The way he tenses his core, trying to maintain some dignity.

The blood wrapped around his needy cock pumps up and down in a languid motion. Fluid in movement but pressing deliciously into his skin. Creamy droplets of precome bead at the top of his weeping cock. They dribble into the blood mixture engulfing his shaft, leaving a whitish swirl before vanishing.

"Don't forget your tip, Choso"

Obediently, the blood spreads upwards, dipping into his swollen tip. His concentration cracks, blood spilling onto the silk sheets.

He lets out a whine at the loss of friction, quickly summoning the blood back up to stimulate his cock. Blood starts moving around his length again with frenetic hunger.

"Doing so well. Keep going."

At the praise, he throws his head back. The pleasurable burning between his legs causes his technique to stutter again. This time, he picks the rhythm back up before it falls.

In a simultaneous action, the blood twists around his cock and caresses his leaking tip. He starts to experiment with different movements.

Increasing the temperature then rapidly decreasing it causes him to cry out.

Hardening it in places creates a blissful scrape that hits all of the sensitive nerves.

Moving it in rolling motions feels the most like your soft hands. Your hands. Your touch. You.

The pathetic man lying on your bed babbles your name, sputtering between breaths. His whole body buckles as he continues to work his cock. You get to enjoy watching him writhe about in the sheets, probing at his shaft. Exhibiting his depravity just for you.

His eyes roll back. Cock convulsing and spurting out a thick load of come. It pulses out onto his stomach. Sticky and syrupy. Breathy moans leave his throat. He lets go completely, surrendering to the pleasure. His blood manipulation dissipates as his body goes limp.

He nuzzles his head tiredly into the pillow, panting from the exertion. A thin sheen of glistening sweat glazes over him, highlighting his heaving chest.

With one final effort, he manages to breathe out.

"Did I do good?"

"You were perfect angel."

A soft kiss is pressed to his damp forehead.

"So perfect."

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MASTERLIST

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[oreobites]

Gojo Satoru; you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend but he takes it a little too seriously

When your mother had phoned you three weeks ago to remind you of your cousin’s lavish, high-society wedding in Kyoto, she had spent a full ten minutes subtly interrogating you about your lack of a companion.

“A beautiful person like you shouldn’t always be sitting at the singles table,” she had sighed, her tone dripping with that distinct brand of parental pity. “Even a temporary friend would do.”

Out of sheer, panicked spite, you had told her you were bringing someone.

And then, in a moment of profound cosmic stupidity, you had turned to the man currently balancing three empty strawberry milk cartons on his forehead while lying across your office couch.

"Satoru," you had said, rubbing your temples. "Are you busy on the twenty-fourth?"

The cartons had tumbled to the floor as Gojo Satoru slid his dark sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, his bright, sky-blue eyes gleaming with instant, dangerous amusement. "For you? Never. Are we finally assassinating the higher-ups? Because I’ve got an entire itinerary prepared—"

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a wedding."

The room had gone dead silent. Satoru had blinked once, twice, before a massive, blinding grin broke across his face. He had sat up so fast his white hair went wild.

"An undercover mission? Domestic espionage? Oh, this is the best day of my life. I’m going to be the greatest boyfriend this world has ever seen. I'll make your exes weep. I'll make your ancestors proud."

"I don't have any exes attending, Satoru. And it’s just a game," you had warned him, pointing a finger at his chest. "Keep it simple. Don't go overboard."

You should have known right then. Gojo Satoru didn't do simple. He didn't do restraint. He treated the entire world like his personal sandbox, and you had just handed him a shovel.

Later, you stepped out of the Kyoto bullet train station.

You had expected Satoru to show up in his usual dark Jujutsu High uniform, maybe with a slightly cleaner jacket. Instead, he had materialized in a tailored, charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit his towering, six-foot-three frame so perfectly it felt like a direct assault on your nervous system.

His hair was down, falling softly over his forehead, and he had swapped his dark blindfold for a pair of lightly tinted round sunglasses that allowed his lethal eyes to track every single movement you made.

"Well?" he had asked, spinning a silver car key around his long finger, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips. "Do I look like husband material?"

"We're dating, Satoru. Not engaged," you had muttered, your heart doing a violent, uncoordinated flip against your ribs. "And where did you get a car?"

"Borrowed it from Ichiji," he shrugged carelessly, opening the passenger door for you with an elaborate, sweeping bow. "Only the best for my darling."

By the time you arrived at the traditional garden estate where the reception was being held, Satoru had fully lost his mind to the bit.

The moment your mother approached us, her eyes wide as she took in the literal god of a man standing beside her child, Satoru didn't just polite shake her hand. He glided forward, wrapping his massive arms around her in a warm, enthusiastic hug.

"Grandma!" he had cheered, instantly spotting your elderly grandmother sitting in a wheelchair nearby, sweeping over to her before you could even open your mouth to correct him. He dropped to one knee on the gravel, taking her frail, wrinkled hand between both of his large, calloused ones.

"I've heard so much about you. Their childhood stories are my absolute favorite. Especially the one where they got their head stuck in the banister."

"Oh, what a handsome, polite young man!" your grandmother had beamed, her face flushing pink as she patted Satoru’s silver-white hair. "You must look after our little one."

"With my life," Satoru had murmured, looking back at you through those tinted lenses, his smile softening into something so warm, so terrifyingly tender that your lungs entirely forgot how to extract oxygen from the air.

He spent the next three hours systematically dismantling your family's defenses. He helped your uncles carry the heavy multi-tiered dessert trays; he took hundreds of group photos using his phone, his long arm wrapping naturally around your waist to pull you flush against his side for every single shot.

He was so charismatic, so seamlessly woven into the fabric of your family, that your cousins were already pulling you aside in the restroom to ask when the wedding bells were ringing for you.

"He keeps talking about our future," you muttered frantically to yourself in the mirror, splashing cold water on your face. "He told my uncle we were looking at properties in Sendai. He's insane. He’s taking this way too seriously."

It was the cocktail hour now.

Satoru had been dragged away by your father to discuss a specific brand of sake, leaving you standing near the koi pond with a glass of plum wine. Within minutes, a distant acquaintance of the groom, a wealthy, sharp-tongued young businessman from Tokyo, had slid into the space beside you.

"So," the man had said, his eyes scanning your form with a slow, predatory interest that made your stomach turn. "I see you're sitting alone. A beautiful person like you shouldn't be left unattended at a celebration like this. Let me get you something stronger to drink."

"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely, taking a step back. "My boyfriend is actually—"

"Oh, the tall guy with the flashy hair?" the businessman scoffed, stepping closer, effectively blocking your path back to the pavilion. "He looks like the type who likes to be the center of attention. Probably doesn't know how to appreciate what's right in front of him. Why don't you let a real adult take you out tonight?"

Before you could formulate a response that wouldn't cause a scene, the temperature around you dropped by ten degrees.

The air grew heavy, the faint, invisible hum of Infinity vibrating against the back of your neck a split second before a heavy, unyielding arm locked around your waist.

Satoru hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive frame completely bracketing you from the stranger.

"Is there a problem here?" Satoru asked.

His voice wasn't carrying that cheerful, annoying pitch he used when he was playing a character. It was low, dangerous, and carried a jagged, Special Grade edge that made the businessman's smile instantly vanish.

Satoru didn't have his glasses on; they were tucked into his breast pocket, and his bare, sky-blue eyes were fixed on the man with a freezing, unblinking glare that felt like a death sentence.

"No, I was just... introducing myself," the businessman stammered, taking an involuntary step backward as his face went pale.

"Great. Now you've met us," Satoru rumbled, his grip tightening around your waist, his thumb anchoring itself against your hipbone with a possessive, territorial force. "My partner and I were right in the middle of an important conversation. Lose yourself."

The man practically ran away.

You stood there for a long beat, your back pressed against Satoru’s tailored vest, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm. You could feel the heavy, rapid thud of his own heart against your spine.

"Satoru," you whispered, your fingers clutching his forearm to loosen his grip. "The guy's gone. You can drop the act now. You're squeezing me."

He didn't release you. Instead, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his white hair brushing against your ear as he let out a long, ragged exhale.

"I'm not acting," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, rough and entirely devoid of his usual playful theater. "I really hate when people look at you like that."

But it wasn't enough. Your emotional ruin arrived during the traditional reception events.

The bride had gathered all the unmarried guests in the center of the courtyard for the bouquet toss. You had tried to hide behind a pillar with a plate of crab cakes, but your mother had forcibly shoved you into the center of the crowd, right at the front lines.

"On three!" the bride called out, turning her back. "One... two... three!"

The flowers sailed through the air in a high, arc trajectory. You hadn't even intended to reach for them, but a sudden scramble among the cousins caused someone to bump into your shoulder, and your hands instinctively shot out to stabilize yourself.

Thud.

The tightly bound bundle of white roses and eucalyptus landed squarely in your palms.

The entire courtyard erupted into cheers and wild applause. Your mother was practically vibrating with delight, and your uncle let out a booming laugh from the bar, cupping his hands around his mouth to yell across the garden: "Looks like you're next, kid! Better start saving up for the venue!"

You felt your entire face turn a brilliant, agonizing shade of crimson. You opened your mouth, ready to laugh it off as a statistical anomaly, ready to say something self-deprecating to break the tension.

"Works for me," a clear, loud voice echoed from the stairs.

The courtyard went dead silent.

You froze, your fingers tightening around the flower stems until the thorns nipped at your skin. You turned your head slowly. Satoru was standing on the wooden veranda, a half-eaten skewer of dango in his hand. His sky-blue eyes were wide, fixed on you with an expression of profound, unadulterated shock.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud. For the first time in his entire life, Gojo Satoru had lost control of his filter because his subconscious had answered the universe before his brain could construct a joke.

Your mother looked at Satoru. Satoru looked at you. You looked at the bouquet.

"Well," your grandmother chirped into the suffocating silence, her wheelchair squeaking as she turned toward the buffet. "I always did want a autumn wedding."

The evening drew to a close, the traditional lanterns had been dimmed, casting the stone paths in long, indigo shadows. The older relatives had retired to their rooms, leaving only a few lingering guests drifting through the garden as a slow, melancholy jazz melody began to float from the speakers near the pavilion.

You were sitting on the edge of the wooden deck, your heels discarded beside you, staring out at the dark water of the koi pond. The white bouquet was resting in your lap, its scent heavy in the cool night air.

A soft rustle of silk announced his presence before he even sat down.

Satoru slid onto the deck beside you, his long legs dangling over the edge. He had discarded his jacket and his tie, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones.

He looked smaller like this, less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a man who had spent the day carrying the weight of a secret he didn't know how to keep.

"We survived," you said softly, trying to inject some of your usual lighthearted banter into the space between you. "My mother already added you to the family group chat, by the way. You're stuck forever."

Satoru didn't laugh. He didn't even look at his phone. He just turned his head, his brilliant, bare eyes searching your face with a quiet, devastating intensity that made your breath hitch.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked.

His voice was a low, velvet whisper. There was no teasing edge, no smirk, no arrogant tilt of his chin. It was just Satoru.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting the bouquet down on the wood. You stood up, your bare feet cold against the smooth timber, and stepped into his space.

Satoru rose to his full height, his massive form instantly shielding you from the rest of the world. He didn't place his hand on your waist with that theatrical, exaggerated flourish from earlier.

Instead, his palm came down against the small of your back with a soft, reverent pressure, his other hand gently lacing his fingers through yours, locking them securely against his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, letting the scent of his cologne and the steady, heavy rhythm of his heart wash over you as you swayed to the slow music.

"Satoru," you murmured into the fabric of his shirt. "The wedding is over. You don't have to keep the act up anymore. Nobody's looking at us."

The hand on your back tightened, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer until there was no space left between you, his chest rising and falling against yours in a ragged, uneven pattern.

"You know..." he whispered, his chin resting gently against the top of your hair, his long fingers pressing into your palm with a desperate, quiet certainty.

"What?"

"If you ever wanted to do that for real," Satoru murmured into the dark of the garden, his voice completely devoid of his usual armor. "I'd be available. Permanently."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. For the first time since you had known him, the invincible Gojo Satoru looked entirely vulnerable, his blue eyes holding yours with a raw, terrifying honesty that left no room for doubt.

He wasn't playing a game anymore. The sandbox was gone, and he was standing before you, entirely unraveled by his own collateral damage.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your hand moving up to gently cup the side of his jaw, your thumb brushing against the smooth skin of his cheekbone. "You're an idiot, Satoru."

A small, breathtakingly beautiful smile touched his lips, his eyes softening into something eternal as he leaned down, closing the remaining distance between you. "Yeah," he whispered against your lips. "But I'm your idiot now."

..............................................................................................

Thankyou for reading. You can follow me on tiktok @/oreobitees xoxo

[osarina]

FEATURING: zenin naoya x fem!reader

SUMMARY: for better or for worse, the two of you always find your way back to each other. sometimes, it’s kicking and screaming; other times, it’s willingly and quietly. most of the time, it’s done while trading a variety of colorful insults. still, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

WARNINGS: fem!reader. canon compliant (MCD accordingly). eventual smut (switch!reader, switch!naoya—more warnings will be added in the parts with smut). i took some liberty with 1) zenin clan relationships and 2) cursed energy lore for reader’s technique. naoya is his own warning—he’s gonna give you a lot of whiplash. heavily implied abuse (naobito->naoya). toxic relationship (i stress, toxic relationship). misogyny (obviously). moments of misandry from reader. reader & naoya are quick to turn to violence when they’re kids 💀 they fight a lot. liberal use of bitch (naoya to reader). asshole 4 asshole (naoya sucks, so does reader—the crux of their relationship is that they’re both so intolerable they can only tolerate each other). reader smokes when she’s older. depictions of grief in part 2. as always with my fics, reader has personality & background. I think I’m missing some warnings, pls tell me if you catch anything I missed, there are a lot LOL (WC: 103k)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: my LORD someone free me from this man. This was supposed to be a sub5k one shot to get him out of my system, and here we are 50k+ words and 3 parts later ………. The day I can be casual about anything will be the day I can be at peace UGH. Anyway!!! I hope you guys enjoy. I plan to have the 2nd part up on Tuesday, and the third part (if all goes well) the Tuesday after. We will see!! MWAH MWAH hope you enjoy!! All comments & reblogs appreciated ehehe, and if you want me to tag you when posted, leave a comment here on the masterlist! Also — ianna’s dividers thank you Ianna mwah mwah

PART ONE, AGE 6–15

HOLD ON TIGHT TO THIS TIME, THIS PLACE

PART TWO, AGE 18–20

I’M GOING BACK TO 505

PART THREE, AGE 21–24

YOU AND ME, ALWAYS FOREVER

PART FOUR, CANON

LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER

[yoonsucks]

Malevolent kitchen

Chef!Sukuna x fem!reader

cw: mentions of cannibalism, sukuna being sukuna, smut, reader somehow turned obsessive, my bad, noot proofread

Chef!Sukuna who has been running his restaurant for... nobody actually knows how long. It's always been around. But the menu and dishes served there have somehow gotten high ratings. Even on a Michelin star list. Very sus.

You were a smart cookie, never even going near it. Even if hundreds of people went there to dine, you had this odd gut feeling you shouldn't.

Chef!Sukuna who never showed his face to customers, always staying in the back to cook. Did he have any other staff? Well, there was a waiter, Uraume, sometimes this girl, Yorozu was working there as well. A rather odd pair of employees.

You've heard rumours that he was hideous. Or just anti-social.

Chef!Sukuna who's booming voice could be heard when some unsatisfied customer dared to go to the back and complain about some overly large rib bone in his soup.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN!"

"I'm here to complain to the chef-"

"I AM the chef."

Nobody questioned why that man disappeared after this, maybe hid in shame from being yelled at.

Nobody questioned why the next day's special was steak.

Chef!Sukuna who had some sort of event happening. New customers could get a free entrée.

You, being sensible ,obviously didn't want to go. But your friends had other plans, begging for you to join them.

You caved in eventually, you couldn't say no to free food in this economy.

Chef!Sukuna who had a full restaurant. You and a few other friends joining the busy atmosphere.

Tables full, a long line outside behind you.

Everyone wanted a taste.

You were more curious to see the chef of this establishment more than the free food after you saw a large painting of him near your seat.

The menacing, red irises watching you from the frame. You couldn't help but stare back at the painting, his tattooed and scarred face pulled you in. The baby pink hair, perpetual scowl and the black chef uniform on him...

Your friends were too busy with their noses deep in the menus to notice you were having a staring contest with an inanimate object.

A soft voice made all of you snap your heads, a short, white haired person ready to take your order.

Chef!Sukuna who didn't show up once during your meal. What you and your little group had ordered tasted... really damn good. The drinks and sides were delicious. Damn him.

You left after a few hours, head full of gossip and a drink you can't remember the name of, but it had gone down smoothly.

Chef!Sukuna who you kept trying to find, trying to get a glimpse of. You never saw him leave or come to work, none of the social medias had his mug anywhere. Usually they had the owners face plastered everywhere. How frustrating.

That painting haunted your dreams, all sorts of dreams.

Those mean eyes, that frown. You could just imagine how gruff his voice would be, those skilled hands..- fuck, you can't be having wet dreams about a damn painting.

Chef!Sukuna who had taken a day off for once in his life. The malevolent kitchen closed for one work day.

You were just taking a walk trough town, bag slung over your shoulder and headphones so tight on your head you could feel the music flow into your skull directly.

You had just wanted to take a familiar route, it was a sunny day after all.

You passed some passage between two brick buildings. In the corner of your eye you saw some beefy man smoking. That pink hair he sported was familiar, but you just kept walking straight.

HOLD ON.

The speed of which you stopped on your heels, almost stumbling backwards from the motion.

Chef!Sukuna who was leaning against a building, a ciggy in hand while staring up at the sky, smoke flowing out of his nose and slightly parted lips. He had on a regular outfit, just a pair of some baggy jeans and a t-shirt, clearly taking a little break from whatever he was doing on his day off.

You were peeking in to the alleyway, the people passing by probably trough you were crazy.

The way his muscles bulged... those damn pecs looked grabbable. Not to mention that strong jaw and lightly crooked nose- oh god. His side profile made you want to melt into a puddle.

While he wasn't looking you tried to snap a quick picture of him.

YOUR DUMBASS LEFT THE FLASH ON.

The moment your phone shuddered and a flash of light came from the entrance of the alley, Sukuna's eyes turned, narrowing.

But you were long gone, covering your mouth while dashing away, quickly hiding in some cafe a few buildings away.

Chef!Sukuna who crushed the cigarette and left the area. Maybe in search of the pest who disturbed his peace or just to go back to his home. You didn't know, too busy acting natural in the corner of the cafe, eyes panicking while looking at the entrance. But he didn't even pass by.

You checked the picture you got... he was already looking at you in it, still leaned back against the brick, smoke curling up from the cig. And for sure he was staring right at you.

Chef!Sukuna who was irritated as hell this past week.

And you who were visiting the restaurant more than you probably should. At least three times a week. You'd wander in, order a side and maybe a drink. You always choose the table closest to the doors leading to the kitchen. Or the station Uraume picked up the ready meals from.

All of it just to try and get another glance at him. At Sukuna. You just wanted to see him work, that's all...

Chef!Sukuna who OBVIOUSLY noticed a returning customer, as you often ordered the same thing. Uraume had noticed too, but didn't comment.

And one slower day, you being one of the only customers, besides some couples, Uraume walked up to your table, that friendly look as usual.

"Hello. Are you enjoying the food?"

"Oh, yes. Could you please give the chef my compliments?" you smiled, trying not to look too nervous.

"I think he would appreciate it if you'd go and tell him yourself." Uraume showed you their hand, as if insisting you follow them.

Now you see, just trying to look at him was one thing. But following a waiter into dark doors and into a well lit and organized kitchen to see the hunk of a man leaning back against a counter, sharpening a knife, were two completely different things. His uniform strained over his chest, biceps flexing while shifting the knife and sharpening block back and forth.

Your eyes met his, almost like how the painting before. But you could see that Sukuna was even more pissed off. That frown on his mouth made you shudder.

Uraume had fled the scene.

Chef!Sukuna who didn't even let you speak, throwing the knife. It went flying past your head, bangs fluttering from the speeding object. You could hear it hit some cork bulletin board somewhere behind you.

"You're the weird girl who's been stalking me. You think i wouldn't notice?" He spat.

His voice instilled a bit of fear in you... but most of it went to your core. You swallowed, bottom lip quivering a bit, trying to gnaw on it to not show. "N..no i... i'm just a regular-"

"Bullshit." He pushed off of the counter, stalking over to where you stood. A rough hand grabbed your jaw, fingers squishing your cheeks up to force your mouth into a pout.

Your legs had turned to jello now.

"Is this what you wanted? To annoy me, like some fat fly buzzing around?"

You tried to shake your head no, but he forced you to shake it yes instead, up an down while his fingers left pink marks on the soft flesh of your cheeks.

Chef!Sukuna who found a better use for you. Usually, he'd chop someone up and cook them up into some dish and serve it as a special.

But he thought your face was pretty enough not to slice off.

You had agreed to... well.

You were pushed down to your knees, a fat cock flopping onto your face. A mean looking Sukuna above you. "You wanted to pay compliments to the chef? Show it."

You nuzzled up into the meaty thing.

He held it by the base, smearing his already leaky tip across your mouth, cheeks, uppp to your forehead. Getting you completely covered in the precum.

You tried to lick it, wanting to taste.

But the moment you parted your lips he was stuffing your throat full. A hand gripping your hair and pulling your skull back, forcing you to open up wider. The girthy, heavy thing rested so well on your tongue, it finding it's way down your throat.

You couldn't help the tears pearling up in the corners of your eyes, drool already escaping past your stretched out lips.

He mockingly cooed down at you, purposefully thrusting fully inside- your nose buried in a lovely patch of pink, curly hair. "I thought you loved my meat. What, not tasty enough for you now?"

Chef!Sukuna who was currently pounding you from behind- a mean cocktip bullying your cervix and mushy walls.

You were bent over the pristine island counter, face pushed down by his large palm, cheek smushed into the cold steel. Drool was spilling out on to it, moans filling the kitchen.

"Stop getting my counter filthy, lick it up." He grunted, hips slapping into the fat of your asscheeks, balls heavy down on your clit while he split you open on his cock. Needy pussy sucking him in after each thrust. You stuck your tongue out, whimpering when he angled upwards and hit an especially nice nerve bundle inside.

"Chef...? The customers are getting impatient, shall i close the restaurant?." Uraumes voice came from the doors, them peeking in. Not even phased by the nasty sight.

Sukuna, not stopping and using his other hand to land a harsh spank on your ass out of irritation.

"Tell them i'll be staring on... fuck, stop grippin me so tight... their damn food in five."

Yoon's notes: is this peak?

masterlist

tags @s0me1n3w @liliklei @blu-goingdark @darlingbambii @whispers-of-aurora @xqce @cactusvolumes @deartoru @sxno0 @yeschefcarm @peachygelic @puppyrawpawz @dustypepsi @izeizebaby @Imbetter111 @stellarixe @deftoneslut @itstotallynotbrina @mimiiis @yorikae @astutetwilight @ghonegh0stwrit3r @1cckedheart @kissmatz @sxpernova @satorusdollie @itimisu @chloeee20 @liahcharms @jinjoohaaa @theartofsugarcoating @fruitypatootie @iluvfictionalmen4eva @jj5110 @magicalpeenpoo @Iilteef @sugusplaything @namjooningera @intrepidsnakespecter @pjselee @qdamselettep @waterlilispetals @jaaazy @kebablover @suckerforsatoru @dreaslv @dracaenasomnolentaa @@re-tired-succubus @dovewhisper @mainovelle @livviaaaaa

[liliklei-deactivated20260419]

“SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE A DREAM !!”

art credits: @//thatsallitchief . divider credits: @//pixopix .

synopsis: toji fushiguro was everything but shy. always forefront, loud, obnoxious. but all of a sudden, he has the wind knocked out of him the first time he lays his eyes on the girl standing in the corner of a house party, completely dead to the world. hell bent on getting on your good side, only to be met with eye rolls to the back of your head, mr. frat vice president is forced to kill his pride for once—practically on his knees to merely get to know you.

note/cw: fem!reader, toji is so so so ooc and shy, reader is a lil diva lowkey, this is not proofread btw.

wc: 5k.

—

“hey sukuna look over there." toji nudged toward his friend, trying to point to the direction where his eye seemed to have caught the looks of who he could only describe to be the cutest girl alive.

the party was already bustling with people, drinks being passed around endlessly in sukuna's mansion, while people danced as if no one was watching.

the glimmering lights, the endless amounts of chaos, the loud noises and the cheap drinks with the faint smell of weed permeating the air—this was exactly toji's scene. it was loud, blinding, chaotic, everything that encompassed the massive, insane, albeit beloved frat vice president.

he never saw himself ever being in a frat, let alone basically leading one, but with sukuna dragging him into this life and basically having greated delta phi, toji was left with almost no choice.

"oh her? she's in my anatomy class, realll cute. everyone's terrified of her."

"psh—people are scared of her?" the thought was utterly ridiculous to him, someone afraid of a girl who looked like she could barely hurt a fly.

"i dunno man try to talk to herself yourself." sukuna shrugged, making his way through the halls to try to get himself a drink.

—

you felt out of place here—it was loud, far too loud, the drink tasted like piss, and the music was absolute shit. but you'd promised utahime you'd show up, but she'd long since forgotten about you, chatting up gojo in the corner of the room while you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers wondering whether you could finally leave without anyone noticing you.

the only problem was, everywhere you went, you always seemed to grab some sort of attention (much against your will). you were stunning, deathly smart, and you had most people on their toes around here, all of them just dying to have a conversation with you. 

so the second you saw toji making his way towards you, you chugged down the drink in your hands, trying your best not to gag, because to try to have a conversation with anyone involved in a frat, you knew you'd have to be at least some level of intoxicated.

—

"hey, doll."

"eugh. is that how you start a conversation with everyone?" you grimaced, your eyes narrowing while toji seemed to backtrack twenty steps trying to make up for this.

"i—uhh." okay. that was new. he never stuttered—well most of the time, no one really shot down his advances that quickly. and gods you were stunning up close, he was starting to feel like a loser with a crush. 

you started at him, somehow managing to look down at the absolute behemoth of a man despite being so much shorter.

"well?" you questioned, you wanted to feel bad for him, really, but the way you could see his mind shoot blanks the very moment you uttered a word just made you want to continue to torment him. it's not everyday that one gets to see toji fushiguro of all people find himself at a loss for words.

"i just thought you were pretty, is all."

"thank you, toji. that wasn't so hard was it?" you cooed, almost like he was a child, watching the flush creep up toji's neck while he tried to look everywhere but at your eyes.

"i'll see you around, fushiguro. try not to stutter next time." 

god he was fucked.

—

"the fuck are you doing here man, you aren't even in this class?" sukuna was almost yelling, while toji had a ridiculous hoodie with sunglasses on, trying to scan the classroom to try to find you.

"that girl…i need to know where she is."

"y/n? you were with her 15 minutes and you never got her name? that's unlike you, man."

"whatever."

"oh she got you GOOD." sukuna was giggling now, pointing at toji's cherry reddened face while you continued to snicker. he could already see his friend slowly falling for a girl who'd want nothing to do with the likes of either of them, and knowing toji—he'd go out of his way to try to prove himself to you. and sukuna was going to savour every second of his suffering.

you were seated up front, right next to choso while you took extensive notes of the class, answering every question during the lecture, your eyes dead focused on the class, barely moving away from the professor for the entirety of it.

right as the class was dismissed, you packed everything into your blindingly accessorised bag, keychains clinking together while you skipped out of class—right before toji sprinted to stop you before you left.

"i didn't know you took this class."

"well i—uhh don't. i never got your name."

"is that all you wanted to ask, toji?" you leaned over, watching his face flush yet again, while you scratched the back of his neck, trying his hardest to get words out. gods, why was it so fucking difficult to talk to you?

"i'm y/n, but i'm sure sukuna already told you that, hmm?" 

"r—right, i mean no!" 

"words, baby, words." gods you were such a tease. and he knows every single time he tries to talk to you, a small part of him would continue to die, unless he managed to figure out how to form a coherent thought around you. which was proving to be damn near impossible.

"i just wanted to talk to you, why d' you have to make it so difficult?"

"i know people like you toji, and unless i keep you on your feet, i know you'll eventually get bored and forget all about me." ouch. is that how little you thought of him? i mean of course a part of it was true, but it's not like he was just trying to toy around with you, right? was he actually looking for something serious for once?

—

you knew toji was a manwhore. and you knew you should've immediately shot down his advances. but something about having the suave playboy at the very palm of your hands gave you this sickening sense of satisfaction. well, there wasn't much you knew of him to give him a fair judgement. he was always surrounded by groups of men and women who wished to sleep with him, but you'd never really seen him entertaining most of them. and a part of you was terrified that he only liked you because you liked him.

you were petrified of having to deal with that—you'd seen your friends get into relationships with the idiots from the delta phi and get their hearts shattered. you weren't going to be that girl. you'd promised yourself that.

"and then he—are you even paying attention to me?!" you heard utahime scream from your phone, your head in space while she tried to explain the details of the date she went on with that one blue eyed freak, who was it again? oh, gojo.

"i-i am!! of course i am, hime."

"is this about toji?"

"how the fuck—"

"he walks around campus following you like a lost puppy, n/n. of course it's about him."

"oh he DOES NOT" you gasped almost embarrassed at the sheer thought of this massive six-foot-something hunk of a man following you like a dog. but she was probably right.

"he looks like he has water dumped on him every single time you shoot him down please."

"riiiiight."

"i'm being serious, y/n."

"i dun know. maybe he's just bored and wants entertainment."

"i dont think i've ever seen toji entertain anyone. he's far too busy cleaning up sukuna's messes to have a life of his own. and for once i see him try to talk to a girl and she's shooting him down like he's got the plague."

"maybe he does."

"y/n." you could practically hear her glaring through the phone screen, and she knew you, knew how you just had to push people away until they absolutely insisted on staying. unfortunately, toji was finding ways to reluctantly worm his way into your life. you wanted to hate it. you knew you couldn't.

—

"man how do i get her to talk to me?" toji slumped down on sukuna's couch, his head pouding from last night and the stupid amount of vodka he'd drunk because he kept thinking about it. it didn't work. it just made it a whole lot worse.

"i don't know, man. she's into nerdy shit—museums and all that crap. oh and she really likes this pastry from that cafe near campus. maybe you should try to get some for her."

"woah you're actually helpful, man, thanks."

"how the fuck do you think i get women in the first place?" 

"you whip out your dick?"

"gross."

—

toji showed up at very crack of dawn, making his way through the cafe before he got his hands on that pastry you seemed to munch on every other day. he placed it in a bag, leaving a note on it—

'i promise it isn't poisoned—t.f' 

you made your way into the classroom, finding the brown paper bag on your desk, giggling a little at the note on top of it. gods, he really shouldn't be using his initials to sign off absolutely anything.

you opened it to find your pastry inside—you'd run out of time this morning to get your usually kick of sugar, and a part of you was giddy. slowly eating the pastry with the tiniest smile on your face.

unbeknownst to you, toji was outside this very classroom, waiting until you finally showed up to see his little present. maybe he was just a liiiittle bit of a stalker. it was alright though, he'd hoping it'd all be worth it at the end.

—

he'd try his hardest to talk to you—he thought he was making progress, really but most of the time, you'd flip your hair, bat your eyelashes at him, and walk right away, paying him absolutely no mind.

"hey! y/n the notes for today—"

"you aren't in my class, dumbass, find something else if you wanna talk to me." you were off again, nowhere to be find, leaving only your lingering scent of perfume behind. and toji being toji would sniff the air while you left, already trying to figure out another way to try to get you to talk to him.

—

"hey y/n, you coming to kuna's party this weekend?" 

"mm i dunno toji it isn't really my scene."

"cmonn it'll be funn" 

he'd finally gathered the courage to talk to you again and he figured inviting you to a party would be his best shot at spending some time with you—he was a lot more confident drunk, after all.

"i'll consider it."

"i'll take it."

you laugh to yourself before you could stop yourself—his insistent charm was starting to get to you, the way he'd walk up to you every morning, the way he always waited outside your classes until you were done, some of the attention was starting to feel a little warm.

you could feel your heart soften beyond dangerous territory at his constant pestering, trying to hold a conversation with you, and you could feel your heart flutter when he tried to get you to talk about more academic things. even when you knew he hadn't a clue about what prions meant, he'd listen to you go on tangents about diseases before you stopped yourself, snapping at him because it was lot easier than having to apologise for being boring.

—

"i dont know, utahime should i go to the party?"

"well a rational part of me wants to say no. but your life is boring as shit so i'm saying yes."

"i second that." you heard shoko take a drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke in your balcony, watching you struggle to pick an outfit to wear for the night.

"maybe i should wear something classy!" you chirped trying to hide your slit miniskirts and bedazzled belts at the back of your closet. heaven forbid toji saw you like that he'd never shut his goddamn mouth.

"slutty is the word you're looking for." shoko walks back into the room, shoving you out of the way while she inspected the back of your closet, fishing through all your academic outfits until she found the mound of party clothes, body glitter, and bras decked out with more accessories than you can count.

"oh this is going to be fun." 

—

toji was already seated on the worn out couch in the centre of the room, nursing a beer in hand, eyeing the entrance hoping to god you'd magically walk through the doors.

a part of him knew you wouldn't—but right before he could go down that spiral you walked in. and oh. my. god.

he could feel his breath catch in his throat—the way your dress ran up your thighs, the way the fabric hugged your curves juust right had his stupid pants tightening around his cock, his head already buzzed with the alcohol, and the way your body shimmered under the strobing lights made toji wanted to get on his knees before you and just trace your skin with his lips until you were a gasping mess underneath him.

"toji..?" you snapped your fingers in front of him, your bracelets clinking before him while you tried to get him to look at you again.

"you came."

"well yeah." you sat right next to him, your body pressed against his while he tried to figure out if placing his hand around your waist would earn him a slap to his face or not.

"you can hold my waist toji, i don't bite." you purred—sounding a lot more confident than you felt, eyeing him like prey while he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his muscled form, as if there was no one else in the room.

people were dancing, sweaty bodies grinding against each other on the floor while you sipped on toji's beer and swore you could see sukuna in the corner of the room, trying to hype toji up while he nervously bounced his leg back and forth.

you placed your hand on his knee.

"you don't have to be so nervous, fushiguro." 

gods the sound of his name on your lips wasn't helping, the way you looked up at him through your lashes—he was so close to just getting on his knees before you and just begging you to go out with him. that'd be pathetic though. but he sure as hell wouldn't be above it.

his eyes barely left your cleavage while he stared shamelessly, the body glitter complimenting your skin so well, he felt like a feral animal. and the second his frat bros made their way to greet you he was all but fighting the urge to bark at them like a fucking dog.

he could see the way they were looking at you, scanning your body like hungry wolves while you giggled and talked to them—you could feel his grip around your waist slowly tighten. and gods you were getting a kick out of his misery. but the very moment shiu whistled, placing his hand on your thigh, toji was dragging you away, holding you closer than he was before.

"toji—what the hell?!"

"didn't like the way shiu was looking at ya."

"don't you look at me that way?"

"well, i'm a little hypocrite, sue me." you giggled against him, practically falling over his chest while his arms were wrapped around your waist. for the second it felt like the strange limbo the two of you had been stuck on was finally shattered. that this was actually going somewhere. or maybe it was just the alcohol. 

—

you head was buzzed from the night before, you were tangled in your sheets—your memory failing you, while you tried to look around the room before you looked at your phone.

toji: you got home safe?

toji: you passed out after a couple drinks.

yn: sorry! i just got home thanks for dropping me off..i think?

toji: it's no big deal.

he was trying to type out something, anything to keep the conversation but every single time he tried his mind blanked—you were his dream girl without him realising he ever really had a type.

you were insanely smart, drop-dead gorgeous, with a voice that could make him a frenzied lunatic, and a face with a body that should've been illegal. you were everything, magnetic, quiet, mysterious and alluring—and even being in your mere presence had him sweating bullets.

and you admittely, had grown fond of toji. but you being you, you just had to keep him on his toes until he cracked. there's nothing more attractive than a confident man who just breaks into a pathetic mess, right?

—

while toji had crashed out twelve different times in his apart, trying to hype himself up to finally try to ask you out on what essentially wasn't even a date.

"god toji what is up with you man?" 

"I DONT KNOW YOU TELL ME." you screamed, pacing around the place like a man possessed while sukuna watched him from the couch, nursing a beer in his hands while watching his friend go through the five stages of grief over a girl he could barely hold an entire conversation with.

"i'm gonna do it. i'll ask her."

"on what isn't even a date, bro."

"kill yourself." 

sukuna shrugged, laughing a little while toji continued to pace, as if walking around the room would magically make his nerves calm even a little.

—

"hey you wanna go to the museum exhibit this weekend?"

"what."

"i—i mean." gods why was trying to ask you out so nerve wracking.

"i thought you had no interest in museums."

"i dont but i do like listening to you talk." he says almost sheepishly while you slowly narrow your eyes at him. 

"oookay."

"WAIT REALLY?" he cheered outside while a bunch of people turned around their heads to whisper something about toji being pathetic and down bad. gods it was almost like he wanted to ruin his reputation.

"yeah yeah. don't get your panties in a twist." you walked away from him, almost a little giddy, but you weren't going to let him have that. you were always in control.

—

toji: i'll see you at 4?

yn: don't be late or ill have your head on a platter.

toji: jokes on you im into that shit.

yn: weirdo.

your conversation had grown to be more casual—something about having toji pester you constantly had you finally ease up around him, lowering your so called 'unshakable' walls to finally let him have a conversation with you without you having to reprimand him and roll your eyes until you could see the back of your head. 

toji was a lot less jumpy too—more suave, more confident, more like the way he was around his friends. but it really was taking everything out of him to not just kiss you senseless and ask you to be his already. but he knew he had to be patient. 

—

you'd opted to dress cuter this time, notebooks in hand while you waited outside the museum's building while toji caught up to you.

"you made it."

"and i'm not late! see." he grins at you almost smug and boyish while you walk ahead of him into the museum.

"good job." you joked eyeing him up and down.

you made your way through the museum, rushing him to the bodies exhibit, pointing at every muscle and noting things down while toji tried his hardest not to gag. he was fucking terrified of the way you seemed so excited by all the strange things, the bones, a part of him wondered what you'd do to him if he ever pissed you off.

you rambled on about things he could barely keep up with, your eyes lighting up in ways he'd never seen before and fuck he just wanted to kiss you right there. it was killing him to be on this limbo of barely your friend, or something beyond that.

fucking hell he could feel his face on fire every second you leaned far too close, he hated it and he hated that he wanted more.

—

you made your way home, your heart beating out of rhythm while you skipped along, toji finally turned away, walking back to his apartment and gods you wished he couldn't see your face the second he turned away. 

you could feel your face heat up, with the way his eyes never left yours, with the way he was looking at you like he was actually listened. you fucking hated it. it made you feel so special, and that was fucking infuriating.

—

toji practically leaped into sukuna's arms the second he was home, raving about how well the so called 'hangout' went, ranting about how much you actually talked to him.

sukuna was close to making fun of him, but a part of him was happy his friend actually found someone to bother, and the fact that it was someone who could keep up with him was so much better.

"you like her, huh?"

"fantastic work, sherlock."

"don't get sassy on me you still have no idea if she likes you back." ouch. but true nonetheless.

—

gods this entire back and fourth was killing him—but he was making progress, and that was good, right? it meant that the two of you actually had something. that terrified him, because toji fushiguro didn't know what it meant to have someone important to him. 

because if this came crumbling down, he wouldn't be able to handle any of it. so he was absolutely dead set on doing this right.

—

most of weeks passed like a blur—with you and toji talking between classes, with him showing up to your table during lunch with your coffee and a book that he'd seen you read before.

he'd started doing things that he'd never done for people before—observing your habits and the things you liked simply because he wanted to continue to talk to you. 

he started to read, for fucks sake. picking up novels that he'd seen you anotate, trying his hardest to make sense of the plot of half the things you'd studied, questioning you so he could just get a look into your brain. 

you'd started to seek him out too—telling him about the shows you'd watched, the stuff you'd read, simply because he was just willing to listen even if he didn't know two cents about what you were saying. 

you never got to hear the end of it from shoko and utahime, though. they'd bully you the very second they saw your phone blow up with notifications from toji, which was, to put it lightly, constantly.

—

he was starting to fall for you dangerously fast, his composure slowly chipping away, while you seemed to be utterly unperturbed by anything. 

you treated him just the same, but toji could barely keep talking to you without having his nerves in knots and his hands shaking like he was panicking. 

he'd constantly leave you little notes at your desk—he'd pester you with details about classes he never took, and on occasion he'd bother utahime to try to figure out the things that you liked.

you were nearly impossible, a closed door and a girl who never wore her heart on her sleeve. it was driving him nuts—the way you seemed to have people pouring they're hearts to you while you gave them nothing to work with in return.

you seemed to air out details about your life that never seemed to give people a single clue about what you were really like, anyway. only ever dropping slight hints about the things you enjoyed without ever elaborating any further. and toji always liked the nonchalant ones. even though a part of him died trying to figure you out.

—

"you're actually starting to like him, aren't you?" utahime questioned, waggling her eyebrows at you while she poured wine into your glass, shoving it to your face.

"shut up, hime."

"who would've thought, miss i hate all men would've finaaaally found an exception to her stupid rule." shoko says, looping her arms around your shoulders while you downed the entire glass without breathing.

"what if he just…gets bored of me—."

"he looks like he's on the verge of getting on his knees and begging every single time he's in your vicinity, puh-lease."

your head was starting to spin, the topic long forgotten while utahime tried to take a body shot off of shoko while you giggled in the corner.

a part of you wanted to call him while you were tipsy—the alcohol in your veins making you want to do things you wouldn't ever consider doing sober. and before you knew it, you were dialing his number, watching it ring while staring at his stupidly perfect body on your screen.

—

toji heard his phone ring a bunch—hoping that it wasn't sukuna trying to hide from another girl he managed to screw over, only to be met with that picture of you from the museum that he made your profile. he could feel his heart drop to his stomach. you never called him? hell, you never even texted him first, were you in trouble? were you kidnapped?!

"hey are you okay?!"

"tojiiiiiiiii" you slurred through the speaker, your voice bubbly and giggly like toji had never heard before.

"why'd you call, ma?" he says, letting out a sigh, still worried sick about the possiblility of you being held hostage.

"can't i just call you?"

"not you, no."

"rude!! i just missed hearing you." you said almost sing-song and toji was all but resisting the urge to punch the walls and bite his fists. why the fuck did you have to be as cute as you were intimidating. it wasn't fair to his poor heart, y'know.

"you can't just say things like that."

"why not? you say it to me all the time." gods he could practically picture the pout you'd have on your face right about now.

"that's different, when you say stuff like this it makes me wanna hide you away forever, fuck. you have the kind of effect on me i could only dream of having on you, y/n." he spat out, it was painfully honest, he could tell that you were drunk, and he knew that you wouldn't recall anything in the morning.

"well i'm just better at hiding it." you giggled, you could picture his entire face going entirely red, flushed until his neck while you heard him sigh slowly.

"you're dangerous for my heart, ya know that?"

"oh i know." is all you say before ending that call, now watching shoko and utahime fight like children on the ground while shoko grabbed utahime's phone to possibly try to text gojo.

"you called him didn't you?" the two of them ask turning around, staring at your face while you set down your phone.

"yeah. sue me."

"pretending to be drunk to confess your undying love wow." utahime says, moving over to pinch your cheeks and stretch them apart.

"that was not a confession!"

"PLEASE you have the emotional range of a stick of celery, that was the y/n equivalent of shoving your tongue down his throat." 

"shut up."

—

toji could barely meet your eyes after that conversation, your endless teasing only had him more flustered than he's ever been, constantly replaying the things you'd said to him in your head before—he was in a trance, and gods he just couldn't look at you anymore.

avoiding you seemed to come easy to him—he knew that he shouldn't be doing this but he was petrified of it turning into something real, something that wasn't just a one sided crush that had his mind turning into jello.

and the second you noticed toji trying to escape you, you knew that that wouldn't do.

—

right as he was about to escape his class, turning on his heel to try to avoid you, you grabbed him by the ear, dragging him away to a corner before you threw him against the wall. you sure as hell were deceptively strong for someone who looked like she was half his size.

"so when are you gonna man up and ask me out toji? or was this all some kind of sick game to you?"

"what're you—"

"don't play with me, boy."

"fine i'm sorry. i thought you were just fucking around and after that call—"

"what call?" you asked, tilting your head over just to stare at him blankly.

"you don't remember?!" you gasped almost apalled at the idea that you didn't even remember CALLING HIM. while he had spent all week thinking about what you could've possibly meant by it.

"i'm kidding." you giggled at the way his face dropped, watching him dramatically slide down the wall onto his knees before you while you looked down at him.

"did i make the big bad vice president shy? awww" you mocked at him, petting his head while he had his face in his hands, trying his best to try and just speak.

"i wanna ask you out y/n. but i can't tell if you like me or you're just fucking with me half the time. it's killing me."

"how will you ever know if you don't ask me out?"

"alright. will you go out with me y/n?"

"no."

WHAT. after all that buildup surely you were kidding right. right.

"after avoiding me for that long, surely you didn't think that i'd have you make up for it, now did you?"

"yeah what was i thinking."

he stood up, towering over you once more right before he moved you by the waist, slamming you against the wall instead.

he leaned over just a little his lips hovering over your ears—

"will you let me make up for it, pretty?" 

"i'd like to see you try." you huffed back, your face hot, the flush creeping up your neck again. maybe being a brat was a great thing, well, only if it meant that toji would snap right back to put you in your place. 

—

THANK U SO MUCH FOR 4K GIYS WHAT THE FUCK YKNOW I HAD TO UGH ILY GUYS

🖇️: all work belongs to @liliklei , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

[xqce]

your revenge plan of spending all of husband!gojo’s money doesn’t work if he’s secretly into it. mdni ⟢

APPROVED. AUTHORIZED. SALE SUCCESSFUL.

you’ve completely abandoned reason when it comes to financial responsibility.

store after store, purchase after purchase. you walk around like the world itself could bend to the whims of the little rectangular piece of plastic you’re clutching in your hand. at this point, you’ve treated entire starbucks capacities to a drink, bought extravagant dresses you know you’ll never wear, and a hideous bag that was so ridiculously expensive you almost laughed when you saw the price tag.

each time you slide his card across the chip reader, the little burst of dopamine you feel at the replying green ding makes his impending bank statement worth it.

he deserves this, after all. if he could be so aloof as to let your dinner reservation slip his mind, then surely he wouldn't be keen enough to notice a few extra zeroes trailing every purchase, right?

“would you like a receipt?” the cashier asks politely.

you smile sweetly, “an e-receipt will do, thank you.”

--

back at the apartment, satoru’s laying back against the sectional, his phone rests loosely in his hand, thumb lazily flicking through thread after thread. “how to apologize to your wife,” “how to make it up after standing someone up,” “best apology gifts”— he’s opened so many tabs that at this point they’ve all started blending together into a pitiful reddit concoction within his brain.

he’s just about to click onto another subreddit chain about “apology flowers and their meanings,” when the first notification pops onto the top of his screen.

“a transaction in the amount of $108,923.67 has been detected on your card ending in 8686…”

“huh..” he scoffs, clicking into the message.

“...this is an automated alert for your awareness. no action is required if you recognize this activity. if you do not recognize this transaction, please contact your financial institution immediately using the number on the back of your card...”

a little inkling tells him that it wasn't exactly a thief attempting to drain his card. unless the thief in question was an infuriatingly sexy woman who gets off on raising his blood pressure. he laxly enters his face ID to authorize his access into the bank app. the purchases, he quickly realizes, are flowing in as fast as a live chat. his blue eyes sharpen slightly as the numbers begin to flow in.

oh.

oh, is this what you’re doing now?

10:53 AM POS purchase - stine goya                   -22,193.67

11:12 AM POS purchase - bottega veneta         -19,843.43

11:32 AM POS purchase - loro piana                   -28,931.41

11:38 AM POS purchase - starbucks                    -6,784.98

his lip quirks up at that last one, leave it up to his girl to manage to drop 7 racks at a coffee shop. more and more purchases are flowing in by the second, some are couple-hundred purchases at cafes, and others ten-grand payments to random ass brands he’s never even heard of. nonetheless, each one sends a little thrill of pleasure up his spine. 

the next warning text comes in, claiming that he's dropped over a million by this point. the message warns that the card has locked, requiring his verification to prove it wasn't stolen and to therefore unlock it. he clicks onto that message and verifies his identity anyway, because he knows this isn't fraud. no, he knows exactly who’s behind this, and what kind of husband would he be if he didn’t enable his wife’s unhealthy spending habits?

he leans his head back against the couch, exhaling through his nose as something warm, and dangerously pleased coils in his chest. much to your impending annoyance, each petty charge has served more to arouse him than irritate him.

11:55 AM POS purchase - balenciaga                  -47,165.90

“spend it all,” he murmurs to the screen, irregularly pleased for someone actively being robbed. “c’mon babe. don’t go soft on me now.”

his hands slowly inch lower into his sweatpants, freeing his cock from the stiff material. he's mindlessly refreshing the page every few seconds, praying for a new purchase statement to come up. every time a new proof of your financial recklessness updates, his dick twitches in his hand.

louis. throb. gucci. throb.

he leans his head back, his breath coming in short gasps as he brings himself closer to the edge. he can feel the heat building up in his core, the familiar tingle in his spine. he's close, so so close, and all it takes is one more purchase to send him over.

12:00 PM POS purchase - tiffany & co. -136,456.23

his back arches, a low intelligible groan along the lines of that’s my girl escaping his lips as he comes undone. ropes of his translucent cum string over his fist. he’s feeling the tension leave his body after the high, replaced by a warm, satisfied glow. he takes a moment to catch his breath, his eyes still on his phone, then he pulls up your contact.

satoru: hey princess satoru: don't forget to hit up the bank on the way home, they probably need a massage from all the stress you’ve put them through today;)

y/n: 🖕

1:19 PM POS purchase - mcdonalds -420,041.67 ↳ attached message: suck my balls haha

a/n: can u guys tell i had to search up 'expensive brands' to find half of this shit😭 alsooo this was inspired by this fic by @satorus-princess

tags: @s0ngofthebaddest @tartartagliaboo @kissysatoru @akumatizedmuffin @purityswan @fairygardenprincess @loowyinsixeyes @luvleyliaxx @arrozyfrijoles23 @lady-of-blossoms @gojofucker7 @skin2bone111 @lovelylovecin3monn @postresfresitas @softtashoney @dreamydaredevil @loowyinsixeyes @aryasasas @newpersonsameoldmistakez @iluvgetosuguru1 @anonymous123sm @ppnutz @mimuju @cherrys-wrld @ryosprincess @nnaa-bba @sugubbu

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[alexiive]

THE FOUR EX-BOYFRIENDS: COLLECT THEM ALL .ᐟ

ft. nanami, gojo, geto, toji, a lil bit of sukuna!

IN WHICH one of your friends wants a recap of your dating history before your upcoming blind date! he regrets it.

content. based off of that one tiktok sound, reader has very questionable choice in men, all of them heavily ooc if u were in a real relationship w them they would worship the ground u walk on im being so srs rn . lol pls don't take this seriously i just wanted to write something stupid!

NANAMI (BRAD)

aspiring musician, forgot your birthday, was secretly several dozen weasels in disguise

Your first love is Nanami Kento, a boy in the year above you with whom you share your music class.

He makes your seven-year-old heart pitter-patter more than the three (five) other crushes you have, and between accidentally touching hands while playing the xylophone and asking you to hold hands with him when you go down the slide, you're inclined to say that he might like you, too.

It seems like Nanami is into slow-burning, because it takes him whole days to ask you to go out on a playdate with him — he does it in a small area tucked in the corner between the open grass and the wall that stops your classmates from climbing into the parking lot, a shy smile on his face as he holds your hands.

“My parents are strict though,” his lips pull into a small frown against his chubby cheeks, “It'd have to be sometime during school, is that okay?”

You falter a bit — being someone's secret partner at this age isn't a great start to a relationship, and doesn't bode well for your future prospects, but you agree anyways because you like him more than anyone else in the world.

Of course, it only makes sense in his eight-year-old brain that your first date would be behind the same dumpster he confessed his undying love for you (and you're inclined to agree), but there are two main problems with that.

1.) It's a dumpster.

2.) Older kids used to dare younger kids to stay behind the dumpster for the entire recess to see if the legends of the five weasels that lived in the dumpster were true.

Looking back, the thing that was the shittiest about the second rule was that because the kids never had food on them, the weasels never came out—but Nanami, with the same brain that thought a dumpster date was a good idea, stuck a Lunchables under his shirt and tucked it into his pants. Like a ninja, he sneakily braved through the metal doors to the outside without the TA’s noticing and Lunchables in tow, meeting you right behind the dumpster.

“Nanami,” you stare unsurely, “What is that?”

“My ukulele!” He lifts it up with one hand, “I wanna sing you a song before you eat.”

“O-oh, okay?”

You experience your first of many universal experiences that day: the excruciating experience of listening to a man sing and play a stringed instrument for you.

In your case, though, it's not a cringy love song from Justin Bieber or even one with handwritten lyrics, but a rendition of Hot Cross Buns. It's right about there that you realize that you don't actually like Nanami, you just like the fact that he liked you first and gave you food, which is why seeing the weasels pop their head out of the dumpster and make eye contact with the Lunchables is horrifying enough to make you scream.

What happened afterwards is a blur of screams, cheers and whoops, laughs, sobs, and Nanami getting bit by two of the weasels. Whether or not he got rabies from those, you have no idea, because the infirmary is the last time you see him.

“We're breaking up.” Nanami crosses his bandaged arm with his non-bandaged one, “This isn't working out.”

Your face falls. “What? Nanami—”

“A weasel bit me. A weasel.” his lip jut out in a pout, “And I'm too old for you anyways, the entire school is talking about it.”

“No!” You stomp your foot childishly, “I'm breaking up with you first!”

“What—”

“You forgot my birthday!”

“I don't even know your birthday!”

“Exactly!”

In your nightmares, Nanami had transformed into a bunch of weasels, and the next day, your second-place crush, Uzui, asked you out.

Whatever, you didn't even like Nanami anyways.

GOJO (MITCH)

never paid for you, feared commitment, said his favorite movie was The Godfather but it was actually Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs

Gojo Satoru is the high school sweetheart without any of the “sweet” or the “heart”.

“What are we? What do you mean?” He blinks curiously at your question before smiling, “We're just us.”

“Don't you think it's about time I start calling you my boyfriend?”

“Nah.” He replies a little too jokingly, and at your pointed look, he pouts.

“Why do we need labels? Didn't expect you to be so old-fashioned.” He climbs into your bed, his lanky legs threatening to hang off the edge.

His eyes look sincere when he cuddles up to you, “You know what we are, I know what we are — like we're us and we're good, aren't we, baby?”

“… But if no one knows—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay?” He smiles, “Just try to be present in the moment with me! Can’t we try?”

He ends his spiel happily with a kiss on your nose before he flops back down on the pillow.

So it's hard to say that Gojo was your second boyfriend when even he wouldn't commit to it, but you suppose that's the way it goes with men who dodge and circle, who still have “journeys” to go through and “trauma” to unpack. It wasn't all bad with him, though — there were more fun times than ugly (as if he could ever be ugly), as meaningless as they were.

“It’s a masterpiece.”

“What?”

“The character arcs and worldbuilding, how the settings change and—”

“So you're telling me that you don't even know the Godfather?”

“I mean, I tried,” he rolls his eyes, “It’s boring as shit*,* though. Can't we just watch the movie now?”

You stare at him with your mouth agape. What the hell did he mansplain to you at lunch, then?

“I'm not watching Dawn of the Dinosaurs with you.” You cross your arms, turning away from him.

“What, why not?”

“Because you told me we were watching The Godfather!” Your neck swivels back, and in the most vindictive tone you can spit out —

“And the fourth movie is better.”

He lets out a gasp in shock, craning his neck back in disgust. “I literally spent so much money on this, it has the blooper reel and the interviews!”

He said that as if he didn't fish it out of the $5 bin while you pretended you weren't looking a couple weeks ago and snuck it in with the snacks that you ended up paying for anyways, but it's not like it really mattered, because he broke up with you less than a week later.

He claims it's because he found someone else, but you have a sneaking suspicion that Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs really was just the final nail in the coffin of the worst relationship of your life.

(At your senior year graduation, he slips you a $5 bill as an apology.

So maybe he’s all grown up now.)

GETO (KYLE)

beautiful eyes, great sense of humor, belonged to weird cult and would always talk about the weird cult and eventually you realized he wasnt your boyfriend at all he was just trying to get you to join his weird cult.

You start a fling with Geto Suguru in your early 20's.

He makes you fall rather easily — a barista at a nearby coffee shop who has you laughing at the counter, and makes your heart skip a beat when he asks for your number.

And how could you say no with his eyes staring at you so earnestly? Drops of almonds seemingly pierce into your own as you sit next to him on your first date, excited to get to know the guy you've had a crush on for a few weeks, and—

“How do you feel about cults?”

You blink.

“What?”

“They're not all that bad, y’know,” he smiles again, “I actually think they're kinda interesting.”

Looking back on it, that was probably the first indication that something was not all right with Suguru Geto. Dating him isn't bad at all, though, not at all — he's attentive, cooks and cleans, and he treats you with a type of reverence akin to a knight and his royal highness.

It's just the random bursts of craziness that'll get you sometimes.

“I got a curse today,” he murmurs, eyes still trained on the TV, “I think I'm getting better at this exorcism stuff.”

“Nice!” You laugh, “And I saw one out in the open, at the supermarket in line for some food.”

He sits up. “Really?”

“Yeah, and the grilled cheese I got was really good too. Super cheesy and melty and definitely not laced with weed.”

He rolls his eyes, though his lips curve into a smile anyways — you don't get it now, but you'll understand him eventually.

He starts mentioning “Jujutsu society” in conversations a little more. You think it’s some hipster club or podcast, but then he starts inviting you to orientations.

You find out he's not just a cult member but the leader a few weeks later than you would've liked, but a part of you is always willing to give people second chances. You've never dated a cult leader before, and it’s not like dating non-cult-leaders has gotten you anywhere.

Random bursts turn into more methodical explanations, though, and just plain weirdness that your mind couldn't comprehend even if you tried. He starts speaking of a utopia in grasp, a place where “sorcerers” (people who can see curses, apparently) can live in peace, but you think the breaking point is when he starts referring to “non-sorcerers” as inferior monkeys. Like. Full-blown monkeys that can't comprehend things.

It's always a good sign to get out of there when your boyfriend starts calling groups of people monkeys, even if they're imaginary, so you break up with him soon after.

“One day,” he murmurs, shoulders sagging in front of your doorway as you block the entrance, somewhat of a crazed look in his eyes, “You'll see the light, and you'll find your rightful place at my side again!”

So it turns out dating cult leaders comes with their own set of problems, but thankfully, the two of you never made it official, so it can be wiped clean from your record!

At the realization, a gasp escapes your lips. His eyes light up, thinking you've finally caught onto his message and work, his chest swelling with adoration and pride and—

You shut the door, whistling a merry tune as you ignore the clawing coming from outside.

TOJI (CHAZ)

unemployed, slept on an air mattress, claimed he wasn’t the rat king but then one night you followed him into the sewers and he sat down on a makeshift throne and a bunch of rats surrounded him and he definitely said “i am the rat king”!

In terms of universal “bad idea” experiences, dating a broke guy twice your age is definitely up there.

Your relationship with Toji Fushiguro doesn't start out all that serious at all — only after a few questionable drinks at the dingy dive bar you frequent, you decide he's just sweet (and hot) enough to start liking. You've recently decided that dating to marry is for hopeless romantics, and Toji's a widower still obviously hung up on his dead wife, so it works out for both of you.

Well.

Most of the time.

“You brought me out here?” You can't help the butterflies that flutter in your stomach at the sight of the scenery that awaits your eyes. The skyline looks beautiful from this height, the dinner is everything you could ask for, and Toji’s even dressed up for the occasion.

“Yeah, well,” he shifts in his seat, “I wanted to say something important.”

The sneaky feeling of nervousness creeps into your chest. Okay, so maybe you have been aching for a more serious relationship. Is that such a crime? Maybe Toji, however unconventional it is that he doesn’t even have a proper bed frame, could be the one for you. They aren’t really even that necessary anyways, all they do is protect the environment from mold, but if mold already is in the environment, then it doesn’t matter—

“Can you co-sign my car lease?”

…

“What?”

“My credit score has been in the double digits since I was a teenager, and mine broke down a while ago. That’s why I asked you to pick me up tonight.”

The most embarrassing part is that you don’t have the money for a car lease either, so he blew his month’s rent on a romantic dinner that isn’t romantic at all.

Eventually, though, all things come to an end. Toji takes the breakup pretty well, all things considered. He doesn’t ask any questions, which is awesome, because you would quite literally have no idea how to answer any of them.

Hey, why did we break up? Oh, because I literally can’t live with roommates who don’t pay any rent. Because every time I see you water your plants overhead, I remember you holding a Cheeto like a scepter.

The fact that Toji likes to take care of rats is fine — cute, even. You can handle him liking rats and creating small houses for them out of popsicle sticks and having his own crown fashioned out of twist ties and balloons, you just wish he would’ve told you about it before inviting you to his kingdom of an apartment and making you a citizen.

You know for a fact he’s not paying the one-pet fee the landlord requires for a dog or a cat, much less the tens of rats that are currently eating out of the hummus jar in the corner, so it’s just about time to get out of there before you end up getting caught up in his financial troubles.

As you leave, Toji just gives you a small smile. The Rat King is kind and benevolent, even to emigrants of his beloved land.

[5:41 PM]

(y/n): so what are ur thoughts

panda: dude

panda: he asked you to sign is CAR LEASE?

panda: that's gotta be a bottom ten experience 💀 and that’s not even the worst one

panda: i would not wish your dating life on my worst enemy

(y/n): not all hope is lost !!

(y/n): i have a blind date tonight

(y/n): his name is ryomen sukuna 🙂

panda: knowing your luck, that’ll be ryomen “has probably committed mass murder” sukuna 😂

(y/n): you know what

(y/n): im sick of this slander

(y/n): im sure he's a perfectly normal man

(y/n): ten bucks he's NOT a serial killer

-

[10:45 PM]

[(y/n) has venmoed panda $10.]

panda: oh.

(y/n): i don't want to talk about it.

got burnt out writing nerdjo so i wanted to write something silly but i lowkey got burnt out writing this too so idk </3 back to nerdjo mines we go

toji's car lease section is a real thing that happened in DC comics in hal jordans run and i have felt pain ever since 😃 LMK . if u guys want the alternate endings to these where they reconnect bc . i think that would be cute

[mandwhore]

mandwhore's masterlist

Here is my AO3. All fics will be uploaded there (most likely), and there are old fics there.

As a quick reminder this is an 18+ blog. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

More under the cut

About My Writing:

I mainly write reader-insert fanfiction. My reader-inserts will have their own stories and can be read more as reader-insert/oc hybrids. As such, the usage of y/n is not included, and most inserts will have a nickname.

All of my fics feature a plus size reader insert, and the majority of my reader inserts are explicitly latine. If not explicitly latine, my inserts are always written with queer plus size poc in mind.

As a queer, disabled, plus size, non-binary woman of color, all of my writing is written through that lens.

Please be aware that I do not:

1. Take Requests. Feel free to send asks, hcs you have, and thots about characters, and/or my fics! Just be aware that I may or may not write something for it. I don't take traditional requests because they are too stressful.

2. Write dd/lg, a/b/o, power imbalances with large age gaps, or RPF. I don't feel comfortable writing these things, though I may reblog fics with such themes. These will be appropriately tagged. I do not write or reblog RPFs.

my writing (last updated 1/13)

Oneshots.

(You Drive Me) Crazy - Ellaria Sand x F!/Afab!Reader. Smut fic.

Blurbs.

Kinktober 2022 Gagging Prompt - Boba Fett x F!/Afab!Reader.

Series.

Many coming soon!

[miskatebishop]

peter pitching his idea: i just think that spider-man's not a good enough furry- j jonah jameson: stop right there parker- run the article immediately

[mandwhore]

[ID: An edit made to look like an online article, with an article from The Daily Bugle. The headline of it reads: "Opinion: Spider-Man Is Appropriating Furry Culture." Below it reads: "By: Peter Parker." In the body of the article two columns. In the right column is a photo of Spider-Man hugging someone in a blue furry suit.

In the left column there is a chunk of text reading: "It's no secret that Spider-Man is a complete menace, but it's come to an absolute peak. Furries in New York face many problems, especially with the recent fake fur shortage after the attack at the Joann store in Manhattan, but Spider-Man is one of the biggest. His use of the moniker: "Spider-Man" and other spider related iconography seems like he's trying to get all the perks of being a furry with none of the downsides. He's also notorious for assaulting well known furries in the city, like Doc Ock, Rhino, and Vulture. Local furry enthousiast N. Osborn says the following: "For Spider-Man to come after this subculture is just absolutely disgraceful," Spider-Man himself refused to comment." End ID.]

[bruhseidon]

✨The Ex-Boyfriends! Collect them all!✨

Dick

-Aspiring cab driver

-Forgot your birthday

-Was secretly several dozen weasels in a human disguise

Jason

-Never paid for you

-Feared commitment

-Said his favorite movie was The Godfather, but it was actually Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs

Tim

-Unemployed

-Slept on an air mattress

-Claimed he wasn't the Rat King, but then one night you followed him into the sewers and he sat down on a makeshift throne and a bunch of rats surrounded him and he definitely said, "I am the Rat King."

Damian

-Beautiful eyes

-Great sense of humor

-Belonged to a weird cult and would always talk about the weird cult and eventually you realized he wasn't your boyfriend at all; he was just trying to get you to join his weird cult

[mandwhore]

[ID: A series of pictures of the male Robins in order of Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne. The pictures of Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake are take from the Wayne Family Adventures, and the picture of Damian is as his adult self from Justice League Dark: Apokolips War.

Dick Grayson is smiling with his eyes closed. Jason Todd is seated while reading a book with intensely furrowed eyebrows. Tim Drake is smirking while shrugging. Damian Wayne is standing in with a small frown. End ID]

[johnnyanger]

hbd dick grayson

[id copied from alt text: a redraw of a meme styled like a twitter post from dick grayson. the caption reads: turning 23 tonight. let's get this fuckin party started! underneath it, dick grayson is sitting hunched over in the middle of a dirty apartment, miserable, with his head in hand. /end id]

[aliteralchicken]

if I was batman villain I’d just put all my time, effort and energy into slashing his tires, no matter how many time he updates that goddamn batmobile I would find a way

[babiiface95]

On behalf of every person with actually curly hair ever, please stop calling Pedro Pascal's wavy hair curly.

Just say you've never seen curly hair and go honestly lmaooo

[bd-doughnut-boi]

GAME IDEA REBLOG THIS AND TRY TYPING YOUR URL EYES CLOSED

VD&diydgbyt-buh

[murdocks-devil]

Matt Murdock is blind. No "yeah but". No "but technically". No "well no he-".

Matt Murdock is blind. This is not up for debate. Stop being disgustingly ableist.

[mandwhore]

mandwhore's kinktober 2022 masterlist

What it says on the tin. Aka, my masterlist for all kinktober fics posted on my blog. I have taken prompts from both @the-purity-pen 's list and @absurdthirst 's list, as well as some of my own.

Reminder that this is an 18+ blog and minors interacting with this will be blocked. All the content listed below is E for Explicit.

I will likely not be posting something every single day, but I want to try to post something every day. Because this is a truly labor intensive thing, all of these are short little blurbs, hcs, drabbles, etc.

I will be updating this week by week as a tentative schedule! The intended character for the prompt will be added the day the fic is posted!

October 1st - Gunplay (Delayed)

SAT OCT 1 - FRI OCT 7

October 2nd - Blurb: Boba Fett + Gagging

October 3rd - Glove Kink (Delayed)

October 4th - Breath Play

October 5th - Breeding Kink

October 6th - Cockwarming

October 7th - Costumes

[mandwhore]

Kinktober Day 2 

Prompt & Type: Gagging, blurb

Pairing: Boba Fett x Afab!Reader

Word Count: 496

Warnings: Oral (m!recieving), gagging, lots of mentions spit, idk *guestures vaguely* it’s very short and idk how I feel about it. No beta

Minors Do Not Interact!

Your jaw aches. It’s worth it though, to hear Boba’s deep honeyed groan. At the faint sound of metal clanging on stone, you glance upwards and are met with the sight of his neck pulled taught, the slight bulge of his adam’s apple barely visible with his helmet on. 

It sends a rush of heat through your body, and you wriggle unintentionally to provide some friction. It does absolutely nothing but reminds you of how soaked you are and the way your underwear clings uncomfortably to your pussy. 

You inhale deeply and the musk of him makes your mouth water, and makes your brain feel slightly fuzzy. Though, perhaps that’s the lack of oxygen.

The saliva pools uncomfortably in your mouth, coating the underside of his dick. The heaviness in your mouth, and your body instinctively tries to swallow. 

It’s a jarring surprise to the both of you, your throat spasming the way it did. The constrictions resulting in the instinctive thrusting of his hips into the wet cavern of your mouth. The tip of him hitting the back of your throat causing a sudden stop of air flow, your hands flying up to the tops of his thighs to press on them. 

You sputter and cough on empty air, spit leaking from the edges of your mouth. Undeterred, you reach for his cock once again to continue blowing him, whining when he rests his hand on the hollow of your collarbone to keep you from placing the comfortable weight of him back into your mouth. 

“No, little one.” His words are serious enough to halt your whining, gaining your attention. You peer up at him and are surprised when you meet his brown eyes rather than the imposing green helmet.

Your head is still slightly fuzzy, your gaze darts back to his cock, then back to his, impatient to begin again. 

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod, and begin to speak anticipating his request for you to, if you had not spoken. “Yes. I’m fine, Boba.” Your voice is slightly raspy.

“Are you sure? We can stop.” 

You were growing impatient. You glower at him, and begin once again. “Boba, I promise you I’m fine. Lemme suck your cock!”

His worried expression softens slightly, his thumb moving to glaze across your lips, and darken when your suck his thumb into your mouth with a small pop.

“You let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?” 

His concern has you melting. His soft gaze on you makes your chest puff up, and you can’t help your preening, smiling and nodding around his thumb. You release his thumb, and lean up to place a small kiss at the curve of his hip. 

“Of course. Now,” you swat his hand away, licking up the length of your palm and wrapping it around him, placing your lips to the tip of his cock and peering up at him, “I wanna gag on your dick again.”