Y2K Baddie

♡20♡ She/Her I love looking hot, fashion, all things pink, and playing dumb. ♡Dont ask for nudes♡ MDNI ♡Let's be friends, ya'll♡

[qutequicky2k]

Im a southern girl trying to enjoy being young, hot, and horney while I can. This blog is my sexual expression as a woman who happens to like wild things, and that's totally normal. I love anything pink, y2k fashion, anime, sex, women's empowerment, and attention from people i hardly know, and while i love and appreciate that attention, that does not mean i am open to any and everything that is sent to me.

We are all here to have a safe, fun experience, so let's keep it that way. Consent is the most important thing. Im not on here to find anything. Im here for good conversation with people from all over and have some kinky fun along the way.♡

If that is your bread and butter, then let's be friends, chat, or you can just tell me how good my tits look, and we can call it a day!!!XOXO

[wet-whimpers]

thinking about being forced to watch my cunt get stretched. you set me up in front of a mirror as you spread me open until im soaked and sore. crying from the humiliation from how vulgar my pussy sounds and seeing my pussy stretched around you

[mylkychanzu]

I want to be obscene with you baby

[qutequicky2k]

I miss being a nasty little pervert

[tojisteddy]

Black Hole Sun

cw: 18+ mdni, (kinda angsty but) comfort and smut, icky!daddy k!nk, pet names (kid, kiddo, babydoll)

It was a shit shift, so shit that you sat in your car for 30 minutes. Didn’t turn on the car, didn’t play any music, didn’t even doom scroll, you just locked the door and closed your eyes. Absorbing the silence because you needed it, almost cried from how badly you needed it.

And then you made it back home after a silent drive, gripping the wheel, exhausted and trying your best not to get in a car accident.

You know Keegan is a night owl, down to the way his work hours are set up, he goes in late, comes in early morning. He’s on leave after a 3 month deployment, but his usual schedule is the same. So why did he wake up at 4pm to music blaring from the speakers downstairs?

“The hell are you doing?” Keegan asks through tired eyes, scratching his bare stomach. But he’s doesn’t see you move, not even turning to look at him, your hands are flat on the kitchen counter as you lean on it, trying to feel the heavy loud bass of Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden from the speaker, just something to give you a pulse, that having that job is worth it in the grand scheme of things— anything.

“Kid.” He calls out to you, voice louder than the music, eyes now trained on you. If anyone were to tell if something was wrong with you, I’d be him. Knows you like the back of his hand, knows you can go and go without stopping and that it drains the life out of you. You turn to face him, trying to mask all the annoyance, the tiredness inside you. “Hey, Kee- just- I just-“

“—Don’t gimmie bullshit baby, you knew that’s not what I wanna hear.” He chides. But he’s doesn’t knows you won’t say anymore. Pretty girls been through the wringer, and theres the rule you made, to drop everything at that work shit at the door. But there are exceptions, like this. When all of it has to be pulled out.

“You wanna feel somethin, hm?” He steps closer, boxing you into the kitchen counter as he towers over you. “This,” he nods towards the speaker, bringing his face low enough that he’s in your ear, “it won’t cut it, never does. You just need Dad to make it allll better don’t you?”

You feel your eyes well up, giving him a trembling nod, good. Least you’re willing to let him take care of you this time. “ ‘S okay babydoll, I got you. Always do.”

It’s a resurrection in a way.

Having this big tattooed man, stretch you out on his fingers, legs wide as you sat on the counter, till he’s working his fat hardened shaft past your folds and into your fluttering hole. Giving you slow and calculated thrusts till his red hot tip is puckered up against your sticky sweet spots.

It has your mouth open, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back as you let out a moan of ecstasy. Keegan is deep, his girth so beautifully stuffing you to the brim, you have to claw at his forearms. “Fu- so much- mm- so biiig, ‘s big Dad!”

“Is that right?” He coos, sickeningly sweet, snapping his hips into yours once, mean, has you salivating at how good it feels, he takes your hand, making you cup his face, “need your eyes on me kiddo, focus.”

Your glossy eyes flutter open, mewling as you meet his gaze, so handsome with his chiseled face, veins popping out his neck, “You gorgeous fuckin thing, shit,” he shudders, eyes flickering down to the little bulge in your stomach, the slick coating the base of his cock, then back to you, “Thaaat’s my girl, take me so well don’t you?”

You stupidly nod, moaning again as he thrusts inside you. His grip on your thighs tight while he pounds into you, the loud, squealing of his dick filling you bouncing off the kitchen walls with every probe of his cock in your sultry walls.

You can’t even think straight he way he’s fucking you, like Itll be the last time, vibrations you two making louder than the music you could almost feel it your finger tips.

“Come on babygirl,” Keegan let’s out a huff, guiding your hands to his beefy shoulders, “Said you needed to feel right? Hck- Touch your Dad all over, remind yourself who loves you.”

And you do, Hange touching the few moles at hi shoulder blades, down the few tattoos covering a few scars, the way his abs tighten as he slams into you over and over to his dark happy trial— shit, you clamp down on him, tears spilling out of your eyes, you whimper, “Kee!”

Keegan nods as he looks down into your mesmerized eyes, leaning down so his some of his weight is on you, tip smacking against your g-spot, groaning at your walls molding around him, “Yeaaah that’s all me mama, fuck— Daddy’s right here for you. My precious babydoll.”

The mans got your screaming, toes curling as you let out a plethora of ‘dad, dad, dad.’

Keegan spills inside you, holding you tight as the warms floods your walls. He kisses your forehead, “Fuck, good job kid.”

And just like that, you have a pulse again.

a/n: Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden was the inspo (obviously). Shit end and Not down right dirty dad(dy) kïnk but I think this is sweet.

[tojisteddy]

CRANKKKK IT

or: just partygirl!reader who’s itching to fuck someone in the 141.

pairings [seperate] : Ghost x reader, Soap x Reader, Gaz x reader, Price x reader

cw: 18+ mdni, ONLY smut, partygirl!reader, intoxicated sèx so dub-con, ǒral (m receiving), fáce fúcking (Soap)!, quickies, públic sèx, còwgírl, dóggy stýlè, PÚSSÝ DRUNK MEN, brát táming (Price) unprotected sèx, mán handling (Price), spánking, dêgrdatíon (Simon)

3.2k words

✦ Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

“I Stray Just Like A Dog, Addicted to That Heavy F*cking!”

You’d been teasing the Lieutenant all night.

Poking, teasing, letting your fingers glide under his mask to touch that scar that resides on his cheek, to his chin, his neck and down the valley of his chiseled pecs down, down, down to his belt— you’re testing him.

And he lost his temper, practically shoved you in the bathroom without a second thought the second he saw someone even come up to you and ask you to dance. Didn’t bother to lock the door, sliding your soaked lace panties to the side, and split your slobbering pussy wiiiiiide open inside one of the stalls with his girthy and angry red cock.

“Shut up, shut, up, shut the fuck up.” He seethes as he sinks deep inside your core, gripping the back of your neck to still you as you squirm, and pressing your face into the side of the stall, legs already trembling from the enormous stretch he’s giving your walls.

You gurgle, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as he fills you, “You’re so biiiig Ghost!” You keen, mouth lolling open as he drags his length out just till the tip is in and ramming it back in your already sloppy cunt.

He hisses at the soft and wet feel of you, shivers running down his spine as he quickly ruts into you, “Fucks sake- fuck baby- as if I didn’t just dick you down a couple hours ago.” His grip on your hip tightens enough to bruise, cockhead stretching out your deepest parts, your pussy being molded by length, in a dingy bar bathroom. Simon clenched his jaw, vein piping out of his neck—

“Greedy. Fuckin. Pussy.”

Your legs shuffle with every single one of his rude thrusts into your tight cunt, salivating at how much he’s stretching you out, you bite your lip, keening, “Good- angh- you’re sho goo Si! Like that, right there-“

Simon snickers, but it’s a pitch he lighter than normal, like you’re sucking his soul, “Sound so fuckin stupid baby, you like this shit huh? Getting slutted out in dirty fuckin bathroom.” He slams into your spongy walls. Dick filling you to the brim and then pulling out till just the tip is in them ramming it back in.

You hear the door to the bathroom creak open, two men entering the titled cramped space. Your eyes widen, clamping down on the brute who’s more than 6 inches inside you. Simons scared and rough hand crawling up from your waist, inside of your thin shirt, your neck, just to cover your mouth. He whispers in your ear. “Keep it shut or they’ll hear you screaming.”

As if that would be enough to hear the little muffled, ‘mmph’ and ‘annh’ while Simon rolls his sloppily into you.

There’s a laugh, something you can’t make out while Simon arches your back further with the palm of his hand, balls thwacking against your drooling pussy.

“Oh my god, is somebody fucking in here?”

Your walls tighten again and Simon darkly chuckles, poor baby, poor pussy— you were almost aching to get caught. Squeezing the Lieutenants painfully red length for dear life, a string of curses leaving his mouth as he rests his chin on your shoulder, Smacking then kneeding your ass. You hear their footsteps stop at your stall but he’s not stopping, your cunt still sloshing every time Simon gives you those half thrusts, and Simon cracks his neck,

“Hck- Do you have a bloody problem?” Simon bellows, stomach in knots as his tip smooches your cervix over and over. And it takes all of you, dumb on his cock and aching for release, that you grind your perfect hips back on him. His breath hitches, weeping cunt soaking him down to his base. You look back at him, eyes low, lowly purring, “Siii.”

Oh, he could die happy tonight.

Shit, he could die happy right now.

“Fuckin hell hm-“ he groans, giving your ass a harsh smack that ripples even more as you throw your rounded globes back against the hair of his pelvis once more, he spat, unable to control his voice as to who he’s talking to, “Fuckin move then you nasty bitch.” And you moan, hands flat on the wall of the sharpie ridden bathroom stall as you meet his quick pound.

“Shit i-is that Ghost?” One guy stutters out.

“Let’s get out of here!” And they both rush out, door swinging behind them.

You gasp when Simon uncovers his mouth, babbling, “Cumming- I’m cumming-“

Simon curses, grinding you down on his length harder as that filling builds in the pit of yout stomach, “Fuckin do it then- hngh- fuck get there.” you let out a near horror movie scream, creaming and throbbing on his cock.

Simon chokes on his words, fully engulfed by how incredible you feel, his hips buck, stuttering in your gushing hole, “Shit, take it, take it, take- god fuckin damn it-“ he floods you, painting every inch of your insides.

“A-Again.” You slur, a haze over your eyes as you look back at him. Completely fucked out, you use the last bit of strength in you, pushing against the wall and against him, ass pushed flush against his abdomen.

Simons breath hitches, licking the side of his mouth just in case the drool snuck out any further, “A-almost like y’ want me t’ breed you in bathroom huh doll?”

Your eyes gloss over, he can practically see the hearts in your eyes. His brown eyes peer down, spreading your cheeks apart and seeing the sight of his and your cum leaking out.

Simon licks his lips, voice hoarse, “fuck woman, I-I’ll go crazy like this.”

Your lips purse, all needy, wanting, “inside me course,” your second second set of hips dragging him in, “right Si?”

You always get what you want after all.

✦ Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

“I Wanna Get On It, Jump On Em, Ride it Until the Morning!”

Gaz’s neighbors hated to see you coming.

You always come over around 2 am, no clue how you got to his apartment complex, heels clicking as you tipsily walk to his front door, makeup slightly but perfectly smudged, dress tightly hugging every curve of your hips, smug smirk on your glossed lips as you lean on the door frame,

You giggle, “Hey baby.”

“How was the party? Did you drink too much?” He cocks an eyebrow, slightly worried, slightly teasing, helping you out of your heels.

You giggle, patting his chest as you get closer, “Not enough- hck- that I made it to my boyfriends in one piece.”

It’s two seconds to have Gaz pull you in by locking his lips on yours, ten to lift you off your feet get you to the couch and another ten to get your backless dress up, underwear around your ankle and shimmying down, down, down Kyle’s fat cock. His calloused hands rest on your hips, head thrown back as your snug cunt takes him on another late night for him, it’s still early for you. Kyle is awe struck when he manages to blink his pretty brown eyes open, groaning out a breath, “G-God your gorgeous, so- mm- so gorgeous- just like that baby, fuck.”

You rock your hips down, back and forth, up and down, your ass smack, smack, smacking against his thighs with every thrust. You mewl, clawing at his muscular and broad shoulders, “Fuck- feels so good Ky- love it so much!”

You bounce faster, his rock hard cockhead brushing right at your sweet spot, pussy squelching every time you take him into your sopping walls. You press your body onto him, perfect tits pressed against his chest, nipples hard through the fabrics as swivel your hips, drool starting to fall from your mouth.

“Shit, s-sweetheart, hck- t-take it easy.” He whines, he’d just woken up 30 minutes ago, when you sent that drunk text, ‘M cumin over Kywee, waait uo 4 me.’ Now he’s struggling to keep up with you, the brand new couch creaking and banging against the wall as you ride him. And the sergeant can see it, the ring of cream at the bottom of his length, how you take his big girth like it’s nothing, then reveal it like a magic trick.

“Hngh- But I need it Ky,” your head title to the side, eyes blown out, and god you’re not high, high of this. Cock drunk and aching for more, more, more. Letting you fuck his brains out, the ecstasy of your pussy feeling so good while he’s throbbing inside your velvety walls.

You let out a sultry whine, rocking your hips down harder, “Fuck, hah- you don’t want it?”

As if he could say no to you like this? Holding onto your slutty hips as if you’d send him right off to the after life in your heavenly pussy. His aching cock is glistening in your juices from the tip to the base, thrusting up into you so perfectly it makes you both moan. Kyle pulls you closer, his handsome face in between your tits, nibbling and kissing your chest. Your nails run through his tight curls, pulling just enough that the bigger man lets out a strangled moan.

“You’re so good f’me baby, Jesus Christ, ride me so— oh my god!”

You swivel your hips and bounce, the loud ‘clap, clap, clap’ of skin smacking against each other filling the room as you swallow him whole, the praise only makes you feel better, makes you want it harder, deeper— his leaking tip smearing pre deeper inside your soaking pussy.

“Wan it in me Kyle, please,” you hiccup, kissing his two tone lips once, giving him another one but long. Lips smacking together, but it’s louder than his balls against your cunt though, a string of saliva leaves your mouth as you pull away, letting out a breathy moan, “Cum inside me.”

He murmurs something incoherent in your chest, and when you ask him to repeat the words, he swallows, looking up with you with such glossy half lidded eyes, “You’re gonna have to wife me baby- p-please. Please wife me.”

Oh, he’s the one who’s drunk.

And you’re drunk on him.

Hands going up and down your thighs and to your waist, squeezing, rutting upward as you slam yourself down, caressing his face. “So pretty, Ky, gorgeous.” You say breathlessly.

He lets out an airy chuckle, sweat starting to form on his brown skin, “A good wife for you then.” You couldn’t even giggle at his words, walls beautifully throbbing around him causing you to keen. Your mouth agape as you pant, “Fuck, Ky, fuck!”

Kyle chokes on moan, spurts of his thick load filling your elastic pussy. He slumps back, eyes on you in all yout glory, skin sticky. But your sat up, still twitching from the after shocks but throwing off your dress.

The man curses, “Shit baby, you’re tryin to go again?”

You pout, titling yout head to the side but guiding his hands to grip your ass as you grind down on him. “But the suns- hm- suns not up yet Kyle.”

He whispers, head thrown back again as you clamp down around him his growing cock, “God, lovie, I think you’re gonna kill me.”

✦ Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

“Get to My Hotel and Suck Him Off in The Elevator!”

“How long do you think It'll take to make me cum?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re easy.”

He fake gasps, clutching his heart, “Am not Bon! What kinda man do ye take me for?”

Maybe Johnny Mactavish was easy.

Maybe because he was over excited because he finally got the chance to fuck you before anyone else at the club could snag you up at your favorite place, maybe because it was taking too fuckin long to get back to the hotel.

But he was half hard when you walked into the building, his cock fully chubbing out his denim jeans by the time you got on your knees in the elevator, rubbing your pretty face into his cock. Swearing you couldn’t wait either, tucking a stray defined curl behind your ear as you pulled out his red and hard length. Soap wasn’t the biggest man alive but definitely was the widest, made you more wet as you licked a stripe around the vein of his cock.

He gulps as you wrap your plump and dark red stained lips around his cockhead, “W-what if someone comes?”

You can’t help the ends of your lips turning upward, smearing his thick pre across your lips, “The one time you worry to much, let me get you right.”

You were a freak, humping the fucking ground like a bitch in heat as you widened your mouth, slurping and sucking him in until you chocked. You swirled your tongue around his rock hard member, bopping your head back and forth, the ‘shlick, shlick, shlick,’ sound of filling the small space. You reach between your thighs, rubbing your pulsing little Pearl that’s behind soaked panties. You pull him out yout mouth, smirking as he withers, letting your lips glide around the side of his cock.

“You should probably admit that you’re more than easy honey.”

Johnny groans when you wrap your hand around him, fingers wet from your own slick, rolling your hand at the bottom of his length, “Shit, m’ easy, aye m- soooo easy, baby- please- please-“

“Please, what?”

His eyes water, desperate as you suck the side of he aching strawberry red dick, “Please suck m’ dick, need it, fuck- I want ye bad—“ he doesn’t even get to say another word as you push your head back down his dick, sucking him like a mad man.

“You’re mouth lass, fuck, feels good-“ he moans, eyes closing shut as he grips the handle bars behind him, his legs quiver as you hollow you mouth, taking him in deep faster. Your mouth was so warm, face so messed up with every moment, his pre cum and spit running down your chin. You use your fingers, flicking your clit with one hand and tickling Johnnys sensitive balls with the other. Your head bopping up and down, fingers on your pussy moving faster and faster. You groan around him, your breath felt at his stomach.

The elevator suddenly jolts, going upward.

You pull off him with a pop, smacking the tip on your tongue, licking between the little hole in his cock, that makes his hips buck uncontrollably, “What floor?”

So god damn filthy.

Soap stutters out as he sees the sloppy state of you. Makeup a mess, shirt off the shoulder now, cum down your chin. His heart pounds, “10.”

You hum, giving the tip a peck, taking him back in till he’s deep in your mouth, and you guide his hand in your curls, nodding with a stuffed mouth, so unlady like, telling him with those pretty brown mascara ran eyes that look up at him, ‘Fuck my mouth.’

And Soap whimpers when he looks down at you, taking your head in both his hands and fucking your face to the very hilt. Your eyes teary as he ruts into your soaking and pussy of a mouth, balls against your chin with every thrust, you flatten your tongue, gurgling more and more, till his hips are stuttering, he whimpers, letting your head go but you only go faster, sucking him harsher, “Shit- I’ll cum- wait ‘M gonna cum!”

You only moan, rubbing your pussy till your fluttering around nothing and your panties are a mess, vibrations going around the Scottish man’s needy cock. Soaps weary and teary blue eyes flicker to the floor number, and he cums, hard. Shaking and panting, embarrassed and flustered and coating your mouth as the doors open. You slowly rise from the floor as the doors to the tenth floor ‘ding’ ding. Zipping up Soaps pants and patting his face with his own cum as the stranger gets on the elevator.

You slowly put your head down, attempting to mask the smirk that’s on your mouth while wiping the cum at the end of your lips with your thumb, glancing over at Soap who’s gobbsmacked and panting.

You whisper, linking your pinky’s, ”Easy and quick, see?”

Johnny let’s put an audible moan, loud enough that the stranger is startled by his actions.

He gulps, “I cannae wait t’ get in yer pussy Bon.”

✦ Captain John Price

“I Spilled the Salt Shaker, Buckle Bunny, Bad Behavior.”

You been throwing a fit the whole night really.

Going against everything John had going for himself.

Leaving out the house first, wearing that skimpy see through dress he didn’t know about till tonight that made everyone’s eyes linger longer than they should have, showing up at the bar he liked but thought you wouldn’t show up at and then tipsily giving the random guy you were flirting with the lap dance of his life. Spilling the salt from how hard you were grinding down on the guy was probably an indication that the night wouldn’t go so well after that.

But it’s not like you were Johns.

A party girl known for fucking military men when they came to town, John wasn’t the first—

But right now, the way he had you holding up your own knees to your earlobes as he sledgehammered his way into your sobbing pussy— he would definitely be the last.

“Why- shit- why the fuck are you so god damn stubborn? The bearded man grunts using your legs as leverage.

“Too deeeeep John!” you hiccup, pushing as his hairy abdomen, but he shuts you up with a beautifully brutal rut of hips, head of his cock giving you a slobbering smooch everytime he bottoms out.

“You wanna be a brat, you can take it like a fuckin brat.” He grits, pounding into your mess of cunt furiously.

“Or,” Price breaths out of his nose, painfully slow pulling himself out pushing the tip in and out and nothing more. Causing you to whine, legs trembling as you let out a muffled and needy moan. “You could admit that, hah- you’re all mine.”

It’s stupid being stubborn. Couldn’t help yourself.

You let out something between a scuff and a giggle, and Price knew you would, locking your heels behind his head and pushing your legs deep into the mattress without a second thought. Your toes curl as he sinks himself to the very hilt, back arching off the bed and cw laying at his lower back, “John- fu- Joooohn!” You moan.

“Dirty little thing,” he deeply rasps as you gush and squeeze around his curved and thick member, “Guess every buckle bunny needs a little lesson don’t they sweetheart?”

His thrusts don’t stop, brushing against your g-spot over and over, so pretty all cock drunk and teary eyed while taking his ridged and veiny cock. Every bit of your soaking walls welcoming him in and then begging him to stay inside your ocean of a pussy. “Jesus,” he shudders as he dives deep inside you, the way you manage to soak him to his balls. “This fuckin wet all the fuckin time.” He’s popping a vein in his forehead absolutely hypnotized the way your pussy lips are sucking him in. Your feet flopping behind his head as he grinds into you, the loud sound of his big breeder balls thwack, thwack, thwacking against your cunt. You manage to buck your hips up, needy, taking Johns breath away as you meet his thrusts, managing to get deeper inside you.

“Shit-“ your bottom lip wobbles, body out of your control but feeling so tremendously good in John’s tight beefy hold, “M’ Sorry John! Haangh- mmm- sorry! John!” You groan, eyes glazed over and jaw slack. Bitting your lip to contain yourself. But it doesn’t help, especially the sloppy kiss John gives you, entertaining your tongues while his cock head reaches your sweetest parts.

He scuffs, pulling away and letting his pace quicken, the bed creaking as he brushes your curls back, rocking into you drenched pussy that’s dampening his pubic hairs, the older man nibbles at your shoulder. “You’re not.”

And he’d right.

“You’re still mine though, takin my cock like a champ dovie.”

And he’d be right about that too. Made your toes curl, heart race a million times faster, all his, all his, always all his.

If you hadn’t acted the way you did, he wouldn’t be fucking you like it was the last day on earth, speaking of—

You choke on a moan, bringing John in closer to you someway, some how. “Fuck- is sooo much- cumming!”

“I know, shiiit sweetheart, I know.” He coos sweetly. Kissing your plump lips once more.

The older man has nestled himself inside you as your walls clench around his length, groaning as spurts of his milky white cum fill you till you’re stuffed.

You hiccup and heave, big eyes looking at him, clenching tighter than usual, you whimper so cutely in his ear, “More John.”

They don’t call you buckle bunny for no reason.

a/n: I don’t usually do posts like this but I wanted to try it one time. HEAVILY inspired by Crack By Slayyyter, check her out!!!! LMK what you guys think PLEASE OMG😭🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 ~ 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐨 18+

wc: 7k || based on : ̗̀➛ this ask || ac: verazpberry || MDNI

summary: shoko really fucks up one night. after you come home from a party, she gets awfully jealous and calls you things you'd never expect from your sweet girl. never in your life had you felt so torn apart, so utterly heartbroken. you start to pull away, and the relationship you used to adore with all your heart starts to fall apart at the seams. CW: angst to fluff to smut *ೃ༄

everyone loves a hot lesbian couple, and that’s exactly what you and shoko were.

you were sexy in that flashy, it-girl kinda way, and she was hot in that alternative, mysterious kinda way.

shoko mostly kept to herself, dressed in clothes only the really cool people in the city wore, and almost always only talked to you. her long-term, younger girlfriend.

you, on the other hand? good lord, if you weren’t her polar opposite.

with tens of thousands of people tripping over their feet for you on instagram, and a social circle that rivalled that of star football players at your college, you two couldn’t have been more different.

still, this didn’t stop you two from being that couple. the kind of couple everyone either wanted to have a threesome with or wanted broken up because they were ferally jealous. straights and queers alike.

you were totally infatuated with one another, and it showed in the way you were both glued at the hip. almost every post of yours featured your pretty girl posing candidly, her mousy brown hair framing that beautiful face. every smoke session shoko was invited to had you tagging along, despite not smoking yourself.

if anyone were to describe your relationship in one word, it would be perfect. utterly perfect.

you always knew perfect was a fragile thing, but it felt so good being perceived as such.

you liked being loved loudly because it meant you didn’t have to ask for the one thing you so desperately wanted. with shoko, you tried to be better with this unhealthy world view, but in your heart, you knew love was something you could earn by behaving well.

and you were always on your best behaviour with shoko.

you were constantly bettering yourself for her, always making sure things between you two stay sweet. you never questioned whether she would hurt you or not, because after all, you two were perfect.

so imagine everyone’s surprise when they hear through whispered rumours that there’s trouble in paradise…

~

you are, for lack of better words, shitfaced.

tonight marked the night of finals coming to an end, something you’d desperately wanted to celebrate with your friends. preferably your girlfriend as well, but she opted to stay home despite your insistent pouting.

“pleaseee, baby, it’ll be so much fun! we haven’t been to a party in, like, ages!” you’d whined that morning in the shower, cradling her face in your palms as she rubbed soap over your naked body.

“you go, sweetheart. i wanna relax tonight, maybe watch yellowjackets or something. i’ll be okay,” she’d replied, pinching the fat of your slippery hip teasingly.

“you promise?”

“i pinky promise.”

so yeah. you’d gone to geto’s frat for an end-of-semester bash, had a blast, and now you were ready to come home to your lover.

very much in the mood, might you add. you were always a very touchy, very horny drunk.

you stumble through the wooden door of yours and shoko’s apartment after being dropped off by yuki (bless her soul, always the dd), hopping on one foot as you drunkenly fiddle with the criminally small buckle on your heel. once it’s unfastened, you slip it off and laugh as it tumbles down. the stiletto lands in the foot hole of shoko’s grey converse.

your scrambled mind thinks it’s the funniest shit on the planet. something of yours poking into something of hers.

even when you were off your face, you could make almost anything about strapping her. god, you were down bad for this woman.

“shooo, are you—hic—awake?” you call out, swaying from side to side as you giggle your way down the hall and into the lounge.

you peek your little head around the corner into the room and see your pretty girl sitting quietly.

she isn’t watching anything on tv or scrolling on her phone, no. she’s sitting back against the cushions with one leg crossed, her slender elbow hooked over the armrest, and a cigarette lit between her fingers.

her fingers… you wanted her fingers.

you smile so wide you’re scared your cheeks might split. the way she could so effortlessly draw you in by doing literally nothing seriously needed to be studied.

“heyy, sho?” you repeat, prancing over to the couch and plopping down beside her. you’re so happy she’s not asleep, that she’s here and with you, not in bed.

as she feels the couch dip, she hums in response. although it’s barely a sound. her cigarette lifts to her lips, then lowers.

you grin anyway and shuffle over, your body all heavy and loose. you turn and stretch out without asking, your cheek settling into her lap lovingly like you’d always done.

but, surprisingly, her hand doesn’t move to sift through your hair.

somewhere in your dizzy head, that registers as weird, but you choose to ignore it.

“why’re you up so late?” the words slur out despite trying to sound sober in front of her. you flush a deep pink in embarrassment and tip your face away.

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters, taking another drag of her cigarette.

okay, you were used to your girlfriend being all mysterious and hot, but this seemed more like mysterious and upset.

“th’ party was dumb,” you mumble, trying to get something else out of her. “too many people. too loud. kept thinking about you the whole time.”

complete and utter silence.

oh.

you lift your head from her lap. “sho?” you ask quietly, your voice stripped bare of the slur from before. “you okay?”

she lets the smoke from her lungs slip from her nostrils, blowing it toward the open window beside the couch.

“m’ fine.” she takes another huff, then taps the smoky ash into a tray.

you sit up properly, folding your legs beneath you and turning to face her. you feel like you’re sitting where you shouldn’t be. her eyes don’t feel as kind or welcoming as usual.

“you don’t look fine,” you whisper under your breath, trying to keep that gentleness about you so she didn’t feel any sort of combative energy from you. “did something happen, baby?”

you see the last flick of light die from her eyes as she turns to look at you. “i dunno… just thought you’d be home earlier,” she murmurs flatly. “guess you were having a little too much fun,” she says with mock resolution, then doubles down, “with gojo and geto.”

those tiny wrinkles pull in between your eyebrows as your face scrunches in confusion. “hmm?” you ask. “what’re you talking about?”

instead of answering, she reaches for her phone on the coffee table. dully, she unlocks it and holds the screen out toward you.

it’s a video.

upon closer inspection, you recognise it instantly. it’s a replay of gojo’s story you’d seen earlier, @/sstoru heading the frame as a shaky video plays, grainy but in an aesthetic kinda way.

it’s of him and geto, laughing and looking like they’re having the time of their lives.

and then there you are.

wedged tightly between the two of them, smiling like you always do when you’ve had a few too many. the three of your bodies are packed so close. the place was packed, and there wasn’t anywhere else to stand.

the clip restarts.

then again.

and again.

fuck. you knew how bad this looked.

“that’s not—” you start to explain, then stop. your still-tipsy mind isn’t really helping you form coherent thoughts right now, let alone words. you look at shoko, then back at the screen. “i promise, honey, that’s not what it looks like.”

she lifts an eyebrow, barely.

“yeah?” she says. “because it looks pretty straightforward to me.”

you lean in, pointing without touching the phone. “no, listen. utahime was with me! i was just trying to get past them, it was wall to wall in there n' they were blocking the way to the kitchen.”

her face stays stone-cold and judging. your heart cracks at the look on your otherwise nurturing girlfriend’s face.

you start to panic, your inebriated head hating the idea of making her more mad than she very clearly already was. “s-someone spilled a drink,” you add fast. “everyone almost slipped. that’s why we were laughing, and why everyone was so close. we were moving away from the spill.”

you weren’t lying. god, you’d never lie to her.

but the way you’d just described the situation wasn’t helping your case. you were terrified of making her more upset, your nervous overexplaining and rambling making you seem more and more guilty.

she locks her phone and drops it back onto the table.

“yeah, well… doesn’t look like that,” she sighs.

you don’t notice your fingers digging into the couch until your knuckles start to sting and cramp.

“you know i wouldn’t do that,” you counter. “i was with yuki most of the night. you can ask her, sho. ask anyone.”

“i’m sure,” shoko replies. “you usually are.”

oof. that one stung.

“what’s that meant to mean?”

she shifts then, turning toward you fully.

“you’re always with someone you know damn well wants more than to be friends with you. you’ve had a thing with yuki, for god’s sake.”

“that’s not fair,” you say right away. “you know how girls are with this stuff. that was four years ago, sho, and we weren’t even dating. you know i can’t help that.”

“you can help being around those two idiots, though.”

“they’re my friends,” you say. “they always have been.”

she scoffs quietly.

“friends who’ve tried to sleep with you,” she says. “more than once.”

“before we were together,” you snap back. “and i shut it down. every single time.”

“and they’re still into you,” she says. “that part didn’t magically disappear.”

the space between you feels wrong now, like there’s not enough room to move without scraping against a wall with fifty thousand needles poking out of it.

“that doesn’t mean anything, okay? i’m with you.”

“how do i know that? when you’re out at these things with tons of people who would gladly fuck you silly,” she says. “how do i know you’ll stay with me? when you’ve had too much to drink and your head’s not on straight, how do i know you’re with me? i know how you are with attention, [name].”

you get goosebumps. your body goes still as you sit there and stare at her in shock at what just came out of her mouth.

“the fuck?” you quiz. “what are you saying?”

she holds your gaze sternly. the cigarette is gone, burned down to nothing. she rubs her fingers together, ash smudging into the crevices of her fingerprints.

“i’m saying people don’t respect boundaries,” she says. “especially gojo and geto. they never have. how am i supposed to be okay with you out there with guys like them, giving you all the love and praise you could ever ask for?”

“so what,” you scoff. “i’m just some attention whore? some untrustworthy hoe who can’t help but give in to a little temptation? just a bimbo who’d cheat on my girlfriend because a few guys give me a little too much of their time?”

you can tell you hit a nerve because her pretty eyes turn wicked with offence.

“that’s not what i’m saying,” she replies. “i’m saying you’re young. you’re still new to this whole committed relationship thing. i—”

you cut her off with a short laugh, pure disbelief more than anything. “‘new to this’? we’ve been dating for two fucking years!” you’re at the stage of being pissed off where every word out of her mouth feels like poison, and she’s getting there too.

“i haven’t thought of anyone else since the day i met you, shoko,” you say. “sure, i’m not as ‘old and wise’ as you think you are, but that doesn’t mean i’m just some dumb kid with no morals.”

“then why do you keep ending up in situations like that? why stay out so late? why get that drunk to the point they’re getting bold enough to post you practically grinding on both of them?”

“because i didn’t think i had to monitor every move i make,” you fire back. “because i trusted you to trust me.”

“sorry i don’t want my girlfriend out there not only looking like she’s single, but getting laid claim to by some assholes who don’t respect our relationship.”

she pauses before continuing.

“really makes you look slutty, [name]. what aren’t you getting about that?” she says it like you’re a child, using that belittling tone of voice you absolutely hate.

it’s clear she’s looking down on you, not face to face like you should be in a relationship.

you’ve never felt so small and worthless in your entire life.

shoko had always radiated that older, cooler girlfriend energy, but it never made you feel insecure for being less than or inexperienced.

but now? it feels like she’s looking at you like gum on the bottom of her shoe, like you’re too ditzy to handle grown-up situations.

at the start of your relationship, you’d tried so hard to leave your old lifestyle behind for her. the constant drinking, the constant functions, the constant attention. for two whole years, you stayed away from it all just for her.

you thought you’d done a good job bettering yourself, but now it seems like all your work was for nothing because she still sees you as an insignificant worm who can’t do this relationship thing right.

if the one person you care about most can’t appreciate the way you changed, then what’s the point of changing at all?

if she wants to veiw you as some reckless child, you’ll show her reckless child, ten times as hard.

~

after that night there was no sort of apology. not a half-hearted one, nor a defensive one. not even a muttered sorry thrown at your back when she thinks you’re sound asleep. shoko stands by what she said, and you can tell because she never takes it back. ever. not even when you're very clearly on the edge of losing your mind.

you stop reaching out to her like you'd always done. you don’t cuddle up to her on the couch anymore. you don’t climb into her lap to attack her face with kisses, and you don’t absentmindedly play with her slender fingers while she smokes. when she talks, you listen, but it’s sort of surface-level listening. like, you're politely landing an ear as if she were a stranger, not the woman you used to build your whole day around.

you used to be so sweet, that's why you attracted so many. everyone saw you as a bubbly, affectionate, always touching, always laughing at everything kinda girl. after all, you were the person who dragged her out of her shell, who made her feel less alone in rooms full of eccentric people.

now you just look tired.. fed up, bored, even.

you answer her questions with shrugs. with “mhm.” with “i dunno.” you don’t pick any fights, but you don’t smooth things over either. when she gets quiet, you don’t rush in to fix it like normal. and when she looks at you like she wants some sort of reassurance, you give her absolutely nothing.

if she wants to treat you like a reckless kid, you’ll show her exactly what that looks like.

you start partying like you were in freshman again. almost every weekend you'd go over to yuki or utahime's to pregame before the sun could even get a chance to set. then, you'd rock up to whatever frat had a function that day.

you post more, and it's not couple pics. not soft candid shots of shoko reading or smoking by the window. it’s just you now. lots of mirror selfies, pretty, blurred videos of you dancing with your friends.

and you start getting absolutely pissfaced.

nine times out ten you're ending the night with your head in a toilet or a shoved in a bush, throwing your guts up of the copious amounts of alcohol you'd consumed.

it feels like spitting in the face of the version of yourself you worked so hard to become.

and it feels good.

one night you're really letting loose at a backyard mixer, skulling alcohol and grinding up on utahime for the gag while people laugh and egg you guys on.

from across the yard a few of the guys you used to party with before shoko are gossiping like high schoolers.

they don’t think you can hear them at first.

“isn't that a sight for sore eyes,” gojo says, nodding toward you. “either she and shoko finally broke up, or she’s going through something.”

sukuna follows gojo's gaze and snorts. “mm, miss when she used to be fun like this. even let me touch up on her last week.”

“shit,” toji chuckles, “she's acting like she wants someone to pick her up and drag her home.”

gojo grins. “mhm, not exactly single behaviour. maybe we should try our luck.”

sukuna’s eyes flick back to you. “if she’s not hitched anymore, i’d say she’s fair game.”

they all laugh and smack eachothers shoulders like the horrible testosterone filled assholes they are, and continued eye fucking you from afar.

you knew the kind of attention you got when you acted like this, but you really couldn't bring yourself to care.

this is what shoko thinks you are, right?

fine. let her be right.

you let strangers touch your tighter when you dance, letting their greedy hands rest on your hips as you rock back and forth to whatever pitbull music was bumping over the speakers. you don't shoo them off like you usually would or tell them to get a life when they blatantly flirted with you, you just smiled and gave them a wishy washy answer that could be taken either way.

you don’t sleep with anyone, of course. but not because you couldn’t, but because an evil part of you wants to see how far you can go without crossing that line, wants to see if shoko will crack first and admit that this is mostly her fault..

when you come home, it's always so, so late.

sometimes she’s asleep, sometimes she’s on the couch, cigarette burning down in the ashtray, her once full sparkling eyes suddenly looking far more hollow. you don’t argue anymore nor do you ask any reassuring questions about how she's going. you drop your bag, toe off your shoes, lean down and press a faint kiss to her cheek.

then you go to bed, and you pass out.

you used to nag her twenty four seven, lovingly and always with a sweet smile.

you used to tell her to cut back on smoking then tell her she’d feel better if she got some air, if she went out, if she didn’t shut herself away all the time. you’d drag her out to do everything and anything with you, got her out of that depressive negitive feedback loop, always told her she deserved more than four walls and a pack of cigarettes.

now there’s no one doing that.

now she smokes four times as much.

she stays in more and isolates harder. she feels like the ghost of the girl she was. she skips meals. sleeps weird hours. lets the sink fill up with dishes because you’re not there to tease her about it anymore.

and it eats her from the inside out.

because she knows this didn’t come from nowhere. she knows she pushed you. knows she said something she can’t ever take back. she watches you pull away day by day, watches you turn into a self destructive version of yourself she both hates and recognises as her own fault.

she starts getting sick.

headaches that don’t go away. chest tight with an intense, agonising worry. her hands shake with uncontrollable anxiety when she lights a cig. she checks her phone every three seconds, monitoring your location, your stories, your posts. every party makes her stomach churn and sink like she's swallowed a bomb and it was set to detonate any second. every skimpy outfit feels like a threat to whatever's left of your relationship.

is she safe?

is she drunk?

is she with someone else?

does she still love me?

those thoughts don’t ever shut the fuck up. not when she’s alone n' not when she’s trying to sleep. not even when you’re right there in bed turned away from her.

she wants to reach for you so badly it rips every valve of her heart from the base. all she needs to do is apologise, and god she wants to, but her pride keeps her quiet.

and fear.

because what if she does apologise, and you don’t come back anyway?

so she stays stuck in her own head, watching you destroy yourself. watching herself sink to rock bottom right alongside you. knowing deep down that this spiral, this agonising distance, this is on her.

and she’s paying for it with every sleepless night, every cigarette, every unanswered “are you home yet?” text that stays on delivered, not even read.

~

choso [4:45pm]: sho

choso [4:45pm]: there's a party on friday, can you come??

shoko [4:47pm]: don't really feel like it, sorry choso

choso [4:47pm]: pleasee

choso [4:47pm]: you haven't been out of the house in ages... it's not healthy.

choso [5:23pm]: shoko?

choso [5:38pm]: if you come i'll give you a pack of 50 for free?

shoko [5:39pm]: mkay

shoko [5:40pm]: do yk if y/n's going?

choso [5:41pm]: shouldn't you know that?

she rolls her eyes at that last message and throws her phone aside in bed.

yeah. she should know, but you weren't really speaking to her at the moment. around three weeks have passed and what used to be polite conversation had diminished and turned into full on ignoring on your part, you were being so childish. that's what she thought, at least.

she could hear the run of the water from the bathroom, you were showering like you'd always done on weekdays, only she used to be right in there with you... rubbing her hands over your soapy breasts, pinching the nipples under the excuse of, 'cleaning them properly'.

shower sex was right up there in the things she missed in her now dead relationship. even thinking about it was making her clit twitch with need, you hadn't fucked in far too long. her fingers late at night while you partied weren't cutting it, she needed you grinding down on her, short of breath and kissing her neck in between gasps while your rode out your orgasm.

when the water turns off, the wetness in her panties dries from fear of being caught awake and feeling. she turns to her side under the sheets and takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes as if she were never there for you to ignore in the first place.

she bites her lip as the bed dips. you smell delicious, you feel warm and soft even from the distance you'd put between yourselves. you were so incredibly tempting, but she knew she didn't deserve it. not when she couldn't even muster up the courage to admit she was wrong, better yet apologise.

"sho, you awake?" she almost choked when she hears you mutter that softly into the air.

"yes." she manages to breath out.

"i.. good night."

"good night."

no, no! what were you gonna say? what were you thinking?! she wanted to know —fuck that— needed to know.

"y/n, i—"

"go to sleep, shoko."

...

"kay."

~

that party seemed to crash up on her faster than she'd anticipated, because now shoko was sitting lazily in a busted up lawn chair next to choso, smoking her lungs away from the pack he'd tossed her when she first arrived.

parties are supposed to be fun, that's what you were always making them out to be, so why the fuck did the pit in her stomach decide to open up and swallow her whole as soon as she sat down?

her anxiety was through the roof, but surprisingly it wasn't because of the people. she just couldn't spot you, anywhere.

when she got here, her first instinct was to try and pick you from the crowd like a good girlfriend would do. but you were no where.

the two of you didn't talk about this function, didn't see one another leave in seperate cars, or debrief about any sort of meet up during said function like any regular couple would do.

so she's left there with this dork choso, looking out onto the massive lawn like a loser, sifting through heads of hair like a gold panner.

after about an hour of worry warting and sipping her drink, she finally spots a silhouette that looks all too familiar playing beer pong about ten meters away.

she watches as you laugh and sink ever cup you try for, you were always so good at everything you did.

you finish the game with an overly dramatic flourish, slamming the last cup back and throwing your arms up. people crowd in around you, patting your back, shouting and laughing.

you feel free and young.

this is what you wanted her to see.

that you’re not delicate. that you’re not some kid she needs to manage or protect or lecture. that you can be loud and messy and wanted without her approval.

your eyes flick over the crowd, and for half a second, you see her sitting there watching.

your smile inflates, good.

you turn away almost immediately, letting yuki pull you toward the pulsating music again. you dance up against her and utahime with your back arching and your hands in the air.

choso peers over at his stressed out friend and decides to poke the bear.

"doesn't seem like you had much to worry about, she looks... normal."

this makes her sigh, because yeah, you weren't really doing anything she needed to be fretting over. just playing games with your friends, looking semi-coherent, and dancing away. everything was fine.

until it wasn't.

until half an hour goes by and she sees you down, not even kidding, around four drinks. one after the other.

she's jaw dropped, she hadn't seen you knock em' back like this since before you promised her you'd stop being so dependant on the stuff. before all of this messy bullshit.

"she's really throwing them down." choso mutters.

"choso, shut up." shoko was getting very antsy.

she gets worse when she sees a certain beefed up, green haired, pierced monster stalking his way towards you.

he slides in besides you smoothly and drags those gross yellow eyes all over your body. he's big, like, really big. it makes shoko a bit insecure seeing his hulking muscle and the way he absolutely dwarfs you in height.

you seem to be entertaining him, naoya, smiling sweetly as he leans down to talk.

“been a while,” he says, moving in just enough to be heard over the music.

you laugh, a little breathless, and nod. “yeah? feels like i saw you just yesterday at one of these things.”

his gaze dips down to your chest, then comes back up slowly. “well, don't you look good.”

you tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “i know.”

from across the yard, shoko's gone completely still.

she watches him move his body closer, watches him flex his arms without even pretending not to. she chose as his hands look like they're about to shoot out and grab you. that's fucking naoya, the guy who's known for quite literally being the worst, most misogynistic man there was. she knew you didn't know that, after all, you were two grades below her and naoya, but it made her go white.

her cigarette drops from her lips down into her palm, then into the grass, completely forgotten. her teeth latch onto her tongue and press down hard enough to draw blood.

this is what she was afraid of. not because she doesn’t trust you (contrary to popular belief (well, your belief.)), but because she knows how men, especially men like him, look at you. how quickly they decide you’re theirs to touch.

naoya laughs at something you say, loud and cocky, then he reaches out.

his fingers close around your arm.

that’s it.

shoko is on her feet before she’s fully aware she’s moved.

she doesn’t think nor does she weigh out the consequences. she cuts through the crowd with purpose and her chocolate eyes locked on you.

her hand closes around your other wrist and you don't realise until she's pulling you away from the towering man.

“hey—” you chirp, a laugh still slipping around on your tongue. she's unrelenting.

“sho, what the fuck—” you try again, but your words trip over themselves, drunk and confused and suddenly very aware of the way everyone is staring at you and your girlfriend.

she's got you dragged behind her as she squishes inside, then straight up the grand stairway into a quiet room, it looked like it belonged to nanami.

"hey, the hell r' you—"

"what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

oh.

she was yelling... at you... had you ever heard her yell before?

"do you know how—" she looks away from you with her forehead in her palm. "—jesus fucking christ— do you think? ever?! what the fuck do you think you're doing with that guy? you know he's literally known for assaulting girls!" she snaps.

you're still a little buzzed, so you shake your head and try to explain, "he's just friendly... yr' just j—hic—jealous."

"jealous? you think me being worried about my girlfriend getting potentially assaulted is jealousy?"

"i think you're pent up and need to chill the fuck—"

"y/n."

you pause. "...shoko?"

"i'm sorry."

...

"what?"

she wipers a hand down her face before looking you straight in the eye, elaborating.

"i know this is my fault, baby. i know..." she's backed up and sat down on nanami's bed, the room is perfectly dim for such a conversation. she turns her head towards the opens window, then takes a breath and continues.

“i fucked up,” she sighs.

you stare at her.

your head is still swimming, alcohol sitting heavy behind your eyes, but that cuts through it clean. the words land wrong because they’re right, and because you’ve been waiting for them far longer than you want to admit.

“you don’t just get to say that now,” you mutter, your arms folding. “not after weeks of acting like i deserved that shit.”

her eyes fall to the floor, “i know.” another deep sigh. “i kept telling myself i was protecting you, or that i was being realistic. but really, i was just scared, and i took it out on you because it was easier than admitting that.”

you scoff. “you called me slutty, shoko.”

her face crumples at that distasteful memory.

“i know,” she repeats, voice cracking now. “and i hate myself for it. i said it because i wanted to hurt you. because i felt small, and instead of dealing with that, i tried to make you smaller too.”

that stings worse than the insult did.

you turn away, pacing the edge of the room like a caged animal. nanami’s shelves blur past you. the open window lets in cold air that smells like smoke and dew.

“do you have any idea what that did to me?” you ask, not looking at her. “i spent two years trying to be better for you. trying to be enough. and then you made it sound like i was just pretending the whole time.”

she stands like she’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“i never thought you were pretending,” she says. “i thought you were slipping away from me. and instead of telling you i was scared, i tried to control you.”

you laugh under your breath. “congrats. worked great.”

“i know.” she rubs her face with both hands. “and watching you lately… it’s been screwing with me. every party, every post. i kept thinking you were punishing me.”

you stop and turn back to her. “i was,” you say. just say it. “i wanted you to see what you thought of me. i wanted you to hurt.”

she nods again, bubbly tears sticking to her messy mascara now. “i deserve that.”

“no,” you snap, then push a hand through your roots. “you didn't. i went overboard, i know that, sho... i just... i just wanted you to admit you were wrong.”

she rakes her eyes from your head to toe, squeezing her eyes shut letting the built up tears flow down.

“i missed you,” she chokes. “even when you were right there in front of me. god, especially then.”

“you think i didn’t miss you?” you shoot back. “i came home every night hoping you’d say something. anything. and you’d just sit there like you were waiting for me to finish ruining myself.”

her shoulders curve into herself. “i was scared if i spoke, you’d leave.”

“so instead you let me spiral?”

“i didn’t know how to stop it,” she admits. “and i didn’t think i deserved to.”

that takes the wind out of you.

you sink down onto the edge of the bed exhausted. the fight in you drains out.

“i was wrong,” she says softly. “about you. about trusting you. about everything i said that night... it was so fucked up, baby, i—"

you swallow. “—i was wrong too. for trying to make you jealous instead of just telling you i was hurting."

she huffs out a pretty laugh. jesus, you missed that laugh. “we’re a mess.”

“yeah,” you reply. “i guess.”

her hand hovers between you for a second before she lets it fall back to her lap. “can i… can i touch you?”

you nod, then her delicate fingers brush over yours slowly, and when you don’t pull away, she curls them around your hand, tight and achingly missed.

“i missed this,” she admits.

“me too,” you reply. your voice goes soft despite yourself. “i missed you. not the girl who was kinda being a jerk, but yeah, you.”

she squeezes your hand and laughs gently again. “i'm gonna try my best to be better, honey, trust me. i can't fucking deal with you not being right next to me."

you look at her, eyes glassy, makeup probably smeared, pride stripped bare.

“so will i,” you say. “but i need you to stop seeing me as something you have to nit pick.”

you lean into her then with your forehead pressing into her slender shoulder. she wraps an arm around you tenderly and nuzzles your neck.

“i missed you so much” you whisper. that girl who liked to be dependant on your lovely girl was creeping back up on you, you felt all gooey, like you needed to be cradled and fussed over after weeks of neglect.

“i know,” she says, voice breaking. “i know.”

deep down you both know this doesn't completely solve things, there’s still a lot of emotional damage to deal with, still some habits to unlearn (again), still trust to rebuild.

but this was a start, a start to healing the love between you and the girl you'd admired most in this world.

"love you, sho."

"i love you more."

you both spend an hours just sitting in the company of one another, talking and sharing your emotions fully and completely. you converse deeper than you ever had before as she twirls your middle finger with hers. the motion is so familiar. you begin to mourn the loss of her, of her fingers... of the way only she could make you feel.

"shoko, can we go home? i... i want to be with you."

she seems to understand your whiny little plea immediately, she tilts your head to look up at her. "horny even now, huh? what a desperate thing you are."

~

now, after driving you home and missing you sensless the moment you'd walked through he the door, she's got you pinned to the bed you'd previously spent weeks not touching eachother in.

“shoko,” you choke out, your voice is already so fucked out from the kissing she jsut laughs. she tilts her head, watching you like she’s both amused and sadistically obsessed. “please, god,i need you.”

“need what, hm?” she teases, the bow of her lip disappearing as her smile grows.

“you,” you whisper, and the little quiver in your tone satisfies her greatly.

her hand teases your with small squeezes moving across your skin in ways that make your heart smack against your rib cage embarrassingly fast. “here?” she asks, with hers hand pressed into the plush of your thigh. you shake your head, breath catching, and she adjusts, placing it at the lowest part of your tummy, pressing down making you moan softly.

“closer,” you choke, and her finally slip down under your soaked panties and find their rhythm pumping slowing in and out of your cunt. she watches your face contort and churn together in pleasure, obsessing over the adorable way your eyes flutter before your irises roll back.

“tell me,” she whispers. “how much do you want me, sweetheart?"

“so much,” you whine, hiding your face in her shoulder so sweetly. she hums softly as her hands start pulling you closer. this makes her pick up the pace, plunging deeper and deeper with each pull from your throat.

“just me, right?” she smirks. “no one else?”

“only you,” you breathe, she presses a soft kiss to your temple, letting you melt against her.

the way she's finger fucking you is addicting, the moans spilling from your throat are otherworldly. every curl of her fingers has the pads hitting your sweet spot over and over again, abusing the poor nerve until tears flow down your cheeks while you chant, "shoko—shoko—shoko—!"

she coo's maniacally and shoves her lips against yours to catch the way her name tastes on your tongue.

every sigh, every tremble, every breath between kisses makes her embarrassingly wet, but she'd rather tend to you than ever put herself first.

“good girl,” she teases, drawing you closer and closer to your climax.

“you're mine,” she whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips, letting her free fingers toy with your hardened nipples.

you moan in ecstasy, finally letting go as she rubs you just the right way.

“always,” you manage to spit out after your collapse.

she cradles you in her arms as you go limp, “easy,” she smiles. the teasing glint in her tone had completely vanished replaced by her nurturing voice.

she reaches into the drawer grabbing out the wet wipes you kept handy. she washes you off briefly, then helps you get comfortable. tugging the blankets up and tucking them around you tenderly. her thumb wipes at your cheek, careful and apologetic.

“i’ve got you,”

she pushes a kiss into your hair, then another, then rests her chin there. “i missed you, baby,” she admits in the quiet.

"me too, shoko."

A/N oh boy, i'm glad that's over. talk about a messy,, undeveloped plot line 😭💔 i wanted to make this so much longer, but alas, i have too many requests to get through 😔

[onlypinkslut-deactivated2026033]

୨୧ welcome to my toji fushiguro masterlist ୨୧

✧ this is where all my filthy, emotional, and possessive toji fics live.

✧ fem!reader always. heavy feelings. darker themes sometimes.

✧ i update when inspiration hits. thank you for reading ♡

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toji fushiguro | masterlist

✧ softness under pressure — personal trainer!toji x fem!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ one-shot bf!toji(bulking season)xf!reader

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here 2]

✧ husband’s best friend!toji fushiguro x postpartum!f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ dad’s best friend!toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here 2]

✧ older pervy teacher!toji x innocent student f!reader

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here 2]

✧ uncle toji x niece f!reader (series)

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here 2]

➺ [read here 3]

✧ older roommate!toji fushiguro x college f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ one shots with toji ✧

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here]

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✧ loan shark!toji x f!reader🎀

➺ [read here]

✧ happy ending masseur!toji x f!reader 🛏️

➺ [read here]

✧ mean cop!toji x soft, naïve civilian reader🚨

➺ [read here]

✧ big bro’s bestfriend possessive!toji x bratty virgin f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ calling toji accidentally ‘dad’during the nasty (dilf toji)

➺ [read here]

✧ dad toji x daughter f!reader🎀

➺ [read here]

✧ toji x f!reader (+ voyeur shiu)

➺ [read here]

✧cockwarming stepdad! toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧dilf!toji fushiguro x sister in law f!reader

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here]

✧married dilf!toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧nursing husband toji's cock until you fall asleep

➺ [read here]

✧the-surgeon-oath

➺ [read here]

✧the natural way

➺ [read here]

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✧dilf toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ horny older bf!toji who sent you videos of his dick

➺ [read here]

✧ demon ghost!toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ candy dealer!toji x f!reader

➺ [read here]

✧ underground runner older !toji fushiguro x f!reader (trafficked)

➺ [read here]

✧toji teaches megumi how to fuck you x f!reader

➺ [read here]

➺ [read here 2]

➺ [read here 3]

🍼toji fushiguro x slutty pregnant f!reader series

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onlypinkslut

[zenin-problem]

What’s he doing…

Full on x

[asce-of-hearts]

VENGEFUL SPIRITS

Keep reading

[sweethearticism]

──── 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 :: 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 ₎ა ˙˖

ᘛ ꒰ 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐊!𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐗 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐄𝐌𝐎!𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 ੭

solid, gas and liquid that's what you called the three of you. but your heart had long since frozen over, suguru's gentleness had vapourised and choso had melted. leaving your best friends in highschool behind, you sought to grow your confidence and detach from the title of 'weirdo'. but college is stressful, the boys are dreadful and between choso writing your memories into song and suguru stealing your panties, you might just have a meltdown. wait. run that last part by you again?

⌗ wc :: 11.2k

♡ ₊˚‧ cws. college au :: slight angst :: drifting friendships :: punk & emo culture :: mentions of parties :: threesome :: f.masturbation :: m.masturbation :: panty stealing :: p in v :: riding :: getting caught :: degradation :: rough sx :: praise :: f.oral :: m.oral :: choking :: hair pulling :: creampie :: spitroast :: overstimulation :: dumbification :: marathon sx

♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. preview of this one shot below. find the full fic on my patreon.

One sleepless night, two cups of cheap instant coffee and three seconds away from materialising the existence of god so that you could fight him yourself for putting you in this hellish semester— yeah. Your Monday morning was off to a great start.

As you stepped through the bustling halls, you listed off Pierre-Simon Laplace's laws in your head, lest you became Laplace's Demon before the day even ended.

You were beauty, you were grace, you were five seconds from punching Albert Einstein in the face.

Grey bags glued beneath your eyes like medals of honour for any valedictorian. Grip so tight on your book bag they might have to rewrite the definition of tension. And stare so sharp it gave botulinum toxin a run for its money— anyone who took one look at your face knew to stay clear. Look away fast and spare their eyes.

Well, everyone except for him.

Leather boots. Leather pants. Leather jacket. You're sure if you took a bite out of his infuriatingly sharp jawline, you'd taste leather too. Sure he wouldn't mind one bit with the way his stare locked to yours like fated magnetic poles.

Geto Suguru.

The university's heartthrob and every 2000s girl's wet dream. Studs and spikes and silver for days. Ripped jeans and rebellious charisma never looked so good.

Propped against the locker like it owed him something. Arms crossed and head tilted so that the silky dark strands that weren't held up in his messy bun perfectly framed his sun-kissed face. Serene. That's what he was. Even with a spiked collar and smudged eyeliner.

His stare held yours. Audacity glinting in every one of those piercings that littered his face. In the smirk that curled on his black lips when you reinforced your glare.

The bastard winked.

You huffed a breath and slammed your locker open. Snatching your political science textbook and pretending your fingers wrapped around the spine were actually wringing his neck. Your hand would make a wonderful choker if he wanted one so bad.

Mood. It was your terrible mood and lack of sleep. Not the dull tug at your heart nor the voice at the back of your mind whispering past memories. It was your frustration at the irritation dressed in leather and bad decisions.

He wasn't always like that. Or at least— not always so extreme. He pierced his ears in second year highschool. Then his tongue in the third. Filled your playlist with rock fiends every now and then. Maybe painted his nails black when he was bored. But he was never this bold. This brazen. This. . .

Deliciously bad.

You rattled the locker shut and shoved the thought away— but not the urge to give Suguru one last glance, it seemed. Fucking rebels. Ever the bad influences.

His stare remained, but a deep brown joined his violet. Warmer than Suguru's. Tired like yours. Almost. The exhaustion riddled in those eyes were rooted in a deep pessimism for life. And yet— when locked with yours? They still glimmered.

Kamo Choso. Another heartthrob if you liked guys with messy hair and a miserable rasp. Decked in black and boredom. With black snakebite piercings and blacker eyeshadow. Clothes baggy, gaze dull, and body slouched right beside Suguru as he chatted him up.

Well, until you turned.

His stare wasn't magnetic like Suguru's. Not demanding and alluring— but yearning. A deep, dreary want riddled in childhood wonder.

You had to look away. You never could look Choso in the eye. Not after everything.

Not when it were those same eyes that haunted you whenever you closed yours and dared to dream of school days long gone. Those eyes that drooped and glossed when you told him and Suguru that you were purposefully avoiding them.

Highschool was forever ago. Your days huddled up in the dingy basement playing DnD and wearing matching t-shirts from your favourite bands were over. You threw out your collectable cards. Ripped the posters off your walls. Chose to forget about that little corner behind school where you'd all hide from the rest of the 'average' and 'normal' students during lunch break.

You left them for greener pastures. For a social life where you didn't have to feel like the weird or the odd-one-out. Shed light on your smarts and take pride in it. Revered as a nerd rather than ridiculed for it. Where you could gain some confidence instead of hiding in the shadow of 'alternative'.

Suguru and Choso had learnt their own confidence and turned the shadow of alternative into a dark, steel crown.

And they did that without leaving each other's side.

Seemed that karma was out to get your ass more than the looming exams.

Because the very next day, all three of you were assigned to the same group project. Damn that fucking english linguistics class. This was exactly why you hated the humanities sector.

You tried to debate. Hell, you tried to dispute it. But your professor was having none of it and you were too tired to risk a grade penalty

Choso didn't seem to mind. Suguru even moreso. You caught that fuckass, wide, sharp-toothed grin the second your names were called consecutively. As if he was ready to high five fate itself for this cruel joke.

Even Choso looked as if he was ready to smile. Fucking. Choso.

Whatever. You were a valedictorian first and a volatile emotional mess second. You'd wield your pen like a sword and your paper like a shield. Finish the assignment as quickly as possible. Even if it meant you heavy lifting it by yourself with your arms packed full of whatever nutrient-concoction remained in all those two-minute ramen tubs you down in the dead of night.

There was only one, tiny problem.

You were a STEM major. Physics and chemistry, to be precise.

What the fuck did you know about the composition and development of the english language?

No. No. You've got this. You always got this. It was just the other side of the academic coin and you weren't about to falter just because it flipped out of your favour.

You were beauty.

You were grace.

Suguru may just be the one you end up punching in the face.

Why'd they show up to your dorm? Wouldn't the library have been more efficient? Whatever. You weren't about to risk spending any more time than necessary with them by walking to campus.

That did however mean that they were in your dorm. Your space. With Suguru curtly propped back on your bed— the same bed you touched yourself on to the thought of him— while Choso sat at your little table staring at you. The same table you pictured him tossing you over when you were knuckles deep in your needy cunt.

Blink.

Blink twice.

You blinked away the memory and gulped down the heat on your face. Not now. Not when you sat with this damned textbook in your lap and your laptop's dying light illuminating your puzzled face.

Seriously. What did you know about the composition of the english language?

"You're cute when your nose wrinkles like that. Kinda like a mouse."

You snapped! the book shut.

Snapped! your head over to Suguru. Wished to snap! his neck with your hands that bunched on your lap tight.

Was this not agitating enough? Trying to navigate and steer a project for a topic you were— for the first time in awhile— struggling with?

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" You sneered, brows pinched while his arched.

There's that fucking smirk again. "Loud and clear, princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Prefer something else? Baby? Pretty girl?"

"Geto—"

"Now, you're not so pretty when you say it like that."

Your teeth clenched. Wishing you could grind his name between your molars and spit it out so he'd cease to exist. Cease to keep looking at you with those hooded violet eyes and the smile that told you he wanted more than just your bitching.

Your spine straightened. Stare cold. "Could you please take this seriously?" You huffed, shoving your glasses into your hair before you fogged them too much. You'd lost your microfiber cloth last week in the heat of a study sprint.

"Unlike you, I actually want to get a good score in this class."

"Really? Could have fooled me."

Suguru propped himself up with his forearms to the mattress. You chewed on your inner cheek. For fucks sake. You hope he didn't leave his scent all over your pillow. You couldn't go another night trying— and failing— to fingerbang yourself.

"This isn't exactly your field. What're you trying to prove?" He asked, his flirtatious tone thinned into a dull drawl.

"Prove?" You bit on air. "Why the fuck would I need to prove anything to you?"

"There she goes. All bark and no bite."

"You little—"

"Oh? Are you gonna bite me, baby?"

At last, Choso pried his stare from you. The warmth draining to that characteristic void. "Knock it off, Su."

At last, Suguru broke the stand-off of wit and smarts. Flicking his gaze over to Choso who propped an elbow on the table and leaned his head into his palm. Eyes narrowed in a warning.

Suguru chuckled. Propped up on your headboard and shot his friend a sly look. "Aww. Still so protective of her, Cho?"

You tensed. Choso grunted.

"Asshole."

"Trust me buddy, she doesn't look too interested. 'lest she's gotten better at faking it."

"Excuse me?" You grumbled. Hand to the table and ready to push yourself out of your seat. Palms itching to just wrap around that perfectly broad neck and squeeze until he shut up.

Your phone saved you from violence as your ringtone filled the room. All eyes drew to the name lighting up your screen: Sukuna.

You snatched the phone. Hardly noticed Suguru's falling grin and Choso's narrowing brows as you swiped your thumb and brought the phone to your ear.

You didn't care if they were here.

Didn't care if they heard.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/pixopix. art cred: @/thatsallitchief

♡ ₊˚‧ want more? find the full fic on my patreon <3

[sweethearticism]

˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓟.𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ is your toxic ex who's now making your student life hell.

⤿ ꒰ satoru knew that his sweet girl couldn't last without him. he just had to make you realise that :: college au :: smut :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: toxic dynamics :: kinda yandere behaviour :: dumbification :: p in v :: m.masturbation :: phone sex :: thigh riding :: rough sex :: degradation :: praise :: creampie :: overstimulation :: financial disparity :: mean!toru ꒱

♡ ₊˚‧ beta read by my pookie baby @aves1018 <3

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was your scandalous little secret. all heaven smiles and devil eyes. blue. bright and brutal in the same way he carried himself. he was as charming as he was cunning. the right mix of taboo and terror that made your little heart flutter whenever he cast you a glance over his rimless glasses as he set your perfect-score down in your table. muttered a “that's my girl” to your ear when brushed by him to leave the class. spanked your thigh under that skimpy little skirt when no one was looking— but anyone could see.

being professor gojo's favourite was something dangerous. something fun, something frightening, and the infinity in between.

he took care of you. showered in you in spoils. took you back to his apartment after stressful hours and fucked you into his leather couch until you left pretty red scratches down his back. with the same nails that he paid to manicure. you were always seen. always praised. you lacked nothing when it came to being in his arms.

but you couldn't do it any longer.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was twice your age. in his forties with silvers slipping between his white strands. creases setting in the corners of his eyes. his tongue tasted like aged wine. his hands laced with experience you could only dream of. but with all the pros of dating an older man— came the deep, dreary insecurity.

insecurity that you wouldn't be enough. that you weren't permanent. that you were just a little taste but not the one that'll quench his thirst. really, what did a man with his qualification and achievements need from you other than something to pass the time?

and to top it all off? his possessiveness knew no bounds. it was quiet, not violent, but sharp. the kind of thing that left you paranoid whether you were toeing a line or not. he didn't approve of your friends. couldn't handle your classmates. hell— he failed the boy that sat next to you all semester just because you flashed him a smile.

so with all facts considered? you were gonna leave him. it was for the best rather than drag you both down a love that was doomed.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't too bothered when you told him it was over. it was in the car. he saw it coming. knew you were reaching a limit. he still snapped at the waiter who dared to laugh at your little joke that was meant for him.

but sure. you wanna break away just because he loved you so much? not an issue. he could see the tears in your eyes. the tremble in your fingers as you took the bag that he bought you as he dropped you off at your dorm building.

no. he wasn't too bothered. why would he be? you'd always be his. and little miss daddy-issues-and-academic-insecurity needed his validation to function.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ started in class. a week after you left him. your assignment was handed in with shaky hands rather than confidence. and he was more than happy to mark you down. why should he glance over your little mishaps anymore? you didn't need his special treatment. so, yeah, he didn't bat an eye as his hand sharply pressed your assignment sheet your desk as he passed. not even casting you a glance. looking on ahead as you crumbled at your B-.

“try harder next time. you're better than this.”

he said it so easily. as if he was always capable of seeing you as nothing in those cutting blues eyes.

it seemed to be a trend. he'd hand you back your assignments. they weren't what you expected. and when you slipped the spot of top ranked student in his quantum physics class?

well, he didn't bother looking up at you as you stood before his desk. hands gripping your newest assignment. almost hesitant to hand it in.

“how's that even possible?” you asked, soft.

“awww baby.” he only tilted his head. pinched his brows at the centre. looked at you with that soft look that was oh, so condescending now. “people change. you know that better than anyone, huh?”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that his validation meant everything to you. now you weren't his top student, weren't the object of his praise. no more mouthed “atta girl”s or treating you to your favourite restaurant after another stellar score.

you were struggling to get by. scraping to get back to your straight a's. to achieve even a hint of his favour.

you never did. it was a downhill spiral. and everyone knew what an asshole professor gojo could be. so of course no one batted an eye when he belittled you in class.

“guess I expected too much,” he'd sigh after calling out your marks for the last test. he didn't have to. but you knew what he did.

as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. cutting that stare that you'd grown to flinch at over.

“so much for star student, huh? try better next time. know you can do it.”

he knew you could.

but knew you wouldn't. not now that you were spiralling.

not when you weren't his favourite girl anymore.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ caught you outside at the steps that day. night time. you probably spent all afternoon in the library studying to make up for the embarrassment. for your sin of slipping in your grades. he knew you would. knew how you operated.

knew you'd be all teary as you walked down the steps with your hand tight on your book bag. trying to ignore him.

“awww baby. what's wrong? you crying?”

you didn't flinch when satoru caught up to you. when he cradled your face in that way he knew you loved to be comforted. bit back a grin as you resisted the urge to press your head into his palm and fall into his arms.

“oh c'mon. you crying over me? didn't say anything bad. you know how I operate.”

all low and gentle. in that voice he used when he used to tutor you and you just couldn't grasp what he was saying. like you were his silly girl. his sweet girl.

long fingers slipped around your jaw. gripped on your cheeks and squished them as he tilted your head up. towering over you but leaning over so that his white strands tickled your tears.

“don't look like that, princess.” he muttered. pressing a firm kiss into your lips and smearing your gloss. not tender, but taunting. not comforting, but still charming enough to have you whimpering and clinging to his shirt.

and as he pulled back, a grin split his lips still hovered over yours. half-hung lashes batting at your falling tears.

“just try harder next time, yeah?”

before he patted your cheek and you left you stranded on the stairs.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that you needed him in more ways than one. not only did he soothe that insecurity in your heart but he also sealed the hole in your wallet. and now? he knew you were struggling. you didn't order out as much. didn't have the luxury to. you walked back to the dorm. lifts must be costly. you sure as hell didn't have your nails done every other week. he missed the acrylics and blue you'd insist on. but hey— you made your bed.

didn't mean that he didn't feel sorry for you when he spotted you at your favourite cafe. probably ordering a tea like you did now. not your favourite sweet treat and hot chocolate.

yeah. it was pity. definitely not the need to remind you what you were missing— as he called to the barista from behind you. “get the lady a hot chocolate and a strawberry crepe, please?”

as he leaned over your stiffening form, arm grazing yours as he slid his black card over. murmuring a soft, “I've got you, sweetheart,” to your ear when the barista turned.

you let him sit with you that day. spoke to him properly for the first time in months. even if you couldn't hold his eye contact. even if you thanked him a hundred times and over.

while he gave you a gentle look, inwardly? he was grinning.

bingo.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew he had you slowly wrapping around his finger again. that's why he had no shame when he leaned back in his couch that day. remembering your weight in his lap. swiping through his folder that he refused to delete. full of your pretty body, your slutty expressions and your messy thighs.

that's why he didn't feel bad as his hand wrapped around his hard dick that slapped back on his tummy, smearing some pre on his abs.

why he groaned your name without care as he squeezed in his angry tip. remembered the way you'd whine as he rubbed it on your little clit. how you'd cry out as he kissed it in your cervix.

fuck. he remembered how your thighs would quiver for him. how that smart mouth of yours would reduce to a babbling, stuttering, slutty whimper of his name as he ragdolled you on his cock.

his hand sped. his other swiping to your contact. you hadn't blocked him. it's your fault for the voice note you'd receive. of his harsh grunts and his rasped gasps accompanying that wet shlick shlick shlick.

of his voice, groaning your name low like it was both his sin and salvation.

“sweetheart, fuck. look at what you do to me— fuck. still work me up so fuckin' much even when you aren't mine. miss your pretty pussy. miss my sweet girl so soooo bad."

he'd whine. he remembered how much you like that. liked hearing him lose himself as he slammed all the way in and rutted as he frothed you up.

now? it was all over his hand. and he made sure the voice note heard just how much he wished it was in your sweet little cunt instead.

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ expected you to not answer him. but you still didn't block him. still didn't report him. you wouldn't. you loved him too much. loved the thought of him. did you think that while you touched yourself to his voice note?

he knew you did. knew you didn't get yourself that. knew you probably sat there playing with your cute clit and whining his name all pitifully as you tried so desperately to cum the way he'd make you squirt back then. back when you were his.

you know what else he expected? you to storm into his office and accuse him of marking you down purposefully. your mid term marks were sent out that morning. he made sure of it. made sure you'd have to face the man, your ex, who sent you a five minute long voice note of him fisting his big cock to you.

“such accusations, sweet girl.” satoru drawled, lazy, as he leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk.

“if you think so, I'm not opposed to you sitting with me while I mark your next assignment. I've got the next stack set for this afternoon. wanna come confirm your claims?”

his brow arched. his diamond eyes invited you. his velvet voice dared you.

and you did. of course you did. he expected that too.

his fourth expectation? that you'd find your way in his lap. with that skirt he loved so much. with your thighs slotted over his knee and his hand cradling your ass while his other graded papers.

you were soaking through his pants. he could feel it. the same way he felt you tremble as he flipped to your assignment. squeezed your ass and bounced his knee to grind up on your cunt.

“those poor panties must be so drenched, huh pretty?” he crooned to your ear, squishing you down onto his bounces and grinds. enjoying your whimpers. your whines as your hands fisted on his shirt.

“look at that,” he pouted, dragging the edge aside of your panties aside so that your clit ground perfectly on the fabric of his pants. “such a slutty student. think this is gonna get you extra credit?”

swat! his fingertips came down in your clit. his leg bounced again to force your needier grinds.

he grinned. cruel and cold on your ear as the sharp strokes of his red pen sliced through the air.

“mm. you're gonna need it. my sweet girl's become a stupid girl in my absence.”

he laughed as you whipped around. as you looked over. saw your assignment littered in red.

and the worst thing is? as he unbuckled his belt and manhandled you over his thighs so your back faced his chest to give you a better look— as his cock slapped on your cunt and dwarfed your folds as he slid between them. as his tip rubbed on your clit in that same way that had you trembling—

you saw it.

saw that he wasn't marking you down in any way that you didn't deserve.

and as his cock plunged in and your back through in an arch. as he snatched your waist and bounced your little cunt on his cock that split you open and had you creaming in seconds. . .

he taunted you. squishing your thighs and biting on your ear. “poor girl. poor, stupid girl.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't even surprised when he got a call the next week. an internship at that institution you'd always prattle so excitedly about. poor you. you probably thought just because he had you in his lap and called you his sweet girl— just because you were his once upon a time, that he wouldn't give you a bad reference to the job of your dreams, huh?

poor, sweet, stupid girl.

he was beginning to like your tears. your eyes looked pretty when they were glossed and your lashes were all damp. as you blinked up at him after you burst into his office again. face blotched and hands clenched.

“how could you?” you croaked. “I— you know how important that is to me—”

“you were important to me too.”

“that's not the point! so what you sabotaged me because I broke up with you? what don't you get satoru? we can't do this! what kind of person would—”

you trembled so prettily when he stood. when shook his head with a sigh and slipped his glasses into his hair.

“sweetheart, sweetheart," he tutted, circling his desk and backing you into it once he got in front of you.

“you don't get it, do you?” there's that condescending tone again. the one he used because to him, you were just his dumb, naïve girl.

big hands came down on the edge of the desk that you pressed into. trapping you against the wood and his wickedness as he leaned over. towering you as always. face pressing closer. brows pinched and knitted upwards. face that mockery of sympathy.

“baby, sweetheart, my sweetest girl. here's the thing.” his lips brushed yours. you tensed. teary eyes wide and staring into his.

“I realised. I'm not a good person when it comes to you.”

velvet and diamond. smooth and cutting. like it was simple fact. a set fate.

his head crooked. glasses slipping down his nose and brutal blues pinning you from over the rim.

“y'know. if you come back to me, you wouldn't have to worry about all this. . .”

his sly fingers brushed your hair back. a kiss pressed to your temple.

“I'd take care of you.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew you were on the brink. knew it wouldn't take long before you were in his arms again. he just had to wait. even when his fingers ached for your skin. when his lips burned for yours. when his palms itched to just grab you by the waist and drag you back to him cause you were such a stubborn girl.

but he'd wait. wait for you to make the decision. wait for you to realise that you were always his and he was the best you ever had.

so you could imagine his grin when you stayed back after class. when you stood in front of his desk with your eyes batting at him. hesitant. shaky. when you asked him for extra credit in his class that you were now borderline failing. but most of all, when you offered your pretty body to him without him even uttering a word.

this is what he meant. what he waiting for. for you to make the moves. to miss him. to want him.

he fucked you into your dorm bed that night. with your face shoved down and your fingers clinging to your pillow. ass clapping and brushing with his brutal thrusts that smacked his heavy balls on your folds. cock splitting you open and spilling your creamy mess all over the wrinkled sheets.

his hand in your hair. his voice rough in your ear.

“like that, sweetheart? want it like that?” he grinned, feral and cruel as you mewled when he angled right. shoved into a sweetspot and ground so filthily until your eyes rolled back as you drooled his name into the pillow.

“missed how I fucked you— right here?”

“r-right there! please!”

“uhuh? righhhttt here?”

he drawled. hand smacking down on your ass and leaving a sting, before he reached around. pinching and pulling on your spasming clit. as he slammed! all the way in. jamming his hips with yours and rutting on your messy, creaming folds. so a lewd, clickclickclick muffled from your overly-stuffed cunt.

“fuck—” satoru rasped. eyes wild and dilated as his fingers bunched your hair tighter. shoved your face further into the pillow. “take it. take this cock like you were born to. like this slutty cunt missed it.”

he missed your squirts. missed your sobs. missed the way your hand tried to scramble back and grip on his hair as he pummelled your pussy all raw and rough into the ruined sheets.

his eyes fluttered back as you squeezed him again. as you struggled on his name and squirmed beneath him.

“s-sato— sat— hngh.”

“say it, sweetheart.” he grit, twisting your head up. slamming his hips faster. bouncing your body on the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. making your cunt all puffy and his cock all creamy in your cum.

“say my name. say you missed it. tell me whose pussy this is.”

“satoru— toru! toru torruuuu.”

“and don't you ever—” he whined, cock plunging deep as the knot within him snapped. as he frothed him up the way he's been missing. lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. a filthy, wet, thrust smacked on your bruising ass emphasised every word.

“— ever. fucking. forget it.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ thought you would have came back to him after that, but he guessed you were more stubborn than he gave you credit for. that's fine. you just needed one more push. one more and then you'd be back where you finally belonged: in his arms.

so, yeah. he was responsibly fucking pissed when he saw you chatting up the campus fuckboy. hell— when he heard rumours that you two were a thing.

but he calmed himself down. enough to not snatch you by the wrist in the hallway and shove you into a wall. kiss you until your knees trembled. shoved his tongue into your mouth for all to see until he lost his job. that what you wanted? wanted him to be ruined for you?

calmed himself down enough to wait until the day ended. so he could back you into an empty corridor's corner. his hand on your jaw. tilting your face up. so that you could stare into the eyes of the man who had you squirting all over his cock just a few weeks ago. the man who was always yours no matter how much you tried to admit otherwise.

“you know he's not me, right?” he spoke, that nonchalance breaking for the first time in these wretched months you've been apart from him.

he leaned close. didn't kiss you. not your lips, but your temple. as he stared you down. cold. calloused. a warning cracked in those brutal blues.

“he'll never treat you like me. never know how to handle a sweetheart like you.”

his voice shook. breath thinned.

and for the first time since you left him, satoru shattered.

not pitifully, not pathetically, not violently nor catastrophically—

but sharp. and soft. and the kind of breathlessly that made you think his lungs were giving out— as he slumped over you. free hand trembling on the wall right beside your head. still holding your face. cradling it now.

“guys your age won't treat you like I do baby. not like you deserve.”

his thumb brushed your lower lip. he whispered. raw and wrecked.

“won't love you like I do. I love you sweetheart. I fucking love you. don't leave me here.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ really underestimated your stubbornness. your resolve. he was almost proud when you shoved him off and he let you go. when you walked away from him.

fine. he just had to wait a little longer. a little longer and you'd come back to him.

next week. a friday night. a phone call.

he didn't blink when he saw your name. when he answered. when he heard your soft, choked sob.

his voice melted into tenderness. soothed your cries. asked you where you were. came and picked you up, because he always would. you'd always be his sweet girl, after all.

satoru warned you about that guy. so he wasn't surprised when he pulled up to the street that you were dropped off on. in the middle of the night. cold and alone. all teary eyes and trembling knees. wasn't surprised when you scrambled into his car and clung to the jacket he gave you.

he listened. as he always did. listened as you cried and ranted and raved about how that guy broke your heart several times tonight. then kicked you out of his car and left you stranded. like you were nothing.

he took you into his arms. as he always did. took you into his arms after he cradled you into his apartment. held you close as you clung to him. hiccuping into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. apologising, crying, apologising, sobbing.

apologising.

begging.

“ssshhh I've got you sweet girl.” strong arms looped you closer. cradled you in that protective warmth with one hand cupping the back of your head and the other one your hip. as he hushed your cries. assured you. squeezed your hip and whispered so tenderly.

“I've got you no sweetheart. not gonna let you go again, okay? I promise baby.”

˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ who cradled your head closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head.

who held your close. who promised to never let you go.

who slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up behind your head. still cradled by his other, big hand. with his soft kiss still on your hair.

his thumb slid across the screen.

transaction completed.

the final half paid to that bum of a guy you insisted on. who broke your heart for some cash. funny how a little bit of money was all you needed to have your way.

and as satoru held your close. with his arms snuggling you to his chest, and his eyes finally fluttering shut. he relished.

because yeah. you're finally back into his arms. just needed a little nudge.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[carienations-deactivated2026030]

left or right: aim the arrow

pairings ➴ princess!reader ft. duke!sukuna, cupid!gojo

as the princess of your kingdom, you're expected to marry someone whose influence is heard of all across the kingdom. that's how you ended up being promised to his grace, duke ryomen sukuna. and living a life with little to no love and affection is far from what you've dreamed of. so, you came for help to the one and only, cupid satoru gojo— but, oh no! it seems that he failed his job this one time …

tags → MDNI : historical/fantasy setting : drama : angst : fluff : yearning : jjk characters cameo : historical inaccuracies : floriography : pov alternating : art by kcokaine_

before holding the bow.

the bow in hand:

⤷ you aim your arrow at ... the ‘promised’ one by @sixxels

⤷ you aim your arrow at ... the ‘destined’ one by rie

taglist ➴ open

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

WHOS EXCITED FOR RIE X SIXXELS COLLABBBB IVE ALREADY WRITTEN SM FOR THIS YAYYY

[yenayaps]

but i'm into it

pairing: boyfriend!sukuna x crazygf!reader

synopsis: sukuna likes to think that you’ve changed him for the better— his friends and family agree. he’s calmer, less eager to fight. change comes easy when you have a girlfriend at home that’ll tell you to shut the fuck up if you sneeze too many times in a row.

cw: toxic relationships, smut, rom-com(ish), sukuna is constantly fucking around and finding out, he likes where he's at tho, even when reader hits him with a car, oral (m receiving), mating press

notes: 5.6k w/c. commission for the lovely @plsstopsworld i hope u likey <3

Sukuna was convinced that you found joy in terrorizing him. 

Do not tell him that he could just simply leave, either— there’s no point. He’ll just go back to you in the end. He always does, that’s the unfortunate part of being in love with you. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s his karma for all the crazy, borderline illegal shit he’s done. He was allowed love, but it came at a cost— a girlfriend who had the ability to make his heart race with fear. Sometimes it gets him hard, sometimes it doesn’t. He doesn’t have much control over it. 

He doesn’t have control over much, really. 

But like he said, he loves you. You are very lovely to be around most of the time, so it makes up for all of your less lovely qualities. It’s not like he has to deal with them much anyway, at least not since you’ve forbidden him from speaking in the first hour you’re awake. If you think about it, he has some control there since there’s always the option to poke the bear, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he chooses peace.

Sukuna likes to think that you’ve changed him for the better— his friends and family agree. He’s calmer, less eager to fight. The man who once thrived in chaos now looks forward to the small moments of stillness life has to offer, often he goes out seeking for it. He’s more patient, has more control over himself. 

Many people ask him how he did it, and he just shrugs. “Gettin’ old I guess,” he’ll sometimes tell people. 

Truth is, he’d rather die than admit that change comes easy when you have a girlfriend at home who tells you to shut the fuck up if you sneeze too many times in a row. He doesn’t need them thinking that’s another thing he’s not allowed to do. He is. You’ll even say bless you the first time he does it, you just get annoyed after the third one. It’s like Regina George and Satan had a baby when you’re annoyed, so he’s learned not to annoy you. 

Crazy definitely has a look to it, like the eyes or something, but not always. Sometimes you find out the hard way, like Sukuna did, who, at a very ignorant time in his life, didn’t want to do dishes. He thought reminding you of who pays the most in rent and utilities would get him out of it. Instead, he found out that you had a kill switch for the part of your brain that feels empathy. 

He slept on the couch that night, which was pointless because you committed to turning on the fire alarm every time he managed to fall asleep. Then he went out and bought a dishwasher the next morning, since he was going to be the one doing dishes for the next three months. He also had to buy a new set of dishes since there weren’t any to actually load the dishwasher with. You broke them all, save for the one you hurled at his head. You have great aim, by the way. He almost didn’t catch it. 

That wasn’t the end of his day, though. The flower shop was supposed to be his last stop, but then he remembered you said something about feeling sorry for his mother, and thank god for Jin because she would’ve gone through labor for nothing, and thank god for Jin again because every parent needs at least one kid to be proud of, so he went ahead and bought his mother some flowers, too. 

Then he finally went home. Getting the cold shoulder was expected and well deserved. So you could only imagine how unsettling it was when you smiled and welcomed him back home as if nothing ever happened. To this day, he doubts he needed to bring home any flowers.

It’d be nice to say that was the one and only time he’s ever fucked around and found out with you, but he’s not perfect. He still isn’t. The slip ups are rare, but they still happen, and he still never knows how you’ll react— sometimes it’s instant, you’ll blow up right then and there, then get over it an hour later. Other times it’s delayed, and you’ll shell out weeks' worth of time and effort purely for your entertainment.

Like when he got off work on a random Tuesday and spent half an hour walking around the parking garage, all pissed off because he couldn’t find his car. He thought some asshole stole it, filed a police report, and everything. Only to find out that you hid it in some random parking garage in some town a couple of hours away, and spent two entire months acting shocked about it despite shelling out $300 each month for the parking permit.

There was also the time he showed up to work on a Monday and learned that he had sent his boss a particularly nasty resignation email over the weekend. He got his job back, but it took a good amount of convincing since his boss didn’t believe that you’d do something like that. Sometimes he thinks about what would’ve happened if he couldn’t get his job back— you probably would’ve pushed him out of the house the very next day to look for a new one, since you refused to take on any more bills after that first fight.

He was convinced that was it. That your spite had reached its fullest potential when you fucked with his job, a.k.a both of your livelihoods, and it’ll surely make everything else after look like child’s play. He couldn't come up with anything worse than that, and it was a direct result of his limited creativity. There’s always room for improvement. You can alwaysbe worse.

You proved that when you hit him with his car. 

All he was trying to do was stop you from leaving after an argument, and chose not to believe that you’d hit him if he didn’t move. Why would he? It’s not like he cheated on you. He never lied to you. He thought you were only saying that because you wanted to make him feel bad for yelling at you— that wasn’t a good enough reason to hit someone with a car. Especially when he didn’t even curse! 

He had a little more faith in you than that. 

Let’s say you did try, it'd probably just be a small tap. Your love may be questionable at times, but it was there, and you don’t want to send the person you love flying across the street. You care about him. The most you’d do is take your foot off the brake so your car could give him a little warning bump.

Then the smell of burning rubber hits his nose. 

You stepped on the gas so god damn hard that the tires needed a second to gain traction. 

Sukuna is 6 '4, a whopping 250 lbs of pure muscle. The sound of his tires screeching into the air before taking off made his life flash before his eyes. Despite being worried for a moment there, he was physically fine.

Spiritually, however? Not very good. You made it a personal goal to knock the fucking Mario coins out of him and then watched him get up on his own right after, absolutely distraught and barking about how he couldn’t believe you just did that to him. 

He’s so pissed he doesn’t even realize you turned back around instead of leaving like you said you would.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHO DOES SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!”

It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s like this— so far past the point of shock that he’s outraged, yelling as if he wanted God to truly grasp how bad of a day he’s having. 

You’re still in the car, hand on the steering wheel, casually scanning over his burly frame for any bruising. “I told you to move three separate times.” 

“SO YOU TRIED TO MURDER ME? I COULD’VE FUCKING DIED.”

“I wasn’t trying to murder you, Sukuna.” The accusation sounds ridiculous when you repeat it. Sure, you would’ve understood and agreed if it had come from someone else, but not Sukuna. He’s practically bulletproof with how quick he can bounce back. You wouldn’t have hit him if he wasn’t. “You’re fine, aren't you?”

“THAT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT YOU JUST HIT ME WITH MY OWN CAR, YOU FUCKING SLUT.”

“This wouldn’t be an issue if you had just moved.” It’s simple, but the way you laughed while saying it just made you sound cruel. You weren’t trying to make fun of him— you just don’t know what he expected after you told him exactlywhat would happen if he didn’t step aside. 

Sukuna should’ve taken his time getting back on his feet because you did not deserve reassurance in knowing what you did was technically okay. In fact, he shouldn’t have gotten up at all— you wouldn’t be laughing then if you had to watch him getting hauled off in an ambulance.

But no, he got nothing. No broken bones or fractures. No concussions, not even dizziness. Not even a scratch. He was alive and well, and that in itself only enabled your behavior. It pissed him off knowing there was nothing for you to see and feel guilt from as a result.

Instead, he received the complete opposite from you: Lust. 

You took one good look at him later that night in the living room and went from thinking “who cares, he’s fine,” to something fucking crazy and along the lines of, “holy shit, getting hit by a car is nothing for him.” You didn’t even apologize— you just went straight to talking to him like he was some random chick at the bar.

Sukuna naturally thought that getting hit by a car would be a one-time thing. But your sudden shift in perspective made him realize that there’s nothing stopping you from doing it again if you wanted— he was done for, yet it wouldn’t be much of a surprise coming from you.

“What about your ribs?” 

“Dunno. M’sure they’re fine.” 

Your hands were already bunching up the bottom of his t-shirt, and like an idiot, he was allowing it, raising his arms so you could strip him down and pretend to “look” for bruises. You could’ve tried a little harder. Instead, you’re shamelessly running your fingers down the lines of his abs with some unhinged and sexually explicit thought running through your head.

“Evil whore.”

“What?”

Well fuck. He didn’t mean to say that outloud. No use in backtracking now, though. 

“You heard me,” he grumbles, looking away. “Hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“Oh no— never.” It’s not very convincing when you’re running your hand down his skin. “You sure you’re not in any pain?”

“Nope,” he boredly says. 

“Good.” You try not to smile at how butthurt he sounds. “....Was there something you wanted to say?”

“Nope.” He repeats himself.

“You sure? You seem kinda pent up.”

“Positive.”

“Mad maybe?” You hummed as your fingers reached his waistband, tracing along the elastic. 

He laughed in disbelief. “Now what could I possibly be mad about?”

The sarcasm easily slipped out. He was still pissed, rightfully so, throwing a miniature fit in the way he does best. By being condescending.

His laugh was met with a lighthearted shrug. “Well… at first I thought it was because I hit you. But I did tell you exactly what I’d do if you didn’t move, so I guess there is no reason to be mad.”

“Sure.” He continued to smile despite his tone flattening. “Even though you don’t actually need a reason to not hit someone.”

As if he wasn’t already annoyed, you decided to send him over the edge with a contemplative hum, as if it’d ever be up for debate. “I guess. A snake doesn’t need a reason to bite you either, but you still wouldn’t count on not getting bit because of some principle.”

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push down his frustration. You are really testing him right now with that smart ass mouth of yours. “Yeah, but are you a wild animal?”

“Nope,” you smile, snapping the waistband of his boxer against his skin. “Wild animals don’t give you verbal warnings.”

“How kind of you,” he mutters, tone laced with sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to remember that next time you threaten to hit me.”

“Smart. It probably won’t happen again, though.”

He deadpans and stares off into space for a moment over how bleak and underpromising you made the statement sound. “...You say probably as if you don’t have control over the vehicle?”

“I mean, I do… but—”

“There is no ‘but’, that’s a fact,” he stutters out of frustration as he begins to argue. “You put it in drive and smashed your foot on the gas pedal.”

“So you are mad?” Your lips purse together, innocently drawing circles over his stomach.

His brows pinch together, once again looking at you with a mixture of betrayal and disbelief. No shit he’s fucking mad, can still smell the rubber burning off his tires. You laughed at him once, and it is still haunting him. “Wouldn’t you be mad?”

“I don’t stand in front of the cars, so I wouldn’t know,” you shrug, pretending to be blind to his bubbling frustration. 

He steps back and runs his hand down his face, fighting off the urge to gouge his eyes out. He knows exactly what you’re doing right now, and the answer’s no. You’re raigebaiting your way into getting dick. You don’t deserve it— plain and simple. There was no way in hell he was going to reward today’s behavior. 

“That’s not the point. You don’t hit people with cars just because you can.” You’re lucky he’s even letting you touch him right now— you should be in jail. He leans in and taps his temple, eyes zeroing in on you. “How is that not getting through your head— it’s fucking wrong.”

“I know it’s wrong, I never said it wasn’t.” You tap at your temple the same exact way he did, and spell the next words out nice and slow. “That’s why you should move so it doesn’t happen.”

“I’m your BOYFRIEND,” he finally snaps, forgetting that’s what got him in this predicament to begin with. “I TAKE CARE OF YOU AND YOU SENT ME FLYING ACROSS THE STREET GOD DAMN IT.”

He wasn’t sent flying across the street, the reason for that being directly tied to how heavy he is. Not that you tell him that, the idea of you being the reason behind that is already tearing him apart enough. He’s also most likely embarrassed at those 2 seconds his feet were off the ground. Those must’ve been the longest 2 seconds of his life, given how he doesn’t get his world rocked too often.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry–”

“FOR?”

Definitely embarrassed. You find yourself having to keep yourself from looking annoyed at the thought of him dragging out as big of an apology as he can from you for the sake of his bruised ego. 

You close your eyes and sigh in preparation. “For thinking it was okay to hit you with a car when it shouldn’t even be a consideration in the first place.” His arms are crossed as he soaks up each and every word. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a mental list of points that needed to be brought up to make the apology valid. “It should’ve been off limits. You deserve to have peace in knowing our arguments won’t end with you getting struck down like a bowling pin.” 

His face drops as he watches you needing to look away to keep yourself from laughing. “Seriously?”

“Sorry,” you clear your throat. 

“Tch– I don’t believe you anymore,” he grumbles. 

“No! I’m being serious,” you swear, grabbing his arm with both hands as you try to get him to look at you. “I really am sorry.”

He takes one look at you and feels nothing but reluctance. “And you’re never gonna pull that shit again, right?”

“Mhm.” You nod your head, knowing you don’t actually know the answer to that. It doesn't do much in terms of setting him straight— all it did was make him more dramatic, but it was satisfying. You can’t see it happening again in the foreseeable future, but you can see yourself randomly remembering how durable he is after you two have forgotten this incident, and doing it again. You place your hands on his chest as you part your lips to make a promise you don’t mind breaking. “That is not something you have to worry about from here on out.”

“Alright.” 

There’s a certain satisfaction missing from his tone when he mutters the word, and you realize it’s not just your imagination when he pulls his arm away from your hold to cross both of them against his chest. You’re not sure what more he could want, but the contemplative look on his face tells you he’s thinking about it right now. 

He got the apology he wanted and your word that you’ll never do it again, yet he can’t help but feel like it came too easily, and that you should’ve worked a little harder. He’s pushing his luck again, he knows, buuut maybe today’s one of the days where he can get away with that. Sukuna just doesn’t  exactly know what he wants. 

Did he want to grill you some more, get some revenge over the new (and traumatic) memory you gave him? Or did he want to rid himself of some of his pent up tension that you pointed out? Fuck, then that’d mean his punishment for you would end before you even knew about it. He wanted to see your face after being told no. 

Decisions, decisions. 

Well he could also have you—

“Kay’,” you break him out of his thoughts, the satisfaction missing in his tone is crystal clear in yours. “I’m gonna go wash my face now.”

Whoa, hold on a minute?! It’s only been a few seconds, you see him thinking. 

“No. Stay,” he murmurs. 

There was a part of him that was hesitant about that working— there was a chance you’d slap the shit out of him for ordering you around like a dog. Seeing you murmur a little ‘ok’ and actually staying was a pleasant surprise, and confirmation that he could push it a little today. The only thing missing was some sort of regret or guilt on your face. It’s more like you’re just listening to him because you figured he deserved it for once with how bored you look. 

Whatever. He’ll take what he can get. 

He sighs. “The apology was nice and all, but I think you’re gonna have to prove how sorry you are with this one.”

You look at him like he’s a clown and huff out a laugh. “You want me to prove how sorry I am?”

“Mhm. You don’t have to, though,” he shrugs, voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Just figured you’d like the option since it’s either that, or wait until I actually forgive you to get fucked.”

He nearly laughs at the way that instantly wipes the smile off your face. It’s not often he tells you no— it shows in the way you struggle to come up with an answer. Not because you're speechless, you’re just trying to figure out what can be said to change his mind. 

“So it’s either I beg for forgiveness or get punished because you can’t accept my apology?” You force out a small laugh, the regret that Sukuna’s been looking for finally peeking through in your voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You and me both, princess,” he says in amusement. “It’s a good thing you don’t need to beg when you’re trying to prove something. I wouldn’t call it a punishment either. It’s more like a boundary— had to set one with you since I don’t really like you right now.” 

You scoff as you watch him start to walk away. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Your failed attempt at guilting Sukuna pulls an airy, satisfied laugh out of him as he walks back to the bedroom. “The choice is yours, sweetheart. You know what to do if you decide to go with the first option.”

—

At first, you’re disgusted and refuse to prove how sorry you are. If he didn’t want to accept your original apology, then that was his problem. He can have fun fucking his fist for all you care. You looked at the bright side of things— you got to have a quiet evening since he decided to stay in the room the entire time, save for when he came out to eat dinner. 

He had the audacity to ask if he could have some of the food you cooked, but that’s how he found out you had decided to retaliate by giving him the silent treatment. It didn’t come as a surprise, nor did it make him question his decisions. If anything, he was quite pleased with how bothered you were. That just meant you’d reach a point where you’d fold and come to him. 

He just had to wait, guessing it’d take around 5-6 days until you grow tired of throwing a silent tantrum and start to miss him.

It took 2. 

Now you see why he doesn’t bother leaving? Dealing with you can be a nightmare sometimes, but that was only 10% of it. The rest of it was smothering him with affection, which you clearly love to do and miss if you’re sitting at the edge of the bed 2 days later. 

His back’s against the headboard, arms folded over his chest, looking a little too pleased to see you break your silence. 

“Missed me?”

“Please don’t tease me right now,” you murmur, clearly struggling with the defeat. 

“I’m not,” he hums, though the laugh he had to suppress said otherwise. “Anyways, what's up?”

You question your decision each time he opens his mouth. He’s making this so much harder than it should be right now and enjoying it way too much while he’s at it. 

You pick at your cuticles at the other end of the bed— the lack of eye contact you’ve made with him leads him to believe you’re more nervous than you let on. He’s wrong. It’s a little hard trying to mask your annoyance at the moment, and cowering in place does a decent job of hiding it.

“I thought about what you said.”

“Yeah?” The smug grin across his cheeks grows. 

“Yeah. I’m tired of fighting,” you look up and say, crossing a leg over the other. “I miss how we normally are.” 

“Me too,” he hums, already undressing you with his eyes because he’s a fucking pervert. “Glad it didn’t take too long either, missed hearing your voice.”

You nod, holding back a smile. “Not really sure what you’re looking for, though.”

“Nothing crazy,” he hums, the shrug he followed it with wasn’t too convincing. “All you gotta do is be nice to me— extra nice.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” he confirms, sinking back some more against the headboard. “You know how to be a good girl, I’ve seen it. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“No,” you softly say. 

“Let me see it then— come here,” he hums, curling his finger in to beckon you closer. You start to stand, but he stops you. “Crawl.”

And crawling, at least right now, doesn’t feel very degrading. It’s the way he looks at you when you do, you’ve never wanted to smack him more. Once you’re kneeling beside him, he reaches over and slowly runs the back of his finger across your jaw. 

“So you miss how we normally are, huh?” The broad question gets a nod from you, already knowing where he was going with this. “You’re normally pretty touchy— you miss that, too? Getting to touch me whenever you want?”

“Mhm.” 

His finger traces down the side of your neck and across your shoulder, making your breath catch. 

“Bet you miss having your mouth on me too, huh?”

You give a soft smile when his hand traces back up, cupping your cheek. “Yeah.”

“Think I might just miss that more,” he slips his thumb into your mouth, lightly pressing down on your tongue. “You know how much I love stuffing my cock in here.”

You still out of surprise. That’s what he wanted? Head? What an idiot, he could’ve just said that instead of making it seem like getting his forgiveness was some sinister task.

“Is that what you want?” you ask when his thumb pulls back.

“Mhm,” he smiles. “Look at you. I didn’t even have to ask.”

He continued to be stubborn, making you be the one to pull his sweatpants down by his waistband. You didn’t mind all that much. He may be a little shit, but it’s easy to wave it off when you're freeing his cock from his boxers. Just looking at it, how long and thick it is, sends heat in between your legs. Littered with thick veins, big red tip already smeared with precum, throbbing, begging for attention.

“Spit on it, get it all wet,” he murmurs, lids lowering at the sight of the thick string of saliva falling from your lips and landing on the thick head of his cock. “Yeahh— you know what I like.”

The sight’s filthy from the start when it’s just him telling you to spit on it some more, and more, and more. The entire time, there’s a slight pinch in his brow as he spreads it all from base to tip in a way that was slow and controlled, and hard to ignore. By the time the wet sounds of him stroking his cock could be heard, you were desperately squeezing your thighs together. 

Watching his hand slow to a stop was a shame at first, but what followed took over your mind completely. 

“Stick that tongue out for me— yeah that’s it, let me see it,” he murmurs, cock throbbing in his grip as he starts to tap the heavy tip of it against your tongue, hearing the weight of it behind each one. “Ready to put this pretty little mouth to work?”

“Yeah,” you murmur all sweetly, already in a daze. 

“Good,” he chuckles. “Swirl your tongue around it.” 

He watches you lean forward and do just that. Biting the bottom of his lip as you slowly drag your tongue all around his swollen head, salty remnants of precum hitting your taste buds with each flick and drag. Sukuna groans, abs tensing at your fingers digging into his thighs. 

“Fuuck yeah.” He moves some of your hair out of the way to get a better look. “Suck on it for me, the tip— shit, just like that.” 

As much as he loved the idea of making you beg, you really won’t ever have to. Watching you hollow your cheeks and pull away with a wet pop was enough. He rubs on the back of your neck as you do it again. “Feels fuckin good when you do that— so sweet with it, too.”

A soft hum passes through your lips, pulling back with another pop. He had plans to drag this out, but grows impatient at the sight of your glossy lips and the string of saliva connecting them to his head. His hand slightly tightens on the back of your neck and pushes you in closer, rubbing his tip over your lips. 

“Open up,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he watches your lips part. “Go deeper. Show me how sorry you are.” 

You feel both his hands go to the back of your head as you wrap your lips around his tip, gently bobbing your head as you inch further and further down his length, beginning to breathe through your nose the deeper you go. 

His grip tightens as he starts hitting the back of your throat, throwing his head back with a gravelly, drawn out groan. For a minute, it felt like there was something missing, only for his ears to perk up just moments later when your nose hits his base with a small gag. 

“There you go,” he huffs out a condescending laugh. At first he thinks to tell you to keep gagging on it, but then he has a better idea. “Open wide, princess. Gonna stretch this throat out.” 

You pull up for air, revealing your teary eyes and wet lashes as you take a moment to breathe, and Sukuna thinks to himself how he’s never seen anyone so beautiful. Kinda like a Ursula in her human form type of beauty, given how much of a monster you are. Just cruel and evil. 

He grins and pushes your head back down. 

“Mmm, that’s it— relax it for me,” he says with a low rasp. “Gonna fuck this tight little throat of yours.” 

Holding your head in place, he starts snapping his hips up, stuffing his fat cock down your throat with each thrust. Obscene slurping sounds mixed in with some of your moans fill the air as drool poured out of your mouth, making a mess around the base of his cock, earning his nasty praise. “Look at the mess you're making, you love this, huh? Such a good girl with my cock stuffed in your mouth. Keep it up and I might just stuff your pussy next.”

You make a sound, and it’s almost hopeful, as if you were asking, “Really?” 

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” He thrusts up harder, enjoying the fact that you physically can’t talk right now. “Shit— m’gonna cum,” he murmurs through ragged breaths. “Look at you, did so good and now you get to have your throat filled.”

A low groan vibrates through his chest, swallowing thickly as he picks up the pace. Your nails dig into his thighs, hardly able to keep up and nearly drawing blood once you feel warm, thick spurts of cum begin to coat the back of your throat. 

You’d think he’d be more spent with how hard he fucked your throat, but nope. The cocky, blissful sigh that slipped through his lips as you tried to get yourself together was all you needed to know. 

He’s not the best when it comes to staying mad, at least with you. It’s pretty clear by now that this entire thing was just a ploy to make him feel more wanted, because he’s annoying. And pathetic. 

Not that you get much time to simmer on the thought. It’s like you blink and suddenly you’re on your back, folded in half underneath him. Knees pinned to your chest, ankles up to your ears. Mentally, he’s gone. Too focused on rubbing the fat head of his cock against your hole, spreading your slick up and down your folds. Slow and intentional, enjoying the way you squirm in his hold.  

That’s about the last of his patience, because seconds later, he’s bottoming out and you’re gasping from the sudden fullness. 

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans through a clenched jaw. His hips draw back, only pulling out halfway through before shoving himself back in with a resounding squelch. “Soaked, too. Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-yeah,” is all you could get out with all the weight he’s putting on you, keeping you locked down in the world’s meanest mating press. 

“Two days is all this slutty pussy could take, huh?” He barely suppresses a laugh as he snaps his hips forward again, pulling another gasped moan out of you. “Better not start crying about how it’s too much then.”  

It’s always too much, but this time he fucks you in a way where you can’t even get the words out. He just has you in straight up tears while he spends the next hour drilling into your sweet spot as if it were your punishment for making his life a living hell every few months. 

While you spent your two days annoyed with him, he spent his saving enough energy to be able to pull back to back orgasms out of you like it was nothing. Going as far as taunting you when he felt you starting to tighten around his cock again, and then laughing after making you squirt once more after god knows how many times, talking about how, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Fuck him.

You clearly didn’t hate him that much, though. Yeah, you did go radio silent a couple of times, and there may have been a moment where you truly thought you were going to pass out, but that didn’t stop you from begging him to cum inside of you in the end. 

He may have also teased you at first, asking if you deserved it, forgetting his place for a moment there. 

But you always get what you want. 

Even in the end, when you’re cuddling, and he’s murmuring sweet words into your ear, not knowing what the hell he’s even talking about when he says how much of a sweet girl you are and how you were his sweet girl.

Sukuna gets nothing but a curt “shh” in response. 

“What?” he snorts, still in a lovesick mood. 

There's a smile when you sigh. “The sound of your voice is ruining it right now for me, baby. I need you to be quiet or get lost.” 

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[ane5e]

hiii I need help looking a for a fic I read and then (unfortunately) lost. Okay so Sukuna, Choso, and Yujii are brothers, and their parents died (i think the two younger of the three have a different mom?). Sukuna and reader are in university together and are supposed to work on an assignment and get closer 😛. I think later on Sukuna is fighting a legal battle against his step mom (yujii and chosos mom) and higuruma shows up as a law student to give advice. THATS WHERE I LAST READ, IF SOMEONE CAN TELL ME THE TITLE OR PUT THE LINK PLS😔

[tojisteddy]

I think the main thing that I truly did love about Bad Bunny’s performance is I’m seeing dark skin, brown skin, light skin, pale skin, curly hair in all forms, elderly, children, youth, middle age, gay, straight, single—

THATS WHAT I LIKE TO FVCKING SEE GOD DAMN IT!!!! THATS WHAT I WANNA FVCKING SEE!!!!

[jabesa0]

Choso Valentine’s Day wip in between comms, hopefully I’ll be able to finish it before the actual day 😭😭

[hrtfreak]

nerdy best friend! satoru wants to fuck you so bad he’s got a whole nasty journal about you ˶˃ᆺ˂˶

you’re alone in the apartment, the afternoon light slanting through the half-open blinds, turning everything a lazy gold.

satoru’s out—some last-minute errand he mumbled about before grabbing his keys and leaving you with a quick wave and that easy grin. the place is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional car passing outside. bored already, you told yourself you’d tidy up a little and he’s been buried in finals prep, books and papers everywhere, and you’re not about to let the common areas look like a war zone.

his room’s the worst offender, so you start there, figuring you’ll just straighten the desk, fold some clothes, nothing major.

his bed is unmade, sheets tangled like he rolled out of them in a hurry. you smooth them down out of habit, then move to the desk. stacks of textbooks, loose notes, a couple of empty energy drink cans. you gather the trash first, then start on the books.

there’s a pile of notebooks on the bottom shelf—old ones, worn spines, the kind he uses for everything from lecture notes to random doodles. a soft smile tints your lips before you reach to shift them to the side so you can dust properly, but your grip slips.

fuck.

the whole stack topples, pages fluttering, and one slides out completely.

it’s a plain black notebook, nothing special so you lean in to pick it up, except your eyes go for the word written in sharpie on the cover in his messy handwriting: your name.

you freeze. your hands halting on with a grip on the book. your heart does something stupid, a quick thud against your ribs.

a thought of ‘you should put it back’ ‘shove it under the pile, pretend you never saw it’ swirls in your brain but your fingers are already brushing the cover, flipping the leather cover of the journal open before your brain catches up.

your eyes lock with those familiar scratch of inks, a sharp breath filling your lung, the first page is dated months ago. just your name again, nothing special or whateveryouexpected underlined twice, then a single line: “i can’t stop thinking about her mouth.”

your brows knit as you keep reading. you know you shouldn’t since this is privacy invasion (for sureeee), but you do. page after page of his handwriting—neat at first, then sloppier as the entries get longer, more desperate… as if he couldn’t control himself anymore.

he writes about the way you laugh when you’re tired, how your hair looks when you pull it up into a loose bun while you’re cooking.

then it shifts.

satoru describes how he imagines your face when you’re laying on your back, spread out with your fingers deep in between your thighs. then how you look when you come—eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, breath hitching like you’re trying not to make too much noise.

how he pictures you riding him, “toru, please— i need more”thighs flexing, hands braced on his chest, hips rolling slow at first then faster until you’re trembling. diabolical. he writes about the sounds you’d make, the little gasps, the way you’d bite your lip to keep quiet. how he’d hold your hips so tight there’d be marks by tomorrow, bruises made with love all over your skin.

it’s insane how your eyes move fast, reading lines after lines, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. the undeniable pulse also beats down there, your cunt having its own rhythm.

you flip onto fhe next page and there’s a whole entry about overstimulation. he imagines pinning your wrists above your head, trapping you and fucking himself into you deep and relentless until you’re shaking, begging him to stop, pushing at his shoulders with weak hands while tears prick your eyes. he writes that he’d keep going anyway, whispering how good you are, how pretty you look when you’re falling apart, until you come again, harder, soaking the sheets.

and then the one that makes your thighs clench involuntarily: he wants you to gag him. wants you to slip your soaked panties off after you’ve come on his tongue, stuff them into his mouth, make him taste you while he jerks himself off.

he says he’d beg for it—actually beg—kneeling, voice wrecked, eyes glassy, promising anything if you’d let him have that piece of you. “fuuuck” with his eyes rolled and big hand fisted on his flushed veiny cock.

you sit back on your heels, notebook still open in your lap. your pulse is loud in your ears.

shock is the first to come, surfacing you whole—how could he write this? about you? his best friend, his roommate, the person he sees every day in ratty pajamas and no makeup? you two are friends, friends are not supposed to thin— WRITE about their friends. but the shock doesn’t last.

what you also cant ignore is the heat that pools low in your belly, insistent and embarrassing. you shift and feel it. the damp patch between your legs, the way your panties cling to your slit. your body is betraying you, responding to every filthy detail he put on paper.

you flip back through the pages again, slower this time.

this one focuse on how he wrote about your legs in those tiny sleep shorts you wear around the flat, how he has to look away so he doesn’t get tented up right there on the couch and embarrass himself. how he jerks off in the shower thinking about bending you over the kitchen counter while the coffee brews. how he wants to hear you say his name when you come, drawn out and needy for him, your cunt clumping on his dick which makes it hard to move.

oh your pussy, he writes how he knows it would be tight and warm to get buried to the hilt in you, have you squirming and crying to him, how he would cover your mouth and stare into your eyes with his ragged thrust. he would fuck you so desperat—

the sound of front door clicking open makes you jolt from your knelt position, slamming the notebook shut, shoving it under the stack like it burned you. (totally did.)

heavy familiar footsteps in the hallway echoes, then his voice, cheerful as ever.

“hey, i’m back! you won’t believe the line at the store—”

he stops in the doorway, seeing you on the floor surrounded by his books, shin of sweat decorating your skin, cheeks flushed, breathing a little too fast. his eyes flick to the pile, then back to your face.

you can’t quite catch what he’s thinking, his glasses sitting on his nose bridge before he pushes it to adjust it right. something shifts in his expression—recognition, maybe, or the tiniest hint of panic.

“you… cleaning my room?” he asks, voice careful, suddenly hoarse like he just woke up. he eyes you, waiting for your reply as if he’s testing the water.

you nod, throat dry. “y-yeah.” you’re quick to get on your feet. dusting off on your ratty print shorts, the slick on your panties feels so sticky now. ashamed. “thought i’d help.”

he steps closer, slow. “oh?” satoru scratched fhe back of his head, “you didn’t have to, i was gonna clean it anywa…” he’s suddenly quite.

“find anything interesting?” you meet his eyes. they’re brighter than usual, pupils blown behind his slutty glasses. your heart hammers, brain lagging. the notebook feels like it’s screaming in your hand

you swallow. “maybe.” holyfuckwhatthefuckareyousayinggg

he doesn’t move for a second. then he steps in front of you, close enough that you can smell the faint citrus of his shampoo. his voice drops, soft but steady.

“tell me what you read.”

you don’t answer right away. instead you bring the notebook in between you two, pull it out, hold it you like an offering. “when did this start?” you question, not answering whatever the heck he’s asking.

his gaze drops to the cover—your name—then back up to you, satoru doesn’t look ashamed. in fact, he had the eyes of hunger, as if a dog was chained for long and about to get released.

“you gonna pretend you didn’t like it?” he murmurs. complete ignoring you and you sigh, “satoru—”

“a while.” he states flat, “it’s been a while.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“what? you expect me to tell my best friend of almost life time i’ve been wanting to fuck her since forever?” satoru states, a lace of desperation and annoyance hinting in his voice.

just from the tone, his tone, your panties are soaked through. you can feel it. and he knows. he can probably see it in the way you’re pressing your thighs together.

you shake your head, just once. although you wanted to scold him or push past him and leave silently, deep inside you’re relieved you’re not alone.

you’re not alone in this, thank fuckin’ lord cause the constant guilt of masturbating to the idea of satoru before every sleep.

i mean, your clits about to bleed at this point from the solo finger fucking. you just want him to fuck you so bad.

your eyes drop right on his lips, the plumpness begging to be kissed, bruised even. your ages to do everything he wrote with him.

stuff you g’damn panties in this filthy mouth.

well, your best friend is not stupid as well so his hand goes to hold the journal from yours. “did you read everything?” it’s so hypothesizing how he speaks. the low, gentle voice he uses only around you. you only nod, your skin feels like you’re tanning in a high fahrenheit 

gojo satoru yearns for you so bad. 

“good,” he says, voice rough now. he takes the notebook from your hand, sets it aside. his fingers brush your wrist, lingering. “because i meant every word.”

you close your eyes. the apartment is quiet again, just the two of you and the weight of everything he wrote. you open your mouth to respond, and the words come out soft, honest, a little shaky.

“satoru, i need you to fuck me.”

and well god help you get out of this mess.