mimir

here for the fics. she/her. 21.

[ttakdoll]

꩜ – FRAT PRESIDENT SATORU GOJO (and the shy girl he's obsessed with!)

(18+) HEADCANONS :: – frat!gojo x innocent!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, handjobs, praise, corruption kink, manipulative behavior, slight dub-con

frat president!satoru, who’s used to every type of girl at his party except you, all big eyes, wandering around his house like you didn’t know what to do. he’s asked suguru to offer you everything under the sun in the last thirty or so minutes — a drink, a smoke, a joint. you just politely decline, shaking your head so prettily.

frat president!satoru, who swears he’s just got an ego when he decides he’ll be the one to show you all of that and more. he could do it if suguru couldn’t, if no one else could.

he starts off all nice, walking you to all your classes, offering his sweaters in the lectures you had together (which he only started attending for you), buying you lunch and listening to your cute little rants about your worst profs.

frat president!satoru learns that you like being held when he’s the first one to find you after an exam you swear you’d failed. he doesn’t get it ‘til he’d realized your eyes are all glassy, so shiny as you peered up at him with wobbling lips, trying not to cry in front of him.

frat president!satoru loves the way you’d just melted into his arms after that. he calls you easy to his friends for it, but something inside him never wants to let go whenever you’re willing to press yourself into his chest, wherever you’re willing to do it.

frat president!satoru, who asks you what you’re wearing all the time and sends even prettier things to wear to your dorm when he thinks you can do better.

frat president!satoru, who’s spiraling at night, jerking off to your contact photo, wrapping his large hand around his dick and pretending like it’s that sweet mouth of yours engulfing his length. he imagines how shy you’d be, lips parted wide, smearing pre-cum and replacing your candy lip balm. he wants you tasting like him, those soft cheeks drenched in his cum, eyes screwed shut until he’s all you can think about.

frat president!satoru likes making you need him, doting on you and driving you around like a princess, spoiling you until you frown whenever his hand isn’t on your hip, or whenever he dodges your calls for fraternity meetings. he likes the idea that you might become obsessed with him (like he is with you). 

frat president!satoru, who’s grinning cruelly the minute you finally tell him, “you know, you do so much for me, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” in that nervous voice of yours one day, while you’re tucked into his side at your apartment.

frat president!satoru, who’s never missed a meeting or a call until that day, when he’s finally got you whimpering shyly in his lap while he gently mouths at your neck, tasting that perfume he’s been searching online for for weeks, whispering about how he’s so grateful you wanna help him out, how sweet you are for making it up to him too even when you didn't have to.

but he’s been waiting for weeks, you’re all soft and impressionable on him, and he’s not letting a moment of your kindness go to waste.

frat president!satoru guides you with a husky voice when he teaches you to spit in your own palm and wrap your hand around his cock, nearly shivering at the contact  — “make me feel good, pretty girl, it’s the least you can do.”

frat president!satoru, who just chuckles at the fact that you’re all nervous, looking up at him as if asking what to do next, just for him to wrap his palm around yours, engulfing it entirely. he groans lowly as he moves your palm up and down on his already-hard length, bottom lip catching between his teeth at how warm your hand feels against his dick.

“shit, just keep it like that, baby, up and down…”

frat president!satoru, who kisses you slow when you gasp at how he bucks up into your hand, keeping his own wrapped around it while desperately attempting not to just use you, jerk himself off with your tiny little fingers, maneuver you down and slam himself deep into your tight cunt. “hah — fuck, gorgeous, y— you’re good at this, huh? so good for me, so fucking cute…”

“i’ve never done this before,” you admit into frat president!satoru’s mouth, hushed and breathy like it’s a secret. he wants to fucking laugh, but he’s cut short by a low hiss as you thumb at his slit without him having to teach you, making him lose his mind piece by piece. shit, you’re just perfect, aren’t you? 

“am — am I doing okay, satoru?” 

frat president!satoru has nearly had enough of patience when you say that. shit, he bites down into your lip without even realizing, hand tightening around yours when you whimper. and it’s barely enough to notice at first, but he pumps your hand around him faster, growling into your mouth at the way your fingertips flex around his length, making a slick! sound that echoes across the room.

“you’re — shit, just like that — doing perfect, baby. so perfect.” frat president!satoru groans into your throat, even though he’s using your hand like a fuck toy now, smearing his own pre-cum mixed with your saliva all over his huge dick, bucking his hips up into your plush skin like a glorified fleshlight.

the only one he’s dreamed of in the past few weeks, at least.

frat president!satoru gets off on how eager you are to match his pace, his other hand cupping your cheeks to purse your pretty mouth open for him as he spits down your throat and relishes in your confused little whine. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s gripping your hand now, forcing you to jerk his cock faster.

“that’s it,” he pants into your lips, “just let me have you, okay? hah— so good, shit, you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”

“satoru—” your voice is a wet dream, how it feathers off around the edges and breaks like you’re not sure.

frat president!satoru groans at the sound of your confusion. “been, fuck, thinking about this, baby. want you creaming on my cock next, yeah? or maybe it’s — haah! — too big for your first time. gotta — shit — prep you first.”

frat president!satoru spills into your hand with one last rough stroke of both your hands around his length, gasping low with his tongue down your throat as he finally lets your hand go. he watches the way your palm shakes, eyes dark, lifting your cum-covered fingertips to your mouth without thinking. and he thinks you won’t do it, until—

your sweet fucking tongue darts out to lick experimentally at your own fingers, and satoru thinks he’s gone to heaven.

frat president!satoru, who can’t help himself when he’s grabbing you by the waist now, laying you flat on your back and coming up to slot his knee between your thighs, committing the way your face scrunches up in both confusion and pleasure to memory. he thinks you’re the cutest fucking thing in the world, and he wants you broken in every way possible until you can’t fuck any other guy without imagining his dick. 

“thank you, baby,” he grins against your neck. “can i make you feel good now?”

frat president!satoru, who decided he’d never let you fuck anyone else anyways the moment you'd nodded.

@ ttakdoll, 2026

inspired by an anon request for a shy reader!!

[onelime]

only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.” 

a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol

[residentletdown]

WHEN WE FIND OUT WHY WE'RE MAD AT SUKUNA😭😭😭😭SONNN😭😭😭😭😭😭😭IM CRINEEE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[onelime]

only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.” 

a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol

[neotoru]

‧₊ ˚⊹ riding nerdjo's thigh while he studies 18+

note this is lowk very similar to the riding higuruma fic that i wrote… sorry about that i just enjoy this concept lolol also this is very short and rushed </3

it’s easy to get carried away when you’re on satoru’s lap. his head is buried in a textbook as usual, slender fingers scrawling formulae across scrap pieces of paper and sticky notes. he’s working on some sort of problem sheet; something to do with quantum mechanics, you can’t quite recall. 

you, on the other hand, had plopped yourself on his lap a while ago, now. your chest presses against his hoodie, head resting against his shoulder, and you can just about feel the steady, rhythmic thump of his heartbeat through the thick cotton. you could never understand why he felt the need to do all of his work in his outside clothes rather than choosing to be comfortable. something about ‘needing to be in the right headspace to focus.’ 

sure, it was easy for him to stay focused with all of his exceptional intelligence. he hums when he encounters a particularly tricky question, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, though it still doesn’t seem to require all that much deliberation before he’s solving it effortlessly. 

he had told you earlier in the day that you could come over to his dorm to study. but he should have know better, known that studying was never in your personal plans. when he realised you were never intending to do any work, he agreed to letting you sit on his lap (although, thinking about it, you did have to beg him to let you do so). the poor thing thought you were just going to watch him study, maybe even doze off on his shoulder for a little while. what he doesn’t know is that you’re slowly getting wetter by the minute. 

his knee bounces rapidly—up, down, up, down, consistently—and the rough denim of his jeans brush up against your pussy. you’re bare underneath your tiny pyjama shorts, having opted for comfort over practicality in the secure presence of your boyfriend. then his leg shoots up, quicker than before, startling you a little. he’s firm against you and you’re already so worked up from just watching his brilliant mind unfold in front of you; so much so that you unintentionally let out a soft moan as his jeans connect with your heat once more. 

he freezes. 

“baby…?” he whispers. “i’m sorry, did i wake you?” 

far from it. his voice, low in your ear, only turns you on more.

“all good,” you shake your head. “carry on with your work.” 

so he does. unbeknownst to him, your shorts are getting completely soaked through with your arousal. it starts to pool where you’re sitting, and you’re not quite sure how he hasn’t noticed the wet patch growing on him. 

“fuck…” he mutters under his breath, one hand raking through his platinum hair. “i swear that was supposed to be spin up, not down…” 

you can smell his faint aftershave from the morning mingling with his own musky scent from a long day of lectures. bringing them up from where they were slung around his waist, you snake your arms around his neck, pulling yourself immeasurably close to him. you shift your hips so that his jeans press into your throbbing clit and you start to gently grind against him. 

the coil of heat in your stomach tightens even further, the friction bliss between your legs as satoru’s thigh continues to bob up and down. he’s so absorbed in his work that he barely registers your haphazard rubbing against him. it’s not until another breathy whimper escapes your lips that he’s finally paying attention to you rather than that damn problem sheet. 

“oh my god,” he squeaks out as he takes in your figure, a blush creeping up on his face. “needed me that bad?” he whispers. 

you look up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “yes,” you breathe out. “wanted you to pay attention to me, toru.” 

gojo really can’t focus on his problems, now. not with the way you’re sloppily grinding against him, moaning his name out so prettily. your fingers tighten around his nape and he groans at the feelings. 

“can’t you wait until after i’m done?” he murmurs into your ear. his breath fans against your skin, making you shiver. “then i can devote all of my energy into making you feel good.”

you whine, rolling your hips into his thigh harder, faster. “need you now. let me use you, toru.” and when you tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling at the roots, his body completely gives into your touch. 

a strangled sound escapes from the back of his throat. “o-okay,” he lets out a shaky breath. “keep going.” 

you know satoru. you know that he’s getting off on the fact that you’re using him for your own pleasure, probably even more than you’re enjoying yourself. 

his jeans are completely soaked through, now. your clit throbs and aches and the pressure is so good, especially when he flexes his thigh and uses his hands to guide your hips to rut against him. 

“that’s it, baby.” his voice is low and hushed and it feels so intimate, the way he’s letting you take what you want from him. “you’re so pretty.” 

“fuck, satoru—mmh—i’m already close,” you whimper into his neck. 

“keep going,” he hums, readjusting himself on his chair to both give you a better angle and to try and relieve some of the tension against his dick straining in his pants. he pushes his glasses up with the hand that’s not steadying you on his lap, eyes raking over your coming apart on him. 

“oh my gooood, shit— i-i-’m gonna— satoru, ngh, i’m gonna cum—!”

“go on, baby.” 

the fire burning in the pit of your stomach flares up, flames of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body until you’re shaking, gushing onto his thigh. he holds you firm on his leg as your body collapses into his chest. both of you are panting. 

“thanks, toru,” you smile up lazily at him. his face, down to his neck, is flushed crimson. 

his voice is slightly wobbly as he speaks. “you’re so hot,” he grins, warm hands stroking your bare legs. “can we do that again sometime?”

“anytime.”

masterlist

main taglist @kawpd @megssleepygirl @kuromiispunk

gojo taglist @storuhrts

[yoonsucks]

Bad puppy!

Pairing: puppy!Choso x owner!reader cw: SMUTTT, subby whiny pervy dog hybrid choso, owner reader, fem!reader, panty sniffing, scenting, riding him, choso cries, cumplay, degrading him a bit, punishment... he calls reader mistress/ma'am, light slapping, not proofread lols for this ask <3 and mommy @mimuju

Choso was a good boy.

The best boy.

He's your good boy, could do no wrong.

You thought as much.

He's been your cute stay-at-home-hybrid for a while now, finally comfortable enough to not be as shy around you.

Choso was on the more timid side, but he'd make sure he's always around you when you're home.

Sitting next to you at the breakfast table, thigh against thigh, his tail wagging and smacking against the leg of the chair. You liked his presence, letting him steal food from your plate, wiping his cheek with your thumb when he got a bit messy.

He wanted to watch everything with you, getting startled by horror movies- you had to hold the sweet boy and scratch behind his ears. You loved it though, getting to coo and laugh at him when he trembled from a jumpscare.

He slowly had moved to your bedroom instead of his designated room, sleeping besides you, sometimes at the foot of the bed if you weren't in the mood to get snuggled up with a man that could engulf your whole form in his arms.

But that was rare.

You let him lay his head on your chest, place soft kisses on his hair and listen to his breath.

If there was a thunderstorm outside, then you'd huddle up under blankets with him and read to him as a distraction from the loud thundering sound and howling winds.

He did get a bit… touchy though, nosing and trying to scent you in the middle of the night when he thought you were fully passed out.

…You liked it.

He could smell how turned on you'd get, the lovely way your panties became damp and your cunts hole would flutter.

He wanted to have a lick… get your flavor in his mouth.

But he was good, just shifting to try and go to sleep, even if he had the most delicious smelling treat right under his nose.

When you went for walks at the park, he behaved well and stayed near. Choso was actually fairly frightened by the other demihumans.

Especially that mean looking pink tiger guy… or the gray wolf.

Choso wasn't some meek weakling but he preferred to stay hip to hip with you… in case he had to protect you, not the other way around… definitely.

Back to him being the bestest boy ever.

He wasn't.

Choso was a little pervert.

Like any dog would be.

He gave you sad puppy eyes when you left for work, whining about missing you- all to get a kiss on his droopy expression before you left and closed the door.

He did miss you, he didn't lie about that.

But that pouty act turned into one of pure neediness.

He had started off tame… going into your bedroom, rummaging trough your underwear drawer to get his paws on the fresh laundry, bringing it up to his face to sniff.

Then put them back.

You never knew.

Then he got bolder, sitting on the bathroom floor and pouring the dirty laundry basket out on the tiles, picking your most recently worn clothes up to roll in, laying on his back while smushing a pair of filthy panties to his face. As if you would be on his face.

And then he would shove all of it back into the basket and go laze about on your bed.

You NEVER knew.

One morning you had given him a bye bye peck on the lips, something you had never done before but he had been on the brink of tears, kneeling while tugging at your jeans, ears all flat and tail between his thighs. He was being extra clingy.

So a little kiss was sure to cheer him up.

A bit too much.

Late afternoon- and you return back home, exhausted from work and in need of a shower and a good meal. And some love and attention from your house dog.

"Choso! Puppy, I'm home…" You yawn out, toeing your shoes off and dropping your bag on the little table in your hallway.

Choso, the precious boy he was, rushed over and hugged you, his frame folding over you.

You couldn't help but giggle when he nosed at your neck, acting all cute. Not trying to taste you, no not at all.

He had acted normal throughout dinner, maybe a bit more… nosy than usual.

Nothing was amiss.

Until you were picking out some clothes to change into after you took a shower.

T shirt.. check… sweatpants… check… chewed up panties… check.

…

chewed up panties?

You lifted the cotton pair up by the sides.

There was a hole… a big one… bit right out from where your pussy would go if you wore them-

You don't remember moths having such a big appetite.

Your stupid mutt of a hybrid had gotten into your underwear.

He had gotten a little bit too excited and had decided he NEEDED a taste.

So what else was he supposed to do? Not take a chunk out of your favorite pair?

You tossed the ripped up thing to the bed and groaned, rubbing a hand over your forehead.

"CHOSO."

He was in the room before you could even finish the full word, on his knees and a trembling bottom lip sticking out, tail neatly tucked under his thighs and black furred ears down on his skull.

"Yes, mistress..?"

You glanced over to the bed.

He did too-

Oh no.

I mean, what did he expect would happen.

Leaving evidence right where you'd find it.

Silly boy.

The kneeling hybrids face started to heat up, looking to the floor where his hands were.

"…Wasn't me.."

"Who then? The undie ripping fairy? The pervert gnome of panty land?"

"…Both of them…"

You went silent, eyes staring down at his.

He whimpered, shifting uncomfortably under your glare.

"Choso, be good. Tell me what happened, seriously."

"I.. i didn't mean to… swear it."

"Choso Kamo."

He bit the inside of his cheek, head tipping forwards and hanging. His dark locks falling over his face to cover the guilty look.

His tail was starting to slooowwly slide back and forth across the floor.

Was he enjoying this?

You ran the hand from your forehead down your face.

"I did it…ma'am.."

"Why?"

"Wanted to smell you… but.. but also taste so i…"

"Taste and smell… what else, touch and lick?" You scoffed, making a sarcastic remark.

But he nodded, finally lifting his chin back up to have his chocolate irises meet your annoyed ones.

"May i, mistress?"

"May you? You tore up my favourite pair and now you want to get some? Fine. But you won't like it. "

You tried to threaten him, but he didn't look all that scared.

Not until you grabbed him by the hair and made him scoot forward, clumsy hands clinging to the backsides of your thighs. That pitiful little face he was making made you want to forgive him, but he deserved to be punished.

You stepped a bit wider, shoving his face between your legs.

This earned you a whine from him, unsure what to do now… the scent of you filling his nose and making his fluffy tail thump around on the flooring.

"Don't look so excited, damn mutt."

Choso shuddered from the mean name, peering up at you, tongue already darting out to try and lick at the fabric of your pants.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting the not so guilty looking hybrid watch you unzip and tug the waistband down.

Before you could even get them past your thighs he was trying to lap at the front of your filly panties- canines lightly pulling on the material.

Someone was hungry.

"Look at you… now hold on, you can't taste unless i allow it." You chuckle, pulling him away by his hair.

Poor Choso was already sniffling, unable to tear his eyes away from the damp fabric clinging to invitingly to your puffy folds, hands gripping into his own sweats.

"Please….mistress… please."

You tutted.

How impatient.

You pulled him up from his knees, pushing him onto the soft bed- ripped up panties forgotten underneath him.

You didn't want to let him get what he wanted the most. To get to touch and bite at your skin.

So the best course of action?

Forcing him to lay down, tugging his sweatpants down just enough so you could sit on his weepy cock. It looked like it was crying by how much precum was oozing out.

Your clothed pussy formed around it, thighs trapping his legs underneath yours.

"No touching."

"Yes ma'am."

It was a pitiful sight, his ears floppy and his eyes glossy, unable to look away where your bodies were rubbing together- and his hands, oh his desperate hands, trying to lay flat on the bedsheets beside his sides.

You didn't slide your soaked panties to the side until he started to buck his hips.

Obviously his cock was obscenely large, with a plump knotting bump at the end. Not to mention how pretty his happy trail was, your hands pressing down on his lower stomach to hold him still while shifting and helping the leaky cockhead find your sopping hole.

Thwap slap thwap slap slap!

Your hips bounced up and down, ass meeting his trembling thighs, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filled the usual wholesome bedroom air.

All he could do was… well.. cry. And let out whimpers of your name- too overwhelmed.

He was sobbing, nose scrunched up and his eyes blinking out pearly tears before shutting completely, fingers gripping into the bedsheets so hard they might tear.

"Misuhh…mistthhrurress…" He hiccuped out your title over and over again.

You leaned over, grabbing his face with one hand, the other bracing your weight on his abs.

"Cmon, look at me, you crybaby. You did this to yourself."

He refused to open his eyes, trying to squirm out of your hold.

Smack!

You have his cheek a light slap before leaning back, making sure to clench around him for a torturous squeeze.

"Bad puppy."

You didn't even let him cum inside, getting off right at the last moment.

And the thick load splurted out all over his own chest and face. Nowhere near where he would have liked to get it on… or in.

Lesson learned?

For now, maybe.

You weren't that cruel… you scooped up the whiteish liquid in your fingers and fed it to him.

That counted as cleanup.

Fine, he got a proper cuddle session and a short lecture about eating your clothes.

Didn't mean you knew about all the other stuff he had done before getting caught this one time.

Yoon's notes: sumn abt writing subby pup choso always hits the spot

masterlist

tags are fucked.

want to join the taglist? HERE

©yoonsucks

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

[xoxonahyo]

Fic recommendations with little to none commentary!

saturo gojo

to late - @veejiez (angst/no comfort)

dilf gojo - @veejiez (nsfw/this is so freaky)

i need to love me - @serikai (hurt)

hand over your mouth - @polaroidsex (nsfw) this one has a chokehold on me

angry sex - @lilikoiyu (nsfw)

brutal - @missmeinyourbones (hurt)

helpless - @mitraoki (suggestive)

stolen curls - @musatoru (fluff?) this is so cute

time after time - @mononijikayu (hurt)

strawberry soap - @musatoru ( this is going to hurt)

origami bones - @musatoru (ED!/hurt/comfort)

gojo likes it when you cry - @swearimnevergivingup (nsfw)

its a blue world - @slttygeto (hurt)

4 year anniversary - @sapph22 (nsfw) this was evil

its big - @kissbabie (nsfw)

suguru geto

brat tamer - @sweethearticism (nsfw)

strangers - @yenayaps (nsfw/angst/comfort)

last christmas - @tonycries (nsfw/love love love)

bestfriend!geto masterlist - @fricks (nsfw/ i love this series)

calendar method - @sshrubit (nsfw)

stoner suguru - @ryomenslvr (comfort)

love win all - @mononijikayu (hurt/comfort) i truly recommend their entire account

his one regret - @satoruined (angst/this one got me)

all the things we never got to say -@falsedivide (angst/comfort)

you & me - @getosurya (intmaticy/comfort)

premature death - @siennacries (angst/ this one hurt)

all the times he says i love you, and the one time you say it back - @swearimnevergivingup (nsfw)

tummy bulge - @hrtfreak (nsfw)

fluff!! - @ronetteblooms (fluff)

don't cry snowman - @sweetieelilii (angst/comfort)

megumi furshgurio

𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 - @kissthesword (nsfw)

sleeping beauty - @musatoru / megumi x coma reader (comfort)

I do love you - @freakylina (comfort)

misunderstanding - @mononijikayu (comfort

rough mission - @daughterhouse (comfort)

make out - @daughterhouse (suggestive)

sad boy - (hurt) i sadly can't find the writer second account

arguments - @kissthesword (hurt/comfort)

best friend - @fushihearts (fluff)

multi/others

to loud - @anglbunny muilt (angst/no comfort)

one breath to late - @cumironi / multi x reader (angst/no comfort)

loving is caring - @mononijikayu / multi x reader (comfort)

Taste of Your Own Medicine - @mrsblaileen / naoya x reader (nsfw)

wondering world - @mononijikayu / nanami x reader (romance)

tired - @6x-x9 / nanami x reader (nsfw/comfort) i recommend reading both parts

class president - @serikai / satour x suguru x reader (nsfw)

someone had ask me to do this and I do not own any of pieces all credits goes to the original creator

[xxlorinmower]

snowleopard!gojo I need him begging and bred brooo

art by: me! repost with credits, lorin mower on all platforms!

[opiodistic]

satoru loves stuffing you full

he's crazy about it. about you.

watching you cry out of overstimulation, pliant body laying limp on top of him as he thrusted his cock inside your unimaginably soft pussy.

"'s too-" a teary gasp escaped your lips, head tilting backwards to plead with your mean boyfriend, "h-heavy- hngh-"

"heavy?" he grinned, hips snapping up into you with no signs of stopping, "you're the one laying on top of me, sweets."

"toruuuu-" your eyes rolled back, a broken whine emitting from your throat as your head falls back onto his shoulder.

his hand comes up to roll your nipple between his fingers, the feel of his pressure on your already bruised and tender skin making you thrash and twitch.

"'m full," you gasp, pushing your palms flat against the bed to attempt to get off of him, to take out his mean and relentless cock out of your poor pussy. "m- stomach- ngh! c-can't-"

he tuts, pulling you back onto his body, angling his cock to thrust at that specific spot, "running away, already?"

his hand comes down to circle your clit. your eyes widen as you look down, mouth falling open in a silent cry as tears cascade down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

"s-slo-" you hiccup, hand coming over his, trying to form words to tell him to slow down on your clit.

flashes of white spark behind your eyelids, your seventh orgasm nearing on at an alarming pace.

satoru grits his teeth when he feels your walls tighten around him, hips now snapping at an almost punishing pace as he attempts to chase down his high along with yours.

his palm cups your open jaw, pulling your face upwards to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, drinking up your moans and cries as he fucks your through the bed.

your thighs tremble, hands gripping onto him, grabbing on any skin that you could, nails digging in and drawing blood as you finally feel your orgasm crash into you.

you gasped into satoru's mouth, feeling him speed up impossibly more and then his load shooting inside of you.

he stayed there, pushing his cock as deep into you as possible, pulsing and twitching as he emptied his balls inside you. you laid limp in his arms, hiccuping as he peppered soft kisses all over your face.

your stomach felt too full, as if it would burst open any moment.

your boyfriend was way too obsessed with filling you with his seed.

[lilithkleia]

your loser ex has your name tattooed on his chest. and he isn’t above begging to get you back.

you stared at your tv, a tub of ice cream in hand while watching the ridiculous boxing match play on the screen. and just like clockwork, the pink haired man won, pumping his fists into the air while everyone cheered him on.

sukuna fucking ryomen.

your pathetic ex, the sad sloppy excuse of a man (or so you liked to tell yourself), the self centred prick who still thrived off of the chaos and adrenaline of a good fight, was unfortunately still as hot as ever. sweat slicked down his back, his tattoos catching the lights around the ring while he was declared the winner. it was all the same until you noticed the fresh letters carved onto his chest.

pretty letters that unmistakably spelled out your name. and knowing his body and every inch of it, you knew that that wasn’t there before. this fucking loser. had you permanently etched on your skin. and just as you were about to frantically dial his number to give him an earful, he looked riiight at the camera—

“hey y/n. i know you’re watching this. stop ignoring my calls, baby.”

oh he was dead fucking meat.

you knew that it’d be mere minutes before he showed up at your doorstep—the same cycle of him begging to have you back, only to go back to his theatrically crafted suave persona.

and just like clockwork, about an hour later—riiiing!

you opened the door only to find sukuna, still drenched in sweat, standing at your doorway with a comically large bouquet in hand.

“are you fucking insane?”

“i take it that you saw my tattoo.”

you eyed him up and down, barely hiding your distaste—until he dropped to his knees before you.

“what the fuck are you doing. GET UP.”

“please, baby please i’ll do anything to get you back.”

he was down on the ground, your neighbours whispering while the renowned boxer hugged your legs, his head buried in your thighs, the bouquet he got long forgotten on the floor.

“please.”

he was begging now, kneeling before you while his eyes brimmed with tears. and a sick sick part of you made your heart skip a beat.

he was desperate, your name etched on his chest, on his knees, hugging your legs as if that’d ground you to him.

“is this because no one wants to fuck you anymore?” you snorted and he looks at you almost as if you slapped him across the face.

“c’mon doll, you know that’s not true.”

“pathetic.” you spat out, his face flushing a deep shade the moment you said it.

“you still have they repressed degradation kink i see. stupid fucking masochist.”

fuck.

“please—.”

“your begging needs improvement. we’ll see how good you do when i have you gagged and sobbing.” you cooed and you swore you could see his sweats tent just the slightest.

you were going to turn the boxing ring’s forbidden ryomen sukuna, into your pathetic, whiny little slut. and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

GRAAH. i like pathetic men. hehe. @yoonsucks @yorikae @rosiestrudel

dividers: @/pixopix .

all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.

[fushigasm]

i find the concept of bf!gojo teleporting to your apartment when you’re mad at him and ignoring his texts so funny

like he knows you’ll probably just be more mad and will end up slapping him for even trying that bs with his limitless but you’re severely underestimating his need for your attention.

you’re reading a book, lying on your stomach, calm in those extra fancy sheets satoru bought for you. and then he’s there. well, right next to the side of your bed, blindfold shoved up above his eerily blue eyes. your head snaps as you see him out your peripheral, jumping back immediately, nearly rolling off your bed when he appears.

“listen, baby—” a book hits him in his face—well almost does. it bounces off his…force field thingy…? if you’re honest every time he goes off on a tangent on his powers you just space out and nod along saying ‘so cool, toru’. he frowns like it’s an insane thing you tried to do that.

“what on earth is wrong with you, gojo!?” your voice is laced with shock, clenching your hands on the sheets, still a little shaken up from seeing his figure randomly appear in your room during your ‘decompressing time’ where you were supposed to be free of him.

“gojo? c’mon, you can’t be that mad?”

you ready your pillow in your hands, knowing it’ll still probably bounce right off if you throw it at him.

“what part of ‘fuck off.’ do you not get?” you’re raising your voice now and he looks physically hurt by it.

“well you said until i was ready to apologize,” he bends down, lying his arms on the bed infront of you while you jolt away. he frowns even more. “and i am, dear.” you kick his hands away when they try and trace his way up your shins.

he pouts like a child denied ice cream.

“i, satoru gojo,” he lies his head on the bed, still looking at you as he crones his head to the side. “apologize to my amazing, utterly gorgeous girlfriend, for embarrassing you infront of your boss.”

“you are such a child.” he sighs. you’re probably right—he got shitfaced infront of all your coworkers on wine coolers and disgustingly sweet alcohol, after insisting upon coming, and saying utter bullshit to your boss like a college kid. “and you just teleport here with your stupid powers? go to hell, satoru.” you throw the pillow, hitting him dead in the face after he deactivates his limitless.

you hate how cute he looks all pathetic like this, letting you throw stuff at him because he deserves this—he does—and just lying his face by your feet all pouty looking up at you. and you hate how his face actually makes you fold.

“you can sleep on my couch, tonight.” his head shoots up, dopey frog looking ass smile spreading across his face.

he ignores the rest of what you say unintentionally while he thinks about how so goddamn happy he is you don’t hate hate him.

he’s so fucking stupid.

not proofread ! btw this is not frog face gojo hate he looked his sexiest in shinjuku. and YES this is a reupload

[ytmkiz]

bitches broken heart. colonel caleb x non!mc reader

the colonel knows you have a crush.

in truth, he knows it runs far deeper than that.

he knows you are hopelessly, irretrievably in love with him.

you have never been subtle. not with the way your gaze lingers on him from across the corridor, nor when you answer his call with a swiftness that betrays your longing.

he notices everything.

just the sound of his voice is enough to make you drop whatever occupies your hands, even something as critical as mission logs, just to rush to someone starved for affection.

and though he would never say it aloud, the colonel pities you.

he pities you because, in some distant way, he sees a reflection of himself in you.

he notices it in the small, deliberate acts.

the way his coffee is always prepared exactly to his liking without him ever needing to ask. the way you quietly shoulder the more tedious responsibilities assigned to him by the higher ups, making his job—at least the most dulling parts—bearable by taking care of them yourself.

it mimics the way he’d do anything for her.

to be there for her in any way she needs him. willing to do anything for her even if it meant chipping away every part of himself.

but when it comes to you. he is none of that.

and he draws a line where he must.

especially in the times you offer him meals you've prepared, he’ll return them without hesitation, and his amethyst eyes will peer at you colder than necessary.

as if keeping you at arm's length could somehow protect you.

yet even then, you smile—soft, polite, unwavering. his rejection seems trivial compared to the simple miracle of his presence before you.

as if he is the only lifeline you have in this desolate hell.

and the torring chip in your brain was meant to regulate feelings like these, to suppress and erase attachments that might threaten efficiency. by all logic, your love for him should have been erased long ago.

yet still, you persist.

for him. for the ruthless colonel.

for caleb.

that, above all else, is why he pities you.

despite your best efforts, despite all you offer—your time, your patience, your care, your devotion—the simple truth remains: you are not her.

you will never be the reason he drags himself out of bed every morning.

you are not the warmth that draws him back from the cold, merciless edges of his own soul.

nor are you the light he orbits, the sun at the center of his universe.

you are not the reason he operates from the shadows, scrubbing the blood from his hands of men he's murdered who get too close to the truth—who dig too deeply into the whereabouts of the little girl he escaped with from the research facility all those years ago.

you are not his purpose, you could never be.

not while she's alive.

not while he watches from afar, able to hear her addictively sweet laugh through a listened call with a coworker, or view a picture from her moments page. one of her sitting across the same man he's despised since childhood. the man her grandmother had entrusted her with when she knew something was coming for them.

and even if it hurts, even if it kills him, her memory, her existence—even her love—has long since rooted itself into his soul in a way that could ever be displaced.

and there is no room left for yours.

he tells you this himself.

calls you into his office the very day you return from a mission centered around finding any abnormal metaflux energy and stabilizing it, though the details barely matter now.

for a fleeting second, when you step inside, he almost falters.

there it is again. that spark in your eyes, the glint that only surfaces when he calls you by name instead of reducing you to just another soldier.

the hope you cannot quite conceal flickers—brief, but unmistakably present.

and he knows, with chilling certainty, that he is about to shatter it.

he doesn't hesitate.

he shapes his words like a blade, sharp enough to wound before the pain even settles in.

still, he studies you as he speaks, cold amethyst eyes fixed on you as he watches the moment your composure cracks.

he notes the subtle widening of your eyes, the rigid set of your posture, the way your breath catches before you can steady it.

even the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes don't escape his notice, and while you try to blink them away, failing miserably, and something about it makes him sick.

sick with something perilously close to satisfaction.

"did you really think your feelings would ever be worth something to me?" his voice is cold, laced with enough venom to raise goosebumps along your skin. "that they would matter?"

the words land, and you remain frozen.

you can't tell if it is the shock of being exposed or the brutal way he said it that leaves you reeling.

he continues anyway.

"i could never love you."

as if to steady himself, his gaze drops and his fingers close around something small—a delicate charm he rolls between his thumb and finger.

your eyes betray you, flickering towards it before you can stop yourself.

an apple pendant.

the sight of it twists something nauseating deep inside you, and you wrench your gaze away, fixing it on the patterned floor beneath your feet.

anywhere but him.

you swallow, or at least try to, but the lump in your throat refuses to budge.

yet by some miracle, you force yourself to speak.

"very well, colonel." your voice wavers despite your effort to steady it. the strain is so obvious it's humiliating. "i understand. i'm sorry."

so much for composure, for even a shred of dignity left intact.

"you're dismissed."

when you finally look up, he's already turned away from you, and there is nothing left for you to do but obey.

you walk out in silence, each step heavier than the last, your heart splintering under the growing weight.

and one question lingers...

could you ever stitch your broken heart now?

the following day passes by, and when you fail to report for duty, he finds himself laughing under his breath.

so this is how you respond.

you chose the coward’s escape, vanishing rather than facing what was coming. after exposing your heart and having it tossed aside, you can't even look him in the eye.

how pathetic.

a week drifts by, and your absence grows more conspicuous with each passing day.

you're nowhere on the base—at least, nowhere within his line of sight. no fleeting glimpses from you in the corridors, not a hint of your quiet presence lingering just out of reach.

it feels as though you vanished from existence.

is something he would've assumed if it weren't for the tracker embedded into the arm of every soldier in the fleet, which includes you.

your signal still pulses steadily on his monitor, a persistent red dot glowing against the dim light of his office.

your records also remain untouched, meaning there was no indication of termination, and no reassignment was logged through official channels either. so by all accounts, you should have still been fulfilling your duties.

except you weren't, because you were avoiding him.

he drags a hand through his hair and lets out a slow, weary breath.

he can't blame you. he crossed a line, and anyone with sense would have fled from such cruelty.

could he have handled it differently? yes.

...does he regret it?

the question hangs in the air, lingering just a moment too long.

no. he doesn't.

as another week slips by and your absence grows from a mild nuisance to a sharp annoyance, he finally takes the action he should have taken days ago.

he stops one of the soldiers from your division in the hallway.

she's a tough one; he's knowledgeable about her role in cleaning up after the fleet's done their dirty work.

the moment he calls her surname, she straightens, her posture snapping to attention like a drawn blade.

"tell me," his voice is edged with ruthless command. "where is she?"

at the sound of your name, her eyes flicker with unease, a shadow crossing her face.

"why hasn't she reported for duty?" he says.

she hesitates, just long enough to give him a reason to press harder.

his violet eyes darken, now burning with something raw and barely contained.

"i'm not going to ask again. where is she?"

"she was transferred, sir," she answers, voice tight. "the higher ups thought she was a better fit for colonel alden's division. they reassigned to the ever subdivision."

as the weight of her words settles, he doesn't respond. doesn't need to.

by the time she dares to glance up again, the colonel is already walking away—leaving her to fix the crease in her uniform's collar.

he doesn't stop walking until the corridor is empty, but even then, he doesn't relent.

every one of his steps is measured, unchanged to anyone who might be watching, yet there's tension beneath the surface, something restless.

it refuses to settle.

you've been transferred.

the words hang in the air, stubborn and heavy, refusing to fade.

when had you been transferred?

there was no indication of it in your files. information that he, as the colonel, should've had access to.

it shouldn't matter. not to him, at least.

because it happens all the time. fleet soldiers are always assigned elsewhere, roles shifting when they're ranked, placed into different sectors of the base without ceremony.

and yet.

the ever subdivision out of all places?

now that was just callous.

his gloved hand curls slightly at his side before he forces it to still, taking calculated breaths, forcing a facade in hopes it might be enough to steady whatever has begun to slip.

he shouldn't even be upset. this is better.

because you're no longer his responsibility. you're no longer the fly that hovers at the edges of his space, annoying yet always there.

you're no longer filling the office with the sound of your voice, speaking of the chores you wished to carry out on a particular weekend, no longer looking at him like—

the thought slips away unfinished. he refuses to chase it, letting it vanish before it can take shape.

he pivots down the corridor toward the exit, already forcing his mind toward the endless meeting that awaits him, three hours of endurance ahead.

fine.

this is fine.

curfew had been mandated two days ago following the explosion in the cascade district, and as a result, caleb now sits alone at his desk, buried beneath scattered paperwork

written reports of the incident pile high. accounts of the incident that require careful revision before they can be released to the public. there are details he needs to censor, truths to distort. entire sections he needs erased.

he agrees to this, all in hopes to cover up as much as he can without bringing attention from the girl sleeping soundly in his home.

but exhaustion seeps in, blurring his thoughts and weighing down his every move.

it doesn't help that frustration and paranoia gnaw at him, sharpened by the higher ups' demand that he resolve this by sunrise.

defeated and barely thinking, he picks up and hurls the precious pendant across the room.

it slips from his grasp with more force than he meant, striking the window to his left with a sharp, jarring crack before vanishing from view.

the silence that follows presses in, thick and suffocating.

he drags a hand through his hair, fingers snagging as he exhales, trying to steady himself.

or at least he tries.

but his mind betrays him, wandering back to you.

that's been happening a lot lately.

because you would have made this so much easier. you would've done this, or at the very least, have been by his side, assisting without being asked.

you would have noticed the tension in his shoulders and the patience that wears thin. you would take one glance at him and would've known he was close to breaking.

and you would have brought him coffee, dark roast with two sugars and a splash of milk. just the way he likes it.

and you would have smiled, that naive, unwavering smile so full of trust it almost seemed foolish, wasted on someone who could never give it back.

stop.

he needs to shut it down before his thoughts spiral somewhere he refuses to follow.

he reminds himself how irrelevant you are, that whatever purpose you served is replaceable and easily forgotten.

because you were no one to him.

absolutely no one.

it's a lie.

one that comforts no one but himself.

that thought lingers for all of three seconds.

and within those three seconds, a recognizable laugh rings out beyond his office door, followed by a voice that stirs something visceral inside him.

"that heartless colonel has everything coming to him."

your words float, tinged by the slightest hint of amusement, and that alone makes something unnamed inside him waver.

there is no trace of bitterness, none of the delicate caution you once used when speaking of your colonel.

it's replaced with ease.

"...and frankly, i think i needed that wake up call," you continue, a slight chuckle escaping. "i would've stayed pathetic, lingering in the presence of someone who hated me."

that's the moment he finally sees you.

and you're not alone.

"haven't you heard? love makes you do stupid things."

you laugh again while the man at your side stands tall, his brown hair likely slightly disheveled by the wild wind outside. he carries himself with a composure that speaks of discipline forged by the fleet.

and as caleb’s gaze settles on him, a subtle detail draws his focus.

it's in the way this man's hazel eyes rest upon you.

they are unmistakably soft, unguarded in a way that can't be taught or feigned.

caleb recognizes that look at once. he's seen it before.

he's seen it in you when you looked at him.

he's seen it in himself when he looks at her.

and what unsettles him most of all is not the man, nor the closeness between you, but rather, the absence of something else.

whatever you once carried for him, whatever you formerly felt, has been replaced by something much lighter. something much more forgiving and safe and secure.

and the truth is simple. it's more final than anything he has ever admitted to himself:

that even if he spent the rest of his life atoning—for his words, for his actions, for the quiet cruelty he disguised as necessity—you would never look at him the same way again.

he knows now that whatever love you had carefully nurtured and held onto tightly for the him, only to have it thrown back into your face, had not purely faded—

it had been given to someone else.

he realizes then, that he was wrong.

because there is nothing left to pity in you.

your attention shifts, finally catching sight of the man you once loved with everything you had.

he stands there, a lot smaller than you remember.

he looks exhausted, and there are dark circles under his eyes. he mustn't have been getting enough sleep lately.

but it goes beyond that. his whole expression betrays him, the pinch of his brows, the tremble in his bottom lip.

you look away from him much sooner than you once would have. the old you would have rushed to his side, guiding him to his quarters and quietly taking on his burdens.

you keep on walking though, allowing for the company beside you ruffle your hair in that familiar, teasing way you have learned to tolerate, letting yourself to be swept along by his presence instead.

yet when your thoughts slip back to caleb, to the silent plea in his eyes, you realize something you could never bring yourself to say.

you truly pity the colonel.

⏾⋆.˚

a/n: "and what about mc?" she's snoring from all that cold medicine caleb gave her. poor girlie is out like a light 💔 and n!mc didn’t even get over caleb with the guy she’s walking with at the end. he’s just a rando #sorry #ihatehappyendings

[residentletdown]

that’s what u get for not knowing how fire our punani is caleb weep bitch weep 😹😹😹🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣

[wendydoodles]

Leon's comebacks are one hit kills.

[wendydoodles]

Leon's comebacks are one hit kills.

[sweethearticism]

──── 𝓢 OMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW ₎ა ˙˖

♡ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟎𝟏 ੭

⌗ 𝓖.𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝓞.𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

satoru has been your childhood sweetheart & fling for years. you're not getting any younger, but you're certainly getting tired. and yuta's gotten old enough to want to change that.

♡ ₊˚‧ cw. age gap ( reader & satoru are in their 30s and yuta's in his 20s ) :: first year teacher/former student!yuta :: scarjo :: post-shinjuku :: angst :: smut :: forced proximity :: friends with benefits :: so much yearning from everyone :: m.masturbation :: p in v :: dirty talk

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ always had a complicated relationship with you. too intimate to be friends and too ignorant to be lovers. he held your heart from that clumsy smile in first year. with his glasses wobbled over his nose and his hair a mess of leaves. looking up at you with eyes that everyone adored— yet they dazzled for you.

you wished you never smiled back at him that day.

maybe it would have saved you the pain in your heart and heels. from this endless will-they-won't-they-waltz. you were gojo satoru's. in his apartment, on his accounts, in his arms, his kisses, his body, and in waiting—

but never his. not in his heart. you didn't think so.

it was physical. the frustration of his kiss after a long day and the passion of his fingers that memorised over the years how to melt you. lay you out bear for him. raw in a way that had become second-nature. sex was the most vulnerable you'd seen him.

but never, ever, would he allow you to see the true fragility of his heart.

the relationship was made only worse after the shibuya incident. where a moment of weakness nearly cost him his life and he still wore the scars as reminders. still, you waited. endlessly, hopelessly, picking at the crumbs from his palms and hoping they'd caress you as something more than the infinity between friend and lover.

it didn't matter how scarred he was. nor how long he'd strung you along. you wanted him. and he always had you in a way that he never deserved.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ had always wanted you in the way that he shouldn't have.

from the moment you smiled at him, all warm and comforting during his first day of class. your tender hands that guided him through the art of his blade. how you softened your voice when speaking to him— like he was fragile and you valued vulnerability.

he wondered if it's because you too, were fragile.

he saw it now. the tiredness in your eyes. the weariness in your smile. things he never caught when he was student and your priority. you'd taken care of him in the same way that satoru did. nurtured the boy with a monstrous onslaught of cursed energy and taught him control, calmness, confidence— and here he was now. twenty three and a teacher for the first years at jujutsu tech. guiding students the way you'd guided him.

he'd always felt more than just the affection a student has to a teacher. 'a puppy crush', is what inumaki called it. he was embarrassed in his youth, naturally. you're— what? ten years older than him? the thought kept him awake with a pounding heart and red face staring at the ceiling on nights he'd focused a bit too much on how close you were to him earlier in the day.

nowadays, he doesn't really care about the age gap.

his feelings hadn't faded like his peers told him they would. if anything, they grew with every passing year. the closer he got to you, the more he got to work with you— and now he was able to teach beside you? see you in your element and how attentive you were to every aspect in your life?

no, if anything, okkotsu yuta thinks he's in love with you now.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ broke your heart on the weekly. the sex was good— more than good. he'd arrive at your doorstep in a storm, kiss you in a blur, feel his hands all over you like they were simply tethers and you were the only answer.

he'd have you under him. skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart. gripping, and groping, and grinding so deep that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you felt him in your very soul.

he'd play with your clit. stir your spine into a curve and keep it there with his cock fucking so deep that he rattled your heart. until your cunt squeezed him so tight and your voice called for him even more desperately—

he'd tear you apart. under his teeth, his tongue, his nails and cock. he'd pound you into the sticky sheets all night long, call you his filthy girl on your ear until you repeated it back in choked whines.

but he'd never call you his girl.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ saw the hickies on your neck when your collar would slip when you weren't looking. dark and red. all over your neck. like a mark— a claim— but they'd fade.

he'd see the dreamy look in your eyes when you'd sometimes leave a classroom, or satoru's office, or even a closet on a few occasions.

he felt the racing in your heart. the dreamy look in your eyes. the temporary smile on your lips. and he knew, of course he knew. even a person with one eye could see that you and satoru were something. more than friends, less than lovers, something that told others to back off.

but what yuta also saw amidst all the haze?

the void in your heart.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ took care of you in ways you never noticed. your coffee was always on your desk, a habit he'd started in fourth year. documents were always neatly in your office. you never walked home late or took the night train alone. he'd nudged his shoulder closer when you'd fallen asleep beside him on the ride back home. helped you to your apartment and made sure you locked the door after.

your apartment was an address he'd memorised. popping by with takeout and treats at the end of the week. leaving before you could question it too much.

if there was a mission on the roster that was particularly daunting, yuta would make sure he was there to assign to it first. he knew of your habit of trying to lessen the load on satoru's shoulders. and while he found it admirable— you were a person too.

he carried an extra water bottle. made sure you took your lunch breaks. helped with your students. he took care of you not because he wanted you to see him as anything more, but to simply repay you for the way you'd taken care of him in his younger years. he did it because he cared. not because he was waiting.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't take care of you in the way you wanted. he couldn't be the one waiting for you after school or on your train platform. couldn't show up to your apartment with emergency packages because missions were always more important.

not more important than you. never more important than you. but definitely more important that vulnerability, which directly involved you.

he couldn't be the shoulder you leaned on. he was just the body you were supposed to take your frustration out on. not the hand that held yours, but the one that held yours down as you both burst in that wrecking, temporary passion.

temporary, limited, fleeting. but in those moments— you were his.

he gave you what he could, because he cared. of course he did. but he couldn't commit. so instead he'd keep you waiting.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ felt a little at ease when you were both assigned to the latest mission. but that faded the second he noticed how tense you were. it was easy to do so; or maybe he'd just grown accustomed to your tells. he knew when you were happy, sad, tired, stressed—

right now, the way you sat in the backseat of the assistant manager's car beside him. arms folded and leaning on the door, staring out of the window as your thoughts were faster than the cars zipping by.

you seemed upset. drained. yuta wondered if it was because of another argument with him again.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ didn't really have the time to ask you if were alright. you were thrust head-first into the mission. sorcerers never really delved in the matters of curse users, but it seemed today was one of those special occasions.

these kinds of missions often called for stakeouts. controlled cursed energy and reduced residuals. a steeled mind and a steady heart.

and right now, it was taking all the endless, thousands of hours he'd spent training to keep his heart from thumping straight out of his chest when he had you with your back to his chest, pressed into every inch of him and your shampoo in his nose.

stakeouts. right.

the supply closet was more than just cramped, it was a test of his resolve. here you were, the woman he'd had heart eyes for since the first day he showed up all dull-eyed and bushy-tailed, now pressed against him in every meaning of the word. his knees against your thighs. your shoulders on his chest. his spine hunched to accommodate with the tiny closet but in turn flushing him further up into you.

he didn't know where to put his hands. so they were flat on the wall in front of you. which— wouldn't you know? trapped you even further against him.

his breath was thin. eyes unblinking. every internal thought praying to whatever was listening for him to think about something. anything. but the softness of you up against him. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your breath, your thighs, your ass—

stop.

stop. stop. stop it.

think about flowers.

your hair smelled like flowers. . .

NO. think of something else. think of curses. scary things. disgusting things.

his mind was certainly thinking disgusting things. thinking how he wanted to press you into the wall and kiss you like a curse. until your soul left your body and he could swallow it. hold you, caress you, have you.

fuck.

his eyes squeezed shut. he sucked in a breath. he could do this. he'd worked so hard on his nerves. he could put on a mask. focus on the mission.

that was until, he heard your heart racing.

wait.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ wanted to take a peek at your thoughts. just for a moment. he'd trade anything in the world for just a second. just to know why your body was so stiff, why your breath was shallow, why your heart— was pounding.

little did he know how you stared at the wall. unblinking too. little did he see how your palms sweated as they too were pressed on the wall, between his.

his hands had gotten bigger, you'd noticed. hell, yuta had gotten bigger. when did he get so tall? tall enough that he had to crook in the supply closet and somehow he still loomed over you?

you tried to steady yourself. tried to think. think of anything else but the heat spreading on your face and the way your feet pressed closer. why. . . why were you feeling like this?

were you flustered?

not a cold day in hell. you'd never be flustered. not over your former student. not over yuta okkotsu, the boy you'd taught how to use a sword. who looked up at you with those big puppy eyes and followed you around like one too back then

no. absolutely not.

"you remember the plan, right?" he murmured to your ear.

fuck. when. when did his voice get so raspy?

it was low, emphasising the rasp that stuttered your heart. muttering to your ear as to not give away your hiding spot. he spoke about the plan of action. refreshed you on what his stance would be. what yours would. everything vital for the mission to go smoothly.

but all you could think of was. . .

when did yuta grow into such an attractive man when you weren't looking?

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ had his mind racing by the time you both returned to the hotel. he entered his suite, shut the door, pressed his back to it and drew a shaky breath. fuck. was he thinking things? did he hear wrong? was it just the fantasies?

he's always been so acutely aware when it came to you. so he knew without a doubt: your heart was racing.

not only that, but you weren't listening. he swore he saw the tremble in your knees. heard the hitch in your breath. you were flustered— and that thought excited him, as it wedged into his own stuttering heart and bloomed possibilities.

were you attracted to him?

could he actually have you?

he wanted to be a good guy and say that he shook the thought off. chastised himself. but yuta was hardly the boy that he once was. still sweet— but with an edge. so tossed off his jacket. sat on the bed. nurtured the thought like a flame dancing in his palms. dangerous, scandalous, and everything in between.

long legs kicked onto the bed. his dark hair that had grown out a bit since his teen years splayed over the pillows as he stared at the ceiling. recalling your softness that pressed into every inch of him. the weight of your back on his chest, your hands trembling between his, your perfume enveloping him.

fuck. you were so close. so right. it took everything within him not to bury his nose into your neck and inhale your sweet scent. drag his lips on your pulse. seize your waist.

wait.

wait wait.

stop it.

he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as that familiar, uncomfortable strain tightened his pants. no— he wasn't gonna do it. he wasn't. he wasn't about to touch himself to the thought of you when you were on the other side of the wall.

it's a miracle his dick even behaved in the first place when it was wedged up against your back like that. your ass— shit.

he needed some relief. just a little. lest he drive his cursed energy into a spiral and have you knocking on his door to check on him cause you sensed it. he didn't think he'd be able to hold back at all then.

so he reached down. slowly. stroked his thumb along the bulge in his dark pants and hissed a soft breath. slow. gotta go slow.

the callouses from his swords-wielding dragged over the curve of his erection. pushing his thumb to his already leaking tip through the fabric. rubbed slow and steady. shattering his sanity bit by bit. as he gulped down moans and whispered whines.

dark, hazy eyes fluttered. blinking up at the ceiling as he tried to imagine your face. tried to pretend it was your soft hand wrapped around his dick. your thumb swiping on his dripping slit and jerking him off so messily.

no— you wouldn't be messy. nothing about you was clumsy. not like him. not like the way he fucked his fist and chewed his lip so hard it broke skin. not like the way he grunted, and panted and whined your name from the back of his throat.

no. you were perfect. so so perfect. it's why he was able to spurt all over his hand without so much as a few minutes. his mind spinning, breaths ragged and his eyes hazy hearts. for you. only you.

he needed to have you. in any way he could. and now that you'd given him an in? he finally had hope.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ decided he was going to start small. whether you made the move or not, he wanted to show you that there were other options. safer ones. warmer ones. that didn't involve you getting your heart shattered every friday.

it started with being there for you more. being there in the morning when you clocked in for work to give you the coffee himself. bringing you lunch. walking you home and making sure he finished missions as early as possible so that he could.

he'd carry your bag for you. fill out extra paperwork so you wouldn't have much to do. offer to grade any outstanding papers from your classes for you.

yes, every action was more charged now. every time he saw you relax there was a brighter flicker of hope within him. but this was more than just trying to show you a better option— no. it was intimacy.

intimacy in the form of taking care of you. showing you his love in small, meaningful acts. showing you he was there. that he cared. because love was earned. much like trust. and he was willing to do whatever it took to show you that he could be trusted.

that he could take care of you.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ got a little bolder. just slightly. not pushing— never pushing. but persistence. he locked eyes with you whenever he could. held the state until you looked away or he absolutely had to. let you know that he was seeing you. that he always saw you.

his hand would brush yours as he handed you your coffee. shoulders nudging, fingers feathering. in all the ways that were natural but there. enough to notice. enough to get a reaction out of you.

he listened close. always. listened for your heart. looked at your eyes. for signs of discomfort. for something that told him to stop. but there was none.

did you feel it too?

the spark when his hand cupped your shoulder to guide you into your apartment? when his arms wrapped around you to give you a hug every morning? when your knees leaned on one another on the train ride back home?

he saw it. you were beginning to realise. beginning to entertain that flame that danced between the both of you. tempting. alluring.

but why— why, why. why.

were you denying yourself?

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ found himself frustrated when he was alongside satoru and his mentor let something slip.

he's always looked up to him. appreciated him. cared for him. nothing would change that. hell, satoru was the one who saved his life. gave him a home. satoru was the reason he met you in the first place.

but that didn't change the fact that he was still the reason you shed tears.

it was silly, really. fleeting. satoru probably didn't even realise that he had said it with how absentminded it was as he walked down the hallways alongside yuta.

"you know how woman can be. hard to please."

hard. to please?

it was a pleasure to please you.

"you know, sensei," he couldn't even begin to stop himself. his voice lower than intended. eyes deader than he realised as he glanced over at satoru who spared him a small look. probably surprised at the tone.

but that hardly stopped yuta, as he spoke flatly. too bluntly.

"you really should appreciate the things that are right in front of you more."

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ had always appreciated it. he would never not appreciate you, the girl from his childhood who chased him down when he stole her dango and offered her shoulder for him to bawl into whenever the world became too much.

satoru had always wanted you. in a way that was dangerous for the person he was raised to be. it was selfish.

which was exactly why he couldn't.

there were too many risks. too many possibilities. too many things standing in the way of him, you, and the life he'd always wanted to give you. something other than the sorcerer world and endless missions and never a concrete forever.

vulnerability was weakness. and even if he could get over that; he never would be able to give you everything that you deserved.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ knows it was even more selfish to keep you around even when you deserved so much more than him. deserved to move on and find something that wasn't his scarred body or his weapon soul.

he loved the sex. loved the velvet of your skin against his. the sin of your lips on his. your body, everything about it— but he wanted more. craved it in the fantasies that he laid awake thinking about when you occupied the place that sleep should.

right now though, sex was the only way that he thought he could have you in. in the raw physicality of it all. outside of feelings, and heart, and soul. outside of the risks, the complications. when you were under him. nails scratching on his back and voice calling for him so sweetly, so sinfully, like he was just satoru rather than gojo satoru.

just his. in that temporary, aching way.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated leaving you the morning after. when you were your most beautiful. covered in his scent, his marks, his love. yes. the love he denied time and time again even when it'd branded itself in his heart.

you were beautiful when you slept. curled in the sheets and hugging around a pillow he'd substituted himself for. he couldn't bear it. to have you reach out for him while he'd love and leave you all over again.

but he was afraid.

so maybe, keeping you at arms' length was the better option. selfish, yes. but chaining you to a broken and dutiful being like him felt even more selfish.

˖ ࣪꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated the fights, but he always got so overwhelmed. he never learnt how to regulate those emotions. not when you're raised in a clan and given everything you want— and the times that you aren't resulted in painful punishments if you asked too much.

he always said the wrong thing. always wound himself up. let all the thoughts bunch in his head and boil over until he was spitting fire at you.

he remembered everything single fight. everything single thing he'd said to you. every time you tried to pretend you weren't crying and all the times you couldn't.

he'd remember this fight, too. as you stood in the centre of his living room. your face twisted as much as his. your hands gestured while his balled. when you both clashed it was ugly. like metal scraping on metal and trying to shatter the other.

he'll remember what he told you. when it all got too much and everything zeroed it. when he told you to get the hell out of his house, and snapped a piercing blue glare over his shoulder at you.

"you're just an overgrown friend."

cutting— stabbing. aimed to carve out any fight in your heart and poison it with the lie that he thought you were a bother. that he'd outgrown you. that you were just a leach of the past.

he'll remember how you stormed out of his apartment.

he'll remember your tears on his carpet.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ nearly dropped the files in his arms when he'd answered the call to your sniffling.

"are you— are you okay? hey, hey, shhh." he hushed over the line, brows pinching and mouth frowning. how he hated hearing you cry.

"I'll be there, okay? just wait for me, deep breaths." it took everything within him to bite back an endearment at the end and hang up.

he was there in twenty minutes. with your favourite takeout in one hand and dessert in the other. but when you answered the door, with glossy eyes and a blotched face— he nearly dropped both in favour of bundling you up into his arms.

once yuta got his arms around you, he wasn't sure he was ever letting go again. not with how you curled into him and you both sat on the couch. as you clung to his jacket and trembled. how you sobbed into his shoulder as if you'd choke up your heart.

he held you. close. protective. one large hand to the back of your head while his other arm wrapped around you. tucking you under his chin and hiding you away. shielding you from the world that dared to hurt you.

"it's okay, I'm here. I promise I'm here." he murmured to your ear. as he listened to your hiccups and chokes. as you spilled everything that happened between you and satoru.

he was so glad that you were too shaken to notice how his cursed energy crackled.

but he sucked in a breath. shut his eyes. counted to five. calmed down because he didn't need that right now. not when you needed him.

he held you until you were calm. cuddled you until your tears were dry. listened to whatever you wanted to say.

he was there for you. in every definition of the word.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't impressed when your phone lit up on the coffee table beside the couch with satoru's name on the screen. what did he want? after making you cry your eyes out like this he shouldn't even be breathing your name, let alone trying to talk to you.

what frustrated him even more was how you shifted. like it was automatic. like it was fucking natural to just let the guy who hurt you over and over back in yet again. he felt your arm move, knew you were reaching to answer.

his grip tightened. "you don't have to answer that, you know." he spoke, soft. soft enough to mark the twinge of irritation. "you deserve to be upset too."

you sniffed. rubbed your eyes and nodded your head before you leaned back on his shoulder. clinging to him. close to him. in a way that was hardly appropriate but none of you cared to admit in the moment.

the ringing stopped. his grip loosened. yuta nuzzled his head into yours and enjoyed the silence, even if your broken heart spilled in it. he simply held you. loved you.

and then the blasted phone rang again.

and then you hesitated again.

and then you reached out. fucking. again.

"what if it's something important," you murmured. he hated how naturally you could make excuses.

"well then he'll show up," yuta tried to offer. tried to steer you away as you shifted in his arms. reaching for satoru, slipping from yuta's fingers. as you always did.

"you really shouldn't answer—"

"just let me hear him out."

it should have ended there. he should have let you. should have just shut up and listened as satoru apologised over the line and you forgave his every sin because you never realised how much more you deserved.

yuta couldn't take it. not anymore. so as your fingers slipped around the phone— his shot out.

his arm around you had snapped over. easily outdoing yours as your hand was dwarfed by his. snatching the phone and gripping tighter. steeling it from your hold.

he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. not again. not even when you snapped your stare over to him and jerked to face him. that same strict look from when you trained him striking in your stare.

defensive, weren't you? for what— satoru?

"who do you think you—"

but you hadn't realised. that as you jerked to face him you abruptly shoved closer. too close. too close for someone who was about to scold him as if you were still his teacher when you flushed up against him in a way that was anything but.

your breath hitched. he heard it. just like he heard your heart stutter. again.

for him.

yuta didn't flinch. even as your face brushed dangerously close. as your glare quivered. as your chest flushed into him.

his brows narrowed. eyes darkened. not with anger, not with frustration, but something more deadly:

love.

"why do you insist on hurting yourself over and over again? you deserve something good." he spoke, even. calm. like a man who meant every word and how to give it to you.

you hesitated.

you did that a lot with him.

why? because you felt it too? because you knew it in your heart that only ever said satoru's name?

you cleared your throat. not flinching away but not pressing closer. even as his fingers curled around your shirt and his arms steeled you into him.

even as he stared into your eyes with his half-lidded ones, as if he was trying to crawl into your very soul and hold it as his own.

even as your breaths mingled. your hearts slipping into the little space between you both.

skipping.

yearning.

"and how—" you steadied yourself. pressed your lips together. bracing that pesky resolve—

"how would you know what I deserve?"

"because I want to give it to you."

— as his shattered all together.

and his lips crashed onto yours.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ kissed you.

he kissed you.

hand bunching the back of your hair and the other clinging to your waist. his mouth molding on yours and your breath stolen in his lungs.

like a collision of stars. hot, burning, and oh so messy.

he kissed you with everything that he had. everything that he was, everything that he wasn't, everything that he wanted to be for you.

because you deserved more than being forgotten.

deserved something good.

something new.

yuta hadn't kissed many people in his life. it showed in the way his knuckles cramped. you noticed it in the clumsiness of his kiss that doubled down as roughness. in the way he hardly let you breathe before he pulled you back in. like he was trying to gulp down your very soul.

his lips were soft. his kiss was scathing. he pulled away to hear you gasp on his mouth only to drag you back in.

you should push him away. push him away and tell him to leave. push him away. push him away.

instead, you melted.

into something ruinous, something raw, something ravenous for love from the depths of your very soul. and you— kissed him back.

like he wasn't your former student. like he wasn't ten years younger than you. like he wasn't the relative of the reason tears were dried on your cheeks.

your fingers curled around his jacket. gasping for air as he parted. trying to call his name— to grasp reality— to stop yourself.

"don't," he rasped. fingers coiling tighter. eyes whispering the abyss yet alluring you all the same.

"just let me have this. just once. just let me love you, please."

and then he kissed you again. hotter. rougher. an inexperienced mouth, and yet it sought to worship you. tongues tangling and teeth knocking. as his blunt nails dug into you and flushed you into him.

old against new. inexperience against experienced. scared against sure.

skin-to-skin. heart-to-heart.

you whimpered. broken, ashamed, raw and — wanting. god. what were you doing?

it ended softer than it began. his kiss melted off of your lips. left your heart hammering and soul shaking.

dark lashes fluttered. pupils dilated. his lips just as swollen as yours.

yuta whispered something against your mouth.

three words.

sinful. scary.

oh, so, sure.

and you shattered.

˖ ࣪꒰ YUTA OKKOTSU ꒱ ˙˖ looked confused when you told him to leave. when you shoved at his chest and pulled away from him. curled into the corner of the couch as you ripped yourself from his embrace.

did he have the wrong impression? did he hurt you? force you?

no.

no, you kissed him back.

and that was the problem.

"you—" you choked, tucking your head away. like you couldn't bear to look at him. "you should leave. please leave."

he listened.

because he respected you too much to oppose. loved you even more to disobey you.

"okay," he spoke, soft. steady. as if you both hadn't crossed a line. well over danger and knee-deep in scandal.

as if his mouth wasn't on yours.

as if it didn't feel so right.

"okay, I'll leave," he assured. tender as he put space between you both. eyes selfishly lingering on you even as you quivered. holding yourself back from the reality that you both already knew.

he stepped away. easy. too easy. heading for the door and giving you your space. because loving you meant listening to you.

but not before he called from the door.

"just don't regret it, okay?"

not scared, or sinister, or even smug.

serene.

sensual.

"don't ever regret wanting something new."

he left. with his kiss still a ghost on your lips. and his words a phantom that would haunt your very being.

a curse. a caress.

I love you.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine & @/pixopix . art cred: @/相田 (twt) & @/udaysharmaarts (ig)

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[kcokaine]

big yuji

[sapph22]

Business proposal

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.

Pairings : Yandere JJK men x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna,Toji, Nanami

A/n: MDNI, 18+, I've decided not to include Geto Suguru😔. I'm sorry cuties

Part 1 - part 2 part 3

Your mother has this particular way of smiling when she's about to ruin your life. It's not malicious per se. She loves you, in her own way. She also happens to see you as an asset that's been sitting on the shelf too long, depreciating while your cousins pop out heirs after heirs

“We’ve found some potential matches for you,” your mother said over breakfast on a random fucking Tuesday “Your father and I think it’s time you settled down.”

The coffee you were drinking nearly comes out your nose, which would’ve been unfortunate because you were wearing white and also because aspirating liquids hurts like a bitch.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Your mother didn't even blink. She’d perfected selective hearing around the same time you’d discovered the word ‘fuck’ could be used as a noun, verb, adjective, and general life philosophy.

“Four young men from very good families…”

"We're not in the Bridgeton, mother. Arranged marriages aren't…”

"Business marriages," your mother corrected, sipping her tea "The Kang family did it last year. Their daughter is very happy in Singapore now."

"The Kang daughter cries on Instagram Live every other Tuesday." You stared at her

"She has a Birkin collection. Tears dry, sweetheart. Leather lasts." She stareed back

“Mother, I can’t…”

Your father finally lowered his newspaper “Then we’ll need to reconsider your position at the company. And your living arrangements.”

Ah. There it was. The threat wrapped up in a neat little bow .

Agree to this circus, or lose your cushy job (where you mostly online shopped). And your apartment (paid for by your parents)

You wanted to tell them to shove their arranged meetings up their….

But you also really, really likedhaving money. And not having to eat instant ramen for every meal. And your bathtub. You’ve gotten very attached to that bathtub.

So you smiled “Of course. When do I start?”

Your mother’s face lit up “Wonderful! We’ll have the files sent over.”

Files.

They had FILES on these men.

Nothing says true love quite like a background check and a financial statement.

—

Four names: Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento

Four strangers

Fuck that.

If they wanted you to do this, fine. But nobody said you had to make it easy. They’d be begging their mothers to call the whole thing off by week’s end.

And that’s where your brilliant, genius, absolutely foolproof plan came in.

(It's going to blow up in your face spectacularly, but you don't know that yet.)

The files arrived the next morning. You spread the folders across your kitchen counter like you were planning a heist instead of four dates.

Dates. Meetings. Whatever.

—

Folder 1

FUSHIGURO TOJI, 28

His photo looked like a mugshot.

Okay, it wasn’t actually a mugshot, byt he had that vibe.Scar on his lip. Expression that said “I’d rather be literally anywhere else and also fuck you.”

Technically the heir to a massive Zenin equity firm.

Technically. Because apparently Toji was the family disappointment. Estranged from his relatives, only showed up when he needed money. Multiple failed business ventures. A reputation for being a fuck up who lived off his family name while giving them middle fingers in return.

Ah. A broke rich boy.

His social media accounts existed but were barely used. Most photos were him tagged by other people at bars, looking annoyed. One photo of him at what looked like an underground fight club.

Wait.

You zoomed in.

Was that blood on his shirt?

Jesus Christ.

Day 1 - Toji Fushiguro Tuesday, Hotel Bar, Shinjuku

Operation: Bimbo infiltration

Strategy: “Think born yesterday”

Toji shows up at the restaurant looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Hes only here because his family threatened to cut off his credit cards.

He doesnt give a shit about marriage or alliances or any of this corporate dynasty bullshit. He likes money. That’s it.

He's not even trying to hide it… slouched in his chair, jacket thrown carelessly over the back, phone out on the table. He barely looks up when you approach.

Perfect. This should be easy.

“Ohmygod, hi!” You chirp “You must be Toji”

And then you trip over absolutely nothing on your way to the table, catching yourself on the edge with a little yelp.

"Oops!!! I’m such a dum dum,” you giggle, batting your eyelashes.

He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Fine, fine” You wave your hand and somehow knock over the water glass in the process. Ice and water spill across the table, dripping onto his lap.

"Fuck… "

"Oh my god, I'm SO sorry” You grab a napkin and start dabbing at his pants, which puts you in very close proximity to his crotch. "I'm such a mess, I can't believe I did that….”

He grabs your wrist, stopping you. "It's fine. Just… sit down."

You sit, face arranged into earnest distress.

"I'm really sorry. I'm just so nervous. These meetings make me all jittery and I get butterfingers and then I do stupid stuff and…” You take a breath. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. Ramble, I mean. Just talk and talk and….”

"Got it.” He cuts you off “You're nervous." He takes a long sigh then and looong sip of his drink.

"Super nervous. You're really intimidating, you know?” You laugh, too loud. "But I'm sure you're really nice underneath, right? Like a, um, a cinnamon roll. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside?"

He stares at you.

“Or not.. That's okay too. Not everyone's a cinnamon roll. Some people are just, um, bread. Regular bread. Which is also good!!! Bread is great."

"Are you done?” He finally snaps

"No. I mean yes. Im sorry." You bury your face in your hands. "I'm so bad at this. I don't know why my parents thought I could do this, I can barely order coffee without messing it up… "

The waiter appears. You manage to mispronounce three items on the menu before Toji takes over and orders for both of you.

"Thanks," you smile brightly "I'm not good at fancy words. All those French names, you know?"

"It's Italian."

"Ohh, silly me” You laugh again.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose.

The hour continues like this. You ramble…. while Toji's expression shifts gradually from bored to annoyed to something approaching existential despair.

By the time you finally stand to leave (knocking your purse off the bar in the process), he looks like he's genuinely considering faking his own death to avoid a second meeting.

"This was so fun" you smile brightly, gathering your scattered belongings. "We should totally do it again.

He grunts and it might be the sound of his soul leaving his body.

One down

Folder 2

Nanami Kento, 26

Oh.

He looked… normal? Everything about him screamed “responsible adult.”

Investment banker. Impeccable reputation… and they really emphasized IMPECCABLE in the file.

No scandals. No messy breakups. No public relationships at all.

Every article described him as “the perfect gentleman” with 3 P’s … Punctual. Professional. Polite.

He was too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

Day 2 - Nanami Kento Wednesday, French Restaurant, Roppongi

Operation : Make the Gentleman Squirm

You're five minutes late on purpose.

Nanami is already seated, of course… in his perfectly tailored suit, checking his watch with a small furrow between his brows.

"Mr Nanami, I apologize for the delay," you say sweetly, sliding into your seat.

"It's fine." His tone suggests it is very much not fine. "Traffic, I assume."

"Something like that." You lean forward on your elbows, knowing exactly what that does to your cleavage. “You're even more handsome in person."

Those hazel eyes meet yours, then quickly… very quickly… drop to the menu. “Thank you."

"I mean it." You let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. "That suit fits you really well. Custom, right? Must do wonders for your shoulders."

A faint flush creeps up his neck.

Gotcha.

"I... yes. It's custom."

"I bet you work out." You tilt your head. "You look like you work out. What's your routine? No, wait… let me guess. You're a morning gym guy. Up at five type ."

"Five thirty, actually."

"Close enough." You grin "I'm more of a 'stay in bed until the last possible second' type myself. We're practically opposites.”

He clears his throat. "Perhaps we could order?"

You order something light… you're not really hungry… and spend the entire time making unnecessary eye contact with Nanami.

"I read that you've never had a serious relationship. Is that true?" You ask

He stiffens. "I've been... focused on my career."

"Mmm." You lean closer. "So you're not really experienced then. With women." You trace the rim of your wine glass with one finger.

His eyes follow your finger. Then snap back to your face. “I wouldn't say….”

"It's okay." You reach across the table and pat his hand. Let your fingers brush. "I can work with that. I have lots of experience."

His hand jerks back like "That's... very forward of you."

"Is it?" You bat your eyelashes.

The flush has spread to his ears now.

You spend the rest of the date making increasingly suggestive comments.

The food arrives. You eat slowly, making a show of enjoying every bite. At one point you let out a small sound… and watch Nanami's knuckles go white around his fork.

He sets his fork down. Picks up his water. Takes a very long sip.

By the time the check arrives… he pays, of course, because he's ‘polite’… Nanami Kento looks like he's been through a war.

"Call me." You wink. “ I had fun.”

You left him standing there, looking like he needed a cold shower and possibly a priest.

Two down.

Folder 3

Ryomen Sukuna, 29

His photo was… intimidating.

Tattoos visible even in what was clearly a professional headshot… which, props to whoever convinced him to sit for that. Expression that suggested he was mentally planning your murder.

CEO of a luxury hotel chain with international reach.

Also: multiple arrests.

Three assault charges, all dropped. One arson investigation, dismissed. Suspected ties to organized crime, never proven. The Itadori family's lawyers are apparently worth every yen, because this man should be in prison, not on a dating profile.

You switched to social media. His accounts were private, but fan accounts existed. FAN ACCOUNTS. For a CEO with anger issues??

Rich and dangerous. Probably bored of women throwing themselves at him.

Day 3 - Sukuna Ryomen Thursday, Private Members' Club

Operation: Gold Digger

You walk in wearing every piece of designer clothing you own. Dress with the Dior label clearly visible.

Sukuna makes no move to stand or pull out your chair when you arrive.

“Hi!” You slide into the seat across from him, dropping your designer bag on the table with a heavy thunk. “ Sorry I'm late”

He nods once… crimson eyes dragging over your outfit with absolutely zero expression.

Not impressed. Not disgusted. Just… nothing.

“This place is so fancy. Is it expensive? It looks expensive." You lean forward, smiling brightly.

“Yes.” his expression doesn't change

Okay. Man of few words. You can work with this.

Silence.

The kind of silence that would make most people uncomfortable.

You push through it.

"So," you continue, "I looked you up. Your family is like, really rich, right? What's that like?"

His eyebrow raises slowly. Like he couldn’t believe you’d just asked that. “Is that relevant?"

"Well, yeah." You laugh "I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it? To see if we're a good match? And I think lifestyle compatibility is super important."

Something that might have been disbelief crosses his face.

You flag down a waiter and order the most expensive thing on the menu.

"I love nice things," you explain. "and I can always tell quality when I see it. You can't really put a price on quality, you know? This dress, for example…” You point at the dress “….twenty eight thousand yen. Pre season Dior. I have a personal shopper who gets me things before they hit the regular collections.”

The waiter returns with the champagne. You make him pour you a glass and immediately hold it up to the light, examining it critically.

"This is the '98, right? Not the '02? Because I can tell the difference."

You absolutely cannot tell the difference. You bought your last bottle of wine from a convenience store.

"You're quite….. direct," he says finally…. watching you with an expression that's impossible to read. Disgust? Annoyance? Homicidal intent? All three?

Three words this time! Progress.

"I just believe in honesty." You take a sip of champagne. "I know what I bring to a relationship, and I know what I expect in return. Fair trade, right?"

"And what do you bring?" Sukuna asks, and you can't tell if hes genuinely curious or just morbidly fascinated by your audacity.

You gesture to yourself again, "Isn't it obvious?"

Sukuna picks up his wine glass and drinks half of it in one go. He spoke maybe twenty words total throughout the entire meal.

By the end, he looked ready to flip the table.

"This was fun," you say brightly as you leave. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe somewhere with better champagne?"

He just stares at you like you're an alien species.

“I’ll wait for your message” You give him a little wave. “Ciao!”

Three down

Folder 4

Gojo Satoru, 27

“Oh fuck off” The photo alone made you want to throw your wine at the wall. Gorgeous didn’t even cover it. He looked like someone had designed him specifically to make women stupid.

You kept reading, already annoyed.

Heir to Gojo Enterprises. Worth billions with a B.

There were photos. So many photos.

Gojo at charity galas with models. Gojo at clubs with actresses. Gojo at a beach in Monaco with someone who was definitely an Instagram influencer.…. always with beautiful women who looked like they’d never eaten carbs.

Rich, bored, and fucking everything that moves.

You grabbed your laptop and did what any sane person would do… went full stalker mode on social media.

His Instagram was a goldmine of red flags. The comments were even better.

“Marry me”

“I volunteer as tribute”

“He can ruin my life”

Jesus Christ.

This man has probably seen more lingerie than a Victoria's Secret buyer.

A manwhore with a trust fund

Day 4 - Gojo Satoru Friday, the Peninsula Hotel

Youre going to vomit.

Not from nerves… well, maybe partly from nerves, but mainly because you’ve stress eaten an entire sleeve of crackers in the Uber.

Also, your shapewear was cutting off circulation to your legs.

Why did you wear shapewear under a modest funeral dress? What were you even shaping? The outfit is practically a potato sack.

Too late now.

You're dressed like you're going to a funeral. Or church. Or a funeral at a church. Currently clutching a small cross pendant you borrowed from your grandmother's jewellery box.

You push open the door… which is heavier than it looks and you nearly face plant, great start… and immediately spot him.

Gojo Satoru is impossible to miss. Jesus fucking Christ, those eyes.

He's scrolling on his phone, completely at ease, probably sexting three different women right now.

He looks up when you walk in and smiles

Oh no.

"You must be my future wife," he says, and his voice is warm honey poured over gravel. "I have to say, the photos didn't do you justice."

Don't react. Don't react. You're a good Christian woman who doesn't react to sinful men.

You arrange your face into something you hope reads as "scandalized."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," you say, voice soft and earnest like you're greeting a pastor.

“Of course.” He pulls out your chair… gentleman points, you suppose… and gestures. “Please.”

You sit, immediately folding your hands in your lap like you were at a prayer meeting.

He settles back into his chair, still smiling. That smile hasn’t faltered once. Is it surgically attached to his face?

“Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Just water, please.” You smile sweetly.

The waiter brings water. You thank him quietly, taking small, delicate sips like you were in a Victorian novel.

Gojo leans back, completely comfortable. “So, I have to admit… I was curious when my parents mentioned this meeting.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” That smile somehow got wider. “They said you were… different from the usual arrangements.”

Different. That could mean anything.

“Different how?” you ask, tilting your head innocently.

“Just different.” His eyes are doing that sparkly thing. Is he always this sparkly? Its unsettling. “But I’m already intrigued.”

Oh, he was intrigued now.

Just wait.

“That’s very kind of you,” you say, voice still sweet and soft. “I should probably mention something upfront, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Mr Gojo” You fold your hands more carefully, sitting up straighter

"Satoru, please." He sits back down, legs crossed, "Mr Gojo is my father. And he's an asshole, so."

You don't laugh. "I believe in traditional values."

"Oh?" his smile flickers

You pull out your phone and show him your lockscreen… a stock photo of a church you found on Google last night. "I actually volunteer with my local congregation here. We do purity workshops for young women."

"Purity... workshops?"

"Mmhm. Teaching them to save themselves for their future husbands." You tilt your head. "Do you go to church, Mr Gojo?"

“No.”

Just flat out “no.” Not even trying to soften it.

“Oh.” You bit your lip, looking concerned. “That’s… we might need to work on that. I could help you.”

“And I should mention” you add, voice dropping to a more serious tone “ We should have a chaperone for our dates until we’re engaged.”

“A chaperone? Why?”

“Just to avoid temptation!!!! Once we’re engaged we can spend more supervised time together.”

Gojo drained his entire coffee in one long gulp.

The server came by to check on you. Gojo looked at them like they were a life raft. “Actually, could I get another coffee? Double shot.”

Every time Gojo tries to steer the conversation toward something normal…hobbies, work, interests…. you bring it back to your values.

By the time youre finished, Gojo looks like he’s aged five years.

“I’ll be praying about this,” you add brightly. “About whether God is calling us together. I’ll let you know what He reveals to me.”

“Right. God. Sure.”

“Have a blessed evening” You give him your sweetest smile and leave him standing there, probably questioning every decision that has led to this moment.

All down

—

Now you just had to wait for them to reject you.

The week that follows is blissfully silent. No calls. No texts. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully repelled four of the most eligible bachelors in the country through the sheer power of being a fucking nightmare.

You wake up on the eighth day, the morning sun streaming through your window, a victorious smirk on your face. You stretch, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

The war is over

You reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time.

And freeze.

Four notifications. Four messages. All received within minutes of each other, night.

Your heart plummets into your stomach. No. No, no, no.

With trembling fingers, you open them.

From: Gojo Satoru… Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior.

From: Ryomen Sukuna Name your terms. I’m interested.

From: Nanami Kento… I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?

From: Fushiguro Toji Hey. You’re weird. I’m in.

You drop your phone on your face.

Fuck.

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨

@iheartanzai

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[liliklei-deactivated20260419]

nerd!gojo & flirty!reader vs a shy frat!sukuna

nerd!gojo, who’s been eyeing the two of you since the beginning of the year—you, the stunning albeit strange girl who’s seated next to him in class, and sukuna, the loud, obnoxious frat boy with a reputation that nearly rivalled his.

frat!sukuna, who’s somehow fortunately unfortunately caught the eye of the two strange nerds who seem to eye him every second he’s in class, their eyes zeroing in on him when they think he isn’t looking—but something about their gaze has him practically sweating bullets in his seat. the way you eye him like a prize, and the way gojo stared at his tattoos as if he were studying him. sukuna was nervous. and maybe just a little excited.

nerd!gojo, who notices the way you seem to stare at the two of them too, biting your lips without realising it—and gods you’re so pretty, he can’t help but sketch every little expression you make in his notes. no wonder he refuses to share his precious notes with anyone else, they’re all just ridiculous drawings of you and sukuna, after all.

frat!sukuna, who thinks he’s dreaming when you always find excuses to touch him, under the guise of wanting to get a better look at his tattoos, of course. and he’d be a fool to deny you, i mean how could he say no to you when you look up at him, all clueless and trusting, your lips in the tiniest pout while you trace the ink on his arms. oh if only he knew that you were barely holding yourself back from tracing your lips on his skin instead.

nerd!gojo, who’s bouncing off his seat when the three of you get teamed up on a project together, it’s finally an excuse to have the two of you within his vicinity—he already has you in his grasp, always dramatically slumping onto your lap during every minor inconvenience, having you pet his hair during breaks while he’s practically smothered in your thighs.

frat!sukuna, who’s been fantasising about being in between the two of you longer than he’d like to admit—toji has caught him staring before, his eyes lingering far too long on the white haired disaster, and the equally nerdy mess seated beside him.

“man if you don’t talk to them, i will.” is all toji says to him, and it has sukuna glaring at him for the rest of the class.

“they’re just weird, is all.” he huffs out—which would’ve been convincing if he wasn’t practically eye-fucking the two of you every chance he got.

frat!sukuna, who’s can’t help but stare at the two of you the entire evening while drafting the stupid project, splitting notes for your presentation, and when you giggle at something stupid he said, he swears he can hear the blood rush straight to his cock. it’s pathetic, really, but when crowded between two gorgeous people, he just can’t help himself.

frat!sukuna, who almost jumps out of his seat while you stare down at him, scanning him from head to toe like you knew something was up, while gojo, the ever clueless mess seemed to be in his own world trying to organise the notes before him.

“kuna, you look uncomfortable, everything okay?” you cooed, your voice unfairly sultry and sweet, while gojo seated next to him leans over—

“yeah man you look flushed, you okay?” he says from behind him, and sukuna is so, so very close to just biting the two of you like a feral cat.

nerd!gojo, who finds the lamest excuses to whisper in sukuna’s ears, watching the frat president pull away, his cheeks tinged the same shade of pink as his hair while trying to stutter out his replies—only to have you lean closer to him, his body flushed against his. the look you and gojo share goes unnoticed by him. the two of you were going to ruin this man if it’s the last thing you do.

frat!sukuna, who’s almost dizzy with all this attention, he’s used to this, he thrives off of parties, the loud noise, the chaos of it all, but something about having such attention so focused on him, has him sweating, painfully hard in his sweats while the two of you whisper praises at him while he tries to make a presentation. but all his brain can think about is how warm you feel pressed up against him, and the way gojo has his head on his shoulder and gods, he was gonna die here.

nerd!gojo, who finds excuses to slowly have his hands wrapped around around the back of sukuna’s neck gently, watching the flush creep up his neck when he applies the slightest pressure, before pulling his hands away like it never happened. sukuna near lets out a whine at the loss of the touch. gods he really was having too much fun teasing him.

frat!sukuna, who has no idea where to look, sandwiched between the two of you like in all of his stupid day dreams, you tucked under one of his arms, your curves pressed against his body, while gojo’s arms hover over his waist—he thinks he’s going to burst into flames if the two of you keep this up. it’s subtle enough that he’s driving himself insane, but obvious enough to know that he isn’t dreaming.

nerd!gojo, who looks at you, the two of you sharing the unspoken agreement that the moment sukuna ryomen lets his guard down, you’ll have him eating from the palms of your hands, walking him around like a dog on a leash.

frat!sukuna, who can feel himself falling slowly, but he knows the moment he’s down, the two of you are gonna walk all over him, and honestly, that’s exactly everything he’s ever dreamed of.

hehe…i wannan bully him >.< !! @nnaa-bba pspsps its here !! TYSM @loganwritesprobably for feeding my brainworms here

divider credits: @//cafekitsune .

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