[gojosconsort]

⊹　 　 004. CHAPTER FOUR　　　⊹ 　 　 　worst muse ever　◞♡　and other problems

⌗　 GOJO SATORU　/　五条 悟 gojo satoru x f!reader　·　w.c: 5,300

◞　in which after you hear something you probably shouldn’t have and run off in a panic, you decide the only sane way to apologize is with cookies. that’s what a normal person would do, right? except normal doesn’t really exist around satoru anymore, and one wrong turn into his hallway is enough to make you rethink the whole plan.

◞　content + warnings 18+ only. minors do not interact. miscommunication, jealousy and insecurities, and a confession that doesn’t land right.

◞　author’s notes hi hi, back with a new chapter! if you thought that reader couldn’t be more clumsy with her actions you will get more of that now. anyway enjoy the disaster <3

⌗ links　masterlist　·　ao3

you lie in bed for a long time after you hang up the phone, just staring at the ceiling, replaying the whole morning over and over in your head like it’s stuck on a loop you can’t turn off.

the shower. the sound of the water. the groan of his voice echoing off the tiles. your name on his lips when he came—

you press your hands over your face again. okay. you need to stop thinking about that specific part. you need to think about something else, anything else, literally anything—

i wanted to tell you first.

nope. that’s worse. that’s so much worse.

you groan into your pillow and roll onto your side, curling up like that’ll somehow make the embarrassment smaller. because here’s the thing. here’s the actual problem. it’s not even really about the shower, or the sounds, or any of it. it’s the fact that satoru had the biggest moment of his entire life happen today, the thing he’s been working toward since before you even knew him, and his first thought was to come find you and tell you about it.

and you weren’t there.

you were halfway across campus, power walking like your life depended on it, because you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see and panicked instead of just… waiting. like a normal person. like a good friend.

but the image keeps flashing behind your eyes no matter how hard you try to outrun it: him in the shower, water streaming down his back, one hand braced against the tile while the other worked his cock. your name on his lips and the way his head had tipped back, eyes squeezed shut. he was thinking about you. getting off to the thought of you.

that’s totally normal for friends, right? you tell yourself for the hundredth time. doesn’t mean anything. guys do that. it’s—biology or whatever.

but the heat between your legs says otherwise.

you shove that thought away. hard.

focus. the actual problem. you ran off on him after the best day of his athletic career, lied to him about why on the phone, and now you’re lying here feeling sorry for yourself when he’s the one who probably felt a little confused and hurt that you weren’t there when he came looking.

you sit up. okay. you need to fix this. you need to actually be a good friend about this instead of a walking anxiety spiral.

what do people do when they feel bad? what do normal people do?

you think about it for a second, and then it hits you. cookies. you should bake him cookies. it’s simple, it’s normal, it doesn’t require you to look him in the eye and explain why you left the athletics building at the speed of light. it’s just a nice, uncomplicated gesture. congratulations on the scouts thing, sorry i disappeared, here are some cookies, no further questions please.

it’s perfect.

you get up, pull your hair back, and head down to the shared kitchen on your floor. your roommate is at the table doing an assigment and glances up as you start pulling out flour and a bowl.

“what’s happening right now,” she asks.

“i’m baking cookies.”

“you don’t bake.”

“i’m baking today.”

she watches you for a second, taking in your slightly frazzled hair and the way you’re measuring flour like you’re terrified of getting it wrong. “who are they for.”

“nobody. just cookies.”

“uh huh.” she goes back to her assignment, clearly not buying it for a second.

you focus on the recipe, on the measuring and the mixing, because it gives your hands something to do and your brain something simple to focus onto besides showers and moans and the way his voice had sounded saying you’re my favorite cheerleader like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would live in your head rent free for the rest of the week.

the cookies come out slightly uneven, a little golden at the edges, but they smell good, and that’s basically the whole point. you package a handful of them into a little container, the good one you actually own instead of borrow, and you sit there at the kitchen table staring at it for a second.

it’s not a big gesture. it’s cookies. it means congratulations, and i’m sorry, and i actually am proud of you, more than i said on the phone, and also please don’t ask me why i left the building today because i genuinely cannot explain that to you without dying on the spot.

you glance at the clock. it’s not too late to go over. you could just drop them off, say something quick, and leave—

“so are you bringing those somewhere or,” your roomates suddenly says, not looking up form her assignment.

“no.”

“no?”

“no. they’re just for me.” you pull the container a little closer to yourself, like that proves something. “i just wanted cookies. and i’ll eat them myself.”

“you never bake for yourself. you don’t even like doing dishes.”

“i’m trying new things.”

“uh huh.” she taps her pencil against her notebook. “and this sudden expansion of your hobbies happened randomly, today, right after you got back from satoru’s meet.”

“those two things are unrelated.”

“i didn’t say they were related.”

“you implied it.”

“i said one sentence.” she’s smiling now, not even trying to hide it. “you’re the one connecting the dots.”

“there are no dots. there’s no line. there is nothing here to connect.” you stand up, tucking the container against your side. “i’m going to our room.”

“with your personal cookies.”

“with my personal cookies, yes.”

“that you’re definitely not taking anywhere.”

“correct.” you’re already halfway out of the kitchen, walking a little faster than the situation calls for. “goodnight.”

“it’s four in the afternoon.”

“goodnight,” you say again, and disappear down the hallway before she can get another word in.

you get to your shared room and set the container down on your desk and just look at it for a solid minute.

okay. fine. maybe they’re not entirely for personal consumption. maybe there’s a small, very small, almost negligible chance that you’ll end up walking these across campus in the next hour. but that doesn’t mean anything. that’s just being a good friend. that’s just normal, uncomplicated, congratulations-and-also-sorry-i-ran-away cookie delivery, and there is absolutely nothing else going on underneath it.

you change your shirt twice before you leave, which you also decide means nothing.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the walk to his dorm building takes about ten minutes, and you spend all ten of them going back and forth on whether this is a good idea or possibly the worst idea you’ve had all week, right up there with walking into that locker room in the first place.

by the time you reach his hallway you’ve mostly talked yourself back into it. it’s cookies. it’s a nice, normal thing that nice, normal friends do for each other. you’re not going to overthink it.

you turn the corner into his corridor and stop dead.

satoru’s door is open, and he’s leaning against the frame in a t-shirt and sweatpants, damp hair pushed back like he showered, laughing at something. there’s a girl standing in front of him, close, one hand resting lightly on his arm. she says something and he laughs harder, head tipping back a little, the easy, warm laugh you know so well, the one that used to just be yours to notice.

you don’t recognize her. pretty, obviously, because they always are. she’s got her hair pulled over one shoulder and she’s looking up at him like he’s the only person on the floor, which, to be fair, he probably is right now.

you take one step back before you’ve even decided to.

your heart does something ugly and fast in your chest, dropping somewhere lower than it should for someone who is just here to deliver cookies as a nice, normal friend. you press yourself back against the wall at the corner of the hallway, out of sight, cookie container suddenly feeling very stupid and very heavy in your hands.

okay. this is fine. this is completely fine. he can talk to whoever he wants in his own hallway. you are not owed an explanation. you are not owed anything at all, actually, because nothing has actually been said between you two that would give you any right to feel like this, this hot, sick little knot in your heart.

you, obviously, he’d said. right there in the studio, lips at your ear, voice soft in a way you’d never heard from him before.

and now there’s a girl with her hand on his arm and he’s laughing like he doesn’t have a single other thought in his head.

you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. people laugh with people. people stand in hallways. it is possible, extremely possible, that this girl is just someone from his floor, or his team, or literally anyone whose existence has nothing to do with you standing here overthinking an entire scenario you haven’t even seen the whole of.

you peek around the corner again.

she’s exactly the type you’d have pictured, if anyone had ever asked you to guess what satoru’s type would be, which nobody ever has, because why would they. easy. confident. the kind of girl who probably walks into a room and doesn’t spend the first four minutes searching for an exit.

you look down at yourself without meaning to, and something in you goes small and insignificant, and then you look back up at them again, watching him laugh at someone who is everything you very specifically are not.

your hands are cold around the plastic.

you look down at the cookies again, still faintly warm through the lid, and suddenly you feel so stupid for having made them at all. what were you even thinking. congratulations on your race, sorry i ran away from you in a panic, here are some cookies i baked while thinking about you the entire time, please ignore how insane that sounds.

you don’t wait around to find out if she goes into his room. you just turn and walk, fast, back the way you came, down the hallway and toward the stairwell.

you’re halfway across the ground floor lobby, blinking hard and telling yourself very firmly that you are not about to cry over cookies, when you nearly walk straight into suguru.

“whoa,” he says, catching your shoulder lightly so you don’t collide with him fully. “hey. you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you say, too fast, the way you always say it when you are extremely not fine.

he looks at you for a second, the calm kind of look he always gives people, like he’s used to being the reasonable one in every room he’s in. his eyes drop to the container in your hands. “what’s that?”

“cookies,” you say, and then, because your brain apparently has no better plan available right now, you just hold the container out to him. “for you. good work. or whatever.”

suguru blinks. “for me?”

“yeah.”

“good work on what.”

“just—” you wave a hand vaguely. “training. being a teammate. all of it. general good work.”

he takes the container slowly, like he’s not entirely sure this is real. “okay,” he says, clearly amused now. “i mean, thank you. this is very nice. very random, but nice.”

“you’re welcome.”

he glances toward the stairwell behind you, then back at you. “you sure you don’t want to bring these up to satoru instead? he’s back on his floor, i think he just finished up with—”

“no,” you say, quick enough that it comes out a little too sharp. “no, it’s fine. they’re for you. specifically you. i wasn’t going up there anyway.”

suguru raises an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t push it, which you’re grateful for, because you do not currently have the emotional bandwidth to explain any part of this to anyone, least of all satoru’s teammate who probably has a much clearer read on the whole situation than you’d like.

“cool,” he says finally, tucking the container against his side. “well. thanks. i’ll enjoy these very much on your behalf of, uh, general good work.”

“great.” you’re already stepping around him toward the door.

“hey, wait.” he shifts the container to one arm. “how’s your semester going, actually? you’re the art major, right? satoru mentioned it a while back.”

“oh. yeah. it’s—fine. busy.” you shift your weight, a little thrown by the sudden interest. “figure drawing unit right now. lots of studio hours.”

“figure drawing. that sounds like it could be interesting. or exhausting. probably both.”

“it’s a lot, yeah.”

“you’re good at it though? drawing?”

“i mean. i try to be.” you laugh a little, awkward, not sure where this is going or why he’s still standing here asking you questions instead of heading back upstairs. “why?”

“just curious.” he shrugs. “you’re always kind of around, you know? training, the meets. never really got to talk to you much. figured i should fix that.”

you blink at him.

this is—new. suguru’s never really talked to you beyond a passing hello at practice, a nod across the bleachers, the occasional five-word exchange when satoru drags you into a conversation with the team. and now he’s standing here in the lobby asking about your major and your drawing and looking at you with an expression that feels a little like interest, actual interest, the kind you don’t really know what to do with because it’s aimed at you.

you feel immediately, deeply off put by it, in a way you can’t totally explain. it’s not that suguru isn’t nice, or that there’s anything wrong with the conversation itself. it’s more that you don’t have a category for this. boys don’t really do this, not with you. you’re the one on the bleachers with a sketchbook. you’re the one people forget is there until they need someone to hold their water bottle. you are, very specifically, not the kind of girl that gets this kind of attention, and you know that about yourself the way you know your own name, so having it happen right now, out of nowhere, in a lobby, over a box of cookies meant for someone else, feels like being handed a script for a scene you’re not in.

“right,” you say, a little stiffly. “well. now you know i draw.”

“now i know you draw.” he’s smiling, and it’s a nice smile, easygoing, nothing pushy about it, which somehow makes it worse because you can’t even find a reason to be annoyed. “maybe you could show me sometime. what you’ve been working on.”

“i don’t really show people my sketchbook.”

“no?”

“no.” your eyes drift towards the door, toward the cold night air and the version of this evening where you’re already halfway home. “it’s mostly just practice stuff. not really interesting.”

“i have a hard time believing someone who bakes like this isn't good at drawing.”

“those are completely unrelated skills.”

he laughs at that, a real laugh, and you feel your face heat up a little despite yourself, which annoys you further because there is absolutely no reason for it, none, this is just a person being friendly and you are reading way too much into a five minute conversation in a dorm lobby.

“i should go,” you say, taking a step back toward the door. “it’s late. i’ve got an early class.”

“sure. yeah.” he nods, container still tucked under his arm. “thanks again for these. i mean it.”

“no problem.”

“see you around, sketchbook girl.”

you make a face at that on your way out the door, mostly to cover the fact that you don’t entirely hate it, and the early evening air hits you the second you step outside, cold enough to clear your head a little, though not quite enough to stop you thinking, the whole walk home, about how strange it is that the first boy to ever really flirt with you did it while holding cookies meant for somebody else.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

a few days later, you’re in your usual spot in the library, sitting at the corner table near the windows, sketchbook open next to your laptop even though you haven’t actually drawn anything in the last twenty minutes. you’ve mostly just been staring at the same paragraph of your art history reading over and over without absorbing a single word of it.

and then the chair across from you scrapes back.

you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. you know the sound of him settling into a seat by now, the specific way he drops his bag on the floor like he can’t wait to throw it somewhere.

“hey,” satoru says. “haven’t seen you in a while.”

you glance up at him, and something in your chest tightens up immediately. “yeah,” you say, a little flat. “been busy.”

“busy,” he repeats.

“yeah. you know. classes. stuff.” you look back down at your laptop, scrolling through nothing in particular. “i’m sure you’ve been busy too, though. big race. probably a lot of people wanted to celebrate with you after.”

“celebrate with me how.”

“i don’t know, satoru. girls. probably girls wanted to celebrate with you. it’s fine, though. genuinely. it’s not my business.”

“what girls.”

“i don’t know! that’s the point!” your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to, a couple heads at nearby tables turning slightly. “i don’t need the details. i don’t want to know about it. it’s fine.”

“you don’t want to know about what? there’s nothing to know—”

“okay, sure.”

“you’re being weird.”

“i’m not weird.”

“you are.” he leans forward, and now he actually looks annoyed, which somehow makes you more annoyed. “what was up with the cookies, by the way? for suguru?”

“what?”

“the cookies. suguru told me you gave him cookies.”

“suguru told you that?”

“yeah, he mentioned it, like two days ago. so what was that about?”

heat crawls up your neck, and for a second you don’t say anything at all, because now you have to decide whether to actually admit any of it, and every single option available to you sounds humiliating out loud.

“nothing,” you say. “i just felt like baking.”

“you don’t bake.”

“i bake sometimes.”

“you’ve genuinely never baked in the three years i’ve known you.”

“well, i started.”

“and the first person you gave them to was suguru? do you like him?”

“what?”

“suguru. do you like him. is that what this is.”

“it’s just cookies—”

“ma’am.” the library lady is suddenly standing at the end of your table, arms crossed, giving you both a look over her glasses that could strip paint. “this is a library.”

“sorry,” you both say at almost the same time, and she gives one more pointed look before turning and walking back toward the front desk.

silence drops between you, both of you sitting there a little red in the face, refusing to look directly at each other. you fix your eyes on your laptop. he leans back in his chair, still watching you, clearly not done with this conversation but dialing the volume down.

“by the way,” satoru says, quieter now, “suguru asked me for your number.”

“oh, really?”

“yeah. should i give it to him?”

you look at him, and for a second you almost say no, the word right there, easy, obvious. but then you think about the girl in the hallway. about how he never seems to be alone for long, how there’s always someone looking at him like they want a piece of him. something sour turns over in your gut. if he gets to have people, you can have people too. even if the thought of suguru doesn’t do anything for you at all, even if the only person you actually want texting you is sitting right across the table.

“sure,” you say. “why not.”

his eyes drop to the table for a second before coming back up to you. “okay,” he says.

he picks his bag up off the floor, slinging it over one shoulder, and stands up from the table without another word. you watch him do it, your chest going tight and the satisfaction you thought you’d feel completely absent, replaced instead with the hollow feeling of having said the exact wrong thing.

“satoru—”

“i’ll tell him,” he says, already turning away, not looking back at you. “see you around.”

and then he’s walking off between the shelves, and you’re left sitting there with your laptop and your sketchbook and the certainty that you’re a real idiot.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the next drawing session is worse. you’d genuinely thought it couldn’t get worse than last week. apparently it could.

you get there earlier than you need to again, same as last time, trying to shake off some of the nerves before the session actually starts. the studio is mostly empty still, with just a few students already claiming the good easels, and you standing at yours doing absolutely nothing useful with your hands.

you haven’t seen him since the library. since sure, why not and his jaw going tight and him walking off between the shelves without looking back at you once. it’s been four days. you’d told yourself four days was plenty of time for things to go back to normal, whatever normal even means anymore, except you’d spent most of those four days checking your phone for a text that never came and feeling stupid about it every single time.

you think, suddenly and uselessly, of that joke people make about estranged parents—the phone works both ways—usually said about some resentful dad who cut off his kid and then complains nobody calls him. you’d always thought that joke was funny in an obvious way, like, yeah, obviously, pick up the phone yourself, genius. and now here you are, apparently the toxic parent in your own analogy.

this is not helpful, brain. stop that, you think.

you clip a fresh sheet to your board. you uncap a pencil you don’t need yet. you glance at the curtain at the back of the room, even though there’s nothing to see, even though he isn’t even here yet.

your classmates start filtering in around you, the same morning noise as last week, easels scraping, someone’s water bottle rolling off a table. maya sits down two spots over and gives you a knowing look that you try very hard to ignore.

you’re still staring at your blank page, holding your pencil too tightly as you run through everything you have to do in the next two hours, when your phone lights up with a text message.

hey, this is suguru. satoru gave me your number, hope that’s okay

morning btw. hope the studio thing today goes well

satoru mentioned you had another session

you stare at that for a second, saving the contact before you even think about it, typing his name in like it’s a completely normal thing to do. suguru texting you good morning is objectively a nice thing. he’s nice. genuinely, actually nice, in a way that doesn’t come with any confusing subtext attached to it.

hey! yeah that’s okay

thanks, should be fine

you stare at the screen for a second, your thumb hovering above the screen. it feels rude to leave it one-sided, especially when he’s the one who bothered to say good morning at all. so you type before you can think too hard about it.

what are you up to today?

you hit send and immediately regret it a little. why did you ask that. you don’t actually want to know what suguru’s up to today, you don’t want to know what suguru’s up to any day, there is no version of this where his schedule is information you need. but it’s out there now and there’s no unsending a question that friendly.

it’s not that you don’t like him. you do, in the uncomplicated, easy way you’d like everything to be. it’s just that being nice back feels like the only thing you know how to do when someone’s nice to you first, whether you mean anything by it or not, and apparently that reflex doesn’t care whether you actually want to keep the conversation going.

your phone lights up again almost immediately.

training this morning, then i’ve got a lecture i’m definitely going to fall asleep in.

you free after your classes today?

you stare at that for a second.

you read it again, like it’ll say something different the second time. you free after your classes today—that could mean anything, that could be a completely normal, friendly, hey-let’s-grab-coffee-as-two-people-who-know-each-other-now kind of question. except your pulse has other ideas, and you’re pretty sure normal friendly questions aren’t supposed to do that.

you’re still spiraling over how to text him back when the door at the back of the studio opens and professor lee walks in with satoru a half step behind her.

you shove your phone into your bag without answering.

you watch satoru cross the room toward the changing area, and he doesn’t even glance at you. not a nod, not the small eyebrow thing he usually does, nothing.

it shouldn’t hurt. it’s a stupid thing to hurt over, and yet it does anyway.

you should have never asked him to model in the first place. that’s the actual root of it, if you trace it all the way back—professor lee and her carrot on a stick about your portfolio, and you, too weak to say no to any of it, walking up to him after practice and saying i need you like it was nothing, like it wasn’t going to turn your comfortable friendship into whatever this is now.

the session gets underway the way it always does—gesture poses first, professor lee calling out the timing, satoru settling onto the platform looking completely unbothered by the twenty people about to stare at him for the next two hours.

you get your pencil moving on autopilot, shoulders, arms, hands, and then he shifts into the next pose and you are looking directly at his dick and your brain shorts out a little.

i cannot draw this right now, you think. you genuinely cannot. not today. not today, not with your head still this full of him. because all you can think about is how badly you want to kiss that stomach, lower, until your lips brush against the head of his cock. how badly you want to wrap your fingers around it, feel its weight and heat, lean in and lick—

you catch yourself and nearly snap your pencil in half.

jesus christ.

your face burns. you force your eyes back up to the safer territory of his chest, but it’s too late. your pulse is hammering between your legs, and the page in front of you remains embarrassingly blank where his hips should be.

get it together, you tell yourself. you have drawn this exact dick before. twice. you got an A. you are a professional. except last time you drew it there wasn’t a boy named suguru waiting on an answer in your bag, and there wasn’t a boy named satoru three feet away very pointedly looking at the window instead of at you, and you hadn’t yet had the horrifying realization that watching him ignore you for an hour felt worse than anything else that had happened to you all semester, dick included.

you look up to check the pose again. satoru’s eyes are on the middle distance. not on you. not once.

you look back down at your page.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

by the time professor lee calls the last pose, your drawing looks like it lost a fight. everything above his waist is fleshed out and detailed, and looks quite good. but everywhere below his waist is just panicked lines, the hips smudged and redrawn so many times the paper’s gone grey with eraser dust.

it looks stupid. like someone’s little sister tried to draw a person after being told what a person is but not shown one. you stare at it for a second and think, that professor lee is going to have questions.

you don’t have it in you to care right now.

the class packs up around you, and you take your time again, unclipping your sheet slower than you need to, watching the curtain out of the corner of your eye.

you’re going to do it. you decide this somewhere between putting your pencils away and hearing the soft sounds of him getting dressed behind the curtain. you’re going to wait for him, and you’re going to say it, plain and simple, before you can talk yourself out of it or make an even bigger mess of things.

i like you.

that’s it. that’s the whole sentence. three words, nothing complicated about it. people say this to each other all the time. normal people, every day, in cafeterias and hallways and libraries, three words and then the world just keeps going.

you can do this.

you rehearse it once in your head while you zip your bag shut. i like you. simple. you’re not going to wait for the perfect moment, because you’ve had four days of perfect moments slip through your fingers already and look where that’s gotten you.

the curtain shifts. satoru steps out, tugging his shirt down, hair ruffled from getting dressed.

you open your mouth.

“suguru text you yet?” satoru says, before a single word makes it out.

“what?”

“suguru. did he text you. he said he was gonna.”

“…yeah. he did, actually.” you blink at him, still half caught in the sentence you were about to say, trying to catch up. “why?”

“there’s that movie. the one that just came out, the space one, i think you mentioned wanting to see it a while back. i wanna go see it this weekend. figured i’d bring a girl, make it a whole thing.”

“okay,” you say slowly, still not following.

“you and suguru should come too.” he says it so lightly, so completely without weight, like he’s suggesting you all grab lunch sometime. “make it a group thing. double date, whatever. you like him, right? seems like a good excuse to hang out.”

the words press down on you all at once, until even drawing a breath feels like work, and for a second you can’t say anything at all.

i like you. that’s the sentence you had ready, three words you’d rehearsed the whole walk over here, and instead he’s standing in front of you planning a double date, pairing you off with suguru like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s doing you a favor.

“a double date,” you repeat.

“yeah. it’ll be fun.” he’s already checking his phone, thumbing through something. “you free saturday?”

you should say no. you should say actually, satoru, i need to tell you something, and finish the sentence you started, the one that’s still sitting right there behind your teeth. you should say anything other than what actually comes out of your mouth, which is:

“yeah,” you hear yourself say, small and a little stunned. “saturday works.”

“cool.” he grins, easy as anything, like he hasn’t just rearranged your entire heart in the same five seconds. “i’ll tell suguru.”

and then he’s turning toward the door, bag over one shoulder, already texting someone—suguru, probably, or the girl he’s bringing—and you’re left standing there next to your ruined drawing with the words i like you dissolving uselessly on your tongue, wondering how you managed to walk into this conversation so sure of yourself and walk out of it with a date.

with the wrong person.

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◞　author’s notes know, i know. she said yes to the wrong thing again lmao. let her cook (pun intended). thank you for reading, comments and reblogs always appreciated, see you in the next chapter 🥰🥰

© gojosconsort. do not repost, copy, translate, or claim as your own.

[tokkushin]

✦ katsuki and his shy girl get to third base ⸝⸝ .ᐟ ꉂ — warnings : kissing, brief marking, p in v, teasing, pwp ✦˚˖ ᵎᵎ

take it off. three short words that's somehow snowballed into this — bodies stuck together through the haze of warmth and sweat, a hand splayed gently over your hip while his other makes quick work between your thighs.

it hasn't even been thirty minutes since katsuki had his face pressed against your chest, your thighs wrapped around his head. small moments that led to you laid on the bed with your legs spread, two of his fingers dragging in and out of you.

even with the waves of pleasure, you still wish this bed could swallow you whole. save you from the intoxicating feeling of his fingers, and that stare that tells you he's engraving every inch of you to memory.

"should i stop now?" he questions, bracing himself above you as his fingers pull wet sounds from your core, "you think you can take me?"

blissed out in your own high, all you can manage is a nod — a whisper of his name slipping from your lips when his fingers leave you completely.

your eyes flick to his, impatience glinting behind them — something that doesn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

"what're you thinking about?"

his hands are already tugging at his boxers, slinking them down the length of his waist as he frees himself from the tight fabric. 

"you gotta talk to me" he chuckles at your slack jaw, pumping himself from base to tip before he's inching towards your entrance, "not doin' shit unless you talk to me"

smug asshole.

a jolt shoots up your spine when he taps his length against your folds, once, then twice — thin lines of slick connecting you.

your hands are practically glued to your face now, heat setting in like a tidal wave when he presses against your entrance, just to pull away once more, "katsuki"

"hm? what is it?"

he guides your hands away from your face, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck and planting chaste kisses against your cheek.

"please."

"please what?"

"katsuki, you know what."

"okay, okay," he snorts out a laugh, prying himself from the spot in your neck and smiling at the dark bruise already blossoming, "'m gonna go slow. you gotta tell me if it hurts though, alright?"

a nod normally wouldn't be accepted so easily — but when every inch of him is aching to touch you, he thinks he'll let it slide just this once.

an elbow digs into the mattress next to your head, his other hand guiding himself along your entrance — foreheads knocking together as you both peer between the valley of your bodies watching him sink inside you.

no feeling could compare to the one in this very moment. perfection in the form katsuki bakugou settling into every part of you

your neck falls against the sheets, all hopes of hiding your sounds slipping away with every new inch. 

katsuki's not so composed either, sweat-soaked forehead pressed against yours as he bottoms out with his lip between his teeth. low grumbles of your name muffled in your shoulder as he basks in the feeling — the feeling of you.

a comfortable silence fills the room, bodies heaving as he forces himself to be still inside you.

"good? f-fuck, are you good?" he murmurs, lapping at his bottom lip to clean the metallic droplets from the force of his bite, "won't move until . . . until you say i can, promise. but fuck baby, you feel s'good"

"move, katsuki"

". . . you sure? i'm not forcing you into anything if you're not ready—"

"katsuki, move now please." you groan, hips grinding down against him in search of any friction you can get. "please."

to say katsuki's amazed is an understatement. heart racing against his ribcage as you writhe beneath him despite the expression on your face — as if your body spoke more truths than your mind ever could as you cling to him in your desperate haze.

"ok," he starts, readjusting himself above you. "ok, yeah 'm gonna move."

and he does, slow and measured — dragging against every inch of you as if it's his god-given solace.

he's never felt more intoxicated. barely able to keep eye contact when you cup his face and moan against his lips. katsuki's hypntoized by it all, crimson orbs drinking in every reaction he pulls from you.

and he's always prided himself on being the steady one, a comforting balance when the grip of anxiety gets to be too much. but when you pull him closer like space is a barrier, moan softly in his ear — katsuki's not sure who's grounding who.

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: hello 🤓 we all say thank you to @lilithkleia, @gyalcapone and bb @riotsgrl for tokkushin not deactivating! hooray! more of this! + even more | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly ⸝⸝ @kamislop ⸝⸝ @girlluvkatsuki ⸝⸝ @starrsoasis ⸝⸝ @isaxbellevs ⸝⸝ @satorusdreamer ⸝⸝ @bunnimuse ⸝⸝ @xoxocelestial ⸝⸝ @yunaaaar ⸝⸝ @gyalcapone ⸝⸝ @pok3trash ⸝⸝ @toshislover ⸝⸝ @tentypos ⸝⸝ @satiiv-a ⸝⸝ @cupidkats ⸝⸝ @riotsgrl ⸝⸝ @mamashima ⸝⸝ @rottengrlsworld ⸝⸝ @j1hxxn ⸝⸝ @v1xxul ⸝⸝ @tamaglowchi ⸝⸝ @demonic-charcuterie ⸝⸝ @longringlonglands ⸝⸝ @violasepals ⸝⸝ @blythedelkatsuki ⸝⸝ @updownandbatty ⸝⸝ @potatosmenu ⸝⸝ @xoxorennaaeee ⸝⸝ @scootoot ⸝⸝ @thisgirlwokeupinmyhouseee ⸝⸝ @supershyleee ⸝⸝ @ultraamo | join the taglist? ( not updated yet, mb )

[aliienangel]

‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‧ . ‎‎୨‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ƒєєℓιηgѕ σƒ вєтяαуαℓ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎° .‧

. ˚ ᭡ ꒱ ‎‎ gσ‎נσ ѕαтσяυ × reader cw ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎⤷ 𖥻‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎. ‎‎˖ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ꒰ mdni ꒱ ‎‎‎‎. ‎ ‎office au ：tiny bit reader x geto ：smut ：angst ：swearing ：reader experiences lots of guilt ：making out ：teasing ：dirty talk ：fingering ：cünnilingüs ：edging ：multiple orgasms ：biting ：piv ：unprotected sex ：creàmpiè ：f!reader ：she/her prns used ：petnames ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎♯ 16.5k

тнιѕ ιѕ α ραят 2 тσ "тωσ ωєєкѕ' ησтι¢є" ѕυммαяу： ‎‎ ‎♡ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ the last time you saw gojo was your last day as his personal assistant, since then things have been tough going. finding a new job is harder than you thought, especially when you refuse to put him down as a reference. through certain circumstances, you end up working for geto and that's when the universe decides you and gojo need to collide again. the guilt you feel is immeasurable and you miss him dearly, seeing him again brings up a lot of complex feelings for you. . .

It’s been a few weeks since you left your last job, since you left Gojo. In that time, you’ve been incredibly busy; applying for jobs and moving. Unfortunately, a lot of your things had to be put in storage because there wasn’t room in your parents’ home for it all, so that’s cut into your savings. Funds were already running low and now they’re almost non-existent. On top of that, the job market has been completely atrocious.

You’re beginning to feel like the places you’re applying for immediately chuck your resume into the bin. The memory of Gojo telling you how bad your application had been always ringing in your head whenever you open the document to edit it. You know for a fact you’ve improved upon the formatting, and you have more actual experience now but the doubt still lingers.

The biggest pitfall for you is that you haven’t put Gojo down as a reference, not wanting them to call him up and rub it in his face that you’ve left his company. You’re not stupid though, you put down Nanami. So far, he’s told you he got one call and it was the one interview you had. It… didn’t go over so well. Living back at home should be more familiar but everything is overwhelming and you ended up late and, yeah, it just didn’t go well.

Luckily, you’re not completely unemployable, only in the field you actually want to be employed in. You managed to get a job at a pretty popular café, it makes your head spin on the particularly busy days but you’re not exactly here for the vibes so you make do. Some customers are horrendously rude, but people tend to be like that wherever you go.

Currently in the last hour of your shift and all you can think about is going home but then again, your parents aren’t exactly delightful company at the moment. They mean well but all they do is question you about what you’re doing and when you’ll get another job and asking about things they don’t need to be asking about.

Sometimes after work, you’ve taken to wandering around. Buying a little treat and sitting in a park to savour it, after the first time you’d realised why Gojo does it so often. Speaking of Gojo, he texts every now and again and you can never bring yourself to reply with any substance. After your one-night stand, things are awkward and you feel guilty.

Off in space and thinking to yourself when you’re brought back to the present. One of the last people you’re expecting to see standing right in front of you. Considering this café is fairly close to his company, you shouldn’t be too shocked to see Geto. He’s looking back at you like he’s just as surprised, that is until his expression falls into the usual pleasant smile he wears.

“Well, hello there,” his voice a deep, delightful contrast to the way you feel.

A small breath in and then you plaster your fake work smile all over your face, “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

“If you’re working here then I’m guessing you really did leave Satoru.”

The way he ignores your clear desire to keep this interaction short annoys you, “Can you please just tell me what you want?”

“What I want?” leaning in a little closer to the counter between the two of you, “I’d like for you to work with me.”

“I’m not interested in this little dance, Geto, just order before you hold up the line.”

“Your customer service skills could use a little work,” he jokes.

There’s a twitching in your eyebrow that’s starting to make itself known, your patience has been significantly cut into lately. You’ve been beaten down too much and him being annoying while you’re working the only job that would accept you, it’s seriously pissing you off.

Geto must notice because he backs off a little, “Triple shot espresso,” finally ordering.

“Size?”

“Biggest you got.” While you’re punching in his order, he asks, “What time you getting off?”

Glancing at the clock behind you before mindlessly answering, “Another half an hour.”

“I’ll wait for you, come to my table when you’re done.” He walks away after that, not really giving you a chance to refute him since he actually was shamelessly holding up the line.

Thirty minutes go by and you’re clocking off. Sure enough, Geto waited for you. Still sat at a table in the back corner of the café, laptop open in front of him and his coffee long gone. Though you’re hesitant, you’re also curious so you sit down across from him. Lounging on the chair a little unapologetically, tired after being on your feet all day.

Getting straight to the point, “What do you want?”

“Hold on,” he replies without looking at you, eyes firmly on his screen.

You watch him type away, clearly caught up in whatever work he’s wrapping up for the day. You’re bored and your curiosity is dwindling but the alternative is going home and you’re not quite ready for that yet.

Speaking again, “You know this café does have a closing time.”

“I’m aware.” Ghost of a smile on Geto’s lips at your snarky comment. “Do you have this much attitude with Satoru?”

“I’m being quite polite with you actually.”

Him bringing up Gojo makes your heart tug, it feels like you’re betraying him just by sitting here.

The soft tap of Geto’s laptop shutting draws your eyes to his, he tilts his head at you, “You alright?”

“I’m glorious,” it’s a little too sarcastic for what you read as genuine concern. “Sorry, I’m fine, just wondering what exactly you want from me?”

“What I’ve wanted from the beginning, I’d like for you to work at my company.”

“I don’t really want to work for you just so you can one up Gojo in whatever feud you’ve got going on.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to have,” he sits back a bit more, adding, “However, I genuinely would like for you to work with me,” hand waving a little, “Satoru’s reaction would merely be an added bonus.”

“For you maybe,” you sigh.

A single brow raising at you, “If you’re so upset, why did you leave?”

“Is it relevant?”

“It might be.”

Your tongue clicks at him, “It’s not.”

“Whatever you say,” he relents, choosing not to push any further. At least, not on that topic, “So, about my job offer?”

Another sigh, “Can I think about it?”

He’s now wearing an expression that reads satisfaction, “Sure, though I expect a solid answer the next time I see you.”

“If that’s all,” moving to get up.

He stops you by saying, “You don’t want to keep me company a bit longer?”

“I’m sure you have actual friends to keep you company, Geto,” you chuckle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home. Today has been a long day.”

Home isn’t where you really want to be but you’re tired and you need to be alone to think. You really want to make some substantial savings, enough so you can move out of your parents’ house and you’re not going to do that on a casual wage. Something steady with a contract, full-time hours, that’s what you need. And that’s what Geto’s offering you.

All you feel lately is guilt and it’s starting to make you touchy. This isn’t even your fault in the first place, your circumstances are the result of someone else’s poor decision making and you have no one to talk to about it. It’s pointless thinking about that right now, you need to be thinking about your future and what will benefit you in the long term.

The next time you run into Geto is only a few days later, you have a feeling it’s not an accident on his behalf, but it hardly matters since you don’t have a way to contact him. Again, he waits for you to finish up work. The wait a little longer than last time, you feel bad but he seems fine working in that same corner.

By the time you’re off the clock and across from him, his laptop is already closed and he’s clearly waiting for you to give him your official answer. You’re worrying your lower lip with your teeth; you’ve thought about this over and over for the past few days and you still aren’t sure on your response. You know what you want to say, and what you’re going to say, you just feel conflicted.

Finally opening your mouth to say, “I have one question first.”

He shuffles in his seat, “Sure.”

“Why?” Letting the one word settle before clarifying, “Why do you want to hire me so bad? There are plenty of people more qualified and far less reluctant… You know, people who apply for the job.”

“I can’t tell if you’re modest or dense,” arms crossing over his chest, “did you not notice that Satoru’s dealings were significantly improved by your hiring?”

“I’m not that modest, of course I noticed but he’s terrible with rich assholes and that tends to come with the field,” you point at him, “you don’t have that problem, you’re not exactly kind but people seem to look past it since you’re all pretty faced and polite smiles.”

Gojo has a bad habit of saying how he feels, mocking people in a blatantly obvious way when he’s pushed a little too far. Geto, from what you’ve noticed, isn’t too far from having the same low tolerance but he’ll soften his face and insult you in an underhanded way you might not immediately notice.

“Regardless, you were a valuable asset to his company, and I feel you’d be just as valuable to mine. Your name isn’t unknown you know? You’re heavily attached to him, people recognise you. That’s not worthless.” He looks like he’s growing a little bored trying to convince you of your appeal, swapping directions. “I’ve answered you; I expect you have an answer for me?”

“I’ll work for you,” rubbing at the back of your neck, “but I’m going to be clear that I’m still hesitant, I feel—”

“—Guilty?” he finishes, “Don’t, it’s business. Making it personal never ends well.”

“Big words from a guy who has a personal rivalry with his former best friend.”

“I’d describe it more as friendly competition.”

You scoff a little, “Yeah, I’m sure you would.”

“How about instead of talking about the past, we celebrate your employment?”

Scepticism all over your face, “And why would I do that?”

“To humour me and my good mood.”

“I don’t really like to mix personal and business.”

His eyes squint at you, chin resting in his palm atop the table, “You never got personal with Satoru?”

Flashes of the last time you were with Gojo running through your head makes your skin heat up some. “No, I didn’t.”

“Alright,” he’s grinning, and you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Hell, you don’t believe you.

You pull your bag onto your lap and look through it, scavenging through it to retrieve the resume you’d printed off after you’d decided you’d say yes to Geto. It’s a little wrinkled as you hand it over to him.

“That has my contact details on it.”

He takes it from you, looking it over a little judgementally, “Thanks, I’ll be in touch.” And because he can’t help himself, “Have you been applying to jobs with this?”

“Oh my god, come on,” you whinge a little, “it is not that bad!”

A stifled laugh sounds from him, “Touched a nerve there, huh?”

“Shut up,” grumbling isn’t professional, but you don’t care right now, “email me all the information I’ll need, unless you’ve changed your mind after seeing my resume.”

“Hardly,” tucking it away into his laptop case, “you’ll be hearing from me.”

Working for Geto isn’t like what you expected, you aren’t quite sure what you were expecting but it’s not what you got. Maybe in your head you were thinking he’d be more malicious in his actions, or that he’d be trying extra hard to get private information about Gojo’s company out of you but that’s not the case. It’s the same work you did for Gojo, it’s actually a little easier considering Geto doesn’t sneak off or show up late.

On your second week now and while you still have bouts of guilt, you’re beginning to feel better. The pay doing wonders for your attitude, not a huge increase from working with Gojo but compared to the café it is. Unfortunately, a non-insignificant amount of the money you make goes to payments like the storage unit, bills, debt. Moving out is still in the distant future.

A part of you was holding onto hope that maybe if you saved enough, you could move back to the other side of the city and work for Gojo again. That’s starting to look unrealistic now, saving enough will take too long and even though he said he wouldn’t, he will have to hire someone else.

The rhythmic sound of the pen you’re tapping against your wooden desk is a telltale sign of unrest. One that doesn’t elude Geto as he walks past your desk, stopping in front of it and reaching over to gently pull the pen from your hand.

“Some people might find that annoying,” he spins the pen over his fingers fluidly.

Spinning your chair around for emphasis as you reply, “Good thing it’s just me here then.”

“You’re not that far from my office,” his head tilts back towards his door only a few steps away, “I’ve been listening to this noise every day for the past two weeks, do I need to distract you with more work?”

You shrug, “I’m a multitasker.”

“I’ve noticed.” The pen is placed back on your desk.

“Are you on your way somewhere or was I just bothering you?”

“I’m a multitasker too,” he grins, “you first, and then the printer room.”

“Shouldn’t I go?” you fix him with a curious stare, “What’s the point in having a personal assistant if you don’t let them assist you?”

“I thought you might be incredibly busy with your pen.”

“You’re hilarious,” raising to your feet, “I’ll go to the printing room for you.”

You’ve started to walk off when he calls after you, “Don’t get lost.”

The response he gets from you is a quick look back with an unimpressed expression. Since working here, you’ve gotten lost one time. It was embarrassing because you had to email him to come find you, too nervous to stop anyone from working. Now, every time you go off somewhere, he’s bringing it up. Hilarious.

When you’re done with your small trip, you gingerly knock on Geto’s door. Entering once he makes a sound of acknowledgement and striding in to place the papers down in front of him. You need to talk with him about a couple things, so you sit down in one of the chairs across from him, legs crossing.

His gaze flicks up from the papers he’s just received to you, “Can I help you?”

“You have a meeting tomorrow before midday.”

“I remember.”

“Also, there’s a woman who keeps emailing and calling, trying to get ahold of you.” You’re trying not to sound nosey but you’re pretty sure you’re failing, “It’s becoming almost as concerning as it is distracting.”

Face scrunching in distaste, “What does she want?”

“I’m pretty sure she just wants you.”

“Normally she wants something specific.”

“She won’t talk to me.” The woman has gotten increasingly more aggressive in her pursuit of Geto. When you’d initially picked up the phone to talk with her, she seemed incredibly offput by the sound of your voice. “Who is she?”

“A valuable client,” answering simply, then adding, “eccentric and a tad obsessive but valuable.”

“Right, okay.” You nod at him, you’re not quite sure how you feel about that but what you do know is that it’s becoming inconvenient. “Well, can you deal with her then? She’s distracting and also getting to be a little rude.” You’re sugarcoating it, she’s getting nasty.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.” His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache just thinking about talking to her.

“Is her business worth it?”

“Unfortunately.”

You leave him alone after that, too tempted to ask more questions and not wanting to upset him over it. It’s none of your business, you don’t need to know about him and his interpersonal relationships.

By the time that you’re supposed to be going home, you find yourself moving slower. Not ready yet, so you stay at your desk. Going through emails and drafting responses for tomorrow. It’ll make things go a bit quicker in the morning at least, so that’s a bonus.

It’s not until Geto leaves his office that you realise he’d been staying later too. Stopping by your desk as he slips his coat on, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Hesitating before replying, “I just… had some work I had to get done first.”

“I know that can’t be true,” slight laugh from him, like the idea of you being behind on work is ridiculous.  

“Well, it is,” pouting a bit.

You can feel the way he considers you, his eyes scanning your movements as you pretend to be incredibly busy with work you’d neglected. Eventually, he hums like he’s come to a decision, “Wanna have dinner together?”

That stops you and you find it a little odd how you consider it, “Sure.” Logging out of your computer and packing your things up. It’s not like you’ve got anywhere to be and dinner with Geto sounds more appetising than dinner at home.

“Great,” you both walk to the elevator together and he adds, “I’m guessing that work is gonna have to wait until tomorrow?”

“Fine, you caught me,” relenting, “I’m just incredibly meticulous.”

He hums, a little amused but clearly not buying it. “I’m sure.”

“Hey!” you take offence, “I am meticulous.”

“I know you are,” the elevator dings and you both step on, “I also know you’re lying.”

“You can’t know that.”

“‘Course I can.”

Muttering back, “I think you’re lying.”

“Ah, you think,” he grins.

“Do you get a kick out of annoying your employees or something?”

“You’re the only employee I annoy.”

Choosing to ignore the idea of being special in any sort of way and replying, “If you keep lying like this your pants are gonna set on fire.”

Brow raising to you, joking, “Is that a threat?”

“If you’re not careful,” another ding signalling your arrival at the basement.

Still smiling, “Noted.”

You follow him off the elevator and walk to his car together. It’s sleek and black and far out of your price range. It feels weird just sitting in it, like you’re doing something wrong. It must be showing on your face because Geto raises his brow in question.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” and you briefly consider not continuing your sentence, “your car is super fancy, it feels like I’m somehow sitting in the seat weird.”

He laughs at that, “Now that you’re mentioning it, you are sitting a little odd.”

“Okay, it’s not nice to poke fun,” buckling yourself in, “your stupid car is stupid.”

“I thought it was fancy?”

“I regret talking to you.”

“I don’t.”

The car ride is spent bickering back and forth in a similar fashion, it distracts you enough that you don’t really notice where he’s taking you until you’re in another parking garage. You really should’ve paid more attention.

Brows furrowing as you take in your surroundings, “Where are we?”

“My apartment’s garage,” he says matter of fact.

That spins you, “What?”

While your brain is catching up, Geto’s stepped out of the car. When you don’t immediately get out, he walks to your side and opens the door for you. He doesn’t get a second to speak, you’re immediately asking.

“What are we doing at your apartment?” And despite your reluctance, you exit the vehicle, “I thought we were getting dinner?”

“I asked if you wanted to have dinner together,” the car door closes, “I never said where.”

“You got me on a technicality,” he’d make good fae.

“Don’t worry,” he guides you through the garage, “I’m a good cook.”

“Yeah, you better be after tricking me.”

Credit where credit is due, he knows his way around the kitchen. You get the luxury of observing him work, you had tried to help but he sidelined you when you’d almost cut yourself. A total fluke by the way, you’re more than capable. He hadn’t listened to your excuses though and banished you to the other side of the counter.

His movements are confident; he knows what he’s doing. Sleeves rolled up his forearms, so they don’t get dirty. Sturdier than you would’ve pegged him for. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, keeping it out of the way. It’s swishing slightly as he moves and it amuses you, he has very nice hair.

Watching him dish up dinner, you absentmindedly comment, “You’d make a good housewife.”

He pauses before replying, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

“Would you be a working husband then?”

“Naturally,” you take your plate, eyes tracking him as he moves to sit next to you at the countertop, “I’d be a very good husband.”

He’s smiling like he finds you to be exhausting, “Eat your food.”

Dinner is good and you say as much while eating, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten something so tasty. Geto really would make a good partner, the fact he’s spent all day at work and still came home and cooked a whole meal shouldn’t be impressive, but it is. When you’d relayed this to him, he’d told you that you’re too easily impressed and maybe that’s true.

After you’ve both eaten, you’re relaxing on the couch together. The conversation is casual and you don’t have to try too hard to think of something to say. Any lull in conversation isn’t awkward either, the both of you seemingly comfortable in the others presence. It’s nice.

For the first time in a while, you’re feeling good. Not overthinking anything and just allowing yourself to be in this moment.

“By the way,” you start after another pause in conversation, “I’ve been meaning to mention…”

Hum of acknowledgement from him, signalling you to continue.

“I feel underutilised.”

“In what way?”

“At work,” you clarify, “you’re so on top of things, I barely feel like I’m helping.”

“You are,” he smiles, seemingly endeared by your concern, “immensely.”

Eyes rolling at him, hardly satisfied, “Geto—”

“—I’m serious,” he says your name. “Things have been running smoothly for me, you’re incredibly meticulous,” it’s a slightly mocking tone, reminding you of your earlier words.

Your head falls to the back of the couch, looking at him out the corner of your eye, “I’m not someone who can be placated with empty compliments.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be,” he continues smiling gently.

“Seriously.” You turn your head to look at him properly, “Are you hiding work from me or something?”

He drops his head onto the couch and faces you, mirroring your pose, “It’s only your first couple weeks, I had to go a little easy on you.”

Doubt is written all over your features, “I don’t know if you’re that kind.”

“You really have a low opinion of me,” his hand raises and clutches over his chest like you’ve wounded him.

You shrug back, “I think it’s significantly improved after dinner.”

“Oh, is that all it took?” He chuckles.

“I’m easy to please.”

“I wonder about that.”

A quiet falls over the both of you, still facing each other. It feels as though you’ve gotten closer to him and you can’t tell if he’s the one who moved or if it was you. The hand Geto had on his chest moves to the side of your face, sliding down to your neck. It’s an impossibly long and drawn-out moment where you’re not quite sure what he’s going to do or what’s happening between the two of you.

All your thoughts dissipate as soon as he leans in and kisses you slow, tentative. Focusing only on how his lips feel against yours, soft and careful. You kiss back and it has him responding eagerly. Moving closer to you, other hand on your waist.

His thumb strokes under your chin to encourage you to tilt your head back for him, you comply. Mouths slotting together hotly, his tongue swiping against your lower lip to ask for entry. You’re mindlessly granting it, stifling down a small shiver as he licks against your own tongue.

You’re looping your arms around his neck and he’s welcoming it, hold on your waist sliding to your back and pulling you closer into him. The longer the kiss lasts, the needier he gets. Turning from soft and sweet to hot and messy. Sucking on your tongue a little as he pulls back.

And even though he pulls back, you don’t have a real chance to speak because he’s back on you in a second. It’s intoxicating and all consuming, head filling with fog pleasantly. Involuntarily mewling against him when he nips you and it’s only spurring him on.

Grabbing you and placing you on top his lap, your pussy warm over his erection. Able to feel just how aroused he’s getting. Geto grunts a little when you shift, lowering yourself onto him a bit more. He embraces the pressure though, grip on your hips tight and slightly rocking you.

Small grinds down onto him making the both of you moan into the kiss, breaths coming harder and intermingling. You find yourself wishing he didn’t still have his hair up, wanting to run your fingers through it. His fingers slip upwards, playing with the hem of your shirt, tickling along your exposed skin.

Completely caught up in the moment, rutting down into him as he swallows your moans. His hips moving up slightly to meet yours, clearly just as lost in this as you. It’s your phone buzzing in your back pocket that pulls your attention. Reluctantly pulling back because it might be important, your eyes linger a little on his shiny lips.

Then you’re tugging your phone out of your pocket, still sat on top of Geto. “I’m sorry,” you’re still a little breathless, “It might be important.” You don’t mention it could be your parents.

He hums back at you, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. Eyes a little glassy as he watches you read your phone screen. He doesn’t miss the way you still as your eyes glance over it.

The message is from Gojo, and you’re immediately hit with a whole slew of complicated emotions. It simply reads, ‘Do you have free time soon?’

Geto’s head tilts at you, he can feel the tone shift. Removing his hands from under your shirt, and asking, “Are you okay?”

You blink a couple times and look back to him, “What? Yeah, I’m fine!” Removing yourself from his lap a little awkwardly, “But… I think I’m going to go home for tonight.”

“I didn’t—”

“—No! You didn’t do anything wrong, Geto, honest.” You don’t want him to think he’s upset you. “I just… think this happened a little fast, I’m sort of dealing with a lot right now and the last thing I want to do is rush into something with you… my boss.”

“I understand,” he nods slowly, standing up as well, “I want you to know, that wasn’t my intention bringing you here.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” you smile, trying to add a bit of levity.

His head tilts a little lower to fix you with a serious look, “It wasn’t.”

“Okay, though I may still hold this over your head at work,” walking with him to the door, “maybe even get a raise.”

“Don’t push it,” he snickers, “especially not when you were all too eagerly rubbing—”

You push his side, “—Don’t you push it.” Lingering a bit at the entryway, “I hope we’ll still be able to work together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we can,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I was too hasty… it won’t happen again, unless you want it to.”

The appreciation you have for Geto only grows with how chill he’s being about this. “Thank you for dinner, I had a nice time.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” he smiles and it feels genuine, “I can drive you home?”

“No, that’s okay.” you don’t want him knowing you’re living with your parents, and you think you might need a little distance for now, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

A single nod, “Get home safe.”

The whole trip home, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. About Gojo messaging you, his timing is impeccable really. There’s still a lot of things you’re feeling and rationally you know you’re not betraying Gojo in any way but the heavy weight on your chest remains regardless.

The next day, you’re sitting at your desk tending to your work. A little worried that things will be awkward with Geto, not having had the chance to have a full conversation with him today. Though, that’s not unusual for you both so you’re not sure if you’re overthinking it or not.

Wondering if things will be okay between the two of you today when he stops in front of you. Hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for you to acknowledge his presence.

Your eyes scan the time and then you’re telling him, “You’re going to be late.”

“We’re going to be late,” he corrects.

A little confused by that, “Huh?”

“You’re coming with me, come on.”

That certainly throws you for a loop, but you don’t get much of a chance to be confused, following after him. It wasn’t frequent that Gojo took you with him to meetings, not that it’s unusual or anything. If you really thought about it, you’d have to say that Gojo might be the unusual one.

You are thankful that things do seem to be normal between Geto and yourself, he’s not icing you out or anything. Everything seems to be the same and you feel like you relax at the realisation, breaths coming a bit easier now. The lingering discomfort is coming from your current setting, rather than your relationship to your boss.

Meetings are always uncomfortable for you, left feeling out of place and in the way. You’re not expected to contribute anything or do anything at all really. So, you take notes, writing down everything you can as it’s brought up. It’s come in handy a couple times, now it’s just a habit. It gives you something to do, makes you look busy and attentive, instead of uncomfortable and uncertain.

Jotting down most things said, not really paying much attention to what exactly it is you’re writing. Repeating down someone’s words when Geto leans over to say, “Yeah, make sure you get that down.”

Breathing out an amused sound at it when you realise the unimportance of what you’ve written, ‘People need to understand the vision.’ Fairly inoffensive but not really worth your ink.

You mutter back at him, “Pay attention.”

“But I’m getting bored,” he grins.

“Not my problem.”

You’re trying not to pay too much attention to him, not wanting to encourage his behaviour or get distracted yourself. These past couple weeks have you softening towards him, he’s a good boss and he cares about his company a lot. Annoying sometimes but you suppose you’re used to that.

You can’t afford yourself getting swept up in him, he’s far too appealing and you already know how good of a kisser he is… and these are exactly the kind of thoughts you were trying to avoid by not paying him much mind.

The rest of the meeting wraps up fairly smoothly, despite Geto’s attempts to entertain himself by bothering you every now and again. You’re busy chastising him when you’re walking through the lobby, “That was totally unprofessional, Geto. What if they decide they don’t want to work with you anymore?”

“Don’t overreact, I wasn’t that bad,” he nudges your side lightly, “plus, they love me.”

“You sure are full of yourself.”

“Should you be talking to your boss that way?”

“Absolutely,” nudging him back, “I need to make sure you’re kept in—”

Words dying off all at once because you’re very suddenly faced with Gojo right in front of you. Blinking up at him dumbly, not even sure if he’s really there. All the guilt you’d been ignoring flooding you at once, head very quickly feeling light. Why is he even here?

Geto talks before either of you do, trying to smooth over the awkwardness, “Good afternoon, Satoru.”

Gojo doesn’t even react, addressing only you, “What are you doing here?”

“I… I’m here on business,” you mumble out, having a hard time keeping eye contact. Your heart is racing in your chest, and it feels like there’s a lump in your throat.

“What brings you here, Satoru?” Geto asks the question you both want the answer to, though you imagine he’s curious for a different reason.

“Business,” he replies, clearly aware that him being here threatens Geto’s position with this company.

“Well, we don’t want to hold you up,” you force a smile, “we’ll be on our way.” Attempting to find an out from this conversation.

Gojo doesn’t let it happen, “Ah, I don’t think so,” he grasps your hand, “I’ve got time before my meeting, we need to talk.”

“I’m kind of on the clock, Gojo.” His hand around yours is warm, it’s a contrast to the cold chill running through the rest of your body. “And you’re probably running late already,” your smile feels sad, but you push through it, “we can talk another time.”

Giving his hand a single squeeze before slipping from his hold and shuffling quickly to the exit. This big building now feels suffocating. You don’t even check to see if Geto’s followed you out, mind only focused on getting to the car. That’s a second time now, a second time where you’re actually enjoying your new job and working for Geto without the shame tugging at the back of your brain. Only for it to slam into you all at once. Some luck you have, it’s almost like the universe punishing you or something less dramatic.

You’re resting against the side of the car, waiting for Geto to catch up. Feeling on edge, like you might cry. The last time you’d seen Gojo in person, you’d been wrapped up in his arms kept warm and safe. To be so intimate with him only to fumble over your own words and act so cold after, you feel stupid.

Eyes fixed on your shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, seeing Geto’s own coming into view when he approaches you.

“You doing okay?”

“You’ve been asking that a lot lately,” looking to him, “how about you?”

By the look on his face, you can tell he doesn’t understand why you’re asking. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, I was just asking cause… you know,” rocking side to side on your feet, “if Gojo’s here then it means they might choose to—”

He waves a hand dismissively, “—Eh, I already knew they were probably gonna do something like this.” Mouth pulling to the side as he says, “I can’t tell if they’re bold or diabolical, booking us both in around the same time.”

You add, “Probably both.”

“You look sad,” his comment is decidedly not needed but he made it anyway, you suppose he doesn’t want to talk about himself.

“Just… overwhelmed, I wasn’t expecting to run into Gojo. No offence but it feels dirty to work for you sometimes.”

It’s painfully silent for a moment and you wonder if you did offend him. Concern gone when he asks, “Did you need a hug or something?”

Glare pointed, “No.”

A chuckle leaves him at your distaste, “Then get in the car and let’s leave.”

You had half expected for Gojo to text you again after you’d run into him, but he didn’t, phone suspiciously silent. It has you more on edge than if he had tried calling you. Still thinking about it the next day, wondering if maybe you should reach out to him first this time and take him up on his offer, just get it all over with.

To be honest, you don’t even know what you were expecting. If you’re working in the same field with him, you were obviously going to run into each other at some point. Were you hoping he’d never find out about you working for Geto? Was that realistic of you? Should you even feel guilty? It’s not personal, you just really needed money and Geto happened to show up when you were sick of applying for jobs.

You’re choosing to chalk your guilt up to the fact you slept with him before you’d left, you don’t… regret it but maybe things would’ve been easier for you if you hadn’t. The amount you think about that night is probably bordering on excessive. The memory of his big hands on your body still firmly planted in your mind, along with the way his lips felt against yours.

A new kind of guilt travels up your spine, kissing Geto after having been with Gojo feels weird. If Gojo hadn’t messaged at that moment, would you have gone all the way with your current boss. What ifs don’t exactly help your situation, but you may be spiralling a bit.

A familiar, soft hum sounds from nearby, “Hm, you’re slacking off.”

Your response is automatic, “You can’t talk,” and then you’re registering just who had said that. “What? How did you even get up here?”

Gojo grins, pulling one of the chairs against the wall to the front of your desk. Sitting down in it casually, like he’s not shown up completely unexpectedly. “It’s amazing how far you can get when you act like you belong somewhere,” quickly adding, “and are willing to lie.”

He really does have a great sense of time because Geto’s not here, having gone out earlier for some secret meeting he wouldn’t disclose to you. The idea that Gojo might have had something to do with that briefly crossing your mind before you shake it.

“You got time now?” His arms crossed at you.

“I’m literally in the middle of my workday.”

“Oh please,” he grumbles. “You were daydreaming.”

Flipping it back on him, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Sure, but I thought seeing you was more important.”

Unable to help the small giddy feeling that runs through you at that, it’s not like he ever prioritises work over his whims anyway but still. You change the topic, feeling sheepish asking, “How have you been?”

He’s refusing to give you a direct answer, “How do you think I’ve been?”

“Gojo—”

“—Oh, it’s ‘Gojo’ now?” evil grin on his face, “It was ‘Satoru’ when I was balls deep inside you.”

Your lips purse at that, caught off guard and not quite sure how he wants you to respond. Turns out you don’t need to because he carries on.

“Why are you working here?” he’s pouting now, “Suguru sucks, I’m a much better boss.”

“You know I didn’t want to leave,” you sigh. “I ran into him a couple weeks ago; he offered me a job again and after thinking about it… I took it.”

“Is this why you won’t reply to any of my texts?”

“No…”

“You’ve been hurting my feelings, sweetie,” still pouting, “had me wondering if I’d done something wrong.”

You answer quickly then, “No.” Settling back into your seat, “Things have just been a bit… hard for me lately. None of it is because of you.”

“Then can you tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Gesturing at nothing frustratedly, “I know you put Nanami down as a reference, why wouldn’t you put me? You know, your former boss.”

“I felt it would be cruel.”

He softens at that, his brows unfurrowing. “I’m taking that to mean you at least care about me.”

“Of course I do.” The thought of him walking around thinking you don’t care for him hurts you… a lot. You can’t exactly blame him though, to him, you’ve probably been frustratingly secretive and evasive.

“Are you happy here?”

Hesitating a bit before replying, “Yes.” Because you are… happy here. Or at least, you’re happier here compared to the café.

There’s a look on his face that tells you he’s seeing right through you. “Your position is still open.”

“You need to fill it.”

“I’m not going to.”

“That’s stupid.” And it is stupid, but your heart skips a beat.

Raising to his feet, he stretches his long limbs, “I don’t think so.”

You’re standing up instinctively, intending to walk him to the elevator.

Gojo’s rounding your desk though, standing in front of you, “I intend to keep it open until you come back, I told you that.”

“And I’m telling you that that’s unrealistic.”

He cups the side of your face and smiles, “Don’t care.” Then he pulls you in for a hug, holding you for a few moments before speaking again, “I’ve gotta go, I don’t wanna be here when Suguru gets back.”

“How did you even know he was out?” If it comes out accusatory that’s because it is, pretty certain now that he’s done something.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

You start, “Gojo—”

“—Ah,” cutting you off again, “I’ll see you later.”

And you’re sure that he kisses the top of your head before walking off. As you watch him leave, you half hope he’ll come back but that’s just selfish. You know if you told him everything, he’d help, he absolutely would. But you’re not going to put him in that position. Neither being his former employee nor one night stand entitles you to asking for financial help.

After he leaves, you take your break. Not getting to see Geto beforehand, you don’t really want to at the moment. Feeling incredibly cut open and raw, on the verge of telling everything to the first person you see because the weight of it all is getting to you. It has been for weeks.

There’s a utility closet on the floor below yours that doesn’t get utilised much and you’ve taken to hiding out in there when you need to be alone. The slightly dusty items keeping you company as you wallow, it’s truly the only time you get to be by yourself. At home has your parents and when you’re at your desk you’re, well, working. The streets are filled with people, on the weekend and during lunch. So, this small closet has become a great safe space.

If you tried, you could probably cry. You wonder if it would make you feel better. Instead of doing that, you find an old broom and turn it upside down, resting it against some shelves in front of you. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. Crudely drawing down a face, trying to make it look as approachable as you can. Then you stick it onto the broom.

“I should probably name you,” humming in thought, “You will now be called… Dusty.”

Dusty’s sticky note face flutters to the ground as soon as you finish the sentence, and you try not to take it personally.

“Okay, I know it’s not the best name but it’s the best I’ve got.” Picking up the bit of paper, you stick it to Dusty once more, running your fingers over the sticky part a few times in hopes it’ll coax it into staying this time.

Once you’re satisfied, you back off until you’re resting against the wall opposite him. “Maybe feeling like I’m talking to someone will help.” Gesturing at the broom, “That’s where you come into play, Dusty.”

You take in a slow breath and breathe it out before starting, “I miss my old life,” shuffling on your feet a little because it feels weird to say out loud, “I miss my coworkers and… Satoru.” Head thumping back against the wall, “The worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself… and I guess my ex-roommate situationship… sorta.”

You get distracted with an anger you’d stuffed down ages ago, only to be pulled from it very suddenly when Dusty falls to the ground with a loud clash. It causes you to jump. The image of Dusty face down on the ground resonates with you though. Emotionally in the same state as him.

Huffing out a small chuckle, “Yeah, I feel the same, Dusty.”

Your phone ringing in your pocket draws your attention away from the broom before you can prop it back upright. Geto’s caller ID scrawled across the screen, pausing for a moment but ultimately picking up. He is your boss; you should pick up even if it is your lunch break.

Beginning to slide down the wall to sit when you answer, “Hello?”

 “Where are you?” Always so straight to the point.

Eyes fixed on Dusty, “…On my lunch break.”

“So… the sounds I’m hearing from this closet are just my imagination?”

Pausing again, glancing at the closed door, “…Yes?”

He hangs up the phone at that, choosing to just walk into the closet. Immediately faced with the sight of a sad broom on the floor and then over at you sitting awkwardly against the far-right wall.

“…How was your meeting?” Your smile is uncomfortable on your face.

Geto looks to the broom, then to you, then back to the broom. “Bad,” walking into the room and picking up Dusty. Miraculously—or maybe not so much—the sticky note face is still there, and he points at it quizzically, “You do this?”

“No, that’d be weird.”

A soft laugh leaves him as he places it back down. Then he moves to sit beside you on the floor. The sight of his expensive suit resting against a dusty closets wall and floor tickles you a little. You both don’t speak, just sitting in each other’s presence.

You get curious though, “Why was your meeting bad?”

“Wasn’t real,” he grumbles, “Satoru set it up, I’m guessing this is a little taste of revenge for stealing you away. Wasting my valuable time.”

The idea of his time being valuable but making space to sit on the floor in this room with you is amusing. At least now you know why Gojo had such good timing and didn’t stick around. You’re not going to tell Geto about that though.

Choosing to change the topic again, “How did you even know where I was?”

“I’ve seen you head to this floor before a few times,” he shrugs, “I got curious, imagine my surprise to find you in here talking to a broom.”

“Of course, the one time I do that I get caught.”

“You were talking to the broom then?”

“His name is Dusty,” correcting him jokingly, “and yeah.”

He offers, “Do you want to talk to me instead?”

“Not really.”

Laughing a little at your immediate response, “I’ll try not to take offence.”

Gesturing across the room as you say, “If I wanted to talk to an actual person I wouldn’t be talking to a broom.”

He corrects you this time, “Dusty.”

You snicker at that, “Right. Dusty.”

Geto doesn’t force anymore information out of you, he just stays with you while you consider things. Maybe the fact that there’s no pressure is the reason behind why you decide to open up to him a bit. “I’ve been having a hard time financially; it’s why I had to leave my job and move here. I’m living with my parents.”

“Satoru doesn’t know?”

“Nope,” your head turns to look at him, finding him already looking back at you, “I was worried he’d do something drastic.” A bitter laugh leaving you, “I’m already in debt, I don’t want to owe him too.”

Watching you for a bit and then asking, “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” Sighing as you look forward again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” Ghost of a smile on your lips directed at him.

“I could—”

“—No, you couldn’t.”

“Okay, then in that case, I’m here if you want to talk about it some more.”

You face him once more, he’s closer than you thought, and everything feels tense. Geto’s eyes flick to your lips and you’re reminded of what happened just the other night. Head flipping forward before anything can happen.

Oddly enough, you think kissing him that night brought you two closer together. Though, you don’t know if that’s the same for him. The quiet is nice, it doesn’t feel so pitiful with him here beside you.

Despite yourself, you start talking again, “I had a roommate.”

“Hm?”

“Before I moved,” you sigh, “I had a roommate, an old friend sort of. Our relationship was… complicated.” Your legs draw up and you tuck your knees to your chest, “He moved out last minute and made it hard for me to stay in the apartment.”

Geto’s brows draw up, “You don’t know where he is?”

“Nope.” Lips down turning, pissed off at the memory, “Just left a shitty note and ran off.” It’s not the full story but it’s more than anyone else has gotten up until now.

After a moments pause, Geto asks, “Have you tried looking for him?”

“There wouldn’t be much point,” shrugging, “he doesn’t want to be found and it’s not like I’d want him to be my roommate again,” you laugh a little.

Geto doesn’t laugh, “I’m assuming he owes you some money though.”

More than some, “Sure but I’m pretty certain he’s not going to cough it up even if I did find him.” You stand up now, “Don’t worry too much about it Geto, what’s done is done.”

He gets to his feet as well, “It might be worth looking for him.”

“Nah,” you crack your back, done talking about this now.

A bit of regret is creeping up your spine, you don’t enjoy talking about these kinds of things and oversharing with your boss is not the move. In saying that though, it was nice to share even if it was just a bit. There’s so much you’ve been keeping to yourself for so long, for someone to listen felt good even if you’re feeling a little exposed because of it.

As if Geto can sense your unease, he says unprompted, “I’m worried about the meeting yesterday.”

You look to him, choosing to stay quiet because he doesn’t seem to be finished talking.

“I think they’ll end up going with Satoru and that’s frustrating for a multitude of reasons,” he sighs, “I’ve been trying to deal with them for some time now, to have them look elsewhere in the final hour…” he trails off before finishing, “What’s done is done though.” Repeating your words back at you.

“I get the frustration,” you offer a smile. You’d seen how annoyed Gojo got whenever Geto got business with a company he’d been working. To see the other side is a little weird, especially since you find yourself still rooting for Gojo. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Yeah, you too.” He places a hand atop your head, and pretends to be stern, “Now get back to work, breaks over.”

“Yessir,” you reply stiffly and with a curt nod.

The pair of you leave that stuffy closet and head back upstairs to finish off the rest of the workday.

The end of your third week working with Geto is the same as it has been. You’d been worried that confiding in him like you did—or even the kiss—would change your working relationship but things have been smooth. If you had to make note of anything changing, you’d say that you both seem to be closer now.

Typically, when you open up to people in similar ways, you’re later flooded with regret. Asking yourself why you’d shared so much, with Geto it’s not so bad. He’s hard to read though, sometimes you find yourself watching his expressions extra close to try and see how he’s feeling but it’s not easy at all. You’d hate to play poker with him.

You’re just about running low on things to make yourself busy with when Geto’s asking you to come into his office. Entering hesitantly, suddenly feeling a whole lot like you’re being called into the principal’s office for some reason.

“Our last meeting…” he starts, “you were taking note of everything said.”

“Yeah.” Nodding back.

“Could I look at them?”

“Sure,” you turn to head back out, stating as you go, “though I don’t know how helpful it’ll be.”

When you walk back, Geto’s patiently waiting for your notes. Taking them from your extended hand and immediately flicking through them. His brows pinch a little as he glances over everything you had written down.

“You’ve used some shorthand,” glaring at it a little like that will make it more readable for him, “I don’t recognise it.”

“It’s not real shorthand…” you look away, feeling a little shy, “it’s just so I can read it back… I only do it when the conversation is going too quickly.”

“Sit down,” he points to the chair to your side.

Now you really feel like you’re in trouble, sitting down as he said.

After a moment, he looks up from the pages and looks you over, “Why are you sitting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m sitting normally,” arms crossing in front of you, “why do I need to stay in here?”

“So you can decipher these notes,” finally cracking a smile.

You feel yourself physically relax at his smile, “You were there for the meeting, Geto. You should remember what was said.”

“I was distracted,” shrugging it off.

“You were bored.”

Grinning a little wider at you, “That’s what I said.”

You roll your eyes at him but move the chair closer to his desk so you can better assist him in his reread. You weren’t wrong in doubting the usefulness of your notes. They’d spent a good chunk of the meeting repeating themselves and refusing to communicate properly what they were looking for. The idea of Gojo sitting through a meeting with them is funny, you can’t imagine he’d behave. It brings into question why Geto feels like they’re going with Gojo over him.

After you’ve gone over everything, Geto groans and relaxes further into his chair. “They’re so uncooperative.” Sighing, “The meeting was just as unproductive as I remember it being.”

Joking with him a little, “You’re not so confident they love you anymore?”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down,” but he smiles a little, clearly not hurt.

“So,” you prompt, “what are you going to do now?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” His fingers are tapping rhythmically on the desk, a familiar tune you can’t quite place. It then stops suddenly, “By any chance, were you still working for Satoru when they reached out?”

You pause a little at his question, giving him the benefit of the doubt by answering, “We reached out to them but never got a substantial response.”

That piques his interest a little, “What did—”

Before he can finish asking, you shut him down professionally, “—I’m not at liberty to discuss details pertaining to my previous employment.”

“Of course not,” he smiles politely.

“If that’s all,” you plaster a pleasant look on your face and wait for him to speak.

“Yes, that’s all. Thank you,” he says your name and with that you leave his office.

The whole interaction is painted with the quiet fact that you both know this has done damage to your budding friendship. It hurts more than you thought it would, now questioning if he was just buttering you up to be able to ask you questions like that without any push back. Even if you didn’t feel loyalty to Gojo, you’re a professional and you wouldn’t talk about a company’s inner workings after leaving.

Of course it happens when you were just thinking about how nice it felt to open up. And maybe it’s still true that talking to someone was good, it’s just now laced with a severe distaste and faint feeling of betrayal. Whatever, this was your own blunder, just another in a long list of things you’ve messed up recently.

You’re choosing not to think too hard about it, you need this job. It just means you won’t be trusting him anytime soon. This sucks. You’ve not been having an especially easy time making friends here and to have the one person you thought of as one seemingly use you for information… sucks.

Just a few more hours and you get to clock off and go home for a whole couple days. The weekend looks especially welcoming now, your parents will be gone for a bit, and you’ll get some down time. Having an empty house sounds so good, you’ll be able to exist in your space without them asking questions you can’t or don’t have the answers to.

That weekend you were so looking forward to flies by in the blink of an eye. Though you did get some time to indulge in some hobbies you’d been neglecting, you even sat in the lounge and watched a movie. Truly, your life is so exciting lately.

It’s unfortunate that it’s already Sunday though, your parents will be home later in the evening, and you’ll have to get yourself emotionally ready to go into work tomorrow. You don’t know if you’re ready to see Geto, unsure how you’ll react now that you feel used. You’d truly believed him when he said he was hiring you for you and not because of your connection to Gojo.

You’re in the middle of your evening routine when there’s a knock at the door. It has you pausing and considering ignoring whoever it may be but then it comes again and you relent. Heading towards the door and opening it a crack. The sight of Gojo on your doorstep truly stuns you, mouth opening at him because how does he even know you’re here?

He leans down, apparently pleased with your shock. “You gonna invite me in, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure if it’s such a good idea but you’ve missed him so much, so you’re stepping to the side and opening the door more for him to step inside. He enters easily, slipping his shoes off before wandering further into the house.

You follow after him, deciding a little late to be a good host. “Would you like some tea?”

“Sure,” he replies chirpily, finding his own way to the kitchen and sitting at the table.

The decently sized kitchen feels much smaller with him in it, his frame making the chairs look ridiculous. Choosing to ignore the way your heart races in his presence, you silently make two cups of tea. Piling sugar into Gojo’s, remembering that he can’t drink it without.

Placing the cup down in front of him, you ask, “How did you know to find me here?”

The only response you get is a smile and the view of him taking a sip of his tea. You groan a little at his reluctance, but if you had to guess, he probably just annoyed it out of Nanami. Moving, you sit down across from him and nurse your own mug.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he states plainly, “I’ve missed you.”

It comes easily to him but saying you missed him as well is hard for you and you can’t really understand why.

Gojo doesn’t let the silence linger long, “How’s Suguru treating you?”

He meant it conversationally but it’s just another sharp reminder that you’ve gotten close to someone who probably doesn’t care much for you at all. “Good.”

When you look up from your tea, his eyes are looking back at you. It’s hard to keep eye contact so you look back to your warm drink, “I– uhm,” you shift awkwardly, “I miss working for you though.”

Reply fast and exactly what you expected, “Come back.”

“I can’t, I really want to,” you look back to him, holding his gaze firmly, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to, Gojo. I had to uproot my whole life; I’m living with my parents.”

“Tell me why then,” he frowns at you, frustration bleeding through his tone, “why did you leave? Why are you living here? Why won’t you just let me help you?”

Your brow twitches, “Am I supposed to ask my boss for financial help? Am I supposed to complain about my personal issues to you and hope you whisk me away and fix them all? I’m an adult, Gojo, and I have no right to ask that of you.”

“You were always more than just an employee to me,” he says your name, “You slept with me and you still didn’t give me any sort of explanation.”

“It was a one-night stand,” you brush it off, trying to lessen it. That’s how you’ve been rationalising it to yourself for the past couple months.

“Not to me,” pointing at you accusatorily, “and you can’t really believe that.”

“Gojo—”

“—I’m sick of not knowing, I’m sick of worrying about you,” his arms fold stubbornly, “I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”

“It’s not exactly something I want to talk about,” especially not after recent events. You can tell by the expression on Gojo’s face that he’s serious though, and you can do without your parents coming home to see this stranger in their house. “The short of it is that I had a roommate, he moved out without notice, I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore, I moved home.”

Not satisfied, asking, “And what’s the long of it?”

“If I tell you everything, you’re just going to pity me and try to fix it all.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Yes! I don’t want to owe you too, Gojo.”

He doesn’t miss it, your phrasing catching his attention, “Too?”

“I may or may not be in debt.” In this specific moment, you’re finding the ceiling to be very interesting.

Your name comes sighed from him, “What kind of mess have you gotten into?”

“I didn’t get myself into any mess, thank you very much.” You’re finding yourself backed into a corner.

Instead of forcing your hand, Gojo suggests, “If I promise to not do anything you don’t agree to, will you tell me what’s really been going on.”

At his offer, you look him over carefully. Quietly deciding if you should or shouldn’t. Maybe at one point in your life, he was just your employer, but he became much more than that pretty quickly and you might’ve been tricking yourself by pretending otherwise. You really have missed him so much and you can’t find it in yourself to keep pushing him away.

You find that his suggestion gives you no reason to hide anything from him. You’d only been worried about what he might do, not what he might think of you. So, you’re relenting. “Fine, but you have to promise,” you hold your hand out across the table, “pinkie promise.”

Gojo can’t hide the way he softens at that, faithfully raising his hand to wrap his pinkie around yours to seal it. “I promise.”

You nod like it’s some sort of binding spell and pull back. Exhaling softly as you begin, “My roommate and I had a complex and sometimes difficult… relationship… we weren’t dating but we’d been more than friends. I’d known him for a long time, it’s why I trusted him to live with me.”

The way Gojo looks is displeased already and you can’t quite pin down why but you carry on, “At some point I guess he got really into gambling,” you shrug, “he put me down as his guarantor without my knowledge. Obviously not legally but he wasn’t gambling legally so I suppose it hardly matters.”

Gojo’s frown deepens, cutting in to ask, “And he moved out after that?”

“Yeah, I guess he got too far in over his own head and felt like he had to run.” It’s taking a lot for you to tell this story; it’s been a while now since this happened and you’ve not told anyone all the details like this. Ever. “He left a note behind, but it didn’t say anything about where he was going or if he’d come back, or even if he’d pay me back.”

There’s a pause from you but that’s not the end of your story and Gojo doesn’t interject again, so you keep talking. “I started making the payments for him, I mean there’s not really anything else I could do in that position. Eventually my savings ran low and the apartment was expensive by myself, so I resigned and moved home.”

Your finger traces the rim of your mug, “It looked bad for a moment though, finding a new job was hard but that’s when Geto showed up at the café I was working at and offered me a position with him.” Risking a glance up as you add, “It didn’t feel… right, working for him but I’m not exactly in the position to be worrying about that stuff right now.”

Gojo looks the angriest you’ve ever seen, you almost can’t recognise him. He takes in a controlled breath to calm himself and he relaxes a little. “I’m glad you finally told me.”

And you can tell that’s not what he really wants to say but he still means it, “I wanted to tell you so many times, Gojo. It’s just… I’m not exactly proud of this and I didn’t want you to offer me money.”

“Oh, I’m still going to offer,” he replies immediately, “if you ever decide you want me to pay the debt, I will.”

“No,” your gaze is unwavering. “Not only will I feel like I owe you, It’d be you paying for him and that doesn’t feel right. You don’t get to fix this for him.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” he points out.

“Yeah, but at least I knew him.”

“At least I can afford it.”

“Okay, ouch.” You huff a small laugh despite the accurate jab. “Now I’m definitely declining your offer.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Tch, you’re still stubborn.”

You ignore his unneeded and obvious comment, “How have you been, Gojo? Really?” You never did get a straight answer.

“Bad, my whole company is imploding because my favourite employee left.”

“You’re so full of it,” you call him out, “from what I can tell you’re going to get that big deal soon.”

“Oh?” he grins, “Suguru not feeling so sure of himself anymore?”

Standing to your feet and collecting the mugs, “You both have to leave me out of this feud you’ve got going on, I’m a professional.”

“Both of us,” his eyes track your movements, “what the hell has he been asking?”

“It’s nothing,” walking over to the sink to wash up, “Gojo I’m serious, leave me out of this.”

“Did you tell him the same thing?” he’s gotten up himself, standing right behind you. Both his arms cage your sides and leave you trapped facing the sink.

You’re trying to ignore the body heat radiating off him, focusing closely on how you rinse your mug. His face is so close and if you turned even a little to the side it’d become much more intimate than your heart can take.

“I told him I can’t discuss information about my previous employment.”

He hums low, “I bet you were all professional about it too.”

Placing the mugs in the drying rack, you turn around so you’re facing him. He’d refused to move back, letting you brush against him as you’d turned. “What are you doing, Gojo?”

“If I said I’m trying to seduce you, how would that make you feel?”

Truthfully, you don’t dislike it, but you can’t ignore the feelings of this being too soon. “You don’t want to do that.”

His head tilts at you, “I don’t?” Hand reaching up to caress your cheek.

The comfort you find in him is immense, feeling a weight off your chest by finally getting to tell him everything. You’re hesitant to start anything with him though, you’ve only just gotten to see each other for longer than a moment. Not to mention, you’d kissed Geto only a week ago.

When he leans in, you place a hand over his mouth, “I’m serious, Gojo.”

The intensity in his gaze tells you he’s communicating the same thing.

You rush out, “Geto and I kissed.”

A hand reaches up and grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his mouth. His only question, “Why?”

“I don’t really know…” you look away from him, “I was at his place, and we kissed… it didn’t go any further than that.”

As of right now, you and Gojo aren’t anything to each other but former employer and employee—and one-night stands. So, you aren’t really sure why you felt like you owed him that information, but it felt wrong to withhold it.

“So… you won’t kiss me because you kissed him?” He hasn’t stepped back, still invading your personal space.

“I’m saying you don’t want to kiss me because of that.”

“That’s odd,” he murmurs. “Because I could swear I still want to kiss you.”

That stumps you, deciding to be blunt, “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m furious.” He touches you so gently, holding your hand, “Just… not at you.”

And since you’re on a roll of honesty, “I’ve missed you.”

“Good.” His eyes search yours, both hands holding your face, “Because I’ve missed you like crazy.”

His lips on yours are familiar and have you melting all too quickly, hands clutching onto his shirt as you meet his needy kisses. He’s not taking it slow, too desperate to. Immediately kissing you messily, tongue meeting yours. You hum against him, letting him guide your kiss hotly.

You’re pressed back against the countertop; he’s moved in closer even though there wasn’t much space between the two of you to begin with. One of his hands move from your face to slide down your body, grasping your hip firmly. A small sound resembling a moan passes from you to him and he swallows it down greedily.

Hand now on your back and gliding under your shirt, resting against your bare skin. His direct touch lights something aflame inside you, knees nearly buckling from how much you’re enjoying just a kiss.

Now that he’s finally got his hands on you, he’s so touchy feely. Hands groping all over your body, both sneaking under the waistband of your sleep shorts and palming your ass. You’re gasping against him over it, breaking the messy kiss.

A string of saliva connecting your lips still, it snaps when you talk, “Gojo, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Enjoying the moment?” He lets his lips trail lower, tickling against your cheek, then down your neck. His hands still firmly planted on the globes of your ass.

“You might be enjoying it too much– hff—”

Gojo’s pulled your cheeks apart, tips of his fingers grazing your wet pussy through your panties. Your forehead collapses against his chest and your hands clutch at his shirt harder, legs very quickly getting wobbly.

“Go easy on me,” he speaks into the top of your head, “I haven’t had the chance to touch you in fucking ages.”

Using his middle finger, he traces and prods at your hole. Chest vibrating with a pleasant hum at how wet you seem to be. Playing with you just to work you up, you can’t help but think of it as a kind of punishment for avoiding him.

Breaths coming faster, “We’re not doing this in my parents’ kitchen.”

“And what exactly is it we’re doing?” He teases further, just to embarrass you for assuming anything.

You look up to him, chin resting on his chest as you shoot him with a glare.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping that will do,” he presses a kiss to your lips, “but you’re really turning me on.”

And just as you’re about to shove some expletives his way, he’s nearly penetrating you through your underwear. Mewls leaving you at the friction, more slick dripping from you and coating your panties.

“Fuck– okay, fine,” he caves without any further complaint from you, “where’s your room, sweetie?”

It takes quite the effort for you to nod in the correct direction, “Over there.”

Finally, he removes his hands from your pants, holding your hand as he drags you over to where you signalled. “It’s cute,” he comments once inside.

The walls are still painted a slightly too bright pink, old posters you hadn’t taken down still plastered on them. The furniture is a little outdated, you’d gotten everything new when you’d finally been able to move out and that’s all in storage. Your bed isn’t even meant for more than one person.

Muttering back, “Shut up.” Your parents had painted the walls when they’d found out they were having a girl and never let you change it, even as you matured. The posters you’d kept up because you’re still you.

“I didn’t say anything bad,” he chuckles. His eyes fix on the bed, “This is gonna be a tight squeeze…” he purses his lips and then smiles, “though I suppose it was last time too—”

He grunts as you jab him in the side, “Not a necessary comment.”

“I disagree,” Gojo turns to you grinning, “but we can agree to disagree.”

His hands are all over you again, tugging at your shirt as he walks you back to the bed in the corner. Mouth slotting over yours after he’s pulled off your sleep shirt, met with your bare breasts because you weren’t expecting visitors. At the sight of you, he’s distracted. Groping at your tits, pinching your nipples.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says low, staring at your boobs instead of you.

You’re trying to ignore how worked up he’s getting you, “You’re such a– hah– romantic.”

“Tonight I’m seducing you,” he pushes you down onto the bed, “tomorrow I can be romantic.”

Your pants are next to go, yanked down your legs, along with your panties. Left completely naked on your own bed while he’s fully dressed, it hardly seems fair. He’s leaning over you just as you’re about to complain about it, then your words are hard to vocalise when he’s got his mouth around your nipple. Tongue flicking at you cruelly, relishing how you jolt each time he does.

The old bed creaks under his added weight and your squirming. His eyes heated as he looks up to keep eye contact with you, two fingers slipping inside your hot cunt as he continues licking and sucking at you. Biting at you gently when his digits are as deep inside you as he can get them. The moan you let out is embarrassingly sinful, your hand coming up to smother down the noises escaping you.

Gojo finally lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, “I was right,” his fingers crook upwards and stroke against the spot he knows drives you wild, “it’s gonna be a tight fit.”

And he’s laughing at his own joke but all you can do is mutter back a half-hearted, “Pervert.”

He doesn’t dignify it with a response, feeling it’s already been pretty well established how he gets over you. Moving his attention instead to your other nipple, sucking and biting hickeys around it before enveloping it in his mouth. Not letting up on how he’s fingering you open, scissoring apart his fingers.

Keeping you open just to savour how you drip fresh slick down his digits and onto the bed spread. It’s pitiful how on edge you already feel, he knows your body so well. Remembering exactly how to touch you to rile you up.

Thumb sliding over your clit, rubbing messy circles around it. He’s avoiding touching your sensitive nerves directly, teasing you carefully. It’s completely frustrating, he could have you cumming in ten seconds flat but he’s not letting you. Instead, he’s carefully building your orgasm up but never pushing you over that ledge.

Bright eyes looking through full lashes at you, mouth coming off your nipple. He makes a show of it, giving you a final harsh lick, tongue hanging from his mouth as he retreats. It’s hot and makes you whimper a little, though that could also be his fingers fucking knuckle deep and stroking your weak spot.

He’s grinning at your reaction, “Have I said how much I’ve missed you, I can’t remember?”

“I think– hng– think you mentioned it,” it’s hard to keep focus on him. Your high so close, if you just ignore how condescendingly he’s smiling at you, you could—

“Close?” Gojo asks.

You nod back quickly at him, biting into your lower lip. Then, he cruelly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you a panting mess craving for your release. Your thighs rub together, trying to make up for what you lost but it can’t compare even a little bit.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” lips on yours, kissing you deep before continuing, “but I feel the need to tease you a little extra, since you left me and all.”

He does, however, grace your eyes by removing his shirt. Torso just as toned and enticing as the last time you saw it. His belt comes undone next, popping the button on his pants but not doing any more than that. Returning his attention back to you.

Hands gliding up and down the sides of your body, ever the clingy type in how he pulls at your soft skin. It’s while he’s palming at you that you tell him, “You don’t have all night for this,” informing him, “my parents come back tonight.”

“How scandalous,” he’s amused despite the ticking clock.

“Gojo, I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” his hands push your legs apart, wide, “and I was too. You hurt my feelings so I’m gonna edge you a little.” Before you can whine about that he says, “Just a bit! I’m not gonna leave here without fucking that divine pussy of yours, I swear. I’m not crazy.”

Humming happily as he runs a thumb between your folds, pressing into your clit. Circling it directly this time, focusing his touch straight on your sensitive nub. You’re squirming on the bed over it, wanting to shut your legs and being unable to. Gojo’s got himself firmly planted between your open legs and making it difficult for you to do anything but take the overwhelming pleasure.

And then he stops, looking around the bed as he mentions, “Your bed really is tiny.”

You’re shaking from your almost high, but you still manage to bite back, “It’s– hff– it’s not tiny you’re just a giant– ah!—”

He’d climbed off the foot of your bed while you were talking and tugged you down to the edge of it by your ankles, effectively cutting you off. Able to feel his breath against your dripping cunt, it’s making you needier.

“You’re so pretty,” mouthing against your inner thighs as he rambles, “I can’t even sit in my office without think about you. It’s cruel, really. I get hard at the memory of that night and can’t leave my office because I can’t fucking stand.”

He dives headfirst into your pussy after that, licking at you crudely. His tongue slithering inside your gooey hole. Just as good at this as you remember him being, slurping at you and letting it drip all over his face.

Gojo’s eyes roll a little, having desperately missed the taste of you. Moaning into your cunt, he can’t help but get carried away. Your squirming and whining only spurring him on, sucking on your clit. Not able to leave your hole unfilled for long though, tonguing you again. Making out with your pussy lips obscenely.

Getting so caught up in it that he’s almost forgetting that he’s meant to be edging you. Feeling the telltale shudders running through you and pulling away, eyes amused as he watches your hole twitch around nothing. You’re clawing at the sheets as you whimper sadly at the loss.

“Mm sorry,” you whinge at him, because you really are but you also don’t want to take anymore edging.

“Barely heard from you,” his fingers circle around your entrance, “only a few replies– do you know how much I held back from texting you and when I did I only sometimes got a reply.” Those fingers stretching you open again, “So mean to me.”

You’d apologise more, maybe even try to explain yourself but he’s finger fucking you stupid and it’s making it hard to form a coherent thought. Barely even coming down from your almost high and he’s immediately touching you again. This cycle is going to kill you, feeling like your nerves themselves are vibrating. Desperate ache beginning in the pit of your stomach and buzzing down to your sensitive cunt.

Thoughts are all fuzzy in your head as he reaches so deep inside you, not caressing you like he was earlier. Properly fucking you with his fingers, palm slapping against your clit. The harshness of it feels so damn good, urgently needing it deep and quick.

You’re begging before you even register it, “Please, Gojo– hnn– please let me cum– hah– I’m so sorry– hng!– I’m sorry!”

He bites your inner thigh in response, hard enough to leave a mark and make you mewl. Then he sucks over it, finally laving over it with his tongue as he parts. “I know you are,” he faux pouts.

And since he seems to be on a cruelty streak tonight, he continues driving you crazy for a little bit longer than the times before. Dangerously close to the precipice, back arching meanly for it. Only to be let down once more, his fingers ripping from you so callously at the very last second.

It’s agony, tears filling your waterline. You’re even sitting up straight this time, lower lip quivering as you sulk down at Gojo. He’s smiling pleasantly at you, resting his head on your thigh and looking up like he’s not the mastermind behind your current torture.

Glibly adding, “You know, this is more a punishment for me,” nosing at your soft skin, “I love watching you cum– I love making you cum.”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug back and frown at him. He can only grin back at you, apparently exactly where he wants to be. You whine at him, “You’re being mean.”

“You don’t have to cry about it,” he reaches up and swipes a thumb high on your cheekbone, wiping away a tear.

“I’m not crying because you’re mean,” tugging on his hair a little harsher, “I’m crying cause I’m frustrated.”

“I know,” he laughs breathlessly, and with how you’ve pulled his head back further, you’re able to see his throat bob as he swallows, “It’s kinda cute of you.”

“Gojo—”

“—Mmm,” his face pulls in distaste, “I liked it better when you were calling me Satoru.”

You hate how attracted to him you are right now. Pulled back by his hair, eyes alight with mischief and mouth formed into a large smile. His canines are on display in a way that makes you shiver. He’d just sunk them into your skin no more than a few minutes ago and the thought turns you on further.

“What ya thinking about?” His question coming singsong and lilted.

You’re feeling spiteful though, so you don’t answer, “Nothing.”

“Such an evil woman,” he overdramatises, but leans forward, raising as he goes. “So mean to me,” your hand releases him and he presses kisses to your lips over and over, continuing to talk as he does, “doesn’t call, doesn’t text, refers to me unfamiliarly, won’t tell me what she’s thinking about.”

You’re letting him complain, getting lost in his kisses as he does. Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him a little closer and kiss him a little deeper. Preferring he keep his mouth open only to swallow down your moans, not wanting him to pull back anymore.

While he’s kissing you, he uses his middle finger to delicately circle your clit. Moaning back at you when you let slip a pitiful, little whimper. Beginning to get hypersensitive from all his teasing. He was already able to get you close quickly, it’s even worse with all this edging.

Clinging to him a little more desperately the closer you get, hoping that maybe this time will be different. Maybe he’s done teasing you and even though you won’t be cumming on his dick you will finally get to cum.

And just as you’re stuck in your delusion of him forgetting why he’s doing this to you in the first place, he stops. Hand leaving the warmth of in between your thighs and the slick of your drooling cunt to hold your face. Greedily sucking on your tongue and all your moans, the sad moans of an almost orgasm engulfed by him.

When he pulls back, he does his best to comfort your shaking form. Soft pecks over your cheeks, kissing away some of your tears, “That was the last time, I promise.”

“It has to be,” you sound pathetic even to yourself, “I can’t take anymore.”

“I know,” he coos at you, “and you’ve done such a good job.”

Gojo parts from you completely, standing back so he can pull off his pants and boxers. His dick bobbing under its own weight, leaking precum profusely. It’s now that you realise just how much he’s probably been holding back.

And holding back he has been. Gojo’s damn near driven himself to insanity with all this edging. Close to cumming in his pants a few times just from touching you and getting to hear you moan again. Feeling deprived of you for so long that he can’t believe he actually managed to pull off playing with you without caving first.

“Lay back for me, yeah?” he nods back at your bed, “we’re gonna do our best to make this work.”

You have nothing snarky to say, feeling uncharacteristically docile as you slide back on the bed. Gojo appreciates it deeply, not knowing if he can prolong this much more. Climbing on the bed after you and parting your legs with his warm hands.

There’s no more preamble, quickly stretching you open on the head of his cock. Hissing through his teeth at how wet and creamy you are around his sensitive tip. His head falls back as he sinks deeper and deeper inside your gooey hole, inch by delicious inch. Rumbling moan pouring from him, unable to hold it back.

It’s been so long and he somehow feels bigger than last time, he’s splitting you open obscenely. It’s making your head spin, the overwhelming pleasure of him stuffing you full so satisfying you’re getting lost in it.

Then, while Gojo is biting back a whine, you’re cumming around him and he’s whimpering pitifully. Your plush walls hugging him tight and sucking him in needily, begging him for his whole dick. Obviously, he grants it, slamming the rest of the way inside and relishing in how your pussy bulges around him.

“Hah– I wasn’t even fully inside you yet,” he’s as breathless over it as he is happy, “that’s– fuuck– that’s hot. You’re so fucking cute.”

You’re still shuddering and shaking through your first and most powerful orgasm. Mind completely free of any kind of coherent thought. Only registering how fucking good you feel, how stuffed you feel and how good it is and how full your pussy is and—

Gojo taps the side of your face, “Stay with me, sweetie. I haven’t even started moving yet.”

Eyes blearily looking back at him, lazy ecstasy plastered all over your expression. The sight of you fills him with a kind of cuteness aggression, his hips slamming into you harshly as he leans down to crowd against you. Wrapping you in his arms and hugging you tight as he fucks you stupid.

His pelvis slapping against you fills the room with the slickest and lewdest sounds you’ve heard. The both of you moaning at each other, his name repeated from you over and over as he sheathes himself in your snug warmth repeatedly.

No coherent words come from you, nothing other than Satoru’s name. You can’t even be sure you’ve stopped cumming, feeling so high on the pleasure that it doesn’t feel like it has an end or a beginning anymore.

“Satoru– hng– hh—” Anything else you try to spit out isn’t understood, not to you anyways.

Though, Gojo seems to understand you fine, “I know, pretty,” he speaks against your ear, and it makes you shake, “you’re doing– hng– doing so good for me, sweetie. Taking it so well.”

He can’t stop his movements, it feels far too good to want to anyways. Your tight cunt squeezing so lovingly around him, it’s got his brain all fuzzy with lust. You respond to him so well, every time he moves, or speaks, you react in a way that’s intoxicating to him. The idea of you leaving again quite literally agonising to him.

Letting the insecurity get the better of him but doing his best to not let on. “If you ghost me again after this,” he nips your ear, pulling back to look you in the eyes and stilling his hips. Trying to show just how weighted his words are, “I won’t be nearly as relaxed about it next time.”

“Mm– hah– I– uhm I’m not gonna,” your legs wrap around his waist and tug him in impossibly closer, “Satoru, I promise.”

His dick twitches inside you, “I’ll be holding you to that.”

Kissing you after that, as if to seal the promise. Stifling down the pair of your moans when he starts fucking you again. It’s wet and sloppy and desperate, you’re trying your best to meet his thrusts but every time you try, his own hips slam you back down onto the bed. The very loud bed, creaking as he fucks you stupid.

Gojo’s feeling clingy tonight, so he keeps hugging himself to you despite his desire to see how he’s opening up your little hole. Just knowing you’re spilling slick all over his cock, no doubt a creamy ring at the base of his shaft.

“You’re– hff– you’re gonna message me back now, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you hum back, trying to focus on him but your mind keeps slipping back to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Gonna let me– hng– let me take you out,” especially sharp thrust, “go on a date with me.”

That catches your attention, stumbling out, “You wanna– hnn– go on a date with me?”

“Of course I do,” he groans, like it’s so obvious. “I want to date you, regularly.” He grabs you by your chin and angles you so you’re looking at him straight, “Which is why you’re going to message me back.”

“I will– ngh– I will.”

He uses his hold on your chin to nod your head up and down. “I know you will.” Moving back so he can raise to his knees, he adds, “Now, let’s do something about that time limit.”

Shooting you an amused grin and then grabbing your hips, manhandling you and angling your hips upwards a bit. Using his hold on you to fuck you down onto him as he thrusts forward. Roughly thrusting into you and using his newfound leverage to his benefit. He even gets to watch how he shoves himself inside you, getting the glorious view of your greedy pussy taking him in so well.

He was so right too, you’re dribbling arousal all around him. Cock coated in a white sheen, both your fluids mixing together and making an indecent mess. It makes him deliriously happy to see how you’re connected, his heart hammering in his chest with excitement. You’re such a pretty thing, completely perfect to him.

If you disappear on him again, he’s going to do something drastic. He’s not thinking about that right now though, not when he has you in his hands and gets to fuck you until you’re squirming and whimpering his name. Devolving into a mess in his hold, he should try edging you again sometime. The payoff is huge, you’re not even aware of the little orgasms you’ve been continuously having while he fucks you.

The thrusts he’s delivering to you truly have your world tilting on its axis, you’d thought he had you a mess before but now you feel insane. It’s like he’s doubled his efforts; you can’t exactly pin down why. Brain not functioning well enough to properly understand the time limit he’s referring to. Officially dumb on his dick.

Drunk on pleasure, cock ramming into your g-spot regularly. It feels like his tip kisses your womb with how deep he’s reaching inside you. Stimulated so deeply that you’re panting and grinding yourself down against him. Back arched upwards further, even with him holding you up by your hips.

With a few more weighted thrusts and heavy drags of his thick cock, you’re cumming again. Your moans aren’t even audible at first, the force of your orgasm that strong. Tears pricking at your waterline again, crying from how fucking good it feels to let go and cum so hard. You can’t hear anything but the blood rushing through your head. Vision going a little fuzzy as you indulge in your high.

That very high of yours, triggers Gojo’s. Finally letting himself succumb to the immense ecstasy running through his veins. He shudders and shakes through it, pulling you tight to his pelvis as he dumps his load deep inside your womb. Overstuffing your cunt with his spend, delighting in how he fills you to the point it’s leaking out back around him. Memories of the last time he came inside you flashing in his mind and pulling a whine from him.

You go limp soon after, only jolting with shocks of the come down. Gojo hums happily as he slips his dick from you, laying your lower half back down gently onto the mattress. Then, because he’s a pervert, he pushes on your lower stomach and watches as more of his cum drools from your pussy hole.

You’re far too lazy and docile to fight him on his actions though, busy basking in your bliss. Stretching yourself out like a cat and moaning at it. Gojo leans down and takes your lips with his, kissing you slow.

Pulling back and saying, “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. You and I both know I could keep going.”

You roll your eyes at him and he smiles. Then he shoves his arms under you and holds you to him, flopping over so he’s on his back on your mattress with you on top. It’s the only way you can both semi-comfortably rest on the small bed together. You enjoy this part, the part where he holds you for a little bit. He feels warm and safe, just like last time.

After a moment, you remember the reason why you can’t stay like this. Raising your head to look at him, “You can’t stay.”

“Just another ten minutes,” he wraps his arms around you tighter, whinging.

You urge, “Satoru—”

“—Mm, I like that,” he all but purrs, happy with your use of his name.

“Seriously,” you shove at his shoulder, “you cannot stay here.”

“Fine,” groaning with his displeasure, “but I fully expect that next time we do this, it’s an all-night thing.”

You don’t get to protest in anyway, his lips shutting you up with a deep kiss. It lasts for a moment, Gojo gets a little carried away with it. He does relent though, grumbling a little as he gets to his feet and begins to get dressed again. Dick already hardening by the time he’s pulling his pants up and buttoning them. Hissing a little as he does, he wasn’t kidding about being able to go again.

Since he’s up and you’re a little wobbly on your feet, you ask, “Can you toss me my clothes?”

“It’d be a shame though.” He tilts his head at you.

“Shut up,” you point at him, “or do you want me to walk you to your car completely naked?”

“You gonna see me off, sweetie?” he tosses you your clothes to change into, “how hospitable you’re being this evening, pussy and a sendoff.”

“You’re the worst,” you grumble. And even though you know you’re going to regret it, “Could you grab me some clean underwear? They’re in that top drawer,” indicating to the dresser in the corner with a nod.

He does so without further comment, at least no further comment until he’s rooting through it. Pulling out a blue lacy pair and holding them up, “These are cute.”

“I am not wearing such a nice pair,” you inform. “I’m still full of your cum, I don’t want to ruin such an expensive pair.”

“I can only get so hard, sweetie,” he singsongs but finds a comfortable and boring pair for you to change into.

When you’re both dressed, you walk him out to the front of the house on shaky legs. Regretting it a little bit because you won’t have him for support on your way back. At his car, he collects you into a big hug and then a final kiss.

Pulling back and reminding you, “You’re gonna message me and we’re going on a date.”

Feeling flustered all of a sudden, “I remember.”

“Just checking, you were kind of occupied when I brought it up.”

You push him away at that, “Whatever, just go home and be on time for work tomorrow.”

“That reminds me,” he looks at you pointedly, “Don’t kiss Suguru anymore.”

His comment jolts you a little, gaping back, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he nods, “I don’t like sharing.”

With that, he goes on his way. You’re left hobbling your way back into your parents’ house with a mess to clean up. Your relationship with him is still a little confusing to you but you suppose you’re dating now? You can’t help but have some trepidations about that but there’s also a thrill of excitement. Already finding yourself wondering when he’s going to message you…

α.η. yaaay it's done ! thank you to everyone who stuck around and waited patiently for this second part ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

i'm sorry if you wanted to be tagged for this, i unfortunately don't do that :< i hope all who wanted it find this though ♡ thank you all for reading and i hope you all enjoyed ! hopefully more to come if this performs well hehe (๑•̀؂ <๑)✧

‎꒰‎꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。

[riccyyvalz]

kissydrunk rin ₍ᵕ. ̫.ᵕ₎ content | fluff, bf!rin, gn!reader, kissing, touch-starved aw so cute lozl

rin had truly, madly, deeply fallen for you. in the beginning things were for sure awkward. but gradually, rin grew less tense. he used to be unable to look into your eyes for more than five seconds. now, when with you, he barely looks anywhere else.

but there was one specific thing that changed dramatically. rin, with his completely null experience with romance, was always so shy when it came to physical contact. he’d make sure to avoid it at all costs, even if it inconvenienced him. but, of course, as you two grew closer, he turned into a complete suck. because he loved kisses. something about the feeling that welled in his heart when his lips met any part of you completely enchanted him. he now made sure to always have an excuse to kiss you.

he’d be snuggled tightly against you, his face burrowing deep in the crook of your neck. as you absentmindedly twirled ur fingers in his hair, he’d be sleepily peppering your neck with feather light kisses.

“mm,” he’d hum contently with his lips on your skin, not caring if he had begun drooling on you (it’s happened before).

in the quiet mornings, he’d stir awake from his sleep before you. he’d press his lips against your forehead, feeling the softness of your skin that dusted along his lips. he’d slowly press a soft kiss on your mouth, gently pathing his tongue past your lips. it’d wake you up. he’d give you a sleepy, yet ever so dreamy, gaze as you finally fluttered your lids awake. kissing you awake was one of his favourite things in the morning.

one evening you were cooking dinner. rin had arrived home not long ago. he had gone to the shower straight after stepping in the front door.

but once he had gotten out of the shower? you felt the presence of him padding up behind you. the lathered scent of his soap laced together with the aroma of the food.

the feel of his lips brushed against your temple.

kiss. kiss.

kiss. kiss.

“rin, you’re distracting me,” you murmured playfully.

he fully clung to you now, his arms wrapped around your waist. his head tilted as his lips traveled the contouring of your face before he stopped at your neck. you could feel the damp tufts of his hair prickling at your face, causing a tiny smile to etch onto your own lips.

“mm…loveyous…” he mumbled quietly, his lips not once leaving your skin. “d’wanna..stop.”

you fully relax into his touch as he planted an open-mouth kiss on you again. you could never let go of the kisses rin always gave you. because, well, there was a time where he didn’t even touch you.

— ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

[gojosconsort]

⊹　 　 003. CHAPTER THREE　　　⊹ 　 　 　worst muse ever　◞♡　and other problems

⌗　 GOJO SATORU　/　五条 悟 gojo satoru x f!reader　·　w.c: 5,300

◞　in which after satoru’s unexpected confession leaves you spiraling, you try to pull yourself together and pretend things can still be normal. so when he texts asking you to come to his biggest meet of the season, you say yes. maybe sitting in your usual spot on the bleachers with your sketchbook will make everything feel normal again.

◞　content + warnings 18+ only. minors do not interact. masturbation, reader witnessing something she probably shouldn’t have, mild embarrassment spiral, and little angst because feelings are scary.

◞　author’s notes new chapppterrrr guysss. hope you have fun with this one <3

⌗ links　masterlist　·　ao3

the thing is, you have known gojo satoru for three years.

and you remember exactly how it started, because of course you do. it started annoying. everything about him does. it was orientation week, first day, you’d barely found your assigned dorm room and unpacked half a bag, and somehow he had already managed to make himself your problem.

it happened in the queue for the welcome lunch.

you had your tray. you were minding your business. you were doing the very normal new student thing of looking for somewhere to sit that wasn’t too crowded and wasn’t too empty and didn’t require talking to anyone you didn’t know yet. a perfectly reasonable goal. a very achievable goal, you had thought.

and then someone reached right past you and took the last muffin off the rack.

you turned around.

he was already eating it. tall, white-haired, sunglasses pushed up into his hair like he was on his way to a beach and not a university cafeteria, looking entirely unconcerned by the fact that he’d just taken the last muffin right in front of you.

“that was the last one,” you said.

he looked at you. he had these eyes, very blue, the kind of blue that made you immediately suspicious of someone because nobody naturally looked like that without being aware of it on some level. he looked at the muffin in his hand. he looked back at you.

“hm,” he said, and took another bite.

“did you just— i was going to take that.”

“but you didn’t.” he shrugged. “i did. timing’s everything.”

“it was right there. i was reaching for it.”

“slow hands.” he nodded at your tray. “you’ve got plenty of other stuff.”

“that’s not the point—”

“what’s your name?”

“…what?”

“your name.” he gestured between you with the muffin. “we’re apparently having a thing right now. feels like we should know each other’s names.”

“we’re not having a thing, you stole my muffin—”

“satoru,” he said, like you’d asked. “gojo satoru. sports science. you?”

you looked at him. you looked at your tray. you looked back at him and decided that arguing further was somehow going to make this worse.

you told him your name.

he repeated it back once, and nodded. then he picked up his own tray, which he had set down somewhere in the chaos of the queue, and said, “cool. you can sit with me if you want. i don’t know anyone here either.”

“you just stole from me.”

“i prefer think of it as breaking the ice.” he was already walking toward a table, tray in hand, confident that you were going to follow him. “come on. the tables near the window fill up fast.”

you did not follow him.

you found a perfectly good table on the other side of the room and sat there alone and ate your lunch in peace, which was fine, that was the better outcome, you didn’t want to sit with someone who had just stolen your muffin and then introduced himself like it was charming.

except the table near the window had better light. and from where you were sitting you could see him across the room, already talking to three different people, laughing at something, easy and loud and completely at home in a room full of strangers like he’d been there for years instead of hours.

you went back to your food.

he showed up at your dorm that evening.

you opened the door and there he was, holding two muffins in a paper napkin, wearing a different shirt but the same sunglasses, same expression, like this was all very logical.

“peace offering,” he said.

“how do you know which room i’m in?”

“asked around.” he held the muffins out further. “they had extras at dinner. i grabbed them.”

“there are like fifteen dorms on this campus.”

“yeah.”

“you asked around all of them.”

“i mean.” he considered this for a second. “it didn’t take that long.”

you looked at the muffins. you looked at him. “you’re going to be annoying, aren’t you.”

“probably, yeah.” he leaned against the doorframe, patient, the ghost of a smile on his face. “you gonna take them or not.”

you took the muffins.

“see you around,” he said, already turning to leave, like that was the whole plan, mission accomplished, done for the evening.

“i don’t even know what building you’re in,” you called after him.

“you’ll figure it out,” he said, without turning around. “you seem like the type.”

you stood in your doorway and watched him disappear down the corridor.

and that was that, more or less. that was how it started. with a stolen muffin, wo muffins in return, and the worst introduction you’d ever received from another person. he sat down next to you at breakfast the following morning, and then again the next day, and the day after that, until at some point it just became where he sat and you stopped thinking about it.

you never really decided to be friends. he decided it for you, which is honestly the most satoru way anything has ever happened.

he was insufferable, obviously. he was also, annoyingly, one of the funniest people you’d ever met. the kind of person who made things more interesting just by being in the room. you had filed that under satoru being satoru and left it alone.

three years, and you had him very clearly labeled friend in your brain. tucked in, organized, not a problem.

and then he went and said you, obviously in an empty studio with his lips brushing your ear, and now the whole label system is on the floor.

your art history professor is talking about chiaroscuro. you are not listening to a single word about chiaroscuro.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you are sitting in the third row, pencil in hand, notebook open to a page with exactly four words written on it from twenty minutes ago, and your brain will not stop going somewhere it has no business going. specifically: sounds you weren’t supposed to hear and can’t seem to unhear no matter how hard you try.

in art history. at ten in the morning. fantastic.

there’s already someone i like.

the person next to you coughs and you blink. you’ve been staring at the same spot on your notebook for probably three full minutes. your professor is still talking. you write light and shadow underneath chiaroscuro so it looks like you’re doing something.

it doesn't help. your pen slows. your eyes go somewhere unfocused again.

you, obviously.

the person next to you shifts in their seat and you come back. right. art history. chiaroscuro. you’re in class.

you press your pen down harder against the page, like that’ll keep you here.

okay. facts. things you know for certain.

one. satoru is your best friend.

two. satoru has seen approximately one thousand girls in the time you have known him. they are always pretty and always temporary and they always, somehow, go home happy about it even after he stops texting them back, which is frankly a talent you don’t understand and never have.

three. satoru says things all the time that sound like more than they are. he’s just like that. he’s warm and easy and he looks at people like they’re interesting, and sometimes that feels like something when it probably isn’t.

four. you, obviously is harder to explain away than you’d like it to be.

because he’d looked almost nervous when he said it. and satoru doesn’t get nervous. ever. about anything. you’ve never seen it, not once in three years, and that’s the part you keep getting stuck on no matter how hard you try not to.

you tap your pencil against the page.

okay but also—you’ve known him for three years. your brain is probably just reading into it because of everything that’s happened lately. the sketchbook, the dorm room, the studio. it’s all gotten a little tangled up and that’s completely normal and fine.

your notebook now says chiaroscuro, light and shadow, vermeer, and underneath, in smaller letters you didn’t mean to write: this is so bad.

“can anyone tell me,” your professor says, “what vermeer’s use of natural light suggests about his relationship to his subjects?”

three people raise their hands. you do not raise your hand. you flip the page over.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

your professor is finishing up when your phone buzzes in your pocket. you take it out of your bag, expecting anything but what you find.

you coming to the meet on saturday

you look at it for a second. then you look back at the front of the room. then you look at it again.

this is not unusual, technically. you have been to plenty of his meets. it started maybe a year and a half ago, completely by accident. you’d needed somewhere to sit outside and draw and the athletics track was quiet on weekday afternoons, and satoru had spotted you and spent the rest of practice being insufferable about the fact that you’d shown up without telling him. 

after that it just became a thing. you’d bring your sketchbook, find a spot on the bleachers away from the other athletics students, and draw while he trained. sometimes you drew him. mostly you drew whatever else caught your eye.

he’d never asked you to come. you’d just started showing up, and he’d started expecting you, and neither of you ever said anything about it out loud.

but you hadn’t gone to training since before the studio session. you’d been carefully, deliberately, not going to training, because training means standing near the track for two hours in the open air with nowhere to look except at him running, which is—a lot, under normal circumstances. under current circumstances it feels somewhere between impossible and inadvisable.

the meet is different though. the meet is a proper competition, packed bleachers, other athletes, plenty of other things to look at. it would be fine. it would be very manageable and normal.

you type back: maybe. when does it start

eleven. but i’d want you there for ten

why ten

warmups. you know i like having you there for warmups

you do know that. he runs better when you’re there, he’s told you before in that offhand way he has of saying true things like they’re nothing, and you’d assumed it was another one of those flirty things he says to everyone.

i’ll try, you type.

his reply comes immediately. faster than his texts usually do.

there are scouts coming

oh, you type, because you don’t know what else to say. that’s a big deal

yeah

just that. just yeah, which from satoru is basically the equivalent of anyone else writing three paragraphs about how they’re feeling.

are you nervous, you type, and then immediately think that’s probably the wrong thing to ask, he’ll deflect, he always deflects—

kind of, he sends back.

you stare at the word.

kind of.

satoru gojo, who walked into a room full of art students and dropped a towel without blinking. nervous doesn’t fit him. the word catches on him wrong. as if he’s not even capable of it. as if satoru gojo has never spent a second of his life wondering whether he’d be enough for anyone.

you’re never nervous, you type.

three dots appear. disappear. appear again.

i’m not usually. but these are the big ones. national level scouts. if it goes well it kind of changes everything

another pause. then:

i just run better when you’re there. that’s all. no big deal

you sit with that for a second. the classroom is almost empty now, a few people still packing up around you, your professor erasing something from the board. you pick up your bag. you flip your notebook shut over the page that says this is so bad, which you are going to need to tear out before anyone ever sees it.

you type: i’ll be there at ten

the reply comes so fast it almost makes you laugh.

good

and then, a second later: 

bring your sketchbook

you smile at your phone in the middle of the empty classroom like an idiot.

i always bring my sketchbook, you type back.

i know, he says. see you saturday.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you get to the athletics track at ten to ten with your sketchbook under your arm and your coffee in your hand and find satoru already on the track doing stretches.

he spots you immediately, the way he always does, which you’ve never quite figured out—you’re not loud, you don’t call out to him, you just appear at the edge of the bleachers and somehow he always knows. 

he straightens up and lifts a hand. a small wave across the track and you lift your coffee in return and go find your usual spot.

it’s the third row up on the far side, slightly to the left of the finish line—good angle for watching without being in the middle of everything, good light for drawing in the morning. you found it by accident the first time you came and you’ve sat in it every time since. you settle in now, sketchbook open across your knees, and let yourself just look for a minute before you start drawing anything.

he’s in his competition clothes already, white and navy, and he’s doing his usual routine. he rolls his shoulders, then stretches his arms over his head. his shirt rides up a little, exposing his abs before it falls back into place. casual. unthinking. but it makes heat creep up your body before you can stop it. you flip to a fresh page and start sketching before you can think too much about it.

he comes to find you about forty minutes later, just before the event starts properly, towel around his shoulders and water bottle in hand, dropping onto the bleacher seat next to yours.

“you made it,” he says.

“told you i would.”

“yeah.” he's looking out at the track, not at you, but he shifts slightly sideways, enough that his shoulder presses against yours. “good.”

you look down at your sketchbook. you’ve been drawing the track, the starting blocks, a loose figure study of someone else warming up on the far side. not him. you’d been very disciplined about not drawing him, which is a new experience.

“how are you feeling,” you ask.

“good.” a pause. “fine.”

“those are different things.”

he’s quiet for a second. “yeah,” he says, which is not really an answer but with satoru it sort of is.

he’s turning the water bottle over in his hands, still looking at the track. he looks—not nervous, exactly, that’s not quite the word. focused, maybe, in a way you don’t see very often. like all the easy energy he normally takes up space with has been pulled inward.

“hey,” you say.

he looks at you.

“you’re the fastest person on this track. you’ve done this a hundred times. today is just one more time.”

he looks at you for a moment. “yeah,” he says finally.

“and the scouts are here because they already want you. you’re not proving anything, you’re just running. which you’re kind of annoyingly good at.”

he huffs something that’s almost a laugh, looking back out at the track. the water bottle goes still in his hands. “you make it sound simple.”

“i know it isn’t. but i know you can do it.”

he doesn’t say anything for a second.

“i’m cheering for you.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“internally. but very loud,” you clarify, which gets a real laugh and he shakes his head. 

“can’t really picture you screaming from the bleachers.”

“extremely enthusiastically though.”

he looks at you again, and this time there’s that soft thing in his expression that’s been showing up more and more lately.. “okay,” he says.

“okay.”

he stands up, tossing the water bottle in his bag. then he pauses, hand on the bleacher railing, looking down at you. “you’re gonna stay for the whole thing?”

“i said i’d be here.”

“i know. just checking.” 

he turns toward the track.

“satoru.”

he glances back over his shoulder.

“go run fast,” you say.

he grins. “that’s the plan,” he says.

he takes two steps down the bleacher stairs and then stops, not fully turning back around, half over his shoulder like it’s an afterthought, like he almost didn’t say it.

“you’re my favorite cheerleader by the way.”

and then he’s jogging back down to the track before you can respond, which you suspect was entirely on purpose, because satoru has always known exactly when to say something and walk away from it.

you sit there and feel even more heat creep up the back of your neck so fast it almost makes you dizzy.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you’ve watched him run before, plenty of times, from this exact bleacher in this exact spot, and you know what he looks like on a normal day—good, always good, the kind of good that makes people stop and watch without meaning to. but today is different. today he is something that doesn’t have a word for it.

the gun goes and he goes with it, and that’s the only way to describe it really, like he and the starting signal are the same thing, like there’s no gap between the sound and him moving. you’ve drawn motion studies of him before, tried to capture it on paper. you’ve never quite gotten it right. watching him now you understand why.

there’s something about the way he runs that’s almost unreasonable, like his body was built for exactly this and nothing else, like every other thing he does is what he gets up to while he’s waiting to run.

he crosses the line first. not by a little.

the bleachers go up around you and you go up with them, on your feet without deciding to be, and you don’t shout or scream the way some of the other people around you do. you stand with your sketchbook held against your chest and watch him slow, watch him drop his head back, watch his chest heave—and you clap, because that’s the only thing you know how to do with what’s happening in your chest right now.

he walks it off, hands on his hips, and then he turns and finds you in the bleachers. across the whole track, through all the noise, he finds you in about three seconds, same way he always does.

you raise your hand.

he raises his chin at you, the smallest nod, and he’s breathing too hard to smile properly but it’s there.

then his coach reaches him and his teammates are around him and the moment closes.

you sit back down. you pick up your pencil. you look at the page in front of you, the almost finished drawing of him at the starting blocks from before the race, and you sit with the warm strange feeling in your chest for a moment before you add the next line.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

afterwards is loud and crowded with coaches and teammates and people with clipboards moving around the track, handshakes happening, someone taking photos. you watch from the bleachers while you pack up your stuff.

you watch him with his coach for a while. then with two men you don’t recognize. they’re talking to him seriously and he’s listening seriously. one of them shakes his hand. then the other one does.

scouts, you think. it went well. it went more than well.

you’re still in your seat ten minutes later when your phone buzzes.

sorry, coach wants to debrief. gonna be a bit. don’t go anywhere. i’ll come find you.

you type back: take your time

you turn to a new page in your sketchbook and draw the empty track.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

thirty minutes passes. then an hour.

the bleachers have mostly emptied out. the track crew is starting to pack up the equipment, folding tables, collecting numbers. the grey morning sky has gone properly gold now and it’s pretty, and you’ve drawn about four pages worth of it, and you are also getting a little cold and it is getting a little late and satoru has not appeared.

you check your phone. no new messages.

you type: still alive?

nothing.

you wait five more minutes. the last of the track crew finishes up and disappears through the far gate. you are now more or less alone in the bleachers, which is fine, except the temperature has dropped another degree or two and your coffee ran out a while ago.

you stand up. okay. you are not going to just sit here going cold waiting for him to remember you exist. you know where the training rooms are—you’ve been to the athletics building enough times to know it, dropped things off for him, waited in the hallway outside before. you’ll just go find out if he’s still with his coach or if he’s fallen asleep standing up or whatever else.

the athletics building is quiet when you push through the side door. the main training room is dark when you pass it, door open, no one inside. the coaches’ office further down is closed but no voices behind it. you go a little further, past the equipment room, past the notice board with the competition schedule pinned to it, to the locker room corridor.

you stop at the entrance to it, because obviously you stop, because you are not going to walk into the men’s locker room, that is not a thing you are going to do. you stand in the doorway and call out instead.

“satoru?” 

silence. 

you try again, a little louder. “satoru, are you in here?”

still nothing.

then you hear the sound of a shower running somewhere inside.

okay. so he’s still in here, probably. probably fine. should you just go in? but what if someone else is still around? but you’d seen everyone leave, mostly. pretty sure. you think.

you step inside, a little, enough that you’re not hovering in the doorway like a weird person, which felt worse somehow, standing half in half out. you keep your eyes on the lockers in front of you, grey metal and locks, a jacket hanging off one of the hooks that you recognize as satoru’s. so he is definitely in here.

“okay,” you say, mostly to yourself, setting your sketchbook down on the nearest bench and sitting next to it. “i’m sitting down. i’m not looking at anything. i’m just waiting.”

the shower runs.

and then you hear a noise.

not a loud one. a soft exhale that catches on itself. almost a groan, or almost a sigh, somewhere in between.

you go completely still. because you know that sound. you’ve heard it before, through a different door, on a different night, and that memory surfaces now whether you want it to or not.

i think i like it when you watch.

okay. okay—it’s nothing. it’s the sound a person makes after a hard race, after a long day. that is a completely normal and human thing. people make sounds in the shower for completely normal and human reasons all the time. this is not—it doesn’t mean—

he makes the sound again.

you stand up.

you sit back down.

you stand up again.

the sound again. and this time it is louder. a low groan that echoes slightly in the tiled room. then another.

you should leave. you know you should. you should pick up your sketchbook and walk back out the way you came and text him you got cold and went home, and that would be the normal thing to do.

you don’t move.

another sound. then another, closer together now, and your brain is doing something extremely unhelpful which is filling in everything your eyes can’t see, and your feet are moving before you’ve decided to move them, just a few steps, just far enough to see around the corner of the wall, just—

and there he is.

he stands naked under the shower, one large hand braced against the tiles, the other wrapped tight around his cock. water streams down his muscular back, tracing his spine before sliding over his ass. his head is bowed, wet silver hair clinging to his forehead, shoulders tensing with every stroke.

his fist drags up the thick flushed length, thumb pressing over the swollen head on every upstroke and twisting enough to make his breath hitch. he lets out another low groan, deeper this time, and his hips push forward into his hand like he cannot help it.

your thighs press together tight as you watch him work himself faster, the wet sound of skin on skin cutting through the shower spray. every muscle in his arm and back stands out, the head of his cock leaking steadily as water mixes with the precum dripping down the shaft.

then his head tips back slightly, lips parted. “fuck,” he breathes. then he bites down on his own bicep to stifle the next sound but it doesn’t work. a broken needy moan spills out anyway. his strokes turn faster. and then your name. 

he moans your name.

satoru’s entire body locks up as thick ropes of cum spill over his fist and onto the shower floor, immediately washed away by the water. he keeps stroking himself through it, slower now, wringing out every last pulse with a shaky groan of your name again, softer this time.

for a long second the only sounds are the running water and your own heartbeat. 

did he just—was that—did he just came moaning your name? did this really just happen? no. no, you imagined it, you’ve been thinking about him so much lately that your brain is making things up, that’s what happened, that’s the only logical explanation, except you heard it, you very clearly heard it, and it was your name, in his voice, while he was—while he was—

why would he be thinking about you. why would satoru gojo, of all people, be in a shower touching himself and saying your—

no. okay. you misheard it. that’s what happened.

right?

you take one step back. then another. your heart is hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it, which would be—you don’t finish that thought. you turn around and walk out.

the cold air outside hits you all at once and you just keep moving. coat pulled around you, sketchbook under your arm and eyes forward. across the car park. through the side gate. down the path toward student housing.

you are going home. 

you are definitively going home.

it takes about twelve minutes to walk from the athletics building to your dorm if you go the direct route. you go the direct route, for once in your life not taking the long way around anything, because the long way would give you more time to think and you are currently trying very hard to do the opposite of thinking.

you make it back to your room, drop your bag and your sketchbook on your desk, take your coat off, and lie down on your bed fully dressed with your arm across your face.

your phone has three unread texts. you don’t look at them and stare at the ceiling instead.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. it was nothing. you left because you were cold and tired and ready to go home, which is a completely reasonable thing to be after sitting in bleachers for two hours on a saturday morning. it has nothing to do with the sound of the shower or the sound he made or any of the thoughts you are currently not having.

your phone rings.

you look at it.

satoru.

you look at the ceiling again. you let it ring twice more. then you pick up. “hey,” you say.

“hey.” his voice is different through the phone, slightly lower, and for one horrible second you think about how he sounds moaning your name and you press on very quickly.

“sorry i didn’t text back. i was running late for something. had to run.”

“running late,” he repeats.

“yeah. sorry, i figured you’d be a while and i had to be somewhere and i was already going to be late so i just—left. did you not get my text?”

“you didn’t text me.”

“i didn’t?” you look at the ceiling. “i thought i did. sorry. long day.”

the silence on his end goes on a little too long and you know him well enough to know what that means. it means he doesn’t believe you and is deciding whether to say so.

“where did you have to be,” he says finally.

“just—stuff. errands. nothing exciting.” you pull your free hand up over your eyes. “sorry, i felt bad leaving but i really couldn’t wait around any longer.”

“are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say. “i’m fine. just tired. it was a long morning.”

“okay.” he doesn’t sound entirely convinced but he doesn’t push it either, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse. then: “the scouts talked to me.”

you drop your arm from your face and you sit up. “what did they say.”

“they want me.” he says. “like—properly want me. national programme. they were talking about development contracts, training camps, the whole thing. said my times are already competitive at the next level up.”

“satoru.”

“yeah.”

“that’s—” you stop. start again. “that’s everything you’ve been working for.”

“pretty much.”

“are you—how are you feeling about it.”

“i don’t know yet,” he says. “big. it feels big. like when you know something is going to change stuff but you haven’t quite realized it yet.”

“yeah,” you say softly.

“i wanted to tell you first,” he says, and there’s something almost offhand about the way he says it, like he almost didn’t mean to say it at all. “that’s why i was coming to find you. after.”

something in your chest pulls tight and doesn’t let go.

you think about him coming out of that shower. and you, already halfway across campus. 

he’d wanted to tell you first, and you hadn’t been there.

“i’m sorry i left,” you say, and this time you actually mean it.

“it’s fine.” a beat. “i’m telling you now.”

“i know. i just—I should have waited.”

“it’s fine.”

a pause.

“it’s really going to happen,” you say. “isn’t it. the whole thing. everything you wanted.”

“maybe. probably.”

“not probably. definitely.” you pull your knees up to your chest, phone pressed close. “you were incredible today. i meant it when i said i couldn’t draw fast enough.”

a quiet exhale on his end. almost a laugh. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

another pause, softer this time.

“get some sleep,” he says. “if you’re tired.”

“you too. and satoru—”

“yeah.”

“i’m really proud of you.”

he’s quiet for a second. “thanks,” he says, soft enough that you can almost hear the smile on his face.

“see you,” you say.

“see you,” he says, and hangs up.

you put your phone face down on your chest and lie there staring at the ceiling.

you put your phone face down on your chest and lie there staring at the ceiling.

i wanted to tell you first.

you press both hands over your face.

he had a had so much people wanting to shake his hand and talk about his future and his first thought had been to find you. and you had been on a path home, walking fast, because of something you weren’t even supposed to see.

you grab your pillow and put it over your face.

what is wrong with you. like genuinely, actually, what is wrong with you. he says he likes you and you freeze. he looks for you after the biggest race of his life and you’re already halfway across campus. every single time he opens a door you find a wall to walk into instead.

why. why do you keep doing this. because you’re scared? because he matters too much? because it’s satoru and if it goes wrong it goes really wrong and you’d rather just—not?

you press the pillow down harder and you scream a little into it.

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◞　author’s notes ughhhh i’m sorry guysss. the ending is a bit angsty, but there will be fluff in the next chapter again!! also thank you for your sweet words on the last chapter, i treasure them so much 🥰🥰

© gojosconsort. do not repost, copy, translate, or claim as your own.

[chastiefoul]

nanami taking care of you when you're drunk.

-

nanami laid you down gently on the mattress, his familiar scent crowded you almost immediately as you buried half your face deeper into his pillows, filling your nose with a propinquity that felt like home.

nanami stood close by the bed, gazing at you in a state of unreadiness. his usual slicked back hair was now down and unruly, navy shirt fit him snugly making his arm looked extra delicious, loose pants hanging on his torso. it had been a little late when you called him drunkenly to pick you up, he knew you were on a night out with shoko. 

“ugh, it’s so hot,” you mumbled, reaching out to grab the hem of his shirt; nanami played along with a quiet smile on his face, moving a step closer just so your hand could reach. you pulled, beckoning him to sit on the side of the bed, he obliged easily, brushing away the hair that’s sticking on your face. “it’s warm, take off your shirt,” you blinked at him, as he chuckled softly.

“why should i take off my clothes when you’re the one feeling warm, hm?” he asked with a soothing voice, stroking your hair over and over. 

“global warming, and stuff,” you rambled, giving up in putting sense on your sentence. nanami looked at you with wonder, curious to hear what amusing things will come out of your mouth next.

“i wonder what’s going on inside this head right now,” he said, rubbing his thumb gently at the side of your forehead. you sighed deeply, enjoying his touch. 

“i want a kiss,” you claimed suddenly, proving his point. nanami shot a defeated smile, his eyed narrowed in adoration as he caved, planting a short kiss on your lips; his hair tickling your skin as he leaned down. nanami pulled away before you could savor the feel of his mouth thoroughly. 

“more.”

he kissed you once more.

“more.” you whined softly, not liking how he ended each kiss so fast. 

the only respond you received was a soft brush of his finger on your bottom lip as he said, “that’s all you’re getting tonight  love.”

nanami saw your dramatic expression change, frowning as though it’s the end of the world. a hearty laugh escaped him at your theatric, rubbing your cheek with the back of his index finger, his touch felt feather light against your side, “you’re terribly drunk, the only thing you need to be doing right now is sleep.”

“not drunk,” you mumbled, even though sleep sounded amazing in your ear right now as you felt your eyelids getting heavier by the second, nanami’s ever so softly touch didn’t help you in staying awake at all.

“if you say so,” he replied easily, getting up from his spot without words, leaving you alone in bed. you flashed an exaggerated pout as if the man could still see you, not knowing he’s already returned to the same spot within a minute with a familiar looking bottle on his right hand.

“i don’t wanna drink anymore,” you murmured, giving him a pleading look. nanami chuckled.

“i’m not making you drink this, silly girl,” he claimed gently, pouring three drops of the liquid content to a cotton pad you’re just now seeing, before wiping away your face tenderly like you’re made of glass. 

right. that’s your bottle of make up remover. “oh.”

the soft dab of the cotton on your face over and over made you sleepier, the consistent rhythm of rubbing and tapping nanami was working wonders, almost like a magician in soothing you. but the focused expression on his face as he leaned close to you held you back from going into the dream land. 

“you’re so handsome,” you whispered, staring the man like he hung the moon. 

“am i? thank you love,” he replied without missing a beat and at this point you knew this man would always respond patiently to whatever nonsense you were cooking in your mind even though it's easier to ignore what you're saying while you’re under the influence, instead he was spoiling you rotten.

“what about me? am i pretty?” you asked, eyes half-lidded. 

“the prettiest.” he smiled tenderly, stopping just to give you a smitten look before going back to work, the soft wipes of cotton underneath your eyes knocked you right into a daze, deciding to just close your eyes because it was too mush work to keep them opened

“ken?” 

“yes love?”

"d’you think cats are sad they don’t get to blow candles on their birthday?” you asked in a serious tone, half your body felt like it’s being pulled into slumber, nanami’s laugh sounded like as though it’s underwater.

“maybe, but they’re going to be even more sad if you don’t go to bed now,” he said, the last thing you heard was the sound of an object being put on the bedside table and the feeling of your hair being brushed gently. nanami saw it happened as your breath slowed, head limping to the side.

he kissed your head softly, adjusting the blanket and tucked you all proper.

“sweet dreams, love. i hope to meet you there.”

[dovewhisper]

Your two boyfriends sukuna and toji ^_^

The soft, rhythmic click-clack of your mechanical keyboard was the only sound in the apartment, punctuated occasionally by the scratching of a highlighter against a textbook. It was midterm week, which meant you were fully in your element: oversized glasses slipping down your nose, and surrounded by a fortress of study guides.

You were so dialed into your macroeconomics notes that you didn't even hear the front door click open, or the heavy, familiar footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Suddenly, a massive, tattooed hand descended over your notebook, flatly blocking your view of the page.

"Alright, brat. Eyes off the paper," Sukuna’s deep, gravelly voice echoed right above your ear. He leaned over the back of your desk chair, his chest pressing against your back. He smelled like winter air and the expensive cologne he wore to his business lectures.

"Sukuna, please, I have three more pages to outline," you groaned, trying to peek around his hand.

Before Sukuna could reply, a second shadow loomed over your desk. Toji dropped his gym bag onto the floor with a heavy thud, yawning as he stretched his massive frame. He was still in his gray university athletics hoodie, looking effortlessly rugged. He walked over, casting a glance at your frantic setup.

"Still at it, doll?" Toji murmured, a lazy, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You've been in that exact spot since I left for practice four hours ago."

"I'm fine, really—"

"You're done," Sukuna interrupted flatly. He didn't ask for permission; he simply hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you clean out of the desk chair.

"Hey! Put me down!" you gasped, your face flushing as your legs dangled in the air.

Sukuna didn't budge, carrying you over to the living room couch like you weighed absolutely nothing. He dropped you onto the cushions, and before you could sit up, he leaned down, trapping you beneath him. His four eyes, a chaotic byproduct of his actual appearance that he usually hid with contacts at school, but proudly wore at home gleamed with amusement.

"You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you, princess?" Sukuna murmured, his fingers gently gripping your chin to tilt your face up. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tasted faintly of the black coffee he’d had earlier. It was deep and commanding, demanding your full attention until your mind went completely blank, the economics formulas evaporating from your brain.

When he pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your lips, and your breath was hitched.

"Better," Sukuna smirked, his thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"My turn," Toji rumbled. He walked over and unceremoniously wedged his massive body onto the couch next to you, pulling your lower half right into his lap. He reached up, gently plucking the glasses off your face and setting them on the coffee table. "You're squinting, beautiful. Your eyes need a break."

Toji nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly against your sensitive skin. You let out a soft sigh, your hands automatically finding their way into his dark, messy hair. He kissed up your jawline, slow and deliberate, before capturing your lips in a lazy, warm kiss that felt like pure comfort. Toji’s kisses were always like him, seemingly effortless but completely intoxicating.

You melted completely between them, your previous academic anxiety dissolving into the couch cushions.

"See? Was that so hard?" Toji murmured against your lips, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest as his large hands slid under the hem of your oversized sweater, resting warmly against the bare skin of your waist. His touch sent a sudden spike of heat straight down your spine.

"You both are terrible influences," you breathed out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I'm going to fail."

Sukuna let out a sharp, mocking laugh, shifting so he was lying flush against your other side, his arm draping heavily over your waist, effectively pinning you between two massive, muscular walls of heat.

Sukuna let his fingers trace light, teasing circles on your hip, dangerously close to where Toji’s hands were resting. "But you won't. You're too smart for your own good, nerd."

"He's right," Toji agreed, his thumb stroking your hip bone underneath your sweater, his eyes darkening slightly as he looked down at your flushed face and swollen lips. "But right now, you're off the clock. Understand, sweetheart?"

Caught between Sukuna’s intense, burning gaze and Toji’s heavy, seductive warmth, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue. You let your head sink back into the pillow, your hands resting on Toji’s broad chest while Sukuna’s fingers tangled tangled with yours.

"Fine," you whispered, a small smile finally breaking through. "Just for tonight."

"Good girl," Sukuna murmured, leaning down to claim your lips once more, while Toji’s hands shifted lower, pulling you even closer into the heat of their embrace.

A/n: I need to be sandwiched between them

[ryoses]

"ryo. can't sleep," you whisper into your boyfriend's ear whose eyes are shut close under the comfort of your duvet. he was serious when he texted about coming over at this late hour just to sleep in your bed. been complaining about having trouble falling asleep lately too. along with his endless admissions how he sleeps better in your bed.

you on the other hand didn't expect his arrival at all. you've taken a short nap hours ago, woke up, took a shower, chugged half can of energy drink, and set up your study materials for an all-nighter for the upcoming exams.

so you really shouldn't bother him like this. when he arrived, he simply understood your plan for the rest of the night and promised he won't bother your studying session. he pecked your forehead and marched straight into you bedroom without another word.

not even an hour later, you saw how comfortable and cuddly and warm he looks on your bed, sleeping. effortlessly inviting you to come back to bed, how perfect would it be to slip under the covers and worm your way home against his chest. to make matters worse, resisting the imagination of his arms winding around your person was never your strongest trait.

he hums, stirred awake by your voice. he blindly reaches for your arm out of habit. "weren't you going to stay up?" he asks sleepily, the bed dips under his weight as he scoots over to make space.

"yeah but then you came and it's almost rude how comfy you look sleeping without me."

his arms around you tighten a fraction as he places a chaste kiss under your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as his breathing slows down again. "so sleep. we can study together at the library after class tomorrow."

you can do that. even if your brain is still wide awake from that one can you drink, you know a trick that can shut off your mind effectively. which is exactly what sukuna's doing right now, embracing you closely. corded arms around your torso. the warmth radiating off his body works like a lullaby every time.

"kinda unable to sleep right now though.."

"yeah no shit you drank a can." his palm moves in a circle across your spine. he's not opposed to you wanting to fall asleep with him.

in fact, he welcomes and prefers it because having you close all night always makes his sleep feel like a spiritual reset. "jus' close your eyes," he instructs. his own already sealed too. "count all the sheep in ya head."

you sigh and allow yourself to relax with images of sheep jumping over a fence in your head. with sukuna continuing rubbing your back.

10 sheep, 11 sheep, 12 sheep.. sukuna's sheep.. this is actually effective.

he observes the way your breath slows down, completely lax against him now, your eyelids drooping as seconds pass.

"how many sheep?"

you don't answer. well that was quick he thinks.

sukuna himself is one wink away from sleeping. he stops his movement altogether and lets darkness consume his sleep again, this time much better with you at his side.

© ryoses 2026

[kkunai]

𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. height difference + jjk men — seeing you struggling to initiate a kiss, ft. gojo, nanami, toji, choso

tags \\ warnings. jjk men x gf!reader (separately). fluff, suggestive themes. size difference obviously: reader is shorter than the characters. little hint of an age gap in toji’s part (you; early 20’s, he early 30’s). reader gets referred to as ‘small, short, adorable’. nicknames used ‘baby, sweetheart, princess, little girl, angel’. includes drabbles for each character :: mlist.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

“what’s the matter, baby?” satoru easily notices whenever you’re internally debating something. you’d fidget with your clothes, look around and nibble on your bottom lip.

even if you say that it’s nothing, your lover knows that you mean the exact opposite. he walks hand-in-hand with you out of the boutique where he had bought you a pretty dress. his thumb rubs your skin gently, hoping to comfort you with whatever you’re struggling to say.

“it’s uhm,” you finally speak up. satoru halts his steps and tilts his head with a curious pout on his lips. he doesn’t want to pressure you into anything, so he keeps quiet.

his blue eyes follow your movements from behind his sunglasses. you step closer to him, your small hands travelling up to gently hold onto his jacket. you gulp before balancing your entire body on your toes—creasing your shoes a bit by doing so.

at this point, satoru knows what you’re trying to do. your actions are absolutely adorable and make the man giggle. he wants nothing more than to squish your cheeks together for being so cute.

especially because you’re failing to reach his lips.

“oh, do y’need help maybe?” satoru asks with a smug grin. you frown and try to stand on the tips of your toes, though that didn’t seem enough. your lover needs to lower his head a tad more for you to kiss him.

satoru tilts his head backwards instead. he loves to see you pout and struggle to carry out such an affectionate act.

he can’t help it—you’re so fun to tease, “c’mon, you can do it, baby!”

when you give up due to his constant teasing, the white-haired man gasps dramatically. you smack his bicep and turn around with a huff, “forget it.”

before you can take another step away from him—satoru’s hand reaches out to hold your wrist. he pulls you back against his chest, warm palm holding your cheek and tilting your head up so his glossy lips could meet yours.

“sorry,” satoru mutters against your mouth. his tongue sneakily swipes against yours which causes you to squirm. he gives your bottom lip a playful nibble in response, “couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

“welcome home, dear!” you greet kento at the front door as per usual. he sighs in relief and smiles tiredly, appreciating your appearance before him. he seems utterly exhausted from his most recent mission.

“it’s good to see you, sweetheart,” kento shuts the door behind him. he takes off his shoes and places them where they belong before doing the same with his coat. he looks down at you as you help him tidy his belongings, “you’re looking beautiful tonight.”

to say you’re flustered is an understatement. kento always knows just how to get you shy and embarrassed from the casual way he compliments you. you’re in your pyjamas and apron—barefaced with nothing extra going on and yet your lover is completely engrossed by your looks.

“thank you,” you murmur back with a bright smile. kento smiles as well after seeing your happy expression. that’s what he does it for.

you hold kento’s hand and feel its warmth engulf your skin. his palms are a little rough; probably from the hard work he put into those recent missions he did. you look up at the blonde man in front of you and want nothing more than to kiss him—show your gratitude for everything he does for you.

thus, you lean in and stand on your toes, balancing on one foot whilst the other floats a few centimetres above the wooden floor. it’s hard to find a balance, though your attentive partner is quick to lend a hand.

“careful,” kento whispers, his voice so husky that you feel a shiver run down your spine. his big hands settle on your waist and he doesn’t waste a single second after that.

he leans in as well, head lowered to yours and your noses lightly brushing against each other. kento’s lips find your soft ones—interlocking them in a passion filled kiss. you can feel his entire body relax even more. as if he’s waited all day to be back home. to be back to you.

to kiss and hold you close.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“over here, princess,” toji calls you over with a subtle wave. he’s leaning against a brick wall, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. you walk over to him with an excited smile—happy to spend some quality time together with him today.

“hey, i missed you,” you comment and wrap your arms around his waist. you nuzzle your face against his chest to which toji reacts by giving you an awkward head pat.

the older man lifts your head up and away from his body by holding onto your chin. his eyes run over your face, letting out a short content hum. he’s missed you a lot too. not that he’d tell you that directly.

“how’s uni for ya?” toji asks. the pad of his thumb rubs your cheek and you lean into his touch. it brings a little smirk to his face—seeing how easily you become putty in his hands is rather amusing.

“been okay for most part,” you shrug and fail to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend. he probably doesn’t do it on purpose, but his half-lidded eyes makes your lower abdomen feel funny.

you’re still so nervous around him, though you’ve got the guts to at least kiss him first. you missed the feeling of his lips against you after all. the constant, soothing rubs of his thumb against your cheek only intensifies your desire.

you lift yourself up on the tips of your shoes. your cold hands cup toji’s face and he immediately gets what you’re trying to do. he snickers at the sight of you struggling to reach him and acts like he doesn’t know what you want.

. . until you whine about how you really want to kiss him. that man is sold the moment he hears your whiny voice.

“fuck. c’mere, little girl,” toji’s veiny hands go around your waist and move down to cup your ass, his lips crashing down onto yours with a desperation he’s never kissed you with before.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

“do i need to add salt? she’s talking too fast,” choso ask whilst scratching his head. he’s watching a youtube video on his phone; specifically a cooking one. he’s attempting to copy a recipe in his kitchen and you’re helping him since he doesn’t know too much about phones. and cooking apparently.

you giggle and grab the phone from the counter. the lady’s words are incomprehensible due to the video being on two times the usual speed. you return the settings to normal with a light hearted chuckle, “yeah, because you’ve sped up the video, silly.”

“oh,” choso smiles sheepishly. he checks the stove and makes sure the food isn’t burning before turning towards you, “thank you. you’re a lifesaver, heh.”

you can’t help but admire the view of choso in front of you. he’s in an apron which is too small on him since it’s yours—his chiseled chest accentuated by the fabric. his black hair is up in a small ponytail and his cheeks are red. probably from embarrassment.

“you’re adorable,” you comment lovingly. choso’s cheeks turn even redder by your compliment and he sputters some words about how he ‘needs to focus on his cooking’.

you interrupt his stammers by getting closer. your lover stops and his lips are parted—giving you the perfect chance to capture them into a kiss. well, you try to at least

choso notices your silent struggles and blinks. it takes him a second to fully grasp the situation before he decides on helping you. he smiles warmly, his beefy arms effortlessly lifting you up to his height, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

one hand is on your thigh, the other holding the back of your head to deepen your shared kiss. choso pulls away and attaches his lips to your neck, settling you the counter, “want more, angel. you drive me crazy.”

[kkunai]

[𝜗℘] :: older bf!gojo gives you your special reward after finding out you passed your finals.

tags. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). fluff & smut. vanilla, praise, dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v -> unprotected, body worship-ish, spooning position, breast play, creampie, size diff, reader gets called ‘princess, baby, pretty, adorable’ :: wc. 2.3k

“oh my god!”

you almost drop your phone from the pure shock you just experienced. your hands shake as you look at the unexpected results reflected on the small screen.

satoru, who was minding his business in the kitchen, hurries into the bedroom the moment he hears your shriek. he’s prepared to help you out with whatever caused you to yell so loudly, though is surprisingly met with your beaming smile.

“oh, what got my princess so happy?” he asks with a grin of his own, stepping into the room.

his gaze darts from the phone in your hand to your face and back again. satoru chuckles as you suddenly run up to hug him. he joyfully reincorporates the embrace; your happy mood being contagious.

you giggle and babble on about how you passed your two exams and how you ‘didn’t think you’d be able to attain such high grades’.

your boyfriend hums and strokes your hair whilst you ramble, kissing the top of your head with a proud expression, “as expected of my girl. i’m super proud of you.”

there goes the praise again—making your heart flutter in ways that no one else had done before.

you sigh in content and bury your face into his chest. satoru pulls back after a moment, tenderly cupping your face so he can look into those pretty eyes of yours.

you’re his weakness. he knows you are—he’s always known you are, yet that adorable look on your face whenever you gaze up at him through your eyelashes never gets old.

that same look also makes him want to do unspeakable things to you; things that would have you crying from pure pleasure. you deserve to be shown what a true man would do for you out of love.

what a true man like your lover would do to you for your own satisfaction and pleasure.

“i think my pretty girl deserves a reward for doing so well on her exams,” satoru whispers, slender fingers trailing from your jaw to your neck, brushing over your collar bone, “would you like that? a reward just f’you.”

you weren’t born yesterday.

you knew exactly what he is indicating. you can tell by his loving yet lustful gaze, his fingers that sensually drag along your skin and his tongue that darts out to subtly lick his lips. as if he’s preparing to devour a five star meal.

which he was.

“f—ngh, satoru!”

your legs are wrapped around his head, his mouth and tongue working their magic on your sopping cunt whilst his hands are holding you down by your hips.

satoru hadn't wasted a single second after you agreed to his proposal. he instantly lifted your skirt up, pulled your panties down to your ankles and dived right between your legs.

your thighs are clamping down on his head—almost forcing him to continue pleasuring you. not that your lover minds: he’d gladly do this again and again if he could.

satoru leaves sloppy kisses all over your pussy, drenching it in not only your own bodily fluids, but his own saliva as well.

“mm, a little needy, aren't ya?” he mutters whilst softly kissing up and down your slit.

he’s admiring both the sight and the noises—your back arching, hips stuttering and voice shaking with need.

the older man certainly did enjoy the view of your cute little face contorting with pleasure each time the top of his tongue teased your clit, “yeah, cmonnn, let me see your face while i eat you out.”

you hesitate, however eventually remove your hands that try (and fail) to hide your flustered expression. satoru lets out an almost inaudible whine at the revelation. his cock is begging to be freed from its confines.

he wants to fuck you into oblivion, but today is your day. he longs to satisfy your own desires first.

satoru is nasty with it too. the unmistakeable, erotic and wet noises of him slurping up your juices mingle with your moans and whines. the white locks of his hair brush against the insides of your thighs and right above your clit—tickling you in all the right ways and adding to the pleasure you were receiving.

“fuck,” the older man curses under his breath and the warmth against your pussy makes your lower body twitch.

his big hands squeeze around your hips, silently warning you to stay still so he can properly enjoy you, “y’re gonna make me cum before i can make you finish.”

his words are true.

satoru can get off from simply watching and hearing his girl enjoy herself. he has no shame in admitting that fact; he can't help it when you’re this incredibly gorgeous.

he grinds his crotch against the soft mattress as his mouth continues to eat you out in a painfully slow yet tender manner.

“t-toru, g'nna cum,” you whimper and try to grind your cunt against his tongue in search for that last push that would send you over the edge.

your high-pitched voice sounding so extremely whiny seals the deal for your boyfriend. he pulls his head away from your tingling cunt—which is a second away from reaching its orgasm—and sits up on his knees.

satoru smirks once he hears your mumbled complaints. one large hand settles on top of your head and gives your scalp a few relaxing rubs whilst the other hastily undoes the zipper of his pants.

he tilts his head to the right, glancing down at your squirming form with a lopsided grin, “d’ya want another treat, princess?”

of course, you nod.

you’re aching for that release that's been building up in your lower stomach—needing to reach that long awaited climax. your eyes follow his movements as he pulls his pants down. again, as painfully slow as possible.

“just a nod? tha’s all i get?” satoru pouts, nonchalantly revealing his lengthy cock for you to feast your eyes upon.

he sighs dramatically before trailing two slender fingers down to your cunt, gathering your slick and using it to coat his tip. the pre-cum mixes with your own fluids and the erotic sight makes your mouth water, “i know for sure that my smart little girl can use her big words to get what she wants—let me hear ‘em.”

while you gather your thoughts and words, satoru lays down behind you, helping your body onto its right side. you’re facing the wall, therefore unable to see that cocky expression he has on. his arms pull your back flush against his chest, positioning your hips and lifting one of your legs up properly.

“p-pleasee, need to have you inside me. can’t wait any longer, ‘toru.” you manage to beg in the end.

the warmth radiating from his body behind you only increases your sinful craving. he teases you by kissing your nape while his hands get rid of your top—fingers then immediately fondling your tits.

his husky voice whispers a 'good girl' in your ear and that’s all you got as an answer before you feel his cockhead prod at your entrance. satoru hisses at just the slightest of contact—not sure if he can last long this time. he feels like he will explode the moment his tip glides inside your pretty cunt.

“so beautiful, can’t believe how lucky i got,” satoru grunts as his lips refuse to leave your skin. from your neck to your shoulders and upper arms—he doesn’t leave a single inch uncovered.

it’s almost tortureous: the way he grinds his tip against your pussy as he touches the rest of your body with his hands and mouth.

you whine and rub your hips back in the same rhythm. you’re indirectly begging him to put it in already and be takes notice of it. since you have begged nicely once before, he won’t coax you into doing it again.

with a light moan, satoru slides his throbbing cock all the way up the tight space. the squeal you let out at the sensation of being stretched out to your maximum capacity, makes him murmur a few more words of praise in your ear.

“y’re doing so good—takin’ me so well,” his voice is smooth like honey, the same goes for his soft thrusts. the way your pussy grips his cock makes him see stars.

your boyfriend never gets tired of making love to you because the hypnotising feeling of being inside you doesn't ever get old. it feels like the first time he had stuffed you full of his cock over and over again.

you’re feeling light-headed by now; your eyes rolling back as your mouth forms an 'o'-shape—the cockdrunk look satoru loves to see on you. the squelshy 'flop flop flop' noises echo throughout the room with every deep thrust of his hips against the plump flesh of your ass.

satoru's long fingers go from playing with your nipples to groping your hips and ass. his eyes gaze downwards, watching as the fat of your bottom ripples after his pace quickens.

you’re trying your best to keep up, but the overstimulation of all your senses makes it hard to match your movements to his.

“aht aht. you've worked hard enough on your exams already, princess. just lay back and allow me to do everything, satoru scolds you lightheartedly.

this is your reward and he doesn’t want you putting in any effort if your body can’t handle it. he wants you to relax like you deserve after a stressful period of exams and assignments. he’ll happily do all the work instead.

“oh, mmh! too good—fuck!” you mewl.

your fingers curl around the bedsheets that move back and forth with your bodies. a bigger hand settles on top of yours—intertwining your fingers and holding onto them tightly. you can feel satoru smiling against the skin of your shoulder as he kisses it, absolutely enjoying your little reactions to his thrusts.

“yeah? am i doing well?” he asks in a teasing tone.

he doesn’t have to ask that question; he knows he’s doing well judging purely by your bodily reactions. your back arches and your limbs shake uncontrollably, “am i pleasin’ my baby well enough?”

you can only moan out a couple ‘yes’’s, but that is enough of a confirmation. the older man is on cloud nine as he drags his thick cock in and out of your desperate cunt. every time he pulls out he can feel your pussy try to swallow him back in. it drives him nuts.

“i love how you look whilst i stuff you full of my cock. so innocent, yet so.. lewd at the same time,” satoru mumbles through another groan, the hand on your hip holding your body still so he can fuck his dick deeper into you.

the tip of his cock nearly reaches your cervix due to the angle he uses to move inside you.

your long-awaited and much deserved orgasm is right around the corner. your moans increase in frequency and volume which is enough of a sign for satoru to increase the pleasure. his fingers trail down your hips and to the center between your open legs—thumb putting pressure on your clit.

the extra stimulation has got you biting into the pillow beneath your head, your lower body writhing around as your lover rubs the small bundle of nerves in circles and from side to side. his hand moves fast, its mission being to help you reach that intense orgasm you’re chasing after.

satoru is feeling it himself as well. his cock aches and twitches as it gets ready to drain its balls inside your pussy, “cum with me baby—fuck—cum on my cock while i dump my load all the way into y’r tight little cunt.”

that is all the encouragement you need.

your eyes roll back and your body convulses as the waves of pleasure come crashing down all at once. you can feel satoru’s hips desperately push against your ass, filling you completely with both his dick and hot spurts of cum. you feel the warm essence leaving its evidence in your womb.

the bedsheets underneath your two bodies is now drenched in your slick after you calm down a bit. your boyfriend continues to place comforting kisses all over your naked body, trying to show his appreciation for you in all the ways he could.

“y’ did so well. you deserved this, princess.” satoru mutters softly, the hair clinging onto his forehead.

he gently pulls his soft cock out after a minute of making sure that every drop of his cum stayed inside of your cunt. he loves the feeling of fulfilment that it gives him—loves the fact that he filled his girl to the brim.

you smile weakly. you’re fucked out: completely and utterly. it feels good and you’re more than satisfied with your reward. it even gave you enough motivation to do well on future exams.

“thanks, ‘toru. ‘m feeling sleepy though.”

satoru snickers. you’re always so adorable and vulnerable around him after the two of you partake in such activities. he loves it and it makes him want to take care of you.

“you deserve plenty of rest, so go ahead.”

he smiles gently, kissing the top of your head after you close your eyes. one of his hands hold yours whilst the other rubs your side soothingly, “i won't leave. i'll stay right here with you as you sleep. i promise."

satoru knows you need to hear those words in your vulnerable state. and surely enough, you smile once more and nod. your body falls asleep the moment his strong arms pull you into a loving hug.

his lips attach to your ear in the form a chaste peck. his smooth voice is the last thing you hear as you fade into an unconscious state;

“i love you so much, yeah?”

[tokkushin]

✦ katsuki and his shy girl making out ⸝⸝ .ᐟ

cinnamon lingers in the air, the pale wall blurs your vision, and your ears are swallowed by the low hum of the AC — well, that and the sounds of his lips against your neck. 

"you nervous?" he questions, although he already knows the answer. 

since stepping into katsuki's apartment, you've barely spared him a glance — a quiet aura of hesitation clinging to your every move.

it's not that you and katsuki haven't kissed before — pecks on the lips do count — it was that you'd yet to kiss him like this. with your legs on either side of his lap, your bra the only thing left between you, and your breath dancing in the small space between your lips.

katsuki's warm, very warm — almost overwhelmingly so. his chest sticking to the lace of your bra and his body pressed so close it makes it hard to think.

his hands are like a heated weight over the small of your back, coasting over ridges and curves on your skin as he tries to soothe your obvious tension — keyword: tries.

because as his lips trail from the dip in your collarbone to the shell of your ear — you feel all sanity getting lost underneath his fingertips.

"you in there?"

honestly, you're not quite sure. "mhm, yeah i'm here"

you nod as if you're trying to convince yourself, too — ignore how the sudden closeness of his lips makes your cheeks heat and your heartbeat sound in your ears. flurries of panic only burrowing their way to your throat when his hands suddenly cup your face.

"no, you're fuckin' not"

katsuki's always had this knack — a silent understanding of the way your brain works. your quietness was never something he pushed against, only something he wished to ease.

even as his thumb drags slowly over your cheeks, you know he's only trying to steady you.

you whisper a small breath of his name, circling your hands around his wrists as your foreheads press together — that's all it takes.

and maybe, that's when something in you finally gives — when all that hesitation breaks the moment his eyes stare patiently into yours, and why you're the one pressing your lips together before you can even think twice.

he tastes like caramel, a warmth that settles onto your tongue slowly, like the sunlight peeking through an open window. 

surprisingly tense under your touch, his hands pause against your back — his mind insistent on following your guidance. 

he presses his lips gently against yours, slow and tentative, like if he rushes this moment it may end too soon. groaning breathlessly into your mouth when your hands card through his hair, and give the strands a gentle tug before they're back on his face.

it's not long before your confidence wavers, his muscles tightening subtly underneath your palms as you pull your lips away, breathlessly.

katsuki's cheeks are red, hair stuck to his forehead and a faint shine coating his chest. his lips are flushed a bright pink, spit-soaked — breathing unsteadily as he looks at you like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"again," you murmur, chest heaving against his, "please?"

a toothy grin spreads across his face when your eyes dart over his features — as if they're in search of something — some kind of reassurance.

which katsuki is glad to give when he presses a teasing peck to your cheek, adjusting himself underneath you so your body's pulled even closer and whispering, "you drive me crazy, you know that?"

you can't help but smile.

lips skimming his for the last time tonight — this time with no intentions of pulling away. guiding his hands to your lower back as you press into his palms. 

your hips move against his thigh at a steady pace, soft sounds of your lips meeting blending with the hum of the AC.

"katsuki?" 

there's an annoyed sigh that tumbles from his mouth when your lips detach, "hm?"

"my bra . . . take it off"

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: kali loves intimacy! i like writing this more than smut let's be so fr. i tagged it as smut cuz i don't want people yelling at me so just to be safe! -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly ⸝⸝ @kamislop ⸝⸝ @girlluvkatsuki ⸝⸝ @starrsoasis ⸝⸝ @isaxbellevs ⸝⸝ @0nutsforfaye ⸝⸝ @bunnimuse ⸝⸝ @xoxocelestial ⸝⸝ @yunaaaar ⸝⸝ @gyalcapone ⸝⸝ @pok3trash ⸝⸝ @toshislover ⸝⸝ @tentypos ⸝⸝ @satiiv-a ⸝⸝ @cupidkats ⸝⸝ @riotsgrl ⸝⸝ @mamashima ⸝⸝ @rottengrlsworld ⸝⸝ @j1hxxn ⸝⸝ @v1xxul ⸝⸝ @tamaglowchi ⸝⸝ @demonic-charcuterie ⸝⸝ @longringlonglands ⸝⸝ @violasepals ⸝⸝ @blythedelkatsuki ⸝⸝ @updownandbatty ⸝⸝ @potatosmenu ⸝⸝ @xoxorennaaeee ⸝⸝ @scootoot ⸝⸝ @thisgirlwokeupinmyhouseee ⸝⸝ @supershyleee ⸝⸝ @ultraamo | join the taglist?

[aquasprings]

♡ papakuna, father's day edition

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

there’s the soft thump of tiny hands hitting the mattress.

you smile from where you’re standing in the doorway, watching yuji crawl determinedly across the bed on all fours, his diaper making a faint crinkling sound with every movement.

his target is obvious.

sukuna is dead asleep, sprawled across half the mattress, one thick arm folded over his side.

“yuji,” you whisper, already giggling.

the baby ignores you. with all the determination of a man on a mission, he reaches his father and plants both hands on sukuna’s face.

“da.”

no response. a tiny hand grabs a cheek. “da.”

sukuna grunts, yuji gasps, delighted, then immediately smacks him on the forehead. “DA!”

one red eye cracks open. “…what.”

yuji squeals and launches himself forward, practically face-planting into sukuna’s chest.

for a second, sukuna just stares at the tiny gremlin currently drooling on him, then his arm comes up automatically, curling around the baby before he can roll away. “‘s too early for this,” he mutters.

yuji responds by grabbing a fistful of pink hair. hard.

“ow. little shit.”

you snort and sukuna shoots you a look before glancing down at his son again. yuji is grinning now, all gummy smiles and chubby cheeks.

completely smitten.

sukuna’s expression softens in that rare way only you ever see.

he taps yuji’s nose. “happy father’s day to me, i guess.”

yuji immediately sneezes in his face.

“…”

“…”

you burst out laughing, and despite the baby spit now on his cheek, sukuna laughs too, pulling yuji closer against his chest.

• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •

i just love papakuna. hes so yum. gimme 10 of em

[chastiefoul]

"love, no... don't go," nanami rasped, voice low still laced with sleep. his breath tickled the back of your neck as he spoke. the hold of his hand around your waist was somehow tighter, even after when you thought you couldn't possibly get any closer than this; your back on his chest without any space in between.

"let me gooo, i want to make my coffee," you whined softly, the tone made it apparent that you couldn't hold a smile at the sight of your usual collected man being so clingy. provoking him further, you once more tried to release the grasp of his hand on your stomach. the man responded with a disapproving grunt, the vibration from his lips against your skin made you shiver.

"stay, please. i'll make it for you later," he pleaded, trailing lazy kisses along your shoulder blade in hope to get you stay in bed, going as far as bringing his leg over both of yours, practically keeping you in his embrace. you chuckled.

"but i want it now," you replied, yet despite those words you couldn't help but put your hand on his cheek, seeing how the blond nuzzled closer to it, chasing the contact like a cat basking under the attention.

"not yet," he murmured, doubling down by gently turning you over, bringing you closer as you rested your head on his chest. you caved under his relentless touch, both his arms folded snugly behind your back. nanami wore a satisfied smile, like he just achieved something great. "i need another hour of this. of you."

"didn't know i'll be held hostage in some mornings when i went into this marriage," you teased, the comfort of his warm hug made you abandon the scheme you never planned to follow through. your fingers made their way to draw random patterns on the navy shirt he was wearing.

he caught your digits, planting a soft kiss at the back of your hand, "and you promised to accept me as i am in your vow, so i'm afraid you'll have to put up with this for the rest of your life."

you laughed.

oh you will. and very happily.

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. when did megumi’s abs get so defined?

“you listening?”

no. no, you are not.

but who can blame you when megumi is standing right in front of you, fresh out of training, chest still heaving heavily and his skin is glistening with a light sheen of sweat that makes every defined line of his body look like it’s been carved from marble.

his black training shirt clings to him—damp and almost translucent in places—outlining the sharp cut of his chest, the deep ridges of his abs, and the tempting v-lines that disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats that hang way too low for comfort.

his dark hair is messy, strands sticking to his forehead, a few droplets of sweat sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

god, he’s so hot.

you can’t stop staring. your mind is already wandering somewhere stupid like imagining running your tongue along the salty trail of sweat down his neck, over his chest and further down until you reach that perfect v and keep going. you want to drop to your knees right here and see his pretty eyes get all heavy and dark beneath his long lashes and his breath all uneven when you take him into your mouth.

want to hear the soft, broken sounds he’d try to hold back as you suck him slow and deep, tongue swirling around the head, feel his fingers thread into your hair and watch his head tip back, lips parted, a quiet whimper slipping out when you take him all the way to the back of your throat. want to feel his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth while you look up at him with watery eyes, letting him know exactly how much you love having him like this and—

“hey. earth to you.”

nobara snaps her fingers in front of your face, yanking you back to reality. megumi is looking at you now—sharp eyes slightly narrowed, a faint flush on his cheeks that could be from training… or from the way you’ve been blatantly staring at him like he’s something you want to fuck stupid which technically, is true.

“what?” you blink, heat rushing to your face.

nobara rolls her eyes. “i said, are we doing the group training exercise tomorrow or not? you’ve been zoning out for five minutes straight.”

megumi wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, flashing a strip of toned stomach and the faint trail of dark hair leading downward that you’ve never noticed before (not that you’ve ever looked, of course) and your brain gives up again.

when did he get so… defined? when did the faint outline of his v-lines sharpen like this? and when did his abs get so carved, so lickable, so fucking tempting?

“uh… yeah. sure,” you mumble to nobara, trying to sound normal even though your pulse is hammering between your legs.

nobara groans. “you’re hopeless.”

megumi doesn’t say anything, still looking at you before he turns away to grab his water bottle—his biceps flexing when he lifts the bottle to drink. your brain stops working all over again.

god, you really weren’t listening.

and with the way your thighs are clenched and your pulse is throbbing between your legs, you’re not sure you’ll be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day.

little did you know that megumi is not able to focus on anything for the remainder of the day too, and that he had to turn away to adjust his shorts a little—because your staring had him embarrassingly hard, cock twitching against the fabric of his shorts, and he had to fix himself before anyone (especially you) noticed.

because what you don’t know ist that, at night, alone in his room, he often thinks about you too—hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and tight while he pictures kissing you, his tongue in your mouth. how he’d mutter “been thinking about this” against your lips because—god, he has so many many night. “every fucking night. every time you looked at me like that.”

he wants to touch you, to undress you slowly, inch by inch, kissing every newly exposed skin before he’d drag his tongue down your stomach and hooks his fingers in your panties and pull them down your thighs, watch the way you’d part your legs for him without him even having to ask.

just thinking about it makes his cock throb painfully in his hand and he begins to stroke faster—twisting at the head, hips lifting off the mattress—chasing the fantasy of burying himself inside you instead. imagines how tight you’d be, how wet, how you’d clench around him every time he bottoms out, whispering “more” while he fucks you slow and deep until you’re both all sweaty and shaking.

megumi comes with your name caught in the back of his throat— spilling over his fist in hot pulses while his whole body tenses and releases. he milks himself through the aftershocks, thumb brushing the sensitive head, imagining it’s your tongue instead.

when it’s over he lies there, chest heaving and cum cooling on his stomach, staring at the ceiling and thinks how fucked he is. and how torture it will be to see you tomorrow again, still so fucking pretty and out of reach for him.

[chosayi]

𝄞𝄢 husband!toru and his lactation kink.

note. dk how to feel abt this lol…. art by naomiiocha

after having your baby, your body changed drastically. especially in your breasts. they were all swell and full of milk now. causing stained clothes and discomfort.

satoru became more attentive then he’s ever been. always making sure that you and the baby are okay. but one day, when you and satoru were together, milk started to leak through the front of your dress…

and that awakened something deep inside of him.

he didn’t know what came over him. whenever he’d catch you breastfeeding your son, this weird feeling of jealousy would twist in his stomach. it didn’t help how the little guy looked just like him either!

one day, when you were out and asked him to feed the baby, he opened the fridge and stared at it like he struck gold. all of the baby bottles filled with the milk that you pumped out, practically winking at him to have a taste… just one little sip.

so he did. after feeding and burping him, he reached for another bottle absentmindedly. the moment he took a sip of the liquid, his eyes widened.

the flavor was immaculate, he never tasted anything like this before. it was so creamy and sweet—but not sickly sweet. it was pretty mild. honestly, it might’ve been one of the best things he’d ever had.

it might even be better than the kikufuku mochi he was always obsessed with.

before he knew it, the bottle was empty. he dragged his tongue over his lips, catching the last bit with no shame whatsoever. not only did it taste good, but it came from from your body? his wife’s bodily fluids?! it aroused him so much…

after that, bottles started disappearing. you noticed it pretty quickly. each time you checked the fridge, there was less and less. the baby was pissed too! making everything more weird. eventually, you asked satoru if he had any idea what’s been happening to them, and all he did was shrug. “i don’t know, baby. maybe we’re overfeeding him?”

one night, after the baby had finally fallen asleep, you stayed up. complaining about how your breasts were too full and achy. they needed to be drained.

to satoru, this was the perfect opportunity. he offered to help you drain some of it out. and of course, as his wife, you were more than welcome to have your husband take care of you.

but what you didn’t know was that you were making his peculiar fantasies finally come to life…

“mm—toru..! don’t suck too hard. that hurts..” you muttered. currently, your beloved husband was too busy. his soft lips cupped around one of your nipples while his hands fondled both your breasts.

“sorry, baby. can’t help it,” he said, voice muffled. “tastes sooo good. like honey nut cheerios… and almond,” he was in absolute bliss and his dick wasn’t even inside you. tasting it from the bottle was one thing, but sucking it straight out of your fat tits? now that was a whole new experience.

his white lashes fluttered, tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. the stimulation made more milk to spew out into his mouth. he moaned lowly when the liquid hit his tongue.

you mewled softly as he continued to massage your sore breasts, milk seeping between his fingers. your hand rested on your his head, scratching his scalp gently. he kept squeezing you, forcing more and more milk to spray out. he lapped it all up like a little kitten, some of it even dripping down his chin.

“fuck, toru. you’re so disgustinggg…” you moaned, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. 

he laughed breathlessly. “only for you,” he cooed. he began to tease your nipples by pinching them and giving them light flicks with his tongue. he rubbed the leaked milk around your areola with his fingers before licking it off with a long stripe. the relief was euphoric. you bit your lip, and your pussy that was already soaked gushed more slick.

he put both nipples in his drooling mouth and squeezed your breasts roughly together, encouraging more of the rich sweetness out of you for him to greedily drink down. “mmph.. so fucking sweet… my sweet girl,” he groaned.

“o-ohhh..! s-satoruuu,” you whined underneath him. shuddering as you felt his dick rub up and down your clothed folds. basically dry humping you. 

“shhh… m’ right here. just let daddy take care of you, kay? m’ almost done,” he murmured against your skin. a whimper fell out of your trembling lips. he continued his ministrations until he worked all the firmness from your tits, leaving them soft and doughy as they should be. 

when he was done, he let go of your nipples with a small pop! “feels better, hm?” he asked, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth, sucking the sticky liquid off.

“mhmm, yes… t-thank you,” you said shyly, still trembling. slick puddling in your panties from how good he treated you. he let out a low chuckle and leaned in, giving you a soft kiss. you could taste the nectarous liquid on his tongue when he slipped it past your lips.

“we should start doing this more often… oh, honey,” he started, looking at the ginormous damp spot between your thighs. there’s no way that he’s going to sleep without fucking you now. “guess i have something else to help you with.”

@chosayi 2026 ( ummm… would you say that you are… kinky?? )

[satoruslovey]

Frat!sukuna x soft!reader

In which sukuna gets shy and forgets how to speak when you fix his chain in front of his frat brothers

A reference to this series

It’s a friday night.

You had come over to the frat house after class, by now it was normal for you to randomly show up. It was the end of the week, with your body and mind both sore and tired from all the work you’ve done all week , eyes heavy, you went straight to sukuna’s room, plopped on his bed, and drifted to sleep.

How many hours had passed since you fell asleep , Three? Four? You don’t even know , you sit up , rubbing the sleep out of your eyes , with no signs of sukuna around, your throat is so dry it feels like thorns are pricking at it.

Now you were downstairs looking for water.

Unbeknownst to you, everyone’s already there ,

The second you stepped into the kitchen, Shoko noticed you first.

Then Sukuna.

And just like always, something in him changed immediately.

He’d been leaning against the counter beside Toji and Geto, lazily picking apart some story Gojo was telling while half the room listened in amusement. Tattoos stretched beneath the sleeves of his black shirt, rings catching against the fluorescent kitchen light every time he gestured.

He looked Confident and Sharp-edged. Like he always did.

Then his eyes landed on you and as soon as they did,His posture straightened subtly.

The tension in his jaw eased.

Like his entire nervous system recalibrated.

You walked over quietly, still sleepy enough that you barely noticed everyone watching. Sukuna’s gaze followed you the entire way until you stopped in front of him.

“You okay?” he asked immediately.

“Mhm.” Your voice came out soft from exhaustion. Then your eyes caught on the silver chain hanging crooked beneath the collar of his shirt. “Your chain’s twisted.”

“Huh?”

Without thinking much of it, you stepped closer.

Conversation around the kitchen slowly faded.

Your fingers brushed lightly against the cool metal resting against his throat as you fixed the clasp, carefully straightening where it had turned sideways against his skin.

And Sukuna went completely still and no,

Not in a dramatic way.

But the kind where someone forgets how to function entirely.

His hand tightened slightly around the cup he was holding while he stared down at you, breathing quieter ,shoulders stiff beneath your touch.

Gojo blinked. Then blinked again.

“No fucking way.”

You didn’t even notice.

You were too focused on fixing the chain properly, fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck every few seconds.

“There,” you murmured finally. “Better.”

Silence.

You looked up confused.

Every single person in the kitchen was staring.

Toji looked moments away from losing consciousness laughing. Geto had physically covered his mouth trying to hide a grin while Shoko watched like she’d just witnessed a rare astronomical event.

Gojo pointed directly at Sukuna.

“HE’S BLUSHING.”

Your eyes snapped back upward instantly And there it was.

Faint pink dusting across Sukuna’s ears and creeping slowly over the bridge of his nose while he looked at you like his brain had short-circuited.

Your lips parted slightly to say something,

“…wait.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered towards Gojo without taking his eyes off you once.

That only made everyone laugh harder.

“Oh this is BAD,” Geto said through laughter. “He’s gone.”

“To think,” Shoko sighed dramatically, “the campus plague finally domesticated.”

“Fuck off.” He told them.

But there was no bite in it.

Not really.

Because you were still standing close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off your body, your fingers lightly resting against his chest after fixing the chain.

And Sukuna looked wrecked by it.

You smiled , you just couldn’t hold it in.

“Aww,” you teased softly. “You’re embarrassed?”

His eyes narrowed immediately, but it lacked its usual sharpness.

“Don’t start.”

“You’re literally red.”

“I am not.”

“You kinda are,” Toji interrupted giddily.

Gojo looked ready to pass away from excitement. “I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MAN EXPERIENCE HUMAN EMOTION.”

Before you could say anything else, Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you against his chest.

A small startled sound left you as his arm settled around your waist instinctively, keeping you tucked against his side like proximity itself calmed him down.

“Enough,” he muttered lowly.

But when you tilted your head up at him, smiling still lingering on your lips, the blush deepened anyway.

And the kitchen absolutely lost its mind.

“HE GOT SHY.”

“THIS IS INSANE.”

“Somebody take a picture.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gojo announced dramatically.

Sukuna flipped everyone off immediately.

Yet even while doing it, his thumb rubbed absentminded circles against your waist beneath the hoodie.

Like touching you had already become second nature to him.

He had learnt to be gentle with you at all times, which was kinda shocking for someone like him, but he did.

And when you reached up one more time to flatten the collar of his shirt, Sukuna leaned down automatically without even realizing he’d done it.

The room erupted so loudly someone from upstairs yelled asking if a fight broke out.

Everyone was enjoying this way to much.

Meanwhile Sukuna buried his face briefly against the top of your head, muttering,

“You’re never coming downstairs with me again.”

You could only laugh a little because you know that’s far from the truth.

Note : i want to write so much fluff for them 🤍

[satomiu]

꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿　GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna　　ac. su2kuna ಎ ⎯⎯ 　✉️　awky ⨍ reader　　2.2k

the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.

he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.

and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.

simple. intimate. perfect for you.

a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.

and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.

because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.

which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.

“oi.”

you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.

yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.

“. . . what?”

he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”

your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.

lip gloss.

receipt.

wires.

a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?

everything but your keys.

normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—

“you regret comin’ out with me?”

oh . . . 

for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.

“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.

sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.

“you heard me.”

your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.

his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.

“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”

“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”

“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”

well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.

“well, no! i just—”　　 what an insufferable man. 　　“i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”

“just nervous.”

“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”

your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.

sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.

“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”

you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”

sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.

“your call.”

and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.

“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.

“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”

“platonically,” you added after a moment.

. . .

his brows lifted slowly.

“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”

“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”

“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”

“that too.”

silence.

then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.

“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”

your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”

he kept walking.

not far. just enough to be annoying.

“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”

a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”

your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”

his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”

“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.

his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.

before you could overthink, your lips meet his.

it’s quick. chaste. shy even.

his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.

he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.

you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.

your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—

“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”

you pant, “what does that even mean?”

his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.

the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.

a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.

yeah. annoyingly cute.

“why’re you always askin’ obvious questions?”

“because youre always saying weird things,” you huff, “and you’re annoying.”

he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”

you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.

except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.

his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.

you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.

it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.

the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.

then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.

“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.

he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”

“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.

your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.

“here.”

you pause.

and there they were.

your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.

“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”

he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”

you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”

his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”

you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.

“…thanks,” you mutter.

“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”

and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.

you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .

“you alright?”

“yes.”

“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”

“i know!” you shoot back immediately.

the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.

“ okay . . . ” you hummed.

“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.

but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.

a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.

despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.

you liked it.

you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.

“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.

except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.

“fuck—”

you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”

and then, you’re gone.

the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.

outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.

“…yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “that tracks.”

self indulgent, reader is just me 🤣