Sukuna’s Bop It

Amber ❀ 24 ❀ Linktree

[sukunasbopit]

Hiiii, I’m Amber

a.k.a Sukuna’s Bop It

~ yes, the name is dumb and I won’t be changing it 🤪

I love writing fanfics, especially for my faves: Sukuna and Choso ♡

[Masterlist]

Want to be added to my taglist? :)

- mostly jjk NSFW fanfics, headcanons, whatever delulu possesses my imagination

- requests are open

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY POSTS

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[catbellybuttons]

writing the first half of a fic: yaaaay! wooo!!! 🌈💝 fun ideas 😊💖✨️~

writing the second half of a fic: I am in a fight with god himself and he is winning

[sukunasbopit]

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3 (final)

artist credit: syllysmot

Read part 1 here!

Read part 2 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brings his hands to your back, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. He’s physically incapable of pulling his hungry eyes away from your flushed, soft breasts that rise and fall with your trembling breaths. The clasp gives and he slides the straps down your shoulders.

The look on Yuji’s face is just drunk. Lovedrunk. Wrecked. Honey-brown eyes glazed over, fixed on your bare breasts like they knocked the air straight from his lungs. He cups both of his palms over your hardened peaks. So soft. So pretty. They’re the most gorgeous pair of tits he’s ever seen—well, the only tits he’s ever seen, at least in person.

He slides one hand down to your waist and his mouth closes hot around your nipple. He flicks his tongue and you moan softly, head falling back. He already knows. He knows he’s not going to last. He’s too far gone already, and the second he’s inside you, he’s done for. There’s no way he’ll last for more than a minute, if that. And the thought of disappointing you is even worse than how achingly bad he wants you.

What he doesn’t know is that you’re barely holding yourself together enough to speak, and that you’re just as gone as he is. You’re squeezing your thighs together against the burning hot ache between them. “Yuji~” you whine, and god you sound so desperate even to your own ears.

You’re so woozy with desire you don’t even remember taking his shirt off, but you did, or maybe he did, and now your palms are sliding down his hot, defined chest. His abs tense under your desperate touches as your hands trail down to his abdomen, two manicured fingers running down that pink trail of hair, then to his belt to work it open with a soft clink.

“Wait,” he whispers, voice wrecked and hoarse as he gently grips your wrist. “You first.” And before you can even process what he means, the bedframe creaks and you’re chest to chest with him, back pressed against the mattress.

His belt is still undone and hanging loose as he presses hot open-mouthed kisses from your neck, down to your ribs, then your stomach, and then you feel his fingers working at the button of your jeans. He hooks his fingers in the waistband and slowly tugs them down your plush thighs.

He tosses your jeans to the floor and gets up on his knees to look at you. You’re spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but your panties, lips parted, looking up at him with those gorgeous, needy eyes. He runs his finger up your soaked slit through the cotton of your panties, feeling your wetness seep through to coat his fingertip. It draws an agonized groan straight from his chest.

He doesn’t even consciously think about it before he yanks your panties off and starts french-kissing your throbbing, wet pussy, simultaneously squeezing the fat of your ass. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t care. He just wants to taste your sweet, honey-like slick, messily lapping it up and gulping it down with hungry groans. Any nervousness that was within him is completely gone now, replaced by his desperate need to devour you. He’s addicted. Fucking hypnotized.

“Yuji, please,” you whimper, and he pulls back slightly when he hears it, looking up at you with dark, hazy eyes. Your juices are obscenely dripping down his chin, glistening in the low light. “Please,” you beg, voice cracking. “Please fuck me. I need you—I need you so bad I can’t take it anymore.”

He rests his face against your thigh with a sultry little smile. Then you feel him let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh against your skin before he presses a soft kiss there. He sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“When you ask like that?” he says through a ragged whisper, looking down at you with an awestruck grin. “Yeah. Anything.”

He slides his belt from the loops with a soft fwip. “You can have anything.”

Then he pushes his pants down his toned legs, still kneeling between yours. His velvety black boxers hang dangerously low on his hips, and there’s an obvious bulge tenting the fabric. You can’t help yourself. You reach down with both hands and tug his boxers down over his hip bones.

“Oh fuck.”

You didn’t mean for the words to slip from your lips but they did. He’s massive. Hard and thick, veiny along the shaft, his heavy cock resting against his thigh. Your mouth falls open as you just stare and try to process it. When he sees your expression, he can’t quite hide the smirk on his lips. “You like it?” he asks.

“Um, yeah?” you say breathlessly, noticing how the hair at the base is neatly trimmed. “How could I not?”

“I trimmed it for you,” he admits, voice going quiet and rough, sounding almost shy again despite the smirk he was just wearing. “Been doing it for a while, actually. Just in case we—” He drags his hand up the back of his flushed neck. “In case I ever got a chance with you.”

He slides one hand from your thigh to your waist, the other wrapping around his cock. His breath comes out shaky as he drags the blunt head of his cock up and down your sopping slit. “And you’re just so—” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing. “God, you’re so much hotter than anything I imagined.” He meets your eyes. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you gasp needily, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you try to pull him closer. “God, yes, please.”

He gives you a gentle squeeze on the side of your waist. “I love you.”

If he’s going to hit you with those words, he’s going to hit you with them now. When you can’t help but—

“Fuuuuck…” you cry out, clenching hard around the few, fat inches he’s given you. “Nnnn… Yuji, I love you too!”

He wants to savor those words, god he wants to, but every ounce of his concentration is dedicated to staying perfectly still. Don’t cum. Don’t you dare. His teeth are clenched, face contorted in agony even though his eyes are blissfully rolling back from the way your perfect pussy is squeezing him.

“Yuji, please,” you whimper. “Please move—even just a little…”

He gives you a shaky nod, pink hair falling into his eyes. He breathes hard through his nose and wraps his muscular arms around your thighs, mostly buying time. His face is burning feverishly hot as he starts shallowly thrusting, pulling out slowly then sliding back in, and fuck, it feels like your pussy is trying to suck him in.

Gradually he realizes… he’s doing it. He can last. The realization makes him breathe a little easier, and he slightly picks up the pace. He drinks in the sight of your gorgeous body as you let out the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard, your hair spread out across his pillow.

Then he looks down and his eyes widen slightly when he sees the outline of himself pressing against your stomach from the inside. It mesmerizes him for a few seconds as he testingly watches the bulge move with each thrust.

“Holy fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, splaying his hands over your lower stomach, pressing down gently, watching the bulge become even more pronounced. “I can see my dick inside you. Nnngh, fuck—that’s—”

His raw, filthy words make your eager pussy clench harder around him, and he feels a fresh gush of hot slick coat his veiny shaft. There’s so much of it he can see it dripping down onto his tensing balls, and he heaves out a ragged breath at the sight.

Fuck it.

He leans down and captures your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth catching your bottom lip in a gentle bite. He greedily swallows every whimper, every moan you make, as his hips start moving faster, harder, driving into your tight, wet heat with urgency.

Plap—plap—plap!

The bedframe shakes and creaks, headboard slamming against the wall with each desperate thrust. “You like that?” he asks between kisses, voice rough with pleasure.

“Yes!” you moan loudly. “Fuck yes—sosogoood.”

He brings his lips to your ear, brushing the shell as he keeps pounding into your pussy like an absolute legend. “Tell me how it feels,” he pants. “Tell me exactly how it feels, baby.”

He’s been like this ever since he’s known you. Always needing praise. Getting off on it. It’s like a drug to him, and only when it comes from your lips.

“Amazing,” you cry out. “Yuji, you feel so perfect—so thick—so fucking deep—nnngh, stretching me so good, baby—don’t stop!”

“God, baby—” He brokenly moans, reaching up to grip the headboard with one hand for leverage as he fucks into you harder, using his other hand to slide two fingers in your mouth, watching you drool down the edges of your lips with muffled moans. “Suck on them, gorgeous,” he groans raggedly. “Wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around my fingers while I—fuuuck—nnn, baby how close are you?”

“Nggnnhmm…” you mumble around his fingers.

“Nod if you’re close,” he says, teeth gritted in ecstasy.

You nod frantically, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. It feels so heavenly, overwhelming in the best way, and he can hear it in the obscene sounds your bodies make together. Loud, wet squelches fill the room as he ruts in and out of you sloppily, his flushed tip pressing against your cervix each time his hips meet yours.

Thwack—thwack—thwack!

He’s dragging his leaking precum across your tender insides with every desperate stroke. Your breasts bounce heavily with each bruising thrust, and god he loves the sight—can’t tear his eyes away.

Your climax hits you so suddenly you barely noticed the buildup until your insides are fluttering and convulsing around him. “Mmmmppphh!!!” you moan around his fingers, back arching beautifully, legs shaking where they’re wrapped around his body. And he can’t help but smile and bite his lip. “Oh, fuck—babyy… are you cumming on my cock?”

You nod as tears of overstimulated bliss roll down your cheeks, mixing with the drool at the corners of your mouth, and something about seeing you so wrecked makes his eyes soften. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to gently wipe away your tears.

“Yuji,” you beg, voice wrecked. “I need your cum—nnngh, pleaseee…”

That’s it. That’s what breaks him.

“Fuck—baby, I’m—” His words cut off into a gutteral groan. His hips stutter as he cums hard, spilling deep inside your oversensitive pussy. He keeps thrusting through it to prolong it, until he feels his hot cum overflowing around his twitching cock, trailing down your ass and onto the sheets. He collapses forward and catches himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

After he catches his breath, he pulls out slowly and immediately wraps himself around you. He can’t bear an inch of distance. Can he just keep you in his bed forever actually? You’re both sweaty, exhausted, completely wrecked, and he’s never been happier.

“So…” you say with a little breathy laugh. “You really do have a praise kink, huh?”

His face goes red even after everything you just did together. “Is that—is that weird?”

“No,” you say, gently scratching your nails down his back. “It’s sweet. And hot. And I’m definitely going to have fun with that knowledge.”

“Oh, please do,” he groans, half-embarrassed and half-pleased as he hugs you tighter. “God help me,” he murmurs with a grin. “I’m so gone for you.”

Taglist (closed): @alebrasil0101 @poobumfistbumfart @itssyogirltay @greenlover316 @notgrellsutcliff @bre-1 @browwttff @sanguwuxyoonbummy @lareynaderucorazon @antitxx @icksumi @4eg1s @m-beatrice @mercilesslysweetwatcher @supersexyslimlady @aurumi @boom58 @cxttxn-c4ndy @tojisfatmassivepeen @sterzin @officalteenyt-blog @vikabride @carmen-j @zothura @melsylovedangel @misolie @yutaswife12 @elviransworld

[tiramisooooh]

bff's 🔜

(nobara's cat will slowly be friendly with yuji! trust!)

[sukunasbopit]

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

Made this a bit longer than I anticipated sooo, part 3 on Saturday~

artist credit: syllysmot

Read part 1 here!

Update: Read part 3 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah?” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as he looks into your eyes. “You think so?”

You nod and he leans closer, he can’t help it. You’re right here in his arms, your pretty plush lips parted, so damn beautiful that his own lips are tingling, tingling to kiss you. Just a little closer and—

BEEEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A car speeds by and honks at another and Yuji’s eyes fly open. Was he really about to kiss you in front of your spider-infested apartment building? That would definitely taint this perfect memory.

“I should—uh!” He clears his throat, face burning. “Do you want me to put you down? Or…” God, you sound like an idiot, he thinks to himself. Though the embarrassment still doesn’t stop him from talking. “Or I could carry you the whole way. I can if you want. It’s not far. I don’t mind.”

You laugh a little. “I’m good. I can walk,” you say, patting his chest. He reluctantly sets you down on the sidewalk, looking a little disappointed in himself for even asking.

But then you slide your hand down his muscular arm, wrapping your fingers gently around his bicep. You look up at him with that smile that makes him completely forget how to think. “Lead the way, my hero.”

He nods quickly, blushing like crazy, and you stuff the big wooden spoon in the back pocket of your jeans. God, you’re such a dork and he loves you for it.

“It’s about a twenty minute walk,” he says, leading the way but sort of dragging his feet. “Or like… five if you want me to carry you again.”

“Yuji,” you say with a giggle. “Are you looking for an excuse to pick me up again?”

“Huh? No! You—you just went through a traumatic experience and I—”

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh, leaning into his arm. “If it’s that much faster then let’s do it.”

“Okay, yeah—if you’re sure,” he says, a grin lighting up his face before he can even think to stop it. He scoops you up in his arms again and hugs you against his broad chest. “Hold on tight, okay?”

You wrap your arms around him and he goes into a full sprint. It doesn’t seem to be exhausting for him at all. In his mind, he’s not even focused on the workout. He’s just so completely consumed with the thought of you.

God, this is literally a dream come true. She’s actually staying the night with me.

He hops over a puddle.

Wait. Is my apartment clean…? Did I leave a pile of dishes in the sink? Is there still that cup of instant ramen from two days ago? Oh god, is it growing mold?

He swiftly turns a corner, shoes skidding on the sidewalk, progressively getting more nervous.

Did I leave anything embarrassing out? Are my underwear on the floor? Oh FUCK, what if she sees the Yoruichi body pillow Nobara got me as a joke? Nononono…

“You good?” you ask, noticing the panic on his face.

“Great!” he says quickly, his voice coming out slightly strangled. “It’s just my concentration face. Making sure I don’t drop you.”

“Hm… okay,” you say skeptically, but you hold onto him tighter.

Can I somehow distract her while I shove everything in the closet?

When his apartment building comes into view, he slowly looks up, stomach sinking. “So…” his voice cracks slightly, “My place is kind of… I wasn’t expecting company.”

“My place is filled with spiders so my standards are on the floor,” you say with a laugh.

Good, because that’s where most of my stuff is too. On the damn floor.

He groans. “Right. Yeah, okay. Don’t judge me too hard?”

“Never,” you say, playfully scratching your fingers through his pink hair.

Even though your hand in his hair makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine, the walk up the stairs feels like he’s walking to his execution. He sets you down at his door and hesitantly unlocks it.

Please don’t let it be bad. Don’t let it be bad. God, why can’t I remember if it’s bad or not?

The tower of dishes in the sink is the first thing you notice when he opens the door. There are clothes on the floor and some clutter and trash, but it’s not like it’s an absolute dump. And at least the body pillow is mercifully hidden in his closet.

“It’s… cozy,” you say, stepping inside.

“You don’t have to do that.” He closes the door behind him, looking defeated. “I know it’s a mess. I swear it’s not usually this bad.”

He quickly starts gathering the clothes off the floor. “I was gonna do the dishes tonight,” he says, very embarrassed. “I’ve actually been a lot more responsible since I got my own place. It’s just—my focus has been on other things the last few days.”

“Like on styling your hair?” you ask teasingly.

“Uh—that’s not like the only thing but… yeah, I guess I have been spending more time on my hair than on housework.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

Because you called it pretty, rewired my brain, and now I’m basically Pavlov’s dog waiting for another compliment.

“Just… wanted to try something new,” he mumbles, tossing the pile of clothes he gathered into a laundry basket.

“Well, I love it,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Are you blushing? “You just look… like I said. It’s stunning.” You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “Not to make it seem like I’m hitting on you or anything,” you laugh nervously.

He’s looking up at you, still crouched over the laundry basket, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. But then he puts on a slight grin and drags a hand through his hair, sweeping it back a little more. “I mean… that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Your stomach does a full flip. How does he shift so quickly from awkward to so fucking HOT? “Oh…” You laugh nervously again. “Good to know.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly having no clue what to do with yourself. You point up at a sock on his ceiling fan. “That’s creative.”

He looks up and his smooth charm falls apart. “Oh god, that’s embarrassing,” he says with a humiliated groan. His hoodie rides up when he reaches for it, enough for you to see the trail of pink hair riding up his toned abdomen, which only makes you melt for him so much more. He yeets the sock into the laundry basket like it’s his mortal enemy.

“Okay, moving on from the disaster. Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can order pizza or something.”

“Pizza sounds good,” you say, cheeks still burning hot.

He’s so grateful for the subject change. He starts scrolling through his phone to find his usual pizza place. “You like pepperoni?” he asks.

“Yeah, pepperoni’s perfect.”

“Cool.” He starts putting in the order. “I’m gonna get two so we can have some for breakfast.”

You sit down on his couch and feel something dig in your hip. “Oh,” you say, tugging it out from under you and holding it up with an embarrassed laugh. “I forgot about my pocket spoon.”

“Pocket spoon,” he chuckles, looking up from his phone. “Every hero needs a signature weapon.”

“You were the hero. I was just the damsel with the wooden spoon.”

“Well you got the one on my shoulder so we’re both heroes,” he says with a smile as he finishes putting in the order. “Pizza will be here in like forty-five minutes. Wanna watch something while we wait? I don’t have a TV in the living room yet, but uh—” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve got one in my room if you want to watch there.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh, yeah. That’s fine.”

He leads you to his room. The bed is unmade and he immediately scrambles to straighten out the blankets. You look to the wall and there’s a large TV mounted with a gaming console hooked up underneath.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, patting the bed. Then he reaches down and blows your mind when he pulls his hoodie off. He’s wearing a fitted black shirt, and it would be impossible not to see the perfect definition of his muscles underneath. You already knew he was fit, and you’ve always found him attractive, but god, he’s had a serious glow up.

He flops down on the bed, remote in hand, completely oblivious to what he’s just done to your heart. “What’re you in the mood for?” he asks.

Uh, you.

You’re just standing there, staring at him like a total weirdo.

He doesn’t even notice. He scrolls through the options. “Action? Horror? Comedy? I’ve got everything.”

“Action’s good,” you say breathily. You get next to him on the bed and lay back on the pillow.

The movie barely starts before there’s a knock at the door. “Huh? That was fast,” Yuji says, checking his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks out the door and you take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. You’re suddenly so turned on, ever since he pulled his hoodie off. Is that really all it takes?

He comes back in the room with two pizza boxes, and they smell incredible, that perfect, warm, cheesy scent. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loud.

“Someone’s hungry,” he teases, setting the pizza boxes down on the bed.

“The spider trauma burnt a lot of calories, I guess,” you say with a little laugh.

“Poor thing. All that spider fighting,” he says, sitting on the bed and opening one of the boxes. He pulls out a slice and holds it towards you with a grin. “Want me to feed you?”

“Sure,” you say with a sultry smile, leaning forward and opening your mouth.

“I—wait, really?” He was clearly not expecting you to say yes. “I was just teasing, but I will if you want me to.”

“Ehh, well it depends actually,” you say, eyeing the slice. “Are you going to make airplane noises?”

“Do you want me to make airplane noises?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no airplane noises.” He waves the slice a little. “Come on, let me live out my hero fantasy.”

“Your hero fantasy involves feeding me pizza?” you ask, taking a bite.

“My hero fantasy involves a lot of things, actually,” he says thoughtfully, holding the slice of pizza to your lips. “Like…” 

His hazy eyes meet yours, then his cheeks heat up and he seems to snap back to reality. “Actually, this is kinda weird, isn’t it? Do you just want to hold it yourself?”

“Backing out of your fantasy already?” you tease, but you take the pizza from his hand.

“I mean, it seemed a bit good in my head,” he says with a nervous smile, grabbing his own slice. “But then I was like ‘what am I doing?’” He takes a bite, shaking his head at himself. The movie is still playing but neither of you really care at this point.

“I thought it was cute,” you say, taking another bite.

He stops chewing and looks at you with wide eyes. “Cute?”

“Yeah, in kind of a dorky way. Not to say I’m not dorky too.”

“You think I’m dorky?”

“More cute than dorky,” you say, smiling at him over your pizza.

“...So you think I’m cute?” There’s a little blushing smirk on his face as he sets his pizza down on a paper plate.

“Of course I think you’re cute,” you say, acting like it’s not big news at all. “I’ve always thought so.”

“What else?” he asks, leaning forward a little.

“What else what?”

“What else do you think about me?” he asks, and there’s something so intense and electric in his eyes now. “Besides cute.”

“You’re suddenly so forward,” you say with a breathy laugh, cheeks flushing hot. “What happened to the guy who was just panicking over feeding me pizza?”

“Hey, I didn’t panic,” he says, darting his eyes away for only half a second before bringing them right back to yours. “I’m just curious.”

You set your pizza down slowly, buying time. “I don’t know if I should say…”

“Please.” He scoots closer on his knees. “Nothing you say could possibly make things weird. We’re way past weird already. And I love it, by the way.”

You let out a heavy sigh. You’re really not sure how honest you should be. “I think you’re the sweetest person I know… and… I think you’re really attractive. Like, gorgeous actually. And…” You look away and shake your head, your face embarrassingly red. “God, this is embarrassing.”

He doesn’t even let you spiral. He brings both hands to your cheeks and pulls you in desperately, kissing you hard and messy. It surprises you so much you gasp into his mouth, and it only urges him on. He uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between your lips, tangling it with yours.

He brings his hands down to your waist as he breaks from your lips to kiss along your jawline. “You have no idea how much I think about you,” he says breathily. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, heaving on your scent. “You’re the most beautiful girl I ever met and I can’t believe you’re staying the night with me,” he groans, fingers digging desperately into your waist. “You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.”

This is all happening so fast it’s making your head spin. Your hands, while having been clutching his shirt during that hungry kiss, trail down to his abdomen.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, voice rough and hot against your neck. “I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking…” Your fingers slide down to the waistband of his jeans. You’re so mesmerized by his body, so completely enamored with the heat of lips on your skin that you can barely think of anything else. “Is it too soon for…”

He stops kissing, then pulls back to look at you with wide eyes. It could never be too soon. He wants it so fucking badly, you have no idea. So badly he can’t even let himself believe that’s what you’re asking for.

“Too soon for…” he repeats hoarsely. “You want to… are you asking if we can—” he can’t seem to finish either. “Sex?” he forces himself to blurt out, chest heaving with excitement. “You mean sex?”

You nod and look up at him through your lashes, trying not to seem like you’re unbelievably nervous for his response. It’s not too hard, since your desire for him is severely overriding your nerves.

But he just stares at you in shock, mouth fallen open, and suddenly you think you’ve fucked everything up. “I mean, if you don’t want to it’s okay—”

“Oh god—no, come here.” His hands eagerly slide up under your shirt and you gasp. “I’ve been losing my mind wanting you. But—” His hands pause when they cup your bra. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say breathily, slipping your hands under his shirt in return and sliding them up his washboard abs.

He knows he should take his time, but his fingers are already tugging the hem of your shirt over your head, and his pupils dilate when he takes in the sight. He can’t fathom how the hell he thought you calling him stunning or gorgeous was the peak. 

And as much as he desperately chased it, he can’t fathom how someone as beautiful as you could look at him with even a fraction of the awe he feels right now. You’re a goddess.  And he hasn’t even seen all of you yet. Not even close.

Taglist (closed): @alebrasil0101 @poobumfistbumfart @itssyogirltay @greenlover316 @notgrellsutcliff @bre-1 @browwttff @sanguwuxyoonbummy @lareynaderucorazon @antitxx @icksumi @4eg1s @m-beatrice @mercilesslysweetwatcher @supersexyslimlady @aurumi @boom58 @cxttxn-c4ndy @tojisfatmassivepeen @sterzin @officalteenyt-blog @vikabride @carmen-j @zothura @melsylovedangel @misolie @yutaswife12 @elviransworld

[sukunasbopit]

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writing this one gave me butterflies 🦋🤭

There will be a spicy part 2 as well~

artist credit: syllysmot

Update: Part 2 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuji tilts his head in the mirror, running his fingers through the pink strands. His hair is swept back now, not left to the messy, go-with-gravity thing he had going on before. 

Some longer pieces fall across his forehead, and he pushes them to the side so they’re just grazing the edge of his eyebrows. The rosy-pink is illuminated, almost shimmering from the sunlight streaming through the window.

Pretty.

So pretty, Yuji.

That’s what you said to him, and he’ll never forget it.

Of course, you were talking about the cherry blossoms. At least that’s what you said you were talking about, the color of them, but you were looking at him. Comparing his hair to the falling sakura petals.

He’s replayed that moment about a thousand times since then. He’ll hum with a smile, eyes half-lidded when he’s elbow deep in dishwater, or folding laundry, or doing any of the mundane crap he normally hates doing. Just lost in it. Lost in the memory of you calling him pretty. Because you did. That’s what you meant. He’d stake his life on it.

It’s ridiculous how often pink things make him automatically think of you now. Pink sunsets. Strawberry milk. That salmon-colored building he passes on his morning runs. Everything loops back to that afternoon, your fingers almost reaching out to touch his hair before you pulled back with a blush dusting across your cheeks.

Most of the time, he used to just roll out of his bed and go. Let his hair do whatever it wanted. And if you thought it was pretty before, when he wasn’t even trying… well. He wants to blow you away.

He’s tested a few different styles. Let it grow out a little bit. This one feels right. Still him, just makes him look a little older. It’s a kind of style that says he’s grown up, been through things, and hasn’t stopped caring about taking care of himself.

Would you notice? Would it make you look twice?

Would you call it pretty again?

Or maybe you’d call it sexy—

“I’M WALKING ON SUNSHINE, WOAAHHH!”

Yuji’s soul almost jumps from his body when he hears his phone explode with your ringtone.

Your contact photo flashes across the screen and his heart does that little skip-pap thing it always does when he sees your face. He grabs it, taps the green button and brings the phone to his ear with a nervous, lovestruck smile. “Hey—”

“YUJI! YUJI HELP! OH GOD—NO NO NO—”

His smile falls immediately. He hears you let out a panicked scream that makes every hair on his body stand on end.

He presses his phone hard against his ear. “Y/N?? WHERE ARE YOU?? WHAT’S GOING ON??”

His mind is racing with all the possible dangers you could be in. Curse attack? Curse user? Mugged? Kidnapped? He’s already shoving his feet into his shoes before he even consciously decided to.

“YUJI THERE’S LIKE A HUNDRED SPIDERS!”

He freezes halfway out the door. “SPIDER… CURSES? A SPIDERCURSE??”

“NO! REAL SPIDERS! REAL ONES!”

“…Huh?” He scratches the nape of his neck, dumbfounded. This is all just about some spiders?

He hears a thump and a crash on the other end of the line. Your breath is heaving fast and panicked.

“They’re everywhere, oh my god, I don’t—I don’t know where they all came from, they just—” Your voice pitches up again. “YUJI PLEASE KILL THEM! PLEASE COME KILL THEM ALL!”

“Uh—o-okay! Okay, I’m coming right now,” he says quickly, as he starts running. “I’ll be there in five minutes, just—”

“FIVE MINUTES?!”

“Three!” he huffs, pushing himself to his absolute limit to run as fast as he possibly can. “I’ll be there in three minutes!”

He makes it in two and a half, taking the stairs up to your apartment three steps at a time. Your door is unlocked and he bursts through, leading with a breathless, “I’m here, I’m—holy shit.”

You’re crouched on the back of your couch like some kind of feral cat, feet planted on the highest point, knees bent, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. Your hair is a mess, your eyes are teary, and you’re absolutely surrounded.

You weren’t exaggerating. There are easily a hundred spiders. Probably more. They cover your floor in a writhing carpet of brown, spindly bodies, crawling up your walls and furniture. It’s a whole goddamn spider convention. A spider rave.

“YUJIII!” You spot him and nearly fall off your couch in relief, but you gasp and catch yourself to stay up high. “PLEASE KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!

He jumps into action, stomping on the clusters of spiders. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. You both wince with disgust as he does this demented dance across your living room floor, crushing spiders with each step.

But they just keep coming. For every five he kills, ten more seem to scuttle out from under your furniture. “Where the hell are they all coming from?!” he yells.

“I don’t know!” You swat at one that’s making a run up your couch, sending it flying. “I woke up from a nap and they were just—EVERYWHERE!”

He stomps his way towards the kitchen, crushing as many as he can, but stops when he realizes it’s futile. They’re emerging from the baseboards, from under the fridge, from inside your cabinets. This isn’t just an average infestation.

“Okay, uh.” He kicks a few off his pant legs. “I don’t think I can kill all of these.”

“WHAT?!”

“You need like… an exterminator. Or a priest.” He stomps twice more with emphasis.

You make a sound of pure despair, slumping on your couch perch. A spider drops from the ceiling and lands on your shoulder. You flail and shriek, smacking your shoulder again and again with the wooden spoon. You’re so petrified you actually fall off the couch.

Yuji runs up and catches you in his arms before you hit the spider-covered floor, swinging you up close to his chest. You immediately lock your arms around his neck, spoon still clutched in hand, and you bury your face against his hoodie.

“I can’t stay here,” you say, voice muffled against him. “I can’t sleep here. Yuji, what if they crawl on me in my sleep? What if they crawl inside my mouth?” You audibly gag.

“Jesus, don’t—” He shudders and has to fight back a grimace. “Yeah, no, we’re going. Let’s go. You can stay at my place until they’re gone.”

You pull back slightly and look up at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

His face goes full blush. God, you’re cute.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not leaving you here in spider central,” he says, kicking a few more spiders off his shoes as he heads for the door. “We’ll call an exterminator and let them do their thing, and you can crash with me.”

“Oh my god, thank you.” You wrap your arms tighter around him in relief and gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank—” SMACK. “Eugh, sorry, there was one on your shoulder.”

He just shrugs with a smile, not breaking a stride. “It’s cool. Thanks for the backup.”

He carries you straight out of your apartment, not stopping until you’re both on the sidewalk. You’re still clinging to him like a koala with your face leaned against his chest. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t driving him insane in the best possible way. And he’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little grateful for the spider invasion.

“Your hair’s different,” you say suddenly, and his heart stops. “It’s…” He gazes down at you with those hazel eyes, pupils dilated, holding his breath for what you might say. Your fingers brush down one of the loose pink strands on his face. “Stunning.”

Time stops. Restarts. He’s different now than he was three seconds ago. And just like that, another unforgettable memory burns into his brain.

He’ll be chasing this feeling forever.

Taglist: @alebrasil0101 @poobumfistbumfart @itssyogirltay @greenlover316 @notgrellsutcliff @bre-1 @browwttff @sanguwuxyoonbummy @lareynaderucorazon @antitxx @icksumi @4eg1s @m-beatrice @mercilesslysweetwatcher @supersexyslimlady @aurumi @boom58 @jollyjestercacher @cxttxn-c4ndy @tojisfatmassivepeen @sterzin @officalteenyt-blog @vikabride @carmen-j @zothura

[onlyfanfictasies]

you will get boxer!choso (500 follower special)

be warned : this is a mixed series, so it’ll involve some writing and smau :) also probably violent, sexual themes, cursing, toji being scared of y/n and choso because their freaked out, mentions of cheating, pet names,

summary: toji is your best friend, you two are basically like brother and sister and you think all his friends are hot. but there is always this one friend in particular you’ve had an actual crush on. until one random night your best friend toji decides to get you front row tickets to a boxing match.. that he’s fighting in?! and you get to see him backstage?!?! but there is a small obstacle you have to get over.. his trauma.

part one: “stop”

part two: “hey” (written)

part three: “siblings”

part four: “the past”

part five: “so sorry”

part six: “🚧”(written)

part seven: “🚧”

taglist(open): @hannahzg8 @mrskamikazekaito @izakyun @yeschefcarm @b-is-obsessed @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dazzlingstarlight23 @clamousera @emluvsgetou @getosuguwife @hi-hi-hiiii @martulaaav @blueberrymumshikens @yujisdreamgirl

[sukunasbopit]

Interact with this post if you want to be added to my taglist!

I'm making a taglist for my fanfic posts. You will be tagged in every single piece of writing I post on this blog.

Here's my masterlist if you'd like to see examples of my writing ♡

So far I've only written Jujutsu Kaisen NSFW fics, but at some point I might add Bleach and AOT. I heavily favor Sukuna and Choso so you'll probably see a lot of them.

Please interact with this post if you would like to be added to my taglist for these!

Do not interact whatsoever (including likes!) if you don't want to be tagged.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

[sukunasbopit]

[Masterlist]

A compilation of all my writing on this blog. This post will be updated whenever I post more.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Drunk on You - Roommate!sukuna loses his mind when you tell him you're going on a date.

Tongue-Tied (part 1) - You get paired up with frat!sukuna, the biggest asshole in uni, for a class project. A study session at his frat house is bad enough, until a thunderstorm traps you there overnight. (part 2 here)

CHOSO

Offbeat (part 1) [ongoing] - You've fallen hard for drummer!choso, your quiet roommate who you've grown close to. But he's fallen harder. Way harder. (part 2 here)

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

A totally gone for you Megumi Fushiguro (part 1) - Your boyfriend's had a long day and needs to let off some steam. (part 2 here)

YUJI ITADORI

Pretty (part 1) - Yuji's determined to hear you call him pretty again. Also... spider invasion! (part 2 here) (part 3 here)

[sukunasbopit]

Offbeat - drummer!choso x fem reader

Part 2

slow burn • roommates to lovers • mutual pining • jealousy • angst with happy ending • eventual smut

Read part 1 here!

You hum the song that was playing in the car as you sit on the couch and unlace your boots. Choso’s pulling out the practice pad kit before he even takes off his shoes.

“Want me to teach you again?” he asks with a little smile and a hopeful glimmer in his dark eyes.

You bite your lip. You know what that means. And he knows you’ll say yes because he’s already setting it up in front of the couch cushion next to you.

“Hmm…” You check the time on your phone, trying to play it off like you aren’t absolutely dying to sit on his lap while he teaches you to play. “Just for a little bit.”

You slide onto his lap and he slides his fingers down your arms until they wrap around your wrists, warm palms against your skin. You hear him take a slow, shuddered breath.

“We can just… pick up from last time,” he says quietly.

You grab the drumsticks and he guides your hands into position. He starts moving your hands through the pattern.

Boom, ts, dum-dum, ts. 

Boom, ts, dum-dum, ts.

You both know you’re not really learning anything. He’s doing all the work, just using your hands to play. But that’s not the point. It was never about learning to play the drums anyway.

You can feel his heart pounding where his chest is pressed firmly against your back. “You’re getting better,” he murmurs next to your ear, even though you both know it’s a lie.

He slides his calloused palms further down your wrists, thumbs brushing your hands. Your heart flutters when you feel the brush of his chiseled jaw against your temple.

“Think you can try it without me?” he asks, and his voice dips a bit lower than you’re used to, taking on a rough edge. A tingling heat spreads across your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, trying not to make the butterflies fluttering violently in your stomach so painfully obvious.

His hands slide away from your wrists and you keep the pattern going. For a minute you think you’re actually doing pretty good. 

Boom, ts, dum-dum, ts. 

Boom, ts, dum-dum, ts.

Then both his hands come to your hips. His slim fingers spread wide across the fabric of your jeans and your rhythm immediately falls apart.

“Just adjusting you,” he murmurs, but his hands aren’t working to adjust anything. They just stay there, gripping your hips.

Something thick and hard presses against your ass, and your brain quickly catches up—that’s… that’s his—oh my god. That is definitely his dick. The drumsticks slip from your suddenly nerveless hands.

“Hey,” he says, catching them in time and guiding them back into your palms. “You were doing good.” As casual as he’s trying to come off, his voice is audibly more strained now. He sets his hands back on your hips. “Try to get back into the rhythm.

Somehow you manage to pick the pattern back up but your hands are shaking. His fingers dig slightly into the fat of your hips. Then he slowly and subtly starts to roll his hips, and you feel every thick inch. The friction is maddening, and he’s so big you feel like the pressure alone might tear through the back of your jeans.

“So good,” he murmurs raggedly right next to your ear, his breath hot on your already flushed skin. “You’re doing so good.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the drumming or the way you feel against his dick, but you don’t even care because your thighs are clenching involuntarily and you can feel your panties getting sopping wet.

The drumsticks drop from your trembling hands and clatter to the floor, and he doesn’t even acknowledge it. He just pulls you against his achingly hard cock even tighter and leans his face into your neck.

“Choso. I should—” you say breathlessly as you try to push yourself up, thinking this has probably gone way too far, way too fast. “I should go to bed. It’s getting late.”

He instantly stops rolling his hips, but his grip on you tightens a fraction, still holding you there. You feel him take in a slow breath, nose brushing your hair, and then he lets go. “Okay,” he says, voice unbelievably strained. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You stumble off his lap and give him a quick “goodnight,” not looking back as to hide the way you’re heavily blushing. You shut your bedroom door behind you and lean against it, chest heaving. Well. Now you know he’s definitely packing. You always wondered.

Your cheeks are on fire and you press your palms to them, trying to cool down. There’s no way that was accidental. He knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe you shouldn't have panicked and run off like that… he must be mortified right now.

—

Choso sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, mentally scolding himself, but his body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo because he’s still so hard it hurts.

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ he thinks to himself. There’s no excuse he could possibly give that would make this seem innocent or accidental. Nothing he could say that would make it seem like anything other than what it actually was. Him dry humping you like some kind of disgusting perv.

He drops flat on his back with a creak of his bedframe. He’s ashamed to admit it, but he just wanted to see what you’d do. He wanted you to rub back up against him so badly. Living with you has been the sweetest, most agonizing torture. He’s wanted you for so long but he’s never been able to bring himself to do anything about it until tonight—and fuck—he went way too far.

He drags his hands slowly down his face, over the black line on the bridge of his nose. Maybe you don’t have feelings for him after all. Maybe he’s been fooling himself into a fantasy this whole time, reading into everything way too much, as he thinks is a terrible habit of his.

He’s never been good at this. He’s never been charming or smooth enough to make the first move. Sure, he’s not a virgin, but that’s solely because he’s gotten lucky enough that the few girls he’s been with practically threw themselves at him. 

But you don’t do that. You’re so sweet and warm, and the way you smile at him he could swear you want him too, but you’ve never been the bold type. You’ve never grabbed him, never kissed him, never said the words he desperately wants to hear.

He wishes you would.

His dick throbs against his jeans and he sits up with a resigned sigh. He’s already lost his dignity tonight. Might as well go all the way.

He reaches up and pulls out his hair ties, letting his espresso-dark hair fall to his shoulders. Then he stands and strips off his loose black tank top and tosses it toward the hamper. He kicks off his black distressed jeans and stands there in his boxers, the physical proof of what you do to him obscenely tenting the fabric.

He opens his dresser drawer of sleepwear and looks down at the neatly folded sweatpants. Then he reaches behind them, to the very back of the drawer, and pulls out a pair of dark purple lace panties.

Just taking them out of hiding makes his heart hammer against his ribcage. He knows he’s terrible for this. He knows it’s pathetic and creepy and crosses a million lines he can never uncross. But when he saw them on the bathroom floor a few weeks ago, left behind by accident after your shower, he picked them up with trembling hands and shoved them in his pocket. He knew immediately he wasn’t going to give them back.

The first time he jerked off with them, he told himself he’d only do it once. Just to see what it was like. But once turned into twice, and twice turned into every single time he touched himself, and now he can’t even get off without them.

Of course he washes them after, every single time. He handwashes them carefully in the bathroom sink when he knows you’re asleep, heart racing, listening for any sound of your door opening down the hall. The paranoia is exhausting but necessary. If you ever caught him with your missing panties in his hands, dripping with water and whatever else, if he had to see the realization dawn on your face about what he’s been doing with them—No, he’d rather actually die. There is no coming back from that.

He presses them to his face and inhales deeply, eyes blissfully rolling back. The sweet scent of you still hasn’t worn out from the fabric. He slides his boxers down and lies back on his bed. He’s harder than he’s been in months, leaking down his veiny shaft, all because for a few minutes he got to rub himself against you on his lap. 

He wraps your panties around himself and lets out a shuddered breath, stroking them down slowly. It’s nothing like his hand. It’s so much better. So soft and silky, and it makes him think of you wearing them, on top of him, grinding your needy pussy up against him until the fabric is drenched—

“Rrrnngh… fuck—” he groans, precum dripping down in milky rivulets, marking your panties with every stroke.

He lets his imagination go back to when you were sitting on his lap on the couch, but this time you don’t go anywhere. You’d turn around and straddle him, spread those pretty thighs over his lap, and you look at him with dark, hazy eyes.

“You’re so hard, Cho,” you’d say breathily, and your hand would slide down to palm him through his jeans, and he’d buck up desperately into your touch. Then you’d kiss him with those impossibly soft lips, and you’d taste like the cherry lipgloss you’re always applying.

Schlick schlick schlick! Choso’s bedroom fills with the obscene wet sounds of your cum-soaked panties clinging to his cock with every pump of his fist.

The image is crystal clear in his mind. He’d carry you to his bed, your hair beautifully spread across his pillow, eyes locked on his while he strips you slowly. He’d watch your plush lips fall open when he pushes inside you, your slick heat gripping him perfectly while you dig your manicured nails into his shoulders.

He’d fuck you so hard your breasts would bounce with every thrust and he’d lean down to lap his tongue at your nipple. He’d worship your body the way you deserve, take you apart piece by piece and put you back together satiated and glowing.

He’d spill into you so full you’d feel it pooling inside you, spilling down onto the sheets. He’d do anything and everything he’s been fantasizing for what feels like an eternity.

His hips buck violently off the bed and his fist pumps his swollen cock in a frenzy as he spills thick ropes of cum all over your panties.

Then the high fades and his face falls as reality comes crashing back in.

But he’s still clinging to the fantasy’s end, the only part that never leaves him for even a second.

He’d tell you he’s in love with you.

That he’s been in love with you since the moment he met you.

That you’re his dream girl and the idea of anyone else touching you makes him want to break things.

But a fantasy is a fantasy.

All he can do right now is hope to god you’ll forgive him for grinding against you like some sex-starved loser. You deserve so much better than that.

—

When morning comes, you’ve already made your decision. You’re going to pretend you didn’t notice what he was doing last night.

Is he going to believe you? Probably not. Choso’s perceptive as hell, and you’re not the best liar in the first place. But it’s the best thing you can do to give him some peace of mind, to let him save face, and to preserve the comfort between you two.

The truth is, you’ve been kicking yourself all night for running away. You just got up and left when he was clearly trying to take things further, left when the man of your dreams was literally rubbing himself against you, and all you had to do was stay.

You were just so caught off guard by it. Choso’s never made a move like that before. You always thought of him as the quiet, romantic type. The type to bring you flowers and open doors. The type to hesitantly ask before kissing you, let alone grinding his dick on you.

But maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. Not that that changes how you feel about him. The discovery that he has this raw, desperate side only makes him so much hotter.

You pad into the kitchen and find him already sitting at the table. His dark hair is down, falling around his face in those uneven layers you love, and he’s wearing low-slung gray sweatpants and a faded black t-shirt.

He keeps his eyes fixed on his coffee as his fingers drum against the table nervously. Tap tap tap tap. He doesn’t look at you. Won’t look at you. Like a scolded dog.

“Morning,” you say softly as you reach for a mug.

“Morning,” he mumbles into his coffee.

Tap tap tap tap…

You can feel the tension already, and it’s suffocating.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds quiet and rough like he didn’t sleep at all last night.

You glance over at him with the coffee pot in your hand. “For what?”

He finally raises his eyes to you, just for a second, and there’s so much shame in them. Then he looks back down. “...You know.” Tap tap tap tap. “...Last night.”

You tilt your head at him, pouring your coffee slowly. “What about last night?”

“Don’t—” He takes a shallow breath. “Please… you know what I mean. Don’t make me put words to it…”

“I should be the one saying sorry for cutting it so short,” you say, keeping your voice light and casual. “I was just so tired from work, y’know?”

“You’re…sorry?” His brows furrow. “Wait. Cutting what short?” His eyes go a bit wider. “You wanted to keep going?”

“Yeah, like I said, I was just exhausted. But we can pick it back up again soon if you want. I know you like teaching me the drums.”

“Teaching you the…” His eyes search your face like he’s looking for a crack in the facade. Is this some kind of test? “I’m so confused,” he whispers.

“What’s confusing?” you ask, taking a sip of your coffee.

He scratches the back of his neck. He knows this has to be an act, but maybe it’s best for him to just let this go. “Never mind,” he says, nodding slowly. “If that’s what you… yeah. Never mind.”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. He overthought this so much, and this was not how he pictured getting past last night. Just pretending it didn’t happen. But he’ll take it. At least you’re still talking to him.

“You still coming to the show tonight?” he asks.

You walk over, rest your hand on his broad shoulder and give it a squeeze. His heart skips a beat and he stares up at you. “Obviously,” you say, smiling down at him. “You know I never miss your shows, Cho.”

—

Black combat boots with silver buckles. Sheer black tights that disappear under a short black skirt. The skirt sits high on your waist, showing off your curves in all the right ways. A deep burgundy cropped sweater that shows just a sliver of your waist when you raise your arms, with a neckline that dips low enough to be just a little tantalizing.

Your hair is down in loose waves, and you’ve done your makeup even darker than usual: smoky eyes, sharp winged liner, deep red lipstick. You’re practically begging him to eat you up, aren’t you?

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You look like someone Choso would want.

What are you kidding? You are what Choso wants. And yeah, you had to act oblivious for his sake. Especially after running off and humiliating him like that.

But tonight you’re going to make it all up to him~

[tonycries]

Choso who no one would ever guess was…a tease. He sends you pictures of his chiselled abs telling you he’s thinking of you, he winks at you from across parties when you’re occupied with your friends. Choso who then proceeds to type down something dirty and texts it to you…and no one would know because he’s just so sweet. Choso who keeps fIashing his pretty smile and his pretty eyes- and his fiIthy promises until you drag him to the bathroom n’ make the come true.

[sukunasbopit]

Offbeat - drummer!choso x fem reader

Part 1

slow burn • roommates to lovers • mutual pining • jealousy • angst with happy ending • eventual smut

TW: mentions of death (past-tense - no death happens in current day story) and self-harm (self-inflicted tattoo during mental health crisis)

You’ve grown to love the smell of the record shop over the last few months, that dusty, nostalgic scent. Outside the windows, vintage streetlamps cast pools of warm light on the sidewalk in front of the shop. Lights that barely push back the October shadows. You can see yours and Choso’s reflections ghosted in the window glass, overlaid with the darkened street and the drift of rust-colored leaves passing by.

You’re crouched by the indie rock section, sifting through the dividers as you check alphabetization. Someone had shoved Arctic Monkeys back in the wrong spot, right between Radiohead and The Strokes. You pull it out and slide it back into the A-C section.

“Found another one,” you say over your shoulder.

Choso looks up from where he’s reorganizing the new arrivals display near the counter. His dark brown eyes meet yours and your heart does that traitorous flutter it’s been doing since the day you met him. You’ve given up on pretending you don’t feel this way about him. But you haven’t given up on pretending he doesn’t notice.

“I swear it’s always the indie rock section,” he says, turning back to adjust a record as he rolls his eyes. “College kids.”

“You’re a college kid,” you say, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, but me and you are old college kids,” he points out with a little smirk. “So I guess that’s why we’ve got the rare skill of knowing our ABCs.”

You laugh, still sifting through the records. “Okay, funny. But god, don’t call us that. Old…” You stand up and dust off your black jeans. “Absolutely ancient and decrepit at twenty-four.”

“I’ll take ancient over being an immature eighteen-year-old any day,” he says with a shrug.

“Says the guy who eats cinnamon toast crunch for dinner almost every night,” you say as you hide your smile behind your hand. You couldn’t resist.

He drags his hand up through the back of his hair with a little embarrassed smile, accidentally pulling at the two spiky buns he tied it into this morning. A few short dark strands come loose at the nape of his neck. “Hey,” he says in a playful protest. “Don’t come for my cereal.”

He looks at you for just a second, just to make sure you know he’s not serious. When he sees you’re still smiling, he goes back to organizing. “And here I thought we were friends,” he adds, still smiling slightly. A rosy blush dusts across his pale cheeks as he reaches for another record and sets it on the stand.

His loose black tank top drapes over his lean muscular body as he works, showing off the full canvas of tattoos on his arms that wind from his shoulders to his wrists. You’ve memorized most of his tattoos by now, memorized the meanings of them too.

And you know the one that holds the heaviest meaning is the stark black line that runs across the bridge of his nose. Your eyes linger on it now with a hint of sadness as you make your way towards the counter with your arms full of misplaced records.

You asked him about it months ago, and the story has stayed with you ever since. Choso is the oldest brother of ten siblings. When he was sixteen, five of them died in a car accident. The car went off a bridge, and in one terrible moment half of his family was gone.

Kids ranging between six and twelve years old, just erased from the world while he had been safe at home doing something mundane like homework or watching TV, completely unaware that his entire world was being ripped apart. The guilt of surviving when they hadn’t never left him.

The tattoo happened during his darkest time. He was in his worst stage of grief and had stopped going to school, stopped leaving his room, stopped existing in any meaningful kind of way.

He did it himself in his bathroom with a needle and ink he ordered online. It was dangerous and painful but he needed it, he needed something on the outside to match the way he felt split down the middle.

It was a permanent testament to the reality he could never escape until his last breath. The devastating line between the living and the dead.

But Eso was the one who pulled him back from the space between.

He came into Choso’s room one night, trying to console him the way he’d tried dozens of times before. But this time he noticed the crumpled pages in the trash that Choso had written, trying to get the grief out of his body and onto paper.

Eso pulled them out and read them while Choso laid there with his face in the pillow, and instead of saying what he usually said about healing and time, he told Choso they were beautiful.

Then he did something that changed everything. He left and came back with pages of his own that he’d written, proof that he’d been drowning in the same grief. The heart-to-heart became a turning point, and slowly, Choso began to open back up. They started writing together, pouring their grieving hearts onto the pages. Somewhere along the line, they began making music together. They even bought some instruments, and Choso took a special interest in the drum kit.

Eventually the idea of starting a band took root. Kechizu joined them, partially out of excitement and interest but mostly because he needed to be part of whatever was helping his older brothers survive the loss. For a long time they had no lead singer, but that was okay. They built their sound around instrumentals and wrote the lyrics for a voice they’d find eventually, when the time was right.

Over time, the meaning of the tattoo evolved. It was still about the five siblings he lost and always would be, but it had grown to mean something more: Balance. The truth that he could carry both grief and happiness without one cancelling out the other. That he could remember and mourn his lost brothers while also choosing to live as fully as possible for the ones who remained.

Learning his story had fundamentally changed the way you saw him. He wasn’t just some hot, quiet drummer you’d developed feelings for. He was a sensitive soul who learned to piece himself back together. Someone who turned his darkest moment into his passion.

You understood why he threw himself into drumming the way he did, why some nights he’d play for hours in the living room. It was his lifeline. His way of working through something he didn’t have it in him to say out loud.

“Is there something on my face?” Choso asks as he catches you staring. “Well—besides—” He gestures at his face tattoo.

“No. Nothing,” you say gently, setting the records on the counter. “Just got lost in my own thoughts.”

His eyes widen just slightly, trying to read your face. It makes you want to look away, but you don’t. You never can really, when he looks at you like that.

“You do that a lot,” he says.

“So do you,” you say with a soft laugh, tapping your fingers against the counter in a drumming pattern, a playful imitation of what he does constantly.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve watched someone try to talk to him while he’s drumming on tables, counters, his own thighs, totally lost in his head. It’s honestly one of his cutest quirks.

He glances down at his hands and color rises in his cheeks. “Point taken.” Then he looks back up and he’s almost smiling. “So… I drum on things when I’m in my head. And you…” he hesitates for a second, considering if he wants to say it, “...were looking at my face.”

He meant to come off with a teasing tone, but he can’t help the shyness and curiosity in his voice. “I’m usually trying to memorize patterns when I do it,” he says, focusing closely on your eyes. “What about you? What were you thinking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, attempting to sound playful, but the way you’re blushing probably gives you away. “My mind just goes places sometimes. Hard to remember.”

“Hmm…” He stretches and his tank top rides up slightly, exposing a strip of his toned stomach and the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans. “Okay.”

God, he’s so hot.

Is he doing this on purpose? After a year of living together, you’d think you’d be able to tell when he’s flirting vs. when he’s just being Choso. You force your eyes away. Get it together. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him walking around shirtless all summer in the apartment.

You look over at the clock mounted by the door. 9:48pm. Twelve minutes until closing, and the shop’s been empty for the past two hours. The owner left at seven, trusting the two of you to close up like he does most weekdays.

“Almost there,” you say, moving down the counter to straighten the display of tote bags with the shop's silver logo. “Anything left on the closing list?”

“No. Everything’s been done. And I’m almost done with the display.”

“So, Saturday,” he says, trying to sound casual. “You’re still coming to the show, yeah?”

“Of course, Cho. I’d never miss one of your shows.”

“Okay, cool. It’s at nine,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if you want you can come earlier. Like eight. You can watch us sound check.”

He’s organizing the same three records over and over. “It’s not like, exciting or anything. But you could get to the front of the venue before the place gets crowded.”

“I’d love to come early,” you say with a smile. “I should stand in front of stage left, right?”

“You…yeah. Stage left.” A flush creeps up his neck. He didn’t expect you to remember that. “That’s where I’ll be. It’s the best view of the drums.” He starts breaking down the empty cardboard box the new records were in. “And I’ll be able to see you too.”

Your heart skips a beat and you suddenly realize the last line’s got you smiling like an idiot. If he couldn’t read you before he definitely can now. You look away and pretend to straighten up the already straightened stack of business cards. “Guess we should lock up,” you say.

He nods. The closing routine is second nature by now. Turn the lights off, lock the register, arm the security system. Choso checks the back door lock and the front door lock, then you both step out into the autumn night.

Choso’s car is parked in the corner of the small lot. It’s a faded black Honda Civic that’s seen better days but it runs well enough. It has dents in the passenger door from some incident he never fully explained, but the stereo system is pristine. He installed it himself and spent hours getting the speakers just right, because if there’s one thing that Choso couldn’t compromise on, it was the sound quality of his music.

He unlocks the car and you slide into the passenger seat, immediately grabbing the aux cable. It’s your guys’ routine that doesn’t require any kind of discussion. You control the music on the way home and he controls it on the way to work. You pick something loud and fast, something with drums that you know he’ll love. Within the first verse his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel, and he’s mostly steering with his knee.

“One of these days you’re gonna hit something,” you say with a little laugh.

“Not gonna happen. I’ve been driving like this since I got my license. No accidents yet,” he says, still drumming with a little smile. “Well… no accidents from the drumming.”

When the chorus hits you start singing along. Something about night drives with him makes you feel less self-conscious and more willing to just sing out and have fun.

“You could replace Satoru, you know,” he says after the song fades out. “You have a pretty voice.”

“God, no.” You laugh and shake your head. “You know I have too much stage fright for that. Plus Satoru would hate me for taking his spotlight.”

Choso chuckles. “I think he’d perform in an empty room just to hear himself sing.”

“To be fair, that’s not so different from you and your drums,” you say.

“Yeah, but… things change.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t really like playing alone anymore.”

[sukunasbopit]

Tongue-Tied ~ part 2

fratboy!sukuna x fem!reader read part one here!

He gives you a sly grin. "Guess you're staying here tonight then."

You huff and lean against the desk. “I can’t. I don’t have anything. No pajamas, no—“

“I’ll lend you something.” He digs through his dresser and pulls out a black Slipknot t-shirt. He tosses it to you. “Here.”

You take it and head to the bathroom. The shirt is massive on you, hanging mid-thigh like a short dress. It smells like him… a strange mix of fresh laundry and a hint of weed.

When you step out, he goes completely still. His gaze travels down your body slowly, taking in every inch. The way the shirt hugs your curvy hips. The fact that you’re clearly not wearing a bra underneath.

"Fuck," he breathes, so quietly you almost miss it.

“What?”

“Look, I get why you want to stop,” he mutters, eyes glued to your legs. “Maybe I’ve been too harsh on you.” The smirk on his face makes it clear he’s only saying it because he thinks you look hot as hell right now.

“How generous.”

“Get over here,” he says with a feral grin, fully convinced he’s won you over.

“No.”

He doesn't move, but the grin fades from his lips. “You sure?”

You cross your arms. He’s still spread out for you like he’s just waiting for you to climb onto his lap again.

“I don’t trust you,” you say finally.

His jaw tightens. He looks away for a second, then back up at you.

“Okay, then.”

That catches you off guard. There’s a long silence as rain drums against the window. Then he sits up. “Let’s start on the project, I guess,” he mutters.

Your chest tightens. Does he… actually care how you feel about him? That’s what the look on his face is telling you.

You stare at him, at the way his shoulders are tense, at the way he’s looking at you like you’ve wounded him but he’s trying to hide it. And something inside you breaks.

You cross the room before you can talk yourself out of it. His eyes widen slightly, until you’re standing right between his legs.

“What are you—“

You climb onto his lap and his words die. His hands immediately grip your waist.

“Changed your mind?” he asks with a smirk, but his voice is quieter and rougher than before.

“Shut up,” you murmur, and then you kiss him.

It’s just as rough as before, like you’re both desperate to finish what you started. You roll your hips against him and he groans into your mouth.

The sheer size of his cock is intoxicating. The way he presses up against your slit sends shivers through your entire body. He knows exactly where you need him.

You break the kiss, panting, and start pressing open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, and his chest. You can feel his heart pound with anticipation beneath your lips as you move down.

His hand moves from your hair to your shoulder, grip tightening. He knows exactly where you’re going, and he’s not going to stop you. He wouldn’t dare.

You slip off his lap and sink to your knees between his spread thighs. When you look up at him through your lashes, he looks down at you with a fire in his eyes. He gives you the faintest smirk, like you’ve just confirmed everything he’s ever suspected. That you want him just as badly.

“Think you can handle it?” he asks smugly.

“Sit back and be good for me, fratboy,” you reply with a flirty grin.

He arches a brow and licks his teeth. Then he leans back onto his hands like he’s giving you the stage, eyes sparking with desire.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and slowly pull them down. He lifts his hips to help you. His cock springs free and your breath catches in your throat.

He’s huge. Thick and long, curving slightly upward from a neat patch of dark hair at the base. There’s two black stripes tattooed around his shaft and he’s already dripping with precum. It’s beautiful in a terrifying, primal way.

You wrap your hand around the base and your fingers barely meet. “Holy shit…”

He smirks down at you. “Your hand’s not gonna be enough.”

You flash him a challenging look, grip tightening.

You lean in, not breaking eye contact, and swirl your tongue around the swollen tip. His abs tense up as he watches you. Then you take the head into your mouth and suck hard.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, his head falling back for a second before he snaps it back up, determined to watch you take his cock in your mouth.

Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t take. The room is filled with wet, slick sounds of your mouth bobbing up and down on him, and his pleasured, ragged breathing. You can already feel him getting close, his thighs tensing under your free hand.

He groans loud as he pulses in your mouth, releasing his hot cum down your throat. You swallow, taking everything he gives you, and continue to gently suck until he’s completely spent.

You slowly pull off and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You look up at him, expecting to see him completely wrecked, and you’re not disappointed. His chest is heaving, his eyes are closed, there’s a look of pure bliss on his face. That was clearly the best blowjob he’s ever had.

After a moment, he cracks his eyes open. A slow smirk spreads on his lips as he looks down at you. He reaches out and gently combs his fingers through your hair. The gesture is surprisingly tender.

Then he leans in a little with a smug grin. “Who’s the fuckface now?”

Your face turns red and you smack him in the chest… but you can’t help but laugh. “You’ve been holding onto that one, haven’t you?”

“Worth the wait,” he says, low and satisfied. “Now let me taste that cunt.”

His hands hook under your arms and lift you off the floor. He tosses you onto the bed and he's on you in an instant.

He kneels on the mattress, grabbing your ankles and yanking you down the bed until your legs are draped over his thighs. His large hands slide up your calves, pushing the hem of the t-shirt up to your waist. He hooks his fingers into your panties and rips them down your legs.

He doesn't give you a moment to mentally prepare. He throws your legs over his shoulders, dips his head, and then his tongue is lapping against your clit. The cold chill of his tongue piercing glides against you. You arch off the bed with a loud, pleasured cry.

He groans against you, eating you out like he’s starved for the taste. His tongue plunges inside you, circles your clit, then flicks against it relentlessly.

"Ryo," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair to grip it. He looks up at you from between your thighs, his dark eyes burning with intensity. He winks, a smug, arrogant gesture that would normally piss you off, but right now, it just makes you impossibly wetter.

He slides two fingers inside you, curling them instantly against your g-spot. He pumps them in and out in time with his tongue and your thighs start to tremble.

"That's it," he growls against your clit. “Cum for me. Make a mess.”

The command is all it takes for your orgasm to crash over you. You cry out his name as your thighs squeeze around his head. He doesn't stop. He works you through it, tongue and fingers drawing out your release until you're a trembling, whimpering mess.

Then he pulls back and licks his fingers clean.

“I’ve realized something about myself,” he says, voice deceptively casual as he climbs over you, his hard, flushed cock dragging against your thighs. “I have a thing for feisty girls.”

His smirk deepens as he cages you in. “I like to tear down their egos.” He braces both hands on either side of your head, fingers digging into the pillow.

“So if you want me to fuck you… be ready to give up that attitude,” he growls, lowering his mouth to your neck, scraping his teeth against your skin. “And be ready to break a little.”

You’re still panting, thighs slick and weak around him. Your vision is slightly blurred from the pleasure, but your mouth still works. Just barely. You lift your eyes to his, lips parted.

“Let’s see you try,” you challenge him.

His eyes lock on yours like a loaded weapon. He gives you a sharp grin. “Yeah?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah.”

His eyes turn completely feral. He grabs his cock and drags it along your soaked slit, rubbing it against your clit again and again, teasing you slowly.

You let out a needy sound and try to rock your hips up against him, but his hand slams to your hips to hold you still.

“You whine like a bitch in heat,” he chuckles, enjoying the way he’s driving you insane.

Your back arches with need. “Y-you’re such an asshole,” you choke out in a whimper.

“Beg for it,” he growls, pressing his tip against your entrance but not pushing in. “Let me hear that stupid little voice.”

The anticipation is almost unbearable. “Please,” you gasp, face flushed. “I want it—I want you to fuck me, Ryo.”

That does it.

He slams into you in one hard thrust and you scream, nails digging into the sheets.

“Fuck, yes,” he snarls. “Scream for me. Sob for me, brat. Make me wanna cum inside you.”

Tears stream down your face as his hips snap forward again and again, brutal and relentless, like he’s trying to fuck the air out of your lungs. And it’s wrecking you in the best way. You can already feel your release clawing its way up again.

“I saw it in you from day one,” he growls, sweat beading down his brow as he slams into you. “All that lip, just hiding how fucking badly you wanted this.”

His fingers dig into your hips. “Been jerking off to the thought of this body for weeks,” he pants. “Should’ve been fucking you instead.”

You cry out his name as your pussy tightens around his thickness. You cum hard. And before you can even begin to come down, his hands are already grabbing your waist.

“On your hands and knees. Now.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to obey. He flips you over like you weigh nothing, pushing your back down until your cheek is against the mattress and your ass is in the air.

He thrusts in again, deeper from this angle, watching the stripes on his cock disappear into your tight, dripping hole. He fucks into you hard, merciless and loud.

Smack.

You gasp and jolt forward with the force of the slap across your ass.

Smack. Smack.

Again and again. Each one rougher than the last.

You squeal out a desperate, needy sound you couldn’t possibly hold in. His eyes snap up and he lets out a low laugh.

He grabs your hair, yanking your head back so he can hear you better.

“Do it again,” he growls, snapping his hips harder as he holds you by the throat, savoring every whimper. “Fucking love that sound.”

Your body gives out to the soreness and ecstasy, barely holding together as he wrecks you from behind. All you can do is take it.

“That brain still working?” he asks, tugging your head back a little farther so he can see your face.

“Mmhmm…” You nod, lips parted.

He smirks behind you, still slamming his cock inside with brutal force. He grabs two handfuls of your ass and groans deep in his throat. He’s right on the edge.

Just a few more thrusts and he’s gone. His thighs tense up and his head falls forward as he spills his hot seed deep inside you.

Everything goes still.

You’re both panting. Slick with sweat. Your legs barely work. He pulls out slowly with a wet sound. You try to sit up but your muscles go limp.

“Stay down,” he mutters. “You’ll fall on your face.”

“I’m fine,” you groan.

You roll onto your side, facing the wall, your body wrecked in the best way. The sheets are twisted under you and your thighs are sticky with everything he just gave you.

Ryo sits at the edge of the bed, still catching his breath. He reaches out and drags his hand down your spine. You feel him looking at you. And not with the usual look he gives.

“Think I’ll make you my girlfriend.”

Your eyes snap open. You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. “What?”

He shrugs. “You heard me.”

You laugh. “You think I’m just gonna agree to be your girlfriend because your dick is good?”

His hand slides to your waist and he brings his face to your hair.

“No,” he says with a smug little smirk. “I think you’ll agree because you want to.”

Your lips twitch. You look at him in the dark and smile. “Okay… maybe.”

His thumb strokes your hip, then he wraps his arm around you tight. “Guess that makes me your problem now.”

[grimnaru]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘

✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

I don’t want to complain, but this picture took a whole week. I wanted to add more characters, but in the end it was a battle with my patience, to be honest.

[reignpage]

I like to think Choso purposely makes his face mark bleed so you'll think he's injured and rush to his side, fawning over him.

"Oh my god, Choso. What happened? What did you do?" You rest his head on your lap, pressing tissues to the wound, with a furrow in your brows.

Meanwhile, he's fully hard and leaking in his pants as his entire vision is filled with the curve of your breasts. He fakes a soft voice and says, "This just happens sometimes."

"What can I do to help?"

Choso's lips curl up ever so slightly before he forces a faux-reluctant frown. "I-if my blood rushes down, away from my face, maybe it'll stop."

"Down?" you ask. "Down where?"

He drags your hand, lower and lower, until you're gripping something hard and scalding. You gasp.

"Here. Maybe if you release the tension here, I'll feel better."

You deadpan, fighting the urge to look at a non-existent camera in the corner. "Oh, I bet you will."

Nodding, he urges you to begin rubbing at the tent, letting out a whorish moan. With a roll of your eyes, you let him rut into your palm. Maybe you aid him with a squeeze here and there. But you'll never admit to it.

It's better if he thinks he's got you wrapped around his finger instead of the other way around.

[slowpokegamer]

*looking at myself in the mirror*

Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.

[sukunasbopit]

Tongue-Tied ~ part 1

fratboy!sukuna x fem!reader read part 2 here!

Ryomen Sukuna was that guy. The type of guy who thought he owned the entire school. The guy who picked fights with everyone, barely showed up to class, but still crushed every opponent on the court.

No one dared to mess with him. He had that look, like they’d eat the pavement if they tried. And you were dead set on staying far away from him.

One day, you raise your hand to chime in on the psych class discussion about behavioral conditioning, and he doesn’t hesitate to laugh at you.

“Does that tongue come with an off switch, loser?”

“Not my fault you can’t handle my tongue,” you shoot back, sticking your tongue out.

He leans back in his chair, grin cutting across his face. “Is that an offer? Let’s test that theory.”

You stare him dead in the eye. “Keep dreaming, fratboy.”

Then comes the death sentence.

Your professor adjusts his glasses and reads off the group project pairings.

“Ryomen Sukuna and Y/N.”

Your blood runs cold. No fucking way.

Ryomen just laughs. “Guess I’m about to get real familiar with that tongue,” he says, sticking his own tongue at you the same way you did to him, but his is pierced of course.

Smug asshole.

You want to launch a textbook at his head. Preferably hard enough to knock the arrogance out of him.

Class ends a few minutes later and the students begin shuffling out. You shove your notes into your bag, trying not to visibly fume.

You almost make it to the door before he steps in front of you.

He tugs a black hoodie over his torso. You can see the tattoos that run up his arms and neck, like they’re reaching for trouble.

He leans in close. “Seven.”

You give him a look. “Seven what?”

“Seven tonight. My place.”

You raise a brow. “Your place as in… the frat house?”

“Where the fuck else?” he says, like you’re an idiot for asking.

“I’m not working on the project at your fucking frat house.”

“You scared?” He smirks.

“Of you? Please.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “More like disgusted.”

“Yeah?” His gaze drops down to your breasts without a hint of subtlety. “Funny. You look like you’d fit right in.” He leans against the wall. “Bent over my desk.”

“Only thing getting bent over is your GPA if you don’t shut the fuck up, Ryomen.”

“I go by Ryo, fuckface,” he snaps.

You flash him a grin laced with spite. “Okay then, Ryo Fuckface. See you at seven.”

There’s a flicker of shock in his eyes before it quickly turns to anger. He bares his teeth at you, but he’s got no idea how to respond right now. It’s almost funny, seeing him at a loss.

You push past him and walk down the hall.

—

You’re only on the doorstep of the frat house and it already smells like weed, beer, and testosterone. Exactly what you expected.

You knock on the door. After a full minute of waiting, just long enough for you to get annoyed, Ryo opens it. He leans against the doorframe, half-lidded eyes dragging down your body.

He’s shirtless, of course. Tattoos trace down his chest and arms, black and jagged against his smooth skin. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Put a damn shirt on,” you say.

“My house, my rules,” he shoots back, crossing his arms. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna start charging you.”

You scoff. “I’ve seen raw chicken look more appetizing.”

“Feisty bitch.” He chuckles and steps aside. “Come in before you start hissing.”

You brush past him and walk inside, trying to ignore how you can practically feel the way his eyes are glued to your ass.

“And don’t touch anything,” he barks, jabbing a finger at your back like you’re some stray cat he’s reluctantly letting inside.

“Uh, yeah. Hard pass on that one,” you mutter. “I don’t have the insurance plan to deal with whatever the hell is festering in this place.”

The frat house is a war zone of empty beer cans and the suffocating smell of Axe body spray and cheap weed. You follow behind Ryo as he walks up the stairs two at a time, stepping over crushed cans and someone’s lost vape.

“Where are we setting up?” you call after him. You look around at the sticky surfaces and trash-ridden floor, wondering how the hell anyone gets any schoolwork done in this dump.

“Upstairs.” He doesn’t even look back. “They’re starting beer pong down here soon. No way we’ll be able to work near that.”

“And you’re just gonna skip it?” you ask, honestly surprised he’s choosing to work on the project with you over partying with his frat boys.

“Already got my entertainment for the night,” he says with a smirk.

The way he says it makes heat crawl up your neck. You ignore it and push past him into his room.

It’s… clean. Actually clean. The complete opposite of the disaster zone downstairs. Band posters are hung on the walls in glass frames, not just taped haphazardly. There’s a gaming setup in the corner, a made bed with black sheets that look freshly washed, and not a single piece of trash in sight.

“Wow,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Did not expect this.”

“Shut up and sit down.” He drops onto the bed and sprawls out.

You sit as far from him as physically possible while still being on the same mattress. You pull out your notes and flip through the pages.

"Okay, so for the behavioral conditioning section, I was thinking we could—"

"Mmhm."

You glance at him. He's not even looking at the notes. He's looking at your thighs.

"Are you even listening?"

“Yeah, yeah. Keep going,” he mutters, tilting his head to try to get a better look under your skirt. He’s not even trying to be subtle.

“Ryo!” You smack your pen against the mattress to get his attention, but it slips from your hand and falls to the floor. “Damn it.”

You lean over the edge of the bed to grab it. Just as your fingers touch the cap, you feel yourself sliding forward, about to fall face first into the floor—

His fist closes around the back of your shirt and yanks hard. You fly backward and crash into his chest, your back pressed against him. You lean your head back a little and meet his eyes. His eyes are dark, looking down at you.

“Careful,” he mutters, breath hot against your face.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" His eyes drop to your mouth. "You wanna do something else instead?" His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you against his bare chest. You can feel every breath he takes.

You want to give in so bad. You can’t ignore the throbbing ache between your thighs. But you’d rather choke than make yourself seem vulnerable around this man.

“Quit eye-fucking me,” you mutter, breaking the eye contact.

“If you don’t like it, then leave.” His hand slides from your waist to your hip, fingers pressing in possessively, but not hard enough to hold you there.

You should pull away. But you don’t. And he notices.

“That’s what I thought.” His lips curve against your hair.

That voice. It’s the perfect blend of danger and charm. And it makes every ounce of your willpower fall to pieces.

You turn to face him, bracing your hands on his legs. He immediately cups your jaw and tilts your face up toward his. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip. “There she is. Done hiding?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you say stubbornly, darting your eyes away.

“No?” His other hand slides up your thigh and paws at your ass under your skirt.

He lets out a dark chuckle. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not—“

“You are,” he cuts in, leaning in so close to your lips that it makes your skin burn. “Makes sense, though.”

“Ryo—“ you choke out, grabbing the wrist of his hand that’s still cupping your jaw. Your throat is tight with panic and craving.

You stare into each other’s eyes, and it’s like there’s a fire blazing between your gazes. Your nails dig into his wrist. He immediately closes the distance.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, hungry, and laced with the taste of mint gum. The cold chill of his piercing teases against your tongue as he flicks his tongue against yours.

He bites your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp. You bite him right back. He groans into your mouth. “Fuck, yes.”

He yanks you onto his lap with your thighs straddling him. The second you land on him, you feel his thick erection straining under his sweats, pressing against your panties. His large hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise. You slide your fingers into his hair, tugging on the pink strands.

“I’m going to fuck the boldness out of your eyes,” he growls, grinding up against you and tugging you down against the imprint of his throbbing cock. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted—“

A sharp knock on the door makes you both freeze.

“Yo, Ryo! You in there?”

“Busy,” he snarls without breaking eye contact with you.

“Need you downstairs. Keg's busted."

He closes his eyes, jaw clenched. "Give me a minute."

"Dude, it's everywhere—"

"I said give me a fucking minute!"

Footsteps retreat down the hall.

He drops his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "I'm gonna kill someone."

You climb off his lap. Your lips are swollen and your hair is a mess. You can still feel the tension on your thighs from where he was grabbing you.

He stands up, still visibly hard. He drags a hand through his hair and shoots you a frustrated look. “Don’t move.”

Then he steps out, slamming the door behind him. You can already hear him incoherently yelling at the other fratboys.

You sit back on the bed, touching your fingers to your lips. What the hell just happened?

—

You don’t even know how much time has passed before he opens the door again. You’re already off the bed, standing by his desk, pretending to skim through your notes.

His eyes land on you, and the tension returns to his body like it never left. Without saying a word, he reaches for you, hand slipping behind your neck to pull you back into him.

You dodge the kiss.

He gives you a look like he can’t believe you just did that. “Really?” he growls. “We’re back to this?”

You don’t respond. You just look away. He sighs hard through his nose, then turns and drops onto the edge of the bed with a frustrated thud, legs spread. He drags his hand down his face, fingers digging into his jaw like he’s holding himself back by force.

“We should work on the project,” you say, voice a bit strained.

“Fuck the project.”

His eyes flick up to yours, still dark and burning with hunger.

“Come here.”

“No.”

He huffs. “Why not?”

Your throat tightens. You make the mistake of glancing at him and immediately regret it. Your eyes drop to the very obvious bulge straining against his grey sweatpants before you can stop yourself.

He wants you. Bad.

Heat flushes your face and your eyes flick back up, but it’s too late. He saw you looking.

A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “See something you like?”

“Fuck off.”

“You were literally just sitting on it, baby,” leaning back on his hands like he’s inviting you to look again. “Don’t start acting shy now.”

Thunder crashes so loud the windows rattle, saving you from having to respond. Rain starts hammering against the glass in sheets.

You look down at your phone. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I just got a flash flood warning notification. They’re saying not to drive.”

He gives you a sly grin. "Guess you're staying here tonight then."