#jjk fics

[cumironi]

STRONGEST vs. WETTEST

pairings; gojo satoru, geto suguru

summary. After a disastrous date with a guy who called you “broken” for never squirting, a furious you storms back to the Jujutsu Tech dorms—only to run straight into your two least favorite (and hottest) classmates: Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. What starts as vicious teasing about your ruined night quickly spirals into the most “scientific experiment” of your life: blindfolds, toys, edging, and a very determined duo hell-bent on proving just how wrong that idiot was.

word count.

triggers/warnings. Enemies to Lovers, Enemies with Benefits, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Plot, Alternate Universe - College/University, Jujutsu Tech College AU, Gojo Satoru/Reader/Geto Suguru, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Reader-Insert, Female Reader, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Forced Orgasm, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Blindfolds, Sex Toys ( Vibrators ), Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Vaginal Sex, Spit Kissing, Cum Play, Facials, Bukkake, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Mean Dom Gojo, Mean Dom Geto, Affectionate Bullying, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Bad Date Gone Right, Revenge Sex Vibes, Squirting.

the night hangs heavy over the jujutsu tech campus like a velvet shroud, all thick and sultry with that late-autumn chill that nips at your bare skin but doesn't quite bite hard enough to make you regret your choices—yet— like a damp blanket, thick with the remnants of a humid evening that started out promising but soured faster than milk left out in the sun. stars speckle the sky in lazy clusters, mocking you with their twinkling indifference, while the moon's a fat, glowing orb that casts long shadows across the winding paths of the dorm grounds.

it’s late— it's past midnight, the kind of hour where the world feels too quiet, too empty, except for the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves whispering secrets you don't care to hear. the kind of quiet that amplifies every little sound, like the distant hum of a streetlamp flickering its last breaths or the faint rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement like tiny ghosts.

you're storming—no, stomping—down the cracked pavement path that leads to the shared dorms, the cool, gritty concrete biting into your bare soles with each deliberate step— god, your feet ache, but not as much as your pride—or whatever's left of it after that disaster of a date. your high heels dangling from one hand like defeated trophies, their strappy black leather swinging with each furious step. your feet are bare against the cool, rough concrete, toes curling slightly with every gritty contact, the pavement's uneven texture scraping just enough to remind you how utterly pissed you are. god, it feels grounding in the worst way, like the earth’s way of saying hey, girl, snap out of it, but all it does is fuel your grumble, a low, muttering rumble that spills from your lips in fragmented curses.

your dress—oh, this goddamn dress—this slutty little number you picked out with such wicked intent, clings to your body like a second skin, slutty in the best (or worst) way possible, the kind of outfit you picked out with mischief in mind, envisioning tangled sheets and breathless moans until the sun peeked over the horizon; is a deep crimson slip of silk that clings to every curve like it's painted on, the fabric so thin it whispers against your thighs with each movement, riding up just a tad too high to be innocent.

it's got a plunging neckline that dips dangerously low, framing the swell of your breasts with lace-trimmed edges that scream come and get it, and the hem barely skims mid-thigh, leaving your long legs exposed to the night's breeze, flirting with the edge of indecency, short enough that a gust of wind could expose the even sluttier lace thong underneath. underneath? even sluttier—a matching black thong that's more string than substance, paired with a bra that pushes everything up and out like an offering to the gods of debauchery, the kind that screams fuck me without you having to say a word.

you shaved everywhere, smooth as silk, and doused yourself in that vanilla-caramel perfume that always turns heads, the scent lingering like a sweet, seductive trail. your makeup's still flawless, smoky eyes and red lips that could make a saint sin, hair tousled just right from the wind and your earlier anticipation. you are a vision, honestly — you're a walking fantasy, so fucking pretty you could blind someone with a glance, curves in all the right places, skin glowing under the dim campus lights. but tonight? all that effort wasted on some idiot who couldn't appreciate the masterpiece in front of him.

your face is a storm cloud of upset, brows furrowed deep enough to carve permanent lines, lips pursed in a pout that's equal parts adorable and menacing, eyes narrowed like you're plotting murder—which, honestly, you kind of are. each step comes with a grumble, words tumbling out in a heated whisper to yourself, “fucking idiot, who does he think he is?”

the date had started so promising: a cozy little restaurant downtown with dim lighting and candles flickering like they knew the vibe, the guy across from you all chiseled jaw and charming smile, handsome in that generic way that makes your pulse quicken. food was great—steak juicy and rare, wine smooth and heady, conversation basic but bearable, small talk about classes and cursed techniques that didn't bore you to tears. and you? you were geared up for the main event, ready to get dicked down until dawn, body primed and eager, imagining hands on your skin, moans echoing through some cheap motel room. but no. nope. hell no.

the conversation veered into bedroom territory, and he hits you with that stupid question: can you squirt? you're honest—“not sure, never have, no guy's ever made me—and suddenly his face twists like you just confessed to being a cursed spirit in disguise. calls you broken, says he likes girls who can make him feel drowned, like he's some aquatic fetishist who needs a fucking flood to get off. the fuck was that? you're not broken just because squirting's not in your repertoire; it's a stupid, shallow reason to bail, as if your body's some defective toy he can return.

you could do so much better than squirt, anyway—hell, you could clench around him like a vice, milk him dry with those kegels you've been practicing, ride him reverse cowgirl until he's begging for mercy, deepthroat like a pro and swallow every drop without spilling, or arch your back in doggy so perfectly he'd see stars.

you could moan his name in ways that shatter egos, scratch down his back leaving marks that last days, or even edge him for hours until he's a whimpering mess. squirting? please. that's amateur hour compared to the symphony of pleasure you could orchestrate. and the fucking guy can squirt himself if he's so obsessed—shove a hose up his ass and drown his stupid self in it.

you grumble louder now, voice rising in the quiet night, “if he wants to drown so bad, he can jump in the fucking ocean, not hunt for girls like they're goddamn fountains.” the words echo off the dorm buildings, your bare feet slapping the pavement harder, frustration boiling over until you spot a trash can by the path—rusted metal, overflowing with soda cans and wrappers—and you kick it, hard, the clang ringing out like a gunshot in the silence, the can wobbling but not toppling, your toe throbbing but the satisfaction worth it.

“take that, you symbolic piece of shit,” you mutter, pushing through the double doors of the dorm with a shove that makes them bang against the walls.

inside, the lobby's dimly lit, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like annoyed bees, the air thick with the faint scent of instant ramen and lingering cursed energy from earlier training sessions. you stomp deeper, into the communal living room where mismatched couches sag under invisible weights, a tv flickering static in the corner, posters of old jujutsu missions peeling from the walls.

it's college life at its finest—messy, chaotic, shared among sorcerers who pretend they're adults but act like overgrown kids. but your dramatic entrance gets halted mid-stride by voices, two of them, lazy and teasing, cutting through the quiet like knives dipped in honey.

“look at that, strolling in like a lost little slut after curfew,” comes the first voice, smooth and mocking, belonging to gojo satoru, that white-haired menace sprawled on the couch with his long legs kicked up, blindfold pushed up to reveal those piercing blue eyes glinting with mischief. he's in his usual casual getup—black shirt hugging his lean muscles, sweatpants low on his hips—looking every bit the pervert he is, a smirk playing on his lips like he owns the damn room.

“yeah, what happened, princess? date ditch you 'cause you couldn't keep up?” adds geto suguru, his dark hair loose around his shoulders, lounging beside gojo with that infuriatingly calm demeanor, but his eyes—sharp and hungry—rake over your form, lingering on the way your dress clings, the bare feet, the upset flush on your cheeks. he's in a simple tank top that shows off his broad shoulders, gauges glinting in the low light, voice dripping with that mean sweetness that always gets under your skin.

you freeze, heat rising in your chest—not just from anger, but from the way they look at you, like predators toying with prey, affectionate in their filthiness, loving in their menace. enemies? sure, on the surface—always bickering in class, clashing during missions, their teasing pushing your buttons since freshman year. but there's something deeper, stupid and sweet, a dynamic where their perversion feels almost caring, their insults laced with unspoken want. you whirl on them, heels still dangling, face twisting further into that grumble-pout. “shut the fuck up, both of you. not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.”

gojo laughs, that high-pitched, deranged cackle that echoes too loud, like a fucking hyena leaning forward with elbows on knees. “aw, come on, don't be like that. you look all dolled up and slutty—that dress? damn, it's practically begging to be ripped off. but your face says the night bombed. what, pretty boy couldn't handle you? or wait, did he call you broken too?” he mimics your earlier grumble, voice pitching up in dramatic mockery, and somehow he knows— damn you gojo and his stupid six eyes. . . while geto chuckles low, filthy and soft, “nah, satoru, look at her grumble. bet she scared him off with that attitude. or maybe she promised the world and delivered a drizzle. pathetic, aren’t you?”

you step closer, bare feet padding on the worn carpet, anger flaring but mixed with that weird, playful heat they always spark—stupid, affectionate, like they're mean because they care too much not to be. “fuck off, idiots. he was the broken one, obsessed with squirting like it's the holy grail. and you two? calling me a slut? pot meet kettle—you're the perverts who stare at my ass during training.” your voice rises, dramatic and crazy (must be loose her mind’ both men thought), hands gesturing wildly, but there's a spark in your eyes, a flame pull toward their teasing, the way gojo's gaze drops to your cleavage, shameless. . .  while geto smirks, “oh, we're perverts? says the one barefoot and fuming in lingerie disguised as a dress. tell us more, sweetheart—did he at least make you moan before bailing?”

“moan? ha, as if,” you snap back, crossing your arms which only pushes your breasts up further, drawing their eyes like magnets, the argument heating up in that ‘make me mad but i know you are gonna fuck me later’ way—mean words flying but softened by the underlying affection, their shamelessness, rude. . . fucking meannnn wrapping around you like a warm, sticky post-sex hug.

gojo stands now, towering over you with that dramatic flair, like he knows he is better than anyone— he is, he soooo fucking is. “come on, admit it, you're upset 'cause you wanted to get fucked silly, and now you're taking it out on us. poor thing, all dressed up with no one to drown.” geto joins in, voice sweet but cutting, “yeah, but we could fix that—if you're not too broken for us.” 

your frown deepens, carving sharp little trenches between your brows, lips twisting into something so pouty and stormy it could summon rainclouds inside this damn dorm. you're more upset than you thought possible, chest tight and hot, because—of all the fucking people to run into tonight—it's them. gojo satoru and geto suguru, the undisputed strongest duo on campus, the ones every girl whispers about in the locker rooms with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

especially gojo, they say. especially, the gojo fucking satoru. that white-haired freak apparently fucks like he fights: relentless, overwhelming, leaves you shaking and stupid for days. and you hate that the thought even crosses your mind—hate that you can't believe that idiot from the date couldn't handle you, yet these two perverts have probably ruined half the female population with their dicks. it's unfair. it's infuriating. it's making your thighs clench in the worst way. it make your pussy cry for thier said 'magical' cock. . . or cocks???  yeah, you can definitly do both. . . wink, wink. 

you let out a long, dramatic groan that echoes in the empty living room, shoulders slumping as you spin on your bare heel. “fuck off, both of you,” you mutter, voice low and gravelly with exhaustion and lingering rage, before turning toward the elevator at the end of the hall. your heels still dangle from your fingers, swinging like pendulums counting down to your escape, bare feet padding softly against the cold linoleum now, each step a little stomp because you're still pissed.

behind you, gojo lets out the most pathetic, high-pitched whine you've ever heard from a grown man. “whaaat? you're just gonna leave us hanging like that?” he yells with that gangly, dramatic flair, long legs carrying him after you in two big strides. geto follows at a more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, but you can feel his dark eyes burning into your back like brands.

“i wanna get away from you idiots,” you call over your shoulder without looking back, voice flat and mean, jabbing the elevator button repeatedly like it's personally offended you. the doors finally ding open with a tired groan, and you slip inside, pressing your back against the far wall, arms crossed tight under your chest—which, of course, only pushes your tits up higher in that slutty crimson dress. key word; purposely (you try to get fucked but too shy to ask).

but peace? nope. not tonight. gojo barrels in right after you, all boundless energy and smirking lips, while geto slides in smooth and quiet, the doors closing with a soft thunk that traps all three of you in this tiny metal box. instantly, the air thickens—cursed energy, perfume, and the faint musk of their cologne mixing into something heady and dangerous. geto's on your right, leaning casually against the wall, while gojo crowds your left, towering and unapologetic.

geto glances at the panel, that lazy smirk curling his mouth as his dark eyes flick to you. “12, right?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, not even waiting for confirmation before his long finger presses the button for floor 12—your floor—and then 8, theirs, right below. the elevator lurches upward with a soft hum, and you exhale a tiny, relieved sigh, thinking thank fuck, they'll get off first, leave you alone to stew in your room with a vibrator and some spite . . . lie, you rather stew, stir, anything with cock, or cocks.

“thanks,” you mumble under your breath, barely audible, staring at the floor numbers lighting up one by one.

geto hums in response, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrates through the small space. “anytime, princess.”

but gojo—fucking gojo—can't let anything be peaceful. he's staring at you openly, head tilted, blindfold pushed up so those stupidly bright blue eyes can rake over every inch of you. he's leaning sideways now, one palm flat against the wall right beside your head, caging you in without touching, his body heat radiating like a furnace. that signature smirk stretches wider, lazy and filthy.

you finally snap your gaze to him, frown sharpening. “what the fuck are you looking at?”

he shrugs, slow and exaggerated, eyes dropping deliberately to your chest. “your tits,” he says, voice dripping with casual perversion, like he's commenting on the weather. his smirk grows even bigger, sharp canines glinting. geto snorts beside you, a soft puff of laughter he doesn't bother hiding.

“fuck off, satoru,” you hiss, cheeks burning despite yourself, arms tightening across your chest like that'll hide anything in this dress.

but gojo doesn't listen—never listens. instead, his free hand lifts, fingers bold and unhesitating as they hook into the plunging neckline of your dress. he tugs it down slow, deliberate, the silk sliding lower until the lace edge of your bra peeks out and even more cleavage spills into view, the cool elevator air kissing newly exposed skin. both of them let out twin hums of approval—gojo's high and teasing, geto's low and rumbling—like they've just uncovered buried treasure.

“fuck, that's better,” gojo breathes, eyes hooded, thumb brushing the swell of your breast for half a second before you react.

you slap his hand away hard, the crack echoing in the tiny space, your voice rising sharp and dramatic. “you're both disgusting! absolute perverts—get your filthy hands off me!”

gojo whines again, cradling his slapped hand to his chest like you mortally wounded him, bottom lip jutting out in the most over-the-top pout. “owww, so mean! we were just appreciating the view you put on display, sweetheart. walking in here all slutty and grumpy—it's practically an invitation.” that's right. . . i'm inviting you two to fuck me, please take the goddamn bait' you thought.

geto chuckles darker this time, shifting closer on your right until his shoulder brushes yours, voice soft and sweet like poison. “he's not wrong. that dress is begging to be messed up. and you're the one who came home all worked up and unsatisfied… we can smell it on you.”

your breath hitches, thighs pressing together instinctively as the elevator climbs agonizingly slow, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, thick enough to choke on. they're so close—gojo's fingers still hovering near your chest like he might try again, geto's gaze heavy and knowing on your face—and you hate how your body's reacting, how the anger's twisting into something hotter, needier, nastierrrr. the burn is excruciating, every second stretching into eternity as the floor numbers tick upward, and you know—you just know—they're not getting off on 8 without dragging you into whatever filthy chaos they have planned— hope it's fuck you till you cry domain.

the elevator dings like a smug little bitch, doors sliding open with a soft whoosh to reveal the dimly lit hallway of floor 8—their floor, all muted blues and grays under the flickering fluorescent lights, posters of old missions taped crookedly to the walls, the faint smell of instant coffee and boy-sweat lingering like a signature. geto steps out first, smooth and unhurried, turning to plant himself right in front of the doors with his arms loosely crossed, that dark hair falling over one shoulder, smirk sharp enough to cut glass as he blocks any hope of escape. gojo's still glued to your left side, body heat pouring off him in waves, that stupidly tall frame crowding you against the wall like he owns the damn elevator.

you tilt your head at him slow, deliberate, one brow arched high in that silent, universal language of get the fuck out, now. your bare toes curl against the cold metal floor, heels still dangling uselessly from your fingers, crimson dress riding up just a little higher from all the shifting.

gojo blinks those ridiculous blue eyes, points at his own chest with a long finger, then jabs it toward the open door like he's genuinely confused. “me? out?” he mouths dramatically, lips forming the words in exaggerated slow-motion.

you nod once, firm and pissed, lips pressed thin.

he nods back, all solemn and fake-serious—then in one fluid, idiotically strong motion, he ducks low, arm hooking behind your knees, the other around your back, and suddenly the world flips upside down. your stomach drops as you're hoisted over his shoulder like a goddamn sack of cursing, squirming girl. the breath whooshes out of you in a shocked yelp, your heels clatter to the elevator floor forgotten, hair tumbling down in a wild curtain as blood rushes to your head.

“what the fuck are you doing, satoru?!” you screech, voice echoing off the hallway walls, fists pounding uselessly against the broad, annoyingly solid plane of his back—muscles flexing under your palms like he’s enjoying the massage. upside down, you catch geto strolling behind, one hand in his pockets while the othe now holding your heels, laughing low and rich, eyes crinkled with pure satisfaction.

“put me down right now or i swear to god i'll scream!” you threaten, kicking your legs, bare feet flailing in the air, thighs brushing dangerously close to gojo's face with every swing.

geto tilts his head, voice all velvet and filth as he walks backward down the hall, keeping pace. “go ahead and scream, baby. everyone on this floor already thinks satoru's fucking you good when you make noise like that. they know his reputation.” he winks, tongue flicking over his lower lip like he's tasting the idea already.

you go dead silent for a beat, dangling there like a furious cat, staring at geto upside down—blood rushing louder in your ears. “are you fucking kidding me?” you finally hiss, incredulous and hot-cheeked. “you’re both disgusting—absolute animals—put me down!”

you kick harder, one heel connecting with gojo's abs— which does absolutely nothing except make him grunt a pleased little “mmph”, and you slap at his back again, nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt. but he's the strongest for a reason—your hits are mosquito bites to him, and he just chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest into your belly where it’s pressed against his shoulder.

gojo strides down the hall like he’s carrying a prize, long legs eating distance until he stops at a door—their shared dorm, you realize dimly, the one everyone jokes is basically a brothel disguised as student housing. he kicks it open with one foot, the bang loud and dramatic, revealing a messy, lived-in chaos of clothes strewn over chairs, empty energy drink cans, two unmade beds pushed together into one massive one because of course they share, posters of cursed techniques and half-naked models taped side by side. the air smells like them—clean sweat, mint, and something darker, muskier.

he finally lowers you, slow enough that your body slides down his front, dress hiking up embarrassingly high, thighs brushing his hips, until your bare feet hit the soft rug. the world spins for a second—head rush making everything tilt—and before you can steady yourself or spit another curse, gojo's hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks soft and sudden, and his mouth crashes onto yours.

fucking yesss.

it’s not gentle. it’s hungry, stupid, overwhelming—lips hot and demanding, tongue sliding in without asking, tasting like the strawberry candy he’s always sucking on. you groan into it immediately, a low, betrayed “nngh” that vibrates between you both, hands flying up not to push but to grip—fingers digging hard into his biceps, anchoring yourself as your knees threaten to buckle. the door clicks shut behind you—geto locking it with a deliberate turn that echoes like a promise—and then his presence is at your back, heat radiating, but for now it’s just gojo devouring your mouth like he’s been starving for it.

you kiss him back just as filthy, teeth nipping his lower lip in retaliation, tongue tangling messy and wet, another soft moan spilling out of you, “mmph, fuck.” because god damn it, he tastes good, feels good, and all that earlier anger is melting into something molten and stupid between your thighs. your body arches instinctively, pressing closer, nipples tightening against the silk of your dress as his chest molds to yours.

geto’s low chuckle ghosts over your ear from behind, affectionate and mean all at once. “look at her, satoru. already moaning like she’s been waiting for this all night.”

gojo pulls back just enough to grin against your lips, breathless and wrecked. “told you we could fix that bad date, sweetheart.” then he dives back in, deeper, hungrier, one hand sliding down to palm your ass and squeeze like he owns it, while your head’s still spinning from the kiss and the carry and the fact that you’re in their room now, door locked, no escape—and honestly, you’re not even sure you want one anymore. bitch, you never do.

you feel geto before you even hear him move—his chest pressing flush against your back like a wall of warm, solid muscle, the thin fabric of his tank top doing nothing to hide the heat pouring off him. those big hands, calloused and rough from endless hours gripping weapons and throwing punches during training, slide up your bare arms slow and deliberate, fingers dragging over your skin like he's memorizing every inch. goosebumps erupt in their wake, your body betraying you instantly as his palms glide higher, over the delicate curve of your shoulders, thumbs brushing the thin straps of your crimson dress. he leans down—god, he's sooo tall—and his lips find the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there, one, two, three, each one lingering longer than the last, his breath hot and minty against your skin. the faint scratch of his stubble makes you shiver, a tiny, involuntary “mmh” slipping from your throat.

you melt. like, actually melt—knees going soft, body sagging back into him until your head thuds gently against his chest, hair spilling over his collarbone as you let out a long, shaky sigh that sounds way too needy for your own pride. geto's chest rumbles with a low, pleased hum, one arm banding around your waist to hold you up while his lips keep working, sucking lightly now, leaving damp little trails that cool in the dorm's air-conditioned chill.

gojo, never one to be left out, crowds in closer from the front, that stupidly pretty face dipping to pepper kisses along your cheek—soft and teasing at first—then down to your jaw, nipping playfully before his mouth finds your neck on the opposite side from geto. he's not gentle like geto; he's greedy, lips sucking hard enough to bloom bruises almost instantly, tongue flicking out to soothe the sting before he latches on again. “nngh,” you moan softly as he marks you, one hickey, two, three, dark little claims blooming across your throat like he's signing his name in purple and red. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise tomorrow, pulling you tighter against him so you can feel how hard he's already getting, the thick line of him pressing insistently against your lower belly through his sweatpants.

geto's hand starts wandering—slow, filthy exploration—from your shoulder down the front of your dress, palm cupping one breast through the thin silk, giving it a lazy squeeze that makes your nipple pebble instantly against his touch. “ah—” you gasp into gojo's mouth as he steals another kiss, geto's fingers rolling the sensitive peak just enough to make your back arch before his hand slides lower, over the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, until he's cupping your pussy right through the dress. the fabric's so thin it's basically nothing— lingerie in disguised' quote gojo, his heat searing straight through to your thong-clad folds as he presses two fingers along your slit, rubbing slow and testing.

he pulls his lips from your shoulder with a wet little pop, breath ghosting over the damp skin there as he mutters a soft, incredulous “huh,” like he's just discovered the most baffling thing in the world. his fingers press a little harder, parting your lips through the layers of fabric, searching for wetness that should be flooding by now if that date had gone anywhere good.

“you're not dripping,” he says, voice low and velvet-rough, almost disappointed but mostly amused, fingers circling your clit lazily through the silk. “like, not even close to ‘just got fucked full’ dripping. sweetheart… did that guy even touch you?”

you groan, breathless and wrecked, head still lolling against geto's chest as gojo keeps sucking another hickey just below your ear, his teeth grazing in a way that makes your thighs clench. “nngh—no,” you manage, voice cracking as geto's fingers keep teasing, the pressure maddeningly light. “he didn't fuck me. the idiot didn't want to… said i was broken because i told him i've never squirted. as if my pussy's suddenly less because i'm not a fucking fountain.”

gojo pulls back just enough to laugh against your neck, the sound high and unhinged, vibrating through your skin as he licks a stripe up to your earlobe. “that's the dumbest shit i've ever heard. baby, you're soaking through your dress just from us kissing you—feel that, suguru?”

geto hums again, deeper this time, pressing his fingers harder until the fabric of your thong is wedged between your folds, the wet spot growing under his touch. “yeah… starting to now. but still, poor thing came home all dressed up like this and didn't even get properly railed. what a waste.”

you whine, hips rocking forward into geto's hand without permission, chasing more friction as gojo's mouth finds yours again, swallowing the sound with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. “mmph— shut up,” you mumble against his lips, but there's no heat in it anymore—just needy, desperate want as both of them press closer, sandwiching you between their bodies, hands and mouths everywhere, the slowburning feelings finally catching fire and threatening to burn the whole damn dorm down with how stupidly, sweetly, lovingly mean they're being about fixing your ruined night.

gojo breaks the kiss with a wet, obscene pop, lips shiny and swollen as he grins down at you like the cat that finally caught the canary—except the canary's currently sandwiched between two very hungry cats and not even pretending to fly away anymore. his forehead rests against yours for a second, breath coming in hot little puffs that mingle with yours, those stupidly long white lashes fluttering as he stares into your eyes with that unhinged, affectionate gleam. “broken? because you don't squirt?” he echoes your earlier grumble in this high-pitched, mocking voice that's somehow still dripping with sugar, like he's teasing a toddler who dropped their ice cream. “baby, that's the funniest shit i've heard all week. guy probably couldn't find your clit with a map and a flashlight.”

geto laughs behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest and into your spine like thunder wrapped in velvet, his big hand still cupped possessively over your pussy, fingers lazily stroking up and down the dampening silk of your dress as if he's petting a needy little kitten. his other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you harder against him so you can feel every inch of how affected he is too—the thick, heavy ridge of his cock pressing insistently against the small of your back through his loose pants, hot and throbbing like it's got its own heartbeat. “seriously,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the shell before he nips it lightly, making you jolt with a tiny “ah—”. “if that's his standard, no wonder he's out there drowning in mediocrity. meanwhile you're here, all pretty and aching, and we haven't even gotten you out of this dress yet.”

you whimper, a soft, broken “nngh” that you can't hold back as geto's fingers finally slip under the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric up your thighs slow and teasing until his rough palm meets the bare skin just above your thong. the contrast—his calloused warmth against your smooth, shaved legs—makes your hips twitch forward into gojo's grip, chasing more touch like the desperate slut they've been calling you all night. gojo's hands slide down to join the fun, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints, spreading you just a little so geto has better access.

“feel that?” gojo whispers, voice dropping low and filthy as he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel how impossibly hard he is, the thick length of him dragging against your lower belly. “that's what a real cock feels like when it meets a perfect pussy. no stupid requirements, no fountain bullshit. just wants to be buried inside you until you're crying and clenching and coming all over it.”

geto's fingers finally hook into the thin string of your thong, tugging it aside with zero ceremony, and the cool air hits your slick folds for half a second before his middle finger slides through them—slow, deliberate, gathering wetness from your entrance to your clit in one long, dragging stroke. “fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent, circling your swollen clit once, twice, making your thighs tremble. “listen to her. already so wet just from some kissing and teasing. that idiot really fumbled the bag.”

you moan louder this time, head falling back harder against geto's shoulder as your body goes liquid between them. “mmh— pleaseee,” you manage, voice cracking, not even sure what you're begging for but knowing you need more. your hands scrabble at gojo's shirt, fisting the fabric like it's the only thing keeping you grounded as geto sinks one thick finger inside you without warning—slow, steady, curling just right to stroke that spot that makes your vision spark white.

gojo watches your face like it's the best show on earth, eyes blown wide and dark, licking his lips as he leans in to suck another hickey right over your pulse point. “aww, look at her,” he coos, mean and sweet all at once, one hand coming up to pinch your nipple through the dress until you squeak. “already falling apart and we've barely started. bet we can make you come so hard you forget that loser's name existed.”

geto adds a second finger, scissoring slow and deep, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet dorm room as he pumps them in and out, thumb grinding against your clit in tight circles. “we're gonna ruin you for anyone else, princess,” he promises against your neck, voice soft but edged with that loving menace that makes your pussy clench around his fingers. “no more dumb boys with dumb standards. just us. just this.”

you cry out—a high, needy, “ah, fuck— suguru,” hips rocking shamelessly between them now, chasing the building pressure as gojo drops to his knees in front of you without warning, shoving your dress higher and mouthing at your inner thigh, teeth grazing dangerously close to where geto's fingers are working you open. the slowburn is gone now, replaced by a wildfire licking up your spine, and all you can do is cling to them and let it consume you, moaning their names like prayers as they take you apart piece by stupid, affectionate, filthy piece.

but oh, they are your enemies for all the right, stupid reasons—the kind that started with bickering over mission rankings freshman year and snowballed into years of relentless, mean-spirited teasing that always skates the line between hate and something way too hot to name. they love pushing you, love watching your cheeks burn and your eyes gloss over until you're one sharp word away from actual tears, then swooping in with that soft, affectionate crap that makes it impossible to stay mad. tonight, with you already bruised from that idiot's rejection, they smell blood in the water and decide—without even needing to speak—that yeah, this is the perfect time to be extra fucking relentless.

geto's fingers slide out of you in one cruel, sudden motion, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, a pathetic little flutter that has you gasping in shock. your eyes fly open, wide and confused, head whipping around to find his face in the dim light. “huh—?” because why the fuck did he stop? his dark eyes are glinting with that particular brand of loving cruelty they both wear so well, the one that's been your personal torment since the day you met these two assholes. he's staring down at you with that half-lidded, dangerous fondness, dark hair falling forward as he leans in and presses the softest, most mocking kiss to your forehead—like he's comforting a kid who skinned her knee.

“not yet, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and syrupy, thumb stroking your cheek like you're something precious he's about to break. “just for research. for fun. let's find out if you really can't squirt… or if you just needed better motivation.”

your stomach drops, heat and dread twisting together, because you know that tone—it's the same one he uses right before he corners you in training and makes you tap out five times in a row just to prove a point.

gojo, synced up like they're sharing one perverted brain cell tonight, lets out a delighted little “yes!” suddenly you're being turned, manhandled with that effortless strength and spins you toward the massive, unmade bed with hands on your hips. the sheets are a tangled mess of navy and black, pillows half on the floor, scattered everywhere from whatever dumb pillow fight they probably had last night, the whole thing smelling like boy and sleep and them. gojo's hands are on your hips, urging you forward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. “dress off, princess,” he demands, already yanking at the hem himself, fingers brushing your thighs in teasing little grazes. “let's see the full outfit. come on, come on, don't be shy now.”

you huff but obey—because arguing feels pointless when your body's already humming like a live wire—sliding the crimson straps off your shoulders, letting the dress pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. the cool air hits your bare skin, nipples tightening instantly under their hungry stares. gojo whistles long and low, dramatic as ever, eyes raking over the black lace thong and matching bra like he's appraising a masterpiece. “fuuuck, look at you. all shaved and pretty and wrapped up like a present.” his fingers hook into the waistband of your thong, tugging impatiently. “these too. off. now. don't be shy—we've seen tits before, promise.”

you huff—half annoyed, half turned on but obey because arguing feels pointless when your body's already humming like a live wire—and shimmy out of the crimson silk, letting the dress pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. the cool air hits your bare skin, nipples tightening instantly under their hungry stares. the second your matching black lace thong and bra come into view, gojo whistles long and low, dramatic as ever, eyes raking over the black lace thong and matching bra like he's appraising a masterpiece, spinning you slow like you're on display. “fuuuck, look at these. shaved, wrapped up in slutty little bows—someone was hoping to get fucked tonight.” his fingers snap the strap of your thong against your hip, the sting making you yelp. “these too. off. now. don't be shy—we've seen tits before, promise. i wanna see tits.”

you roll your eyes but obey, unhooking the bra and sliding the thong down your legs until you're completely naked, flushed and trembling between two fully dressed idiots who look way too pleased with themselves. it's unfair—gojo in his black shirt and sweats, geto still in that tank that clings to every muscle. it's unfair, it's humiliating, and it's doing horrible things to the heat pooling between your thighs.

geto drifts over to the nightstand drawer, pulling it open with a casual rattle that makes your heart kick. he lifts out a thick, curved wand vibrator—shiny black silicone, clearly expensive and mean—and a smaller bullet vibe for good measure,  with a flared tip clearly designed for g-spots and ruin. your voice comes out smaller than you'd like. “suguru… what exactly are you planning to do with those?”

he turns back, smirk slow and filthy, holding the wand up like a trophy. “told you. scientific experiment. wanna see if that idiot was right… or if we can make you squirt so hard you forget his name. purely scientific.”

before you can protest, gojo's behind you again, his blindfold already off his face and dangling from his fingers, the soft black fabric warm from his skin. in one smooth, practiced motion he loops it over your eyes and ties it snug at the back of your head. everything goes dark—pitch black, no hints of light, no shape, just sudden, overwhelming nothingness that spikes panic through your chest.

“satoru—what the fuck—why are you blindfolding me?!” you squeak, hands flying up to tug at the knot, heart racing. “take it off, i don't—”

they both burst out laughing—gojo's high and manic, geto's low and fond—like you've told the world's cutest joke. “shhh, relax, sweetheart,” gojo coos right against your ear, hands sliding down your arms to calm you even as his voice drips with mockery. catching your wrists and pinning them gently to your sides. “it's better this way— it's more fun this way. no seeing, just feeling—feel everything. no peeking, no distractions. just us and that pretty pussy. trust us.”

“yeah,” geto adds from somewhere lower, voice dripping with fake reassurance, “stop freaking out or we'll have to tie your hands too. be a good girl.” i'm a good girl.

you whine, a soft, frustrated “nngh”, that only makes them chuckle harder, but you stop fighting because the darkness is already doing things to you—heightening every sense until the air feels thick, every breath louder. you feel the mattress dip as gojo guides you to sit on the edge, his chest presses against your back a second later—he's climbed behind you, sitting up against the headboard and pulling you between his spread legs so your back is flush to his front, his hard cock nestled hot and heavy against the curve of your ass through his sweatpants. his hands splay over your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles, holding you open and pinned.

geto settles on the floor between your legs—you hear the soft thud of his knees hitting the rug, feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your inner thighs. “come here, baby,” he murmurs, big hands wrapping around your thighs and tugging you down the bed until your ass is right at the edge, legs draped over his broad shoulders. “spread for me. wider. there we go… fuck, look how pretty she is.”

you can't see a thing. just feel—feel geto's rough palms keeping your thighs forced open, the cool air kissing your slick, exposed folds; feel the anticipation coil so tight in your belly you're already trembling; gojo's chest rising and falling against your back—heart thudding against your spine, his cock twitching every time you squirm; his fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles over your ribs and stomach, brushing just shy of your breasts.

geto hums, satisfied and mean. “let's find out, yeah?”

the vibrator clicks on with a low, ominous buzz that fills the quiet room like a threat, and before you can brace yourself the rounded head is pressed right against your clit—steady, relentless pressure that has your hips jerking up with a sharp, broken “ah— fuck!” you cry out instantly, hips bucking hard, the sudden intensity ripping a sharp, broken moan from your throat as pleasure slams through you white-hot and overwhelming.

gojo laughs softly behind you, one hand sliding up to cup your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. “there we go. no squirting yet, but listen to those pretty sounds. we're just getting started, baby. hold still… or don't. makes it more fun when you thrash.”

the vibe circles slow, then faster, geto's free hand coming up to spread your lips wider, exposing every sensitive inch to the torture. your world narrows to vibration and heat and their voices—sweet, filthy, affectionate torment promising they're nowhere near done finding out exactly what your body can do tonight.

geto circles the wand slow, then presses harder, the vibrations sinking deep into your clit until your thighs shake against his grip. “feel that? all for science,” he teases, voice affectionate and utterly merciless. “gonna keep you right here until we figure it out… or until you're crying and begging. whichever comes first.”

they are so fucking relentless—like twin devils who've decided your body is their new favorite toy and breaking you is the only acceptable outcome tonight. the wand never stays in one place long enough for you to chase the high; geto wields it like he's dumbledore with a particularly filthy spell, swirling it in tight, maddening circles over your clit one second, then dragging it down to buzz against your entrance the next, then pulling it away completely just to watch you whine and buck into empty air. every time that coil in your belly tightens, every time your breath hitches and your pussy flutters with the promise of something huge, he eases off—slows the vibe to a teasing hum or lifts it entirely, letting the sudden loss punch the air from your lungs in a frustrated, trembling sob.

“nngh— please, fuck. . .” you cry out, voice cracking high and desperate, hips chasing the wand like a pathetic little puppy. your thighs are already shaking uncontrollably, muscles jumping and quivering against geto's shoulders, slick dripping down your ass to soak the sheets beneath you.

geto hums, low and thoughtful, like he's conducting an actual experiment. “hmm, not yet. she’s getting close though—feel her twitching?” he murmurs, and you feel one of his big hands leave your thigh, the sudden absence making that leg slip off his shoulder and fall toward the bed. before you can close it even an inch, gojo's hand is there—long fingers wrapping around your thigh from behind, yanking it back open and pinning it wide against your chest so you're spread obscenely, pussy on full display for geto's torment. asshole.

“gotcha,” gojo chuckles right against your ear, breath hot and teasing, his grip iron-strong as he holds you splayed for his best friend. “wider, baby. suguru needs room to work his magic.”

geto takes the invitation immediately—of course he does—pressing the wand harder now, sliding it lower to nudge right against your entrance, letting the thick head buzz just inside your hole without pushing in, just vibrating against your sensitive walls until your back arches off gojo's chest with a broken wail. "ahh— suguru, pleaseee," you sob, eyes squeezed shut so tight behind the blindfold that you see stars anyway, hands scrabbling blindly for something, anything to hold onto. your fingers finally find purchase behind you, nails digging into the warm skin of gojo's neck as you clutch him like he's the only solid thing in the spinning dark.

"aww, look at her," gojo coos, voice all fake sympathy and real amusement, tilting his head to nip at your jaw while his free hand roams your stomach, tracing the trembling muscles there. "shaking like a leaf already. poor little pussy can't decide if it wants to come or cry first."

"both," geto answers for you, voice calm and cruel as he pulls the wand away again right as your hips start grinding down desperately, leaving you empty and aching. "definitely both. listen to her—whining like we stole her candy."

you are whining—high, wet, pathetic sounds spilling out with every breath, "please, please, don't stop, i was so close. . . " tears actually gathering behind the blindfold now because they're edging you so ruthlessly, building and building like a fucking Fix-it Felix, Jr— that pressure until it's a physical ache low in your belly, then ripping it away like it's a game, crumble like they are Wreck it Ralph. your whole body is shaking uncontrollably, thighs spasming in their grips, pussy clenching around nothing so hard it hurts.

gojo's cock is a steel bar against your lower back, throbbing every time you moan his name or dig your nails deeper into his neck. "fuck, you're cute when you're desperate," he whispers, lips brushing your temple in a kiss that's way too soft for how mean they're being. "gonna keep you right here on the edge all night if we have to. science takes time, sweetheart." science my ass.

geto drags the wand up again, pressing it directly to your swollen clit and cranking the speed higher—merciless, unrelenting vibration that has you screaming almost instantly, a raw, “fuck— ah, ah, ah—!" ripping from your throat as your hips jerk wildly. he holds it there for five agonizing seconds, ten, letting the pleasure crest so high you're dizzy with it—then pulls it away again, just as you're teetering right on the brink.

"no—no no no—pleaseee," you sob outright this time, actual tears soaking into the blindfold, body thrashing between them as the ruined orgasm pulses through you without release, leaving you wrecked and empty and shaking harder than ever.

geto leans in—you feel his hair brush your inner thigh—and presses a soft, affectionate kiss to your dripping folds like he's praising you for taking it so well. "good girl," he murmurs against your pussy, voice vibrating through your clit. "we're getting somewhere. just a little more data. . ."

gojo tightens his arm around your waist, holding you steady as you tremble and cry and beg, his lips brushing your ear in that loving, menacing way only he can manage. "shhh, we've got you. not done playing yet. gonna make you squirt so hard you see stars behind that blindfold—or we're gonna die trying. either way, you're ours tonight."

and they dive back in—wand buzzing to life again, gojo's fingers pinching your nipples in time with geto's ruthless patterns, their voices overlapping in filthy praise and mockery as they edge you over and over and over, relentless and mean and so stupidly affectionate about every sobbing, shaking second of it.

after what feels like hours of their stupid, relentless edging game—your body reduced to a quivering, sweat-drenched wreck, blindfold clinging wetly to your tear-streaked cheeks, every muscle twitching like a live wire, voice hoarse from begging and sobbing their names in broken loops—they finally take pity. or maybe they just decide the data is conclusive, or finally decide you've suffered enough for their little ‘experiment’. . . geto presses the thick head of the wand flush against your clit again, no more games, no more teasing circles or cruel pull-aways, just brutal, steady pressure on the highest setting he'd dared so far— high-speed vibration that sinks straight into your core like a lightning strike. the buzz so intense it feels like it's vibrating your bones.

gojo's grip on your thigh tightens, his other hand back to sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple in time with the rhythm, whispering filthy little encouragements right against your ear like, “come on, baby, give it to us. soak him. show us how much that dumb fucker missed.”

the orgasm doesn't creep up—it crashes, it detonates. your whole body locks up, spine snapping into a harsh arch as the pleasure rips through you like a tidal wave. one second you're teetering on that agonizing edge again, hips grinding desperately, and the next your entire body seizes up with a violent, full-body shudder.

“fuck— ah, ah, aah— i'm—!” you scream, the sound raw and ugly and perfect, back arching off gojo's chest so hard your spine bows like a drawn bowstring. your pussy clenches hard, then gushes—a hot, forceful rush of liquid that sprays out in messy arcs, splattering geto's face and soaking the front of his tank top in seconds. he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away; if anything he leans into it, mouth open just enough that some of it hits his tongue, a low, satisfied groan rumbling out of him as he keeps the wand pinned right where it hurts-so-good.

you squirt and squirt, longer than you thought possible, wave after wave, thighs shaking so violently gojo has to brace you or you'd thrash right off the bed or to keep you from kicking geto in the face. “nngh— stop, stop, too much,” you sob, actual tears streaming down your cheeks under the blindfold now, but geto doesn't care—doesn't even pretend to.

he keeps the wand exactly where it is, buzzing mercilessly against your oversensitive clit and laps at your dripping folds between the sprays like he's savoring every drop— broad, filthy strokes of his tongue dragging from your spasming entrance up to your clit, swirling around the buzzing toy like he's trying to drink you dry. his tongue is hot and rough, dragging from your entrance up to swirl around the vibe, pushing you straight into a second, even more brutal climax before the first has fully faded. the overstimulation is excruciating, pleasure twisted into something almost painful, and you scream again, high and broken, “no, no, ahh— fuck, suguru!" as he assaults your pussy without a shred of remorse.

“that's it, pretty girl,” he praises between licks, voice muffled and vibrating against your folds, hands gripping your ass to tilt you higher into his mouth. “give me everything. fucking drown me—good girl, so good."

it isn't long before the second wave hits—the second squirt is obscene—stronger, messier, your body barely recovered from the first before hitting geto's chest in thick streams. geto finally pulls his face back just in time to watch it, eyes dark and hungry, lips shiny with you as he cranks the wand to its absolute highest setting without warning. the sudden spike in vibration rips a scream from your throat, "suguru— no, no, please, i can't— ahh!"

geto hums, tossing the wand aside for a second but not done—not even close. his fingers replace it immediately, rubbing fast, tight circles over your throbbing clit, slick and relentless, forcing the last spurts out of you in messy little bursts. “come on, baby, one more. empty it all out for us.”

the squirt erupts in a powerful stream, clear and hot, splashing across his chest and collarbones, rolling down in rivulets that disappear into his waistband. gojo whistles low and impressed behind you, fingers digging into your thighs as he watches over your shoulder.

your hips jerking so hard your ass lifts clean off the bed, whole lower body suspended in the air, leaning entirely against gojo's chest as you shake and gush and fall apart all over again.

“holy shit,” gojo laughs, breathless and delighted, nuzzling your neck. “that idiot you went on a date with? he'd be eating his own words right now if he saw this. ‘girls who can't squirt’—yeah, right. look at you, turning suguru into a fucking fountain show. guy must feel so stupid, passing up all this."

you think—hope—that after this you'll finally get peace, get to float down into that soft, boneless quiet. but no. these are your enemies, after all, mean and perverted to the core, and they love nothing more than pushing until you're crying for real.

gojo's hand comes down in a sharp, wet slap against your hypersensitive pussy—light enough not to bruise, but stinging like fire on raw nerves. you jolt with a strangled wail, another surprised gush squirting out in response, and he does it again—slap, slap—each one perfectly timed to make you spray more, body convulsing violently between them. "satoruuuu— stop, please, i can't—" you sob, but it's useless; your hips lift clean off the bed on instinct, whole lower body suspended in the air from the force of the shaking, leaning entirely against gojo's chest as your ass clenches and your thighs spasm out of control.

one hand flies forward blindly, fingers tangling desperately in geto's damp hair, tugging hard for any kind of anchor as the pleasure-pain overwhelms you. the other claws backward, nails digging deep into gojo's forearm where he's still holding you open, leaving red crescents he's definitely going to brag about later. you're a complete mess—whimpering, shaking, squirting in weak little pulses now with every slap until there's nothing left but tremors and the wet sounds of your ruined pussy.

gojo laughs, breathless and delighted. the impact forces another surprised spurt out of you, smaller but no less humiliating, and you wail as your hips buck involuntarily. "fuck, look at that," he croons, voice dripping with smug affection, slapping again—once, twice—each one making you squirt a little more until your thighs are trembling so badly you can't hold the position anymore. your ass collapses back onto the soaked sheets with a wet thud, body going completely limp against gojo's front, chest heaving, little aftershock twitches rippling through you every few seconds.

finally, mercifully, gojo stops the slapping. his fingers turn gentle instead, tracing soft, soothing figure-eights over your clit, easing you down with slow, feather-light strokes that make you twitch and whine but in a softer way now. "shhh, there we go," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your sweaty temple. "good girl. fuck, you're perfect."

geto finally—finally—clicks the vibrator off and tosses it aside fully, the sudden silence deafening except for your ragged breathing and the wet sounds of him licking his lips. he leans in again, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, your fluttering entrance, your abused clit like he's apologizing and praising all at once.

"good fucking girl," he murmurs against your skin, voice rough with want, hands stroking soothing patterns over your shaking legs. "told you we could make you. that guy you went out with? he'd be kicking himself so hard right now if he knew how much you can squirt when someone's actually competent."

gojo snickers, nuzzling into your damp temple, fingers idly tracing the mess on your stomach where some of it splashed back. "seriously. imagine his dumb face—'i don't fuck girls who can't squirt'—and here you are, turning suguru into a human sprinkler twice in a row. idiot probably couldn't find a g-spot if it had a neon sign." he slaps your pussy one last playful time, lighter now, just to watch you jolt and whimper pathetically. "bet he'd cry harder than you did if he saw this."

you can't even form words—just little broken sobs and whimpers, body utterly spent and boneless between them, blindfold still on, world reduced to the feel of their hands petting you down from the high. geto climbs up onto the bed properly, knees slotting between your trembling legs, hands sliding under your knees to push them up and back until you're nearly folded in half—ass lifted, pussy still dripping and exposed.

he lets one leg slide off his shoulder gently, then reaches up to finally—finally—untie the blindfold. the fabric falls away and light floods in, dim and warm from the dorm lamps, but still blinding after so long in darkness. you blink sluggishly, eyes watery and unfocused, vision hazy with lust and exhaustion and that floaty, drunk kind of bliss. everything feels soft around the edges, like you're underwater—geto's face swimming into view first, hair damp and falling forward in dark strands, a few droplets still clinging to his lashes and lips, that affectionate menace softened into something almost tender.

he leans down slow, presses the gentlest butterfly kisses to your forehead—one, two, three—lips lingering each time like he's tasting the salt of your tears and sweat. "there you go," he whispers, voice rough but impossibly soft now, thumb stroking your cheek. "hi, pretty girl. you back with us?"

you laugh—it's breathless, watery, a little hysterical around the edges—and nod slow, words thick and fuzzy in your throat. "yeah... so good. fuck, so good."

gojo chuckles behind you, arms loosening to cradle you properly now, one hand petting your hair like you're a kitten. "look at her, all fucked out and smiley. cutest thing ever."

"proud of you, princess," geto adds quietly, crawling up to cage you between them, both of them still fully dressed while you're a naked, shivering mess covered in your own slick. "experiment success. conclusion: you're perfect exactly how you are, and that guy can go drown in a puddle for all we care."

you manage a weak, watery laugh that turns into another hiccuping sob, burying your face in geto's neck while he spoons you from the front, their arms wrapping around you in a tangle of warmth and lingering menace. they're not done with you—not even close—but for now they let you come down, murmuring sweet, stupid, filthy praise into your skin until the shaking stops and all that's left is the slow, heavy thud of three hearts beating way too fast in the quiet dorm room, sheets absolutely ruined and no one giving a single damn.

for a moment it's just that—soft and sweet, their hands gentle, voices low and fond, letting you float in the afterglow while your body twitches with little aftershocks. geto's still between your legs, chest glistening with you, tank top absolutely ruined, and gojo's cock is still hard as steel against your back, but they're giving you this tiny pocket of peace, murmuring praise like "did so well for us" and "perfect little mess" and "love how you shake when you come undone."

but of course it doesn't last. they're mean, after all—lovingly, affectionately, stupidly mean.

geto's warm smile twists slow into something wicked again, eyes glinting as he picks up the discarded wand, still slick with you, and bops you lightly on the nose with it—boop—like it's a toy hammer. "aww, look at that face," he coos, voice dripping with fake innocence. "all hazy and happy. but now that we've proven you can squirt like a fucking champ... think you're ready to take some real cock, princess?"

he tosses the vibrator away from within reach, somewhere across the room—it lands with a thud on a pile of laundry—and leans in closer, hands sliding up your thighs to spread you wider again, cocky grin sharp and hungry. gojo laughs high behind you, fingers dipping down to tease your dripping entrance, already plotting round two.

because peace? rest? not tonight. not with these two. they're just getting started ruining you properly, and the look in their eyes says you're not leaving this bed until you've forgotten every dumb boy who ever made you doubt how fucking incredible you are.

especially now when geto rises from the bed like some kind of dark god finally shedding the last of his mortal clothes, tank top peeled off and tossed somewhere into the corner with a wet slap—still soaked from your earlier mess—and his sweatpants follow, kicked aside without ceremony. he's butt naked now, all lean muscle and cursed energy humming under inked skin, cock standing proud and thick in his hand as he strokes it once, slow and lazy, precum already beading at the flushed tip like he's been edging himself just watching you fall apart. his hair is still damp, strands clinging to his forehead and neck, and that wicked, affectionate smirk hasn't left his face once.

behind you—no, under you—gojo has maneuvered you both to the edge of the bed, his long legs planted firm on the floor like he's anchoring the whole damn world. he's naked too now, shirt and sweats vanished in that effortless way he does everything, pale skin and ridiculous abs on full display, cock hot and impossibly hard against the curve of your ass. his hands are on your hips, big and steady, guiding you to straddle him reverse—back to his chest, thighs spread wide over his—so you're sitting pretty on his lap like a throne made of pure torment. the position leaves you completely exposed, pussy still twitching and dripping from everything they just did to you, and gojo doesn't waste time lining himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance, slick and insistent.

but god, you're sensitive—every little brush feels like fire and electricity and too much all at once, your folds swollen and raw from the wand and the slapping and the squirting until you're a whimpering mess before he's even inside. “wait— fuck, satoru, i'm so sensitive, please, slow. . . " you complain, voice cracking high and pathetic, hands flailing for something to hold as your thighs already start shaking again. they don't listen. of course they don't and your whining only makes their eyes gleam darker.

gojo chuckles low against your ear, breath hot and teasing as he circles his tip through your folds, gathering wetness just to torture you more. "aww, poor baby, too sensitive? but look how you're still dripping for it. you can take it, princess—we know you can. you've been begging with that pussy all night."

geto steps closer, still stroking himself slow, thumb swiping over his leaking slit as he watches gojo tease you. "yeah. . . don't be weak now," he adds, voice all velvet cruelty and fake sympathy. "you just squirted like a champion—twice, or three times? this is the reward. real cock, like we promised. be good and take it."

you curse under your breath, but your hips are already rocking back instinctively, chasing the pressure despite the overstimulation, and gojo takes that as permission. he pushes in—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open, your walls fluttering wildly around him from how sensitive you are. it's too much and perfect and overwhelming, the drag burning in the best way until he bottoms out with a final thrust that seats him deep, balls pressed against your ass.

a full, broken whimper tears out of you, “fuck, satoru, you're—" your thighs shaking harder now, weak and jelly-like as the overwhelming fullness hits you all at once. your hands scramble blindly forward for support, fingers finding geto's hips, then his hand, clutching desperately as you try to breathe through it.

geto threads his fingers with yours immediately, squeezing gentle and steady, letting you grip as hard as you need while you adjust. "there you go," he murmurs, soft for a second, thumb stroking your knuckles even as his other hand keeps lazily pumping his cock. "breathe, baby. you've got him all the way in. look at you—taking it so pretty."

both of them chuckle at the same time—gojo's high and unhinged, geto's low and fond—when your legs keep trembling like you might collapse any second.

"so weak already," gojo teases, hands sliding up to grip your waist, lifting you just an inch before dropping you back down slow, making you feel every ridge of him. "one orgasm—or three—and you're shaking like a leaf. cute."

"fuck you both," you manage to gasp out, voice wobbly and hoarse, but there's no heat in it—just needy frustration as your head falls back against gojo's shoulder.

another soft whisper of a moan slips out, "mmh," as gojo starts moving your hips for you, slow ups and downs that have his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls in the most filthy, perfect way. geto steps even closer at the sound, until you're face-to-cock with him, the musky heat of him filling your senses, precum dripping in a slow bead down his shaft.

but he doesn't force it—not yet. instead he lets you lean forward, forehead pressing against the warm, hard plane of his stomach, breath coming in hot little pants against his skin as you try to ground yourself. his free hand comes up to pet your hair, fingers threading gentle and soothing, nails scratching lightly at your scalp while his other keeps stroking himself right in front of your face, slow and deliberate, the wet sound of it mixing with your whimpers and the slick slide of gojo inside you.

"good girl," geto praises softly, voice rough with want, tilting your head just enough so your cheek brushes the side of his cock, leaving a shiny streak of precum on your skin. "just relax. let satoru fuck you open a little more. then you'll take me too—gonna fill you from both ends until you're crying again, but the happy kind this time, yeah?"

gojo laughs breathlessly behind you, hips starting to roll up to meet the slow drop of yours, pace picking up just enough to make you moan louder. "fuck, she's clenching already. hear that, suguru? all that big talk about being too sensitive, and her pussy's trying to milk me dry."

you whimper against geto's stomach, thighs still shaking, hand squeezing his tighter as the pleasure builds again—slow, deep, relentless—sandwiched between your two favorite enemies who are finally, finally giving you what you've needed all night, mean and sweet and stupidly affectionate about every second of it.

geto lets gojo have his moment, because that's what best friends do—share the spotlight, especially when the spotlight is a trembling, cockdrunk girl impaled on one of their dicks and making the prettiest broken sounds against the other's stomach. he's patient like that, a saint in pervert's clothing, standing there with his hand wrapped loose around his throbbing cock, stroking slow and steady, thumb swiping over the slick head every few pumps to spread the precum that's been leaking nonstop since you first squirted all over him.

his dark eyes are heavy-lidded, fixed on the scene in front of him like it's the best porn he's ever seen: you, forehead pressed to his abs, lips parted and drooling a little onto his skin from how overwhelmed you are, while gojo's hips roll up slow and deep from underneath, fucking into you with that lazy, relentless rhythm that makes your pussy hug him tighter and tighter.

every thrust drags a new sound out of you—high, wet moans that turn into little cries, your breath hitching hot and damp against geto's stomach, leaving shiny trails of saliva that cool in the dorm air. it's filthy and perfect, and geto doesn't mind the mess one bit; if anything it makes his cock twitch harder in his fist, another bead of precum dripping down his shaft as he watches gojo's face twist in pure ecstasy. gojo's head is tipped back against the headboard for a second, white lashes fluttering, mouth open on a silent groan before he lets out this low, drawn-out "fuuuck" that rumbles through his chest and into your back.

geto hears it all—your moans climbing higher, gojo's breathing getting rougher, the wet slap of skin where gojo's lifting and dropping your hips just enough to make his cock drag against every sensitive spot inside you. it's intimate in the dumbest, dirtiest way, and geto is patient, stroking himself to the rhythm of gojo's thrusts, letting his best friend chase that edge while he enjoys the show. but god, the sounds you're making—those broken little whimpers vibrating against his skin, the way your fingers keep flexing in his hand like you're barely holding on—are starting to chip away at that saintly restraint.

he's heard gojo fuck before, plenty of times actually, thin dorm walls and all that. random girls giggling their way in, then moaning their way out hours later, gojo's voice carrying through the plaster with cocky laughter and the occasional dramatic groan. but this? this is different. you've got gojo making sounds geto has never heard from him—deeper, more desperate, like you're pulling them straight from his soul. his eyes are rolling back now, blue peeking white under half-closed lids, lips parted on gasps that turn into your name chanted like a prayer.

geto snorts, low and amused, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head. "that good, huh?" he asks, voice rough with his own want, hand still moving slow on his cock. "never heard you sound this pathetic, satoru."

gojo laughs—breathless, wrecked, absolutely unhinged—as he snaps his hips up harder, making you cry out sharp and sudden against geto's stomach. "fuck off, suguru— she's... nngh... she's perfect. like her pussy was made for me. gonna wife this shit up, keep her full forever—romantic as fuck, right?"

it's the dumbest, most gojo thing anyone's ever said—stupidly romantic and utterly disgusting all at once, like he's proposing marriage mid-stroke while balls-deep in you. geto bark-laughs, head shaking, but his cock jumps in his hand because yeah, he gets it. you're clenching again, pussy fluttering wild around gojo from the praise or the thrust or both, and the sound you make is so cockdrunk and ruined that geto feels his patience snap like a frayed wire.

you can't even respond to gojo's idiot declaration—just another wet, open-mouthed moan against geto's skin, drool pooling at the corner of your lips, eyes glassy and unfocused like your brain's checked out and left your body on autopilot. you're too far gone, too stupid on cock, and seeing you like that—knowing he helped put you there—makes geto greedy in a way that's almost mean.

he lets go of your hand gently, both of his sliding up now—one fisting your hair at the roots, firm but not painful, angling your face away from his stomach and up toward his cock. the other guides the flushed, leaking head to your lips, slapping it once, twice, wet and heavy against your mouth, leaving shiny streaks of precum across your cheek and lower lip. "open up, princess," he murmurs, voice velvet and dangerous, thumb stroking your jaw like encouragement. "you can multitask, right? been taking satoru so well—now take me too. greedy girls get both."

you whimper—high and needy, muffled against his cock as he taps it again, smearing more precum over your lips until they glisten. your tongue darts out instinctively, licking at the tip, tasting salt and him, and geto groans low, hips twitching forward just enough to slide the head past your lips. "mmh—" you moan around him, the vibration making his thighs tense, and gojo laughs breathlessly behind you, hands tightening on your hips to speed up the slow grind.

"fuck, look at her," gojo gasps, voice cracking as your pussy clamps down harder from the new stretch in your mouth. "taking both like she was born for it. our perfect little slut."

geto slides deeper—slow, letting you adjust, feeling your tongue flatten against the underside of him as you suck messily, drool already spilling down your chin to drip onto your chest. his hand in your hair pets gentle now, affectionate and guiding, while gojo keeps bouncing you on his lap, the two of them finding a rhythm that has you stuffed full from both ends, moaning nonstop around geto's cock while your body shakes and clenches and drips between them.

it's overwhelming and perfect and so stupidly loving—the way geto's thumb wipes the drool from your chin even as he fucks your mouth deeper, the way gojo's whispering absolute filth about keeping you forever while his hands bruise your hips, both of them watching you fall apart with that mean, fond gleam in their eyes like you're the best thing that's ever happened to their dumb, perverted hearts. and maybe you are.

they keep fucking you like it's a competition to see who can wreck you sweeter—gojo from below, hips rolling up in that lazy, deep grind that makes his cock kiss your cervix on every upstroke, hands gripping your waist like he's steering a particularly fun ride. geto in front, feeding you his cock inch by thick inch, the salty taste of him flooding your tongue while your drool spills down your chin in messy strings. the room is nothing but wet sounds—skin slapping skin, your muffled moans vibrating around geto, gojo's breathy laughter mixing with low groans every time your pussy clamps down like it's trying to trap him forever.

they're high on praise tonight, drunk on how perfectly you fall apart between them. "fuck, listen to her," gojo gasps, voice cracking as your walls flutter again. "pussy's singing for me—nngh—good girl, keep squeezing like that." geto hums agreement, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watches his cock disappear between your swollen lips. "taking us so well, princess. look at you—mouth full, pussy full, still greedy for more."

geto's hand tightens in your hair—fingers twisting at the roots just hard enough to sting sweet—before his other slides forward, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive collar. not squeezing hard, just there, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point so he can feel how fast your heart's racing for them. the pressure makes you groan deep in your chest, "mmph." the vibration humming straight into geto's cock, and your pussy reacts instantly, clamping down hard on gojo like a vice.

gojo jolts behind you, hips stuttering as he lets out a wrecked, "fuuuuck, yes." his nails digging crescents into your hips. "did you feel that, suguru? she just tried to milk me dry when you choked her a little. kinky little thing."

geto definitely feels it—feels his own cock sliding deeper into the wet heat of your throat, feels the way your muscles flutter and swallow around him every time gojo thrusts up. it pulls a rough groan from his chest, low and filthy, hips twitching forward involuntarily. "shit— yeahh. . . i felt it. throat's doing the same thing. greedy on both ends."

he tugs your hair sharper, angling your head back just enough to push deeper, sliding past your tongue until the head nudges the back of your throat. he holds you there—patient but merciless—watching your eyes water, feeling your throat spasm open and close around him in panicked little swallows.

"that's it," he praises, voice gravel-rough with affection, thumb stroking your cheek even as he keeps you pinned. "relax your throat, baby—fuck, there we go. feel you opening up for me. perfect fucking girl." he only pulls back when your chest starts heaving, when the first real choke bubbles up around his cock—slow, letting you gasp wetly around him before he slides out with a filthy string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

you cough hard, collapsing forward against gojo's shoulder as you suck in desperate breaths, face messy with drool and tears and precum. "you—cough—fucking asshole, i couldn't breathe," you rasp, voice hoarse and wrecked, but your hips are still rolling back onto gojo like your body can't decide if it wants to fight or fuck.

geto just hums, low and amused, petting your hair once like you're a bratty cat. "now you can," he says simply, tugging your head back up by the roots until your lips brush his cock again. "open up, princess. we're not done."

you do—because of course you do—tongue lolling out obediently as he slides back in, easier this time, your throat already pliant from the abuse. gojo keeps fucking you through it, slow and deep, cooing soft praise into your ear about how pretty you look choking on suguru while riding him.

after a while—minutes? hours? time's meaningless when you're stuffed full like this—geto pulls out with a wet pop, hand stroking your cheek as he looks over your head at gojo. "switch," he says, voice calm but edged with hunger.

gojo whines immediately—high, dramatic, ridiculous. "nooo, i'm just getting into it—fuck, her pussy's perfect right now, all swollen and hot—"

geto snorts, already pulling his cock from your mouth with a slick slide. "you've been balls-deep in her pussy for ages, satoru. my turn. if you don't wanna share, go fuck your fist like a big boy."

gojo groans long and suffering, but he obeys—hands sliding to your ass, giving it one sharp, resounding slap that makes you yelp around nothing and your pussy clench on empty air. he spreads the cheek, presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the stinging skin like an apology, then grumbles as he lifts you off his cock with a filthy wet sound. you whimper at the loss—high and pathetic—legs shaking harder now that you're not filled.

geto wraps an arm around your waist immediately, strong and steady, hauling you up to stand on wobbly feet. "up, baby," he murmurs, turning you around slow until you're face-to-face with gojo's dick—glistening with your slick, flushed angry red and twitching in his fist as he strokes himself lazily by the bed. gojo grins down at you, all sharp teeth and affection, thumb sliding into your mouth to press on your tongue. "hallo again, baby," he coos, using his cock to tap your nose lightly—boop, boop—like it's a game. "miss me already?"

geto snorts behind you, hands nudging your thighs apart wider, wider, until your legs are spread obscenely and your knees threaten to buckle. "spread, princess," he orders softly, voice gentle but firm. when your thighs start trembling harder, threatening to give out, he presses his chest to your back, arm tightening around your waist to hold you up. "no, you can do it. just a bit more—there we go. good girl."

he lines himself up slow—thick head nudging your dripping entrance, gathering your wetness before pushing in with one smooth, deep thrust that has you crying out around gojo's thumb. gojo pulls it out with a pop, replacing it immediately with his cock, sliding into your mouth as geto bottoms out behind you.

sandwiched again—geto buried to the hilt in your pussy, gojo feeding you his slick-coated cock until your lips stretch wide around him. they find their rhythm fast, gojo's hands in your hair now, geto's arm banded across your stomach, both of them moving like they've done this a thousand times— maybe in dreams, maybe in fantasy, but now it's real and overwhelming and so stupidly loving.

"fuck, taste yourself on me?" gojo groans, hips rocking shallow into your mouth. "sweetest thing ever."

geto thrusts deeper, hand sliding up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple in time with his strokes. "pussy's even tighter from this side," he mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin. "gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby. just us from now on."

and you believe him—believe both of them—moaning broken around gojo's cock as they fuck you standing, legs shaking, body held up only by their strength and greed and that mean, affectionate way they have of never letting you fall.

after a while, the rhythm settles into something hypnotic and brutal—geto behind you, cock buried deep in your pussy with every slow, deliberate thrust that drags against your oversensitive walls like he's trying to map every inch of you from the inside; gojo in front, feeding his slick-coated dick into your mouth in shallow, teasing pumps that make you choke and drool and moan around him like a desperate little thing.

your legs are barely holding you up anymore, thighs trembling nonstop, knees threatening to buckle with every roll of geto's hips, but his arm banded across your waist keeps you pinned upright, impaled and helpless between them. the dorm air is thick with the smell of sex—sweat and slick and precum—and the sounds are obscene: wet slaps from behind, gagging whimpers from your throat, their mixed groans overlapping in filthy harmony.

geto starts losing it first, the patience he's been clinging to finally cracking like thin ice. it begins with a low groan rumbling from his chest, deeper than before, eyes fluttering half-shut as his head tips back for a second. then his eyes roll—just like gojo's did earlier—white peeking under dark lashes as your pussy clamps down on him again, fluttering wild and greedy from gojo's cock nudging the back of your throat. "fuuuuck," he breathes, voice rough and wrecked, hips stuttering for the first time. "okay, i get it now. i fucking get why you were making those stupid sounds, satoru. this pussy—shit—it's heaven. gripping me like it doesn't want me to leave."

gojo laughs breathlessly around a moan, fingers tightening in your hair as he watches geto's composure shatter over your shoulder. "told you, asshole. she's unreal. wait till she comes again—gonna suck your soul right out."

geto doesn't answer with words—just a rough, affectionate growl as his hands slide up your arms, grabbing your wrists and pinning them behind your back in one strong grip, arching your spine and forcing your chest out. the new angle changes everything; his cock hits deeper, harder, dragging against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids even with gojo still fucking your mouth. "hold still, princess," geto mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin before he bites down lightly. "gonna fuck you proper now."

and he does—merciless. hips snapping forward faster, harder, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing loud in the room as he rails you standing, your body jolting forward onto gojo's cock with every thrust. you choke around gojo, "mmph— guh. . . " drool spilling down your chin in thick strings, tears streaking your cheeks from the overwhelming fullness. your pussy's making the filthiest sounds, squelching wet and loud, and geto groans like he's dying, eyes rolling again as he pounds into you.

"nngh— fuck, take it, take it," he pants, voice cracking with affection and menace. "pussy's so fucking good—milking me already. you love this, don't you? stuffed from both ends like our perfect little toy."

you can't answer properly—just muffled, cockdrunk moans around gojo, your tongue swirling sloppy and desperate because it's all you can do. gojo's hips start moving faster too, matching geto's brutal pace, fucking your throat in shallow thrusts that make your eyes water more. "yeah, she loves it," he gasps, thumb wiping a tear from your cheek even as he pushes deeper. "look at her—crying and still sucking like she needs it to breathe."

it's too much and perfect and stupidly loving, your body shaking between them as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter, pussy fluttering wild around geto, throat swallowing convulsively around gojo. you're close again—teetering on that edge they've been dancing you along all night—and they feel it, both of them groaning in unison as your body tightens.

"fuck— she's gonna come," geto grits out, thrusts turning erratic, grip on your wrists bruising now. "pussy's clamping—shit—gonna make me—"

gojo pulls out of your mouth suddenly with a wet pop, hand fisting your hair to tilt your face up as he strokes himself fast and sloppy. "wait—fuck, me too—gonna cum, baby, gonna—"

they both curse at the same time, voices overlapping in desperate, filthy harmony, "fuck, fuck, coming. . ." and geto pulls out of your pussy with a slick rush that leaves you empty and whining high in your throat. your legs finally give out, knees buckling as the sudden loss hits, but gojo's there instantly, hauling you down to the rug with strong hands under your arms until you're on your knees between them, shaky and wrecked and dripping.

gojo drops down from the bed too, both of them standing over you now—tall and flushed and gorgeous, cocks in hand as they stroke themselves fast and frantic, eyes locked on your face like you're the only thing in the world. "open your mouth, princess," gojo pants, voice sweet and mean all at once, free hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. "tongue out—yeahhhh, just like that. good fucking girl."

geto groans beside him, hand still pinning one of your wrists behind your back even on your knees, keeping you arched pretty for them. "gonna paint you, baby," he mutters, voice rough with affection. "deserve every drop after taking us so well."

you obey—mouth open wide, tongue lolling out obedient and desperate, eyes glassy and adoring as you look up at them. "please," you whimper, voice hoarse and small and needy. "want it—want your cum—please—"

that's all it takes. gojo comes first—high, broken moan of your name as his cock pulses, thick ropes of cum striping your face in hot, messy bursts—across your cheeks, your nose, your waiting tongue. "fuck— take it, take it all," he gasps, aiming the last spurts right into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallow greedily.

geto follows seconds later—deep, guttural groan that sounds like it's punched out of him, hips jerking forward as he paints your face too, cum mixing with gojo's in sticky lines over your lips and chin, dripping down your neck. "shit— perfect, so perfect," he praises, voice cracking soft at the end, thumb smearing the mess across your lower lip like he's marking you.

they milk themselves dry onto you—stroking slow through the aftershocks, making sure every drop lands on your face, your tongue, your chest—until you're glazed and messy and utterly ruined, kneeling there panting with cum dripping off your chin and the biggest, dopiest smile tugging at your swollen lips.

gojo laughs first—breathless and unhinged—dropping to his knees to cup your messy face and kiss you deep and filthy, tasting himself and geto on your tongue. "fuck, look at you," he murmurs against your lips, all soft now, menace melted into pure affection. "prettiest mess we've ever made."

[lostinsmut]

ᰔ Toji loves your tiger stripes (stretch marks)

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆toji shows you his stretch marks, comfort, fluff ish, toji is a cutie and a man.. he don’t get it lowk bc how can u ever find yourself ugly, nicknames, mention of readers insecurity. ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your hand dug into tojis black surprisingly soft hair, surprising for a man who thinks 3-1 shampoo will do the job.

This has been your little routine daily since you moved in with toji. You'd usually be home earlier from work already and he would come home an hour or two later, find you and drape himself over you like a house cat.

He was laying between your legs, head on your stomach while you caressed his hair in your shared bed. "I'm so fucking tired." He mumbled moving his head to press a kiss onto your stomach.

"It was a long day today.." you mumble softly pushing his hair back out of his face. He just pressed his head further into your stomach. "Mhm, you're warm tho. Smell good too." He smiles into your stomach, his eyes closing.

You almost think he's gonna fall asleep when he suddenly lifts his head up after hearing your tummy rumble. "Excuse me." He grins hands moving to lift your shirt up, "someone's hungry-"

Your hands shoot out to grab his wrists. Your hands don't even wrap around his wrists fully- he's a lot bigger then you but he stops his actions regardless, respecting whatever has happened here that he hasn't quite figured out yet. "Okay.." Toji furrows his brows eyes scanning your face, "I just... don't want you to." You mumble avoiding eye contact.

Toji had indeed gotten home a bit later today and in that time you had showered and noticed a red line forming on your stomach. When you looked closer, there were more. On your hips. Your boobs.

Stretch marks..

"That's fine doll," his voice was so soft and reassuring, eyes becoming concerned. "You want me to make you something?" You shook your head. "No I'm fine, I already ate before you got home." You smiled sweetly but it didn't reach your eyes.

You were.. lying to him?

Toji couldn't remember a time you had lied to him or you must've done it so well he didn't realise.

He also couldn't remember a time you didn't love his hand on you... "you did? What you eat?"

"Just some leftovers.." you again dug your hand into his hair trying to distract him, or yourself..

"The leftovers from last night?" You nod.

"The leftovers I ate midnight because I was starving?..."

shit.

"No, uhm actually-"

"You suck at this doll, fess up. What's wrong?" His right hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, gentle as ever even if he was twice your size.

He was just twice your size and jacked. You on the other hand were gaining pounds by the week with the way toji fed you as if you were bulking alongside him.

"did something happen?? Your stomach is the same baby, feels the same as yesterday and last week and last month... what's wrong?" He pushed trying his best to understand. Normally when something was wrong you just came to him about it.

This obviously wasn't something you wanted to talk about but with the way your stomach rumbling it concerned him, "okay then, I'll see myself."

When his hands moved to the bottom of your shirt again you literally pulled away. Sitting up so fast toji fell off your lap into the mattress bellow you two.

"No, it's fine. Stop." You moved away but Toji only grinned grabbing you and pulling you back, you were now laying on your back toji ontop of you. He kissed you soft and quick then again to get your little attitude to disappear

"Okay- okay!" You smiled. "There we go, now talk to me." He somewhat pouted, you sighed. "Fine, but if you dare say anything you won't ever see me again I swear toji." You looked away when you pulled your shirt up slightly so he could see the lines that were beside your belly button.

His brows furrowed again looking down between you two, "What's up, is it hurting?" He looked back at you with concern.

"No..." you had the same confused expression now. "It's ugly, I hate it."

"Ugly.." Toji sounded like he didn't hear you, as if he was trying to decipher all the things ugly meant because he may have just... learned the word wrong???? There was no way you were talking about your tummy- his tummy.

His soft comforting little adorable tummy. No.

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

"The stretch marks toji." You huffed.

Toji could only smile when his eyes went back to your face. "I can't believe you worried me about that, they've been there for two days doll. They're pretty. You don't think so?"

You could hear the confusion in his voice which almost made you feel like this was all very unnecessary.. you shook your head. Toji smirked climbing off you.

Oh no, was this him realising you were right???

He simply turned around lifted up his shirt and that's when you saw it.

How hadn't you seen those before????

Little lines horizontally on his lowers back. Little purple ones but also faded pink. He angled his bicep a certain way and suddenly you saw a couple red lines there too. You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your face, they were actually adorable on him.

This is how he must feel with you.

"Still ugly?" He didn't flinch when you shuffled forward on your knees so your hand could reach out and touch them. "No.. they're not ugly toji." You whispered your finger tracing the lines.

"I've had these since I was a teen, grew too quick and when I hit the gym at first I didn't really know how to lift properly yet, it happens. They're part of our story dear, you're beautiful with or without stretch marks." He turned around sitting down on his knees while you sat on the edge of his bed. His arms wrapped around you, his head in your lap again.

"Thank you." You smiled moving down and pecking his lips. He smirked, "ofcourse gonna look so sexy when you have many more once I put a baby in yo-

You smacked him. "Never. Happening."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. We'll see about that.."

℘ tags open just ask to be added! - @sugurusplaything @notsoslightlysexual @6x-x9 @xchosos-wifex @lilithkleia @2kewlfryu @beereadzzz @hibiscussmellsgood @nanamissweetgirl @p3talswayingindesun @cateleya21

I thought I’d give some toji fluff again plus everyone who’s insecure ab stretch marks pls don’t be they’re so pretty://

MASTERLIST sukuna version <3

[dollishmiso]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ drabble ( Yuji itadori sfw )

𐔌 . ⋮ imagine yuji trying so hard to have a normal conversation with you but sukuna just lives to ruin his life₊ ꒱

you’re both sitting on the couch after a long day, yuji’s arm around your shoulders, looking at you with those big bright eyes while he rambles about the new movie he wants to watch together.

“—and then the trailer looked so cool, we should go this weekend, i’ll even buy the popcorn with extra butter just how you like it—”

suddenly sukuna’s voice cuts in from the tattoos on his face, deep and mocking. “how pathetic. you sound like a lovesick puppy begging for scraps.”

yuji’s face goes bright red instantly. he slaps a hand over the markings like that’ll shut sukuna up. “shut up! i’m trying to talk to her!”

you’re trying not to laugh but it’s so obvious how panicked he gets every single time. his hand tightens on your shoulder like he’s scared you’ll suddenly change your mind about him because his curse uncle decided to be a hater

“ignore him,” yuji says quickly, turning back to you with a nervous smile. “he’s just jealous because no one wants to watch movies with him. so… this weekend? you and me? please?”

sukuna snorts. “she probably only tolerates you because you’re the least annoying vessel i’ve had.”

yuji actually whines, burying his face in your neck like a big embarrassed puppy. “babe tell him to stop, he’s ruining my game.”

you just laugh and kiss the top of his head, and yuji melts instantly, mumbling “you’re the best… ignore the old man, he doesn’t get it.”

even when sukuna keeps interrupting with snide comments, yuji never gives up he just gets more determined, more blushy, more desperate to make sure you know how much he likes you despite the uninvited third wheel living in his body.

because yuji itadori may share a body with the king of curses, but when it comes to you? he’s willing to fight sukuna every single time just to finish a sentence without looking stupid.

[kill3ill]

multiple creampies with crybaby! choso — 18+

your boyfriend choso is such a crybaby.

you raise your voice at him a little, wetness starts to gleam in his eyes. you tell him not to smother you because you’re trying to focus on something, and his lower lip trembles a bit, even if you promise you’ll pay attention to him when you’re done.

you’re not sure why his emotions are so heightened with you. he's quite calm and reserved with other people if he wants to be, but around you it’s like any response from you that can be deemed slightly negative will have his poor little heart breaking.

but it seems like it’s not just bad things that will have him crying. you realize that he cries when he’s overwhelmed, too.

the first time choso cries in bed is when you’re riding him into the mattress, hands holding each of his bigger ones beside his head so he doesn’t grab you and flip you onto your back. it’s hard to tell who’s moaning louder; what with how he’s squirming underneath you and crying out each time your pussy swallows every inch of him.

he clings onto you, overstimulated by your pussy milking his cock. he’s already cum inside you since he couldn’t hold it, not with how good you feel around him, and you’re making a mess, your hole spreading his cream along the length of his dick. his cock is so sensitive from recently cumming and he’s not allowed to touch… hes just feeling so much at once and he can’t do anything but cry.

“shh cho, what’s wrong?” you fuss, slowing down the bouncing of your hips so you can focus on him.

he hiccups, cock pulsing inside you and leaking out more cum as you stay firm in place. “i… i wanna be closer,” he pleads through a hiccup, and lets out a noise of relief when you release his hands.

strong arms bracket around you and his forehead presses to yours so he can ensure the deepest eye contact possible while rutting up into you. you moan when his tip hits a soft sweet spot inside you, the new angle allowing his cock to press in deeper. "mm fuck-" you slur, hands curling in his hair while your mouth meets his in a sloppy kiss, both of you going in tongue first with nothing in your heads but making each other cum.

"ah- right there, baby..." he moans into your mouth, holding you tighter against him. "oh my gosh, i'm gonna..." choso pushes his mouth greedily back onto yours, his hands grabbing your ass and spreading them, giving him more room for him to shove his cock into you, pressing the tip to your womb when he bottoms out. you can feel him and all the cum pooling out of his dick flooding your stomach.

he lets out a fresh load, pulling you down so you it floods you. excess pools out from where the two of you are joined, and he helps you grind into his pelvis, rolling your clit into the thick patch of hair above his cock while your folds glide against his body. you cum quickly after, your orgasm causing you to tighten around him and wring more cum out of his dick. he's whining, whimpering and crying all throughout your shared orgasm, hugging you to him so you can't see the pathetic, pussydrunk look on his face.

you just make him so happy.

see more in my jjk masterlist

read more in my main masterlist

[elissis]

Modulo Yuji who tries to numb his loneliness with intimacy. He automatically visits you whenever he feels that dull ache in his heart, seeking the comfort in your arms.

Modulo Yuji who's experience far exceeds yours. He knows exactly where and how to touch you. After all, he's 83 year old despite his appearance. And he has all the time in the world.

Modulo Yuji who loves eating you out. It's his favorite thing to do. He takes his time. Unhurried, his tongue laps at your folds. He slowly unravels you, his hands that are able to dismantle thousands of curses in a second hold your thighs apart, gentle yet firm. Those eyes are fully focused on you as his mouth sucks on your clit, taking his sweet time with you.

Modulo Yuji who makes you cry from how good it feels. He relishes in your taste, wanting this moment to last forever. He doesn't want to be anywhere else but with his head between your legs. His long fingers pump in and out, knowing just where to curl to make you gasp.

Modulo Yuji who knows how to make you squirt. He loves doing it. The first time you started apologizing, he couldn't help but smile. It was a first time he smiled in a long, long time. At his old age, did you really thought he wouldn't find it the most appealing thing ever? How adorable.

Modulo Yuji who's obsessed with making you cum. He drawls your orgasms, feeling you fall apart so beautifully. He can't get enough. He wants more. How greedy of him. He doesn't think he deserves it anymore, yet you indulge him. So he gladly dives back in.

Modulo Yuji who wants more even after you came. Your pussy is still sensitive from your last orgasm when his tongue licks a long stripe against your slick skin. You try to push his head away with a whine. You look at him and see that his tired and detached expression is nowhere to be seen. He looks content. Happy, even. There is a hunger in his eyes that gives you goosebumps. So how could you not let him? This man has been through hell. Perhaps one more wouldn't hurt, would it.

Modulo Yuji who smiles, praise coming from his lips that get busy with you once again. You both know it won't be just one more. You have the strongest completely and utterly addicted. Itadori Yuji is forever grateful for such an angel you are. And as you shake and cry, for the first time he thinks that maybe the immortality isn't so bad.

[himezoro]

₊˚⊹♡ what started as a loose promise became satoru gojo's sole purpose in life!

because he was already commited to you the second you intertwined your pinky finger around his, saying how you two would get married if by age 30, you both were single.

well, to be more exact, his commitment to you rose right when he met you in high school, but that is a story for another time.

so, satoru gojo's purpose was quite naturally easy: sabotaging all the relationships you would engage in until your 30th birthday.

a mission he was also the strongest in, obviously.

your prom date hasn't shown up? oh that's so sad, little did you know the white-haired man hugging your sorrow away on the dancefloor was the one who locked him in the toilets, after forcing down a laxative.

your college sweetheart baked you a cake with nuts, forgetting your allergies? oh that's such a shame, satoru swore he told him to pay attention! what kind of boyfriend would forget such important information? lucky you, satoru happened to pass by your favorite pastry and brought 20 of them... along with antihistamine.

your boyfriend cheated on you? oh what a jerk, he didn't deserve you anyway! that night he spent cuddling you and adoringly kissing the top of your head... the proof of his payment to a comedian paid to seduce your ex still in his mail-box.

your tinder date's car got trashed and couldn't make it? oh how convenient, didn't he say he had it stored in his fancy garage? well, it wasn't safe from gojo's hollow purple. lucky for you, satoru just happened to be in the area and joigned you for dinner and paid all the tables so the place was booked just for the two of you.

so when the clocked ticked midnight the day of your 30th birthday, satoru swore he never felt higher in his entire existence.

he couldn't control his excitement to finally make you his and be yours. god did this hourglass take long, but the savor of the fantasy coming true felt like every grain of sand was worth it.

especially when his lips crashed on yours at 00:01, after his frantics knocks on your door got you to urgently open. his kiss was smiling, his warm hands tenderly cupping both of your cheeks, his thumbs drawing loving circles as your lips moved accordingly in a welcoming and awaiting tango.

looking in your eyes, satoru purred, his lips still hovering yours.

"happy 30, wifey.~"

if satoru thought he was subtle for the last ten years, he has never been more mistaken...

...for you had done the same for him.~

himezoro! © divider by @/enchanthings + @/cursed-carmine !

a/n: i hope you liked the fluff omg he's just a childish yearning goofball-

[blkkizzat]

"AND IF YA LET EM HIT FOR FREE—U HELLA DUMB-DA-DUMB-DUMB!"

                                          ✺ 9-Part Series ┆ Part 2 ✺

summary.it’s a good thing you’re 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝!𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮’s favorite—anyone else would’ve been handled by now. but instead of taking these sacks to the face like a good girl, you let that slick mouth land you in a 420 wager with a kingpin. think you can actually deliver? well you better get to hustlin’, bunny.

cw. 𝓶𝓭𝓷𝓲. college au. jjk men x plug!reader. smut. bimbo!reader. reader is for the ~streets~. drugs. reader pet names: bunny. age gaps. inappropriate relationships. very casual sex and situationships. this part: brat taming, mating press, nasty suguru, high sex, piv, drug mentions. [wc: 5.2K] an. happy new years babes! hope you enjoy this series! [art creds: FNF87 & Kuro Gal a La Carte]

Plug!Reader who never leaves Druglord!Suguru’s warehouse with just a backpack full of weed—he always makes sure you're stuffed with something extra, too.

You know the drill by now, it’s practically ritual—the entrance through the back alley, the silent nod from whoever’s working the door, the walk through the warehouse straight to Suguru.

Druglord!Suguru whose aesthetic screams he not only runs this city, but the whole damn world—black button-down pressed to perfection, sleeves rolled to the elbow to show off the twin snake tattoos coiled around his forearms and a thick icy white-gold cuban link around is neck. He’s seated calmly at a steel table, double-checking the weight of some white powder you’re never allowed to touch, much less move.

His sharp eyes flick up, smirking like he’s surprised to see you—even though you show up at the same time every week.

Still, Suguru always makes time for his Bunny. Always offers to smoke you out.

Because of course he does.

You’re his favorite lil’ drug runner, after all.

Suguru leads you deeper into the warehouse, past humming money counters and more cutting tables, before the two of you start climbing the metal stairs—your short pleated cheer skirt swaying, varsity hoodie bunched at your waist, like this is just some campus field trip and not a weekly pickup worth a few grand in green.

Upstairs is part narco showroom, part luxury trap house.

Stainless steel counters gleam under spotlight strips. Vacuum-sealed bricks stacked with military precision. Rows of jars and labeled containers.

A fully stocked bar. Pool table. Card table.

And smack in the middle of it all: a California king bed with black satin sheets—bold enough to face a 90-inch TV with surround sound, like Suguru’s ever had to bother with the ‘Netflix’ part before getting to the ‘chill.’

Likewise, Suguru doesn’t have to say a word.

You already know where to go.

However, Suguru always gives you a choice.

While he’s loading up your bag, you can sit at the bar if you’re not down—he’ll even toss you a nug for the road, no questions asked.

But you always choose the bed anyway. Crossing the room to sit, legs folded all pretty-like, expression bored—like you’re counting down the minutes until you can leave. Pretending you’re not playing by his rules and you wouldn’t uncross your legs for him with a mere look.

Like you have no idea what’s coming next.

You do.

It’s all part of the game.

What isn’t a game, though, is the intensity of the bong hit you just took when Suguru finally returns—tossing your bag aside and dropping onto the bed beside you. It always feels like a truck slammed into your lungs, the sear promising an even bigger high. Like clockwork, one pull and you’re already melting into the sheets. Your body thrums, your vision softens at the edges, breath ragged from coughing.

Suguru’s shit always has that effect, potent and paralyzing. He’s the best, and the only, distributor in the area for that reason. 

And still?

It holds no candle to the high you get off Suguru’s cock.

You tell yourself this time, like you do everytime—that this is the last time—the last hit, the last fuck, the last time you let him put you on your back and rearrange your guts like you’re some little plushie toy he can press into shape. 

That you’d be stronger this time and resist falling-in even deeper with the kingpin.

“HAH—Fucccck! S-Sugu!”

Oopsie. 

Welp—too late now.

Because right now?

You’re ass naked in Suguru’s inky sheets while he looms over you, folding you like origami into the filthiest mating press known to man—ass lifted, tits pressed into your ribs, knees brushing your ears.

Toes scrabble uselessly at the sheets bunched near your head, hands digging into your own thighs for leverage, though all that really does is hold you open. Exposed, twitching and helpless Suguru molds your body like you were made for this: to be split open and gasping underneath him.

Druglord!Suguru who grins wickedly—sweat trailing down his inked throat as his Cuban link swings and gleams above you, catching the light with every thrust.

“NGHH...FUH!”

Your moans spill out in broken little gasps—barely even words now—just pathetic noises from the way Suguru’s fucking you stupid, each ruthless clap of his hips knocking the little sense you do have right out of you.

Thank fuck for pilates and cheer—otherwise, your spine would’ve snapped in two by now.

Even so, the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely is the weed flooding your system—your high rolling in thick and heavy.

Your muscles melt into warm goo, sparking your hypersensitive skin like a tripwire. Every shift of air sends shivers skating down your spine, each one crashing into the next.

Your eyes are punched so deep into their sockets—like the rest of your guts—you certainly wouldn't see it if something did snap under the force of Suguru’s hips slamming into you.

Suguru knows your body too well by now—knows exactly what strain to lace your lungs with. The kind of indica that drapes you in heat and keeps you pinned, helpless, while every deep drag of his cock lights you up from the inside out.

Even high himself, Suguru moves like someone vibrating on another plane of existence. The sativa blazing through him like a current only sharpens his focus to an unnatural degree. His movements are too clean, each penetrating thrust calculated—like he’s studying the way your pussy squeezes around him each time just so he could ruin it better with the next thrust.

That’s why the very second your body starts adjusting to the rhythm?

Suguru changes it. He always does.

One moment he’s pounding into you like he’s trying to fuck through the mattress—and the next, he’s grinding lazy, maddening circles deep in your cunt. The head of his cock, dragging heavy against your walls, rolls up to lodge next to your womb in a brutal wave that crests with the nastiest smooch onto the opening of your cervix.

No matter the pace though, you’re still left gasping for air.

Suguru’s so deep, it feels like he’s fucking into your throat.

Wait—or maybe that’s just the phantom sensations from earlier when he nested himself in your throat, the throb of his girth still haunting your vocal cords. 

Hard to tell anymore.

Of course, none of it would be half as overwhelming if Suguru wasn't so psychotically entrapping you with soul-piercing, unblinking eye contact—like he’s sadistically savoring every second of you unraveling on his cock.

The sheer intensity of fucking the druglord while high would be terrifying… if it wasn’t such a goddamn turn-on in itself.

He always fucks you with the desperation of a man getting his last taste of pussy before a 30-year RICO sentence.

“Fuckin’ s'tight, fuck!”  Suguru growls, his sultry voice dripping heat straight into your core. 

Every prominent vein of his cock carves itself along your walls, mapping out the trail of your utter ruin.

“Takin’ me so well pretty girl—always coming back to Daddy—begging me for more…cause Daddy knows just the way she likes it, yes?” 

You try to answer but all that comes out is a thin, pitiful whine. It's all too much—from how hard Suguru’s grip is bruising your ankles, half-crescents digging into your soft flesh—to his balls sharply smacking into your ass, bouncing droplets off onto the sheets with every thrust. 

“What’s that? You like how I fuck you?” 

Is he serious!? Was that supposed to be a rhetorical question?!?! 

“S-Suuuu—guu-rgh!”

You barely manage even that, choking on your own moans. You’re down to single syllables now.

Suguru leans in, pace not slowing for a second, as he breathes warm puffs against your cheek before licking a drop of sweat off your skin—the sweat he dragged out of you.

Suguru’s the one doing all the work, but your body feels completely wrung out from the mere effort of taking it. Every single muscle in your body trembles under the fury of his cock.

“Shhhhh, Bunny.”

You’d talked out of turn and you didn’t even realize it.

Suguru doesn’t allow insubordination but he’s satisfied given the utterly ruined state you’re in nonetheless.

It's his doing after all.

“Me and this pretty pussy are talking now, baby. You know better than to interrupt Daddy when he’s handling business.”

And right now? She is the business.

Your pussy finally speaks up, she's doing all the talking now—gripping him tight like she knows the filth’s for her. Every wet suck and squelch gets louder, messier, needier—like she’s desperate to make a sloppy little scene just to keep him happy.

You know Suguru’s close too when that iron control of his starts to slip—just barely, but enough to feel it.

His stare falters, his cock gives a dangerous twitch and his thrusts stutter as he tries to keep from busting right then and there. He groans low, jaw clenched, like he’s trying to fuck the orgasm back down into his balls so he can ruin you for even longer.

“That right, pretty pussy, tell me more.”

You don’t have to though, he can already feel it.

“Tell Daddy more about how good his cock makes his lil’ stoner slut feel.”

Suguru breathes out a dark chuckle when you seize around him, licking lazily across your swollen, spit-slick lips—right before he slams into you again with a brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

Your head spins. You’re too folded up to breathe deep, thighs cramping from how long he’s had you bent in half, ribcage crushed under your own legs.

Whatever scraps of sanity you had left are long gone. You can’t even hold back your cries now—not that you’re trying. The whole damn warehouse could probably hear the way he’s wrecking your poor little cunt. Not that it matters.

They’ve heard it all before.

Just another weekly reminder of exactly who this pussy belongs to.

“Hnnnngh!”

The next brutal smack of your bodies colliding finally pushes you over the edge.

Everything fractures—sound, light, the entire room blurring into searing white heat as euphoria floods your system. Your body trembles violently as your orgasm surges like a tidal wave before crashing, dragging you under to drown in overstimulated ecstasy.

Desperate to ground yourself, your hands reach blindly, tangling in Suguru’s sweat-slick hair. Raven strands cling to your knuckles as you fist the back of his scalp and yank him into you—lips crashing against his.

The tug of your fingers, the bittersweet taste of your tongue—still tinged with the spunk he so generously fed you earlier—and the way your gooey core is practically melting his cock off... it’s all enough to finally send him over the edge.

With a deep, heady growl, Suguru breaks the kiss, spilling inside you. Thick pulses of heat flood your cunt, his cock twitching as he empties dredges of cum inside you in slow, aching spurts.

Suguru doesn’t pull out right away. He just stays there—buried deep—forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling, cock lazily sloshing in the mess he made of your guts.

His gaze stays fixed on you, unbroken, savoring the way you melt for him as his hands knead your jelly‑soft legs, patiently working the feeling back into them and he gently unfolds you.

When Suguru finally pulls out, he collapses beside you with a grunt, chest rising and falling in quick, heavy breaths. One arm slings across your waist—like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

Your highs have neither of you moving for any immediate aftercare, that all could wait.

A small sated sigh leaves you summon enough will to drag the previously discarded sheet over your shoulders like you just survived something heroic. Which, honestly, you kinda did. Your hips are definitely going to hate you at cheer practice later.

But that was a future you problem.

Nuzzling against Suguru, you release a sigh that’s half purr, half yawn. Ready to get some well earned zzz’s. 

High-after-sex naps really are the best.

You're just starting to drift when—

“I know you aren’t trying to nap when you know you have class in an hour, Bunny—Get up.”

Suguru’s unimpressed tone slices through your haze, denying you your sleep.

You groan and roll your eyes under your lids, not bothering to open them. Your first instinct is to be a brat about it—but honey always works better than vinegar. 

Time for plan B. 

Whimpering sweetly and clinging to Suguru tighter, you bury your face in his chest with a dramatic little pout.

“Are you tired of me already?” you mumble, voice muffled. “Tryna kick me out before your next cheerleader plug gets here, Sugu?”

You tilt your face up to look at him, batting your lashes with your best doe-eyed look—even if your eyes are still bloodshot.

But Suguru isn’t moved by your tricks.

“Nah, never, Bunny. I only have the patience for one bratty slut—I’m just not tryna be responsible for you flunking out.”

Urgh.

You fling the sheets over your head, refusing to move.

Okay… so maybe you have been skipping one too many classes. 

And maybe Suguru is the main reason you’re currently dragging a C in Biology.

And normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck. He doesn’t typically micromanage your life, so long as it doesn’t interfere with his.

But you’d made the dumbass mistake of letting him see your text to a friend about failing a couple midterms. Ever since then, he’s been on your ass about school—threatening to withhold dick, even dangling your plug status, like it’s some academic award for good performance.

Which you can’t even tell him to fuck off over either. 

Why?

Well, the gag is it's Druglord!Suguru whose the one paying for your entire tuition in the first place. 

Ever since you helped patch him up one day (he was walking around with a shallow stab wound and refused to go to the hospital), he said you had a knack for it and wanted you to be his personal nurse. Telling you to switch your sociology major to nursing and he'd pay for it all—back loans too.

You’d laughed at first, but he wasn’t joking.

Apparently, he’s got Shoko as a doctor on call, but she refuses to get involved in his cartel shit unless he’s literally on death’s door.

So now you’re his backup plan—his personal on-call plug-nurse-situationship.

“Don’t wanna! Today isn’t even a lab. It’s just a dumb lecture. I can catch the recording ya know!” you whine petulantly.

Especially after how hard he just fucked you.

Suguru’s bed is warm, the weed is still swirling in your system, and your body feels like it was steamrolled. Even if you wanted to move… yeah. 

No.

Not happening.

But Suguru doesn’t give two shiny fucks about your excuses. He answers you with a stinging smack across your already sore hips.

“FUCK—ow, Sugu! Quit it!”

You finally uncover your head, a bratty frown on your lips—though it melts quickly into something a little more sultry as you kiss his chest, lips brushing the faded ink on his sternum.

In a last ditch effort, your fingers drift lower, feather-light down the ridges of his abs. You feel them flex under your touch. He’s still high, still sensitive. You know damn well what your hands can do to him right now.

“Mmmmm, but Daddyyy,” you coo, tongue flicking up his neck to his lips, peppering kisses over the hard line of his mouth. “...You could teach me way more about biology right here.”

You start to slide lower, determined to make your case.

When Suguru suddenly sits up, firm and unbothered. He peels you off of him with all the effort it takes to brush lint off a jacket.

And then comes the look. The Scarface one.

Motherfuck.

Yeah… you’re not winning this.

That doesn't mean you have to like it though.

You let out a huffy little breath, arms crossing tight under your chest.

“Fine. I’ll go,” you grumble, already pouting. “...But I’m not going sober.”

You toss him a side glance, defiant to the end. “You still got some of that special Sour Diesel? Roll me a few for the walk back to campus since you wanna kick me out so bad.”

Suguru shakes his head with a chuckle—of course his spoiled little Bunny had the nerve to ask for some of his personal stash, grown by his own hands in his private hothouse, like it was nothing.

“Yeah, sure Bun…”

Suguru swings his legs off the bed and reaches for his slacks, pulling them on. There’s a smirk tugging at his mouth when he looks back at you.

“Though, not like I don’t already give you enough of my shit for free—but yeah. If it gets your bratty ass to class? I’ll roll the good shit.”

Pause.

For free?

Did this man say for free?!

He could at least have the decency to give you a few premium joints for the road if he was going to fuck all the feeling out of your legs. How exactly were you supposed to walk to class like this?

Heated, before Suguru could even stand up straight, you grab him and yank him back onto the bed.

“Oh, and just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you screech.

Climbing onto his lap, your palm lays flat against his chest, glaring down at him like you’re ready to square up, deadly druglord be damned.

“Like a recovery joint after you fucked my legs numb isn’t a fair trade?!””

Suguru laughs outright, deep and amused, clearly enjoying how fired up you are.

He looks at you like a smug owner eyeing his favorite bratty kitten, giving your bare ass a few soft, patronizing pats that only fuels your fire.

Suguru really can’t believe how clueless you are sometimes—but then again, he didn’t start fucking you for your brains—as a testament to your slipping grades.

But Suguru’s smart enough not to say that out loud—unless he wanted you to swing on him for real.

Which would only end one way: him having to fuck the brat out of you all over again. And clearly, judging by that mouth on you—he didn’t do a thorough enough job the first time.

If it came to that? Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t be making it to class.

Not for the rest of the week at least.

“It means,” Suguru says calmly, arms sliding around your waist, “that you’re lucky that sweet lil’ pussy of yours grips like Harambe did the kid.”

Gagged, your entire face falls flat.

“Otherwise,” he continues easily, “I wouldn’t be lettin’ a bratty stoner bunny like you smoke up all the product you’re supposed to be sellin’.”

“Geto Suguru!” you snap, using his full government as you push away from him to cross your arms.

“Are you actually fucking serious right now?!”

Suguru's grin widens. “As a heart-attack.”

Pulling you back to him, his hands settle on your hips as his eyes flit over you with that patronizing, sexy smolder that makes it really hard to stay mad. 

You have to actively remind yourself not to kiss him. Not to let this slide and immediately fold.

Because sure, you like to light one up as much as the next stressed out college student.

And maybe—just maybe—you skim a little off the top now and then. Just a nug here, a gram there. Nothing major.

BUT—you always sell, like… 99.9% of the shit he gives you.

No way the big-time narco god, Geto Suguru, is seriously tripping over some kief crumbs.

“Bunny, baby,” Suguru drawls, “you’re always coming back with a lighter stack. You seriously think I don’t count my money? Even from you?”

Bristling you chew your lip. Suguru’s tone is amused but there's a threat simmering underneath. 

Your jaw tightens, mind racing over the possibilities of what he could be talking about.

Okay… so being 100% real, maybe you weren't really counting things like you should be and a few bills disappeared. It’s not like you were pocketing it for yourself!

The real problem is that Suguru’s a major hardass about zero-digital footprints.

No Venmo. No Cash App. No exceptions.

Which leaves you hauling around wads of sweaty crumpled bills thick enough to shame a stripper.

“That’s the point,” he’d once said, smirking. “Stripping’s the perfect cover for a pretty lil’ bimbo like you if you ever get stopped.”

Please. As if you’d ever get caught. 

No one ever suspects the bubbly cheerleader to be a walking dispensary. 

Perfectly discreet.

And the math… well. Math’s never really been your strong suit, which is just all the more reason Suguru should let you be the exception!

“Business that bad, Suguru?” you say, with sass as you attempt to push him away for good this time and get up. 

You’re so done with this conversation. 

“Didn’t know you’d get so twisted over a couple missing twenties.”

Unfortunately—Suguru’s not done yet, not by a long shot.

His arms tighten around you, fast as solid muscle locks you in. Suguru hauls you against his chest, squeezing right to the point before it actually starts hurting you for real, making you look up at him. 

His mask slips just enough to show something colder underneath, something far dangerous he tries to keep hidden from you.

“Twenties?” Suguru repeats, lowly, nearly purring. “Oh, sweet girl. Try hundreds.”

Hundreds?! 

You gulp. Well, shit.

Were you really shorting him hundreds each time!?

Your stomach sinks. No wonder he thinks you’re smoking up his supply instead of selling it. You’d almost rather he think that you were some ditzy pothead than assume you’re skimming cash on purpose.

You know what he does to the people who cross him.

You knew better. And so did he. You didn’t need to steal anyway—you had his black card, and you could fuck nearly anything else out of him, if you really wanted it.

“You’re fuckin’ up my books, lil’ stoner Bunny…”

Your attention snaps back to Suguru, and for a split second the dangerous glint in his eyes sends a chill down your spine.

But just as fast—it’s gone. Like it was never there. The storm clears on command, the kind of break-neck control that always makes you wonder how an actual human could manage.

The heaviness in the room lightens instantly as Suguru releases his hold on you, hands returning to the bed as he cocks his head with a chuckle, returning to his laid back charm.

“But like I said.” Suguru muses, “I like you. And that crazy wet cunt of yours. S’all good, Bunny. We’re straight.”

His fingers stroke the top of your head, petting you like he didn’t just threaten you a breath ago. You tense at first, still reeling from his Jekyll and Hyde routine.

But Suguru just laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, all warmth and indulgence—like a man reassuring his favorite pet after a scolding.

“I stopped counting your numbers toward quota a long time ago anyway,” he adds with a shrug. “Business is good—so I can afford to let you play around with a few stacks every month.”

Your pride flares instantly, though your voice comes out smaller than usual, your hurt apparent.

“Play around?” you pout. “You act like I’m just some bimbo with a backpack, Suguru. I run that campus for you!"

“That you do, Bun,” Suguru says, hiding his smirk behind a look of appeasement.

He doesn’t bother explaining the full picture.

You don’t need to know he’s got other runners tucked around the outer edges of campus. You couldn’t cover the whole university alone, even if you tried. 

But Greek life, athletics, student dorms, even the occasional high-ranking faculty? Those are your zones.

Suguru didn’t put you there by accident. He knows discretion when he sees it. Knows a cute bubbly cheerleader with lashes and lip gloss could move more product through a frat house than five sketchy dealers in hoodies ever could.

Still, he can’t resist the adorable little pout on your lips now. You’re sulking—genuinely surprised you came up that short, so naive, that’s why he has to watch out for you like he does.

Suguru presses a second kiss, this one to your forehead, before pulling his discarded button-down over your head.

You melt automatically, arms around his neck, cheek against his shoulder as he stands, your legs hooking loosely around his waist for balance.

“Aw, don’t pout, princess,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles into your lower back. “You know I’d never lie to you—and the truth could never be a diss.”

Well, Suguru wouldn’t tell you a flat out lie. 

He absolutely lies by omission though, withholding plenty of information from you for your own safety—and plausible deniability. 

Sniffing petulantly, you can’t say he’s wrong. But you've never been the type to take an L quietly.

With you securely in his arms, Suguru walks you to the steel table near the edge of the loft. The surface of the cold industrial table bites at the bare skin of your thighs as he sets you down. You suck air through your teeth, adjusting the hem of his oversized button-down—practically a dress on you—as your legs swing lightly off the edge.

The air is thick with weed, tobacco, the warm cling of sweat from earlier as Suguru gets to work. You're lost in thought as you hear the dull scrape of metal as Suguru opens the grinder, the slow, unhurried thnk-thnk-thnk as he twists it. 

He rolls like he fucks—with just enough arrogance to remind you he’s the best at it—and everything else he does.

Suguru doesn’t look at you, but he feels the tension in the silence regardless.

However he is happy to let you stew.

And you do—chewing at your bottom lip and twisting the hem of his shirt around your finger, fuming in your seat. 

Letting him scold you was one thing.

But calling your business playtime?! 

Like you’re not out there moving serious weight between dorms, frat parties, and half the athletic department?

You know he doesn’t expect you to pay him back for the stacks you’ve supposedly gone “light” on.

You wouldn’t even be breathing right now if that was the case. 

But it's his cockiness and the utter arrogance of it all has you still heated.

You shift your gaze, “Say Suguru.. if I wanted to square up…”

Cigarette between his lips, Suguru glances at you through his lashes but says nothing and keeps rolling.

“…what would it take?”

He exhales, the smoke curling from his lips like a warning of his waning patience.

“Don’t start, Bunny.”

Pushing down the urge to recoil, you turn to face him defiantly, both hands landing on the hard metal table, heel nudging his thigh.

“So...six grand sound fair, Boss?”

Suguru's hands pause mid-roll, head tilting just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. One brow lifts slowly.

Then Suguru snorts, the low rasp of it wrapped around a cocky grin.

“You barely bring back two on a good week. Don’t tell me you’re planning on slanging ass behind the sciences building now?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, looking at him with the best serious look you can muster, trying to emulate him.

It’s a piss poor attempt that only has Suguru snickering as he ashes his cigarette and turns to you. in appraisal.

“Not that I don’t think the goods would sell, Bun—”

Suguru pats your leg with a lecherous grin.

”—but I'm known for pushing narcotics, not pussy—and I'd like to keep it that way”

Returning to his task, he licks the edge of the paper and rolls, dropping the finished joint into a baggie before moving onto the next. 

You close your eyes and take a deep exhale. Yoga breaths, inner peace and namaste, girl—do not take the bait! You know he wants you to mouth off so he can end this, but you won’t play by his rules this time.

You press on, too stubborn to just let it go.

“It’s 4/20 this Sunday, ya know! People are desperate, Sugu! I could charge double, easy—I’ll bring in six.” You lift your chin in confidence. “Three for the product, three extra—to pay back what I owe.”

Suguru leans back on his stool, arms crossed. The cigarette returns to dangle from his lips.

His eyes roam your face, reading every defiant flicker in it. You're just as stubborn as he is.

Head tipped in consideration, Suguru raises a brow. “And you’re serious?”

“As a heart-attack.”

You simper, throwing his words back at him, invigorated by the opportunity to prove yourself and prove Suguru wrong.

Touché, Suguru thinks, humming. He knows you won’t let it go—and it’s his fault for starting it in the first place.

There’s a brief silence before he exhales deeply, smoke blowing out of his nose as he's come to a decision.

“Alright,” Suguru says, exhaling. “Bet.”

“However…” Suguru's eyes thin into slits, “no selling off-campus.”

“Yup.” You nod.

“No digital payments.”

“Duh, Sugu.”

“And..” Suguru starts with a grin “No help from your little stoner boyfriend.”

You blink, frowning. Suguru knew he didn’t have you locked down by any means but he’d never actually brought up you seeing other guys before.

“Which ones?” you say flippantly, testing him.

He smirks. “Exactly.”

You roll your eyes, but you're smug despite yourself. The thrill of the bet is already stamped across your face—you’re already anticipating victory.

Suguru shakes his head with a smirk and tosses a baggie across the table. A half-dozen joints, wrapped in your favorite pink papers.

“Good luck, Bunny.”

His smile lingers, but his eyes darken just slightly.

“You’re gonna need it.”

You move to hop off the counter—only for his hand to stop you. Suguru grips high on your inner thigh, still moist with his seed.

“But if you come up short again, Bunny…” There’s a darkness surrounding his words, spoken like a true druglord. “If I don’t have my money by 4/20...”

Your breath stills.

"...then you'll really owe me." Suguru's mouth curves again, all lazy menace. "I’ve got something in mind too... just been waiting for the right time to get you to do it.”

Before your thoughts can spiral, Suguru shifts again—smooth as ever.

He leans in to kiss your thigh, ash falling from his cigarette with the motion.

“But if you win…” He shrugs with mock-casualness. “I’ll use that extra three grand to get you something nice. Maybe a few Agent Provocateur sets.”

Your eyes light up. “Forreal!?”

Suguru nods. He doubts you’ll make it—hell would probably have to freeze over—but he’s been wanting something from you for a while. 

This is just the perfect way to collect on that.

You scoop the ziplock bag as Suguru finally lets you hop off the table and get dressed.

Just a few extra racks. That’s all it’d take.

Then Suguru would see. You weren’t just a warm hole and a pretty face.

You are just as much about your fucking business as he is.

And you’d prove it.

Game on.

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an. will drop at least 1 PT a week! please lmk how u like it! any guess for if y/n gonna make it?

                           𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, 𝐱𝐨𝐱𝐨. 💋                            (accepting tag request ONLY on m.list)