⁺‧₊˚ 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://
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.
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.
₊˚⊹♡ 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...
"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.
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.
Waking up early is a curse Satoru usually avoids. The world's too quiet, too still, too full of space for thoughts he'd rather not have.
Today, he doesn't mind.
You're still asleep. That much is obvious from the way you're sprawled across his chest, one leg thrown over his, hair a disaster he can feel against his chin. Your hand is fisted in his shirt like you're worried he'll escape while you're unconscious.
He won't.
He shifts, just slightly, and your grip tightens. Even in sleep, you're possessive. The thought makes him smile into the dim morning light.
Forty minutes. He's been awake for forty minutes, watching the gray turn gold through the curtains, feeling your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. He could move. Should, probably. His back is starting to complain about the angle and there's coffee to be made, emails to ignore, a whole world waiting for him to be Gojo again.
Instead he traces lazy patterns on your shoulder, feather-light, and watches your face.
You make a noise. Something soft, displeased, and your nose wrinkles like you're arguing with someone in a dream. He wants to know who. Wants to find them and fight them, probably, which is ridiculous because it's a dream and he's Gojo Satoru and he doesn't get jealous of imaginary people.
He does, though. A little.
The sun climbs higher and he keeps watching. Catalogues the way your eyelids flutter, the faint part of your lips, the absolutely unfair softness of you right now. No guard. No performance. Just... you.
He could take a photo. Should, for blackmail.
His hand stills on your shoulder and he doesn't reach for his phone.
You're starting to wake up. He can feel it in the tension creeping into your limbs, the change in your breathing, the way your forehead furrows like you're trying to remember what consciousness feels like. He should look away. Pretend he was asleep too, or bored, or literally anything other than completely absorbed in watching you exist.
He doesn't.
Your eyes crack open.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The first thing you register is warmth. A solid chest beneath your cheek, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, arms loose around your back like you're wrapped in something too good to be true.
The second thing is the staring.
You force your eyes open and immediately want to close them again. Everything's too bright, edges blurred, and there's a shape looming over you that takes several blinks to resolve into anything human.
Satoru. Propped on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression that's half grin, half something softer.
"Morning," he says.
You squint at him. Your eyes feel gummy, your brain feels like it's wading through syrup, and you know without looking that your hair is doing something unfortunate. You probably look like roadkill.
He probably looks like he was carved by angels.
"Stop," you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"Can't help it." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering. "You're very look-at-able right now."
"I'm very what?"
"All squinty and confused. Like a cat that just got woken up from a nap." He demonstrates, squinting dramatically and wrinkling his nose. "'Where am I? Who are you? Is this reality?'"
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do." He drops the expression, smiling softer now. "It's cute."
You groan and try to bury your face in his chest, but he catches your chin, gentle, keeping you where he can see you. His thumb traces your jawline, and his eyes have gone serious in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away. "Just... looking."
"For how long?"
He shrugs, all casual innocence. "Awhile."
"How long's awhile?"
"Long enough to notice you drool a little."
"I do not—"
"You do." He's grinning again, all teeth, and you feel your face go hot. "It's okay. I still like you."
"You suck."
"Mm." He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. "But you like me anyway."
You don't answer. Can't, really, not with him this close, morning — soft and unexpectedly tender. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there's something there, something he isn't saying, something that makes your chest ache in the best way.
"Go back to sleep," he says quietly.
"You just said I drool."
"And I meant it affectionately." He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side again. "Thirty more minutes. Then I'll make you coffee and you can yell at me properly."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, and you hear him take a breath like he's memorizing this too. "Now close your eyes. You're ruining my view."
"Your view of what?"
He doesn't answer. Just holds you tighter, and you feel his lips curve against your hair.
"Sleep," he says. "Or I'll tell everyone about the drooling."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
You close your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and let the warmth of him pull you back under.
Maybe you didn't hate mornings that much.
A/N. part 14 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!
