Bia

"Having nothing left to say and continuing to write is a crime. Because you have no right to continue writing if you have nothing to say." 19 | F

[tetsuissohot]

DRABBLES

Lice?! JJk Men as Dads JJK Men as Dads pt.2

Toji Fushiguro

Nanami Kento

Second Chances in The Shadows part 1

Second Chances in The Shadows part 2

Shut up, Darling +18

Choso Kamo

Do you prefer Running or Riding? +18

More will come soon!

Last updated: 04/10/2025

(day/month/year)

[tetsuissohot]

JJK MEN as DADS - drabble

☆summary. first day of back-to-school of their teen kids - each character has a different scenario.

☆warning/tags: all the kids have a mom, jjk men as dads, fluff, teen issues

☆word count: 2.31K

☆a/n: I had so much fun writing this cute drabble! I hope you can awwww like I did!

Nanami Kento | Gojo Satoru | Toji Fushiguro | Choso Kamo | Shiu Kong

Finally back to school

It’s early. Too damn early for Toji to be awake, and that alone puts him in a foul mood. He’s standing by the front door, arms crossed, holding a simple dark-blue backpack that looks small in his hands, but it’s just the right size for his son, Megumi.

“Wanna be any slower?” Toji mutters sarcastically, letting out a deep sigh. He’s been awake for fifteen minutes and already lost his patience. Toji could be many things, but patient was never one of them.

Megumi finally emerges from the hallway, tugging at his socks as he walks. He nearly stumbles but recovers quickly, brushing it off like nothing happened.

“Chill, I was just brushing my teeth, old man,” the fifteen-year-old says, voice casual and unbothered.

Toji clenches his jaw at the nickname. He can’t really argue — it’s not like he’s getting any younger.

“Just put on your damn shoes and grab your backpack,” he orders.

“You know I can walk to school by myself, right? I’m not a kid anymore,” Megumi complains as he shoves his feet into his sneakers.

“Your mom asked me to drive you on the first day, and that’s what I’m gonna do,” Toji shoots back without missing a beat.

Megumi takes the backpack from his father’s hands, slinging it over his shoulder. “You’re scared of her, huh?” he chuckles.

Toji quirks a brow. “You’re not?”

“…Yeah,” Megumi admits, and the two of them share a rare laugh as they step out of the house together.

When Megumi goes to open the passenger seat door, Toji stops him.

“Wait.” Toji pulls his phone from his pocket. “Your mom ordered me to take a picture of your first day.”

Megumi groans, arms crossing, face already annoyed as Toji points the phone at him.

“Look happy,” Toji grumbles.

“I’m not happy to go back to school,” Megumi fires back.

“I am. Finally won’t have you bothering me all the damn time.” Toji laughs at his own joke as he snaps the picture.

The car ride to school is unusually quiet. Megumi doesn’t even put on his headphones, which surprises Toji. Maybe the kid was hoping to talk, maybe not, but Toji doesn’t push.

When they pull up to the front of the school, Megumi reaches for the door handle, but Toji stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Have a good first day of school, you little shit.”

Megumi doesn’t crack a smile, but he nods. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” Toji’s voice softens slightly. “If you need anything… or don’t feel well, call me. I’ll be here to pick you up.”

Megumi doesn’t answer right away, but there’s the faintest flicker in his eyes before he finally slips out of the car.

Home before 10

“Smile,” Nanami says gently as he lifts his phone and snaps a photo of his daughter standing in front of their house. She’s holding a handmade sign decorated with colorful doodles that reads: First Day of 10th Grade.

She beams wide for the picture. “Mom really went all out when making this,” she laughs, giving the paper a playful shake before hurrying to the car. Nanami waits, his expression calm but faintly amused, and follows her. She slides into the passenger seat, still smiling, while he starts the engine.

The morning sun paints the street golden as they pull out of the driveway. The air in the car is comfortable, filled with the light chatter that always comes so easily between them.

“I can’t wait to tell Nobara about our summer trip to Malaysia!” she says excitedly, her voice bubbling over. “She’s gonna freak when she sees the pictures.”

Nanami glances at her from the corner of his eye, the smallest curve tugging at his lips. “You certainly took enough photos for that,” he remarks dryly.

She giggles, leaning back in her seat. After a pause, her tone shifts to something more cautious — like she’s testing the waters.

“Oh, Dad- by the way…” She fiddles with the strap of her bag. “Can I go out after school? Itadori wants to watch this movie that just came out. I’ll be home early, promise! It’s just- well... it’s been so long since he and I had a date…”

Nanami keeps his eyes on the road, though the corners of his mouth twitch. He doesn’t respond right away, making her squirm in her seat.

“Please?” she adds, voice softening into that practiced tone kids use when they know they’re asking for something big.

He finally exhales, a sound caught between a sigh and a chuckle. “You’re lucky I know him well enough to trust him.” His voice is even, but there’s an undercurrent of warmth. “Be responsible. Home before ten.”

Her face lights up instantly. “Thank you, Dad!”

“Mm. You’ll thank me by keeping your word.”

They fall into an easy rhythm again, chatting about her class schedule, the teachers she hopes to avoid, and the new sneakers she convinced her mom to buy last week. Nanami mostly listens, responding with quiet nods or a dry remark here and there, but his daughter knows better, his silence always means he’s paying close attention.

When they arrive at school, he pulls into the drop-off lane and puts the car in park. She’s halfway out the door before he calls her name.

She pauses, leaning back in.

“Have a good first day,” he says simply, his tone steady but warm in a way only she can recognize.

She smiles at him, smaller, softer than before. “I will. Love you, Dad.”

Nanami nods once, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watches her disappear into the crowd of students. He doesn’t pull away until he’s sure she’s inside.

No more fighting

Choso leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching his son lazily tie his sneakers. The boy moves at his own pace, clearly in no rush to face the first day of 10th grade.

“Listen,” Choso begins, voice even but firm, “you need to do better this year. No more fights.”

His son groans without looking up. “Dad…”

“I’m serious.” Choso pushes off the counter, stepping closer. “You got yourself suspended right before the year ended last time. That’s not happening again.”

The teenager finally looks up, eyes defensive but honest. “They wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“Who?”

“You know. That girl in my math class.” He pulls at the laces of his sneakers a little too hard, muttering, “They wouldn’t stop making fun of her. Just because she’s chubby. It was every day.”

Choso studies him, jaw tightening. He understands his son’s anger, but he also knows the cost of letting it control him.

“I get it,” Choso says quietly. “But you can’t throw punches every time someone opens their mouth. That’s not protecting anyone. You’ve got to be smarter than that.”

His son frowns, clearly unsatisfied with the advice. “So I should just let them talk?”

“No.” Choso shakes his head. “You stand up for people, but with your words first. Show them they’re wrong without giving the school an excuse to punish you instead. You’re stronger than them, but that doesn’t mean you always have to fight.”

The boy slumps back in his chair, sighing. “It’s just… she didn’t deserve it. She’s nice.” He hesitates, glancing at his dad before quickly looking away. “Really nice.”

Choso arches an eyebrow, recognizing the shift in tone. “…You like her.”

The tips of his son’s ears go pink. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Choso allows the smallest smile to slip through. “She must be special if you’re getting into trouble for her.”

His son groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we not talk about this?”

Choso chuckles softly, ruffling his son’s hair as he passes by. “Fine. But do me a favor, don’t let her see you in the principal’s office again this year. Show her you’re more than just a hothead.”

The boy mutters under his breath, “Yeah, yeah…” but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

Choso grabs his keys, heading for the door. “Come on. First day of school. Let’s try to make it past September without suspension this time.”

“Deal,” his son says with a smirk, grabbing his backpack as he follows.

Am I embarrassing?

“Alright, kiddo, stand right there!” Gojo says as he squats on the front lawn, phone in hand. His son is already groaning, clutching his brand-new backpack like it’s a shield.

“Dad, can we not do this?”

“Excuse me?” Gojo gasps, dramatically pressing a hand over his chest. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t want a once-in-a-lifetime, perfectly curated, super aesthetic, future-frame-worthy photo of your very first day back at school?”

“It’s literally 10th grade,” his son mutters.

Gojo ignores the sass, circling him like a paparazzo. “Okay, give me serious model energy. Now tilt your chin up. Perfect. Love it. Now show me those pearly whites.”

The boy deadpans into the camera as he sighs.

Click.

Gojo beams at his phone. “Not bad. Could go on the ‘Gram. Need to think of a caption tho...”

His son lunges. “Don’t you dare!”

Gojo laughs and darts out of reach, easily dodging the tackle. “Relax, kid, you’ll thank me when you’re famous.”

By the time they get in the car, his son has his hood pulled tight over his head, sulking.

“You’ll ruin my rep,” he mumbles.

“Rep?” Gojo grins, starting the car. “What are you, in the mafia?”

“No, but people already think you’re embarrassing enough.”

Gojo gasps again, clutching the steering wheel as if wounded. “Traitor! After all I’ve done for you? Who taught you how to tie your shoes, huh?”

“…Mom.”

“Well... i teach other very important things. Do your friends really think I’m embarrassing?” Gojo asks a bit more seriously. He just wants to make his kid laugh and be a cool dad, so that statement worries him.  

His son finally cracks a smile, trying to hide it. “Why? You’re worried?” The boy notices the serious expression on his dad’s face and can’t help be feel a little bad. “They think you’re funny, but you still embarrass me...”

“That’s right,” Gojo says smugly. “That’s what being a dad is, embarrassing your kid. In a good way, I mean.”

When they pull up to the school, Gojo throws one last curveball.

“Wait!” He yanks. “Have a nice day today, text your mom during lunch, you know how she gets worried, and if you need anything, call me.”

His son just stares at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The kid gets out of the car and, before closing the door, speaks again, “See ya.”

Before driving off, Gojo turns down the window and dramatically waves goodbye, “Bye-bye, my little sunshine! Daddy loves youuuuu!”

His son hurries inside, face burning red, while Gojo cackles in the car.

Keep her company

“Alright, stand still,” Shiu says, holding his phone up. His son, fifteen, tall for his age, already looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, shifts uncomfortably in place. Beside him, his little sister, thirteen, forces a smile while holding the hand-painted sign their mom made: First Day of School!

Shiu takes a few pictures. “Good. Done.”

His daughter exhales like she’s been holding her breath. “Finally,” she mumbles, slipping the sign back inside the house.

As they head toward the car, Shiu’s sharp eyes catch the way her shoulders curl inward, how she fiddles with her sleeves. He doesn’t say anything until they’re all buckled in.

Once the engine hums to life, his voice fills the quiet. “Listen.” He glances at his son in the rearview mirror. “I want you to keep your sister company this year.”

The boy blinks. “What? She’s in middle school, I’m in high school. We don’t even have the same building.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Shiu’s tone leaves no room for argument. “If you’re on the same bus, you sit together. If you see her at lunch or in the hall, you check in. Got it?”

His daughter shifts uncomfortably in her seat, cheeks heating. “Dad, it’s fine…”

“It’s not fine,” Shiu cuts in, but gently. “You’ve been anxious about this all week.”

Her brother frowns, finally turning toward her. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates, eyes glued to her lap. “…My friends. Or… I guess they’re not my friends anymore.” She forces a laugh, but her voice wobbles. “They just… stopped talking to me this summer. Ignored all my texts. Pretended they were busy.”

The car falls quiet for a moment, only the steady sound of the road under them.

Her brother leans back, scowling. “That’s messed up. Why would they do that?”

“Because I’m… me.” She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but her voice is small. “Too quiet. Too boring. I don’t know.”

Shiu’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable. “People who drop you that easily aren’t worth your time. They’ll regret it later, trust me.”

Her brother snorts. “Yeah, seriously. Who ignores texts all summer? They sound like jerks.”

That earns the smallest smile from her. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” He nudges her shoulder gently. “If anyone gives you crap this year, tell me. I’ll handle it.”

Shiu gives him a sharp look through the mirror. “You’ll handle it without fighting.”

The boy raises his hands in mock defense. “Fine, fine. No fights. I’ll just… make sure she’s not sitting alone.” He glances at his sister again, voice softer. “You’ve got me, okay?”

Her smile grows just a little more real this time. “Okay.”

Shiu exhales, satisfied, and turns his focus back to the road. “Good. That’s what I want to hear.”

For the rest of the ride, the kids chat quietly about schedules and classes, their laughter breaking up the tension from earlier. Shiu doesn’t add much, but his eyes soften as he listens — content knowing his children have each other.

MASTERLIST

[tetsuissohot]

☆summary. Fucking you in the gym's changing room.

☆warning/tags: 18+, fem!reader, plus size reader, public sex, overweigth insecurities, riding, orgasm, unprotected sex, penetration, masturbation, hints of cum

☆word count: 3.2k

☆a/n: please note that English is not my first language, and I am also dyslexic, so there may be some mistakes. However, I do my best to minimize them.

Please support your creators! Reblogs and comments are really appreciated!

Do you prefer running or riding?

The thrum of treadmills filled the air, a rhythmic pounding like a hundred drums in a cavern. Sweat-slick bodies moved around you, the sharp tang of rubber and metal mixing with the faint citrus smell of cleaning spray. You were caught somewhere between exhaustion and determination, your thighs burning with every step, lungs rattling as you tried to keep pace with the machine. Every inhale felt too shallow, every exhale a gasp. Your hair clung damp to your forehead, your cheeks blotched with heat.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Choso slowing his own treadmill. The beeps of his machine cut through the noise. His dark hair was tied loosely at his nape, a few strands sticking to his temples. Even sweaty, he was beautiful, with long lashes, sharp cheekbones, shoulders broad and solid like carved stone. He grabbed his towel, dragging it across his jawline, eyes darting to your monitor with a faint crease between his brows.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice lower than the noise around you but still enough to cut through the fog in your head. “You feeling good?”

You nodded automatically, but it was a weak, jerky motion. Your breath came in pants, red spreading from your cheeks down your neck, sweat pooling between your collarbones.

Choso didn’t look disgusted. If anything, his gaze darkened, that slow, hungry way he sometimes looked at you when you were alone. Your sweaty look, your redish face, and your quick breaths reminded him of nights you’d spent tangled up together, the heat of skin on skin, the way you trembled when he had you close. He tilted his head, scanning your numbers again. Heart rate: too high. He swore softly under his breath.

“Babe,” he said, trying for casual, but his tone wavered with concern. “You’ve done enough already.”

“No,” you panted, hands tightening on the handles. “I-I can keep going.”

His lips pressed into a flat line. He reached out and pressed the stop button firmly, ignoring your protest. The machine slowed beneath you, your legs quivering as the belt slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said gently, but there was an edge there.

“I’m not!” You tried to argue, but when you stepped off, your knees buckled. His arms shot out, catching you against his chest before you could stumble. His hand slid around your waist instinctively, fingers warm and firm against your damp shirt.

“There,” he murmured, steadying you.

“Thanks.”

He crouched without a word, scooping up your water bottle and towel. The bottle made a hollow, sloshing sound — nearly empty. When he stood again, he handed you the towel first, eyes flicking over you as you wiped your face and down your cleavage. He always lingered there, you knew. Even now, his jaw flexed slightly as you blotted the sweat pooling between your breasts.

“We should fill up at the fountain near the changing rooms,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Mine’s empty too. Your heart rate’s high; you need water. After we change, we’ll sit at the reception. Maybe grab something from the vending machine. Or I’ll take you out for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered as the two of you began walking toward the back hallway, away from the rows of machines and prying eyes.

“Didn’t ask,” he shot back without missing a beat. It was the kind of juvenile retort that made you glance at him sideways — his expression was serious.

At the fountain, the quiet was thicker. The hum of the main gym faded, replaced by distant and quiet chatter. He filled your bottle first, his long fingers brushing yours when he passed it back. He hesitated, sighing, rolling his shoulders like he was bracing himself.

“Look,” he started, voice softer now. “I know you said you’re only here to keep me company. But I’m not stupid. I notice things. We’ve had this talk before, yeah?” He stared at the stream of water filling his own bottle. “You wanna get skinny. Fine. But killing yourself on the treadmill isn’t how you’re gonna get there.”

You turned your face away, blinking rapidly. His words weren’t cruel — not even close — but the topic always made your throat tighten. Especially here, surrounded by mirrors, by bodies you wished you had.

“Y/N…” His voice dipped, thick with something almost like pain. He set his bottle on the surface of the fountain, reaching for you. His hands found your waist, warm through your damp shirt. He gently slid both his hands to your hips, stroking small circles there. “I’m worried. Okay? Your heart rate was scary high. You could end up in a hospital.”

You refused to look up. Your vision blurred slightly as you stared at the tile floor.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “I really need this. I’ve tried so many times before, and it never works. And now I’m embarrassed to even be here, especially with you. I’m sweaty and red and out of breath. People are staring. Probably thinking a guy like you shouldn’t be stuck with a fat bitch like me-”

“Stop.” His tone snapped like a whip. His fingers tightened on your hips, not enough to hurt but enough to make you feel his strength. “Don’t call yourself that. Ever.”

Finally, you looked up. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. He looked angry, but not at you, angry at the thought of you hating yourself. Angry and something else, something primal flickering behind his gaze.

“I’m not just worried,” he said finally, his voice low enough to be almost a whisper. It vibrated in the narrow space between you. “I love you like this.”

His thumbs pressed gently at your hips, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt until his fingers found bare skin. He stopped there, a subtle tremor running through his hands, as though he was fighting the urge to go further.

“You have no idea, do you?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

Your brows knitted in confusion. “What are you talking about?” you asked softly.

He exhaled through his nose, moving just a fraction closer, the scent of him — sweat, faint cologne, and something warm — wrapping around you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, eyes dropping, then dragging back up your body in a slow, deliberate sweep. He made no attempt to hide it now, but there was something different about the way he looked — reverent, almost hungry but restrained. “Baby girl…” The nickname came out like a sigh. “Just looking at you like this... messy hair, red like a tomato, out of breath, my mouth gets watery.”

He licks his lips as if trying to prove his point, almost unconsciously, and then shuts his eyes for a second, as if he were annoyed at himself.

“I’m not sure if this is gonna sound bad,” he said, lowering his voice even more. His thumbs stroked small circles into your bare waist. “I kinda didn’t want you to come to the gym…”

You blinked at him, your mind tripping over the words. “What?”

His jaw flexed. “I…” He looked away for a heartbeat, then back at you. A faint pink tinged his pale cheeks, something you rarely saw. “I really like your body. Like, I really like it.”

He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “Not like that — not in a creepy way. I love you for you, I really do. But… damn, Y/N…” His gaze finally found yours again, and the shyness melted into something heavier. “Your curves. Your soft stomach. Your legs. The way your body sways when you walk. You’re comfortable to the touch.”

The hand returned to your waist, firmer now. He pulled you a fraction closer until you were chest to chest, his forehead lowering to rest lightly against yours.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. Once again, he moves one of his hands away, this time up, fingers brushing your cheek with a feather-light touch. “I love you like this. I fall in love with you every day. Even in the morning, when you’re drooling on the pillow, mouth open.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against you.

“The only thing I want you to be is healthy,” he murmured. “Not skinny. Not fat. Healthy. Happy. If losing weight makes you happy, I’ll help you. But not like this. Not when you’re thinking about yourself like that. No…” His thumb brushed away the tear that had escaped. His eyes locked on yours, deep and unwavering. “You’re not too anything for me. You’re just the right size. You’ll always be the right size, whether you lose weight or gain. Because it’s you. And it’s you I love.”

You gave a watery laugh, trying to sniffle it back. “Couldn’t you wait until we got home to say all that? You’re making me cry in the gym.”

He smiled faintly. “You needed to hear it now.” Then his tone dipped, rougher, a rare curse slipping from him: “I needed to show you how fucking hot I find you.”

His lips hovered over yours for a moment, barely brushing, before he kissed you — slow, restrained, but still full of heat. You felt the tension in him, the way his fingers flexed against your waist as though he wanted to drag you closer but wouldn’t.

When he pulled back, his eyes darted around the hallway, scanning. He laced his fingers through yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours.

“Choso?” you whispered. You glanced down and caught the obvious outline straining against his gym shorts, then up at his face just as he was pushing open the men’s changing room door.

“I always come at this time,” he said quietly, voice steady even though his grip tightened on your hand. “There’s almost never anyone here. Don’t worry.”

You hesitated at the threshold, your pulse spiking. The room inside smelled faintly of cedar and disinfectant, lined with benches and lockers. Empty.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice a low hiss. “Are you crazy?”

He turned to you then, expression serious, almost solemn. His dark eyes were heavy with a mix of hunger and devotion.

“I’m gonna show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Show you how much I want you.”

But even as he spoke, he didn’t pounce. His hand slid from yours to your cheek again, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. He swallowed hard, like he was fighting himself.

“You have no idea how bad I want to just fuck you right here,” he murmured. “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. Not here. Not like that.”

His forehead pressed to yours again, and for a heartbeat, all you felt was the tremble of restraint running through him.

You stood quiet, trying to process what the hell he was doing. Choso sighed at your silence — not frustrated, but more like a quiet please just tell me yes or no. His thumb rubbed small circles into your palm while he held your hand, a subtle gesture to steady you rather than push you.

You took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. That’s when you noticed the way your body felt, the way your heart was beating, not in your chest, but lower. That's when you realize the way his words made you feel, the way you wanted him to show you what he said, you wanted to feel him prove what he said. “What if someone sees us? This is like a public space... we shouldn’t-”

He chuckled softly, leaning closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “No one’s going to see us. There are cubicles up front. You’ll just have to be quiet.” His voice was low, calm, but the edge was there — a restrained hunger. He searched your eyes, waiting, not moving further. “Trust me,” he said simply.

Your chest rose and fell quickly. You didn’t answer with words. You just nodded.

His hand tightened around yours as he guided you down the row of lockers until you reached the far wall. Just as he said, there were four small cubicles with open doors, each meant for changing. He didn’t yank or rush; he just held your gaze, then gently led you into one, closing and locking the door behind you.

It was small, with grey wood panels and a single built-in bench, hooks on the walls, just like the ones in the women’s changing rooms. It looked ordinary. Safe, even. Your heartbeat sounded louder in the tight space.

When Choso turned back to you, his usual softness flickered out of his eyes. Without a word, his rough side comes out; he grabs your waist with both hands, making your soft body collide with his. With one hand, he grabs your face, “Look at me,” he murmurs. His voice was rougher than before. When you did, your noses touch, and so do your lips. He doesn’t start gently, he immediately invites his tounge inside your mouth, your hands hold his face as you match his energy. “I fucking love you,” he curses again as he kisses you.

He takes one of your hands from his face and places it in the huge and hard volume in his shorts. He squeezes your hand so you can hold him. Your eyes widen at how hard he is just from talking to you. “This is how you make me feel. And you still think you're not good enough for me?” he doesn’t expect an answer. Choso is not a man that waits and takes his times, he likes to jump right into action, he walks back, taking you with him, then he finnally pulls away, looking you up and down as he gets his hand in his shorts to take his dick out. “fuck...” he says, the only time he ever curses for real is when he is horny.

He grabs a hold of his balls; they look full, like he's been waiting all day for this. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he slaps his tip on his hand. Then he sits on the bench and spits on his veiny cock as he starts to stroke it. One hand is still holding his balls, his thumb rubs his tip as he keeps intense eye contact with you. Your eyes look down at his movements, the way his hand goes up and down, the way his dick still looks huge even in his big hands — you always noticed that every time he strokes his dick in front of you. The wet sounds that form with each stroke make you wish his hand were your pussy; he breaks your line of dirty thoughts with his husky voice, “Take your shoes off,” he licks his lips, “so that you can slide off those tight leggings that have been driving me crazy since we left home.”

Without second thought, you do as he says — you rapidly take your shoes off and then your leggings, showing him the panties you chose to wear today, light pink, maybe you should have chosen black ones, those wouldn’t make it obvious of how soaked your undies are right now, they would’t give away how much you wanted — needed his dick right now.

You can feel the cold of the floor through your socks. He doesn’t have to tell you — you take off your wet panties and hang them in one of the hooks, unlike your leggings, which are left on the floor. He signals you to come closer with two fingers; you do so, your legs brush against his knees, and he suddenly stops stroking his cock. His hands grip the back of your thick thighs, hinting for you to sit on top of him. You almost take a step back — that bench looked weak now, no way it would hold both of you. In your dark thoughts, it wouldn’t even hold you alone. “The bench will fall straight to the floor.” You shake your head, your anxiety rising back, the horniness that you felt was dissipating due to fear.

“So you’ll ride me on the floor then.” And just like that, your clit was jumping with need again. His simple and unbothered words eased your fears, and you sat on him. Each knee to his side; he grabbed his cock again, you shifted so he could slide his dick in your needy cunt. He didn’t even tease your entrance; he went in in one swift motion, “Fuck...” he whispered as soon as he felt your tight walls enveloping his veiny dick.  A soft, almost whispering moan left your mouth. “Shh, we have to be quiet, baby,” he said as he put some stray hairs behind your ear; you nod as you bite your lower lip and start slowly moving up and down, your hands on his shoulders are giving you support to move better in the tight and slightly uncomfortable space.

Choso rests his head on the wall, looking up and closing his eyes as he enjoys your movements. “Damn...” he makes eye contact again as his hands grip your ass, following the way you move — he slaps one of your cheeks hard, leaving a red spot there.  

You  keep riding him, trying your best not to moan,you were so wet that his dick easily slid in your pussy, making loud sloopy noises. Maybe it wouldn’t matter too much if you moaned. Your pace fastens, and his grip on your ass hardens. “I’m sorry,” he says gruffly, “I don’t think I can last much longer-” he reveals. Your hands travel to the back of his neck as you pull him for an open-mouth kiss. It’s a bit funky, and that makes him chuckle against your lips.

You pull away, your hands go back to his shoulders, and you can feel his balls harden beneath you, revealing that he will come soon. You look at him, his expression is serious now, like he's trying to concentrate so he can keep going for longer. He groans a little, “Can I cum in you, baby?” he asks. Before he lets you answer he speaks again, “Please, oh- fuck... I really need to cum in you-” you have no time to process a response since you see him harden his body and then relaxing letting out a relived sigh has his cum invades your pussy, you thrust him harder a couple more times, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as your body trembles from pleasure — you finally let out a loud moan.

Once your body relaxes and you come back to your senses, your chest rises up and down quickly; Choso caresses your cheek with a content smile, “Thank you, that was amazing,” he whispers. You nod with a dumb grin of pure fulfillment. “That was amazing... Thank you for making me feel good- not just with sex, but about myself too...” you look away. Choso forces you to face him again as he grips your chin, “That’s what I’m here for... I love you, never think otherwise.” You nod again. “Promise me,” you lean in to kiss his lips again, a soft, quick kiss, “I do. I promise,” you say.

He sighs, a tired sigh. “That was a hell of a workout, uh?” he chuckles, and you agree, “Yes, feels like I worked out for hours,” you sigh as well. Choso speaks again, “Exactly, so, do you prefer running or riding for a workout plan?”

“Definitely riding you”

I hope you enjoyed! I'm still new to writing smut... so I hope it was at least good...

I'm also working on a Toji one, it will probably be out in two days!

MASTERLIST

[tempii]

THE FULL CIRCLE

Thanks to everyone who told me who to add.

[kaltew]

“ who’s the strongest now?!! ”

more jjk shenanigans- inspo hidden inventory end credits

[tetsuissohot]

☆summary. Fucking you in the gym's changing room.

☆warning/tags: 18+, fem!reader, plus size reader, public sex, overweigth insecurities, riding, orgasm, unprotected sex, penetration, masturbation, hints of cum

☆word count: 3.2k

☆a/n: please note that English is not my first language, and I am also dyslexic, so there may be some mistakes. However, I do my best to minimize them.

Please support your creators! Reblogs and comments are really appreciated!

Do you prefer running or riding?

The thrum of treadmills filled the air, a rhythmic pounding like a hundred drums in a cavern. Sweat-slick bodies moved around you, the sharp tang of rubber and metal mixing with the faint citrus smell of cleaning spray. You were caught somewhere between exhaustion and determination, your thighs burning with every step, lungs rattling as you tried to keep pace with the machine. Every inhale felt too shallow, every exhale a gasp. Your hair clung damp to your forehead, your cheeks blotched with heat.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Choso slowing his own treadmill. The beeps of his machine cut through the noise. His dark hair was tied loosely at his nape, a few strands sticking to his temples. Even sweaty, he was beautiful, with long lashes, sharp cheekbones, shoulders broad and solid like carved stone. He grabbed his towel, dragging it across his jawline, eyes darting to your monitor with a faint crease between his brows.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice lower than the noise around you but still enough to cut through the fog in your head. “You feeling good?”

You nodded automatically, but it was a weak, jerky motion. Your breath came in pants, red spreading from your cheeks down your neck, sweat pooling between your collarbones.

Choso didn’t look disgusted. If anything, his gaze darkened, that slow, hungry way he sometimes looked at you when you were alone. Your sweaty look, your redish face, and your quick breaths reminded him of nights you’d spent tangled up together, the heat of skin on skin, the way you trembled when he had you close. He tilted his head, scanning your numbers again. Heart rate: too high. He swore softly under his breath.

“Babe,” he said, trying for casual, but his tone wavered with concern. “You’ve done enough already.”

“No,” you panted, hands tightening on the handles. “I-I can keep going.”

His lips pressed into a flat line. He reached out and pressed the stop button firmly, ignoring your protest. The machine slowed beneath you, your legs quivering as the belt slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said gently, but there was an edge there.

“I’m not!” You tried to argue, but when you stepped off, your knees buckled. His arms shot out, catching you against his chest before you could stumble. His hand slid around your waist instinctively, fingers warm and firm against your damp shirt.

“There,” he murmured, steadying you.

“Thanks.”

He crouched without a word, scooping up your water bottle and towel. The bottle made a hollow, sloshing sound — nearly empty. When he stood again, he handed you the towel first, eyes flicking over you as you wiped your face and down your cleavage. He always lingered there, you knew. Even now, his jaw flexed slightly as you blotted the sweat pooling between your breasts.

“We should fill up at the fountain near the changing rooms,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Mine’s empty too. Your heart rate’s high; you need water. After we change, we’ll sit at the reception. Maybe grab something from the vending machine. Or I’ll take you out for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered as the two of you began walking toward the back hallway, away from the rows of machines and prying eyes.

“Didn’t ask,” he shot back without missing a beat. It was the kind of juvenile retort that made you glance at him sideways — his expression was serious.

At the fountain, the quiet was thicker. The hum of the main gym faded, replaced by distant and quiet chatter. He filled your bottle first, his long fingers brushing yours when he passed it back. He hesitated, sighing, rolling his shoulders like he was bracing himself.

“Look,” he started, voice softer now. “I know you said you’re only here to keep me company. But I’m not stupid. I notice things. We’ve had this talk before, yeah?” He stared at the stream of water filling his own bottle. “You wanna get skinny. Fine. But killing yourself on the treadmill isn’t how you’re gonna get there.”

You turned your face away, blinking rapidly. His words weren’t cruel — not even close — but the topic always made your throat tighten. Especially here, surrounded by mirrors, by bodies you wished you had.

“Y/N…” His voice dipped, thick with something almost like pain. He set his bottle on the surface of the fountain, reaching for you. His hands found your waist, warm through your damp shirt. He gently slid both his hands to your hips, stroking small circles there. “I’m worried. Okay? Your heart rate was scary high. You could end up in a hospital.”

You refused to look up. Your vision blurred slightly as you stared at the tile floor.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “I really need this. I’ve tried so many times before, and it never works. And now I’m embarrassed to even be here, especially with you. I’m sweaty and red and out of breath. People are staring. Probably thinking a guy like you shouldn’t be stuck with a fat bitch like me-”

“Stop.” His tone snapped like a whip. His fingers tightened on your hips, not enough to hurt but enough to make you feel his strength. “Don’t call yourself that. Ever.”

Finally, you looked up. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. He looked angry, but not at you, angry at the thought of you hating yourself. Angry and something else, something primal flickering behind his gaze.

“I’m not just worried,” he said finally, his voice low enough to be almost a whisper. It vibrated in the narrow space between you. “I love you like this.”

His thumbs pressed gently at your hips, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt until his fingers found bare skin. He stopped there, a subtle tremor running through his hands, as though he was fighting the urge to go further.

“You have no idea, do you?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

Your brows knitted in confusion. “What are you talking about?” you asked softly.

He exhaled through his nose, moving just a fraction closer, the scent of him — sweat, faint cologne, and something warm — wrapping around you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, eyes dropping, then dragging back up your body in a slow, deliberate sweep. He made no attempt to hide it now, but there was something different about the way he looked — reverent, almost hungry but restrained. “Baby girl…” The nickname came out like a sigh. “Just looking at you like this... messy hair, red like a tomato, out of breath, my mouth gets watery.”

He licks his lips as if trying to prove his point, almost unconsciously, and then shuts his eyes for a second, as if he were annoyed at himself.

“I’m not sure if this is gonna sound bad,” he said, lowering his voice even more. His thumbs stroked small circles into your bare waist. “I kinda didn’t want you to come to the gym…”

You blinked at him, your mind tripping over the words. “What?”

His jaw flexed. “I…” He looked away for a heartbeat, then back at you. A faint pink tinged his pale cheeks, something you rarely saw. “I really like your body. Like, I really like it.”

He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “Not like that — not in a creepy way. I love you for you, I really do. But… damn, Y/N…” His gaze finally found yours again, and the shyness melted into something heavier. “Your curves. Your soft stomach. Your legs. The way your body sways when you walk. You’re comfortable to the touch.”

The hand returned to your waist, firmer now. He pulled you a fraction closer until you were chest to chest, his forehead lowering to rest lightly against yours.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. Once again, he moves one of his hands away, this time up, fingers brushing your cheek with a feather-light touch. “I love you like this. I fall in love with you every day. Even in the morning, when you’re drooling on the pillow, mouth open.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against you.

“The only thing I want you to be is healthy,” he murmured. “Not skinny. Not fat. Healthy. Happy. If losing weight makes you happy, I’ll help you. But not like this. Not when you’re thinking about yourself like that. No…” His thumb brushed away the tear that had escaped. His eyes locked on yours, deep and unwavering. “You’re not too anything for me. You’re just the right size. You’ll always be the right size, whether you lose weight or gain. Because it’s you. And it’s you I love.”

You gave a watery laugh, trying to sniffle it back. “Couldn’t you wait until we got home to say all that? You’re making me cry in the gym.”

He smiled faintly. “You needed to hear it now.” Then his tone dipped, rougher, a rare curse slipping from him: “I needed to show you how fucking hot I find you.”

His lips hovered over yours for a moment, barely brushing, before he kissed you — slow, restrained, but still full of heat. You felt the tension in him, the way his fingers flexed against your waist as though he wanted to drag you closer but wouldn’t.

When he pulled back, his eyes darted around the hallway, scanning. He laced his fingers through yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours.

“Choso?” you whispered. You glanced down and caught the obvious outline straining against his gym shorts, then up at his face just as he was pushing open the men’s changing room door.

“I always come at this time,” he said quietly, voice steady even though his grip tightened on your hand. “There’s almost never anyone here. Don’t worry.”

You hesitated at the threshold, your pulse spiking. The room inside smelled faintly of cedar and disinfectant, lined with benches and lockers. Empty.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice a low hiss. “Are you crazy?”

He turned to you then, expression serious, almost solemn. His dark eyes were heavy with a mix of hunger and devotion.

“I’m gonna show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Show you how much I want you.”

But even as he spoke, he didn’t pounce. His hand slid from yours to your cheek again, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. He swallowed hard, like he was fighting himself.

“You have no idea how bad I want to just fuck you right here,” he murmured. “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. Not here. Not like that.”

His forehead pressed to yours again, and for a heartbeat, all you felt was the tremble of restraint running through him.

You stood quiet, trying to process what the hell he was doing. Choso sighed at your silence — not frustrated, but more like a quiet please just tell me yes or no. His thumb rubbed small circles into your palm while he held your hand, a subtle gesture to steady you rather than push you.

You took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. That’s when you noticed the way your body felt, the way your heart was beating, not in your chest, but lower. That's when you realize the way his words made you feel, the way you wanted him to show you what he said, you wanted to feel him prove what he said. “What if someone sees us? This is like a public space... we shouldn’t-”

He chuckled softly, leaning closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “No one’s going to see us. There are cubicles up front. You’ll just have to be quiet.” His voice was low, calm, but the edge was there — a restrained hunger. He searched your eyes, waiting, not moving further. “Trust me,” he said simply.

Your chest rose and fell quickly. You didn’t answer with words. You just nodded.

His hand tightened around yours as he guided you down the row of lockers until you reached the far wall. Just as he said, there were four small cubicles with open doors, each meant for changing. He didn’t yank or rush; he just held your gaze, then gently led you into one, closing and locking the door behind you.

It was small, with grey wood panels and a single built-in bench, hooks on the walls, just like the ones in the women’s changing rooms. It looked ordinary. Safe, even. Your heartbeat sounded louder in the tight space.

When Choso turned back to you, his usual softness flickered out of his eyes. Without a word, his rough side comes out; he grabs your waist with both hands, making your soft body collide with his. With one hand, he grabs your face, “Look at me,” he murmurs. His voice was rougher than before. When you did, your noses touch, and so do your lips. He doesn’t start gently, he immediately invites his tounge inside your mouth, your hands hold his face as you match his energy. “I fucking love you,” he curses again as he kisses you.

He takes one of your hands from his face and places it in the huge and hard volume in his shorts. He squeezes your hand so you can hold him. Your eyes widen at how hard he is just from talking to you. “This is how you make me feel. And you still think you're not good enough for me?” he doesn’t expect an answer. Choso is not a man that waits and takes his times, he likes to jump right into action, he walks back, taking you with him, then he finnally pulls away, looking you up and down as he gets his hand in his shorts to take his dick out. “fuck...” he says, the only time he ever curses for real is when he is horny.

He grabs a hold of his balls; they look full, like he's been waiting all day for this. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he slaps his tip on his hand. Then he sits on the bench and spits on his veiny cock as he starts to stroke it. One hand is still holding his balls, his thumb rubs his tip as he keeps intense eye contact with you. Your eyes look down at his movements, the way his hand goes up and down, the way his dick still looks huge even in his big hands — you always noticed that every time he strokes his dick in front of you. The wet sounds that form with each stroke make you wish his hand were your pussy; he breaks your line of dirty thoughts with his husky voice, “Take your shoes off,” he licks his lips, “so that you can slide off those tight leggings that have been driving me crazy since we left home.”

Without second thought, you do as he says — you rapidly take your shoes off and then your leggings, showing him the panties you chose to wear today, light pink, maybe you should have chosen black ones, those wouldn’t make it obvious of how soaked your undies are right now, they would’t give away how much you wanted — needed his dick right now.

You can feel the cold of the floor through your socks. He doesn’t have to tell you — you take off your wet panties and hang them in one of the hooks, unlike your leggings, which are left on the floor. He signals you to come closer with two fingers; you do so, your legs brush against his knees, and he suddenly stops stroking his cock. His hands grip the back of your thick thighs, hinting for you to sit on top of him. You almost take a step back — that bench looked weak now, no way it would hold both of you. In your dark thoughts, it wouldn’t even hold you alone. “The bench will fall straight to the floor.” You shake your head, your anxiety rising back, the horniness that you felt was dissipating due to fear.

“So you’ll ride me on the floor then.” And just like that, your clit was jumping with need again. His simple and unbothered words eased your fears, and you sat on him. Each knee to his side; he grabbed his cock again, you shifted so he could slide his dick in your needy cunt. He didn’t even tease your entrance; he went in in one swift motion, “Fuck...” he whispered as soon as he felt your tight walls enveloping his veiny dick.  A soft, almost whispering moan left your mouth. “Shh, we have to be quiet, baby,” he said as he put some stray hairs behind your ear; you nod as you bite your lower lip and start slowly moving up and down, your hands on his shoulders are giving you support to move better in the tight and slightly uncomfortable space.

Choso rests his head on the wall, looking up and closing his eyes as he enjoys your movements. “Damn...” he makes eye contact again as his hands grip your ass, following the way you move — he slaps one of your cheeks hard, leaving a red spot there.  

You  keep riding him, trying your best not to moan,you were so wet that his dick easily slid in your pussy, making loud sloopy noises. Maybe it wouldn’t matter too much if you moaned. Your pace fastens, and his grip on your ass hardens. “I’m sorry,” he says gruffly, “I don’t think I can last much longer-” he reveals. Your hands travel to the back of his neck as you pull him for an open-mouth kiss. It’s a bit funky, and that makes him chuckle against your lips.

You pull away, your hands go back to his shoulders, and you can feel his balls harden beneath you, revealing that he will come soon. You look at him, his expression is serious now, like he's trying to concentrate so he can keep going for longer. He groans a little, “Can I cum in you, baby?” he asks. Before he lets you answer he speaks again, “Please, oh- fuck... I really need to cum in you-” you have no time to process a response since you see him harden his body and then relaxing letting out a relived sigh has his cum invades your pussy, you thrust him harder a couple more times, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as your body trembles from pleasure — you finally let out a loud moan.

Once your body relaxes and you come back to your senses, your chest rises up and down quickly; Choso caresses your cheek with a content smile, “Thank you, that was amazing,” he whispers. You nod with a dumb grin of pure fulfillment. “That was amazing... Thank you for making me feel good- not just with sex, but about myself too...” you look away. Choso forces you to face him again as he grips your chin, “That’s what I’m here for... I love you, never think otherwise.” You nod again. “Promise me,” you lean in to kiss his lips again, a soft, quick kiss, “I do. I promise,” you say.

He sighs, a tired sigh. “That was a hell of a workout, uh?” he chuckles, and you agree, “Yes, feels like I worked out for hours,” you sigh as well. Choso speaks again, “Exactly, so, do you prefer running or riding for a workout plan?”

“Definitely riding you”

I hope you enjoyed! I'm still new to writing smut... so I hope it was at least good...

I'm also working on a Toji one, it will probably be out in two days!

MASTERLIST

[jeansprettybaby]

toji loves his thick chubby girlfriend ۶ৎ

you’re just so… soft. and toji, a man made of hardened muscle and sharp edges, is utterly obsessed with it. he’s a man of simple, visceral pleasures, and the feeling of your body beneath his hands is his favorite thing in the world. he’ll pull you into his lap just to sink his hands into the plush of your hips, his thumbs rubbing absent, soothing circles there while he watches tv, like you’re his own personal stress ball, but infinitely more precious.

he’s a tactile sleeper, always has been, but with you it’s a whole new experience. he’ll curl his big body around yours, one heavy arm slung over your waist, his hand splayed possessively over the soft curve of your stomach. he’ll nuzzle his face into the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and let out this deep, content sigh that rumbles through you. he sleeps deeper, more soundly, when he’s wrapped around you, surrounded by your warmth and softness.

and the way he looks at you when you’re getting dressed… it’s enough to make you blush every time. he’ll be leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that lazy, hungry gaze tracking the way your favorite jeans hug your thighs, or how your sweater stretches just so across your chest. he doesn’t see flaws; he sees decadence. he sees a feast. and he’s starving for you, always.

he loves buying you things, especially clothes he knows you’ll feel amazing in. he’ll come home with a bag, a smirk playing on his lips, and inside is some ridiculously expensive, butter-soft sweater or a dress he just knew would highlight every curve he worships. "saw this and thought of you," he’ll grunt, trying to play it cool, but his eyes are shining with the anticipation of seeing you in it.

his protectiveness goes into overdrive, but not in a stifling way. it’s in the way his hand finds the small of your back to guide you through a crowd, his bulk shielding you from jostling. it’s in the way he pulls you into his side on the couch, your head tucked under his chin, his chin resting on the top of your head like you’re his most cherished secret, his personal sanctuary of softness in his otherwise brutal world.

and when he’s inside you, that’s when he truly comes undone. his hands are everywhere, gripping the fullness of your thighs, squeezing the softness of your hips, palming your breasts like he can’t get enough. he whispers filthy, reverent praises against your skin, "so fuckin’ perfect," "so soft for me," "all mine." in those moments, he’s not the infamous sorcerer killer; he’s just a man, utterly and completely whipped for the feel of you.

@jeansprettybaby ★

[flopiguro-deactivated20251009]

me the moment y/n forgives him in an angsty cheating fic

bonus crash out if the author described the cheating in detail and he enjoyed it

[tetsuissohot]

JJK MEN as DADS - drabble

☆summary. first day of back-to-school of their teen kids - each character has a different scenario.

☆warning/tags: all the kids have a mom, jjk men as dads, fluff, teen issues

☆word count: 2.31K

☆a/n: I had so much fun writing this cute drabble! I hope you can awwww like I did!

Nanami Kento | Gojo Satoru | Toji Fushiguro | Choso Kamo | Shiu Kong

Finally back to school

It’s early. Too damn early for Toji to be awake, and that alone puts him in a foul mood. He’s standing by the front door, arms crossed, holding a simple dark-blue backpack that looks small in his hands, but it’s just the right size for his son, Megumi.

“Wanna be any slower?” Toji mutters sarcastically, letting out a deep sigh. He’s been awake for fifteen minutes and already lost his patience. Toji could be many things, but patient was never one of them.

Megumi finally emerges from the hallway, tugging at his socks as he walks. He nearly stumbles but recovers quickly, brushing it off like nothing happened.

“Chill, I was just brushing my teeth, old man,” the fifteen-year-old says, voice casual and unbothered.

Toji clenches his jaw at the nickname. He can’t really argue — it’s not like he’s getting any younger.

“Just put on your damn shoes and grab your backpack,” he orders.

“You know I can walk to school by myself, right? I’m not a kid anymore,” Megumi complains as he shoves his feet into his sneakers.

“Your mom asked me to drive you on the first day, and that’s what I’m gonna do,” Toji shoots back without missing a beat.

Megumi takes the backpack from his father’s hands, slinging it over his shoulder. “You’re scared of her, huh?” he chuckles.

Toji quirks a brow. “You’re not?”

“…Yeah,” Megumi admits, and the two of them share a rare laugh as they step out of the house together.

When Megumi goes to open the passenger seat door, Toji stops him.

“Wait.” Toji pulls his phone from his pocket. “Your mom ordered me to take a picture of your first day.”

Megumi groans, arms crossing, face already annoyed as Toji points the phone at him.

“Look happy,” Toji grumbles.

“I’m not happy to go back to school,” Megumi fires back.

“I am. Finally won’t have you bothering me all the damn time.” Toji laughs at his own joke as he snaps the picture.

The car ride to school is unusually quiet. Megumi doesn’t even put on his headphones, which surprises Toji. Maybe the kid was hoping to talk, maybe not, but Toji doesn’t push.

When they pull up to the front of the school, Megumi reaches for the door handle, but Toji stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Have a good first day of school, you little shit.”

Megumi doesn’t crack a smile, but he nods. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” Toji’s voice softens slightly. “If you need anything… or don’t feel well, call me. I’ll be here to pick you up.”

Megumi doesn’t answer right away, but there’s the faintest flicker in his eyes before he finally slips out of the car.

Home before 10

“Smile,” Nanami says gently as he lifts his phone and snaps a photo of his daughter standing in front of their house. She’s holding a handmade sign decorated with colorful doodles that reads: First Day of 10th Grade.

She beams wide for the picture. “Mom really went all out when making this,” she laughs, giving the paper a playful shake before hurrying to the car. Nanami waits, his expression calm but faintly amused, and follows her. She slides into the passenger seat, still smiling, while he starts the engine.

The morning sun paints the street golden as they pull out of the driveway. The air in the car is comfortable, filled with the light chatter that always comes so easily between them.

“I can’t wait to tell Nobara about our summer trip to Malaysia!” she says excitedly, her voice bubbling over. “She’s gonna freak when she sees the pictures.”

Nanami glances at her from the corner of his eye, the smallest curve tugging at his lips. “You certainly took enough photos for that,” he remarks dryly.

She giggles, leaning back in her seat. After a pause, her tone shifts to something more cautious — like she’s testing the waters.

“Oh, Dad- by the way…” She fiddles with the strap of her bag. “Can I go out after school? Itadori wants to watch this movie that just came out. I’ll be home early, promise! It’s just- well... it’s been so long since he and I had a date…”

Nanami keeps his eyes on the road, though the corners of his mouth twitch. He doesn’t respond right away, making her squirm in her seat.

“Please?” she adds, voice softening into that practiced tone kids use when they know they’re asking for something big.

He finally exhales, a sound caught between a sigh and a chuckle. “You’re lucky I know him well enough to trust him.” His voice is even, but there’s an undercurrent of warmth. “Be responsible. Home before ten.”

Her face lights up instantly. “Thank you, Dad!”

“Mm. You’ll thank me by keeping your word.”

They fall into an easy rhythm again, chatting about her class schedule, the teachers she hopes to avoid, and the new sneakers she convinced her mom to buy last week. Nanami mostly listens, responding with quiet nods or a dry remark here and there, but his daughter knows better, his silence always means he’s paying close attention.

When they arrive at school, he pulls into the drop-off lane and puts the car in park. She’s halfway out the door before he calls her name.

She pauses, leaning back in.

“Have a good first day,” he says simply, his tone steady but warm in a way only she can recognize.

She smiles at him, smaller, softer than before. “I will. Love you, Dad.”

Nanami nods once, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watches her disappear into the crowd of students. He doesn’t pull away until he’s sure she’s inside.

No more fighting

Choso leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching his son lazily tie his sneakers. The boy moves at his own pace, clearly in no rush to face the first day of 10th grade.

“Listen,” Choso begins, voice even but firm, “you need to do better this year. No more fights.”

His son groans without looking up. “Dad…”

“I’m serious.” Choso pushes off the counter, stepping closer. “You got yourself suspended right before the year ended last time. That’s not happening again.”

The teenager finally looks up, eyes defensive but honest. “They wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“Who?”

“You know. That girl in my math class.” He pulls at the laces of his sneakers a little too hard, muttering, “They wouldn’t stop making fun of her. Just because she’s chubby. It was every day.”

Choso studies him, jaw tightening. He understands his son’s anger, but he also knows the cost of letting it control him.

“I get it,” Choso says quietly. “But you can’t throw punches every time someone opens their mouth. That’s not protecting anyone. You’ve got to be smarter than that.”

His son frowns, clearly unsatisfied with the advice. “So I should just let them talk?”

“No.” Choso shakes his head. “You stand up for people, but with your words first. Show them they’re wrong without giving the school an excuse to punish you instead. You’re stronger than them, but that doesn’t mean you always have to fight.”

The boy slumps back in his chair, sighing. “It’s just… she didn’t deserve it. She’s nice.” He hesitates, glancing at his dad before quickly looking away. “Really nice.”

Choso arches an eyebrow, recognizing the shift in tone. “…You like her.”

The tips of his son’s ears go pink. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Choso allows the smallest smile to slip through. “She must be special if you’re getting into trouble for her.”

His son groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we not talk about this?”

Choso chuckles softly, ruffling his son’s hair as he passes by. “Fine. But do me a favor, don’t let her see you in the principal’s office again this year. Show her you’re more than just a hothead.”

The boy mutters under his breath, “Yeah, yeah…” but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

Choso grabs his keys, heading for the door. “Come on. First day of school. Let’s try to make it past September without suspension this time.”

“Deal,” his son says with a smirk, grabbing his backpack as he follows.

Am I embarrassing?

“Alright, kiddo, stand right there!” Gojo says as he squats on the front lawn, phone in hand. His son is already groaning, clutching his brand-new backpack like it’s a shield.

“Dad, can we not do this?”

“Excuse me?” Gojo gasps, dramatically pressing a hand over his chest. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t want a once-in-a-lifetime, perfectly curated, super aesthetic, future-frame-worthy photo of your very first day back at school?”

“It’s literally 10th grade,” his son mutters.

Gojo ignores the sass, circling him like a paparazzo. “Okay, give me serious model energy. Now tilt your chin up. Perfect. Love it. Now show me those pearly whites.”

The boy deadpans into the camera as he sighs.

Click.

Gojo beams at his phone. “Not bad. Could go on the ‘Gram. Need to think of a caption tho...”

His son lunges. “Don’t you dare!”

Gojo laughs and darts out of reach, easily dodging the tackle. “Relax, kid, you’ll thank me when you’re famous.”

By the time they get in the car, his son has his hood pulled tight over his head, sulking.

“You’ll ruin my rep,” he mumbles.

“Rep?” Gojo grins, starting the car. “What are you, in the mafia?”

“No, but people already think you’re embarrassing enough.”

Gojo gasps again, clutching the steering wheel as if wounded. “Traitor! After all I’ve done for you? Who taught you how to tie your shoes, huh?”

“…Mom.”

“Well... i teach other very important things. Do your friends really think I’m embarrassing?” Gojo asks a bit more seriously. He just wants to make his kid laugh and be a cool dad, so that statement worries him.  

His son finally cracks a smile, trying to hide it. “Why? You’re worried?” The boy notices the serious expression on his dad’s face and can’t help be feel a little bad. “They think you’re funny, but you still embarrass me...”

“That’s right,” Gojo says smugly. “That’s what being a dad is, embarrassing your kid. In a good way, I mean.”

When they pull up to the school, Gojo throws one last curveball.

“Wait!” He yanks. “Have a nice day today, text your mom during lunch, you know how she gets worried, and if you need anything, call me.”

His son just stares at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The kid gets out of the car and, before closing the door, speaks again, “See ya.”

Before driving off, Gojo turns down the window and dramatically waves goodbye, “Bye-bye, my little sunshine! Daddy loves youuuuu!”

His son hurries inside, face burning red, while Gojo cackles in the car.

Keep her company

“Alright, stand still,” Shiu says, holding his phone up. His son, fifteen, tall for his age, already looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, shifts uncomfortably in place. Beside him, his little sister, thirteen, forces a smile while holding the hand-painted sign their mom made: First Day of School!

Shiu takes a few pictures. “Good. Done.”

His daughter exhales like she’s been holding her breath. “Finally,” she mumbles, slipping the sign back inside the house.

As they head toward the car, Shiu’s sharp eyes catch the way her shoulders curl inward, how she fiddles with her sleeves. He doesn’t say anything until they’re all buckled in.

Once the engine hums to life, his voice fills the quiet. “Listen.” He glances at his son in the rearview mirror. “I want you to keep your sister company this year.”

The boy blinks. “What? She’s in middle school, I’m in high school. We don’t even have the same building.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Shiu’s tone leaves no room for argument. “If you’re on the same bus, you sit together. If you see her at lunch or in the hall, you check in. Got it?”

His daughter shifts uncomfortably in her seat, cheeks heating. “Dad, it’s fine…”

“It’s not fine,” Shiu cuts in, but gently. “You’ve been anxious about this all week.”

Her brother frowns, finally turning toward her. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates, eyes glued to her lap. “…My friends. Or… I guess they’re not my friends anymore.” She forces a laugh, but her voice wobbles. “They just… stopped talking to me this summer. Ignored all my texts. Pretended they were busy.”

The car falls quiet for a moment, only the steady sound of the road under them.

Her brother leans back, scowling. “That’s messed up. Why would they do that?”

“Because I’m… me.” She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but her voice is small. “Too quiet. Too boring. I don’t know.”

Shiu’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable. “People who drop you that easily aren’t worth your time. They’ll regret it later, trust me.”

Her brother snorts. “Yeah, seriously. Who ignores texts all summer? They sound like jerks.”

That earns the smallest smile from her. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” He nudges her shoulder gently. “If anyone gives you crap this year, tell me. I’ll handle it.”

Shiu gives him a sharp look through the mirror. “You’ll handle it without fighting.”

The boy raises his hands in mock defense. “Fine, fine. No fights. I’ll just… make sure she’s not sitting alone.” He glances at his sister again, voice softer. “You’ve got me, okay?”

Her smile grows just a little more real this time. “Okay.”

Shiu exhales, satisfied, and turns his focus back to the road. “Good. That’s what I want to hear.”

For the rest of the ride, the kids chat quietly about schedules and classes, their laughter breaking up the tension from earlier. Shiu doesn’t add much, but his eyes soften as he listens — content knowing his children have each other.

MASTERLIST

[fushigurojpg]

Y'all moved on from this too quickly

[tetsuissohot]

Can you write more of JJK Men as Dads?! Pretty please 🥰🥰🥰

It's been over a year... but today I will post a drable of JJK MEN as Dads!!!

[bee2124]

Me ruining my sleep schedule by staying up every night to read fanfiction

[tetsuissohot]

hi love ur work, just wanted to kno, how do you make your dividers/headers? like what app do you use etc

Hiiii thank you so much!!! I use canva :)

[blubbduckies-deactivated2025101]

Neighbor!Toji w/crying Baby Megumi asking for your help?

Neighbor!Toji who shows up to your place with a crying baby Megumi in his arms. You usually babysat Megumi all 7 days of the week but requested a day off for your mental health. What you didn't expect was how bad Toji was with his own kid. The poor baby had tears streaming down his red face, snot dripping everywhere, and was failing in his father's arms.

Neighbor!Toji who lets out an impatient "tsk" and asks you to teach him how to fix his child. He huffs when you correct him that his baby doesn't need fixing, just some soothing. He's secretly relived when you invite him into your apartment. (He definitely contemplated leaving baby Megs in a basket outside your home and running off...)

Neighbor!Toji who watches in amazement as you rock Megumi and he magically stops crying. The child's wailing dies down almost instantly at your smile and he softly coos at you. Soon Megumi falls asleep and allows for you to place him down on a bed.

Neighbor!Toji who picks up Megumi to take him home, only for the baby to start screaming again. At this point a vein is popping out of his forehead and he's gritting his teeth in annoyance. You immediately take the child from him, sensing his annoyance.

Neighbor!Toji who calms down once you reassure him that a lot of children are like this. He sits slumped on the couch, watching you ease Megumi back to sleep.

Neighbor!Toji who can't go home because Megumi won't let go of you. He can't help but think how nice it'd be to wife you up and make you Megumi's mother. Soon he's chatting you up while Megumi sleeps in your arms.

This won't be the last time the father son pair show up to your place like this. It's almost as if they're in cahoots, with Megumi getting more cuddles while Toji talks to you, sliding in subtle flirty remarks here and there.

[onnie-giri]

best bros here to save the world (through volleyball <3)

[tetsuissohot]

☆summary. an argument leads to a sloppy and wet apology.  

☆warning/tags: 18+, fem!reader, angst to smut, curse words, tittie sucking, fingering, penetration, ends with fluff, mention of cum, unprotected sex 

☆word count: 2.8k

☆a/n: please note that English is not my first language, and I am also dyslexic, so there may be some mistakes. However, I do my best to minimize them.

please support your creators! Reblogs and comments are really appreciated!

Shut Up, Darling.

It wasn’t typical for you and Kento to argue. In truth, he wasn’t home much anyway—most days you barely managed a quick "Good morning" before he left, so there wasn’t even time to pick a fight. But today—today your patience finally snapped. Like every other day, Kento had left for work before you woke up, and by the time he got home, you’d already eaten dinner and were lying in bed. He hadn’t even bothered to respond to your texts, where you simply asked if he was okay.  

That silence hurt. After all, he was your boyfriend of years, and yet he felt distant, like a stranger. You felt ignored and neglected. The pain of it all, especially coming from him, stung deeply. When you did talk to him, it was like speaking to a machine, one that repeated the same, emotionless phrases—"I’m sorry," "It’s my job," "You’re right." Yet nothing ever changed.  

“Why are you still awake, sweetie?” Kento asked as he stepped into the bedroom. His blonde hair was disheveled, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He lingered by the door, looking at you with mild curiosity—you were usually asleep by now.  

You set the novel you’d been reading down on the nightstand and glanced up at him. “I was waiting for you.”  

Kento raised an eyebrow, still standing by the door. “Waiting for me? You should’ve gone to sleep. I told you I’d be late again.”  

You sighed, sitting up in bed, your patience already thin. “That’s the thing, Kento. You’re always late. Every day, you leave before I wake up and come back when I’m already asleep. I don’t even know what’s going on with you anymore.”  

He ran a hand through his messy hair, a small frown forming. “You know it’s work. We’ve talked about this.”   

“Yeah, we have,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended. “But talking doesn’t change anything. I feel like I don’t even exist to you anymore. You don’t answer my texts, you don’t check in—it's like you’re a ghost in your own home.”  

Kento's gaze dropped, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stepped further into the room. “That’s not fair. I’m doing everything I can for us. My job—”  

“Your job,” you interrupted, your frustration bubbling over, “isn't an excuse to completely shut me out. I’m not just some background noise you can tune out when it’s convenient. I’m your girlfriend, Kento. We’re supposed to be a team, and I feel like I’m in this alone.”  

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation. “You know I love you. I’m sorry, I just... I don’t know how to balance it all.”  

“You always say that,” you muttered, fighting to keep your voice steady. “But nothing ever changes. What are we even doing if we don’t make time for each other?”  

There was a long pause, the room heavy with unspoken words. Kento’s jaw tightened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low but firm. “I don’t know what you want me to say. This is how things are right now. I’m doing the best I can.”  

You looked at him, your heart aching. “I don’t need perfect, Kento. I just need you. And lately, it feels like I’ve lost you.”  

Kento’s face hardened, his calm demeanor cracking as he stepped further into the room. "What exactly do you want from me?" he snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "I’m breaking my back out there every day for us, and all you do is sit here and complain about how I’m not around enough!"  

Your heart pounded in your chest, anger bubbling up. “Complain? Complain? You don’t get it, do you? I’m not asking for much—just for you to act like you care, to show me that I still matter!”  

His eyes narrowed. "You matter? You think I’m out there working insane hours because you don’t matter? This is what I’m talking about—you’re never satisfied!" His voice was sharper than you’d ever heard, each word like a blade. “I can’t be everything for you when I’m doing everything for you!”  

You stood up from the bed, your hands trembling as your voice broke. "And I didn’t ask you to do all of this at the cost of our relationship, Kento! I’m tired of feeling like I’m talking to a wall, like you’ve already checked out of us!"  

"Jesus Christ," Kento muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "Can you just—" He suddenly stepped forward, his presence towering over you. His voice dropped, cold and cutting, he raised his hand and aggressively, but not in a hurtful way, he squeezed your cheeks. "Just shut your fucking mouth."  

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you froze, stunned by his outburst. Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in one swift movement, pulling your face with his hand and crashing his lips against yours in an aggressive, forceful kiss.  

His hand left your cheek, now both hands are sliding behind your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you even closer, deepening the kiss. There was a desperate edge to the way held you, like he was trying to communicate something he couldn't put into words. His lips were demanding, a raw intensity that stole your breath.   

At first, you were too shocked to respond, but the heat between you grew undeniable, igniting something primal in the pit of your stomach. Slowly, your body responded on its own - your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. His kiss softened, shifting from anger to something more fervent, almost pleading. You could feel his heart pounding, his breath shaky as if he'd lost control for a moment and didn't know how to find it again.  

Your lips moved together now with more rhythm, the urgency still there but tempered by something deeper, more vulnerable. His thumb brushed over your jaw; a surprisingly gentle touch that made your knees feel weak.   

You leaned into him, letting the kiss consume you both, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you. The world seemed to blur around you as the kiss deepened, his body pressing against yours, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.   

The anger that had been in his kiss moments ago was now replaced with something else desire, maybe. Or perhaps even an apology, though no words were spoken. Finally, when you both broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours. The tension between you crackled in the air, but the anger had dissipated, leaving something raw and real behind. You could still taste the kiss on your lips, the weight of his emotions lingering in the space between you.  

Your heart raced, torn between anger and the raw intensity of his touch. He finally spoke, his breath hot against your face as his eyes bore into yours. “Kindly, shut up, darling,” he whispered, his voice laced with both anger and something deeper, something almost desperate.  

He didn’t wait for you to speak – he just told you to shut up after all; his hands grabbed your hips, and they traveled under your pajama pants, his fingers digging into your skin.  He guided your body closer to the bed – his breath was unsteady, just like yours “Shit-” he groaned in a low husky voice. He pushed you down on the bed, your body slightly jumping from the bounciness of the mattress – you gasp, you were mad at him, but your pussy apparently wasn’t, your clit was already on fire with just one fierce full kiss, and the girl wanted more than just a kiss, shit – you could already feel your heart beating in between your legs.   

Kento didn’t waste time and got on top of you, his knees trapping you beneath him, his hands next to your head, before he got closer, he looked you up and down – God, you looked so good in your pajamas. He leans down, his hot breath hitting your neck, one of his hands leaves the spot next to your head and moves under your shirt, traveling up and down your stomach; his lips meet your body again, and he leaves soft wet kisses in your neck as he hums. They’re low sexy hums, the sound of his voice almost makes your ears orgasm if they could. “Kento...” you softly huff his name.   

“Shh, darling,” he says against your neck, his breath tickling your skin, your body shivers and you can feel your panties slowly getting soaked. He kisses your neck again “I’m sorry sweetie-” he whispers in between the wet kisses. The hand on your stomach travels further up, and he takes hold of your boob and squeezes it, your nipple grinds in the middle of his fingers, and you gasp - “I didn't mean to be rude to you, I’m just tired.” he says before kissing your temple. The sound of your gasp and your heavy breathing, the feeling of your boob under his hand and your hard nipple between his fingers makes something inside of him grow – and in his pants too.   

He pulls away and once again, takes a good look at you, his gaze is full of hunger and desire, his right hand, the one that wasn’t touching your boob, leaves the side of your head and pulls your shirt up to your neck, exposing your naked torso and your hard nipples. His gaze drops from your face to the hand squeezing your tit, his other hand now traces the side of your stomach, and his fingertips gently brush your skin – it tickles, and you can't help but contract your body at his touch and let soft sounds escape your lips.   

“Let me show you how much I care, sweetheart," without a warning he gets closer and takes one of your nipples to his mouth – as instinct your hands that were grasping on the bed clothing, now grab the hair in the back of his head pulling him closer – he groans, the sound is muffled.  

He nibbles your hard nipple, his tongue contours the firm tip leaving a trail of saliva all over your breast, the hand on your stomach takes hold of your other tit, and he squeezes it and holds it firmly – you have to bite back a moan. He starts sucking on your nipple like his life depended on it. The only sounds in the room were his muffled groans, your soft moans, and the wet sound his mouth was making – the sound of the friction of his mouth sucking your peak was music to your ears. But he couldn’t leave your other boob untended, so he went from one to the other, a line of saliva following from one nipple to the other.  

While he starts working on your boob, one of his hands slides under your pants, and his finger teases your wet pussy through the fabric of your soaked undies. “Let me apologize to you~” he whispers. Your breath catches and before you know it his hand slides under your panties, his fingertips start playing around with your wetness, and they slide between your folds, your labia hugs his fingers “Sweetie you’re so wet, I didn’t mean to make your cute little cunt cry with my harsh words” he muttered, his hot breath against your areola.   

You bite your lower lip as you suck up the moan you were about to let go, your fingers interwinding with his hair even more.  

His middle finger starts sliding up and down your pussy, adding more sound to already wet noises coming from his mouth and tongue on your tits. After teasing you enough, he slowly slides his finger inside you as his thumb caresses your clit in soft circles “Oh, Kento~” he chuckled at your little moan as his tongue played with your nipple, his teeth brushing against it.   

The tent in his pants was big and tight, so tight that the zipper on his pants is screaming for help – he keeps his focus on you, on the way your vagina feels around his finger and how your wet clitoris contracted under his thumb, he presses the finger harder against you, in response, you squeeze your legs at his touch and trap his hand in between your thighs. He chuckles again and pulls away from you. Your legs loosen again.   

He makes eye contact as he pulls your pants down. The sight of you like that drives him insane, a small smile forms at the corner of his lips, and he takes a deep breath as he starts to unbutton and unzip his pants – his gaze never leaves your eyes, even when he pulls his cock out. His cock is so hard that slaps his stomach. Your eyes travel to his member – God, you really want his fat dick inside of you more than anything.   

Nanami holds his big balls with one hand and strokes his thick length with the other, the precum helps his strokes become smoother “Shit-” the word escapes his lips. He lets go of his members and gets down so he can kiss your neck again.   

“Can I fuck you? Let me fuck you, sweetheart. Please let me fuck you, baby.” he pleads as he gently bites your earlobe. “Please... let me show how sorry I am.” his tongue licks your ear in and out.  

“Please... fuck me, Kento” you beg. He doesn't waste any time in positioning himself between your legs, he pulls your thighs closer to him, the way he grabbed them was aggressive and a little painful – you like that. He strokes his dick again and slaps it on your wet panties, teasing you through the fabric. In other circumstances he would’ve taken his time with teasing you like that – sliding his tip up and down your soggy underwear, grinding you before he finally gets inside of you. But, right now, he didn’t have time, so with his wet fingers he slid your panties to the side and slowly made his way in. “You’re so tight and wet, sweetie. Fuck-” he groans.   

He places his hands next to your head and starts slowly thrusting you, his balls hitting you in the process and making a sloppy noise.   

Your hands move to his back, gripping the fabric of his blue button-up shirt. Your moans start coming out louder and with more frequency. The way his cock fills you up makes you ecstatic.   

His thrusts become faster, harder. “I’m so sorry sweetie.” he gulps and buries his face on your neck again, taking in your scent. “You were right- your pretty kitty feels so good, baby” he bites your neck.   

With each thrust you cry out a moan against his shoulder, with each thrust the loose ends of his jacket brush against your belly, with each thrust he kisses your neck or bites it, with each thrust he groans near your ear and his hot breath sends shivers down your spine, with each thrust his balls slap your skin, with each thrust your pussy get tighter around his fat big cock, with each thrust his movements become sloppier, the wet sounds louder – your back arched, your body grinding against his, the fire on your clit burning, the electricity in your body growing and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.  

“Do you forgive me?” he asks, his voice a low growl against your soft skin.  

“Yes- I forgive you, Kento” you cry out, and finally, your whole body shakes underneath him, at the same time all of your four senses come out more alive than ever you also lose them. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart” he apologizes, because he’s not stopping even if you're too sensitive.   

When your orgasm is over your body is so sensitive that his touch hurts. But soon enough he fills you up with his cum “Oh- that’s it, sweetheart, take every drop of my cum” he growls loudly. His thrusts become slower until he finally stops and, still inside you he collapses on top of you. The moans suddenly stop and the only sounds are your heavy breathing.   

“I love you so much, sweetie” he mutters.  

As you start to play with his hair you mumble “I love you too”   

“God... I missed you so much – I missed this so much”   

You sigh “Me too”  

Gently he pulls away and sits up in front of you, his dick leaving your cunt.   

He looks down at your pussy and watches his cum dripping down your pussy. With his fingers he starts pulling the hot liquid back inside of you – you gasp again.   

“Kento....”  

“Shh, this is my apology gift for you. Now take it, darling.” 

This was my first time writing smut like this! So please bear with me!!! Tips are accepted!

Masterlist

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

i think we as a fandom don’t talk enough about how toji fushiguro is sooo divorced dad rock coded