A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
ok time to be nicer to him now (writing this in lecture sawrry for the sloppiness)
If eating pussy was how he was destined to die, Satoru didn't think he minded. Not at all — because what else could compare to the priceless way your thighs clamped around his reddened cheeks and held him in place?
Satoru had tugged the blanket over himself, sealing himself in the darkness with nothing but the heat and scent of your pussy luring him in closer, and closer — aaall the way until his nose was pressed flush against your clit.
"This is what I need. Need to breathe you in properly."
He groaned, eyes rolling back into their sockets. You couldn't push Satoru back, hands fumbling under the duvet as he took in long, greedy inhales.
Your hips twitched under him, an embarrassed grimace crossing your face. "Satoru, you fucking freak." Your voice was nothing short of shrill as he kept huffing you in.
"Shhh, I'm trying to get high here."
The vibrations of his voice, lazy and drunk, vibrated you to the core. Then Satoru's tongue flicked out, lips beginning to part widely as he sealed your cunt in one big, open-mouthed kiss.
"You're so gross, mmh—" you choked out, back curving into an arch. Satoru's slurping was obnoxiously loud as you squirmed beneath him, head shaking from side to side as he ate you out with vigour.
But then suddenly, he stopped — tongue lapping up fat stripes from front to back in response to your words. You hadn't seen 'gross' yet.
Satoru's frenzied motions smeared your glossy slick across his chin, over his mouth as his tongue tried scooping out each and every drop of what your body could give him. Hell, Satoru even dug his tongue into your ass, just to see if you'd clench around him
You did, obviously.
"If you don't get your tongue out of there—"
"Yeah, yeah."
Satoru brought his face back up, deeply breathing for air whilst two thick thumbs spread you open. Then his mouth came down, sealing over your clit and suckling hard — his own hips clumsily fucking down onto the mattress.
"Ooohh, shit— think I'm gonna cum," you gritted out, voice almost inaudible under the wet schlicks of your cunt against Satoru's mouth. He doubled down on his efforts, grinding his nose against you until you finally fell apart.
Perhaps eating you out from under the blanket wasn't the best idea — with your pussy gushing out onto Satoru's face and the sheets under. The fabric grew dark, which was the least of your problems.
Because why was Satoru gulping?
You threw off the blankets, chest heaving for air as you took in the sight of the white-haired man diving up out of you. Satoru's hair was a mess, flushed face drenched, and dopey grin slick with your juices.
Born of the Kamo clan and bound by duty, you were wed into the Zen’In household, handed to Naoya like a political trinket.
Your marriage, like most arrangements, was cold, unconsummated, and unfruitful.
Until the night he summoned you displeased, after catching his brother’s hand linger where it shouldn’t have.
You didn’t grasp the situation at first.
But when you saw the sight before you, you finally understood.
You were finally expected to perform your duties as a wife.
⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ Contents:
MDNI! 18+, Arranged Marriage, Possessive! Naoya, Dom! Naoya, Manhandling, Hate Fucking, Unprotected Sex, Tub Sex, Creampie, Hair Pulling, Marking, Light Resistant, Breeding Kink, Impregnation Mention, Pet Names, Degradation/Praise
They married at dawn.
Not for sentiment, not for love, and certainly not for joy.
It was strategy. It was calculated. A merger of names and legacies brokered in hushed conversations behind doors, with elders and advisors whispering predictions like gamblers hedging their bets.
The ceremony itself was short, mercilessly so. No grand declarations. No romantic rites. Just the exchange of vows laced with duty, and the quiet approval of two clans desperate to keep their bloodlines relevant in a world that had already begun to forget them.
There were no fireworks. No soft glances. Not even the warmth of hands held too long.
Only ink. Paper. And power.
You were born into prestige, a daughter of the Kamo clan, legitimate in blood and brutal in expectation. Your upbringing was a paradox: you were taught to kneel and to kill in the same breath. Your etiquette was flawless, your posture immaculate, your knowledge of clan history exhaustive. But beneath the silk of your ceremonial robes and the demure curve of your smile, there lived a tempered flame. You were a girl raised to be a weapon, sharpened not with cruelty, but with purpose.
Your role was never to love. It was to serve. To strengthen. To stand beside the man who would wear your family's name like armor.
And that man was Naoya Zen’In.
Naoya, the so-called prodigy of a once feared clan, walked like the world owed him something. He was everything the whispers said: handsome, sharp tongued, impossibly proud. His cruelty was not the loud kind. It was casual, easy, the kind that crept into conversations like a toxin, leaving no room for rebuttal. He had never needed to raise his voice to command attention. He only needed to look at someone like they were beneath him and often, they were.
He did not want a wife. He only wanted an extension of himself. An ornament to flaunt when politics called for softness, and discard when his pride demanded silence.
Still, he accepted the union. Because Naoya Zen’In may have been many things, but he was not a fool. He knew the worth of your name, and the weight it carried behind closed doors.
So he married you. Well, primarily because he had to.
Not out of desire or fondness, but because the weight of legacy demanded it. Because centuries of carefully preserved bloodlines and whispered expectations bore down on his shoulders like armor he never asked to wear.
You weren’t a woman to him then, you were a strategy. A neatly wrapped solution to the slow erosion of the Zen’In name. A move on the board dictated by elders who believed tradition was strength, and strength was everything.
To Naoya, marriage was not intimacy. It was allegiance. A binding of names, of clans, of political promises exchanged in the flicker of ceremonial candles and the clink of porcelain teacups. Love had no place in that kind of union. Not when power was the only currency that mattered.
And so, he married you. Because he had no choice. Because it was what the clan demanded. And after all, you seemed promising.
Sharp where others were dull. Composed where others fawned. A woman molded for diplomacy but carved from something far less yielding. If he was to bind himself to someone, it might as well be someone who knew how to play the game.
And from that morning on, the estate became a cold and an elaborate cage, its halls filled with servants who didn’t speak unless spoken to, its walls too wide to feel anything close to home.
The two of you shared a house.
You shared responsibilities.
On occasion, you shared a room.
But not a bed.
Well, not yet.
The early months were built on restraint.
You fulfilled your duties to perfection, smiling at the right guests, pouring tea at the right temperature, bowing with just the right angle of humility but there was no warmth between you and Naoya. No flicker of tenderness. Only glances exchanged like chess moves, where every silence was a dare and every word a blade tucked beneath the tongue.
And from that morning on, the Zen’In estate became something else entirely. A cold, elaborate cage. Gold trimmed, paper thin walls. Servants who bowed lower than necessary but never dared meet your eyes. Tatami mats that creaked under weight that wasn’t yours. Every door you opened felt like a test. Every hallway you crossed, watched.
It was a house you lived in together, yes.
A name you shared. Responsibilities, too.
But not a life. Not really.
You were ornamental by design, he liked to say as much.
“That’s your color,” Naoya remarked one morning, leaning lazily against the doorframe of the receiving room as his eyes swept over you. “Black suits you. I’ll tell your attendants to burn everything else.”
You didn’t flinch. Just refilled his cup, the scent of tea wafting through the air like smoke before war.
“And here I thought you didn’t notice,” you replied smoothly.
He scoffed, taking the tea without thanks. “Hard not to, when the Kamo Clan wasted so much training on someone who ended up pouring tea.”
His words dripped with mockery, but his gaze lingered a little too long.
“What a waste of talent,” he drawled. “Such a shame,” he said, tone almost bored. “All that training, and now? Just my wife.”
That was how it always was. Wordplay. Swordplay. He tested you, and you never gave him the satisfaction of yielding. In private, your conversations were lined with friction, your silences louder than most arguments.
But in public? You were flawless. The ideal couple, an alliance painted in perfection.
When guests visited the estate, you played your part with poised elegance, your hand resting lightly over his, your laugh chiming at just the right moment. You spoke of the future like it was shared, even if it felt like separate destinations on the same broken map.
In the early months, restraint defined everything. You danced around each other in your shared roles, appearing united while remaining distant.
You fulfilled your duties to perfection. Hosting with grace, answering elders with wisdom far beyond your years, kneeling beside Naoya during meetings with the kind of stillness that unnerved even the most seasoned clan heads.
But in the quiet, when the guests had left and the sliding doors shut, the warmth disappeared as if it had never existed at all.
You shared a room, yes.
But not a bed.
Well… not yet.
The nights were built on a fragile sort of silence. Most times, you turned your backs on each other, neither of you willing to acknowledge the weight of the other’s presence.
You slept on opposite schedules like it was intentional. He’d come in late, loosen the collar of his robes and find you already turned to the wall, breathing slow. Or you’d crawl into the sheets just as he was leaving, the door clicking shut behind him like punctuation.
Some nights, he’d glance your way and say something half hearted, “Don’t die in your sleep. It’d be too convenient.”
To which you’d grumble into your pillow, “Fuck off, Zen’In.”
He never apologized. You never looked back.
Despite the tension, despite the way your nightgowns sometimes slipped off one shoulder too easily, he never touched you. Not really.
Well… not yet.
But there were glances that lingered too long. Eyes that dragged over skin like fingertips, even across the room. Pauses thick enough to choke on, heavy, charged and waiting to snap.
Sometimes, your fingers would brush when you both reached for the same teacup, too slow to pull away. Sometimes, his gaze dipped lower than it should’ve, lingering on the curve of your throat or the sway of your hips when you walked past. And when you caught him, he never looked away.
Maybe he didn’t touch you…
But the silence between you was loud.
Too loud.
Almost obscene.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
It only happened once- this... feeling. You weren't sure what to call it.
Possessiveness? No, that didn’t sound like him.
Jealousy? Maybe.
But whatever it was, it crept up on him sharp and bitter the moment his older brother laid a hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the room like you were his.
“And this,” the man announced proudly to a circle of esteemed guests, “is the wife of Naoya. A real beauty, isn’t she? You’d think she’s one of ours with how well she carries herself.”
You smiled politely, bowing as expected. A perfect wife, a perfect doll. Soft spoken. Regal in that way the Kamo had always trained you to be. You gave no protest, no sharp tongue. After all, that wasn’t your role. Not here. Not in front of them.
And Naoya? He didn’t give a shit about things like this, did he?
Well, that’s what you thought.
Until he stepped forward.
“Oh, brother,” Naoya drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching upward but it wasn’t a smile, not really. It was that condescending smirk he wore like armor. “It's almost inappropriate how you're touching a married woman.”
The room dipped into silence, just for a second. Just enough to notice. The older Zen’In laughed, brushing it off, but his hand dropped from your back.
Naoya’s eyes didn’t leave him.
“What's with the show and tell?” he continued, cool as ever. “You proud of settling to leftovers now?”
“Come now, Naoya. I was just being welcoming.”
“You can welcome your own wife like that,” he said, voice calm, eyes sharp. “Oh- wait. You’d need balls for that, wouldn’t you?”
That got a few polite, awkward and nervous strained laughs from the crowd. The kind that made your spine lock straight, made your lips twitch in practiced etiquette. His brother gave a breathy chuckle, clearing his throat as though the words hadn’t cut deeper than intended. And just like that, the topic was let go.
But Naoya wasn’t done.
As he stepped past you, slow and unhurried, he dipped his head close enough for you to feel his breath against your temple. No one else noticed, no one else heard it.
“I left instructions for your attendants,” he murmured, voice low and even. “Make sure you’re ready.”
You blinked, clearly confused, but he was already gone, disappearing back into the thrum of laughter and conversation, leaving you to politely smile through the rest of the night with a strange weight clinging to your chest.
You later found out what he meant.
Because the moment you returned to your shared chambers, a full entourage of attendants was already waiting.
They bowed upon your entrance, silent and poised, almost too still. Like they had been given specific instructions they didn’t dare deviate from.
Before you could utter a word, they began. Hands all over you, removing your layered silks with an efficiency that unnerved you. You weren’t even given the liberty to speak, to question, to breathe. There was no gentle chatter this time, no asking which oils you preferred or which scent soothed you most.
They were precise and strangely focused on a different level.
You sat in the chair they guided you to, unsure what to make of the warm towel they pressed to your skin, the fine oils brushed across your limbs. You opened your mouth to ask what the occasion was, but no one answered. No one looked at you directly.
When they slipped the robe over your shoulders, fine silk, sheer and impossibly delicate, you began to grow suspicious. It was the kind of robe reserved for intimate ceremonies. A honeymoon gift. A tradition bound garment you weren’t even sure was still practiced.
Your fingers ghosted over the fabric as it clung to your damp skin. You frowned. “Why… this?”
But again, no answer. Only shallow bows as they silently gestured for you to rise.
You were escorted down the hall, but it wasn’t toward your dressing room or even the usual private bath they sometimes prepared. Instead, you were brought toward the inner sanctum of the estate reserved for the head of the clan. A bathhouse not merely built for cleanliness or relaxation, but for decadence, power and control.
The closer you got, the more heat you felt through the polished floors, steam seeping beneath the threshold of the ornate wooden doors.
When you reached them, your attendants bowed once more… and left you there.
You blinked, stunned. “Pardon, aren’t you going to…?”
Nothing. Not even a glance back.
They disappeared down the corridor, leaving you with a robe barely shielding your form and your heartbeat climbing far too fast.
You exhaled shakily, hand hovering near the door before you finally slide it open.
And there he was.
Naoya.
Your husband.
Seated lazily in the center of the grand cypress soaking tub, heat rising from the surface like mist curling through air, thin petals drifting on water as if the gods themselves had chosen the aesthetic. A small lacquered table was perched beside the bath, bearing a half empty wine glass and a bottle cradled in a silver bucket.
He looked relaxed, head tilted and temple resting against his fisted hand as he watched you from beneath dark lashes.
Smiling.
Smirking.
Like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he had stirred in your chest.
“Come,” he said simply, voice velvet smooth in the echoing silence.
Your feet didn’t move. “What the hell is this, Naoya?”
His grin widened, lazy and wicked. “I said come.”
“You had them prep me up just to sit in hot water?” you scoffed. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” His eyes dragged down the robe clinging to your damp skin, entirely see through now under the steam and heat. His gaze was dark, heavy with heat, amusement dancing in the curve of his mouth. “You’re practically naked already.”
He didn’t wait for your answer this time.
“Come.” His voice dropped lower, like the crackle of fire just before it roars. “Now.”
Something in your spine straightened. The heat in his gaze, the steam curling around his shoulders, the way he lounged like a king in that cypress tub, it pulled you forward despite the irritation bubbling in your chest.
The scent of hinoki wood, sweet florals, and the faintest whiff of expensive cologne filled the space.
Naoya’s gaze dragged over you slowly. He took a sip from his wine, then tilted his head like he was deciding what part of you he wanted to taste first.
Then, he spoke. “Strip.”
The word barely left his mouth before your fingers were already pulling at the silk sash, slow and deliberate. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t falter. The robe slipped from your shoulders and whispered down your skin like a secret, pooling at your feet in a soft, glimmering puddle.
You stood there bare under the soft golden light, eye contact sharp and unbroken, chin tilted the slightest bit higher as if daring him to say something more.
Naoya sipped his wine.
His lips twitched.
The silence stretched.
“I like you better when you obey,” he said. “Makes you look more fuckable. Should’ve skipped the attitude and bent you over months ago.”
You didn’t grant him a reaction, though your jaw ticked. The heat between your bodies thickened like the steam curling through the room.
Without a word, you stepped into the tub. Warm water kissed your skin, enveloping you inch by inch. But it didn’t rise high enough, not nearly. Your breasts remained exposed above the surface, slick, glistening, and unbothered by your own boldness.
Naoya was staring brazenly. Shamelessly, even.
You arched a brow. “Eyes up here, Zen’In.”
His gaze lifted, unapologetic, and you watched as he slowly set the wine glass down on the lacquered table beside the tub. Then he leaned back, arms spreading along the rim behind him like a man settling in for a show he’d paid good money to see.
His voice was smooth, low, and full of expectation. “Now don’t make your husband wait. Be a good wife.”
He tipped his head, motioning for you to come closer right into his lap.
Without a word, you straddled him, knees bracketing his hips, your bare cunt pressing right against his growing length. Your palms found the edge of the tub for balance, but your eyes never left his.
“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” you murmured, deadpan, “but your attitude isn’t exactly making me wet.”
A lie. And you both knew it.
Naoya smirked like he could see through your bones. “Then you better keep sitting right there until it does.”
His hands found your sides, slow and greedy. Thumbs dragging along the slope of your ribs, fingers dipping beneath the soft underside of your breasts, brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world.
He was eye fucking you so hard, you could feel it crawl over your skin.
His voice dropped. “Remind me again what your duties are, hm?”
A thumb grazed the peak of your nipple.
You sucked in a quiet breath. One hand clutched the tub rim tighter.
“You’re mine,” he said, tone smug and deep with promise.
“All of this,” another drag over your nipple, slower this time, watching your mouth twitch as you tried not to whimper, “belongs to me.”
Your hips twitched, his cock stirring beneath you. His mouth tilted in amusement.
“And you’ll bear my heir,” he added with finality, voice brushing hot against your throat as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against the soft swell of your breast, tongue flicking briefly over damp skin.
Your head tipped back slightly, another soft moan escaping despite your best efforts.
Naoya chuckled, dark and low, hands gripping your hips now, holding you firm.
“Look at you,” he drawled, voice thick with smug amusement, “acting like a proper wife for once.”
One of his hands slid along the curve of your back, from the base of your spine to the nape of your neck. You shivered at the contrast of his warm palm against your skin. Then, a sudden tug. His fingers curled into your hair, fisting a good amount, forcing your face closer until your noses were barely apart.
His breath fanned across your lips, eyes locked on yours like he was trying to crawl into your head.
You refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. "Felt generous and sorry for you."
His eyes narrowed, jaw twitching like you’d just challenged him and in a way, you did.
“Tch. Should’ve ruined you the second we got home from that damn ceremony.”
“Asshole,” you said, the word slipping out low, shaky, too full of heat to really count as an insult.
Naoya didn’t even blink.
He just smirked like he liked it, like the sound of your defiance was foreplay. He leaned in, breath brushing your lips, warm and deliberate. His hand stayed curled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, your throat exposed to him like some kind of offering. His other hand slid up your side, pausing just beneath your chest, the weight of it grounding you but not gentle.
“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low, maddeningly close. “Go on.”
You didn’t. Couldn’t. Not with the way his mouth hovered over yours like a fucking threat.
It was that tension where time stretches, breath catches, and all you can feel is him. Lips grazing but not kissing. Noses brushing. The charged stillness of it, like the air itself is holding its breath.
You could feel him smirk again, barely, and then...
He kissed you.
Just once.
A fleeting ghost of a kiss, cruel in how light it was. Barely there and almost tender.
And then he pulled back.
But not before his teeth caught your bottom lip and bit it slow, then sharp. Not enough to tear, but enough to sting. Enough to leave something behind.
A mark. A taste.
You gasped softly, lips parting, and he licked his own like he could already taste blood. “Tch.” His eyes burned into yours. “Guess it’s not that hard to keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut after all.”
You grab a fistful of his hair at the nape, yanking just enough to tilt his head back, exposing his throat. Your voice? Low, sharp, laced with venom. “You talk too much for someone so desperate to fuck me.”
He exhales, amused and breathless, his lips twitching into that cocky smirk you’ve grown to hate as much as you crave.
“Mm. There she is,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “My pretty little wife.”
His hands trail up the backs of your thighs, deceptively gentle, until they clamp hard around your waist. You feel the shift before you even react. It was sudden and fast.
In a flash, he jerks you down onto him, sinking into your heat with one brutal thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.
You gasp, your body jolting at the sudden fullness, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give you a second to adjust.
Naoya grabs both your wrists, gathering them easily in one hand and forcing them behind your back. The other hand clamps down on your hip, grounding you in place as he fucks up into you, hard and unrelenting, each thrust forcing a gasp from your throat.
“Thought you were in charge?” he grunts, voice rough with effort, jaw tight as his hips snap up into you again and again. “Look at you. Already fucked dumb and clenching around me.”
You squirm, moan and try to grind down harder for relief, but his hold on you only tightens. You’re his to use now, spine arched, wrists pinned behind you and body trembling with each pounding thrust.
“A wife like you,” he breathes against your throat, tongue flicking out to taste your skin, “should know better.”
He nips your neck hard, not enough to break skin but enough to bruise because of course he wants the mark there, to mark you as his.
You whimper half from pain, half from pleasure and he only fucks you harder, hips rutting up without mercy.
“So you better not disappoint me,” he snarls through gritted teeth, voice dropping lower, filthier. “You better take everything I give you.”
His hand leaves your hip just long enough to splay across your lower stomach, pressing down slightly to feel the way his cock drags inside you.
“Gonna fuck a brat like you full,” he growls, panting now, movements starting to lose rhythm from how tight you’re squeezing around him. “Make sure you bear my child and learn what a real wife’s duty is.”
Your head drops back with a ragged moan, his filthy words sinking deep into your core, and this time, instead of resisting, you move with him. Your hips grind down and roll, greedy and slick, syncing to the brutal thrusts of his cock. He groans sharp and low, both surprised and pleased.
“That’s it,” Naoya breathes, lips parted as he watches the way you ride him now, chest bouncing, flushed, ruined, and finally giving in. “There she is. That’s a proper Zen'In wife.”
His hand loosens around your wrists, finally releasing you and you immediately plant your palms on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin for support as you ride him harder. The shift in control is brief, heated, and earned. You bring one hand up to his face, gripping his jaw with authority, thumb dragging slow and mocking down his lower lip until it catches.
He licks it without thinking, breath hitching.
“Fuck you,” you bite out, voice husky, eyes half lidded.
Naoya smirks like the bastard he is. “By all means, please.”
And just like that, you're both moving in a rhythm that’s almost obscene, sweaty skin slapping, moans melting into one another, the heat between your bodies near unbearable. He lets you take what you need, his hands tight on your waist but his hips snap up into yours, sharp and unrelenting.
“Shit! Naoya-” you gasp, jaw trembling as he hits that spot over and over.
“Yeah, keep talking,” he mutters, breath ragged, lips dragging against your jaw. “You hear yourself? So much prettier when you're full of me.”
Your forehead falls against his, breath hitching, eyes barely open. His own are dark, blown wide and locked on yours with such intensity it makes your spine arch. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers digging into the back of his shoulders, grounding yourself.
Then you kiss him.
It was not sweet. It was not soft.
It’s hungry and messy like you’re both trying to devour the other, tongues clashing, teeth grazing. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it down like he’s starved for the sound.
"That's it," he pants into your lips, hips bucking harder now, rhythm erratic. "Ride it out with me, doll."
You cling to him tighter, the heat in your belly finally snapping, body trembling as your orgasm hits like a wave, pulsing around him as you cry out into his kiss.
"Fuck- good girl," he growls against your mouth, hand gripping your hip so tight it might bruise. “Fuck, you’re so much better like this, huh sweetheart?"
You nod weakly, lips brushing his. “Wanted it- wanted you-”
“You’re getting it,” he groans, spilling deep inside you with a violent shudder, his mouth never once leaving yours. You swallow his broken moans between the kiss, your fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him close like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
Naoya's hips twitch once, twice more, burying it as deep as he can. You feel it, and all you can do is hold on, forehead still pressed to his.
His breath fans hot across your lips as he pants out, “Fuck… that’s it. Took me so well. Knew you would.”
You whimper into his mouth, legs still trembling around his waist.
He leans in, tone quieter now, but rougher, meaner and what is this? Maybe even proud.
“My perfect little Zen'In wife.”
──── ⋆.⋆˚꩜｡ ˚ ──── ──── ⋆.⋆˚꩜｡ ˚ ────
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
my blondie corrupted brain will definitely be posting more fics soon aaaaaa
naoya gooners, standby ! you're in good hands ʕ•ᴥ•ʔو
p.s. yes, i know he’s a special grade asshole so if this ain't your thing, feel free to scroll up by all means ! ʕ•ᴥ<ʔ
Boyfriend!Sukuna had some odd habits, you were bound to find out about them after moving in together. They’re not deal breakers, of course, just… odd.
To be completely honest, you don’t even notice them at first. A lot of the times, they’re things you don’t remember until hours, or even days later. But there was one thing that made you stop in your tracks, questioning if the sight before you was even real.
What was nice about sharing a home with him was that he clean. Maybe even cleaner than you. Wiping the sink down after using it. Putting things back where they belonged almost mindlessly. If the laundry basket was full, he’d load up the washer without a second thought. No questions asked. No complaints made.
You loved that about him. You also loved watching him at times. It’s been a couple months since you’ve moved in, but watching him act so domestic never fails to move you in a way. There was something so sweet about knowing that making room for you in his life was never a difficult task.
So when you watch him separate the clothing in the basket, loading the colored items first, there’s a subtle smile on your face.
Until you catch him sniffing your panties.
The way he’s so casual with it, too. It makes you think he doesn’t even realize that he’s taking his time to smell them either— lace pressed right up against his nostrils.
You really shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always been kinda nasty like that. Hell, he told you to spit in his mouth the other day when you were riding him on the couch.
“What are you doing?” you ask, more perplexed than anything.
“What?” He stills, your black lace panties still held against his skin. At first, he looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But being the man he is, he smiles, and turns it around on you. “Is there something wrong with sniffin’ my girls panties now?”
“What? No? I never said that,” you say, erupting into laughter.
“You didn’t have to. Look at the face you’re making right now, you’re looking at me like I’m some fuckin’ freak,” he argues, feigning offense with the little pout slowly growing on his face.
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, right,” he grumbles, tossing the thin material into the washer. "You should be thanking me for washing your clothes right now, not kink shaming me for something everyone does."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone," he continues to double down. "Unless you're some weirdo that doesn't like the way your girl smells."
"I see," you continue to fight a smile. "Glad to know you're enjoying yourself right now."
"I am," he scoffs, plucking another pair from the pile, enoying the way your face drops from what he says next. "Now fuck off— it's not fun when you're around and judging me for something I caught you doing last week. Yeah. You're not slick, sweetheart— get your filthy ass the fuck out of here."
cw: crack, MDNI, smut (nothing to goon to), background character reader, ceo!gojo who’s 6’5 and has anger issues, you’re sick of him and y/n and quit your job to go work for ceo!sukuna, barely proofread (feel free to lmk of any typos)
m.list | part five | part six (you are here)
Today was the day of the fundraiser, and of course, Mr. Gojo woke up on edge, so he started this morning off with rougher-than-usual sex with little ms. Y/n.
“nghhh— gojo-sannn, fu— slow d-down !!”
“fuck you,” he growls, shoving his thumb inside y/n’s ass.
“OHMYGOD”
his thrusts grow faster, filling the room with lewd clapping noises, smirking at the way her hole clenches around his thumb. “that’s it princess, take this shit.”
“MmMMMmmM— I’m gonna c-cum!” she announces, her grip on the sheets tighten.
“THEN CUM.”
“NYAAAA.”
That didn’t take long— he’s off his game. He needed to straighten himself out, no matter what happened today. Alphas don’t act like this.
The thing is, he doesn’t even know what the actual issue is. It’s not the fight, he fights all the damn time! From Ijichi to all the other CEO’s in the surrounding area, this boxing event is light work for him.
Was it the fact that it was going to be televised? Or the fact that y/n never approved of this? God.. she doesn’t even know it’s happening today. She thinks they’re gonna lounge around and relax today. She deserves better, he’s a terrible boyfriend.
Lol too bad he’s never letting go of her or her plump folds.
That wasn’t exactly it, though. It was more than that. Perhaps it’s the fact that he can’t get you and Sukuna out of his head. Was it pettiness? How hypocritical Sukuna was? Or was it fomo, like his therapist suggested? He can’t believe she suggested that shit, by the way.
“Are you sure you don’t just feel… left out? Given your.. You know.. History of throuples?”
No, he doesn’t feel left out, you bitch. That’s why he fired Shoko, she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.
—
Sukuna slept like a baby. He woke up feeling rejuvenated, too. Today was a dream come true for him, he was finally going to get away with beating the shit of people.
He wasn’t just going to get away with it either, he’s going to be paraded all over the tabloids for this. He can just see it now, as he steps out of the shower and wipes the fog off his bathroom mirror.
“Ryomen Sukuna: Ending World Hunger, One Broken Jaw at a Time.”
“Mr. Sukuna? I’m here with your boxing shorts and shoes!” you call out from the living room of his penthouse, stopping him mid-cackle.
That’s right, he gave you the key code to his building and front door to drop them off. Hopefully you didn’t hear him, that would’ve been embarrassing.
You did, you just brush it off. You’re no stranger to him and his hateful spirit.
He steps out of the bathroom and walks into the living room in nothing but a towel hanging a little too low around his waist, showing off his insane physique. You have no idea why this guy decided to go the corporate route. He could’ve totally started a gym chain too if he really wanted to wear the suit and tie.
“Seriously?” you grimace, eyeing him up and down rather judgementally.
“What?” he clicks his tongue, using a tone that screams don’t fuck with me, “don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man in just a towel before. You’ve seen less at the beach.”
You tilt your head in annoyance, holding the shorts and shoes out for him. “And what if I’ve never been to the beach before?”
He snorts. “Not my fault you’re fucking poor.”
“Do you not realize that poor people can live by the beach too?”
“Oh aren’t you cute— those people don’t need money to be rich,” he sighs, checking out the black shorts with satanic symbolism. You roll your eyes at him in response and wait for him to approve of his boxing attire, or whatever you call it. “So… who are you rooting for tonight?” he probes.
Of course he asks that. The man has quite literally everything anyone could ask for and he still looks for attention and praise.
You hum and pretend to think, before eventually chirping out, “Toji Zen’in.” He looks up at you with a mixture of disgust and disappointment, but you continue to scroll on your phone, ignoring his heart broken glare.
“You know he’s filed for bankruptcy like 8 times now, right?” He bitterly informs you, as if it took away from how hot Toji is.
“His looks have nothing to do with his finances,” you barely argue.
“You think scarface is good-looking?”
You could’ve sworn those two were friends with the way they giggling like school girls over how much of a nerd they thought Mr. Gojo was. He was even excited for Toji to take part in the tournament.
You lock your phone and set it down on your lap, giving Mr. Sukuna a little smile. “I think the scar makes him unique.”
“Yeah, he’s special alright,” he grumbles, not doing a very good job of hiding how utterly disappointed he is. “Whatever— your shitty taste in men and low self-esteem has nothing to do with me.”
“Wait what?!” you genuinely laugh at that as you watch him start to walk away.
“You heard me,” he responds stubbornly. “Have fun living under a bridge after you two get married.”
You continue to laugh, “I don’t wanna marry him!”
“Sure you don’t— you’re done here. Make sure to have my dressing room stocked with redbull and 6 lines chopped up and ready to go on the vanity.”
“Will do, Mr. Sukuna.”
“Slut,” he says under his breath, making you laugh some more.
—
The event itself is insane. There’s music blasting through the speakers, multiple lights shooting off in every direction. Vendors everywhere— selling everything from alcohol to signs that have cutouts of the participants faces.
Yes, their faces. Meaning you could buy Mr. Sukuna or Mr. Gojo’s head on a stick, and wave it around while they’re fighting to the death in the ring.
You almost got the one with Toji, just to fuck with your boss a little, but you decide against it. You try your luck enough with him as is.
Speaking of your boss, he arrives late.
You don’t know what in the hell he’s been doing. One thing about him though is that he is one vain man— he’s probably spent the last hour just staring at himself in the mirror, telling himself a bunch of affirmations.
And why do you think he’s been telling himself a bunch of affirmations? Because you’ve never seen him happier in his life when you stepped into his dressing room, shotgunning his 2nd redbull.
He reaches for his third, and you and Uraume both stop him from puncturing a hole in it.
“Killjoys,” he murmurs, giving you both the nastiest side-eye.
“You’re gonna have a heart attack,” you respond out of pure concern for the man, taking the can out of his hand and putting it back in the fridge.
“No I’m not.”
“Can you not argue with me, for once?”
He looks like he’s about to say something rude, but shoves the words down and comes up with something else. “Fine," he huffs, then looks at you up and down a couple times. "You look very pretty by the way."
“Thank you,” you sigh, scrolling through the list of participants one more time.
"Shouldn't be getting dress up for bums like that."
"I'm not getting dressed up for him!"
Luckily, Sukuna won’t be the first to fight. It’s actually between these two guys you’ve never heard of before. Hakari, who apparently runs multiple casinos, and Kashimo, the heir to some huge electricity company.
You did have to get him out of here soon though. There’s a whole conference meeting for all the participants, and you just hope he behaves himself around Mr. Gojo until they’re actually in the ring.
—
“I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME.”
“I DO BUT THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT. I'M TRYING TO STOP WORLD HUNGER.”
“BULLSHIT, YOU’RE JUST BROKEN AND DON’T WANT TO ADMIT IT.”
Gojo and y/n have been fighting in the dressing room this entire time. Ijichi’s standing in the corner, just hoping these two don’t start passionately making out again like they always do when they fight.
Except he has a feeling they won’t this time.
“I’M NOT FUCKING BROKEN Y/N. THIS IS WHO I AM.”
Ijichi couldn’t agree more. Satoru already had more than a few screws loose when he came into this world, it’s just who he is.
Y/n continues to pace back and forth, sobbing into her hands. The entire time Satoru’s keeping an eye on her so she doesn’t bump into anything, and fall, and break her neck.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Y/n, baby— look at me.” The bass in his voice startles her, making her look up at him while she starts shaking like a rabid chihuahua. “It’s just a fundraiser— nothing bad is going to happen. We’re just having fun while raising money.”
It’s the truth. Sorta. He was going to have fun, but he didn’t really care about raising money, he just wanted to punch Sukuna in the face again. Payback for all the years of torment disguised as petty jokes.
She looks up at him all teary eyed, something about it makes his dick guard, or whatever the fuck athletes call it, grow tighter.
“Y-you pr-pr-pr-pr-pr-pr-pr—“ oh my fucking god just spit it out already, “uh p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-pr-pr-pr—“
“I promise, kitten,” he promises.
Ijichi’s still in the corner, holding back literal tears from the way he’s been violently fighting off laughter.
Utahime comes barging into the room, ruining the sweet moment for the two idiots in love, but saving Ijichi from dying of oxygen loss.
you have one rule. never get attached. so how come you're torn between five guys you fucked...and the one man who doesn't want you?
synopsis: men are easy. they only ever wanted to get their dick wet anyway. so what's wrong with you beating them at their game? making pretty promises and turning into a phantom the second things looked like they might get serious? it had never been a problem before. until you meet the one guy on campus who doesn't want to play.
pairing: multiple jjk!men x bimbo!reader (choso-centric)
content: mdni, smut + angst, occasional fluff, COLLEGE AU, slower build, lots of piv sex, condoms and creampies (but reader's on birth control), fingering, oral sex, messy relationships, ghosting, reader sleeping around, denying feelings, crushes, pining, reader's roster will include gojo, geto, sukuna, toji + nanami), reader is lowk a villain lol, more tags to be found in individual chaps
a/n: the voices won lol first chap should be out in january btw also the art is by @1amglow + div by
ooouf, pervy!roommates toji and reader who do the nastiest shit with each other and say its just in the name of science
toji, who loves groping you while you watch tv, saying its just because your tits are free stress balls, but he's so focused on how your nipples start to get hard, the way your thighs squish together
you, who keeps putting your hands down his boxers because your hands are cold, but it always turns into you feeling him up, getting him to tug his boxers down a bit as you play with his cock, cheek smushed against his chest as you complain about how heavy his dick is, and gaze in awe at how his stupidly fat sack barely fits in one hand
toji, who has you pull down your panties so he can compare how warm your pussy is compared to his dick, enjoying the way you squeal when his cold ass fingers cup right over your mound, muttering in your ear how cute it is that you've got a chubby little cunt, and that he'd have to spread open to really get a good look at all of it.
you, who thinks its funny to slingshot your panties at toji right before you shower after humping your pillow, knowing that theyre still sticky and wet with your slick, masking your embarrassment with a cocky laugh as you tell him to have fun since your panties are the closest he will ever get to pussy (and you know its not true, not true at all)
toji, who thinks its just as funny to have his door wide open as he strokes himself with said panties, head behind his head as he loudly groans your name, seeing you walk by and trying not to look at him, but stopping you in your tracks when he asks you to bring him a drink
you, who thinks its fine to bring him a glass of water as he's mid stroke, sitting down on the bed next to him and striking up conversation as if he isn't looking you up and down, groaning when he realizes your still shiny from the fresh coat of lotion you rubbed on yourself, muttering under his breath how much he'd like to fuck those soft thighs, before going back to listening to whatever bullshit you came up with as an excuse to sit near him
── .✦ SYNOPSIS…your ex friends with benefits, choso, calls you up late one night only to be transferred to your voice mail. Well, now you have one new message
── .✦ INFO…ex fwb!choso, pining, masturbation, jealously, edging, overstim, riding, choking, slight angst, crying (both pleasure and sadness), lots of cursing, not proofread
── .✦ OTHER…likes and reblogs are appreciated
choso calls you late in the night after months of no contact. The phone rings and rings until he’s eventually transferred to voicemail. The beep rings in his ears, a long, ragged breath the first thing that leaves his mouth. “H-hey,” he shakily says, “I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me but,” he pauses, eyes dropping to the bulge forming in his sweats, “I’ve been thinking about you…like…a lot.” He gulps, eyes slowly blinking as he slides his hand into the band of his sweats, palming at his semi-hard cock.
His lip is caught between his teeth, heart beating rapidly against his chest as he begins to second guess why he’s even doing this. “I was just thinking about all the things we used to do, you know?” He scoffs. “All the fun we used to have together. Just me and you—mmph.” His eyes squeeze shut, his dick pulsating against his hand, confined by the fabric of his boxers. He pulls them down just enough to free his dick, cock springing out and lying against his chiseled stomach.
He holds the phone to his ear, other hand lazily stroking his needy cock, nothing but you on his mind. Even if you don’t listen to this, just the off chance that you might is enough to get him going. Beads of pre cum form at his swollen red tip, using his thumb to smear it over his length. “Ahhh…fuck, baby. I miss you. I fucking miss you,” he whimpers, followed by shaky breaths. “God, but I wanna hate you so fucking bad.” He grits his teeth, hand squeezing around his base tighter, making his stomach clench.
“You,” he gulps, “you ghosted me. Straight up left me. Ignored me. After all those dates, all the money I spent on you, all of the sex, and the pillow talk that came after…I should fucking hate you…but—mmmph fuckkkk—I can’t!” He sucks in a sharp breath, throwing his back on the soft pillow beneath him. “You played with my feelings, baby. You had me hooked on you like some kinda drug. Just like right now.” He clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring as he speeds up his movements, from base to tip, long and fast strokes.
“It’s been months and I can’t get you out of my head. Why? You got me going crazy, you know that? Listen.” He takes the phone away from his ear, putting it closer to where you can hear the slick, sticky sound of him jerking his throbbing cock. “You hear that? That’s what you do to meeeeahhhh fuck I’m already close….shit, shit, no, no I gotta stop.” He quickly takes his hand away, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, licking his lips while he watches the way it twitches on its own.
“Why’d you leave me, baby? I thought we could work out. I always imagined it, and I know you did too. You’d be a fucking liar to say no.” He reaches his hand down, cupping his heavy balls, gently massaging them. “Got bored of me and found some new guy? Is that it? Your new boyfriend. I saw him on your profile. Looks like a fucking loser,” he bitterly chuckles, feeling like his chest was caving in, jealously rushing through him every time he thought about it. “I hate him,” he groans, fingers slowly wrapping back around his sensitive cock, squeezing gently.
“Does he let you use him how you like? I know you remember that one time in my apartment. That one night you were riding me—ahhh, my god.” His eyes roll back at the thought, his hand moving at the same speed you were that night, so fast, so rough, just slamming down on him. He bites his lip, choked whimpers escaping from his throat. “You…ah…you were riding me, using my cock like a fucking dildo, squeezing around me so tight! I came so hard inside you that it was leaking out, making a mess all over—nnngh—and…you kept riding me, wrapping your hands around my neck and telling me to take it like a good boy,” he whimpered, loud moans echoing into the phone. “That evil look in your eye while you just smiled down at me—shitttt, I can’t get that outta my head.”
His jaw is slack, eyes rolled back as continues to pump his cock at the exact pace, replaying that night over and over in his head, imagining your tight, wet cunt milking him dry, your sultry voice whispering in his ear, praising him. “You fucking ruined me! I wanna hate you so fucking bad! You fucking messed with head! Told me you wanted me and only me! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” He on the verge of tears from both pleasure and heartbreak, tears brimming his eyes as his voice breaks, raspy and soft at the same time.
“Oh my god,” he moans, voice cracking, “oh my god I’m gonna fucking cum! Baby! Yes, yes, yes.” His breathing becomes quickened, eyes squeezed shut. “Ah, ah, I’m cumming! I’m cumminggggfuckkk!” His thighs are left trembling, thick ropes of white shooting all over his chest and abs as he continues pumping, getting every last drop like he knows you’d want him to. “Mmmmmpph!” He squeezes his eyes shut, heavy, ragged breaths as he tries to gather himself.
He sits there for a minute or two, feeling completely lightheaded, throat dry and he thickly gulps. “Fuck me,” he whispers to himself, looking down at the mess he left. “I…I’m sorry for this. I…” He shuts his mouth, running a hand down his face. “I’m just sorry. You don’t have to call me back. You don’t have to do anything, okay? Goodbye, y/n.”
getting older is all about getting weirder and sexier and more perverted and gluttonous and intelligent and blunt and eloquent and spontaneous and skilled. i love that for us.
Me wherever I read a fic where reader is lowk a dumb bitch who can't comprehend the world around them and have child like behavior thinking it's cute when actually it's making them look even more stupid
You love your husband, but there once was a time where you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him.
It wasn’t hatred— disdain is probably a better word to describe how you felt toward him. He was brash, rude, way too fucking cocky. It didn’t help that he came from a wealthy family either. His father ran one of the more known construction companies in the region, meaning he grew up more spoiled than he’d ever admit.
He had everything— the money, the nice cars, the women. Of course he didn’t know how to act right.
You heard about him way before you met him thanks to a friend of yours that went to the same university and hung around in the same circle as him. It was a complaint each time— this bastard did this, and that asshole did that. The complaints went on even after graduation, you could imagine how annoyed she was the day she found out you went out to dinner with him and fucked him in the backseat of his car right after.
He was okay at first. A little stand off-ish, the type that didn’t care to make new friends— that much was known when he stayed in the basement playing beerbong with the same guys all night long.
His looks clouded your judgement at first. The height, the tattoos, the big broad shoulders, his face that was arguably more handsome than most. He was exactly your type and you hated that fact the first few months of knowing him.
It started off with little comments here and there, passive aggressive, but harmless. Stuff like, “no one asked” whenever you made a comment. Little things— things you could ignore.
And so you did. You ignored his comments, the way he’d sigh whenever you asked a question, the face he’d make whenever you spoke up in general. After a while, you started to ignore him completely.
That should’ve been enough, right? He couldn’t make you feel bad if you weren’t around to begin with.
Wrong. He started going out of his way to bother you. Whether it was through social media, responding to your instagram stories with nothing but laughing emojis, or just bringing you up in a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with you— Sukuna always found a way.
It didn’t stop until you were both at a mutual friend's birthday party, when a resounding slap echoed throughout the house just minutes after Sukuna walked into the kitchen to say something to you.
You don’t even remember what it was that he said. All that comes to mind years later is the shocked look on his face as his left cheek steadily reddened from the slap you put all of your might in.
tags: toji fushiguro x fem!reader, established relationship, smut smut smut, pussy eating, and i mean d1 pussy eating
w.c: 1k
a/n: want to be transparent and share i'm more than likely not going to complete jellyween on time or maybe even at all FUCK i've been dealing with some things and also just don't have any interest in it right now :( but hopefully some freaky toji shit will suffice LOL also fanart credits to @/zeilorene on insta!
the way toji’s eating your pussy has to be criminal. his big hands grip your thighs like they’re his lifeline, spreading you wide open on the bed while his mouth works you over with no mercy. he’s been at it for what feels like forever, tongue flat and pressing hard against your slick folds, dragging slow and deliberate from your entrance up to that throbbing clit that’s got you shaking.
“mmphh, fuck, baby, you taste so damn good,” he growls right into your wetness, voice vibrating through you as he sucks your clit between his lips, teasing it with the edge of his teeth just enough to make your hips buck.
you grab at his dark hair, pulling him closer because you can’t get enough—hell, neither can he. toji’s green eyes flick up to meet yours, they're filled with pure lust like he’s devouring your reactions as much as your body is. he pulls back for a second, lips shiny with your arousal, and smirks that cocky grin that always gets you wetter.
“you’re dripping all over my chin, sweetheart. love how messy you get for me.”
then he dives right back in, tongue circling your hole before pushing inside, fucking you with it in lazy thrusts that have you moaning loud. his nose bumps your clit with every move, adding that extra pressure that builds the heat in your core.
“j-ji—oh god, right there,” you gasp, legs trembling as he hums in approval, the sound sending sparks up your spine.
he’s not rushing, no, this man treats your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, savoring every lick, every suck. he flattens his tongue again, lapping at your folds with broad strokes that cover everything, gathering your juices and swallowing them down like he’s starved.
“you’re so fucking sweet, baby,” he mutters, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers while his mouth stays glued to you.
your back arches off the bed which makes him chuckle low against your skin, the vibration making your clit pulse harder. he knows exactly what he’s doing. toji’s had this fixation on your pretty pussy ever since he first laid eyes on it. and right now, that's all he's focused on—seeing you come undone.
he presses his tongue flat against your clit, holding it there with just the right amount of pressure, then starts shaking his head side to side, tongue rubbing you relentlessly until you’re crying out his name.
“yeah, scream for me, baby. let me hear how good i make you feel, hm?” his words are muffled, but they hit you straight in the gut. you clench around nothing, wishing he’d fill you up already—but no, he’s content to eat you out just like this, drawing it out.
he slips two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them up to hit that spot that drives you insane.
“fu-fuck—toji, i’m gonna—” you start but he cuts you off with a hard suck on your clit, fingers pumping faster now, slick sounds filling the room. he’s relentless, tongue flicking over your swollen bud while his fingers stretch you, scissoring inside your tight walls.
“come on, doll. give it to me,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. and his words are all it takes for your orgasm to crash over you, body convulsing as you soak his face, but he doesn’t stop—keeps licking you through it, drinking every drop like it’s his reward.
you finally come down, panting and sensitive, he lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes gleaming.
“that’s my girl. fuck, always do s'good f'me but we’re not done yet, not a chance.” he crawls up your body, kissing your inner thigh, your stomach, up to your breasts where he latches onto a nipple, sucking hard while his hand dips back between your legs.
“toji, wait—i- i need a second, 'm sensitive,” you whine, but he just grins, fingers circling your clit lightly, teasing.
“good. that means you’re ready for more.” he settles back down, mouth hovering over your pussy again, breath hot against your oversensitive skin. “love this pretty little cunt of yours. could eat it all night, baby.”
and he does, starting slow again with those long, flat licks that make your toes curl. he makes out with your folds like he’s kissing your lips, tongue delving deep, exploring every inch.
“you’re so wet, baby—fuck, just listen to that, sounds like fuckin' heaven,” he says, pulling his fingers out to spread you open, then slapping your clit lightly, making you jolt.
“ji!” you yelp but he laughs, a low and dirty sound, before soothing it with his tongue, pressing firm and steady. his free hand reaches up to grab your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer to his face, burying himself in you.
“can’t get enough of you, can't get enough of this goddamn pussy—shit,” he mumbles, words slurred with lust.
you feel another wave building already. he alternates between slow, teasing licks and hard pressure on your clit, knowing your body better than you do.
“talk to me, babygirl. tell me how it feels,” he says, looking up with that intense stare. his head resting against your thigh as his tongue flicks your bundle of nerves perfectly.
“feels so good—toji, please..don't stop!” you breathe, hips grinding against his mouth.
he groans, the sound primal, and redoubles his efforts, tongue moving faster now, lapping at you with urgency. his fingers join back in, three this time, stretching you wide as he fucks them in deep, curling just right.
“shit, you’re tight—gonna make me cum just from this.” you glance down and see the wet spot forming in his briefs, but he ignores it, all focus on you.
“cum again for me, baby. gotta feel it again, just want anothet taste…” his words push you over and you shatter, thighs clamping around his head as he licks you through it, not letting up until you’re boneless. finally, he pulls away, face glistening, and climbs up to kiss you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips.
“think you're ready for my cock?” he whispers.
despite your body being overstimulated to oblivion, you nod. pulling him closer, a hand already snaking down into his underwear, grabbing his throbbing cock. heart forming in your eyes just feeling how much pre has leaked from his tip.
he hisses, head dipping down into the crook of your neck as you stroke him.
you're both in for a loooong night because toji's not the only one with a fixation.
izzy806
stormborns
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
andulkaphoto
