⸻ 🕷️‧₊˚ ⋅ spiderman!gojo satoru x black cat!reader obsessed with the hunt more than the prey, you love making satoru chase you. maybe one day you’ll let him catch you…
TAGS. robbery, theft, chase scene, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, flirting, eventual rough smut, slight stalking, use of petnames (cat, kitty, etc), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switchy!gojo, switchy!reader, WC: 3,670
gojo has never met anyone as reckless as you.
it was always in your nature to be so cunning, playful, and whimsical just to get what you want. but there was much more about you that he’ll forever admire; your intelligence, proficiency, skills, and agility as his partner alongside. you used to work together professionally, taking down criminals and carrying out missions while also having an intimate relationship together.
but aside your flirtatious, provocative side that gojo also had a thing for, you were still a criminal deep down.
he strongly believed that he could have a positive influence on you and not live the rest of your life as a thief. but your criminal instincts always got the best of you; you valued your independence and desires more than anything, enjoying your luxurious life of crime as a relentless and manipulative burglar. when gojo caught you stealing from the criminals you both fought, everything had to end that day from such betrayal. your mistrust and moral ambiguity was too much for him to handle as spiderman.
as the years gone by of working alone and saving the city millions of times now, you still come and go across gojo’s mind. you were nowhere to be found and unable to track no matter how hard he looked. as badly as he misses you alongside with him, he just couldn’t handle the conflicting loyalties, trust issues, and moral differences between you two. but there was no doubt that he still has love for you deep down… he’d often wonder what were to happen if you were to ever cross paths again.
“there’s been suspicious activity going down at the art museums and large bank corporations in tokyo and shibuya. many valuable art pieces have gone missing along with over 70 million yen robbed in just a blink of an eye…”
it was currently 12:07am in tokyo. gojo made his way inside the tokyo national museum while it was closed, checking if every art piece were still intact including the security protocols. he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be sneaking inside here, but he’s dedicated on catching this thief, even if it’ll piss the police off for stealing their job (like he always does) and taking care of things in his own way. but that’s how gojo rolls— technically considered as a vigilante, he’ll always be a menace to some people in the city, even the ones in authority. if only he wasn’t so whimsical and cocky about being better than the cops at doing their jobs sometimes…
as gojo was scanning the museum, nothing seemed out of place. even his spidey-sense couldn’t recognize any kind of movement, danger, or threat nearby. the showcase room with tokyo’s national treasures all looked perfectly fine— but it wasn’t until he passed by the katana displays.
a tiny black cat figure was sitting on the silk drape where the 10th-century crescent moon blade was supposed to be. though he was alert that an artifact was already missing, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trick this was. but when a click from the black cat went off, a demure voice recording started playing.
“hey, spider. been thinking about you a lot lately. it’s just boring living alone in this new house… maybe some new decorations wouldn’t hurt. like the crescent moon katana, one the five swords under heaven. i think it’d look lovely on my shelves, don’t you think?”
your voice heightened every nerve of his body as if his inhibitions were tossed out the window. his head darted at every corner of the showcase room, looking for cameras or even a sign of you lurking in the shadows. every thought of his was consumed by flashbacks of you; your scent that drives him crazy, your touch that drives him wild, your flirtatious side that gojo just couldn’t get enough of… all of your memories flooded right back into his head.
“black cat,” gojo marveled, suddenly coming back to his senses after realizing you were alive this whole time. “i should’ve known— 70 million yen in just one night? i didn’t think there’d be anyone that skilled to pull that off better than you can. still been a bad kitty, haven’t you?”
“aw. are you flirting with me already? seems like you missed me,” you teased through the speaker on the black cat toy.
“you ghosted me for months and here i find you again; catching you stealing art or starting your own heist,” he exasperated. “what’s it gonna take for you to actually stop stealing art?”
you couldn’t help but admire gojo through the security cameras; he still looked as good as the last time you left him. “you already know me, spider. my morals aren’t ever aligned with yours. now, you gonna get out of there and catch me or wait until the security system gets triggered?”
suddenly, the alarm went off right after you already made your escape out of the museum. cursing under his suit, gojo had to find a way out and avoid the red flashing lights and cameras. from the window, he can see you swinging with your grappling hook out from the museum and into the city.
“quick! check everything,” a man’s voice echoed down the hall when a rush of security guards scurried into the showcase room.
gojo had to immediately attach onto the ceiling and hide in plain sight, looking for any nearby exits as quick as he could before you could get away this time. when he found a sunroof window that can be pushed open, he made his way out and started swinging towards the direction you were going.
it didn’t even take long for him to find you; he knew exactly what you were doing; making your way through the cityscape and pretending that he wasn’t following right behind you from a distance. you really wanted to get caught. or maybe you were luring him right where you wanted him to be…
“oh, you’re still with me!” you pretend to act shocked as you looked behind your shoulder, hauling yourself onto a crane and staying higher above him. you wanted to keep him at a distance where he can’t reach you, but he can follow you until you reached your hideout.
gojo grunted, remembering the fact that you can swing a little faster than him. “i can go all night if that’s what it takes!” he shouts.
“all night with me? is that a promise, satoru?”
“you naughty girl. still trying to flatter your way out of this?”
“oh, but you love when i do that!”
the two of you kept swinging through the city, through the streets, and even underground where all the train stations were busy. as exhausted as he was, he was still dedicated to reach you. maybe even capture you and pin you down with his webs for running away from him. as you swung through a darkened alleyway, gojo managed to draw closer and was preparing to shoot a web to temporarily stop you. but at the end of the alleyway, you suddenly disappeared. he landed on a window with a loud thud and panted heavily, looking everywhere for you.
“damnit,” he cursed under his breath. “where’d she go?”
as gojo crawled across the building’s windows and was about to haul himself over onto the rooftop, he peaked over and instantly recognized your shoes. you were heading through the doors of the building that appeared to be the balcony of a fancy penthouse, looking behind your shoulder with a smirk on your face before heading inside.
you were a naughty, yet clever girl in gojo’s eyes.
as quiet and sneaky he could be, he landed on the balcony and swung on top of your penthouse’s windows to not be seen. gojo had a sense that you knew he was watching— but then again, this is exactly you wanted. purposely discarding what you stole from today’s heist, you knew there was something else that you desired besides all that money and fancy artifacts you stole. you feigned oblivious about gojo literally stalking you. it made you want to spice things up a bit…
you whirled around to face your body mirror and slowly zipped down your latex black suit. slowly stripping down for him, as if you were throwing a little show— even the neighbors across the building could also enjoy. but you took pleasure and thrill from teasing gojo like this, always from a distance where it’ll tempt him to draw closer to you. he loved how coy you tried to play for him. maybe he wanted to get you back and give you the attention you were wanting. as he crawled on your large windows and made his way on the rooftop, he entered through your open sunroof window and landed in the middle of your living room with a loud thud.
but as he scanned the inside of your penthouse, you were gone. nowhere to be found in the last place he saw you. of course, you were wildly unpredictable to him. always pulling your own tricks and surprising him off guard. it wasn’t until it was too late before his spidey-sense could warn him that you were attacking him from his peripheral vision— before he could pull a move and defend himself from you jump attacking him, you grab his arm and flip him over on his back, straddling him as he grunted in pain.
“woah. breaking and entering now, spider?” you huffed as you hovered your masked face above his. “i don’t think it’s fair that i get in trouble for it but you don’t.”
“trouble?” gojo scoffed. “you’ve caused enough trouble for me tonight, sweetheart. i played your little game and chased you down the whole city. and now i finally caught you just like you wanted me to.”
your lips curl into a smirk as your gloved hand slowly caresses his chest. your suit wasn’t even zipped down all the way, only revealing more of your cleavage that gojo definitely couldn’t take his eyes off of.
“technically you didn’t catch me. i caught you— stalking me through my windows and watching me undress myself? maybe i’m not the only naughty one here…”
“oh, please. what exactly did you gain from stealing and making me chase you all the way to your penthouse? ‘cause i know exactly what you’re doing right now…”
the tone in gojo’s voice falls from stern to sultry, feeling your heartbeat grow rapid in just a fleeting moment. there was this unexplainable affect that gojo had on you when you two were together. he’d evoke such strong sensations that you never knew you were capable of feeling, like tempting you to go straight and become a hero like him to fight alongside with. as a thief and wanted criminal, it’s palpable that good boys like gojo satoru were your type… you may have loved him, but you couldn’t love anything more than the hunt and the luxury.
your faces were just mere inches away from each other; you still memorize his prominent features that you adorned like how you memorized dozens of safe codes. but as gojo fixates his gaze onto you underneath his mask, you have eroded his senses once again, the way your dark mystery drizzles into his skin. he couldn’t fight nor deny how effortlessly you beguile him, wrapping him in some sort of spell. he fumbled several missions in the past just to kiss your pretty face, to sneak away on rooftops and get down to business from how crazy you make him, and developing serious romantic feelings for you that he was willing to make you more than just his girlfriend and partner— if only you had not betrayed him…
“don’t you miss this, satoru?” you cooed to his ear as your hand makes its way to the neckline of his mask. he can feel the way your fingers slipped underneath, gently caressing his neck and wanting to lift it just to reveal lips.
gojo would be lying if he said he didn’t. hot flashbacks of all the times you two made love and fucked each other hard in the past started running through his mind it was impossible to evade. he missed you deeply; he could never fight off the irresistible effect you have on him.
“you brought me all the way here for a reason. might as well make the most of it, right?”
suddenly, gojo pushes your body off his and hovered above you now, snatching his mask off and tossing it away in urgency as he kisses you. he can feel the way your lips stretch into a smile as you kiss back, immediately wrapping your legs around him and running your fingers through his snow-white hair. your body falls weak from his knee pressing between your legs, remembering your ultimate weakness.
gojo’s mouth made its way from your lips to the side of your neck, holding back from kissing your collarbone to get one good look at you one more time. his ultimate weakness was your luscious, expensive scent— whatever perfume you had was like a strong pheromone to him, sending his mind into a haze. but he still managed to remain in control, no matter how dominant you tried to act towards him.
“if you’re gonna strip for me, why didn’t you finish, hm? you wanted me rip your suit off for you or what?”
“do it, spider. i dare you,” you taunt, subtly biting your lip.
gojo chuckled, shaking his head in response to not giving you what you want. “nah… i don’t think i should ruin it. do what you did earlier and strip for me while i watch you.”
even if you wanted to act all defiant and bratty towards him and not give him what he wants, there was a part of you that wanted to throw a little show for him. gojo sat down on your sofa with his arms propped on the back cushions, slightly manspreading. you always knew how truly perverted he was underneath that “hero” facade he has for the public, which is why you fell for him.
as you stood in front of him with a smirk, you slowly pulled down the zipper to your suit. gojo watched in silent amusement watching the sleeves fall from your shoulders, slowly revealing your tits and your laced thong, all the way until your black leather suit pools around your ankles.
“‘atta girl,” he says, shifting himself on the sofa from how uncomfortable his boner was under his spider suit. “not so hard following directions, am i right?”
“following directions is not the only thing hard for me right now…” your gaze lands on his crotch, prompting you to get on your knees and crawl right between his open legs, making him nervous. “poor spider. looks like there’s something else that needs to be taken care of.”
now you were back in control of gojo, who had to hide his face flushing red from your hands caressing his inner thighs. you looked so fucking sexy to him, even when you’re teasing him on your knees right in your penthouse living room with the police probably on the search for both of you right now. he lets you pull down the lower seam of his suit as he slips off the top part and discards everything on your floor, finally taking in his heavenly body and strong physique that you admired for the longest. it felt like old times, with both of you half-naked and craving deep intimacy one last time.
“i really did miss you, cat,” gojo murmured, peering deep into your eyes.
you get up off your knees and straddled him, feeling his soft hands glide down your bare back and caressing your waist. “i missed you too, satoru.”
he lets out a sigh when he feels the wet spot on your panties subtly rub on his aching cock poking through his briefs. “if i make you come multiple times tonight… will you promise to be a good girl and stop stealing?”
“is that another way of telling me you want to fuck my brains out right now?” you teased, subtly grinding your hips on him. “fine, i’ll oblige. you did promise to go all night with me.”
and as the night went on, gojo really fulfilled his promise of fucking you multiple rounds, multiple positions, and multiple orgasms. hell, you lost count that it was probably way more than him. it astounded you that he was lasting this long with you compared to when you two were together; always this sweet, shy, and submissive boy for you that couldn’t last two rounds because of how you were always in control. sure, after he was bitten by the radioactive spider that gives him his strength and super powers, he was still sensitive and more prone to orgasms because of his heightened senses. but now that time has passed and you haven’t seen each other in a long time, it seems that his stamina has increased dramatically.
your orgasms were way more intensified that you lost all coherence from how mindblowing gojo kept fucking into you much further and faster, wrapping his large hand around your throat from behind and slightly choking you. never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight.
“you can take it all, cockslut,” he huffed in your ear. “just can’t stop coming all over my cock, eh? you miss when i turn you into my dumb little whore?”
you tried to reply, but your words slurred and your thoughts were mush. all you could do was moan pathetically as lust speared through you from his words. your head grew so hazy with intensity that the world around you started spinning. you looked like you were in a daze, your face all glossy and sweaty from him fucking your throat so roughly and coming all over your face earlier.
gojo chuckles, harshly slapping your ass and pulling your hips back and forth on his cock. you could hear his animalistic groans and growls filling your ears from how fucking good you felt clenching around him. “i need to hear you say yes. c’mon, kitty. be an obedient slut for me.”
“y— yes, satoru,” you whined, almost squirming in his grasp when he started playing with your clit from behind. “i like— i like being your dumb… little whore…”
gojo can feel his orgasm building inside you as well that he had the urge to pin your head down on the cushions while roughly slapping his hips onto your ass. he loved the way your ass was rippling with every harsh thrust and every harsh slap.
“fuck, cat. i’m gonna come inside your cunt if you keep throbbing on me like that,” he grunted. “will you promise to stop stealing from now on? i’ll give you one more orgasm if you promise for me…”
your back was arched all the way as your moans were muffled by your cushions. you couldn’t stop drooling either that it left a few marks. “i— i promise…! please, please come with me, satoru. come inside me again, i need it…”
the way you kept begging and became so feral had gojo immediately lose himself, shooting hot, sticky white strings of cum into your womb. your cunt couldn’t stop flexing and tightening all over his cock as if you were trying to push him out from such an intense orgasm. sweat was trickling down the both of your skins, bodies flashing hotter than ever as you both collapsed on your cool sofa. gojo laid down on top of you, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and hearing him catching his breath. he looked so adorable that you ran your fingers through his hair, wanting nothing but to indulge in this sweet, intimate moment of cuddling just like old times.
“do you really mean it?” he suddenly murmurs.
“…mean what?”
“you promise you won’t ever steal again?” gojo hovered above you, his expression so profound as he peered deeply into your eyes, like there really was a chance of hope and redemption for you. that was all he ever really wanted; for you to be his partner alongside again, to make you a hero again and utilize your talents for helping people other than yourself.
but then again, you were unpredictable to the spider. there was nothing you loved more than the chase.
“hm. and what if i break that promise?” you smirked. “what are you gonna do if i steal again?”
“then… i’ll just have to tie you up next time and teach you a lesson,” he mirrored your smirk. “but i bet you’d love that, so… maybe i’d have to turn you in, then.”
“i’m kidding satoru. i don’t ever break promises,” you confide, softly caressing his face. “i promise to be by your side and not steal. we can be together just like old times… but only one condition.”
“…which is?”
“spend the nights with me here, satoru,” you whispered fondly. “i don’t wanna be alone every night again.”
gojo planted sweet kisses on your forehead, on both sides of your face, and on your lips, slowly turning into a passionate make-out session. “if that’s what it takes for you to never steal again… i’ll stay with you. promise.”
it was a shame, though. how gullible that spiderman, gojo satoru, could be sometimes. because that following morning when gojo was still sound asleep on your bed, you had to take your leave before the police arrived right at your location where all the missing stuff were hiding. you left a kiss mark on the side of his face with black lipstick and another black cat toy right beside him. as quiet and sneaky you could be, you escaped through your sunroof with a smirk on your face, not looking back on gojo who was soon to be framed for stealing.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ the heartbreak bet⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ | chapter 4: white lies
[about] sorority girls hate fraternity boys, it's the natural cycle of the world. they think all brothers are nasty scum, who are incapable of love. cue ryomen sukuna and his heartless reputation. if he can make you fall in love with him and not just his dick, then the frat wins. only, you're making it a little tricky.
[tags] fwb! dynamic, bet romance! angst, cliche bullying, partying, drinking, toxic greek life, mean girl! yorozu, hurt/comfort, comfort sex, mirror sex, bathroom sex, nipple play, degradation, praise, slight use of pet names, choking, hair pulling, soft sukuna? minor edging, creampie, spanking, marking, shy!nerd!reader, frat!kuna, hockey player! sukuna, smut, angst, fluff, attempted humor, aftercare
a/n: i'm so sorry for such a long delay between chapters! life was hectic, i hope you enjoy this chapter! i'm really liking where this story is going so far and i hope you guys are too and that it was worth the wait!
wc: 14.7k
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yorozu sat at her vanity, staring into her mirror with a narrow gaze. her eyes were locked onto her reflection, focused on the large red blemish that tainted her porcelain skin. pushing down on the stubborn pimple-head, her fingers applied more and more pressure until suddenly a pop!
“gross,” she scoffed under her breath, although she had more on her mind that just the residue of a pimple. the first year girls had already planted a poisonous seed into her mind, one that involved a certain treasurer of delta kappa nu, and that seed was bound to sprout into an even more toxic flower.
“did i tell you what he said to me outside the rink? he’s such an asshole,” yorozu commented. her attention was turned onto a new part of her body, lasering on on her cuticles and making a mental reminder to book her next manicure. she let out a drawn out sigh before scanning the other parts of her body, trying to see what else needed to be plucked and pampered.
her sorority sister, mei mei was haphazardly flipping through a women’s magazine while yorozu spoke, and the latter didn’t realize that the other girl was hardly paying attention to her complaints. she was perched on yorozu’s bed, apathetically listening to her complaints while trying to read a promising article: which position is best for your sex life.
“you sure did,” she hummed, “but here you are, still going out of your way to get his attention. i think you must be a glutton for punishment—you even set him up with that little nerd.”
there was a faint pause, and yorozu pressed her lips together. mei mei picked up on it, raising her eyebrow and asking her sister a curious question: “don’t tell me you’re regretting it already?”
mei mei’s words didn’t soothe yorozu’s thundering thoughts. she groaned out of frustration while running her fingers through her silk straight hair, tugging at the roots as if she was ready to pull her hair out.
“i picked him because he’s normally a major jackass to those kinda girls—i thought for sure he’d scare her off right away. she’s the type to get scared like some little lamb,” she muttered the latter part under her breath, eye twitching a little bit at the thought. yorozu continued: “so why the fuck would he actually be having drinks with her? and it was like on campus—he never wants to be seen with girls. like and they were smiling! ugh.”
yorozu rolled her eyes accompanied by a long, annoyed huff. she crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up her boobs, staring back at her reflection trying to figure out where she could’ve gone wrong. she always thought she knew what sukuna’s type was—or at least what it wasn’t. was he playing along just to win the bet? or to piss her off more? he was always playing hard to get.
mei mei didn’t really care all too much about the sorority president’s qualms, but was forced to listen anyways. although, an amused smile still managed to find it’s way to her lips, as if she was enjoying yorozu’s pain.
“because he’s a jackass," she echoed. “he doesn’t give a fuck if he’ll hurt her feelings, or your feelings in the long run. you made a bet—he’s playing along. besides, do you really think gojo and geto would let their frat loose? watch—by the end of it she’ll just be another girl to him, and you’ll still be there.”
yorozu pouted, her eyes narrowing on her reflection, still discontent with the large red irritation spot that had formed. she should’ve known that would’ve been the result of using so much force, yet, her scowl only grew more intense.
“maybe i should just tell her it’s all a bet,” she said with lips pressed together, turning slightly to face mei mei. “she’ll definitely never want to talk to him again, don’t you think?”
for a moment she thought of your face, thinking about how you might’ve reacted if you found out—nerdy glasses all fogged up, a stupid, ugly cry escaping your lips, wailing around like a baby.
it would be funny.
mei mei clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “but where would the fun be in that?”
yorozu took a moment to think about it—surely, your reaction would be much bigger if you had actually fallen for sukuna. and the chances of him liking you back were obviously slim to none. a guy like him would never think to be into a girl like you. he even said so himself. maybe you’d cry so hard you ran out of air, or collapsed dramatically in front of everyone—that would surely be embarrassing.
“who would’ve thought that little nerd would be such a fucking skank,” yorozu said to herself with a little snort. mei mei was half listening, too interested in the socket as the magazine described it. although, the thought of the sex you were having with sukuna seemed to piss her off even more, her fists clenching and nails digging into the palm of her hand.
“i hope he breaks her heart,” she grunted, falling back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. she didn’t care that there was malice oozing from her tone—she meant every word of it. if she didn’t like you before, this was not helping your case.
the monotonous, dreadful ringing of the bell signalled the end of one period and that precarious in-between tradition time. the halls quickly became filled with restless students, each of which was sporting a pristine uniform and carrying their textbooks like they were trophies—chemistry, history, algebra, each book was pressed against the student’s chest as they swarmed like wasps trying to get to their next room. there was buzz and laughter, and a few annoyed comments—papers due, homework being assigned, petty friend group drama—it was just another average day.
but for you, it felt like a warzone.
even when you held your head up high and tried to meet the day with confidence, the universe clearly had other plans for you. mentally, you had prepared—make a quick stride down the end of the hall in order to get to your literature students. just a minute walk and then you would be done for the day. yet, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. like a hawk staring down a field mouse, and as soon as that happened your body tensed up.
it was as if your body was bracing for impact, your eyes shutting, shoulders twitched as a loud thump rang across the hall. for a second, every student stood still, turning their heads in your direction, curious to what the commotion could’ve been about.
but, as soon as they saw it was just you, they kept walking, not bothering to stop what was to come—none of them wanted to fall into her path, either. you were the sacrificial lamb, the new transfer student, a freshman with glasses thick enough to frame your innocent expression. low hanging fruit, for lack of a better term.
“you should really watch where you’re going y’know?” the voice was something from your nightmares, the type to sound soft and comforting but when in reality it was as sharp as a knife.
your things had fallen in disarray, your pencil case spilling your stationary all over the cold laminate floors, while your textbooks scattered everywhere created a blockage in the hallway.
you didn’t want to look up to see the girl responsible for all of this. she was a year older, and you knew that if you tried lifting your head you’d only make the situation worse. you reached for your textbook, fingers about to curl around the spine when she pushed it away with her foot.
“are you not going to apologize for bumping into me?” she said, only louder this time, drawing more attention to your situation. you felt your cheeks heat up, too flustered to know how to act, but you figured if you didn’t do as she said, she might kick you next.
“sorry,” you mumbled, still trying to collect your things. you reached for a few pens, hoping not to have your fingers stepped on. your heart was thumping up your chest, like you were about to spill your guts in the middle of the hallway—you hated highschool, but mostly, you hated her.
“look at me when you’re apologizing,” she ordered. her tone was snappy and impatient, like she was inconvenienced by the whole situation.
slowly, you lifted your head. yorozu, that was her name, and you didn’t know what you had done to her to make her hate you so much. you were barely at the school for a month, you minded your own business—you never even crossed paths other than these taunting moments in the hallways. what was her problem?
was it because you didn’t have any friends? or that you were trying to fit in somewhere that you didn’t seem to belong? were you just an outlet for her to let her anger out? you wanted to believe that she was just going through something that she didn’t know how to deal with it—like what they always said—that people that are bullies are often bullied as well. mostly, you didn’t want to believe that someone could be that cruel willingly.
but you would quickly learn during your time in highschool, that that was not the case. yorozu was just a mean girl. one of many.
“i’m sorry,” you repeated, this time staring into her dark eyes. she was pretty, you couldn’t deny it. but why did she half to pick on you? were you really such an easy target?
her eyes were all over you, scanning every inch of your body, inspecting every blemish, imperfection—not even a loose thread on your sweater went unnoticed. it was like being looked at through a magnifying glass—every inch of you was under scrutiny and she could so easily make you feel like a helpless ant, waiting to be crushed under the soles of her shoes.
“whatever,” yorozu rolled her eyes with a scoff, “nerd.”
her words hurt, even though you knew they shouldn’t. you knew that it shouldn’t matter what other people say, or their impressions of you but yorozu’s gaze was like hot daggers. her words struck you in your core, making your whole body feel weak and defenseless. you hated how vulnerable you were, that the voice that should’ve been fighting back was locked inside your throat—and it seemed as though yorozu had somehow stolen the key.
in your mind you stood up and yelled back at her, urging her to leave you alone—but that was just a distant thought. a figment of your imagination.
she darted away, not wanting to get in any trouble by the teachers that were starting patrolling the halls. but you were still there. the floor was starting to bruise your knees, your ears ringing with the sounds of whispers. no one stopped to help, they just watched you—the new animal in the zoo being plucked apart for no good reason. your eyes were stinging and a pit started to form in your stomach. it made you want to skip the rest of your classes, something you never would have thought about doing before.
everything was just so overwhelming, pens and pencils becoming stepping stones for unsuspecting passerbys, your textbooks all dusty and dirty from the gross floor. it was a mess, and you didn’t think you’d be able to collect everything in time—now you’d have to face walking into class late after an already embarrassing incident. could it get any worse?
“here,” a voice snapped you from your daze. it was distant but there, stabilizing you into reality.
you looked up to see who the voice belonged to, surprised to see the boy you sat behind in your history class. he was also in your literature class, and your biology class. he seemed to always be in the background, but never before had you spoken to him.
he carefully picked up your stationary, slipping them back into your pencil case with ease. you didn’t know what to say to him—you felt like your tongue had been snatched and you were learning to speak for the first time again. sure, you had seen him in the past, words never came up in between your stolen glances.
“don’t give yorozu any mind,” he said as though speaking from experience and breaking the silence. he looked a little shy, just like you. “she likes to pick on people that are smarter than her. i think it makes her feel better about being held back a year.”
he said the latter in a joking tone, although, you didn’t know enough about her to actually know whether or not he was being serious. still, you giggled, his words enough to lift your spirits in just the slightest bit.
“thanks for helping me,” you told him, still a little nervous to look at him right in the eye. “i really appreciate it.”
you didn’t like feeling helpless, but his actions didn’t make you feel stupid for not being able to fend for yourself. it just felt like someone genuinely trying to help. the boy smiled, “don’t worry about it. i’m surprised no one else lent you a hand—i guess they’re all scared of yorozu, too.”
you hummed in response, finally being able to stand up. he held onto your books for a minute, giving you the chance to feel stable again before handing them back.
as he placed them into your hands, his fingers brushing over your knuckles. it was innocent enough, but the action made your stomach swirl. his hands were so warm, and his smile was so bright. it was easy to feel drawn to him, he was magnetic in nature.
you had observed him in the distance, seeing how he got along with everyone—you were always peering into the world rather than participating in it.
he played baseball, was on the debate team, and somehow was always in a good mood, even when high school seemed like a harsh prison sentence, he never scowled once. you admired that about him, but never in a million years would you have thought you would be talking to him.
“c’mon, let’s walk to class together,” he stated, and it made you happy to realize that he too had noticed you. from where he sat it might’ve been easy to ignore your entire existence, but it was clear that wasn’t the case.
that made your stomach flipped even harder. you nodded with a smile, and you responded softly, “sure.”
it was hard to believe that moment was almost six years ago, and now you would hardly recognize that girl in freshman year. you knew you had changed in some way—for better or for worse, you weren’t quite sure yet.
nothing stays the same forever, people had always said, the only thing constant in life is change. the high school version of yourself would never have gone to a frat party—or any party for that matter—let alone be roped up in a sticky friends with benefits situations. you would’ve cringed how soapy it all seemed.
yet, you were at the door step of delta kappa nu, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, showing up right at the time that sukuna had suggested. some of the guys were still setting up, likely in their final stages of pledgehood. they argued over banners, and the placement of a keg and how much they were planning on drinking. none of them noticed how you slipped in and darted towards sukuna’s bedroom.
he had told you not to bother knocking, to just find his room, and you did just that, not thinking twice about walking in. you found him sprawled against his bed, shirtless, talking on the phone.
there was a scowl on his face, like he wasn’t pleased with the person on the other end of the line was saying. he snapped his eyes over to you as you entered his room, his irritation seeming to grow at the sight of being interrupted on his very personal phone call.
“whatever. i’ll talk to you later, bye.” he hung up abruptly, not giving the other person any time to give any type of response—it made you wonder what they could’ve been talking about.
what you hadn’t witnessed, though, was the immensely stressful past few hours sukuna seemed to be having. he never thought being involved with a frat would be such a nuisance. he could feel a headache coming on, and he hadn’t even started drinking.
one thing was certain: if he didn’t kill the pledges, surely their stupidity would kill him first.
it started when he had to inspect the alcohol they had been sent out to collect. gojo thought it would’ve been a good idea to make this a team game—an impromptu initiation task.
the all-knowing president had paired a few pledges together, diving them into teams with the goal of getting the best drinks for their party that night. whichever team came back with the best beers and overall alcohol would be granted bonus points in their rushing. which was a lost cause becausegojo planned on accepting all the pledges that were currently left anyways. which made for another one of gojo’s great ideas.
gojo also thought it would be a good idea to let sukuna, the pickiest drinker of them all, be the judge of this so-called contest. there was no way anything could go wrong with that, right?
wrong. so, so wrong.
sukuna stared back at them, and their goofy little grins, thinking they had actually done something right. only, the majority of them seemed to have their brains located in their ass.
“why the fuck did you get twelve cases of watermelon mint vodka coolers?” he interfered, too stunned to speak. he thought he could get drunk off anything, but there was no way in hell he’d be putting that flavour combination in his mouth. it would practically burn a hole right through his stomach.
“and, um, we also got five bottles of pink witney, sir.” the pledge trembled before sukuna, trying to overcompensate for their mistake. they didn’t miss how sukuna scowled. they tried to explain themselves, explaining: “we thought that, um, the girls would like those kinda drink because they're girlier i guess—y’know ‘cause it’s pink.”
“yeah and the fuck do the two of you know about girls, hm?” he tried to keep his cool, he really did. he narrowed his eyes on them. “if the girls wanna drink that shit they can throw their own party, or bring their own fucking drinks.”
“right,” the other said quietly, like he had just pissed his pants from fear.
“and for reference,” sukuna said, voice already getting a little calmer. there was more alcohol, he had to remind himself, just because two pledges fucked-up didn’t mean it was the end of the world. “if you wanna impress a girl, you just need a case of those pre-set vodka crans, or a fucking diet coke so they can mix it with rum.”
sukuna shook his head, still in disbelief as the pledges nodded, taking mental note of every single thing he said like it was gospel. he grabbed the roots of his hair, hoping that he had the mental strength to not rip every strand out.
“next!” he ordered, and the next pair stepped forward, shaking in their shoes. they looked up at sukuna, who was already not pleased about the state of their alcohol. and as they passed him a case of what they had purchased, they all swore they could see steam coming out of sukuna’s ears.
he was so mad that he didn’t speak, didn’t scold them, didn’t yell. it was eerie, like if they moved he would snap and permanently kick each and every single one of them out of the frat.
“what…” he started, “the fuck is this?!”
sukuna couldn’t believe what he was looking at—he was sure this was all one big twisted nightmare, and that delta kappa nu wasn’t riddled with imbeciles this year. he wanted to gauge his eyes out at the sight.
flavoured beer—why did beer need to be flavored? the flavor is beer.
apple, pear, grapefruit, who the fuck was making this shit? why break a classic thing like a nice cold can of beer at a frat party? it was a sacred thing, really, shotgunning good old fashioned beer—not this hippie bullshit. it probably tasted like shit, like someone had tried to mix it with apple juice. he definitely would never be putting that anywhere near his mouth, ever.
“who’s fucking bright idea was it to buy this shit?” he asked the pledges, who stood there as if they were waiting for their execution.
none of them wanted to move, stuck in place like they had glue at the bottoms of their feet. sukuna was scary when he was mad, and now, he was pissed.
“um, we did…sir…” one said, although all sukuna could see was red. he was interested in anything other than scolding the pair for such a stupid mistake, but no words came to mind that could encapsulate how disappointed he was.
“were both of you dropped on your heads as babies or what?” he questioned, taking a deep breath as to not explode completely. “who is gonna drink this shit? hm? who?”
the pledges looked down at their feet, “we also thought that maybe some of the girls would like it more than the regular stuff, cause it’s, um, fruity? .”
he slid his hand down his face, trying to wipe off his anger but to no avail.
“you’re all a bunch of fucking virgins,” he scoffed, “going around like you know everything about girls—what about your brothers want?! isn’t the whole point of this shit brotherhood? someone go find a fucking keg and don’t come back until you do.”
they scurried away like little mice being chased by a big, scary cat. sukuna couldn’t even find pleasure in their fear, instead he chose to stomp up to his room, wondering why gojo wouldn’t just pick up the alcohol himself.
he slammed his door, wondering if it would finally be time to punch the dry wall—he had gone almost a whole month without doing so it so far, but his streak of good behaviour was about to be over. his anger washed over his like a tsumani, and he couldn’t stop the bubbling rage that was brewing inside of him. he hated when people were incompetent and lacked common sense—did he have to spell everything out for the pledges?
these parties were the one time that he didn’t have to stress, and he could just let loose. there were no assignments, no exhausting hockey practices—it was just alcohol, sex and fun. how did they manage to fuck that all up?
he didn’t think twice before falling down on his bed, face buried into the pillow. he debated screaming, or groaning obnoxiously, or to just say silent—utilemtely chose on the ladder. his head was pounding, a headache sure to be on the horizon. great, he thought, just what i fucking need.
and as if the universe heard his misery, it decided that he didn’t have enough stress in that moment.
his phone, the one buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants began to buzz, vibrating against his thigh. sukuna, who was so caught up in his own disappointment and mental anguish, didn’t think twice when answering the phone.
if he had been more thorough or observant he would’ve seen that he was getting a call from the one person he’d been avoiding for the past week. his father.
“oh so you do know how to answer your phone,” the voice grumbled from the other end. there was no hello, good morning, just the snappy tone of his father on the other end.
fuck, sukuna cursed internally. he pressed the phone against his ear, realizing it was too late to hang up—his dad already knew that he had seen the message and obviously there was no getting out of the hole he had inadvertently dug.
he rolled onto his back, letting the pillow absorb his head, eyes shutting briefly, trying to collect all his thoughts. he was feeling his blood boil, and there was nothing incentivizing him to filter his words.
“whaddya want, old man?” he grumbled through grit teeth, unhappy with his life at the moment.
“don’t act dumb with me, boy.” there was nothing more cheerful than his dad when he was pissed off, and sukuna wasn’t helping his own case by repeatedly letting his calls go to voicemail.
he sighed, not saying anything back right away. he assumed that his dad would pick up where he had left off the last time they’d spoken—berating, scolding, telling him all the reasons that he was disappointed in him.
at least that way, sukuna didn’t have to think about what to say, he could just zone out and stare at the ceiling while the older man vented out every single frustration that seemed to be building up inside himself.
lucky for sukuna, his father was quick to fill the silence:
“i’m guessing you haven’t apologized to your brother yet, either, have you?”
“apologize for what?” he asked, voice starting to raise. he had to control himself. “i don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“like hell you do,” his father hissed. “if you don’t call him soon, so help me i’ll drag your ass back here and make you get on your hands and knees and beg for him to accept your apology.”
sukuna rolled his eyes, wiping his hand down his face as if he was trying to cleanse himself from his own anger issues. it was no use, though, and he could sense a vein starting to pop out against his forehead.
“whatever,” he grumbled, replaying the last time he spoke to his twin brother. he didn’t have anything else to say to him, and like hell he’d take back his words or apologize—espeically not when he knew he was in the right. “i’ll call him this weekend, for fucks sake.”
the ladder half of his sentence was a blatant lie, and it obvious to both parties involved. yet, his father didn’t have a chance to slip in any last remarks, as you walked into the room, barging in like you owned the place.
“whatever. i’ll talk to you later, bye.”
he threw his phone down on his bed, sitting up to get a better look at you.
“hey,” you chirped, placing your arms behind your back awkwardly. you felt bad, now, for not knocking before barging in. “did i come too early? the party doesn’t look like it’s gonna start for a little while.”
“it’s fine,” he grumbled. “we can just hang out until then.”
your mouth felt dry, wondering to yourself what he could’ve been implying, if he was implying anything at all. did he mean sex? you wouldn’t complain if that was the case, being more than excited for another steamy round.
you had met him on sunday for a quick hookup, but other than jaw-dropping sex, there was nothing extraordinary to report on. he cleaned you up like usual, let out a little bit of pillow talk and then parted ways. it was what you pictured when trying to conceptualize the dynamics of a friends with benefits relationship.
he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his full attention onto you. you could feel his eyes watching you, tracing of your shirt causing him to press his lips together. he seemed displeased, and you didn’t even know what you had done wrong—other than forgetting to knock.
“where’s your white lie?” he questioned, lip jutting out.
“my what?” you asked back, not understanding what he could’ve been talking about. you felt yourself starting to heat up, dread growing on your skin like a bad infection—did you forget something crucial?
“your lie. y’know you write it on your shirt—that’s the whole point of the fucking party,” he stated. he seemed angry, on edge—you really didn’t know why. he was harder to reader than middle english poetry, and the more he stared at you, the louder your heart thumped.
“oh,” you started, voice shrinking. you didn’t want to upset him more than he clearly already was. “i, um, i guess i didn’t think about that.”
he laughed at you, making you feel a little pathetic, your eyes trailed down to your feet, hoping he wouldn’t get on your ass about it. but this was sukuna ryomen, treasurer of his frat, he was bound to tease.
“you know,” he began, “for someone so smart, you seemed to miss some pretty obvious context clues.”
a pout sprung onto your lips, “you know i don’t go to a lot of parties. be grateful i came to this one.”
that made him let out a dry chuckle, one that seemed to play on loop when you were around—like you were something amusing to him, a novelty, a new toy to play with. he nodded, agreeing with you.
“you’re right,” he said, “just figured you’d do some research on it, heh.”
“i thought it was white lies because you wear white. how was i supposed to know?” your whiney tone filled his ear, and he found that even more amusing.
“it’s fine,” he waved off, realizing that he shouldn’t care so much. it wasn’t the end of the world. “c’mere.”
he could see you scurry to his side from the corner of his eye, listening to him like a well trained dog. it was almost cute. you sat at the edge of his bed, fiddling with your hands in your lap, unsure about what to do, stuck watching him dig through his side drawer. he pulled out a black sharpie, it’s thick tip threatening to bleed all over his hand, the cap doing nothing to stop the potential inky mess.
“how about i write,” he started, thinking long and hard, “i’m dumb.”
you pouted, a little offended, not fully understanding the concept of the party. your eyebrows pooled together in the center of your forehead, eyes narrowing with frustration. sukuna read your expression easily, wondering how you managed to be so smart about so many other topics, yet when it came to something that seemed so common sense, you were utterly clueless.
“it’s supposed to be something that’s not true,” he explained twisting the marker around in his fingers, fiddling with it as if it wasn’t permanent. “it’s a white lie, hence the name of the party, and why you’re wearing white.”
his tone didn’t help, and you could deep within the pit of your stomach that you were embarrassed, the way it churned around and wanted to crawl up your throat. of course what he was saying made perfect sense, but leave it to you to screw it up. smoothing down your jeans you tried to take your mind off the awkward atmosphere.
“what does your shirt say?” you asked, “what’s your white lie?”
sukuna scratched the back of his neck—a habit, you had observed, that only seemed to appear when he was feeling a little bashful, and it was his way of covering it up under a layer of non-chalance. he cleared his throat, quietly searching the room to find where he had thrown his shirt.
“it’s, uh,” he started, “the same one i used last year when we had this party. i think it says something like ‘i’m not drunk.’”
he didn’t think there was anything truly funny about it now, he obviously wasn’t planning on drinking too much this time around—you were here afterall, and a part of him knew he had to keep an eye on you to avoid any close-calls. or worse, he figured, he might actually let something slip that the only reason that he approached you was because of a bet.
“maybe i should write ‘i love parties,’ what do you think?” you asked him, but he quickly shook his head in disapproval.
“you’re gonna seem like a total buzz kill,” he stated. “put something a little funnier.”
you had never thought so seriously about anything before—at least that’s what it felt like. you brought your hand up to your chin, trying to come up with something suitable. no one that would be at the party really knew you, so you could easily make something up—although, you would feel disingenuous if you did that.
make a joke about your not-so-perfect vision? paired with your glasses that might be funny—but you shook that idea out of your head. i hate reading? i’m failing school? anything to do with school would obviously not be as funny. but what else could you put? make a joke about your dating preferences—you didn’t have any. joke about your physical appearance—not super original. every idea felt like a dead end.
it really shouldn’t have been such a difficult task, but with sukuna staring at you and waiting for you to formulate a response, it felt as though time was ticking. you took a deep breath, before dropping your shoulders in defeat.
“i’ve got nothing.”
sukuna mirrored your actions, sighing softly before trying to think. you were surprised he wasn’t snappier—espeically with the mood you caught him in, and the subtle irritation that was lingering in his voice earlier. you hoped that you’re inability to think of anything wasn’t annoying him, because if it was—for once—he was doing a good job at hiding it.
“we can just go with your original idea,” he said, defeated. he scratched his eyebrow, gripping onto the marker a little tighter at the same time. his presence seemed to swallow you up, with the way his head tilted down, sizing you up completely
he leaned forward, tip inching closer to your chest. his hand reached forward, grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt, inconspicuously placing it over your breast, claiming it was to steady the surface he was going to write on.
in a few swift motion, he wrote in thick, black ink across your chest, the words reading:
PARTYANIMAL
“there,” he huffed, looking at his work as if he had painted the sistine chapel. “you’re ready for the party now.”
you were flustered, looking down at where his hands had just been, slowly nodding at his words.
“thanks,” you replied coyly. you were thankful for him, for showing the slightest bit of consideration. he didn’t have any obligation to you, afterall, friends with benefits—from what you understood—were never obliged to help each other out in ways that weren’t sexual. was sukuna starting to be nice? or was it all just your imagination?
he had stood up and slipped into his t-shirt, a little worn looking and last year’s ink was starting to fade. he looked good in the shirt, it fit him just right around the biceps, clinging onto his muscles.
you were going to say something else—something irrelevant, but before the words could slip past your lips, music rattled the foundations of the frat house, making you flinch. it was a sign, though, that the party was officially starting, and as the speaker buzzed from downstairs, you took it as your cue to rejoin the members of delta kappa nu.
sukuna led the way, letting you latch onto his hand while he brought you to the main floor. there were already a lot of people trickling in, and things had barely gotten started. you took a good look at the faces in the forming crowd, figuring that in an hour, no one would be as sober as they were now.
he dug through a cooler and picked out a beer, a snarl creeping onto his face as he had to dig to the very bottom of the container in order to grabbed his desired drink, muttering a string of curses under his breath the whole time. he passed you something fruity, explaining that you could toss it if it tasted like shit, noting: “it probably will.”
“okay,” you nodded, popping open the tab, taking a sip and cringing. your expression was anything but subtle, and before you could lie and say it tasted fine, sukuna was snatching it from your hands and chucking it into the trash.
“told them,” he said to himself again, and you didn’t get the chance to ask him what he meant by that.
the room was filling up, and one drink starting to turn into two, and then three. the buzz of the speakers seemed louder, and everyone was feeling a little more giddy. people danced, laughed—some where smoking on the porch and in the back yard. it was like the first party you had gone to but this time, it was a sea of white shirts.
you were lucky sukuna was there to help you, and as you passed everyone, you managed to read their white lies. some joked about the size of their boobs, or dicks, others made comments about being stoned, or drunk—like what sukuna had written on his.
“having fun?” sukuna asked, leaning down into your ear. he had to raise his voice in order to make you hear him, and you nodded quickly, more than pleased with the outcome of the night so far.
“do you think we can play one of those games? they’re playing flip cup,” you asked, because from the corner of your eye you saw a few guys from the frat lining up cups on the table, readying to start their next game.
“how do you flip cup?” he snorted, shaking his head like you said the funniest joke in the world. “besides, you’d get wasted and we’d probably lose right away.”
maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong—either way, a pout formed on your lips. your crossed your arms, looking at him with a little bit of a sneer. you knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, and if anything, you probably wouldn’t do as well as you thought you would, but still, you wanted to try.
“what if we put water in the cups instead?” you suggested, not seeing any harm in the question that you asked. only this time, sukuna laughed harder.
“oh yeah they’d totally be down for that,” he shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “why don’t we just watch them play for now.”
“fine,” you groaned, satisfied with even the tiniest bit of frustration echoing from your voice. you didn’t take your protesting any further, though, letting sukuna grab onto your hand and guide you into the other room. you tried your best not to bump into anyone, or spill the drink that had somehow managed to find it’s way into your hands.
he told you it was sprite mixed with vodka, which was the best concoction he could make with such little supplies available to him. it didn’t bother you, though, because you could hardly taste the liquor, sipping on it slowly, trying not to let the fizz sting your tongue.
ten boys had lined up at the plastic table, five on either side, their cups ready for battle. you took a step closer to sukuna, trying not to get in anyone’s way. there was a smile plastered on everyone’s face, like they could anticipate how sloppy drunk they were going to get that night—if they weren’t already buzzed to the high heavens.
“3…2…1,” they counted down, starting their path. the first two opponents chugged down their cup, trying aimlessly to flip it over. attempt after attempt, it was clear they were struggling.
you leaned towards him, saying quietly: “i think i could do this, it doesn’t seem that hard.”
“i think the alcohol’s got you all confident,” he joked. “trust me, when you’re drunk everything is that hard.”
that made sukuna laugh again, and without thinking, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place from your hips.
it was such an outward display of affection, something that hadn’t come up yet between the two of you. even in the rules and regulations that you had drafted up, there was no mention of PDA or if this little dynamic would remain a secret from everyone else.
his arm being draped around you was already cause for some attention—there were sorority girls eyeing you as though you had declared war on the universe, ugly scowls carved onto their mouths.
the feeling of being watched in that way made you want to curl up into a ball and for a moment, you contemplated wiggling out of his grasp, but at the same time you didn’t want him to realize that his actions had flustered you. you were still adamant on the fact that your relationship was purely physical, so any little blush might’ve given him the wrong idea.
your lips felt dry, and staring down at your solo cup, you noticed it was practically empty and the perfect excuse to slip away popped into your mind.
“i’m gonna go throw this out, i’ll be right back.” sukuna tried encouraging you to just leave it anywhere, but you just shook your head, insisting that you didn’t want to contribute to the mess. you lifted his arm off you and darted towards the kitchen. you figured there might be a trash can or at least a garbage bag there for you to dispose of the cup.
you fixed your glasses as you walked, head held low. there was a simmering feeling in your gut, like you were on the verge of getting a little tipsy. you could still keep your balance, and your thoughts were more or less organized. you just felt giddier and more willing to let loose for once.
it was probably a good time to nudge sukuna, to hint that you wanted to get back to his room—there was an itch that was intensifying inside of you that was only brought out more with the smooth sips of alcohol. you wanted him badly and you thought if you waited any longer you might’ve exploded.
“dirty slut,” is what he called you the last time you had sex, somewhere in between your little passenger seat rendezvous and just recalling the memory made you wet. you wanted to press your thighs together, to ease the instinctual need that was growing inside you. you pressed your lips together, losing focus of where you were.
peering up, your blood ran cold, catching sight of a familiar brunette standing across from you.
yorozu.
“watch it, loser,” her voice was familiar—eerily so. it was the type of voice that made nails on chalkboards seem tame. the hairs on your arm stood up, and you had to fight everything in you not to freeze up.
you hadn’t even bumped into her, all you had done was look in her direction momentarily. it felt like being in those suffocating hallways again, trapped at a dead end with nowhere to run to.
she stood with a few other girls, all apart of the same little sorority, you assumed. you knew she had gone to the same university and join alpha phi, but luckily you never properly ran into her until this moment.
before you could do anything, though, her hand moved forward and the cup she was holding onto seemed to slip. she lunged herself forward as if you had walked into her and threw her off her balance.
time moved slowly, and your body didn’t have a chance to react—all you could do was accept what was happening.
. your chest felt cold, the wetness soaking into your skin. looking down a huge pinkish-red blotch was covering the words sukuna had written on your shirt, ruining it completely. your white shirt was stained—the colour of whatever artificial flavour was intrenching itself within the fibers of your shirt. it dripped down, spreading, and there was nothing you could do about it.
oh how badly you wanted to retaliate against her, to show her you weren’t that same girl from high school; that could be pushed around so easily but the intimidation reminded you just how powerless she made you feel.
“uh-oh,” she started, a faux-sympathic tone rolling from her glossy lips. “looks like your shirt’s all ruined! oops.”
the girls around her began to giggle, and it was obvious they were trying to get under your skin. you didn’t want to give them that satisfaction, but it felt like an impossible task—their laughs rose an octave, their eyes locked onto you and your pathetic figure. you were shaking like a deer in headlights, soaked from whatever was in her cup.
your stomach dropped, your throat constricting like you were having a hard time breathing. you wanted to leave, to go somewhere, anywhere, else. it felt like no one could help you now—even sukuna was still distracted by the flip cup.
“yorozu…” you started, surprised you could even find the courage to say her name. albeit, your voice trembled anxiously, and it felt as thought the air had been sucked out of your lungs. you didn’t know what else to say, what do you say to someone like that?
“wow, she speaks,” she quipped almost too quickly.
your mouth shut instantly, eyes trailing to the floor. you needed to leave, quickly. you wanted to much to retaliate, to step up for yourself, but your thoughts were drowned out by the beating of your heart—not even the loud bass pumping out of the stereo could stop it.
touching your fingers against the wet stain, you left, not sure where you were going, but sure that you needed to be anywhere but there. your body shivered like you had stepped into a freezer, and you tried your best to not throw up. those days of being her number one target clearly weren’t over. what had you done to deserve it? you thought, darting up the stairs, not realizing you had made it to sukuna’s room.
you slipped past the door, shutting it behind you, letting the coldness sink in. you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves but it was no use, you couldn’t stop a slow, pathetic trail of tears rush down your face.
tugging the shirt off your body, you slowly walked to the bathroom, hoping not to sob.
the tap turned on, cold water rushed out at first and you brought the fabric into the sink, forcing it to hit the stain. you tried scrubbing it and letting the water run hot, but it felt like no use. why wasn’t that damn staining coming out? you wondered if she had spiked it with permanent ink or something—scrubbing at it like it owed you money.
you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your eyelashes get wet. sniffing, you really didn’t want to cry.
“where’s that girl you were with, she still wanna join in this round?” one of the guys asked—probably the only sober one left out of the bunch. he reached to set the cups up again, while sukuna stood there dumbfounded.
he looked to his left, and then to his right, and then back to his left.
where were you?
had you done to get another drink, or gone to the bathroom? what did you say to him the last time he saw you? that you were looking for a garbage can. surely you should’ve found it by now.
his lips pressed together, starting to get a little worried. he was supposed to stick with you all night—keeping you nearby would be a sure way to get you wrapped around his finger, yet, he failed the one task he had for the night.
“shit,” he mumbled under his breath, realizing he was going to have to go looking for you. he scratched the back of his head, thinking of the most logical solution. the bathroom lines were always long, but you would probably just go to his ensuite if that was the case, right? maybe that’s where you were?
“we’ll join the next one,” he waved off, letting the rest of the guys get back to their shenanigans. he didn’t want anyone to seem him on edge like that, and instead, he set out to look for you.
he started walking into the sea of white t-shirts, keeping his eyes peeled. he found some girl with the same hair as you was tucked in the corner talking to some guy, getting flirty and leaning in for a kiss.
that’s when his panic started to set it, but as their lips finally met each other, it became clear to him that it wasn’t you. for a moment he was relieved—his job was hard enough to try to get you to fall for him, he didn’t need to fight some rando at the same time. yet, he still needed to find you, and until your nerdy ass was by his side again, he couldn’t actually relax.
a pang of irritation rang through his hand, wanting to throw the bet out as a whole.
sukuna huffed, continuing his path, feeling fingers brush against his bicep. he expected to see you there, but was annoyed at the face that he was met with—speak of the devil.
“i think your girlfriend went home,” yorozu hummed, a playful smile on her lips.
“the fuck are you on about?” his eyes narrowed as he spoke, muscles tensing up. yorozu giggled like he told the funniest joke in the world, covering her mouth with her manicured nails.
“i just mean,” she started, making a more serious face, “the poor clumsy girl split her drink all over herself. how embarrassing!”
sukuna felt his jaw lock in place. great, he thought. he didn’t know how to deal with the situation—was yorozu telling the truth? did you really leave? or was this some excuse to get close to him? knowing her this was all a part of some greater scheme, he just didn’t know how.
he shook her grip off him, which seemed to anger the sorority girl.
“it was probably for the better,” she replied, snarkily. “we don’t need her bumming out the mood of the party with her—”
“you’re full of shit,” he interrupted before yorozu had the chance to finish her nasty thought. sukuna wasn’t having any of it, and as he kept walking, he didn’t bother to look back at her.
he put his hands in his pockets, feeling for his phone—shit, it was still in his room. sighing, he figured that was where he had to go. he hoped that what yorozu was telling him was a lie.
you going home was the last thing he wanted in that moment.
his door was closed, which wasn’t surprising, but when he opened the door and heard water running there was a sinking feeling in his gut. something was off, but he couldn’t understand what that thing was.
the soft sounds of sniffles were intertwined the sounds of the tap trickling made him freeze in place. his steps became slow and cautious; he called out your name, waiting for some kind of response.
“yeah?” your voice cracked, and a loud sniffle followed. he stepped into the bathroom, taking in the sight in front of him.
your shirt, drenched, sat in his sink as you stood there in nothing but a bra and jeans. your face was puffy, stained by tears and a shameful look. you couldn’t look him in the face, your eyes trailing off as your body caved in, like you were embarrassed by your near-nakedness.
“are you okay?” he asked, but he already sort of knew the answer to that. of course you weren’t okay, and clearly something had happened between you and yorozu. this had her name written all over it.
as soon as he had let the question slip past his lip your lips quivered, and it seemed to have opened the flood gates entirely.
sukuna had seen girls cry—frusterated tears running down their face, upset that they were being rejected after a one night stand. their ears would turn a bright red, lips scrunched together—their expressions a mix of embarrassment and anger tangled together with the sting of being told no. or when they cried because their loser boyfriends were kissing other girls at the frat party—but in those moments he didn’t really care, at least, he wasn’t supposed to care.
now, he was compelled to do something. except, he didn’t know what. he hated that all night he was practically walking around like a clueless buffoon, vulnerable to all the different things that were happening to him—this being one of them.
you were standing in front of him, hiding your face in the back of your hand, trying to contain your sadness. you were hurt, clearly, it would take an idiot to not notice that.
“hey don’t cry,” he tried to reassure you. nice going, sukuna, girls love being told that. he regretted even opening his mouth, seeing the way your tears became louder. he felt a lump in this throat, stepping forward, turning off the sink and acting before properly thinking.
his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pushing you into his chest—a little more roughly than you probably would’ve liked, but he wasn’t your boyfriend after all. you knew that accepting his hug might’ve given off the wrong impression, but you didn’t care.
“she…” you started, trying to find the right words to say. “...she dumped her drink on me.”
you took a deep breath, accepting the make-shift hug that sukuna had brought you into. you could tell your eyes were swelling, and your cheeks were wet with tears.
you didn’t want to seem like a mess in front of him, but you couldn’t bottle up your emotions anymore—they were bound to come out.
“it’s ruined now.” your voice was quiet, anxious—on the verge of another round of tears. the night that you envisioned was gone, fleeting into the back of your brain as a memory you never got the chance of living out. you rushed your lab report to be here, to have fun. why did it have to get spoiled?
the pause between your words and sukuna’s felt like hours, like the silence was gnawing away at the both of you.
“you can wear my shirt,” he offered, kindly. sukuna pressed his lips together, feeling glued to the floor. if he breathed funny you’d break down even more. he heard you sniffle, shaking your head against his chest.
“but then you won’t have anything to wear,” you said, declining his offer.
he thought it was earnest the way you thought about him, even though he didn’t care if he was wearing a white lies t-shirt. the exhaustion of the week was finally catching up to him, and he figured if he drank anymore beer his head would explode from the pounding headache that was plaguing him.
“it’s fine, i don’t care about that theme-shit,” he explained but you only kept shaking your head.
he didn’t get why you were being so adamant to refuse him. didn’t you want to have fun at the party? he was giving you a chance to go back down there and continue on as if nothing had happened. but maybe that was something he was better at doing—bottiling things up and pretending like the problems in his life didn’t exist—like his brother.
“it’s not the same, ryo,” you said his name softly, still not looking up to meet his gaze. slowly, it seemed as if you realized that you weren’t actually wearing a shirt, and even though he’d seen you naked before, you shied away. “i’m not in the mood for it now, anyways.”
he felt bad for you—pitying the way you were clearly such easy prey to yorozu—since the day he met you, actually, you’d been a victim to her cruelty.
“then you’re giving her what she wants,” he said firmly, reflecting on his own decisions. he was a raging hypocrite. he was a little pawn in her game, too—getting himself looped into something that he knew wasn’t right. yet, he figured that now, he was linked to you whether you liked it or not. it wasn’t like he could just ghost you completely, or say that the only reason he approached you in the first place was because of a bet.
“i don’t care,” you mumbled under your breath.
finally, you lifted your head, gazing into his eyes. your lips pouted, puffy cheeks glistening with tears. you leaned into him slowly, placing your hands against his lower stomach as if you were trying to claw your way underneath his shirt.
“can you just make me forget about it all?” you asked, as you could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. your pupils were dilated, eyelashes decorated with teardrops that reflected the light like little gems. sniffing, you jutted your lip out before begging: “please?”
“are you sure?” there was doubt in his tone, like maybe this wasn’t the right time for that.
what was the matter with him? since when did sukuna ryomen turn down sex?
and why was he being all gentle and soft all of a sudden? that wasn’t his style.
mentally frustrated, he chalked it up to the emotional state you found yourself in. it didn’t help that there was something chewing away at his consciousness that was screaming to him that he was guilty of something. he was sure it would pass by the next time you had sex, maybe even by the end of the night—it was probably just the alcohol still swirling in his head.
“mhm,” you nodded, letting your fingers brush against his abdomen.
the hairs on his arm stood up, feeling the way your touch ghosted over his skin. without a second thought, he pulled you closer and placed his lips against yours. his hands reached down, feeling your ass; planting them underneath your thighs; and lifting you in the air. all it took was one swift motion and your butt was against the bathroom counter; your legs hooked around his waist.
your heart was beating faster, especially as your arms slotted themselves against his shoulders, holding his head as he pressed deeper into the kiss. you let out a whine, signalling to him that you wanted more—which of course, he quickly picked up on.
his hand slid across your waist, feeling your bar skin as he searched for the hooks of your bra. you were just as handsy, though, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and tugging on it gently.
your bra fell and as you pulled away from him, looking up shyly.
sukuna placed his hand against your jaw, making sure to hold your gaze. his eyelids were droopy; pupils drawn out and a lost daze was lingering in the reflection of his eyes.
he went back for another kiss, taking his time—sloppy with the motions of his mouth as his fingers pinched your nipples. he sunk his teeth into you at a lesiurely rate, dragging his canine’s across your skin, making you shiver. as he rolled your buds within his fingertips, he sucked down on your skin, planting marks all over your neck. you couldn’t help but to let out a small yelp, whimpering as he took the attention of his lips elsewhere.
he made a trail down your clavicle, not being shy with the movements of his own hands. he continued to grope your breasts, this time tenderly and with a certain ease that made his own shoulder break free from the tension they were holding. before long, his hands had migrated again—this time north. ghosting over your skin, he found himself back at your delicate throat.
his fingers—rough and slightly calloused from years of hockey training wrapped around your neck, squeezing ever-so-slightly. he kissed along your jaw before placing his lips against your lips once more. he kept himself there, feeling you squirm in his grasp. cute, he thought, and as he pulled back he met your eyes—the ones that had grown the size of saucers—and flashed a smirk.
“are you distracted enough yet?” he asked. his voice was low and timber, making a shiver run down your spine. your cunt pulsed, wanting to wiggle out of your jeans and feel him stretch you out.
his hold was strong, and you could barely shake your head, coughing up a pouty little response:
“it’s not enough,” you told him, “i need more.” you wished for him to take care of that low burning feeling that was growing more intense by the minute. of course he was trying to tease you a little bit before giving you what he wanted.
“yeah?” he questioned again, trying to see if you were sure even though you were practically whining for it.
“yeah.” you replied, trying to nod again.
you tilted your head back, hitting it against the wall—not enough to hurt you, but just enough to ground you back into reality.
your panties were damp, and you could sense the way they clung to your cunt, making you groan out. you needed him to take control, to dominate you, to make you cry tears because of how intense he was fucking you.
yet, he was playing it slowly, building up every ounce of anticipation that he could.
this tenderness wasn’t in character at all, he knew that too well, and the more he kissed you with that type of gentleness, he thought about it.
he liked slapping girls around a little bit, wrapping his hand around their throat harshly, whispering degrading insults into their ears. maybe that made him a bit of a sadist, but he didn’t care. it was like a routine, never did he spend so much effort to make sure that every part of someone was getting attention—but there he was, doing just that.
his lips brushed against your smooth skin, feeling the way you radiated neediness.
he was always rough—so why was he enjoying this?
sukuna didn’t waste too much time thinking about it, pressing his hard dick against your clothed pussy. his hips rolled ever so slightly, trying to get closer to your heat. at the same, you were squirming around, doing anything to chase that friction. his chest tightened as he let you rock back and forth on it, whining against his touch.
in a matter of seconds you had turned into a drooling, whimpering little mess—leaving all your problems behind and letting him have the power to wipe all your worries away.
“you know i can feel how hot you are down there,” he commented, making you fluster instantly. you wanted to hide your face in his neck, but his hand was still wrapped around your neck, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to let you have your way.
“yeah,” he added, like he was answering his own question. his face remained serious, his forehead touching against the temple of your head, his words breathing onto the shell of your ear. “i can feel it even through your jeans, like your pussy’s begging for me to fuck you.”
he finally let go of your throat, dragging his finger down your sternum and haphazardly dropping it down to your crotch. his hand grazed over your clothed cunt as he hummed, satisfied to confirm his suspicion. his embarrassing words made you whine out a little, not too pleased with his teasing. yet, you couldn’t ignore that you were basically dripping.
sukuna placed both his hands on either side of your thighs, caging you in as you sat against the counter. he leaned forward, tilting his head to the side.
“now let me hear you say it.” his nails slowly dragged across your thighs, silently prompting you to wrap them around his waist again.
you could hear your heart beating so loud that it distracted you from any ability to form a coherent thought. it was a simple response—but a haze had washed over you and all you wanted to do was to act on these very raw emotions.
“c’mon,” he encouraged, “say it. tell me how wet you are.”
your breath was shaky as you nodded, the right words were still being formed in your brain, and you let whatever popped into your mind slip from your mouth.
“come see for yourself,” he raised an eyebrow, dick painfully hard.
he liked this little attitude—the dash of brattiness that seemed to be hidden inside you. moments before you were actually all flushed and embarrassed but now you were desperate and needy. he could’ve laughed, but the throbbing in his boxers wouldn’t let him, hooking his fingers under your jeans and tugging them off.
“shit,” he hissed under his breath seeing the patch of arousal that dampened your panties. he couldn’t stop his fingers from reaching our and touching it—making a stop over your clit and toying with it ever-so-slightly.
“such a fucking slut,” he commented, “the only thing that you think about is getting fucked—isn’t that right?”
“mhm,” you nodded, spreading your legs further out so that he could slip your underwear off next. sukuna’s eyes darkened, rubbing himself through his pants, reaching forward and sliding his finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling on them slowly.
“gonna fuck you so good you’re gonna forget everything—won’t even be able to say your own name.”
he could barely finish his thoughts before he was crouching down, face-to-face with your glossy pussy. he didn’t even want to say anything else, diving in with his tongue out.
instantly, you gasped, feeling the hotness of his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you could still hear the music playing downstairs and hoped that the speaker was loud enough to cover up the sinful moans that rattled from deep within your chest.
it was as if you hadn’t felt this good in such a long time—even though you knew very well you had seen sukuna just a couple days ago. his tongue worked it way around your pussy in a very skillful manner, making sure to find every spot that seemed to drive you crazy. he lapped up your juices, wetting his lips with your arousal.
he placed a delicate kiss on your clit before sucking down on it, the sloppy sounds of such a lewd scene echoing throughout his bathroom. his nose pressed into your mound, his eyes shut like it was for his own pleasure, not just yours.
this wasn’t the first time he’d gone down on you, but most definitely the most eager he had ever been—like he was starving.
“ryo,” you whimpered, grabbing a handful of his hair and his own fingers gripping into the soft flesh of your thighs, guiding them closer to his ears like he needed something to keep him warm.
“feels good?” he asked, face still buried in your cunt. the vibration of his words sent a chill up your spine, making your body twitch. he chuckled dryly, “bet it does. let me hear you, pretty girl—lemme hear you cum.”
your pussy clenched around nothing, stomach twisting into knots—pretty girl? that was a first—he was always calling you something nasty—slut, dirty whore etc. you were used to the degradation and enjoyed it thoroughly, but the novelty of something like this made you flush, you liked it, but knew you shouldn’t.
sure, it made you feel special, but this was just sex.
you were just friends with benefits.
your heart shouldn’t shutter at a compliment.
you pushed down the thoughts that were starting to chew away at your brain and focused back on what he was doing. the waves of pleasure that were encroaching you were getting closer and closer—the more he moved his tongue, the more the pressure inside of you became.
“‘m close,” you warned him, words slurring together, tangled together with stings of whimpers. it was like you could feel him smiling against your cunt, flicking his tongue working hard to get you to your climax.
your legs trembled, back arching, breath becoming unstable. telltale signs. you gripped onto his hair tighter, the release of your orgasm finally hitting. you didn’t have time to give him a proper warning, but he definitely felt it, especially as your whole body shook with pleasure.
“that’s it,” sukuna mumbled, a little drunk on your taste. he dipped his tongue down again, riding you through the rest of your high. your thighs clamped down against his head, almost cutting off his airflow as you tried to catch your breath.
he rose to his full height against, stripping himself free of his t-shirt, throwing it on the ground with your jeans. he undid his belt, and brought his jeans down just enough for him to free his cock—he was unabashed with how his tip was oozing precum, and the way his balls were feel heavy. he wanted to release all this tension into you, and you seemed to want the same thing. he stroked himself languidly, pumping his cock as you spread your legs open even more. the sight of that swollen, sweet little pussy was enough to make him groan.
yet, he didn’t want to fuck you like this—not yet. he wanted to take his time, oddly enough—a distraction was what you wanted, wasn’t it?
“get down,” he order, signalling you with his finger. you didn’t know what he had in mind but you did as you were old, standing in front of him, looking up at his devilish grin.
slowly, he leaned down and kissed your lips as if he hadn’t already made you cum once. your whole body was sensitive, even to the gentlest of touch, and when his hands ran up and down your arm, you thought you were seeing stars again.
although, his softness started to turn rough, and the sukuna that you were familiar with was starting to slip out. he flipped you around swiftly so that you were facing his bathroom mirror, his grip firm on your waist and stomach.
you were met with the reflection of your naked figure, and sukuna’s semi-nude one. it was enough to made you flustered, trying to look away, but sukuna quickly intercepted the action. his hand found your jaw once again and brought your gaze back to your form.
“look at yourself,” he whispered into your ear, “see how you squirm for me—it’s cute. i want you to see how fucked out you look when you take me cock—while i stretch you out, and fill you up and fucking cum in this sweet, pretty pussy of yours.”
your skin was hot to the touch, and as sukuna pressed down on your back, your spine arched, reaching forward to grab the countertop for support.
you had never been in such a lewd pose—no matter how nasty your imagination might’ve been, you never thought you would be here. sure, you had read smut about this, and heard utahime mention getting fucked like this once—but now that you were here, the feeling was like no other.
seeing yourself in this light: eyes glassy and fucked-out, framed with the rims of your glasses; cheeks still a little puffy from both your ad tears and your sex tears; lips swollen from kisses; hickeys and bruises started to form against your skin. your chest tightened, bum wiggling back to try to meet him, the erotic lust filling your body to the brim.
taking a deep breath, you lifted your gaze in the mirror, meeting sukuna’s—it became obvious that he had been staring at you, too, taking in your messy state.
he brushed his tongue over his lower lip, before grabbing onto his dick again, jerking himself off at what he was seeing. his hand came down against your ass, making the sharp feeling reverberate across your whole body—even your pussy felt it.
he saw the way your mouth parted, taking little gasps every time he slapped your ass.
“you really like it when i spank you? heh i guess it always is the innocent looking ones,” he joked, bringing down the palm of his hand against your skin again and again. he never seemed to get tired of bringing up the ‘girl-next door’ image that he has ascribed to you—like how your naive appearance contrasted with your freak-ish personality.
“ryo,” you whined; as your pussy was practically making a puddle on the floor. he only grunted in response, eyebrows furrowing and meeting in the center of his forehead.
“you’re such a brat,” he added, trying to hide the smirk on his lips that just so happened to be peeking through. he knew you could see him through the mirror, and as he flickered his eyes to meet yours it was clear that you were in slut-hevean; staring back at him as if he had hung the moon for you.
“am not,” you protested, of course, not letting him tarnish your good reputation.
sukuna, though, was not afraid to quip back: “you don’t mind being called a slut, but brat is where you draw the line?”
a pout formed on your lips, making sukuna release yet another dry chuckle as he shook his head playfully, smoothing over the redness of your ass.
“there's that pout—look at how bratty that is,” he said while leaning forward and wrapping an arm around you so that he could smush your cheeks together. cute, he thought to himself but didn’t bother saying it outloud.
once he dropped his hand, though, your pout only grew in size, and the desperation in your voice was becoming crystal clear.
“stop teasing,” you whined again. “please ryo?”
sukuna huffed, focusing back on the plump shape of your ass. he focused in on the throbbing marks that he left, grinning with a sense of pride. holding his cock, he slapped it against your ass, sending stinging shocks throughout your body.
he realized that he too had enough of the teasing, his dick was still hard and as he rubbed the tip with his thumb he pressed it against your slippery hole. you were so fucking wet he thought he was going to loose his mind.
lining himself up, he grabbed onto your shoulders for support and thrusted in, taking in the way your pussy lips clung to him. in a matter of seconds, his grip migrated to your waist, holding on so tight you were sure he would leave bruises.
“ohmygod,” you sighed, eyes squeezing shut as he stretched you open, not waiting to ease into you like other times—this time he made sure you felt every inch of him. you were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, the one that happened only a few moments ago. you could feel your clit throbbing, body squirming around even more than usual as he filled you up.
“fuuuck,” he groaned, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside of you. you clenched down on him so well—your warm, velvet walls embracing all of him. you could hear him panting just from sliding it in, and as your pussy twitched, you hadn’t noticed that your eyes were still closed.
“look at me,” he instructed, and you did just that. your sight was locked onto him, how his large frame took up most of the mirror, how he towered over you with a certain animalistic look in his eyes. “watch me while i fuck you, understand? eyes open.”
his hips jutted forward, pulling back and slamming back into you, over and over again, starting to build a consistent rhythm. you could hear the way his skin slapped against your ass, the harsh plaps ringing in your ear as your grip on the counter tightened in order to steady yourself.
your eyes remained fixed on sukuna’s—the dark crimson of his irises seemed to flash with a certain kind of amusement that the more you gasped and whimpered and whined, the quicker he thrusted.
“see that—see how fucking well you take this dick,’ he pointed out with a grunt.
he reached forward and grabbed the root of your hair, hoisting your head back a little harshly. your back arched even more while his other hand found its way to your tit. he pinched at your nipple once more, carelessly smirking at your reflections.
“that’s it,” he mused, “you feel so fucking good.”
he let go of your tit and brought his hand to your throat, using his stretch to tilt you head back. you weren’t able to keep your eyes on his reflection any longer, but instead you were looking into his actual eyes as he loomed over you.
sukuna took a deep breath, tightening his grasp on your hair. his hands were caging you in; holding you in place so that you could hardly move, all while his thick cock continued to bully your hole.
you could feel your glasses slipping back and getting closer to your face causing them to start fogging up—especially with all the heat that had been generated between the two of you. your lips parted, tongue poking out just a little bit and your lips were glossed with saliva.
“taking it like a good fucking girl,” he complimented, you weren’t used to all this praise from him. sure he was starting to get rough, but still. you couldn’t help but notice how many ‘good girl’s’ were starting to roll off his tongue.
“shit,” he swore, losing his grip on your neck and instead taking the time to hoist one of your legs up on the counter, giving him a better opportunity to see how your pussy was stretching for him. you fell forward slightly, catching yourself on the mirror, knowing very well that your hand would leave a mark on the glass.
his thrusts started to slow down, relishing in what he was seeing; the frosty rings around his dick, the glossy shine of your cunt—the way your pussy widened and took all of you.
“feels good,” you mentioned, voice strained. sukuna’s smirk widened, his hand rubbing the sore spots that he had made. you braced yourself for another spank, but it never came. he was moving in and out of you at a painfully slow pace, and you wanted nothing more for him to speed up.
“ngh–faster,” you whined, pout reentering your expression. the frat boy behind you only went slower, as if to tease you even more.
“greedy girl,” he said while raising his eyebrows. his pulsing dick took its time filling your gummy walls and took its time slowly dragging itself, out too.
“just wanna cum,” you reply, head in the clouds. he’s going so slow that you’re tempted to just fuck yourself back onto him. but you knew that with his strength, he’d be holding you back in a matter of seconds. he seemed to have his mind set on this, and there was no breaking from that.
“ask nicely,” he grunted, his smirk dropping for just a moment, like he was mesmerised by the way your cunt was swallowing him up. “you don’t sound desperate enough.”
“please ryo, please go faster?” you were starting to hear just how bratty your tone was starting to sound, and it only made you huff. your legs were starting to wobble and even with the support of the countertop, you were on the verge of falling over—especially if sukuna didn’t do anything about it.
before he even replied, his speed picked up tenfolds, catching you off guard. it was like the air in your lungs had disappeared, causing your mouth to gap open and your eyes to start rolling back. his speed was brutal—faster than before, leaving you absolutely speechless.
“like this?” he taunted, but you didn’t have the strength to respond, surely this was his plan all along. “hm? what was that, i didn’t hear you?”
his heavy balls slapped against your clit, and the loud, smacking thrusts made it hard to focus on speaking. trying to string a sentence together wasn’t easy, not with the way he was pistoning in and out of you. his tip kept hitting all the right spots, the veins of his dick rubbing against your gummy walls.
“yeah that’s what i thought,” he huffed, holding your waist firmly. “told you i was gonna fuck your brains out—make you forget everything. you close? fuck i can feel the way this pussy is begging to cum—fuck.”
“gonna–” cum was supposed to be the next word, but it didn’t make it out. instead, your body reached it’s breaking point without the opportunity to properly articulate yourself. in the moment, though, it didn’t matter that you didn’t get a chance to verbalize it—the feeling was so nice.
your orgasm crashed down over you, stronger than last time. legs trembling, throating gasping, soft moans escaping your lips. your pussy kept tightening, and twitching, sending sukuna over the edge, too.
“me too, shit, where do you want it?” he asked through gritted teeth.
sukuna was painfully close, and trying to hold back was getting harder and harder as he anticipated your (seemingly obvious) answer. his strokes became messier, less focused—lazy even. his teeth were grinding together, a hiss rolling off his tongue, strangled and muffled moans hiding in his throat.
“inside,” you choked out, making sukuna’s pace speed up. he fucked into you hard, on the verge of his own climax. his nails dug into your skin, his thrusts became allconsuming.
“good fucking girl,” he hissed before letting out a dran out, strangled moan. his voice cracked ever-so slightly, with a string of curses leaving his throat as you felt his cum shoot into you.
your pussy was pulsing, your head spinning and body moments away from falling over. yet, sukuna held you in place for a moment longer, letting his dick go soft while inside of you. his breath, too, was staggered, like he had run a marathon. you could see in the mirror that his chest was rising and falling rapidly.
carefully, he started to pull out, the cum that had been filling your cunt slowly dribbling out. although, he couldn’t stop the mess that came, as more cum rolled from your pussy and down your legs, droplets of it splattered onto the tile floor.
“shit,” he cursed again, this time to himself. sukuna could see how tired you were, running a hand over his face he tried to shake his own exhaustion from himself as well.
“here,” he interjected his own train of thought, reaching for the roll of kitchen towel paper that was conveniently located in the cabinet beneath his sink. you were still leaning forward slightly, trying not to contribute to the mess more than you already had.
he ran the towel under the sink for just a moment before hovering over your pussy. he watched as it clenched and gushed, and he tried his hardest to not get hard again. you shivered as the cold cloth touched your sensitive area, trying to hold still while he cleaned you up.
his fingers subconsciously traced over the bruises left by him, and as he noticed them he felt a little guilty. he knew you liked it rough, but these physical reminders were a little bit jarring.
“go lay down, i’ll bring your clothes,” he said softly, voice low and somber. he was eyeing the floor, and then your naked frame. you didn’t argue with him and slowly stepped into his room, feeling the cool air hit against your skin and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
his bed seemed like the perfect oasis at that moment, and as you fell down, you grabbed onto the edge of the blanket that was messily sitting there, bringing it over your frame for a little warmth.
you felt your chest rise and fall, and the heat that was crawling in your stomach before had been replaced with something else—content.
sukuna came out of the bathroom, hans running through his hair like he had disassociated from the world around him—or like a bothersome thought was rattling in his head. he held your clothes in his arm and plopped them down against the edge of the bed before joining you. sure, your body was still a little heated, out of breath from your climax, and as sukuna laid down next to you, you realized how heavy your eyes felt. after everything that happened, you were bound to want to sleep, it didn’t help that he had fucked your brains out on top of it.
at first, he didn’t say anything as he rested next to you, simply running his hand up and down his abs and chest, deep in thought. he was contemplating something important, and it had to do with you. he prompted his head up with his hand, being careful as to not elbow you in the face.
it was a ‘what now’ sort of question that he wasn’t sure how to answer. his throat felt a little dry, stuck in a mental limbo. was this the right time for some kind of pillow talk? girls liked cuddling after, it made them more clingy, right? he wasn’t sure of anything at that point. he also knew that despite his best efforts of ‘distracting’ you, the chances of you still being upset were still very high. he rarely knew girls that got over this sort of thing so quickly. especially yorozu—she always found a way to make the sting of things linger.
sukuna cleared his throat, twisting his neck ever-so slightly to look at you.
“do you…” he started, his tone obviously hesitant. “wanna talk about, like, what happened?”
your sleepy expression soured, shaking your head softly. you scooted towards him simultaneously, resting your head on his bicep without asking first. you were usually not as filtered post-orgasm, he knew that by now and as your cheeks smooshed against his skin you pouted.
“the whole point of all that was to forget what happened.”
there was a beat of silence.
“so do you wanna go back down there?” he questioned, “i have extra white shirts. or you can wear mine, doesn’t matter, besides, i’ll live if i don’t stick to the theme.”
you blinked, taking your time as your eyelids opened. there was a pounding feeling in your heart, like it was a life or death decision. the intense glare sukuna was giving you wasn’t helping either—like your answer was going to have life altering consequences.
“okay,” you said simply, leaving him unsure with what you were agreeing to. you figured that going down was for the best—yorozu couldn’t steal all your fun—not more than she already had, at least. if you stuck by sukuna she wouldn’t do anything, you could sense that.
“can i borrow a t-shirt? you don’t have to write anything on it, it’s okay,” you told him, scratching the back of your neck. you continued sheepishly: “i don’t want to ruin another shirt.”
he flashed you a crooked grin, “alright.”
your lips pressed together as you sat up, watching how the frat boy scurried across his room and to his dresser, searching through his drawer before pulling out the fateful white shirt.
sukuna threw it towards you, giving you a moment to slide your undergarments back on, followed by your jeans and finally, his shirt. he looked away from you temporarily before slyly looking over his shoulder, catching your eye again. he didn’t comment on the fact his shirt was practically swallowing you whole, he only raised his eyebrow and asked you: “think you’re ready for flip cup now?”
you remembered what your plans were before the little yorozu incident and felt a bit of nostalgia for that past version of yourself—even though it was only an hour ago.
your lips tugged into a smile. it was hard to believe that you were ever crying—your mood had completely flipped, and for that, you were somewhat indebted to sukuna. nodding slowly, you tried to respond cooly:
“ready to win.” although, it didn’t feel as cool when you actually said it.
“c’mon then,” he chuckled, amused with your newfound attitude. he was sure that you would give it your best effort. he reached his hand out, beckoning you to follow along, slipping back down to the party as if you had never left.
HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS - PIN IT 𑣲 gojo x reader
synopsis ⟢ you've ran out of things to publish for the school's magazines, that is until your friend brought up an amazing suggestion after seeing another friend get absolutely heartbroken, you all figured it would only be appropriate to have an article for what not to do for dating. so you take up the role of the annoying clingy girlfriend with none other than Satoru Gojo. but things go south when he's not taking the bait and actually falls for you instead.
pairing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ uni au soccer player! gojo x journalist! reader
warning / tags : 18+, fem reader, angst, fluff, second hand embarrassment, jealousy, he falls first she fell harder, cursing, gojo is a total sweetheart, eventual smut, tba ... art @/naomiiocha series masterlist here
TAGLIST IS CLOSED TAGLIST IS CLOSED
Chic of the week.
It’s everything put onto a magazine. Fashion, culture, love, diets, anything you can think of that will help out the girls of New York University. You blink repeatedly at your dry eyes that have been staring at your computer screen.
“I’ve got nothing.” You placed your hands to the back of your head, slugging back at your desk chair with a groan. Even after hours of thinking about your next issue, nothing came to mind. Utahime leaned over, peeking at the blank screen, watching as the cursor blinked. “Oh sweetheart, you’ve got writer's block?” You nodded, poking your tongue against your cheek.
“I just wish I could write about something other than how to properly wax your armpits, or how to lose weight in 5 days. There’s real world problems out there that I would love to bring awareness to.”
“Yeah well, this is a chic magazine, not a political magazine. Once you have your career and you’re out of this hell hole, write all about what you want.” Utahime reasoned. She was right, this wasn’t a job, it’s just a club that writes for the school.
“Where’s Miwa when you need her?” Your voice came out in a whine, slamming your fingers at your keyboard. Utahime glanced around the room, looking for the familiar blue hair. “She’s late. The meeting began over half an hour ago.”
She sighed, stepping back when you pushed off your desk. “Look what came into my mail this morning.” You grumbled. Utahume’s ears perked up, reaching for the envelope. Inside were two tickets to the world cup. USA versus Paraguay, middle seats, perfect view. “Woah ho-ho, what are these?”
“Remember that editor from the sports magazine I had a drink or two with last week? Guess he mistook my kindness for flirting or maybe he really appreciated me being the sweet girl I am.”
“Must be nice.”
You both turned to the voice behind you, making you and Utahime jump in fear.
“Miwa! Jesus.” Your hand grabbed onto your chest, feeling your heartbeat accelerate. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and the ruined mascara evidence of tears. “What happened to you?”
“What didn’t happen?” She sniffled, dragging his hand over her stuffy nose. “He dumped me. Oh my god, he dumped me.”
“Get her a cigarette.” Utahime whispered. You hurriedly digged into your purse, taking out the box of cigs, handing them over to Miwa. “You guys didn’t make it past two weeks.” You hit Utahime’s stomach with your elbow, making her wince.
“I know. And it was the best goddamn week and a half of my life.”
“What even happened girl?” You opened up your arms to comfort her in a hug that she happily accepted. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
You nodded, rubbing her back.
Then, she broke down again. “He said I was ‘too much’ and I didn’t understand because I thought everything was going great! It was great and I blew it all up because I moved too quickly.”
“What do you mean?” Utahime rested against the desk after trying her long hair into a ponytail in hopes of escaping the hot weather. “Don’t tell me you said ‘I love you’, that’s common sense.” She snickered.
“Well..”
“Miwa.” You and Utahime scolded.
“The sex was really beautiful!” Miwa added, as if that made matters better. “And I cried and I said it, it just slipped out!”
“That’s why he ended it?”
“I think. Or maybe it was because of the amount of times I called him while he was “busy” or y’know, it’s probably because I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat.” Your voices came out in unison once again. As you continued scolding Miwa for her poor choices in the ephemeral relationship, a lightbulb turned on inside Utahime's head. She clapped her hands in order to get your attention. “There it is. There’s your page.”
“My page?”
“Uh huh. Think about all those girls on this campus who are struggling just like Miwa. Ones that have problems hanging on to relationships. You can write about these classic mistakes most women do that drive men away.”
You stood up straighter, all kinds of ideas popping into your head. “That’s not bad at all. I can ‘date’ a guy and see how long it takes until he snaps.”
Your friend nodded, squealing. “Yes!” She clasped her hands with yours, jumping up and down. “It’ll be titled ‘How to lose a guy in 10 ways..” Utahime looked over to her fourth wall, moving her hand to the side to picture the title.
Miwa blew her nose loudly, reminding you that she was still here.
“How about ‘How to lose a guy in 10 days?’ That’s the total you guys were together right?” You cringed when Miwa threw her used tissue on your desk. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Perfect. Now all that’s left is to find the guy.”
The windows in the classroom were open, letting the slight breeze pass in. Outside, a whistle blew along with some yelling. “I can’t focus with all the chatter, what’s even going on?” You all made your way towards the window, peeking out. The soccer team was lined up, some doing reps while others stood by, discussing some very serious matter.
“They’re getting ready for an upcoming game.” You leaned forward, hair blowing all over the place. The field was buzzing with energy, cleats full of the freshly cut grass. Miwa walked away, crying once again. “I saw him just now.”
“Oh my god Miwa.” Utahime followed after her.
You stayed put, skimming through the small crowd until someone stood out. His white hair almost blinded you from the sun’s reflection. The guy was tall and well built, you could tell even from a distance. “What about him?”
“Who?”
“Number 10.”
Utahime immediately groaned. “Oh absolutely not. He’d drive you insane before you even got to try your little experiment first.”
“Do you know him personally?” Your eyes never left him.
“Satoru Gojo. Went to high school with him, worst guy ever. He never knows when to shut up.” You finally left the window, deep in thought. “Then I guess I’ll be the one to change him up.”
⋆˚꩜｡
The team was still outside having practice games, taking turns shooting at the net. A boy with hair thrown up into a bun kicked harshly only to miss, earning a groan from others. “Yo man, it’s like you've got two left legs!”
“I’ll shove them both up your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
Yikes. You lingered a moment before going over to the bleachers. There he was, standing with both hands on his hips, getting ready to catch the ball.
“How do you plan on talking to him?” Miwa leaned over to whisper into your ear. You hushed her, about to scold her for her attempt at whispering when suddenly, the ball came flying directly at you, hitting you straight in the face.
A sharp pain struck across your nose, making you bring your hands up to cover it.
“Oh my god!” Miwa’s voice jumped an octave, grabbing your arm to gently tug it off your face. “Hold on, let me see!”
Another voice appeared, one that was breathless and panicked. “Shit, I’m so so sorry! Are you okay? I have a super bad aim today for some reason.” Your eyes widened when they met him, it was Satoru, looking down at you with a worried look on his face.
He was even more oddly beautiful up close.
“Uh.. it’s fine.” You managed out.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.” He chuckled, wiping the small drop of blood that dripped out your nostril. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.” If it wasn’t for your article, you would've punched him repeatedly to break his nose. “I’m sorry again.. Uh I can go get you ice-”
“No, no it's fine, seriously.”
Miwa gave you a look, one that was urging you to ask him for his number or anything. “You can make it up to me some other way..” Your words slipped out suddenly. Satoru’s brows lifted. “Yeah? What way are we talking here?”
art credits: @//hunnismokah . divider credits: @//pixopix .
synopsis: you know your boyfriend sukuna’s life relies on parties, alcohol, everything brimming with chaos and something akin to regret—you knew this and you stayed, hoping he’d change, hoping he’d actually see you for once. but when one argument spirals out of your hands, you’re storming out of his place vowing to never come back. this is the first time sukuna realised he’s fucked up. badly. you were the one girl that didn’t taste of cheap vodka and regret the morning after. so he now has a choice. to fix the very thing he promised he’d never break, or to keep his act up until it kills him. but would it kill him to admit that you meant something to him after all?
a/n: shoutout to my baby @twinkletfout for helping me plan this one out i lav u my precious, also this isn’t proofread so be nice
cw: slight angst to comfort, sukuna is an ass and reader is a little bit of a pushover !!
wc: 5k.
—
you’ve lost count of how many times sukuna’s forgotten to come home to you. lost count on how many times he’s promised you the world only to throw every single one of them to the fucking dirt. and quite frankly, you don’t know how you got here. you told yourself he was good, that he used to be, you told your friends that he cared—and you didn’t know who you were trying to convince, them or just yourself.
but a part of it was true. well it was once. that sukuna ryomen had left behind his chaos-filled, party life behind for you. he grew soft, restrained, the worst part was that he grew to care. and he convinced himself couldn’t have that—that vulnerability, his walls seemed to crack and it sent him in a frenzy to build them back up.
—
he was everything you weren't. and to most people, your relationship was something that was straight out of a fever dream.
the absolute angel of a girl with a man who couldn't hold his ground even if he tried.
but he wasn't like that around you. well, sometimes. he'd open his heart the slightest amount and withdraw almost instantly. but you knew that he was trying, that he would change.
but sukuna didn't want any of that. the second he felt the smallest kindness, his brain was quick to shut it down and want to wreck it before it got too far.
—
when he first attempted to ‘court’ you he’d send you stupid flowers, show up with the snacks you always liked, always going out of his way to try to impress you. well in his own subtle way, but he always just tried.
he’d left behind such a big part of his life to keep you close, partying less, avoiding the alcohol because knew how much you hated it. he cared, he really did. but gods you were just so good. too good. and far too angelic, and kind, and everything that was just so out of his reach, it fucked him up.
and old habits die hard. and a small fucked up part of him wanted to see how far he could push you before you leave him too. how far he could pull the strings on your poor heart until you’d finally want to get rid of him. because of course someone as sweet as you, someone that charming would never be someone who was destined to stay by his side.
ryomen sukuna wrecked things, it was simply what he was good at. and no matter how hard he tried to be good to you, his old ways always found a new way to ruin what was the one good thing he had left in his life.
—
you sat on the couch for the umpteenth time this month, waiting for sukuna to get back home from another party that he swore he wouldn’t attend. you were supposed to go out tonight. and like a fool, you thought your boyfriend would follow through with his words this time. you’d sworn a million times that this’d be your last straw. it never was.
you’d grown painfully attached to him. he treated you like you were something precious, like you were someone who mattered, well he did. he really did.
right while your brain continued down the same painful spiral, sukuna came stumbling into your place. he reeked of alcohol, and gods you hated that smell. and fuck you hated it when he was drunk. he was loud, abrasive, and everything that you absolutely had hated about him boiling until saturation.
you try to approach him slowly, reaching your arms out, trying to comfort him the only way you always did—
“get the fuck away from me, y/n.”
you immediately withdrew into yourself. he’d been making more comments about you lately, but sukuna never, never fucking talked to you like that before.
“ryomen, what’re you talking about—“
“fuck, y/n, you really are pathetic. you let me treat you like shit, you let me walk all over you and you’re still here. you still refuse to accept the fact that you should just leave with the last shred of self respect you have left.”
you could feel the tears slowly bubbling up behind your eyes. sukuna knew exactly what you were like, and the worst part was he knew exactly why you were the way you were. you couldn’t stand the idea of someone disliking you, you were always painfully understanding, always willing to go through hell and back for anyone who meant absolutely anything to you.
he used to praise you for being sweet, used to whisper sweet nothings into your ears about how he’d be the storm to your calm, how he’d make sure people wouldn’t just use you and throw you away like they always did.
it was always okay or so you told yourself. but the one thing you thought sukuna wouldn’t do was treat you the exact same way that everyone else did. fucking with your poor sweet heart until you had nothing else left to give.
“grow a spine, y/n. it’s getting a little sad to watch, baby.”
the sweet nickname sounded like venom on his tongue, not the way he used to say it before. the tears burning in your eyes eventually spilling down your cheeks. you hated it. you hated how easy it was to get inside your head. how easy you cried at the first sign of distress.
but for once, beyond the stupid thumping in your chest and the pit in your stomach, you felt something akin to rage. and for the first time, instead of enveloping sukuna in your arms, you felt your feet move, walking directly toward him, while a sharp smack! landed across his face.
you were almost just as stunned as he was, his cheek burning read with the imprint of your palm right across his face.
and just before you felt your throat close up—
“i’m done playing your stupid game, sukuna. we’re done.”
your words were sharp, final. a tone you’d never heard yourself possess before. it felt almost freeing.
but the moment you looked up at his face you absolutely knew he wasn’t taking a single word coming out of your mouth seriously. and before you knew it, he let out a laugh. the fucking audacity.
you felt your legs move again, shoving the stuff you had kept in his apartment into the nearest bag you could find, sobbing between each movement, frantically moving everything into your bags before storming out of the building, slamming the door in his face.
—
and the second you left the apartment, absolutely fuming, a part of sukuna’s fucked out brain knew he’d finally fucked up. that building back his walls, turning himself into the very thing he promised he’d never be around you finally caught up to him.
he wanted to think you’d come crawling back. you always did. he wished he had an explanation for his behaviour. but you were just…too you. and he was sukuna. the second he felt his heart soften he had to remind himself that you deserved better, you deserved better than just a half assed attempt at a redemption. you deserved someone kind. and he was everything that you should’ve avoided. maybe, just maybe pushing you away would feel freeing. maybe it’d feel like the weight that was crawling up his throat would finally disappear. oh, poor sukuna. if only he knew, that trying would always mean so much more than vain perfection. and the fact that he was trying would’ve always been more than enough for you.
—
you knew he was too drunk out of his mind to even remember what’d taken place in there. so you figured you’d tell his friend, toji to tell sukuna to stay the fuck away from you.
you liked that about toji. he never got between people’s business unless necessary, and you knew he’d pass on the message without questioning you about anything.
you’d found your way into yuki’s apartment, crying into her arms the second you got there, sobbing nearly hysterically while she slowly pet your head until you cried until you tired yourself out.
constantly babbling about how you trusted him, while yuki slowly cooed, whispering about how none of it was your fault. and heavens she swore that sukuna would get a piece of her mind soon enough. but for now, all she cared about was making sure you wouldn’t self destruct—you loved sukuna beyond what words could convey. sukuna knew you in ways that terrified you, he knew you, inside out and every jab he took at you felt like pickets were being stabbed into your heart. it hurt so much. and you just wanted it all to go away.
—
sukuna woke up would what he could only describe to be the feeling of a hammer pounding against his head. his immediate instinct was to reach out to you, looking for you in the apartment slowly—until the realisation hit him like a freight train.
fucking hell. he’d meant to try to get you to leave, hoping his notorious reputation that came crawling back would send you away. that it’d push you away far enough that you’d hate him. that you’d think it was all his fault that this relationship of yours would never work out. he never should’ve let this get too far anyway.
now? you were going to blame yourself. you would spiral and destruct thinking this was all on you. running his arm down his face, groaning while he went down this rabbit hole, his hair still messy, his breath still heavy with the stench of cheap vodka.
just before his brain was wracking for the things he’d said last night—toji stormed straight into the room. and in all his life, sukuna swore that he’d never seen him angrier. because toji never had a temper. he was simply the guy who barely gave a fuck about anything. and with the way toji was looking at him, sukuna could tell he was fuming.
“what. the. fuck. did you just do sukuna?”
it was odd, you were his girlfriend, so why was toji this mad at him? and his yelling was ringing in his ears paired with his utterly horrendous hangover.
“i don’t know man i was drunk out of my mind-“
“fuck out of here with that bullshit sukuna. you’ve been trying to push her away for months. if you wanted to dump her you should’ve just outright done it. you know she deserves better than whatever you just pulled.”
okay. ouch. way to kick a man when he’s down. but sukuna knew he was right. he fucked up. and he was going to have to face the repercussions of having had finally snapped the sweetest girl on campus in half.
—
you woke up in a frenzy in yuki’s room, buried amongst fluffy blankets you were nearly drowning in them while yuki brought you some tea.
“you feelin’ okay sweetheart”
“gods yuki i owe you my life.”
you groan almost flopping face first onto her lap again.
“no, you owe me monetary compensation for dealing with that man.”
you snicker, it’s the first time you’d felt your heart feel light since forever. it felt..good, not having someone constantly weigh you down until you felt like you were walking around eggshells around them. you felt seen. and you sure as hell didn’t feel stupid for being a girl with a big heart like you always did.
—
toji by no means let sukuna down gently—he made sure to go on an insufferable rant about how perfect you were and if sukuna didn’t get his shit together, someone else would and sukuna would be left being the idiot who fumbled the girl who would’ve moved mountains for him.
sukuna wanted to think this was all a sick joke. he wanted to push you away, it was for your own good, after all!! so why was it that every single time he thought of your stupid face, it made his chest ache with a wound that he couldn’t quite fix?
—
you made a vow to yourself to not cave. you’ve cut sukuna far too much slack, and you’re never letting him have that power over you. never again.
a sick part of you wanted to see him beg. grovel at your feet to beg you to come back. and you wanted to see him half as desperate and needy as you were in the relationship. you wanted him miserable.
—
it’d been a week since you’d stopped talking to sukuna. his pride wouldn’t let him admit that it was killing him. watching you, the sunshine reincarnated practically thrive without him being around you.
he wanted to be happy for you, he really did but just looking at you made him realise how he practically sucked the soul out of you. and god it stung.
watching you from afar when he made a big deal about you coming back to him while you didn’t even look back. when he tried to pass by you in the hallways, you simply pretended that he wasn’t there, barely grazing past him while still avoiding him to an extent that wasn’t obvious.
and every little detail about you had him scrambling, mentally slapping himself across the face for never having noticed these things about you.
the way you bit your lip when you were nervous, the way you liked to hum when conversations grew quiet. you really were, at your core, nothing short of lovely. and sukuna of all people wouldn’t be able to break that.
but to get the girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly to slap you across the face and avoid like the plague? now that was something worth mulling over. but deep down, he was proud of you. you were going to give him a run for his money and it was going to be worth every miserable second of his godforsaken life.
—
the one instance that has sukuna nearly snapping is when he spots you at a house party. the place is filled to the brim with people, his entire group of friends all off in their own corners, and as the sea of people part he’s immediately struck with the sight of you—all dolled up in the prettiest dress, your hair done to perfection, your makeup countering the dress perfectly, your jewellery sparkling under the dim lights.
you don’t do parties, they’ve never been your scene, but here you are, right before him, clinging onto to yuki’s arm while you make your way through the crowds of people.
the moment you find yourself a seat near the bar, you’re absolutely overwhelmed, sukuna’s mates crowding around you, and with the way they seem to be eyeing you? sukuna’s all but fighting the urge to drag you away.
before he makes the ridiculous decision of approaching you to drag you away, he feels toji snake an arm around his shoulder, physically holding him in place.
“you’re the one who fucked up, man. either get it together or leave her alone, she deserves this.”
gods, you really did look stunning. and every little compliment that was thrown your way had you flushed and giggling. he had no right to take that away from you. not after the shit he pulled. he wasn’t your boyfriend anymore. it wasn’t his place. and this was the first time he actually said that to himself.
oddly enough, being anything but your boyfriend just felt so very wrong in his brain.
he either gets his act together or comes to terms with being okay with never having you in his life ever again.
—
stumbling through the hallways of the campus’ dorms, he made his way to what he thought was his room. it was a force of habit. showing up to your place when he felt like shit. you always had space for him, but he was so out of it he almost didn’t realise you didn’t want anything to do with him. well, that’s a lie. he did.
he knew alcohol made him painfully honest. it’d let him say the things you couldn’t pry out of him no matter what if he was sober.
you shouldn’t have opened the door, but a part of you really, really wanted to hear what he had to say for himself.
the second you open your door, he’s leaning on the doorframe, looking at you with half lidded eyes while he slowly makes his way inside.
“wow i didnt think that you—“
“out with it before i kick you out.”
“you’re mean, y’know?”
he grumbles, a smile gracing his lips while he just gawked at you. gosh you really never did stop being pretty. he never told you that enough, now did he?
“ill cut to the chase, y/n. i want you back.”
there was a strange undercutting edge to his voice, one that almost sounded like begging.
“and what gives you that right, huh? no, tell me sukuna, should i take you back?”
you shot back almost immediately, if he was gonna try to pull this shit on you, you sure as hell would make him work for it.
“y’know what, no. no you shouldn’t.” his voice did not waver whatsoever, right while you were still caught off guard he managed to continue,
“i hate myself for what i did to you. and i don’t know how to hold onto things without wanting to ruin them because i’m just unworthy of it all. i want to change, y/n. i really do. but if it were up to me, you should’ve slammed that door across my face and never let me back into your life because i don’t deserve even an ounce of your attention. but i want to try, i really do.”
the raw honesty in his voice, the way it shook in the slightest had you reeling. of all things you didn’t expect him to actually..admit it.
“well—at least you’re aware.”
“trust me, i am. but please, y/n, let me make it up to you.” you barely registered the way he stumbled to his knees right before you, his eyes glazed over with a thin film of tears, like one wrong move would send him weeping.
he was looking right up at you, sniffling a little, before you walked closer, sukuna immediately hugging your legs toward himself, slowly letting out the tiniest sob, while your hands made their way into his hair.
“one chance, sukuna. and don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
you could practically see the excitement radiating off of him, his smile so stupid and boyish, you’d never seen him look like that in all the time that you’d known him.
but you weren’t going to go easy on him. you needed to make him feel at least a part of the pain you felt every single time he pushed you away.
“go home sukuna, you can talk to me when you’re sober and you mean what you say.”
and he was pouting. the sukuna ryomen was pouting, teary eyed, on his knees right before you. he got back up, now towering over you, still leaning over just to appear a little less intimidating.
“i meant what i said, y/n. i’ll prove it to you, i promise you that.”
—
sukuna stumbled back to his place, immediately losing himself to a fit of sleep, right before looking around the apartment and curling into himself, finally surrounded by silence. he hated being home now. you weren’t around. you kept his place alive, it was more yours than it was ever his. and with how he was never home anymore, the emptiness was going to swallow him whole.
but he'd do this. he didn't stumble into the dorms and beg and plead for nothing.
he never thought he'd see the day where toji was right about his relationship. he fucked around, hoping to ruin it all and that's exactly what he did.
but he just couldn't help the pit that settled in his stomach every single time he saw you get hit on—of course you did, you were fucking stunning. you were charming, beautiful, funny, albeit a little shy but that just added onto what made you so very special, just so very you. he had you, right in his arms and gloriously fucked it up.
—
he started small, sitting next to you during classes again, small talk, borrowing your notes, walking by your side in the hallways. he forgot how good it felt to get to know you all over again, but he could practically feel the walls you'd built up, refusing to let him in just yet. keeping him walking on ice with every interaction, giving him sidelong glances when he said anything even remotely stupid.
but it didn't matter. if you were to cut him off, so be it. he could live with that. but what he wouldn't be able to stand was having had forced his way back into your life and getting away with how he treated you scott-free.
even if it meant started from scratch, if it meant struggling to get you to look in his direction again it'd all be worth it. but to make this work, he'd need help.
—
"so you've finally decided to get your shit together, huh?" toji snickers, the sight of sukuna with his head in his hands on his couch is nearly comical, his eyeballs evident, his hair messy while he's practically begging for help.
"please, man i'll do anything."
"we should start with how badly you fucked up." toji says almost instantly, cutting his sentence short.
"man i know i messed up i just need to know how to win her over again-"
"you have no fucking idea, ryomen. of all the people you could fuck over, you picked the girl who's practically a living angel. she trusted you with her fragile heart and you somehow stomped all over it. if you want her back, we start with whatever is up with you." sukuna grimaces, he's right. again. fuck this was bad. he knew it was bad, but drowning his sorrows in alcohol and completely avoiding even a sliver of emotion he felt. trying to bury you out of every thought he had. he was just running away, and it was starting to catch up to him.
"yeah. yeah." he sighed, resigned to his fate of having screwed up absolutely terribly.
"but i'll give you props now for actually wanting to try. but if you're gonna do this, you'll have to do it right."
"real helpful, man."
"you know her better than i do, you know exactly what she likes. don't be all sukuna about it."
"yeah, yeah i got it." gods this was going to be hard.
—
he tried to approach you softly, he could see the way you always shrunk around him when you saw him coming and it killed him.
"y/n, you know i meant what i said, right?"
"i don't know that sukuna, but i know you're trying. that's okay, i'll take that."
ouch. it stung to hear you say it out loud, but it was fair. but he could do this, this was something he could work with.
he wasn't used to making up for everything he fucked up, more used to people shutting him, which was always what he intended, but having you look at him with not scrutiny again, but with something dangerously close to forgiveness. like you were ready to let him try to fix everything.
—
patience is a virtue. and sukuna swore he could feel himself start to turn into a saint. you let him hang out around you a lot more often—much to yuki's dismay. but she knew he was changing too, after laying it down on him rather harshly, giving him graphic detail on exactly the things she'd do to him provided he fucked up again.
"you screw this up sukuna, so help me god, i'm going to snap your dick in half and shove it down your throat." she whisper shouted, dragging him away from you in the hallway, cornering him underneath the stairs.
"god—i'm serious about her i swear! i promise you could run me over if i fuck it up again, you have my word for it."
she reluctantly lets go of his ear, the one she was holding onto while threatening him.
"you may leave, but you hurt her—"
"i got it you'd have me hung by my guts."
"good."
—
time moved almost excruciatingly slowly, with sukuna trying to sober up, and you trying to let your heart soften so you'd let him in it again. but god you were terrified. he always the rough edges while you were softer, calmer, and you didn't want that ever again.
sukuna could see the way your mind was absolutely reeling every single time he was around you and it pained him.
you'd started to let him in again, only to disappear momentarily, it was this dangerous game of contemplating whether you should really let him back into your life again.
you desperately didn't want to be the girl who just allowed him to come crawling back.
but he was changing. that was even worse. you didn't think you could stay tough any longer when all you wanted to do was collapse into his arms and cry about every horrible thing that he did to your poor heart.
—
it wasn't much longer until you caved, calling him in a frezy not letting him get even a word out before, gasping out—
"sukuna do you mean it."
"slow down, y/n. what's wrong?" in the weeks he'd been trying to make it up to you, you'd never called him, and you never sounded this panicked. before you found a response, he was throwing on the nearest hoodie he could find over his body, sprinting out of his apartment to get on his bike. you might not want to see him, sure, but he'd rather you kick him out than leave you like that by yourself.
"i don't kuna, i want you back. i do, but i don't know. i don't, i can't do this-"
"slow down, baby. i'm on my way there, you're okay, alright?"
you were seated on your floor right when sukuna showed up, your door already open while he ran toward you immediately, crouching down to your level, his warmth clouding you almost instantly while you melt into his arms.
"it's okay, baby. you're doing well."
you slowly nod into his shoulders, if you weren't panicking you'd be trying to shove him away, embarrassed that you caved this easily, back in his arms with your heart in pieces just like it was before.
"i won't fuck this up again, y/n. i really won't. it's gonna be, alright, okay? we're going to be just fine."
you were barely listening to him, while he proceeded to pick you up like you weighed nothing and carried you all the way back to your bed. gods, he missed this, he missed being close to you. and it only reminded me of how he was never this gentle, while that was all you ever deserved.
when he tried to move away, you pulled him by his drawstrings, until he was laying down completely on top of you.
"don't leave…please." your voice was barely above a whisper, still buried underneath his massive form.
"i don't plan on going anywhere. i just need to make sure you want me here, y/n."
"i do. just please-" before you could continue, his arms were around your waist, he flipped over, having you lay on top of him while he hugged you like it was second nature.
the moment you looked up at him with your pretty eyes, giving him the softest peck on his lips, his palm moved to cup your face,
"may i..?"
you slowly nodded, right before his lips crashed obto yours, they were softer than you remembered, and he was gentler, his arm still wrapped around your waist while the other found their way into your hair. he finally felt like he was breathing again.
he was gentler, a lot softer, his lips moving against yours, while he slowly pulled away, looking right at you.
"i'm going to do this right this time. i'll give you everything y/n. thank you."
you nodded right before laying down on his chest again, enveloped in his tattoed arms, your head tucked under his chin while he kissed your forehead.
the two of you were laying down in shared silence, your eyelids heavy, and your heart almost beating out of your chest.
with your head rested close to sukuna's heart, you could hear the uneven thumping in his own. and you remembered that the sukuna you were once with and the man whose arms you were wrapped in now were most certainly not the same person. you really hoped he wasn’t.
and that was all that mattered. you might've been a stupid girl with a stupidly big heart. and you were never going to change that.
—
you slowly nodded to sleep in his arms, while sukuna continued to stare up at your ceiling. he never thought he'd actually make it this far again. and he would rather shoot himself in the spine than fuck this up like he does everything else. you meant everything to him. and this time around, he would treat you exactly like it.
maybe coming to terms with the fact that he deserves to hold onto things that meant something to him wasn't the worst thing in the world after all.
because if caring meant he'd get to keep you, to have you by his side. it'd all be worth it, even if it meant wanted to crawl out of his own skin at the very thought of opening his heart to you again.
—
ik im supposed to be on hiatus but !! my finals just ended and this was already in the works hehe <33 i’ll be back out to study for my entrances again :D aaa i’m actually finally excited to be alive please pray for me. oh and fuck tumblr’s new update and remember to support small authors !!
all work belongs to @liliklei , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ toji is your regular customer at the strip club . . . (stripper!reader)
a/n: tryna be creative lol (˶˃⤙˂˶) not proofread. 18+ mdni!!
he’s been coming for seven months.
same booth every time—the one in the back left corner, half-hidden by the pillar, far enough from the stage that the lights don’t blind him but close enough he can still see every roll of your hips. he’s never front row like the loud ones who throw singles like they’re confetti. never tries to buy a dance from anyone else. just you. always you.
first month he barely spoke.
he just watched—green eyes tracking the way your back arched when you dropped low and the slow drag of your fingers down your own throat during the bridge of whatever trap remix was playing. he tipped five hundreds tucked neatly into your garter like it was nothing and left before last call.
second month he started talking.
short sentences. rough voice that cut through the bass. “you always this flexible?” “that move—do it again.” you’d laugh, lean in close during a lap dance, whisper “only for good tippers,” and feel his thigh tense under you when your breath hit his ear.
third month he started staying after closing.
he waited in the parking lot once—leaning against his matte-black truck, cigarette between his lips, hood up against the rain. he offered you a ride home when your uber canceled. you said yes. he didn’t try anything. just drove. radio low. knuckles white on the wheel. he dropped you at your door and waited until the light came on upstairs before pulling away.
fourth month he started touching.
not during dances—he never broke club rules in public. but in private rooms, when you whispered “you can tonight,” his hands would finally land. big. rough. calloused palms sliding up your thighs, gripping your ass hard enough to leave prints you’d feel the next morning. he’d groan low against your neck when you ground down on him, cock straining through his jeans, leaking enough you could feel the wet spot when you dragged over it.
fifth month he started asking questions that weren’t about the job.
“you eat yet?” “you cold in here?” one night he slipped a takeout bag under the booth table. “don’t want you passing out on stage,” he muttered. you ate it in the dressing room between sets, your heart doing something stupid in your chest.
sixth month he kissed you.
not during a dance. instead, he did it after closing in the back hallway by the employee exit with the fluorescent light buzzing overhead. you were counting tips, glitter still stuck to your collarbones. he stepped too close, caged you against the lockers with one arm, and tilted your chin up with scarred knuckles.
he kissed you slow and deep. like he’d been starving for it. tongue sliding against yours, tasting the cherry gloss you wore for the last set. when he pulled back his eyes were almost black.
“been wanting to do that since the first night.”
seventh month—tonight—he doesn’t sit in the booth.
he waits until your set ends, until the lights come up a little, until the crowd thins. then he walks straight to the stage steps while you’re still collecting bills, crouches so his face is level with yours.
“private room,” he says. voice gravel. “now.”
you don’t argue.
the vip room feels smaller tonight. red walls closer. couch softer when he sits and pulls you onto his lap without asking. your thong is already soaked—has been since you saw him walk in. he doesn’t waste time unzipping. just yanks the thin strip of fabric aside, lines himself up, and sinks you down onto his cock in one slow, deliberate slide.
you gasp—head falling back against his shoulder. he’s thick. always has been. he stretches you wide and fills you so completely your thighs tremble before you even start moving. the head nudges deep—right against that spot that makes your breath hitch—and he holds you there for a long second, letting you feel every pulsing vein, every throb, the way your walls flutter around him like they’re trying to pull him deeper.
his hands clamp on your hips—fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to bruise. he doesn’t move yet. he just rocks you in tiny, teasing circles, grinding the base of his cock against your clit while he stays buried to the hilt. you whimper, hips twitching forward on instinct.
“been thinking about this all week,” he mutters against your throat. his lips brush your pulse point. teeth graze the skin, then bite down just enough to sting. “you on my lap like this. no music. no rules. just you taking every inch. feeling how fucking deep i can get.”
you roll your hips slowly, lifting just enough to feel him drag along your walls on the way out, then sinking back down until your ass meets his thighs with a soft slap. he groans, head tipping back against the couch. scarred lips part. eyes half-lidded, dark with want.
“fuck—yeah. ride me slow. let me feel it. every little squeeze.”
you obey. you lift and drop in long, languid strokes, making sure he feels every ridge inside you, every flutter when you clench on the upstroke. your tits bounce softly with each roll—rhinestone pasties catching the dim red light. his hands slide up—cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples through the sparkly fabric until they’re aching peaks. he leans forward, mouth closing over one—sucking hard through the rhinestone, tongue flicking the sensitive bud while his teeth tug just enough to make you arch.
pleasure sparks, coiling low in your belly. you grind down harder, circling your hips so his cock grinds against that spot inside. your clit rubs against his pelvis with every roll. slick coats him—drips down his shaft, soaks his balls, stains the couch beneath you. the wet sounds are obscene—the soft squelch every time you sink down, the loud slap when your ass meets his thighs.
“toji—” your voice cracks—breathless.
“say it again.” his grip tightens—fingers bruising your hips now, guiding you faster. “say my name while you fuck yourself on my cock.”
“toji—please—”
he growls and flips you suddenly. your back hits the velvet couch—legs hooked over his shoulders in one smooth motion. he thrusts back in—deep, hard, relentless. the angle changes everything—he’s hitting deeper now, bullying that spot with every snap of his hips. the couch creaks under the force. your nails rake down his arms, leaving red trails through the sleeves of his hoodie.
he fucks you like he’s making up for every night he only watched—like he’s claiming every second he spent sitting in the dark wanting this. long, punishing strokes that drag along your walls, make your vision blur at the edges. one hand slides up and wraps around your throat, thumb pressing under your jaw so you feel the pressure every time you gasp.
“look at me,” he rasps. “watch me while i ruin this pussy.”
you do—eyes locked on his—green burning into you, pupils blown wide. sweat beads at his temples, dark hair sticking to his forehead. his scar pulls tight when he snarls. his hips are snapping forward harder and faster. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the room—mixing with your broken moans, his low grunts, the obscene squelch every time he bottoms out.
he reaches between you to find your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight, fast circles that match the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. pleasure coils impossibly tight, building faster than you can handle.
“gonna come for me?” he growls. “gonna soak my cock like you’ve been dreaming about every time you see me in that booth?”
“yes—fuck—yes—”
“then do it.” his thumb presses harder and circles faster. “come all over me. let me feel how tight you get when you fall apart.”
you shatter—back bowing off the couch, walls clamping down like a vice, fluttering wildly around him. slick gushes—drenching his cock, his thighs, the velvet beneath you. you sob his name, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels. he fucks you through it with short, brutal thrusts that drag the orgasm out until your legs shake uncontrollably, thighs trembling around his shoulders.
his rhythm stutters—hips jerking erratically. he buries himself deep one last time—groans long and low against your throat—and comes. hot, thick pulses flood you—spilling deep inside, painting your walls until it overflows, creamy white leaking out around his cock, streaking your ass and the couch in slow, sticky rivulets.
he keeps grinding slowly, pushing every drop deeper while his thumb stays on your clit, rubbing soft now, drawing out tiny aftershocks that make you twitch and whimper. his fingers slip down to catch the mess leaking out. he shoves it back inside with two thick digits, curling them once just to feel you flutter again.
“keep it in,” he murmurs. he kisses your temple. “don’t let a single drop go to waste.”
you’re both panting—sweaty, wrecked, tangled together on the vip couch. he stays buried inside you for a long minute—still half-hard—grinding gently while his hands stroke your sides, soothing the bruises he left.
when he finally eases out, more cum follows. warm. thick. sliding down your thighs in slow trails. he watches it with dark, satisfied eyes—thumb smearing it back up your skin like he’s marking you—then hauls you close.
“quit the late shifts,” he says quietly, voice gravel but tender. “come home with me instead.”
you blink up at him—still trembling, still full of him, thighs sticky.
“you asking me to stop dancing?”
he exhales—almost a laugh. he kisses the corner of your mouth.
“nah. just asking you to dance for me. only me. no more strangers watching.”
after another company finds themselves missing just a *few* couple million, toji and his group from the fbi find themselves in las vegas. where he finds that the culprit’s someone familiar and they want to cash in with a game of blackjack. royal flush or royal disaster?
♤ PAIRING: fbi agent! toji fushiguro x wanted! fem reader
♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. smut. oral (m receiving). orgasm denial. unprotected p in v. full nelson. riding. use of handcuffs. gun play. panty sucking (?) cum eating. playing blackjack. a non vegas mf talking about vegas so it might be inaccurate.
♧ WORD COUNT: 6.6k
♢ JADED NOTES: everyone say thank you to my dad’s gambling problem for inspiring this trope (and criminal minds)
fan art credit: @/jadore_lilly_ on instagram
the stench of sin permeates through each street of the city as easily as the thick clouds of gray smoke and smog polluting the air before the plane even finishes landing. tires screech against rough asphalt before coming to a complete stop, air whirring as the doors opened on each side of the plane.
the air feels thick and stiffening upon stepping out, a thin trail of sweat already beading down agent fushiguro's back. sand sticks to every part of his body, from the soles of his black loafers to his lungs with each breath he intakes. it’s unbearable and the job hasn’t even started yet.
the city hasn't yet woken up.
it's bathed in a scorching glow of sunlight, dulling each building surrounding the infamous strip into professional business meetings and budget discussions. a couple row boats pass through the canal, the water a relaxing stream underneath the harsh, unwelcoming sunlight.
an occasional tourist swerves by, chasing down a speeding taxi with a couple bills tightly clutched in hand. a couple others are snapping photo after photo of the eiffel tower, of a hotel that was deemed luxurious enough. each one trying to capture their little bit of the city.
though vegas didn't come alive until the late hours of the night, the strip bathed in fluorescent lights, signs flashing from left to right with women standing on their respective corner of the street. slot machines ringing through each casino, more often than not indicating disappointment. just enough of a prize to keep its users swinging one more time, though.
but of course, the luxury of tourism wasn't what toji fushiguro and his team were here to investigate. a manila folder was briskly dropped onto his lap, a couple papers sticking out the side. "local police report that a major banking company’s security has been breached,” nanami’s voice fills the vehicle, stern and calm, the brief almost clinical, “they report over two million stolen.”
red, blue, and white lights flash from a mile away, about a dozen patrol units parked outside of the crime scene. reporters crowd from behind the yellow tape, sticking a microphone in whoever's face they could manage. the flock immediately runs over to the black van pulling up beside police cars, making exiting the vehicle nearly impossible.
questions flood one after the next, each voice trying to be louder than the last and overlapping in a nonsensical chatter. toji shoves his way through the crowd, making his way inside of the building. pristine white floors paved the way inside, the walls painted an underwhelming shade of grey.
a corporate building raking in more than they filed for taxes hijacked out of a million despite having one of the best security systems in the country. supposedly impenetrable. it ended up being dismantled in five minutes. probably would've been quicker if you weren't eating a delicious slice of pizza.
nonetheless, it wasn't the first of these companies to report this kind of fraud. about five of them had gone to the police with their complaints, yet not a trace was left behind after you were done. the ip address linking to the hijack led to the bumfuck of nowhere in the pacific ocean.
even the best hacker in the world, boy genius, and the sweetest lad in the land (that title's self proclaimed), satoru gojo was left in shock. and slightly jealous, claiming that the bau needed to invest in that kind of tech.
it was certainly more expensive the further up you went, cubicles replaced by corner offices taking up a whole damn hallway and floor to ceiling windows house owners could only dream of having. marble floors detailed with golden accents lead toji over to the ceo’s main office, a red velvet carpet leading to a huge mahogany desk.
the chief of police pulls toji over to the side, passing over a file with all the evidence collected from the case. a couple shots that a camera took nearby, none of them capturing your face clearly. "i know we called you over here but try to keep my officers involved. they already feel like you're taking the credit."
toji merely let out a scoff—it wasn’t any of his business what the officers thought—but he found himself nodding regardless. waving the other man away, “yeah, yeah, we’ll do that.”
he looked through the files he’d been handed, brows furrowing at the evidence recollected. you were methodical, you didn’t make mistakes. “ryomen,” he calls in, feeling a headache starting to root itself deep into his skull, “she left something to track. you want me to go after it?”
sukuna lets out a gruntled sigh from the other side of the line—equally as puzzled as the other man. “yeah, go ahead. report back on what you find, we’re meeting up at the precinct later to figure out what to tell the press.”
the address led him to the back of the paris las vegas hotel, a lock being handed to him by one of the employees upon entering. toji made his way over to the bridge out back, where couples were in bliss and hooking their lock into the fence under the illusion of ‘forever.’ his footsteps padded against the heavy wood, making his way across.
toji wasn’t sure what he was looking for—if it would be something amiss or just simply another distraction from you. though he supposes a playing card left behind is as best as it’s going to get, kneeling down to pick it up.
meet me at the venetian at 9 pm, agent fushiguro.
so you were watching him just as he was watching you.
he’d encountered lots of writing during his time as an investigator, from sloppy unintelligible scribbles to clean, almost psychotically methodical sentences from individuals who thought they were smarter than the bau.
yours fell into none of those categories. it was natural, small, letters separated just enough, and slanted like you’d been rushing. like your brain was working faster than your brain.
the team was busy interviewing various members from the company by the time he arrived, some of the uncooperative while some simply just didn’t know what to say. either way, nothing had come out of the interviews. “tell me ya got something, fushiguro,” sukuna lets out a quiet huff, rubbing a hand over his exhausted features.
he’s aged two decades over the span of this mission. toji drops the card on his desk, plopping down on the seat across.
sukuna takes the card, examines it closely before turning it around. "so the suspect knows who you are." a sentence that hung heavily in the room. the best move would be to go—strap microphones onto his chest and get as much information as possible. the best that they could hope for would be an admission, something that could be used for a conviction.
a foolish hope, but worth giving a chance.
sukuna's expression turns serious for a moment, arms tightly crossed against his broad chest. what he usually saves to intimidate the new recruits. "you sure you can take this mission? your daughter's sick and i don't know if you wanna be in the hospital with her tonight.
you're my best man, fushiguro. but the higher ups keep getting on my ass that it's affecting your quality of work."
if it was t for the mutual respect between them, toji would've been out the door long by now. "tsumiki's got nothing to do with the case. i can take it."
tsumiki had been in a coma for the last few months, leaving him with a hefty bill from the hospital to ensure she was comfortable and well taken care of. his presence was better here—out in the field doing something instead of feeling helpless in front of his children and his wife.
he spent more time at the office than he did at home. one more night wouldn’t make a difference.
after more failed interviews, sukuna finally relented. a short brief was given to the rest of the team, each member with something to do. nanami and geto would be with the press— trying to shift the narrative from how 'useless' the police was, gojo was in charge of trying to track any of your movements, and shoko would be conducting any extra interviews.
the wait until eight thirty was almost agonizingly slow. though it gave them some time to practice what kind of questions he should be asking, what would get you to make a confession. and then, just in case, sukuna had him practice a round of blackjack with nanami.
despite the fact that nanami had never once gone out with the team out for drinks or well, just out in general (toji would assume), he was still beating his ass in blackjack. even with a twelve, a twelve of all things, nanami still somehow managed to get the upper hand over him.
"maybe they're not that good at it." the only attempt at consolation nanami bothered giving, patting toji's shoulder before shaking his head.
toji was completely and utterly hopeless. a lost case, if you will.
the bau had picked out a suit for him, a classic black and white tux with cameras smuggled nearly everywhere. toji's certain that he even felt one near his ass crack.but if even one of them caught a single grain of your face, that would be enough for gojo to trace back onto any database. and then came the maze of microphones.
"don't know what kinda obsession this one has with you but get them to t-” sukuna clasped on what seemed to be thousandth microphone onto his bare chest, barking orders he'd heard a number of times already.
"yeah, yeah. get them to talk and then get outta there, i—ow," sukuna merely glared as he tightened the last microphone tighter than necessary, letting it slap against the other man's chest.
the las vegas strip had finally come to life in full swing by the time the mission started, the concoction of lights flashing from one side to the next almost dizzying. cars passed by in a flash through the narrow streets, only a blur of headlights left behind. more people walked through the streets than earlier, debating on a club or a casino.
toji walks with purpose in a place where people walked to the place with the flashiest decor.
the casino you'd managed to book for the night wasn't the most luxurious by any means, his loafers kept getting stuck on sticky floors with every step that he took. cheap dollar slot machines lined up the entrance, each one entrancing customers walking in with the promise of a bigger reward.
but it was still relatively nice. a bright chandelier hung off the ceiling of the lobby, the few people around the casino dressed in either black or white, a few selected by the bau to act incognito and a couple others that managed to stumble in.
champagne poured in bedazzled glass bottles like the fountains outside, coins clinking and dropping against machines.
you hadn’t walked in yet and he could already hear an incessant yapping in his earpiece. "tojiiii, hurrry up. there's a late night laser showing at the csn planetarium," gojo whines from his cushy office chair back at the bau.
he could hear the nerd's every movement, from the moment the freak crunched chips in his ear to the moment he ripped a loud fart and blamed it on the printer. toji didn’t hesitate in lowering the volume of his earpiece, leaving the other man talking to himself.
he's not really sure what—who?— to expect. toji's staring intently at every person that just happens to pass by his table, almost expecting one of them to take a seat. he feels like an anxious teenager all over again, waiting for a first date with the hope he wouldn't get ghosted.
the sound of heels clicking against marble floors breaks him out of his stupor, looking up to see you approaching the table. your back was pin straight, head held high. each step you took was with entirely too much confidence. for someone who had nine patrol cars awaiting them outside, anyway.
your eyes were covered by a masquerade mask, the golden lace matching the tight black dress you had on. simple black gloves on to avoid leaving fingerprints behind. nearly everything was accounted for. you had on bright red lipstick, attracting attention without having to do much.
"you showed." you almost sounded surprised, taking a seat across from him at the table.
toji shifts a little, angling his wrist to be facing you directly. "yeah, keep it just like that big boy," gojo murmured from his spot on the line, keys clacking as his fingers worked at 290 words typed per minute. he nearly rolled his eyes, but didn't bother moving. you simply smiled, like you could see right through him.
"there's no trace of her face anywhere," gojo finally muttered, his typing coming to a halt. he sounded utterly perplexed, editing down the photo to its barest pixels to see if he could find you anywhere. there wasn't anything on social media, any government documents, almost as if you didn't exist. "i can't find her."
a server passed by, dropping a deck of cards along with a selection of chips to be distributed between the two of you. "anything to drink?" they questioned, fishing out a drinks menu.
"reposado, please." toji could've spent a couple minutes analyzing your choice of drink and what that said about you as a person, that you prefer to be spontaneous and bold, but you're already looking at him. waiting for what his order would be.
"i'll take the same thing." he doesn't even like alcohol. before he has a chance to change his mind, the server's already walking away over to the mini bar. you're shuffling through the cards already, splitting halfway across the deck by riffling cards with your thumb.
after making two piles that are nearly the same size, you bend the cards and shuffle. all without looking away from toji. "do you like gambling, officer fushiguro?" the question had come out simple, as if you were asking for the weather. the second stack is squared onto the original deck, ensuring an even run for the two of you.
you passed over his cards before taking yours as the designated dealer of the table. there wasn't a single tell about you as you picked up your selection of cards, not one lip bite or eye twitch that would indicate something.
toji let out a quiet scoff, picking up his own cards, "not on blackjack." usually, his luck was tried on boat and horse races. he never had much luck with those either, usually ending up with the boat falling short.
half the time they wouldn’t even finish the lap.
he flips over the cards, almost wanting to groan at the sum he’s been faced with. 16.
it doesn’t give him a lot of room to work with—leaving him with a slim number to increase his chances and an even bigger risk of going overboard. he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, what you could possibly have. so, he does the first thing he thinks of.
he pushes more chips onto the original stack, holding up one finger. he was choosing to double down. toji fushiguro was bluffing, it was obvious even by the way he was sitting. you plucked a card from the top of the deck, passing it over.
toji makes a big show of looking over his cards again before picking up the one off the table. he visibly tenses up upon the results, poker face gone to the wind. he almost wishes he wouldn't have flipped the card—all he has is a six.
you don't pluck any card from the deck, only leaving him even more suspicious. "fold." he places his cards on the table, a striking 23 meeting your gaze. you place the two cards you had on the table—an ace and a ten of jacks. a natural twenty one. you eagerly swipe your arm across, taking his chips with a shit-eating grin on your face.
"what's your idea of an ideal date, agent fushiguro?" you question, leaning forward a bit. toji only blinks slowly in response, hearing the incessant chatter in his ear again. from sukuna, from gojo, from anyone who could talk into the mic.
you could've asked about the fbi's top security codes (he wouldn't have given them regardless), about how much evidence they'd collected against you (once more, he wouldn't tell), and yet you chose to ask that.
"you serious?" he's waiting to be let in on the punch-line of your joke.
"deadly so, agent."
toji blinks slowly, thinking back to the best date he's had as of yet. it's been far too long since he's been at home for more than ten minutes at a time to get changed into a new suit, even longer since he's had the opportunity to be with his wife.
"wife likes this ramen spot. type where your feet stick to the ground, the bell doesn't chime anymore, but the food, fuck, the food makes up for it. so that," he speaks up after a while, the most sincere he's been this afternoon.
19.
toji places his cards down, leaving you to make the next move. you have a twelve, your only move is to pick up a card. your brow twitches upon picking it up, the only thing giving you away. still, your only option is to pluck a card off the table. a 6 of queens. you could pick up another one, test out your luck, but with chances this slim…
you fold, revealing your hand to him. a striking 18 to his nineteen. toji has to a double take, looking between his cards and yours. for the first time tonight, toji ends up winning a hand. and he's more than eager to collect, pawing at your chips and sliding them over.
"why'd you start taking money from these companies?" he decided to ask, taking your chips onto his side of the table. "could've gone for ones with less security."
you simply raise a brow, unsure if you should be amused or offended. "surely you don't think i'm stupid enough to answer that one."
he simply shrugs in response, leaning back against his chair. a waste of a question, one could say. "i don't know why the suspect's doing what they're doing, but i do know that taking away from companies that are polluting the environment we live in and donating said money to people who need it, well, it's retributive."
toji's mind briefly flickers to tsumiki—of spending a few thousand every month just to make sure she's even alive. of how much that amount of money would ensure better treatment, better quality, better everything. but just as quick as he let his thoughts stray, he focused back onto the conversation. "you saying you're a robin hood?"
you take a sip from your glass before giving another vague answer, "that's another question, wouldn't you say?"
you're not sure how much time has passed since you started playing, the few people that were once around had slowly started to trickle out as the night progressed. probably looking for a place with much more ambiance than the one tonight. chips flew from one corner of the table to the other, a hefty stack on your side.
lady luck had not gone with toji tonight.
toji reaches over to take a sip from the glass set on the table by a bartender passing by, the tequila tasting like pure rubbing alcohol upon going down. his features settle into a grimace, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. he only has one chip left to bargain. still, he slides it over the table.
you slide two chips onto the middle, dealing toji two cards. he's slow to flip them over, wanting to prolong this as much as possible. wanting to give gojo as much possible time to work with. he's met with a nineteen upon flipping the two, the highest he's gotten without going over.
but just because the universe wants to mess with even further, you turn your two cards to expose a twenty to him. it's over and the crew is left back where they started—with no clues, no suspect, and no way of actually bagging a conviction without conspiring against the court.
to add salt into the wound, you take your two chips along with his, sliding them onto your side of the table. "you gonna ask me the question?" he prods, waiting for and already annoyed at what could possibly leave your mouth now.
you don't answer immediately, taking a sip from your glass of tequila. it goes down with much more ease than it had with toji. you're getting off on this, on having the upper hand. on how fidgety he seems to be getting by the second. and then, just barely, when he least expects it, is that you move.
your heel catches onto his pant sleeve, slowly pushing your way up his ankle to his calf. an innocent enough smile curling on your lips around the glass before your head tilts to the side. "would you like to come up to my room?"
he should be reporting you to his team, cuffing you and shoving you to the back of a cruiser. it'd be real simple, too. just finish up the paperwork and he'd be out of this desert before the sun came up,
instead what came out of his mouth was, "yeah, let's go."
glass doors give way to the elevator in the back, floors leading up to the 53rd level. you tap against the button that goes up to the twentieth floor, leaning against the railing next to agent fushiguro. a silence settles between the two of you, a comfortable silence filled by the elevator music filling the air between you.
sliding off your hotel card from your purse, you feel cold metal digging onto the small of your back where his hand had once been. a gun. you didn’t need to turn around to know. “no funny business,” toji orders, pushing the barrel of the gun deeper into your skin.a shiver runs down your spine, leaning back against it.
his thumb's pressed against the trigger, ready for any sudden movement. you simply turn around, lightly pulling him in by his tie. "no funny business, i promise," you whisper, your voice low before you turn the doorknob. the hotel room is almost shining from how clean it is, the only trace you have is a suitcase in the corner of the room.
a suitcase he doubts has anything personal inside of it. toji stands in the middle of the room, gun still tightly clasped around his fingers while he analyses the room. there's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to watch. nothing to look out for.
you take a seat onto the plush california king, gloved fingers undoing the straps of your heels. they fall onto the carpeted floor, a subtle clink that sounds all that much louder in the quiet room. "what's this for?" toji finally breaks the silence, gesturing to the room.
"come closer. i don't bite," your voice drips like melted honey, a saccharine sweet invitation that has his feet trudging forward, "well, not unless you ask." he's standing right in front of you, gun pressed against your temple. it should scare you, it really should.
but you lower the gun, wrapping your lips around the barrel. it's cold—probably hasn't been used in a while. your lipstick coats the top of the gun like some sick decoration, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. the cameras on his suit had long since been deactivated—leaving this moment for just the two of you.
"fuck me," a muffled groan leaves his lips at the sight, setting the gun back in its holster. you pull him down by his tie again, this time crashing your lips onto his. he kisses back like it's second instinct, like he's getting reacquainted with an old friend. it's nothing but messy, strings of saliva connecting your lips onto his, your nails digging onto whatever you could reach, while his tongue's invading your mouth.
there's a brief pause when you tug him onto the bed, the man landing on top of the silk 3000 thread count sheets with an ungrateful thud. that's all you get before his lips are on yours again, coaxing your mouth open. his hands move down, gripping your waist to keep you straddled against him.
slick drips onto to your thin lace panties, soaking through the material against his slacks. he hardens against you, your hips moving to rub yourself against him. "you want it that bad?" toji teases, a smirk spreading across his scarred lips like he wasn't about to bust his load.
"don't forget who's in control, fushiguro."
you unclasp the handcuffs hanging off his utility belt in one swift motion, dangling them in between manicured fingers. "you brought these just for me?” you coo, unclasping one of them, “i’m honored agent fushiguro.”
toji doesn’t bother moving, letting you snap it onto his wrist. one of your fingers twists the ratchet, leaving just a finger of space. escape is nearly impossible.
then you do the same with the other arm. taking a step back to admire your handiwork, you’re struck with the realization of just handsome toji looks. his cheeks are flushed, a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead and a couple strands stuck.
his tie is halfway undone, the buttons of his shirt undone to expose every ab and every ridge of his torso. a couple scars littered across, evidence of hard years at work along with a few moles. and wires latched even onto his nipples, picking up every detail of this conversation.
you dig for a pair of scissors from your nightstand table, snipping through each one individually. it wouldn't be long until the fbi stormed into the building, calling this mission off. you give them twenty minutes to mobilize troops, another ten to make their way into the building. maybe ten to actually find the room.
still, you move like you have all the time in the world. "fushiguro, i'm calling this o-” sukuna's voice comes in through the static before the microphones shut off, leaving you to talk comfortably now. leaving you in complete secrecy.
your eyes trail to the happy trail dusting down his belly, leading down to just underneath his slacks. his cock twitches and strains against the material, a large tent you can’t help but rub the side of your face against. he smells musky, a mix of leather and cologne.
the man strains against the metal, hips bucking up to meet your cheek. your tongue swipes across your lips before you open your mouth, moving against the side of his clothed shaft. your thumb swipes across the twitching tip, wet even through the fabric. “you want it that bad?" you echo his past words to him, a scoff leaving him in response.
the scoff wouldn't hide the way he was aching for you to touch him though.
slowly, your fingers snake up his thighs—feel them tighten up underneath the most featherlight of touches—just past his zipper and move up to his belt. you unclasp it in one swift motion, moving the leather through the loops until it snakes onto the floor.
you slide his boxers down, long cock slinging back against his lower stomach upon release. drops of opalescent precum smear across the dusting of hair, tip reddened and twitching. it curves to one side, veins marking the sides of his shaft leading down to a heavy sac.
you almost drool at just the mere sight of it.
wrapping your lips around the tip, your tongue darts out to taste his pre. glob after glob of spit drips down your lips, coating his cock in a translucent sheen. you wrap your hand around the base, fingers tightening around it before twisting your wrist uppp and downnn. "better at sucking dick than getting away with crime," he tuts, his head thrown back.
your cheeks hollow out to take more of his cock in your mouth, your hand still jerking him off at the base. bubbles of drool pool up in your mouth before your lips part, smearing it down his shaft. "you wound me, agent," you pout, "i really tried y'know." your head bobs, taking him further inch by inch while your hand moves like you're trying to milk him dry.
a strangled groan leaves him once your tongue starts tracing each thick vein like you wanted to commit it to memory, taking him further and deeper down your throat. "just like that, baby." you meet his half-lidded gaze, cheeks hollowing out to take more of him in your mouth. the stretch makes your jaw ache, raven tuffs of hair tickling your nose when you take him in fully.
your thighs rub against one another, aching for whatever friction you could get. toji's finally shut up, reduced to half-sentences and groaned babbles. manicured fingers reach down to his balls, you're rolling them over in your palm before your tongue takes over your hand. you're jerking him off again, hand squeezing around the base. toji almost sees white.
"f-fuck, don't stop, right there, sweetheart," he moans, bucking his hips to meet your hand. your tongue moves up up up from the base of his scrotum to the sack, taking it in your mouth and swirling the pink muscle across the sensitive skin. his knuckles turn white from how hard he's gripping the bed sheets, streams of precum painting your wrist white as your thumb swipes across the sensitive tip.
toji's almost there, his toes are curled up into gang signs underneath his socks, head thrown back and chest heaving. his balls feel heavy in your mouth, tightening up with each second longer. "just like that, make me cum," his order comes out more as a breathless request. you flick your tongue around the sac in a figure eight, pulling away right before he had the chance to cum.
his chest is heaving when you take a step back, his cock still twitching from the aftershocks and dripping with saliva and pre. "…evil fuckin' woman," he lets out a breathless laugh, watching as you move you across the room intently.
your fingers carefully push up your dress, exposing the panties you'd chosen for the night. a pair of emerald green lace panties, ones that almost felt like looking in a mirror for toji. "do you like them agent?" you do a small show of taking them off, shimmying off the lace material before twirling them around your finger.
the lace flings off your finger, landing on his face. toji's unabashed—taking a sniff of the slick that's dripped onto it like a faucet before he's inching the crotch area to his mouth. he's sucking the material dry, his eyes closed as the taste of you fills his tastebuds. sluuuurppp! a better type of substance than the tequila downstairs, he'd say.
"fuckin' love it, ya taste so good," he mumbles, lips suctioned around your panties while drop after drop lands on his tongue. he opens his eyes to see you're already moving up the bed, inching closer and closer. you take off the mask once you're on his lap, fully exposing yourself to him for the evening. a sight that's more than familiar to him.
"atta girl, there ya go." your hand reaches beneath your legs, taking the base of his cock. smearing your slick onto his cock before you slowly start to lower yourself onto it. the thick, mushroom tip slips in between your folds, a stretch that has your walls clamping tightly around him.
your wetness envelops his cock as you slide further down, sinking inch by inch down his shaft until he fills you up completely. you don't move, not immediately, still getting adjusted to the stretch. you start off slow—a lazy roll of your hips half-way before you're moving down again.
his hips buck into you, a quiet way to try to claim control. you take toji fushiguro's prized gun from his discarded pants, the metal heavy in your palm. it's not loaded, you quickly realize. still, you press it against his temple just in the same way he'd done to you. and you swear you feel his cock twitch underneath.
"don't forget who's the one in control here." you start moving again, gyrating your hips and rubbing your clit against his pelvis. toji leans up against the gun, almost savoring the change in position as you fuck yourself into him. each drive of his cock into you has his tip hitting your g-spot, wetness enveloping his shaft like a slip n' slide.
his fingers twitch against the cuffs, wanting to reach out and take hold of your tits bouncing in his face. you lean in close enough, his mouth immediately latching onto one of them. his lips suction around your areola, swirling his tongue around the hardened nub. you twist and pinch at your other tit, rolling the nub between your thumb and forefinger.
his mouth's all too eager to latch on, pushing your fingers to the side. saliva drools off the corner of his lips, eyes fluttering closed like he's in bliss once again. you're sliding against his shaft, hips moving you against his thick cock. "taste so good, fuck, keep using me," toji let out a muffled groan, motorboating his face between your tits.
you keep fucking yourself back onto him, almost feeling it be enough. it's almost there, almost enough to have your toes curling, but you can't manage to fuck yourself fast enough.
your hands grip his chest, nails digging onto the skin while your hips grind in circles against his pelvis. thighs shaking and quivering, your pace starts to slow down to where you're barely moving against him. "look at'cha, could've been getting fucked properly by now," toji tsks from his spot, a mock glare shot his way.
"fuck me, please," the whine leaves your lips in a whisper, barely audible.
he bucks up into you once, just once before a shit-eating grin spreads on his face. "what was that?"
a huff leaves your lips, folding your arms across your chest. staring at toji with the nastiest glare you could muster. he's unmoving. barely blinking. "..are you deaf? fuck me, fushiguro."
toji slips out of the handcuffs with practiced ease, a quiet 'oof' leaving your lips upon being flipped over. his arm slides underneath your plush thighs, folding you in half and holding you like you weighed nothing.
“a-ah fuck!”
“you can take it, just like—” toji bottoms out in one push of his hips, your hands digging into his arm. you feel like you're being split in half, the pieces rearranging to fit around him. “thaaattt, sweetheart."
he presses against the bulge on your lower stomach, tip nudging near your cervix. "thought you were in control, what happened? big mean ol' toji took over?"
before you could muster a response, he's thrusting in and out of you—fucking you like nothing but a ragdoll. ah! ah! ah! broken little syllables leave your mouth, unable to come up with anything else. toji's satisfied—dragging his thick cock against your sensitive walls, hitting your g-spot with each push of his hips.
"only need to be thinkin' about how good i'm fucking you, right?" he teases, rugged voice right against your ear. a shiver runs down your spine, your head bobbing along in a nod. toji plants his feet on the bed, keeping his hand tightly gripped around your legs while he starts drilling into your cunt.
your cunt squelches back with each pummel of hips, each one knocking the breath of your lungs. "t-toji, fuck, just like that!" your moans fill the sex-ridden room, headboard smacking against the wall from the intensity of each one. one of his hands snakes down between your legs, rubbing his thumb against your throbbing clit.
"just like this?" he cooed behind you, though his teasing tone made it sound anything but. toji tilts your head towards him, met with the sight of your lipstick smeared and your eyes glazed over. a sight he couldn't get tired of. his lips slotted against yours almost instantly, a messy kiss with nothing but spit, teeth, and tongue.
"g'na cum, toji, almost there, almost there!" you moan into the kiss. he presses down on your lower belly, his other hand still rubbing at your swollen clit. "yeah baby, gonna cum? c'mon, you got it, all yours. come on, soak toji's cock." your eyes roll to the back of your head, orgasm washing over you like a wave. the rubber band inside of you tightens and tightens before SNAAPPP!
your essence dripped onto his thick shaft, a creamy base forming at the base of his cock. toji still rutted up against you, his own orgasm not far off behind. "ah! ah! ah! fuck toji, cum in me, please. need ya so bad, please please-” even if toji wanted to pull out, your pussy was tightly clamped around his cock. ropes of cum shoot deep inside of you, painting your walls white.
toji softened up inside of you, staying still. his head lolled forward, resting on the crook of your neck. "felt." he pressed a sloppy kiss onto whatever skin he could reach before trailing down. "so." another kiss. "fuckin' good."
“give me one more,” his lips suction around your glistening folds, sucking at the cum dripping out of you. his tongue dips inside of you, letting out a muffled groan upon each drop landing on his tongue. your hand moves down to the sweat slicked strands snaking in between your legs, gripping them tightly in between your fingers.
his tongue dips inside, determined on cleaning out the cum threatening to spill out of you. it dips inside of you, slurping up any drops before plunging two fingers deep inside. fucking it back into you. "toji, t-too much," you whine out through the shocks of overstim, each of your nerves like a livewire he keeps tapping against.
you're boneless by the time toji's done. he's moving across the hotel room, moving across the space like he'd been here before. toji comes back from the bathroom with a moist towel in hand, wiping you off with the gentlest of touches a brute like him could muster.
"don't gotta leave just yet." he wraps one arm around your tummy, keeping you tight against him. he's like a furnace to the touch, keeping you warm. "they won't be here til tomorrow." you want to protest, say that you should be on the run by now. but your eyes flicker shut, too exhausted to move. all you can manage is a meek nod before you doze off.
toji fushiguro wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand, about fifty missed calls from the team pinging up on his screen. you're not there next to him—you'd left in the early hours of the morning with only a playing card left behind as proof you'd ever been here in the first place.
see you in the next city, hubby. the bright red lipstick you'd worn the night prior left as a signature. he brought it up to his lips, almost imagining you were standing in front of him again.
sukuna would have his ass on a platter. if the man managed to find him.
easing agedup!yuji's pent up tension 18+ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
yuji wasn't sure what was in the air tonight. the group had gone out tonight to celebrate (barley) passing finals. you were wearing a short black dress with your hair down, and his eyes hadn't left you all night.
he watched as you and nobara hit the dance floor. watched as you two dragged megumi along with you. watched as you motioned for him to join too.
he shook his head and averted his eyes. he couldn't be close to you right now. not when he was thinking with his dick instead of his head.
by the time the two of you reached your shared your apartment, yuji was extremely tense. and being the attentive girlfriend you were, you noticed.
"hey yuji what's going on?" you rubbed his back and he stiffened at your touch.
ouch.
"nothing. i'm fine, just a bit tired."
part of you wanted to just take his word for it, but you knew him well enough to know something was up.
you walked over to him and squeezed his am. "you sure? you seem tense..." you trailed off as you noticed the tent in his pants. his eyes were focused straight ahead, as if hyper aware of everything around him, including you.
"yuji..."
"it's fine don't worry ignore me."
"you know i can't do that."
he sighed and finally turned to face you.
"i don't want you to feel like you have to."
"but i want to." you said firmly, already dangerously close.
"you sure?"
"positive."
you pulled him into a kiss, teeth grazing and lips pressing desperately, and he responded just as urgently. his hands slid along your sides as he guided you to your shared bedroom, the tension between you crackling.
once inside, he paused, eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat, before pulling away just long enough to slowly start undressing you, every movement deliberate, every glance charged with heat.
"you're so pretty," he whispered before taking off his own clothes.
you gave his hard cock a few slow stokes before stuffing it in your mouth. he groaned and pushed your hair back into a makeshift ponytail.
you hollowed your cheeks and he grunted and pulled on your hair, causing him to hit the back of your throat and gag.
"'m sorry," he whispered.
you ignored him and swirled your tongue around his tip. he let out another broken moan as he twitched against your lips.
"i’m close,” he groaned, bucking his hips into your mouth.
you nodded, eyes wide, and started moving your hands around the length of his shaft. you made eye contact with him as you drooled over his dick.
“jesus,” he muttered.
you felt him twitched against you lips again. you felt it first: the sticky feeling, leaving a salty taste in your mouth. his eyes squeezed shut as he came, hips stuttering as he moaned.
“fuck…”
you swallowed all of it and grinned at him.
“feel better now?”
he bent down and kissed your lips.
“wayy better.” he picked you up and you squealed. he threw you on the bed and grabbed a condom from the nightstand.
JUST THINKING ABOUT play fighting with yuuji that accidentally ends up in dry humping and him cumming in his pants. yuuji loves messing around with you, throwing you over his shoulder, pinning you down on the couch, manhandling you just to hear you curse and smack at him between giggles.
it started domestic — humming along to a soft playlist while you two split doing the dishes, until yuuji decided to give your ass a slap with the dish towel and you retaliated. chasing him down the hallway to the bedroom only for him to haul you over muscled shoulder and plop you down on the couch in the living room despite your squeals of protest.
"ready to give up?" he huffs down at you, scarred palms pinning down your wrists, amusement glittering in his eyes as he watched you struggle against his grip.
you pull a face up at him, tilting your hips up, trying to flip the two of you over. "never."
the temperature in the room rockets with a few degrees because instead of finding leverage you find the hard, heavy reality of him. yuuji's cock strains against the heavy denim of his jeans and he lets out a muffled whimper bitten back behind his teeth when you nudge your hips just the slightest inch closer. he didn't scramble back, the friction cause his brain to short circuit. his hands, ones that once held your wrists, fly down to your waist in a half hearted effort to stop you from moving too much against him.
a raw, pathetic sound—half-whimper, half-groan—got caught in the back of his throat as he slumped his forehead against your shoulder, his entire body suddenly feeling twice as heavy. you didn't mind the extra weight being pressed down on you, feeling his body tremble with restraint. stay. be still. be a good boy for you. he really was trying his best.
for a long moment neither of you dare to move, chest moving against chest, one unsteady heartbeat fluttering to catch up with another. instead of pulling away, his hips stuttered forward, a clumsy, needy twitch, pressing the rigid length of him firmly against the center of your jeans.
"wait, wait..." he breathes into the crook of your neck, his voice cracking on the last syllable. he sounded fucked out and he hasn't even done anything. "don't move. please, just—don't move for a second."
yuuji has always been far too easy to read, always leaving his heart and his thoughts on his sleeve, but this was different... he looked down at you, his eyes glassy and pleading, his face a messy, dark crimson where a furious blush had spread over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. he looked completely undone by the simple sensation of your denim rubbing against him.
"i'm sorry," he whispered, though he didn't stop, his hips rolling forward between the softness of your thighs, right against your own denim shorts, seeking the heat and friction you offered. when you let out a small, breathy sound he leaned into it with more of his weight, another involuntary buck of his hips sending a jolt through both of you. "i’m so sorry, but it feels—you feel so good. I can't... i can't help it..." he breathes against your collarbone, his voice damp with need.
yuuji buried forehead into your shoulder as he tried to stifle a sob of overstimulated need. every time you arched up your hips just a little bit more, meeting his clumsy, stuttering thrusts, a small, pathetic whimper escaped him despite how hard he tries to swallow them down.
"you’re so worked up, Yuuji," you whisper against his temple where a droplet of sweat beads, your voice a low murmur, a sharp contrast to his frantic energy. you shift your hips just enough to catch the head of him through his pants, grinding a slow, agonizing circle, drawing out his demise. "look at you. you’re shaking. is it really that good just rubbing against me?"
"please," he gasped and the word itself sounds pained. he sounded small and desperate, entirely at your mercy. "please, don't—if you keep... I can't hold it. I'm gonna mess up my clothes, I'm gonna—ah!"
you couldn't stop. not when he was already so far into the deepened. instead, you hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him even deeper into the friction, forcing him to feel every inch of your body beneath him. "go ahead, yu," you cooed. "want you to make a mess."
"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry—i'm—" yuuji choked on his own breath, his eyes rolling back as his entire body went rigid. a hot, heavy dampness immediately began to spread between your thighs, soaking through his boxers and staining the front of his jeans. he let out a broken and pathetic moan, his head tipping forward into the crook of your neck as he spent himself entirely, his pulse thundering where you could feel his chest pressed against your skin. his hips continued to twitch as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, whimpering every now and then from the sensitivity.
he stayed there for a long moment, twitching weakly, the scent of him and his pleasure thick in the air between your bodies. when he finally looks up he looks utterly ruined, his chest heaving, his hair messy and his cheeks flushed a deeper red than before.
"i’m so pathetic," he managed to whine against your lips as he kisses you — his way of apologizing — his voice thick with a mix of shame and the lingering post-orgasmic daze. he frowns softly when he pulls away, brows knitted together in an adorable frown. "i didn't even... we didn't even take our clothes off."
"want a round two?"
yuuji nearly trips getting up from the couch to tug off his jeans.
you’ve been snapping at him since he walked through the door—something about him being late again, something about never telling you shit, something about how you’re “not his fucking maid.” every word dripped venom, every glare sharp enough to cut. he let it slide for the first ten minutes. let you pace the living room in those tiny sleep shorts and his old tank top, tits bouncing with every angry step, voice climbing higher.
then he stopped letting it slide.
now you’re bent over the arm of the couch, cheek pressed to the cushion, ass up, shorts yanked down just enough to bare you. one of his big hands is clamped around the back of your neck—not choking, just holding—keeping your face down while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. his cock is already buried to the hilt, thick and unforgiving, stretching you wide on the first brutal thrust.
“still got somethin’ to say?” his voice is low, gravel-rough, right against your ear as he leans over you. the weight of him pins you completely. you try to push back up—instinct, defiance—but he just tightens his grip and slams in deeper, forcing a broken moan out of you instead of whatever bitchy comeback you had lined up.
“thought so.”
he doesn’t ease into it. never does when you push him this far. he fucks you like he’s trying to carve the attitude right out of your body—long, punishing strokes that knock the breath from your lungs every time his hips slap against your ass. the couch creaks under the force; your fingers scrabble at the fabric, nails digging in for purchase.
“f-fuck—t-toji—slow down—”
“no.” he punctuates the word with a particularly hard thrust, grinding deep until you feel him against your cervix. you cry out, thighs shaking. “you wanted to run your mouth. now you’re gonna take it.”
he pulls out almost all the way—lets you feel the drag of every thick inch—then snaps back in, setting a rhythm that’s all power, no mercy. wet, filthy sounds fill the room: skin slapping skin, the slick squelch every time he bottoms out, your own choked whimpers you can’t hold back anymore.
his hand slides from your neck to fist in your hair, yanking your head back just enough so he can see your face—flushed, eyes glassy, lips parted on gasps.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost mocking. “all that fire and now you’re just drooling for it. pathetic.”
you try to glare, try to snap something back, but he chooses that moment to angle his hips and hit that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. your words dissolve into a high, needy whine.
“there she is.” he smirks, dark and satisfied. “that’s the sound i wanted.”
he lets go of your hair only to wrap his arm around your waist, hauling you up so your back presses to his chest. the new angle has him driving even deeper, cock bullying against every sensitive ridge inside you. his free hand snakes down between your legs, rough fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles.
“you gonna come like this?” he growls against the side of your neck, teeth grazing skin. “gonna soak my cock while i fuck the brat right out of you?”
you can’t answer—can only nod frantically, hips bucking back to meet his thrusts. the pressure builds fast, too fast, your whole body tightening around him like a vice.
“that’s it. come on—give it to me. show me you can be good when you want to.”
your orgasm hits like a slap—sharp, overwhelming, ripping a scream from your throat as your walls clamp down hard. you gush around him, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking the couch arm beneath you. he doesn’t stop—fucks you through it with short, brutal snaps of his hips, drawing it out until you’re trembling, overstimulated, tears pricking your eyes.
“fuckkkk—good girl,” he groans, voice finally cracking with how close he is. “squeezin’ me so tight—gonna fill this pussy up. make sure you feel me for days.”
one last deep thrust and he buries himself completely, coming with a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your back. hot pulses flood you—thick, endless, spilling out around his cock as he grinds slow circles, forcing every drop as deep as it’ll go.
he stays like that for a long minute—still hard inside you, breathing heavy against your shoulder—until your legs give out and he has to catch you.
then he pulls out slow, watching the creamy mess leak from your swollen cunt with dark satisfaction. he turns you around, thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks almost gently.
“attitude gone?” he asks, voice softer now, thumb pressing against your bottom lip.
you’re still panting, still shaking, but you manage a weak nod.
he smirks, leans in, kisses you slow and filthy—tongue sliding against yours like he’s tasting his victory.
“good. ’cause next time you start mouthing off…” he nips your lip. “i won’t stop at one round.”
you shiver.
he just chuckles, low and dark, already scooping you up to carry you toward the bedroom.
Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:
good ol' pussy persuasion
Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread
Word Count: 10.7k
“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”
You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.
“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”
Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously.
For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes.
Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”
Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”
He stops.
Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness.
His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”
A frown graces your features.
“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”
“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”
He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway.
You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”
Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”
Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope.
“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”
A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.
“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”
Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”
Everyone walks past without another look at you.
Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
His eye twitches.
As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”
“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him.
God, he’s so stubborn.
It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass.
If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote.
For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.
Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition.
The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.
It’s just fun to be in the know.
Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?
Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”
No one replies.
Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?
Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.
Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease.
Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.
Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye.
“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”
Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”
You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.
“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”
The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan.
With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.
.
.
.
“Hi.”
“Fuck off.”
The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby.
Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.
An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.
So damn rude.
His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.
He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.
You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest.
“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”
Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”
He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”
Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”
Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”
You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”
Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”
The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing.
“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”
That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”
You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He’s still here when you come back.
As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.
“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”
“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses.
You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”
“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”
A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”
Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”
“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.
He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”
“Remind yourself what?”
The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”
“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”
A pat on the head ruffles your hair.
“Still a no, kid.”
.
.
.
“What if I suck your dick?”
Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”
The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture.
His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.
Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.
Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.
You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.
You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him.
“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”
“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.
“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”
He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’
Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”
Nah, you think to yourself.
With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”
You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”
You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up.
“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”
He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base.
Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”
Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”
“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You’re fucking killing me here.”
A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin.
Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin.
Oh fuck, he really is big.
With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better.
Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.
“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth.
You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”
The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood.
Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”
Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”
A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time.
Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.
“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”
He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big.
Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.
The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence.
Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam.
It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat.
Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”
“Hmm?”
Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”
Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”
Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls.
“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”
“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.
“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”
A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”
He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship.
The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.
The door opens before he even finishes the word.
“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”
From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.
“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.
His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity?
“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”
Of course he did.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.
“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”
“Exactly.”
A sheet of paper slides across the desk.
“You see this one here—”
From below, you hear Toji pick it up.
“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”
There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”
“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”
“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”
Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.
“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”
“Mm.”
“I suspect the workshop helped.”
Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.
“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”
This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum.
He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood.
The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”
A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation.
A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”
“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”
He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?
“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Professor.”
Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.
Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”
His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear.
“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”
You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now.
Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.
“Fuck!”
Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue.
Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth.
Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”
You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.
He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”
Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”
His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.
“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”
Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”
“Fuck off before I regret it.”
“Lacy thong it is!”
.
.
.
“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”
Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in.
You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp.
His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised.
“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”
Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”
You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”
He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”
“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”
“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”
Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking.
“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.
It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame.
Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”
“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”
“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”
He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in.
Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming.
“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”
“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”
“They bother you or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”
He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”
You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”
A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”
“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple.
Another hum.
Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.
You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”
Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”
“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”
He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”
All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.
“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”
Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”
God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.
“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”
“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”
Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”
Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching.
Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”
“Fuck yes!”
Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”
Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?
“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”
In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.
“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.
Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.
Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.
“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt.
You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”
In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”
His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you.
Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”
Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”
Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.
Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out.
“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”
More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits.
Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”
You do.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.
“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”
Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?
How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life.
Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in?
“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”
Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside.
Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble.
Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring.
Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out.
“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”
You laugh. “Sure.”
Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you.
“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”
Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”
He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”
“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.
His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder.
Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”
Then he enters you in one go.
You scream.
The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating.
Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”
Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating.
“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.
The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in.
Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?
Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”
“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”
Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.
God, he’s dirty.
Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”
He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”
Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him.
Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”
And his lips?
They smack against yours.
He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same.
Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches.
“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”
“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”
The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this.
Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.
Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”
Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”
His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain.
“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts.
You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”
“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”
“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”
Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”
He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows.
Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!
Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you.
Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button.
“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”
“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear.
Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”
His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours.
When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream.
“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after.
Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans.
He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs.
Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy.
Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them.
“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”
Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”
“Thanks!” you chirp.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”
Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.
“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”
That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.
Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.
After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official.
In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together.
A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by.
“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.
Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”
You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”
“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words.
In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.
“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”
The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.
Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?
“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”
Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”
You go still, this time for a different reason.
Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”
The bastard’s trying to distract you…
“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”
Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?
Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you.
“Don’t mention it, Professor.”
The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants.
He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.”
Your jaw drops.
Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.”
“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.”
The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again.
“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.”
Your heart?
Drops to the fucking floor.
Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.
Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—
Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”
Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense.
Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”
“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good.
Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.
Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.
“You sneaky piece of shit!”
He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.
Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”
“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”
“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.
“Whore,” he fires back.
Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.
“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.
pairing: Yuji Itadori x f!reader
synopsis: you've always struggled with being vulnerable and affectionate, and it stayed that way even after you started dating Yuji. not wanting him to feel unwanted or unloved, you decide to show him you love him the best way you can think of: buying him loads of human earthworm merch! (inspired by this post from @gojofreakmaster!)
cw: none, fluff, reader who struggles with affection (both receiving and giving it), clingy loverboy Yuji, cute teenage puppy love hehe
wc: 1.7k
“You don’t think you went overboard?” Nobara groans next to you.
“Overboard?” You lift an eyebrow, confused.
She looks at you incredulously. “Hello? Do you not see all the bags we’re carrying?” she lifts her arms up, showing you the three bags looped around her shoulders.
You look at them and then glance at the bags you were holding. “Oh… yeah, I see where you’re coming from.” your cheeks flush a subtle pink. “But I don’t think this is overboard— he deserves it anyway.”
She groans even louder this time, and rolls her eyes so far back you fear they might get stuck like that. “Why??”
“Because—” you start, but she’s quick to interrupt you.
“And don’t tell me it’s ‘cause you love him or whatever sappy bullshit you’re about to tell me. I ate really good food earlier and I don’t feel like puking it all because of your lovey-doviness.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t throw up.” You let out a small huff and then chuckle. “I just… I suck at showing him how I feel.”
At your words, she grows quiet and cools down from her previous outburst.
“So… I’m showing him I care the only way I know how.”
A beat of silence passes as she stares at you.
“Gonna puke.” she makes a gagging motion, completely ruining your little moment.
You burst out laughing and shake your head, and the two of you proceed to take the metro back to school.
When the two of you finally return, it’s quite late in the evening, and the sun starts setting.
For your surprise, you had decided to place the gifts in his room. That way he’d walk in, ask you what was up, you’d explain it to him, and everyone’s happy and in love!! At least that’s how you hoped it would work out.
On your way back to the dorms, you notice Yuji training with Fushiguro on the trackfield. You immediately rush to his room, not giving them a second glance. You were a woman on a mission afterall.
Perfect, you thought. Now you had time to set the surprise. And so you did.
You arranged the various gifts in a small basket you had also bought for the occasion. Leaving the room, you carefully close it behind you.
“There you are.”
You jump and let out a shriek, as you turn to face him.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he smiles, drying his hair with a towel.
He was wearing a fresh change of clothes. Black sweats and the orange hoodie you bought him for his birthday.
“Where were you today? I texted but you never answered.” he steps closer.
“Oh… I went out to the city with Nobara.” you pull your phone out of your pocket and look for any notifications from him. And sure enough, there was his message. A simple “where did u go? didnt get to see u this morning.”
You look back up at him. “I didn’t have any signal the entire day— sorry.” you say dismissively, without wanting to. It just came out that way. Always did.
He simply hums in response, and you can tell he isn’t really convinced. The thought of him distrusting you is almost enough to shatter your heart in pieces, but you push down the gut wrenching feeling.
This was already not going how you planned it to.
“So… what were you doing in my room?” he lets the towel fall on his shoulders and points at the wooden door you’ve just closed.
His voice snaps you out of your mental spiral. “I was just— you know… I–” you stutter like an idiot, the pit in your stomach and the anxiety making you forget your words. “You know what, why don’t you just go in?” you sigh, giving up, and step aside to let him open the door.
He looks at you with a confused expression. The one that makes you want to squish his cheeks and kiss him until he can’t breathe. Which you’ve never done… Why? Because you were too scared to be so vulnerable and close with someone. Because you just haven’t gotten around to it. That’s all.
He slowly turns back to the door, and opens it. Entering the threshold of his room, he takes a step forward.
You follow behind him and close the door.
At the sight of the gift basket on his bed, he whips his head back around to face you. “What’s all this?” he asks you with wide eyes.
Your face turns red and you look away, unable to meet his eyes. “Human Earthworm merch… Thought you might like it.”
“You serious?”
You only nod. Silence settles between the two of you.
“Is this why you were out the whole day with Kugisaki?”
“Yeah… took longer than I expected. Human Earthworm stuff isn’t as easy to find as I—”
He cuts your rambling short. “Y/N.”
You’re snapped out of it as you stare up at him. “... yes?”
“I… I thought you were mad at me— or breaking up with me or something.”
Your eyes shoot wide open. “What? Why?”
His hand comes up behind his head to scratch his nape. “I don’t know I just… you’ve been distant lately, and with you not responding to my texts or bothering to tell me when you leave for the day I thought—” he lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know.”
You frown, and your lips tilt downwards into a pout, as if you had stumbled upon an abandoned puppy in an alley.
“Yuji I would never,” you state honestly, as you step closer.
“I know I know, I was just being stupid.” he looks away, in an attempt to dismiss the issue and make himself smaller.
“No, you weren’t. Don’t say that about yourself.” He slowly lifts his eyes to look at you. “You’re not entirely wrong you know— I’m not good at… showing you how I feel, or whatever. I’m sorry.”
You make eye contact with him and push through, despite how nervous you are. “That’s why I dragged Nobara out with me today to buy you gifts. I wanted to make up for being a bad girlfriend.” you laugh to try and alleviate the atmosphere, but it comes out weak.
You watch him as he steps closer to you. His firm arms instantly wrap around you, palms warm and steady against your back as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “You’re not a bad girlfriend.” he mutters against your now flushed skin. “Sure… you’re not that touchy. And you don’t always say how you feel out loud, but that never bothered me.”
Your hands hesitantly come up to hug him back. But once you make contact with him, your hands fist against his soft hoodie and you nuzzle closer to him. “... really?”
“Really.” He nods against your skin. “If it did… I never would’ve asked you out.”
His words soothe the ache that’s been deeply nestled in your gut.
“I like you the way you are, believe it or not.” he laughs briefly.
“... Thank you.” Your hands slide up tentatively to play with his hair. “And I’ll make sure to tell you next time when I’m out for the day.”
“... just take me with you.” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. Your boyfriend goes slightly limp against you, holding you tighter, and then presses a quick kiss to your pulse.
You stumble a bit from how flustered you are— and also because he was considerably heavy. “Okay, okay, noted…” you caress his back. “Why don’t you go check out what I got you now?”
“They can wait. I didn’t see you all day today.” His hands shift to grab at the sides of your waist, and he hoists you up. You immediately wrap your legs around his hips in an attempt to steady yourself, and your hands fly to land on his shoulders. He looks up at you with wide eyes, his dimples visible from his toothy grin.
Not expecting the sudden manhandling, you gasp. “Yuji what're you—!”
He lets you slide down just enough to press his forehead to your own. “I’ve got the best girlfriend ever.”
You weren’t even aware it was possible, but the blush present on your face spreads to your ears and neck too. You only sigh against him however, closing your eyes in the process. “You’re too easy if getting you merch of your favourite movie is the key to your heart,”
He chuckles heartily. “It’s not the merch, it’s you.” he shakes his head, the gesture ruffling the front of his hair slightly. “I love you,” he says softer, quieter.
Your eyes open again and you stare at him dumbfounded. Did he just say he loved you?
You were both eagerly awaiting and dreading this moment. You still hadn’t prepared mentally enough to be ready to say the words back. And now he was just staring, no doubt expecting them from you. At least that’s what you thought.
“You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to tell you how I feel.” His smile softens.
“... I feel the same.” you whisper.
Sure, it probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it’s all you could muster. And if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, it definitely didn’t look like it from the way he was gazing up at you right now: as if you had hung up the moon for him.
“Just— go check out what I got you. Tell me what you like and what you want me to return…” you clear your throat and look away, as if to shake off his gaze. But it doesn’t work. He just follows your features with his eyes, the same soft smile present on his face.
Carefully setting you back down, he keeps a hand wrapped around yours. “Are you crazy? I’m not returning any of it.” he leans down to kiss your cheek.
“Just go look!” you almost choke on your words, still flustered. You give Yuji a light push towards his bed, and he lets himself be pushed around as he laughs.
“Okay, okay! I’ll look!”
a/n: I already know this is gonna flop bc Yuji is srsly underrated but its ok, im doing this for the 3 Yuji fans out there!! anyway i love him ur honour <3 as always reblogs, likes, and comments are all appreciated!!
▐ sucking off quarterback!sukuna after his touchdown.
sukuna kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his cleat. the sound echoed. he was still in half his pads, shoulder plates making his already obscene shoulders look even wider, crimson jersey dark with sweat and grass stains. blood from a split lip had dried in a thin line down his chin. he hadn’t bothered wiping it. looked way hotter that way.
you were already waiting.
leaning back against his locker in your cropped cheer top and tiny skirt, thighs pressed together, pom-poms discarded somewhere near the benches. mascara slightly smudged from screaming his name for four quarters. lips glossy. eyes hungry. he didn’t speak at first. just stalked forward, towering, until your back hit the cold metal slats.
“thought you were gonna wait in the car like a good girl,” he rasped, voice still rough from shouting plays.
“couldn’t.” you tilted your head up, letting him see how dilated your pupils were. “not after that last touchdown. and definitely not after you looked straight at me when you kicked the ball.” a dangerous grin split his face. the kind that promised he was about to ruin you and enjoy every second of it.
“on your knees then, darling. you wanna celebrate? earn it then by taking it down your throat.”
you dropped instantly, knees hitting the tile, palms sliding up his thighs, fingers hooking under the waistband of his compression shorts and the cup still strapped in place. he was already thick and heavy behind the padding, the outline obscene. he reached down, rough fingers catching your jaw, tilting your face up.
“open.”
you did. tongue flat, lips parted, eyes locked on his. he shoved the shorts and cup down just enough. his cock sprang fres— thick, veined, flushed dark, the head already glistening. the musky scent of him hit you hard. clean sweat, victory, raw arousal. you whimpered before you even touched him.
he fisted the base and slapped the heavy length against your waiting tongue once, twice, watching the way it flexed and leaked against your lips.
“fuckin’ desperate cheer slut,” he muttered, almost fond. “go on. suck your champion off.” you wrapped both hands around what your mouth couldn’t reach and took him in deep on the first try. he groaned, low, guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest. one of his tattooed hand slammed against the locker above your head. the other tangled in your ponytail, not guiding yet, just holding.
you hollowed your cheeks and slid down further, tongue dragging along the thick underside vein, lips stretched tight. th stretch burned deliciously at the corners of your mouth. saliva already pooled, dripping down your chin. you didn’t care. you wanted messy. you wanted him to see what you’d do for him after he just carried the whole team on his back.
“s—shit.. there you go princess,” he hissed when you swallowed around him, throat fluttering. “k—knew that pretty hah fuuuck throat could take it
you moaned around his length, the vibration making his hips jerk forward involuntarily. he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes watering but you didn’t pull off. instead you breathed through your nose and pushed deeper until your nose brushed the pubes at his base.
“fuuck.” his grip tightened in your hair, yanking just enough to make your scalp sting. “look at you. mascara runnin’, lips swollen, choking on championship dick like it’s your fucking job.”
“what a slut.”
you pulled back slow, obscene, wet, strings of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock then plunged down again, faster this time. sloppy. noisy. the wet gluck gluck gluck of your throat filled the empty locker room.
he started fucking your face in shallow thrusts controlled at first, then harder. the metal locker rattled behind your head with each snap of his hips.
you let him use you. let him tilt your head exactly how he wanted, let him grind against your tongue, let him smear pre-cum and spit across your cheeks when he pulled out to slap his cock against your lips again.
“gonna ngh paint that pretty face—fuck fuck fuck if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he growled.
you pulled off just long enough to rasp, voice wrecked, “insiwde. wan’ it down my throat. pleeease, sukuna—givme it— your cum.”
his eyes flashed.
“greedy little thing.”
he shoved back in deep, ruthless, holding your head still while he fucked your throat in short, brutal strokes. your nails dug into his thighs. tears streamed freely now, mixing with spit, dripping onto your chest, soaking the cropped top.
his breathing turned ragged.
“fuck—fuck—take it—”
he came down your throat, hips slamming forward one last time. hot, thick spurts flooded your mouth, your throat—too much to swallow at once. you tried anyway, gulping, choking, some of it leaking from the corners of your lips and dripping down your chin onto your tits.
he held you there until he stopped pulsing, until every last drop was down your throat or decorating your face.
only then did he pull out, slow, watching the way your swollen lips clung to him, the way your tongue automatically chased the last bead of cum on the tip.
he thumbed the mess on your chin, smearing it across your bottom lip like gloss.
“goood girl,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost reverent. “my pretty slutty trophy.”
a/n: ts has been in my draft for a while now✌️ finally out of my angsty stage we back to feeling freaky evrydayy😝
overview: headchef!sukuna prides himself in running his kitchen with an ironclad fist and insists that nothing could tear him away from it. however, when he hears that the infamous food critic who gave him 2 out of 5 stars over a year ago is back for blood, his feet seem to have missed the memo as they carry him right to your table. jaw tight with rage and practically foaming at the mouth when he sees how unaffected you are.
cw: mdni, enemies to friends to lovers, head chef x food critic, acts of service, fem!reader, smut (duh), brief improper use of chocolate syrup, sloppy kisses, nipple play, oral (f and m receiving), 69, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, tummy bulges, cervix kissing, cowgirl, lotus position, 5K words.
art creds @/hunnismoker on insta
Something was wrong.
And it isn’t just the crappy presentation that his joke of a sous chef just plated. With a glare that has the younger man shrinking back, Sukuna moves forward to fix the mess with a displeased grumble.
Even as he does it, there isn’t that flow state of calmness that always washes over him with the lunch rush. That cooling wave of being so busy he felt as though he were threading through the kitchen, light as a feather as he floated from one station to the next and made sure everything was running smoothly, wasn’t even on the horizon.
Sukuna knows that everyone else hated how busy the restaurant became during those few hours, but for him, they offered a reprieve from his overly active mind, which would run in circles as he questioned everything.
Whether the new hire had put enough seasoning in a dish, then needed to rein in his temper when he went to confirm, either tasting nothing at all or every single spice they had on the rack dumped inside. Sukuna almost finds it impressive that there was hardly any in between.
Other times, he would scowl accusingly at everyone as he asked what idiot put out the chef’s knife in the bread knife’s holder. He had a system after all, and that meant all utensils had to be spick, span and perfectly ordered where he expected them to be.
When he didn’t have orders to bark at his staff or anything to micromanage, his thoughts turned to something even more infuriating. The wet fart of a critic who was the very reason he started second-guessing himself in the first place.
You had come in innocuously, anonymously, despite your large following and by the time one of his staff recognised you, it was too late. You had already seen enough. Tasted enough.
Sukuna woke up to an article titled “The Malevolent Kitchen”. And even a year later, one section stuck out to him the most. The words pop out in his mind’s eye, so clearly that it was like he was reading through the passage again.
“While it’s undeniable that the food at the restaurant tastes “good” (that is, if mediocrity is what you're aiming for), there’s a noticeable lack of heart and care in its execution...”
“There’s a clinical sort of accuracy, an almost obsessive kind, in the preparation of each meal that leaves even the most delicious dish landing blandly.”
“There is obviously no room for creativity or thinking out of the box in the kitchen, and I am inclined to believe that has something to do with the constant bellowing that came from within.”
“Upon further investigation, it seems the Chef de Cuisine, who also happens to be the owner, was the one responsible for the trembling hands with which the rest of his staff worked, barely looking up and sweating as they aimed for perfection rather than the passion that probably drew them into the profession in the first place.”
“Perhaps without this hostility spreading around and poisoning the entire atmosphere like snake’s venom, the food would have been a lot more enjoyable. I wholeheartedly believe that with different management, my rating would have been a lot higher, but as it stands now… ★★☆☆☆”
Sukuna clutches the knife in his hand tightly, maybe a little too tightly, because someone pauses then moves away at the sight of the veins in his forearms bulging angrily.
Just who did you think you were coming into his restaurant and telling him how to manage it? Apart from the new hire here and there, Sukuna has worked with the same crew for nearly a decade. Surely if he was that insufferable to be around, they would’ve left by now?
Everyone’s a fucking critic. Your job wasn’t even that hard to do. He, too, could get behind a screen and professionally troll people while dressing it up as an honest review.
Honest review, my ass.
It's just his luck that as he’s thinking about you, a server comes into the kitchen, eyes slightly wide and her cheeks flushed as she stares unblinkingly at him. She was clearly the bearer of bad news, and Sukuna has never been one to shy away from shooting the messenger.
“Fucking hell. What is it?”
With his ire aimed right at her, the woman can’t get a full sentence out for the life of her, but she does manage to say a name. And that’s enough to make the coral-haired chef feel as if he has been dipped into a barrel of acid. The kitchen goes so quiet that not even the hissing sizzle of meat on the grill can be heard anymore, or maybe the blood roaring between his ears blocks it all out.
Sukuna takes two steps towards the door, then, realising he didn’t put the knife down yet, slams it onto a nearby counter before exiting. He barges into the dining area, eyes squinted to slits as he scans the room. They leak of that poison you wrote about in your article as he hunted you down, his body tense and poised to strike at any given moment.
Then they find their mark, and his lip curls with a snarl.
Sitting near a window, with a crisp dress shirt tucked into a pair of formal pants that he refuses to acknowledge longer than necessary, he stalks towards you. Your attention is on the menu before you, hollow eyes looking it over with… boredom.
Sukuna stops beside your chair, casting a literal shadow over you with the bulk of his form, but you barely glance up.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The words are barely coherent as they are spat out, clasped all too tightly within his clenched jaw.
“Hello, to you too.” You flip to the next page of the menu, polished nail tracing over an item with a sliver of intrigue.
“I thought I made it clear that you were banned.”
“And I thought you would’ve gotten over your temper tantrum by now.”
You sigh when the menu is promptly plucked out of your hands, and only then do you let your eyes meet his. Sukuna thought it unfortunate and beyond unfair that your face didn’t match the ugly cruelty of your insides, because it only served to make him hate you more, “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Don’t worry, it’s my own fault for expecting more from you.” You smile at him, and the sharpness of it has his hands balling into fists. You notice, yet it doesn’t stop you from continuing. “I see you still have the same menu.”
Sukuna bristles.
“You were here a year ago.” Even he heard how his voice pitched with the lilt of defensiveness in it. “And if you hated it so much, you wouldn’t have come back so soon.”
You merely scoffed in response, and at his limit, a large hand clasped around your upper arm. Sukuna was ready to pull you up and throw you the hell out, but you were already drawing yourself to your feet and stepping into his space. Heels so high you came eye to eye as you glared at him.
“Despite what your bruised male ego is screaming at you right now, I’m not here to fight with you.” Sukuna scoffs and exhales sharply to expel the candied scent of your perfume. He didn’t like how it messed with his head. “However, if you keep going on like this, I may be forced to add bad service and ‘manhandles female customers’ to the new review.”
The fuck?
“I don’t care about your little gossip column, or the gremlins who have nothing better to do than consume that slop.”
The indifference in your gaze turns to annoyance, and he revels in it. “You wouldn’t be here if that were the case, and considering the rumours that sales have been going down, those gremlins must be very hardworking, no?”
Fire licked at the tips of his ears. Not exactly blushing but more so boiling with so much rage it was impossible to keep it all trapped inside. “Keeping tabs, are you?”
“It’s hardly a secret, Ryo.”
“You—”
Your head tilted, encouraging him to continue so you’d have a reason to strike him off his balance and call his restaurant, his food, the very things that breathed air into his lungs, cleared his mind and gave him purpose bland again.
He lets go of your arm, one finger at a time, and you drop into your seat with an exasperated huff. You take a moment, hand sweeping over your face before you meet his eyes again. That carefully blank expression that is always over your face eases up the slightest bit as your eyebrows knit.
“Look, I’m here because I felt bad when I heard that business has been low. I wanted to try again and possibly give a better review, if you’ll allow me.”
Despite some people throwing the cold-hearted ice queen label at you so casually, it was the furthest thing from the truth. You knew that these were people’s livelihoods on the line.
When you started reviewing food, you went to smaller restaurants, the hidden gem sort that were sealed away and overshadowed by the fast-food franchises that stood tall as mountains around them. And back then, nothing made you happier than seeing the beaming smiles on the owner’s faces as they thanked you for bringing so many customers with the good reviews you gave. But the money and popularity got to your head and made you lose sight of why you chose this line of work to begin with. Sure, Sukuna was a pompous jerk, and he needed to watch his tone when addressing his staff, but you could admit that in your pursuit to bump him down a few notches, your review probably affected them too.
If Sukuna is shocked by your concession, he doesn’t show it as his scarlet eyes burn with that unnerving intensity while he studies you.
A beat passes, then he sets the menu back on the table in front of you, and he’s gone.
Sukuna doesn’t come back out of the kitchen, and all the servers ignore you when you try to place an order. And just when you’re about to give up on trying to fix things and leave, the kitchen’s double doors swing open.
Trolleys of food come out, so many that it has to be most, if not all, the items on the menu and while you’re half jealous for who it’s for and half appalled as you stare with wide eyes. Then, when you realise the trolleys are coming over to your table, your heart sinks. Plate after plate is set down, and your head turns to and fro as you try to take everything in.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t order any of this.”
The waitress is a woman around your age with a bold red asymmetrical bob and an extremely timid smile. “Chef said it’s on the house.”
“Oh.”
“He also said that the deal only applies if you finish all of it.”
Right.
You stifle an eye roll as they put the last dishes down, and only when the table creaks under the weight of all the food on it do the servers leave you to it.
You eat more than is advisable, and it’s out of pure coincidence that Sukuna walks past the kitchen door for the twentieth time and steals a glance at you through the glass panel.
Last year, you claimed that his food was tasteless and lacked emotion, so this time, he took everything he was feeling and put it into all the dishes he served you. Albeit it was mostly anger, you didn’t seem to pay it any mind as you tasted everything.
There is a hidden subtlety in how you show that you’re enjoying your food. A slight tilt of your head before you quickly take another bite, a lift of the eyebrows and when you move onto dessert, even an imperceptible smile comes through.
The sight makes Sukuna feel strange. Like a nest of wasps fell from the tallest tree branch and cracked open in his belly. He isn’t sure what it means, but when you come back the next day and sample more of the menu, he’s a little less grumpy about it. Just the tiiiniest bit.
You’re taking full advantage of the free meals Sukuna offered, and there was no review in sight. When he asked you about it, you told him to not rush you with so much sass he was compelled to immediately draw back. And that was nearly two months ago.
Sukuna is becoming increasingly agitated with your presence, and when he realises that it wasn’t even hatred anymore, it makes him queasy.
You always sit at the table near the window, some days staying until closing time because he insisted on making you a test subject as payback. Sukuna makes you try new dishes before he adds them to the menu. The ones you like are added on by the end of the week, and the ones you merely purse your lips at before saying, “It’s good...” are promptly scrapped off the list.
Sometimes he sits in front of you while you eat, rosy brows pinched as he studies your micro expressions as closely as possible so he doesn’t miss anything. You found it strange at first, but now it’s become such a norm that it barely bothers you.
“Who’s micro-managing everyone in the kitchen when you sit here and watch me eat like a weirdo?”
“Haru.” Sukuna retorts, unfazed by the insult.
“Your sous? Weren’t your exact words ‘he’s as useless as a fishnet condom’?” You ask with a raised brow.
“Oh, he is. But he’s a little better when I’m not breathing down his neck.”
“Who would’ve thought?” You snicker and he offers a wan smile in response. A fiery glint in his crimson eyes ignites again, as if the anticipation of your new review has shot him back to life and brought back a spark he didn’t even know he lost.
Sukuna rolls his eyes when you mention that you’re especially pleased that the kitchen has gotten a lot less tense. People didn’t change overnight, so he still gives a terse remark here, a grumble there and a blistering glare elsewhere, but the heavy weight that his unpredictable mood saturated through the restaurant dispersed into something a lot more tolerable.
Something almost likeable.
“I’m editing the final draft.” You tell him as he sits in the chair opposite you. It’s way past closing time, and while everyone left a long time ago, the cake Sukuna baked for you was still cooling down, and because you refused to let it out of your sight, you decided to wait with him. Your hand rubs your belly as you reminisce about the sizeable slice he gave you. A slice you finished less than five seconds ago, but miss as if it were a long-lost friend.
You push the laptop towards him, and when he turns it around, there’s frantic clicking as he scrolls through the draft of your article. You know he got to the end when he shoots you a mildly amused look over the screen.
“4.8 stars?” His lip trembles, and you’re not sure if it will topple over to a smile or his usual scowl.
“Only because you refused to add that triple-beef burger you made me last.” You reply with your eyes narrowing slightly, and Sukuna allows a single huff to escape. Something of a curt laugh.
“We have enough burgers.”
He turns the laptop back to you, and you pull it closer with a shrug.
“Well, in any case, you’ll be happy to know that today is the last time you’ll have to endure my presence.”
You mean that as a joke, but Sukuna doesn’t laugh. And when your eyes dart to his, he’s got an odd look on his face.
“So that’s it, you submit your review, and you wash your hands clean of us.” Of me. He almost says.
Your eyes flutter a couple times as you blink at him in confusion.
“I thought you’d be happy. I can’t exactly keep eating here for free forever, you know?” You laugh awkwardly, shifting a little in your chair, and he just arches an eyebrow.
“Says who?”
“I—uh…”
“You can come back whenever you want. I’m gonna go get changed, then I’ll take you home, yeah?”
“Oh. Thank you, but you don’t have to do that.” You splutter, but Sukuna is already out of the chair and heading to the bathroom to change out of his uniform.
After he leaves, it takes a while for you to force yourself out of your stupor and pack your things away.
You’re standing up from the chair when he comes back. The white uniform and dark red apron he lived in are swapped out for a fitted black shirt that shows that his tattoos went a lot further up his arms than you thought. Dark wash jeans hug his thighs, and you flit your eyes away before you could do something crazy like drool at the sight of the bulging muscles barely hidden underneath.
You turn on your heel and go to wait outside while he closes up, and it takes five minutes before he’s at your side again. When you told him that your car went in for repairs, you didn’t think he would burden himself by driving you home, but you don’t hate it.
The drive to your house is silent apart from you giving him directions, and when you’re just down the street, he clears his throat.
“I suppose I should thank you.”
You turn to him, head lulling to the side against the headrest.
“You suppose?”
He only offers you a sidelong glance, lips quirking into a lopsided grin. That was probably as much as you were going to get, so you’ll take it.
“Then I suppose I should apologise too. I mean, for being too harsh with the last review.”
“You suppose?” He throws the words back at you, eyes not even on the road anymore, so you press a finger to his jaw and make him face forward again.
“Don’t get cute.”
Sukuna lets out a rumbling laugh that brings a smile to your face too, and he stops at the curb right in front of your house. He gets out first and spawns to your side at inhuman speed so he can open the door for you.
Sometimes you think he has been replaced by a doppelgänger with how nice he’s being. And the ease with which he does all these acts of service then brushes them off as if it's nothing is making your friendship bloom into something more.
Sukuna closes the door behind you and leans against it, prepared to watch you walk up the steps and into your door. Purely for safety reasons, of course, definitely not so he can watch the inviting sway of the flowy dress as it follows the movement of your hips.
“Thank you for dropping me off.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’s not asking, and you scoff but nod nonetheless.
You walk away, and he’s hypnotised for all of two seconds before you stop and turn to him again.
“Would you,” you break off with a hint of uncertainty colouring your tone, and it has him pushing off his car and taking a step closer. “Would you…like to come in?”
Sukuna’s feet falter, and he stares at you for a few long moments before his face breaks into an all too big and unfamiliar smile. Dangerous, feral and sexy enough to make you think that you might have made a mistake with the offer.
Pancakes.
Sukuna teased you when you told him you were craving them, joking about how you invited him in so you could exploit him for more food, but he started making them for you nonetheless.
Somewhere between snatching one while he wasn’t looking and fanning your mouth when you realised it was a little too hot, the atmosphere in your kitchenette stiffened.
The pancake you took was so hot that it made the chocolate syrup on it melt and dribble down your chin, and before you could move, a thick thumb swiped over your skin to clean the mess. Your mouth opened to thank him, only to fall quiet when he pushed his thumb between his lips and licked the sugary sweetness off of it.
“You make me cook for you, and now I have to clean you up too?” You weren’t even breathing when he took your small hand in his, lifting it to his mouth and sucked the syrup from your fingers too.
The digits rested on his tongue, slim and nimble as he drew his cheeks in to get the last few dregs of chocolate before he released them with a pop.
You weren’t sure who moved first, only that one second you were staring at his lips and the next, the decadent richness of cocoa settled lavishly on your tongue as he pressed his mouth to yours.
The risqué kiss escalates from suggestive to outright debauched as his lips track down your jaw and press against your pulse point. Your head tips back when the warm drizzle cascades over your collarbone, and before you can linger on the stickiness of the syrup, his mouth covers the skin, hot, wet and earnest before you fully conjure a thought up.
Sukuna sucks, licks and bites before his mouth teases even lower. Deft fingers tug at your dress, sliding it down your bust, and he rewards your brazenness of doing without a bra by latching his lips around your nipple and drawing it into the relentless cavern that is his mouth. Your eyes flutter as more syrup is put on your skin, only to be wiped away with a long flick of his tongue over and over again.
His free hand reaches up to palm your breast, and the sound that escapes makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
“Oh, that was a cute noise.” Sukuna purrs against the swell of your tit, and heat touches your cheeks and refusing to be the only one affected, your hand reaches down and circles around the thickness of his girth. Even when trapped under his jeans, his cock twitches in your grasp, and Sukuna groans, hips rutting forward with desperation you didn’t even know he possessed.
“So is yours.”
With a mirth-filled chuckle, he cups the undersides of your thighs, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. You sigh out where your room is, then you’re sealing your mouth over his again.
You’re so enraptured in the kiss that when he falls back onto the bed, you yelp as your body follows him. Sukuna pulls you into his arms, and clothes fly in a flurry of movement that has both of you naked in no time. His arms close around you, and only when you try to straddle him does he break away.
“Sit on my face.”
“What?” You’re forced to squeeze your thighs together due to how achingly your cunt pulses at the demand.
“Sit on my face, please,” he repeats, so you know you didn’t mishear. “You’ve been eating my food this long, isn’t it only fair I get a taste too?”
Your breath catches, and you crawl out from between his legs, moving to his side. Your eyes looked down the length of his burly body, past the supple expanses of tanned skin and dizzying swirls of tattoos that seemed to litter every inch, even past muscles that rippled with every breath he took.
You eventually land on his cock, tip flushed pink and leaking as it lay heavy against his abdomen. Unable to help yourself, you turn to give him your back, and lift a leg to straddle his face.
You back up until you feel his breath fanning against your cunt, cooling the slick between your folds and making you tremble above him.
“I said sit. You’re hovering baby.” He laments with his hands coming up to trace over your inner thighs. As tempting as it is, your head shakes.
“I’m not about to get a murder charge for smothering you to death.”
Your words elicit something between a groan and a laugh from him, and you feel him pull you even closer.
“Believe me, I’d die a happy man,” you laugh, or at least you were about to until you’re yanked down. “Give it to me.” Sukuna huffs at the first taste of your pussy on his tongue, and that’s the only warning you get before he situates himself between your legs like he belongs there.
You can’t decide between lifting off his mouth or grinding down harder as his tongue flattens over your pulsing clit. Impeccably skilled and nasty as it gathers all the wetness there before delving into your wet cunt.
Blunt fingernails bite into your skin, and he paws at you to keep you firmly plastered to his face. A sick part of you relishes the breathless moan he tries to choke out before you roll your hips onto his face. But it’s clear he’s exactly where he wants to be when he sighs, “That’s it, go harder, baby. Swear ‘m not gonna break.”
Sukuna’s tights tremble, cock throbbing needily before you decide to put him out of his misery and take it into your hand. Unfortunately, you barely cover half of it, so you lean forward and close your mouth around the blushing head. Sukuna hisses against you, hips threatening to snap upwards, and you groan when the taste of his precum hits your tongue.
Your hand twists around the base as you bop your head up and down, moans vibrating against the velvety length as he suctioned the pearly nub of your clit between his lips before lewdly flicking at it. Sukuna's hand twines into your hair, pushing you further onto him until he hears a soft gag that has his vision blurring out. His other hand loops around your waist like a bear trap to keep you from shifting off his mouth. To him, if he could still breathe it meant he wasn’t doing something right.
You're overly wet, almost impossibly so, and he laps away at every drop your cunt gives him as if it was all the sustenance he needed. Throat closing around his tip, the only warning you get before he comes is a choked moan hummed between your dripping folds. He spills into your mouth, and your eyes roll back as release sinks its claws into you and forcibly pulls you under.
Your mind is hazy as you shuffle off his face, and work-worn hands turn you around so you can straddle him properly.
Under different circumstances, you would’ve laughed at the face Sukuna makes when you cup his jaw in your hand, but your mouth is a little too full to do so now. Mouths meeting with bruising intensity, you let yours fall open, and you feel him stiffen under you. His cum leaks into his mouth, and he only manages a choked curse before he kisses you harder.
Balmy sweetness and tart sharpness mingle on your tongues in a cocktail so dizzying that as he lines himself with you and pushes inside, the stretch isn’t nearly as painful as it should be for a man his size. You bottom out with a whine that he swallows whole, and refusing to take a moment’s rest, your hips immediately start rolling against his.
“Shit, look at you. Do you know how hard it was to act like I hated you?” Sukuna’s eyes greedily roam over your body, and his meaty hands follow their path. They cup over your breasts, squeezing with a grunt, then trace down to paw at your thighs, hips and jiggle your ass.
“Well, you made it look easy.” Your shake with laughter then scarlet eyes land on your belly, and it takes everything he has to keep himself from cumming when he sees the slight bulge his dick leaves behind every time he thrusts up into you.
“Wasn't.” He insists between a moan that slips through when he feels his balls draw up in warning, rough hands grope your ass and bounce you on his cock faster, handprints digging so deep you know they’re bound to leave bruises.
Sukuna sits up so abruptly that it almost throws you off balance, but his arms urge you to cross your legs behind his back. They settle on your hips again, lifting you up, then slamming you back down onto him.
You’re breathing into each other’s mouths, choppy pants exchanging so keenly as if you were keeping each other alive all so you could blissfully fall off the edge of sweet release together.
“Mhm fuck,” you moan as your clit grinds over the hard planes of his abs and pelvis, and you can only get out two more jerks before your body tenses.
You spasm repeatedly around him, and moans slip out of his mouth with every clench. His hips lift to plunge even deeper into you, and a cry is ripped from your throat when his mushroom tip bops onto a spot that has you seeing white.
“So fucking beautiful,” He huffs against your dewy skin as he shudders as he cums too. You melt into his arms, and he holds onto you tightly as he lies down and pulls you along with him.
You’re basically using him as a cushion as incessant aftershocks, eventually slow, and he lets you. You feel like you only rest your eyes for a moment, but you feel Sukuna’s hands caressing your skin. Gentle and unlike the brutish roughness from a few minutes ago. Then…
“Wanna try those pancakes again?”
Your snicker shakes both of you, and you turn your face into his neck.
His service was unquestionably a 10/10, but you’d be caught dead before you stroked his ego like that. You could think of better things to pay attention to anyway.
a/n: don’t even ask. this was supposed to be a drabble inspired by this post by @bluukive. lord I hope this gets lost in her notifs and she never sees it. also wanna put it on record that I blame @rambld for giving me her sukuna writing bug
SYNOPSIS — five years into a once loving marriage, you're staring down divorce papers and months of no contact. the big house echoes with silence and loneliness is gnawing at you, until your best friend drags you out for drinks. a handsome younger stranger buys you another round... but when the night ends, your feet carry you straight to the door of your almost-ex-husband's new apartment.
CONTENTS — ceo!gojo x reader, heavy angst, divorce, cheating but like not rly, substance use, oral (m and f receiving), rough sex, squirting, creampie, slapping, breeding kink, struggles with infertility, miscommunication, family problems
WC — 12.2k (not proofread)
IVYAPS — this has gone through like a million different versions and i dont feel like reading it over so i hope this makes sense, based on this song
m. list
The whiskey coasts down your throat with a deliberate burn, mirroring the ache in your chest you’ve felt for god knows how long.
You set the glass down on the scarred wooden bar a little too hard. The clink is louder than you intended for it to be, even in a crowded room full of voices. The stranger to your left glances over. Not long enough for you to really notice.
Instead, you stare at the amber ring the glass left on the bar, watching it spread and fade like every promise you and him ever made. Five years. A house that still smells faintly of his cologne in the closets you haven’t had the heart to empty. Divorce papers that sit unsigned on the kitchen island because neither of you could stand to be the one to sign first.
Shoko’s on your right, already on her fourth or maybe fifth drink, you’ve lost count. She’s leaning into the bar, elbows planted.
“Hey,” she says softly, sliding her empty shot glass toward the bartender. “Another round. Same for her.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the words dissolve before they form. Instead, you just nod, letting the bartender pour another without you asking.
Shoko turns to you fully now, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Can you at least act like you’re having fun?”
You laugh. It comes out as a short, bitter sound that accompanies a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Kind of hard when I’m getting divorced.”
“Then drink.”
You take a slower sip this time, letting the burn linger on your tongue. The bar is alive around you, but you feel strangely detached from it all. Sort of like you’re watching yourself from across the room.
You can almost go back to that version of yourself—the one five years younger and newly married. You’re tipsy, your weight slumped against your husband's body, his arm around your waist. The pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh where your shirt rides up.
You can almost feel it.
Across the room, someone laughs. You can feel the ghost of his chest shift beneath your cheek, laughing at a joke one of your friends must have cracked. As Shoko places her shot glass back on the countertop, you realize there’s nothing, snapping back to reality.
That's not him and that’s not you.
Your eyes peel away from the couple you were watching, fixing back on what’s in front of you.
You down the rest of your drink.
You should leave. You should tell Shoko you’re going home, crawl into the too big bed that still feels like his, and wait for the ache to dull again tomorrow.
Before you can, Shoko mutters something about seeing a pretty girl and makes herself scarce.
The stranger to your left shifts again, closer this time.
You catch a glimpse of him in your peripheral vision. He has dark hair, a sharp jawline, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. Younger than you—maybe by nearly a decade. Handsome in the effortless way that makes your stomach twist and, funnily enough, the exact opposite of your husband—ex-husband.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just orders another drink of his own—something neat and expensive looking—and lets the silence sit between you.
You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze.
He smiles. “Rough night?”
You let out a laugh that’s half-sigh, half-exhale. “You could say that.”
He leans in a little closer, voice low enough that only you can hear it over the noise. “Want to tell me about it?”
He doesn’t push when you shake your head. He just nods once, like he expected that answer, and takes a slow sip of whatever liquid is in his glass. The ice clinks softly against the sides as he swirls the crystal cup before setting it back down on the plywood bar.
“Fair enough,” he says.
He turns his body toward you a little more, one elbow resting on the bar, the other hand loosely curled around his drink.
“I’m Hiromi,” he offers after a beat, large hand extended toward you.
Taking his hand, you give him your first name in return. He repeats it back once, letting it settle on his tongue like he’s tasting it. The sound of it in his mouth makes your pulse skip.
“Nice,” he murmurs. His eyes flick down to your empty glass, then back up to your face. “You look like you could use another one. Or maybe you’re trying to slow down?”
There’s a teasing edge to it, it’s unmistakable. He’s flirting, but he does it without overwhelming you.
You shrug, glancing at the bar. “Maybe one more. Then I’ll decide.”
He signals the bartender without breaking eye contact with you. Two fingers lifted, casually and demanding. Another drink for you, same as before. When it arrives, he pushes it towards you with the back of his knuckles, letting his fingers brush yours for half a second longer than necessary.
You slip into conversation with him easily, and even though it’s been years since you’ve tried to impress a man, it doesn’t seem as scary as you thought it would be.
The banter feels effortless, dangerous in how easy it is. You’re not drunk, not yet anyway, but the alcohol is loosening the knot in your chest.
He asks small, safe things: your favorite drink (you tell him it’s whiskey, obviously), the worst bar you’ve ever been to (to which, he counters with a story about a dive in Shinjuku that still makes him shudder), whether you’re a city person or secretly dreaming of the suburbs (you dodge that one, and he lets you).
He laughs when you fire a dry question back at him—something about why a man in a perfectly tailored shirt is drinking alone on a Thursday night.
“Because the alternative was paperwork. And I’d rather talk to you.”
It’s blatant. It’s also working.
You’re mid-sentence—something sarcastic about his terrible excuses—when Shoko appears at your elbow, swaying slightly, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.
She drapes an arm around your shoulders, heavier than usual. “Heyyy,” she drawls, voice thick with liquor. “You good?”
You turn to look at her, slumped over where her weight dips at your side. “You’re the one who’s had half the bar.”
She snorts, then glances past you at Hiromi. Her brows lift. “Oh. Hi.”
Hiromi just tips his head in polite acknowledgement.
Shoko squeezes your shoulder once, hard. “Listen. I’m… I’m gonna head out. Cab’s already coming. You—” She points a wobbly finger at you, “—text me when you get home. Or don’t. Whatever. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
You roll your eyes. “That list is terrifyingly short.”
“Exactly.” She grins, then leans in to whisper against your ear. “He’s hot for a guy... Don’t fuck it up.”
You shove her gently off you. “Go home, Shoko.”
She laughs, stumbles back a step, then blows you an exaggerated kiss. “Love you. Bye, mystery man.”
Hiromi raises his glass to her in farewell. “Night.”
She disappears into the crowd toward the exit, leaving you suddenly alone with him.
The noise of the bar rushes back in. Your fresh drink is still cold against your palm.
“So,” he says to break the ice that’s spread from the crystal atop the bar, eyes steady on you again. “Friend’s gone. No more safety net.”
You meet his gaze, your heart kicking hard against your ribs.
“Yeah,” you say. “No more safety net.”
He sets his glass down slowly.
“I apologize if I’m being too forward,” Hiromi says. There’s a new edge to it now. His thumb brushes the rim of his empty glass once, twice. “Do you want to get out of here?”
The question lands heavy in the space between you.
You feel the heat crawl up your neck. The bar noise fades and you know you should say no.
Instead your mouth moves before your brain catches up.
“…Yeah.”
The word feels foreign. You’re not even sure you mean it until it’s already out.
He just nods once and pulls out his phone. A few taps later, he pockets it again.
“Car’s three minutes out,” he says. “We can wait inside, or…”
You’re already sliding off the stool. “Outside.”
He follows without another word.
The night air hits you like a slap. The street is quieter here, just the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional burst of laughter spilling from the bar door behind you.
Hiromi steps close. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him. You turn toward him without really deciding to, and then his hand is on your jaw—gentle at first, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth like he’s asking permission.
You don’t pull away.
He kisses you.
It’s rushed and hungry. Rough in a way that makes your knees lock. His mouth is hot, demanding, teeth catching your bottom lip just hard enough to sting. One hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. The other finds your waist, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left for second thoughts.
It’s nothing like the way he used to kiss you.
Your husband—ex-husband, almost—kissed like he had all the time in the world. Slow. Like every brush of lips was something sacred he was afraid to break. Hiromi kisses like he’s trying to devour you. Like he wants to fill every empty thought inside you right now.
Your hands fist in the front of his shirt. You kiss him back just as hard. You’re desperate, angry at yourself for wanting it, for letting it feel good even for a second.
Headlights sweep across the street. A black car pulls up to the curb, engine purring.
Hiromi breaks the kiss first, breathing uneven against your mouth. His forehead rests against yours for half a heartbeat.
“Ready?” He murmurs.
You open your eyes.
And the ache slams back into your chest, sharper than before.
You step back, breaking contact.
“I—” Your voice cracks. You swallow hard. “I can’t do this.”
He doesn’t move. He watches you, expression unreadable in the dim streetlight.
“I’m sorry,” you say, and it comes out small. “I thought I could. I really did. But I—”
You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to.
Instead, you lean in one last time and press a brief, closed-mouth kiss to the corner of his lips. A goodbye more than anything else.
“Goodnight, Hiromi.”
You turn before he can answer.
The car door is still open. The driver glances back, expectant.
Hiromi stays where he is, hands in his pockets now, watching you.
He doesn’t call after you and he doesn’t try to change your mind. Just lets you go.
You slide into the backseat. Pull the door shut. Give the driver an address.
The car pulls away.
Through the tinted window, you watch Hiromi’s silhouette shrink in the rearview until the street curves and he’s gone.
Your fingers press to your lips. They still taste like whiskey and someone else’s want.
The tears are rolling down before you even realize they’re hot on your cheeks, blurring the streetlights into smeared halos through the car window.
The fog of your breath swirls into the air. You breathe in and out again, slower, trying to steady the tremor in your hands.
You fish the old access card from the bottom of your purse—the one you never quite got around to returning, the one that still works because neither of you remembered to deactivate it. The black plastic is worn smooth at the corners from years of use.
You press it to the reader beside the outdoor elevator. A soft beep, a green flash.
The doors open.
You step inside.
The mirrored walls throw your reflection back at you: mascara slightly smudged from earlier tears, lips still faintly swollen from the kiss, hair tousled by the wind and someone else’s fingers. You look like you almost did something reckless. You look like you’re about to do something even more reckless.
The elevator climbs the thirty-two floors in seconds. Your stomach drops the way it always did, even when you lived here.
You lean against the cool metal wall, close your eyes for a second, and let the memory flood in uninvited: coming home late from a long shift, him waiting with takeout and a half-smile that said I missed you. The way he’d pull you into the shower before you could even kick off your shoes, kissing the exhaustion off your skin like it was something he could fix.
The doors open onto the private foyer.
You step out.
The front door is ajar.
Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you’re sure he can hear it from wherever he is.
You could turn around.
The elevator is still open behind you. One step back, and you’re gone and no one would ever know you were here.
Instead, you push the door wider with your fingertips.
The apartment opens up in front of you—the same layout from when you started dating, same view of the Tokyo skyline glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city looks smaller from up here.ou always liked that, and right now, you wonder if he remembers that about you—if that’s why it’s still the same.
He’s on the couch.
His back is to you, slouched, one arm draped over the backrest, a glass of something dark resting on his knee. The TV is on but muted—some movie he doesn’t care about. His tie is loosened and sleeves rolled to the elbows.
He doesn’t turn at first.
Then he does—slowly, like he’s not sure he trusts what his peripheral vision is telling him.
His eyes find yours.
For a long second, neither of you moves.
You’re still tipsy enough that the room tilts faintly when you blink and your tongue feels loose.
“Hi,” you say. Your voice cracks on the single syllable.
He sets the glass down on the coffee table without looking away from you. You realize it’s chocolate milk.
“You’re drunk,” he says, not accusing.
“A little,” you admit. You take one step inside, then another. The door swings shut behind you with a soft click. “I… I was at a bar with Shoko. And then I—”
You stop.
What are you even going to say? I almost went home with someone else, and it made me realize I still want you?
He stands.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Instead, his words strike you cold and you finally become aware of the temperature in the room.
“I know.”
He crosses the room in three long strides and stops just out of reach. Close enough that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne. Close enough to see the way his throat works when he swallows.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
You shrug.
The motion feels childish, like you’re ten years old again and caught somewhere you don’t belong.
Without answering, you bend and slip your shoes off one by one. The cool marble bites into the soles of your bare feet, grounding you just enough to keep the room from spinning. You flex your toes against the floor.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Your name slips off his tongue. He probably meant for it to sound stern and authoritative, but it comes out longing instead.
Or maybe you’re just hearing what you want to hear.
He exhales through his nose and turns away for a second like he needs the distance to breathe.
“Why are you here?” He repeats, quieter now.
“I don’t know, Satoru.”
The name feels too big in your mouth after so many months of silence.
He sighs, turns on his heel, and makes his way down the hall. That’s the direction of the kitchen.
You hear the soft clink of glass, the rush of the tap, ice cubes dropping into water.
When he comes back, he’s holding a tall glass. He presses it into your hand without touching your fingers.
You kind of wish he did.
“Drink,” he says. Not a request.
You take it, and the cold shocks your palm, sending a shiver down your spine when combined with the chill in the air. You sip once, twice.
He guides you, his head nudging in the direction toward the sectional.
You sink onto the leather.
He doesn’t sit beside you, taking the armchair across the coffee table instead, elbows on his knees and hands clasped so tight the knuckles turn white.
“You should go,” he says. “Whatever you need to say, you can say it to my lawyer. That’s what we agreed.”
The words land hard.
You stare at the water trembling in your glass.
“That’s all you’ve said to me in months,” you murmur.
He doesn’t even try to deny it.
You lift your eyes to his. They’re the same blue you used to drown in every morning.
“You used to know me better than anyone,” you say. The sentence cracks in the middle. “You used to know when I was lying to myself before I even opened my mouth. You used to know when I needed you to hold me even when I said I was fine. You used to—”
Your voice gives out. You swallow hard.
He flinches.
“Sober up,” he says. “You don’t mean any of this. I’ll get you something to eat and call you a car.”
The casualness of it cuts deep.
You stare up at him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
He doesn’t look at you as he walks toward the kitchen. “You’re drunk. You showed up unannounced at 2 a.m. What do you want me to do, exactly? Rewrite the last two years because you had a bad night?”
You push yourself to your feet. The room tilts once, then steadies. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t care.”
You follow him into the kitchen.
He opens the cupboard and pulls out a bag of pretzels. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m being realistic. You’re emotional. Tomorrow you’ll wake up hungover and embarrassed, and you’ll text your lawyer again. Same as always.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, nails digging into the skin of your biceps. “You really think that low of me?”
He pours the pretzels into a bowl.
“Say it,” you whisper. “Say you hate me. Say you resent me for whatever I did. Just stop acting like this is nothing.”
He slides the bowl across the counter to you. “I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”
“Satoru.” His name comes out cracked, pleading. “I just want to talk.”
“No.” The word is quiet, final, a door closing. He turns away, bracing both hands on the edge of the sink like he needs the support. “If you won’t leave, you can sleep in the guest room. If you still want to talk, we can talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The promise of it hangs there like a threat.
You stare at the pretzels. Salt-dusted. Ordinary.
He doesn’t even like pretzels.
Satoru’s stash of snacks consisted of cookies and candy and various types of ice creams and mochi stacked in the freezer—until he met you. He met you, and you liked chips and pretzels and a lot of salt.
What if he kept them here for you?
You decide not to touch them. You’re deluding yourself.
You feel the sob build low in your chest. It’s slow at first, then it feels brutal. It rips out of you before you can swallow it back.
He doesn’t turn around.
“Why won’t you even look at me?” The words come out broken. “What did I do that was so unforgivable?”
His shoulders tense. The knuckles on the sink whiten once again.
“You didn’t do anything,” he says to the window, to the city lights beyond it.
Tears blur the bowl in front of you. You swipe at them angrily. “Why haven’t you signed the papers? Why do you still wear your ring if I’m so easy to ignore?”
He laughs once. “Because forgetting you would be the kindest thing I could do for both of us. And I’ve never been kind when it comes to you.”
You push off the counter, legs unsteady. “Then be cruel. Tell me to go. Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me anything real.”
He finally turns.
“I can’t.”
You take a step closer. Then another. Until you’re close enough to see the tremor in his hands.
You reach out and rest your palm against his chest. His heart is racing beneath the thin cotton of his dress shirt, betraying every calm word he’s said.
He pries your hands away gently, the way he’s always been with you.
“I’m going to bed,” he steps away from you. “I trust you know where the guest room is.”
You nod, and he’s disappeared out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway.
Your mind wakes first, sluggishly, your body following reluctantly—limbs heavy, mouth dry, a dull throb behind your eyes. You pry your lids open, expecting the familiar flood of pale morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house Satoru built for the two of you.
Instead, grey walls stare back at you. A single narrow window in the corner is swallowed by thick blackout blinds. The bed beneath you is too small and too firm, the sheets smelling faintly of someone else’s laundry detergent.
Right.
The night before crashes back in fragments.
Fuck. What have you done?
You curse Shoko in your head. She knows you have never made good decisions with alcohol in your system.
You wait for the regret to settle in, but instead you feel almost… relieved?
You roll out of the guest bed and pad barefoot across the cold floor. Sweat causes the fabric of your dress—the same one you wore out the previous night—to stick to your skin. Your fingers gently pry the clothing off of your body, adjusting as you make your way to the corner of the room.
The blinds are stubborn; you wrestle them open with a soft rattle.
A navy sky greets you. It’s not the bright afternoon sun you had been looking forward to.
What time is it?
Three steps back to the bed, you reach for your phone, but it’s dead on the nightstand. Of course it is.
Even if you had a charger on you, you were too upset after your conversation in the kitchen to remember to plug it in.
You slip into the hallway, following the faint glow of the living-room lamps. The wall clock reads 6:17 p.m. You’ve slept the entire day away.
What a waste.
Then you hear it—your name, soft, almost surprised or posed like a question, called from somewhere deeper in the apartment.
You follow the sound.
Satoru is standing in the open kitchen, still in the charcoal suit he must have worn to the office. Tie loosened, top button undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks like he hasn’t slept either—hair messier than usual, shadows under his eyes darker than they were last night. He’s holding a glass of water.
You imagine he was about to bring it to you.
“Oh,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “You’re still here. I thought you would’ve left by now.”
The words sting more than they should and you realize you’re deluding yourself once again.
You shake your head slowly, attempting to go of any negative thoughts in the process. “I just woke up.”
He hums, almost non-chalant enough to make you wonder if this really was the man you married.
His lips wrap around the rim of the glass, taking a sip as you fiddle with your fingers.
He sets the glass down. “Hangover?”
You shake your head again. “I must’ve slept enough to avoid it.”
He nods once in response.
Then, nothing.
Silence with Satoru used to be something comforting to you. Something you now find yourself reminiscing in—the way his eyes would find yours, or how he could read you without you uttering a single word.
Now it feels almost tantalizing, almost cruel.
He used to be someone you could tell anything to, but now you’re at a loss for words—completely unsure how to break the silence.
The one thought slides through every crevice in your mind, and despite your better judgement—the part of you that knows bringing up the flaws in your marriage right now wouldn’t mend them—you let it seep through the tissue, until the words tremble at the tip of your tongue. They can barely hold themselves back from the fall.
“You finish work early?”
He looks up, his glossy blue eyes meeting yours.
It’s only for a brief moment. So quick, you would have missed it if you weren’t already looking at him.
His gaze averts back to the counter, lips pursing as if he’s bothered by the question.
“Nah,” he breathes in. “I usually leave the office by 5:30 if there’s no meetings.”
“Oh,” the sound falls more disheartened than you intended.
“We just signed off on the merger with Infinity Air,” he explains. “So…”
“Oh, congratulations.”
You always imagined the one thing that killed your marriage was the hours Satoru worked.
You knew what you were getting into when you first met him—the obnoxious, but dreamy business major in your ethics lecture, who you much later found out was the heir to one of Japan’s biggest airline companies: Gojo Aviation.
With graduating came responsibility, and Satoru had to step into his father’s shoes. Still, he always found his way back home before you finished the day at your internship.
It wasn’t until you were married for three years, and the incident occurred that you would get text messages from him apologizing for missing dinner, that he would make it up to you, that he missed you.
It only took a month or two for you to become accustomed to your new routine—falling asleep without him, waking up to his side of the bed slept-in but empty, hardly talking anymore.
There weren’t anymore messages apologizing or warnings of his absence before hand. It became normal.
If he wasn’t the same man who spent almost a decade doting on you, praising you, teaching you what it meant to really, really love someone, you would’ve thought he was cheating.
But he was Satoru, and from the moment he met you, he breathed for you—his heart beat for you.
It was almost ironic, how now that you were apart he seemed to be able to work regular hours. But you only hope that this is what fixes the two of you.
He mutters something incoherent in response—probably a thank you—before your mouth, once again, is moving quicker than your mind.
“Since when?”
Your curse yourself mentally.
“About…” his eyes flick up to the left as he trails off in thought. “About a month after we separated."
Oh. You decide not to pry. Maybe it’s a coincidence.
“Are you busy tonight?” You ignore the tremble in your voice. You’re not sure anymore if you’re hurt or nervous or maybe a bit of both.
He looks up at you through his white eyelashes. This time longer than a beat.
“…to talk,” you continue, quietly.
You’re picking at the skin by your fingernails. A nervous habit Satoru always hated.
“We can still do this through lawyers. I haven’t messaged mine yet, but—”
“No.” You cut him off, sharper than you mean to. “I was serious last night.. About talking. About fixing things.”
He opens his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but before the sound can form, the bedroom door behind him opens.
The bedroom that also used to be yours when you first moved into his apartment. The bedroom that was yours until you both moved out a year into marriage.
A woman steps out.
Utahime Iori.
You recognize her immediately—newest member of the executive board at Gojo Aviation, the one who’s been in every quarterly photo Satoru’s PR team blasts across LinkedIn—as the daughter of the vice-president of Infinity Air.
Her hair is damp from a shower, dark strands clinging to her neck. She’s wearing one of his hoodies—the oversized black one from university he used to let you steal when you both still lived in the dorms. It drowns her frame the same way it used to drown yours.
Your mouth falls open.
She smiles—small, polite, kind even. “Hi. I didn’t know you were here.”
You don’t smile back.
The air in the apartment thins to nothing.
Satoru’s shoulders go rigid. He doesn’t look at her. He looks at you.
“I—” Your voice is barely there. “I’m sorry. For coming over. For… everything.”
You turn before he can speak.
Your bag is still slung over the arm of the couch where you dropped it last night. You snatch it up, fingers shaking so badly the strap slips twice.
“Hey—wait,” his voice cracks behind you. “Wait, please—”
You don’t.
The front door is only ten steps away. You cross them, and even though you feel as though you’ve run out of oxygen, you make a break for the stairs—deciding running down thirty-two floors is better than waiting around for the elevator.
“Satoru,” Utahime says softly from somewhere behind him.
You can’t tell her tone of voice, and you’re not even sure you want to
You don’t look back.
The hall outside is too bright, too quiet.
You can hear your heart hammering in your chest, each beach only getting more desperate with your descent down.
You make it almost 10 floors before your legs give way, and your thighs meet the cool floor.
You press your forehead to the wall and let the tears come—silent at first, then choking, ugly sobs that echo in the small space.
He didn’t chase you. It was over—really over.
The Satoru you fell in love with would have followed you to the ends of the earth without you even asking.
The Satoru who fell out of love with you couldn’t even put his ego aside to follow you down a flight of stairs.
You often thought yourself a fool, but never as much as you have right now. You should’ve known he would move on. That he wouldn't wait around forever.
A divorce was to end a marriage. You had to face that it was over years ago, no matter how much you wanted it to be him.
The empty house is haunting.
Every wall, every piece of furniture, every atom in the house taunts you—mocks you even.
The ghost of a younger you—a happier you—lingers in every corner. You think it’s almost humiliating how deeply Satoru’s absence now affects you.
The house he’d gotten built from the ground up seems to agree with you, the way it still looks as lived in as it had 4 years ago.
After finally picking yourself up off the floor at your old apartment complex and calling a car home, you thought the hardest part would be leaving him behind.
But there was the threshold he once carried you over, the kitchen where he’d make you breakfast while you still slept, the nursery you both painted—a pastel yellow colour that would never be enjoyed by a child—, the living room where you’d make love to each other when you were too impatient to make it upstairs.
The whole space screams Satoru’s name.
It’s a museum full of memories—the good, the bad, the in-between. The throw blanket he draped over your shoulders that first winter you spent here, still folded on the couch arm. The framed photo on the entry console of the two of you laughing in the rain outside that tiny ramen place in Shibuya, the coffee mugs he insisted on buying in pairs because “we’re a set, aren’t we?”
It’s all proof he loved you once.
And— if anything—keeping his things here would only be proof you’ll love him forever.
And you can’t afford that kind of attachment anymore.
A sob rips through your throat. You press the heel of your hand to your mouth like you can trap the sound inside, but it’s already too late. The grief has teeth tonight.
You make your way up the stairs on legs that feel borrowed.
His closet is the first place you attack.
You yank open the double doors and the smell hits you like a fist—his cologne, his laundry detergent, the faint trace of skin that used to live against yours. You start pulling things off hangers without thought: the navy wool coat he wore on your last anniversary dinner where you hardly spoke, the soft grey cashmere sweater he’d let you steal when you were cold, the white button-downs still creased from the dry cleaner. You fold them roughly, no care for neatness, and shove them into the largest suitcase you can find from under the bed.
Next come the gifts.
The delicate silver bracelet he gave you for your birthday two years into saying, the one with the tiny engraved star because he said you were his destiny. The perfume he picked out in Paris that you only wore when you wanted him to lose his mind. The silk scarf he tied around your eyes once during a game that ended with your legs atop his shoulders, being pummeled into the mattress. You drop them into the suitcase one by one.
Your vision is blurred from your tears, and in all honesty, you have no idea what is going where.
You move to the nightstand onhis side. The book he never finished, spine cracked. The candle he’d light at night… because even past thirty he was still scared of the dark. The small velvet box containing the earrings he bought you “just because.” You hesitate only once—fingers brushing the lid—before you drop the whole thing in.
You’re crying steadily now, not like before. Silent rivers carving tracks down your cheeks, dripping onto the carpet. Your chest hurts like someone’s sitting on it and breathing feels optional.
You hate how much you still love him.
You hate how much it still feels like betrayal to pack him away.
A few minutes past midnight, the doorbell rings.
You freeze, suitcase half-zipped.
You aren’t expecting anyone. Shoko would’ve texted. Your parents live provinces away. The delivery guy doesn’t come this late.
You ignore it.
Thirty seconds later there’s sharp, insistent knocks on the front door.
You wipe your face with the sleeve of the hoodie you changed into—his hoodie, fuck—and drag yourself downstairs. Your reflection in the hallway mirror is a wreck: eyes swollen, nose red, cheeks blotchy. You look like grief personified.
You open the door anyway.
Satoru stands there.
He’s lost the suit, now clad in white T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, white hair mussed like he’s run his hands through it too many times.
He sees your face.
The moment stretches—two heartbeats, three—and whatever armor he walked here wearing cracks wide open. His expression melts.
The hard line of his mouth softens, his brows pinch, his eyes go liquid and the bright blue almost dulls like he’s looking at something fragile he’s terrified of breaking.
“Fuck,” he says. Instinctively, his calloused hands find your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest. His left leg kicks the door closed. “Oh, baby.”
You don’t reciprocate his actions right away. You just stand there, his hands cradling your head now.
“Fuck,” his voice is almost sympathetic… if you didn’t know any better. “I did this to you. Didn’t I?”
“Fuck you,” you say, but the sounds comes out muffled.
You almost feel like crying again. Instead, you bring your arms up around your head, hitting his chest repeatedly. Attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.
His grip around you only tightens, much to your frustration.
“It’s okay,” he coos. “Take it out on me, baby. I can take it.”
“Don’t call me that.” You manage to slip out from under him before you succumb to his touch. “Why are you here?”
“You wanted to talk.”
“Because…” you almost hesitate. But, what else do you have to lose. “I thought we could fix this.”
He hums. You know his mind is probably going a million kilometres an hour, and you finally look at his face.
His eyes are slightly red, his bottom lashes damp.
You swallow. Your throat is sandpaper.
“Have you been crying?” you ask. Flat.
His gaze leaves yours, fixating at a spot on the wall.
“Have you?”
Your shoulders slump. You avoid the question.
It’s a pretty obvious answer.
“Look,” he begins. His shoes flip off his feet, and he starts heading towards the living room, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrist as he drags you behind him. “I’m ready to talk—to try and… I don’t know.. Fuck. Fix this?”
He sits down on the sofa. You take the seat across from him.
“No lawyers?”
“No, sweets,” he starts. His elbows are on his knees. “I’m going to lay everything on the table. I can’t hurt you ever again.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You don’t really believe him. Your eyes don't meet his.
It takes a few minutes before he speaks again, the silence stretching out between the two of you as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“Utahime…” he begins. Unsure. “Nothing happened.”
You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, but your eyes still don’t meet his. You’re afraid of how you might react if you do.
He exhales, sharp and frustrated, his head meeting his palms. His right hand drags farther, through his hair until it stands up in wild tufts.
“We went to check out some more cost-effective oil choices today,” he starts again, quieter, like he’s reciting facts to a jury instead of trying to reach the woman he married. “Some new supplier pitch in Yokohama. She spilled some on herself—literally, like half a sample vial down the front of her blouse. It was disgusting. She was only in Tokyo for the day, flying back tonight.”
You don’t look amused.
“She’s on the board, baby. I couldn’t let her go back to Kyoto like that.”
“Okay.” You’re not sure what more to say.
“I promise,” he starts again. Longing. “I was in the kitchen the whole time—you saw me. I didn’t step foot near the bedroom.”
He pauses, searching your profile for something—anything—that says you believe him.
You finally lift your eyes to his. They’re red-rimmed, glassy, exhausted.
“You let her wear your clothes,” you say. Your voice is small, but it cuts.
“I didn’t think,” he admits. Raw. “I wasn’t thinking about how it would look to you because I wasn’t expecting you to still be there. I was trying to be professional.”
You stay silent, but his expression is almost like it’s cutting through him.
“I know how it looked,” he says. “I know exactly how it looked. And I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I gave you even a second to think I’d moved on. I haven’t. I can’t.”
“You… can’t?”
“No,” he runs a hand through his hair again. “You could cheat on me, divorce me, never talk to me again—fuck.” His voice cracks on the curse. Almost sounds like he’ll cry again. “But, you’re the only woman for me.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.” His hand runs down his face. “If we go through with this, I’ll never marry anyone again. Moving on with someone else isn’t even an option.”
If.
So there is a chance to fix this.
You blink back a few tears, but you’re not sure if you ever did stop crying.
“Why’re we getting divorced, Satoru?”
His posture changes, his spine stiffening as the rest of his body stills. You’re not surprised when he doesn’t answer right away.
“You were the one who wanted one.”
“Satoru,” you whisper his name. “You said it was over for a while when I asked. So, why?”
He’s avoiding eye contact. He looks uncomfortable—almost small—which is so unlike him it makes your chest ache. Once again, he doesn’t answer. Your quick-witted, “always has something to say” husband, is at a loss for words.
“Was it the incident?” Your mouth curls downward and the memory rises up like bile. It was the worst thing you’ve ever gone through. “Did that make you stop loving me?”
The words have barely left your lips when he flinches—wide eyes snapping up from their usual position on the floor, fixating on your face. He looks horrified.
“No.” It’s the fastest response he’s given you all night. “No way. God—no. Baby, do you actually think that?”
He scoots forward in his seat, hands reaching out before he catches himself and drops them at his sides again.
“I—”
He stands up. Satoru’s always been better at thinking on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m so fucking sorry. I never—never—thought that. I would never stop loving you because of that.”
You stare at him, throat tight. “Then, why? You started working late right after. You’d come home after I’d fall asleep waiting for you, leaving in the morning before I’d wake up. You stopped touching me. You stopped talking to me.”
You swallow, hoping the bob of your throat will pull back the tear in your chest as well.
“You stopped seeing me.”
He breaks.
The sound that leaves his throat is gut wrenching—a sob he tries to swallow but can’t. His knees buckle ever so slightly and he catches himself on the back of the couch, head dropping forward. Hot tears fall on the ashe flooring before he can stop them.
“I thought—” His voice is wrecked. “After my family found out… about the fertility stuff… they started pushing. I don’t know why an airline company needs an heir, but they really wanted one. Every dinner, every meeting, every phone call. They just wouldn’t let it go.”
He drags a shaky hand across his face, desperately swiping away at the tears.
“I thought if I just… gave them enough of my time, enough of my attention, they’d leave you alone. You were already going through so much. The doctors, the tests, the grief. I didn’t want them piling on top of that. I didn’t want them making it worse for you. So I stayed late. I took every meeting. I let them control me. I thought I was protecting you.”
He looks up at you then, eyes red.
“But we stopped talking. You stopped talking to me. And I thought… I thought you resented me. For not being able to be the husband I promised. For not being able to fix it. For not giving you the family we both wanted. I thought you were ashamed of me—of us. So I kept my distance. I thought if I stayed out of your way, you wouldn’t have to see me as a failure.”
You feel something inside you crack wide open.
“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Because I couldn’t have children. I thought you were embarrassed of me and that I wasn’t enough. So I started avoiding you too. Pulled away so you wouldn’t have to pretend. So you wouldn’t have to look at me and remember what I couldn’t give you.”
His face falls. And in a second he’s crossing the room over to you, kneeling in front of you as his arms engulf your body, crushing you to his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out against your hair.
You’d hug him back if you could.
“I’m so fucking sorry. I never stopped loving you, not once. Not even for a second. You’re still everything. Okay? You’re still all I want. Kids—or no kids.”
You let out a sob against him, but despite that you’re smiling.
“I just…” he continues. “I fucked up. I thought I was protecting you, but I ended up breaking us.”
You cling to him, fingers digging into the back of his shirt now that his grip on you has loosened.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” you mumble against him. “I thought if I let go first, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you finally did.”
He pulls back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the hot tears on your skin.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice finally steadying. “Not without you at least.”
A wet, shaky laugh escapes you.
He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he’s been starving for you.
“Can I come home now, baby?” he asks, closing his eyes.
You nod, bring your hands up to cup his face in return.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Come home.”
The words barely leave your mouth before his lips find yours.
It starts soft, like he’s testing whether this is real or if he’ll wake up alone again.
But the second your fingers slide into his hair and tug gently, something in him breaks open. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue and months of longing. Suddenly his hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to press hot palms to bare skin, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left.
You gasp into his mouth when he lifts you without warning, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He walks backward, never breaking the kiss, navigating the hallway by memory alone. You feel the wall at your back for a second. His body pins you there while he kisses you deeper, slower.
“Bedroom,” you manage to breathe against his lips.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He carries you the rest of the way, kicking the half-open door wider with his foot. The room is dim, lit only by the hallway light spilling in, and the open suitcase on the floor catches his eye immediately.
He stops short, still holding you up, and lets out a soft, startled laugh against your mouth.
You pull back just enough to follow his gaze.
“Oh,” you say, cheeks heating. “I… was kind of in the middle of packing your stuff.”
He laughs again. “You were doing a shit job of it,” he murmurs, nodding at the suitcase. “You packed my favorite sweater. The one you always steal.”
“I was going to burn it,” you lie, lips twitching despite yourself.
“Liar.” He kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Shut up,” you mutter. You tug at his shirt, impatient now. “Put me down.”
He does—slowly, letting you slide down his body until your feet touch the floor. Then he’s backing you toward the bed, hands already working the hem of your hoodie up and over your head. It hits the suitcase with a soft thud.
You push his shirt up next, palms greedy against the warm, familiar planes of his chest, the faint scars you’ve traced a thousand times. He helps you yank it off, tossing it somewhere behind him—probably onto the growing pile of things you were supposed to be getting rid of.
When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he follows you down, catching himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.
He pauses there, hovering just above you, blue eyes searching yours.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.
You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer until your lips brush his.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper.
His lips find yours again, softer this time but just as urgent. It’s slow and deep, your tongues sliding together in a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans against your mouth.
He breaks away only long enough to breathe your name.
Your hands cup his face in response, pulling him back down to you.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, the hinge of your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your head back instinctively, giving him more access, and he takes it greedily. Open-mouthed kisses trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing lightly, then soothing with his tongue.
His lips drag their way across your collarbone, down toward the valley between your breasts. He pauses there, nose brushing your skin, inhaling like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before cupping them gently, reverently. He kisses one nipple, then the other, slow swirls of his tongue until they harden under the wet heat of his mouth.
You arch into him, a soft whimper escaping before you can stop it.
“Missed the sounds you make,” he murmurs. “Missed every single one.”
He keeps going.
“Toru…” you mumble.
He kisses down the soft plane of your stomach, lingering over the faint scar from the surgery years ago—the one that changed everything. He presses his lips there deliberately.
Your breath catches.
He looks up at you then, holding your gaze as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your legs. You lift your hips to help him; he tosses the fabric somewhere behind him without looking.
Then he settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open, hands sliding under your hips to lift you just enough that he can get the angle he wants.
“Give me all of you, baby,” he says, placing a kiss on the fleshy part of your thigh.
Then another, on the other side.
His breath is hot over where you need him most. You squirm, your hips lifting toward him—he backs away and you whine in response.
“Patience, sweets,” he murmurs against your inner thigh. “Been touching myself to the thought of this pussy for over a year now. Gonna take my time.”
You shake your head, pushing yourself into the pillow behind you.
“Please,” you plead. Your hands come up, attempting to push him downwards.
“Use your words, sweets,” he resists. “What do you want?”
“You.”
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve teased you more. But that was all it took for him to place a soft, wet kiss on your clit.
Then his tongue licks a sow strip up your center.
Your back lifts off the bed as a broken moan tears out of you.
His hands move to lightly grip your wrists, bringing them down to the base of your stomach as his head inches away from you.
“Spread yourself open for me, m’kay?” he says, breath ghosting against your folds.
You nod, your fingers finding your pussy and pulling apart.
His arms hook back under your legs, and his mouth is back on you.
He groans at the taste of you, like he’s finally getting something he’s been starving for. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you as he dives in properly—lips closing around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, tongue flicking in relentless circles.
He alternates between slow licks and quick, fluttering flicks against your clit.
He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right. He remembers the exact spot that makes your head go empty.
You clench around his digits, and he moans in response, the vibrations driving you closer to the edge.
“Satoru—” Your voice cracks on his name.
He keeps working you with his mouth and fingers until your thighs are trembling around his head and your hips are grinding against his face without shame.
“That’s it,” he says. It comes out muffled, his mouth against your pussy. “Ride my face.”
Your hands move from their earlier position, once again finding their way threaded into his hair.
“Satoru,” you breathe. “So close.”
“Cum for me,” he rasps against you, voice wrecked. “Please, baby. Let me feel you. Let me have this.”
That undoes you.
You cum hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair to pull him up.
He crawls back up your body, kissing every inch of skin he passes, until he’s hovering over you again. His lips are shiny, chin wet, eyes glassy.
He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You break the kiss first, breathing hard, and push at his shoulders.
“My turn,” you murmur.
He blinks. “Baby—”
You don’t let him finish. You hook a leg around his and roll, flipping him onto his back beneath you. The mattress dips under his weight; he lands with a soft huff of surprise, white hair fanning across the pillow.
He looks up at you.
“You don’t have to—” he starts,one hand coming up like he’s going to stop you.
You lean down and kiss him quiet. When you pull back, you press your palm to his lips.
“Shut up, Satoru.”
He exhales a shaky laugh against hand. “Bossy,” he tries to say but it comes out muffled.
You smile and slide down his body.
You take your time, mirroring the way he did with you. His hands fist the sheets when you drag your mouth over his chest, tongue circling one flat nipple, then the other. He hisses, hips jerking once.
Lower.
You trace the faint lines of muscle on his stomach with open-mouthed kisses, feeling the way he tenses under your lips. When you reach his hips, you slow even more. You place teasing licks along the sensitive skin, teeth grazing.
He’s hard—painfully so—curved up against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. You wrap your fingers around him, slow stroke from base to head, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of precum. He groans, head tipping back into the pillow.
“Fuck—baby—”
You don’t answer with words.
You lean down and take him into your mouth—slow at first, just the head, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hips buck; you press a hand to his thigh to hold him still. Then you sink lower, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you slide back up, tongue pressing flat along the underside.
He curses, fingers threading into your hair.
You set a rhythm. Sucking him deep, then pulling back to tease the tip with flicks of your tongue.
Every time you take him to the back of your throat, he makes a sound that goes straight between your legs: moans, pleas, your name broken into syllables.
“Look at me,” you murmur against him, pulling off just long enough to speak. Your lips are swollen, shiny with spit and him.
His eyes snap to yours. He looks wrecked—completely at your mercy.
You hold his gaze as you take him deep again until your nose brushes his pelvis. His whole body locks up; a tremor runs through him.
“Fuck—fuck—sweetheart—”
You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again. You pull back, stroking the bottom half of him with your hand while your tongue works the head in quick, filthy circles. Then you sink down once more, faster this time.
His breathing turns ragged. The hand in your hair tightens.
“I’m—baby, I’m close—”
You take him deeper, letting him feel every slide of your tongue, every suction.
When he cums, your name is torn out of him like a confession.
Hot cum spills over your tongue; you swallow everything, milking him through it until he’s shaking and oversensitive.
You pull off slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to the head before crawling back up his body.
He’s panting, flushed from chest to cheeks/
You settle over him, straddling his hips, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you down until your chests are pressed together.
He kisses you—slow and tasting himself on your tongue without hesitation.
When he pulls back, his voice is wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me one day,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’m gonna die happy.”
You laugh and rest your forehead against his.
“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
He rolls you under him again in one fluid motion, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other drags down the center of your body. His mouth follows the path: biting kisses along your throat, sucking into the soft skin below your collarbone.
You’re gasping his name, begging for more.
“Say it again,” he says. “Tell me I’m home.”
“You’re home,” you breathe. “You’re so fucking home.”
He places a soft kiss under your breast, letting his mouth linger for a second before something in him snaps.
He releases your wrists only to flip you onto your stomach in a single rough movement. You barely have time to brace on your forearms before he’s yanking your hips up, knees spread wide, ass in the air. One big hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pinned to the mattress while the other spreads you open—fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, holding you exactly where he wants.
“Look at you,” he mutters. “Still dripping for me. Still so fucking wet after I already ate you out.”
You whimper, pushing back against his palm. “Satoru—please—”
He doesn’t tease this time. You feel the head of his cock rub against your folds.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then, he lines himself up and slams into you, no warning. The stretch burns so good your vision whites out for a second. You cry out, but the sound comes out muffled into the sheets.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in harder, setting a rhythm with the way the headboard slams against the wall.
“Fuck, so tight,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Missed this pussy so much. Missed my pussy so much.”
His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in the roots of your hair. He yanks your head back enough to arch your back deeper, changing the angle so he hits that spot inside you with every stroke.
You scream, nails clawing at the sheets.
“That’s it,” he pants, hips snapping forward. “Scream for me, baby. Let the whole fucking neighbourhood know how good you feel.”
He reaches around, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles while he fucks into you. The dual sensation is too much; your thighs shake, your whole body locks up.
“Gonna cum,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Satoru—fuck—I’m—”
“Cum baby.” His teeth graze the shell of your ear. “Cum all over my cock. Milk me. Show me how much you missed this dick.”
Before you can say anything else, your vision spots black, a gush of wet heat soaking his thighs as you convulse around him. He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it until you’re oversensitive and whimpering and trying to crawl away.
He doesn’t let you.
He flips you onto your back again, hooks your legs over his shoulders, folds you in half until your knees are by your ears. The new angle is devastating and you can feel the pull in your hamstrings—he bottoms out so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.
“Look at me,” he orders.
Your eyes flutter open.
He slows and it feels almost torturous. Long, dragging thrusts that let you feel every thick inch sliding in and out of you.
“Say you’re mine,” he demands, thumb pressing hard against your clit again, rubbing it in small circles.
“I’m yours,” you sob, small tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “Always yours. Only yours.”
He groans and picks up speed again, pounding into you so hard the bedframe creaks like it might break.
“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel me for days. Gonna mark you inside and out so you never forget who you belong to.”
“Yes—please—Satoru—”
He slams in one last time and cums with a relieving moan. His hot, thick cum floods inside of you, triggering another smaller orgasm that has you clenching even harder around him,
He keeps rocking into you through both your highs, smearing everything between you.
He collapses half on top of you, still inside, cock still twitching. His forehead drops to yours.
You’re both shaking.
He presses his lips to yours.
“More?” he whispers against your lips.
You nod, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
“Please.”
He rolls you both once more—still half inside you—until you’re straddling his hips again. His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles over the sensitive skin.
You brace your palms on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath your fingers, and start to move.
Slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down so he feels you clenching around him. He’s already thickening again, stretching you open.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back into the pillow. “Just like that, baby. Use me.”
You pick up the pace—lifting and dropping. Your thighs burn, but you keep going.
His hands slide up to grip your waist, guiding you harder and deeper, until you’re bouncing on him with wet, filthy slaps of skin on skin.
He watches you the whole time—eyes flicking between your face, your tits swaying with every thrust, the way your stomach tenses when you grind your clit against his pelvis.
“Gotta be dreaming,” he pants, voice wrecked but teasing. “Gonna wake up tomorrow and you’ll be gone again. Just me, alone, jerking off to the memory of this—”
You stop moving.
He knows he’s in trouble.
“Too soon?” he tries to laugh it off.
His eyes widen for half a second before you rear back and slap him across the face. Not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough that the sound is present.
The room goes still. And you realize what you’ve done.
Then his cock twitches violently inside you.
He turns back slowly, eyes blown black, pupils swallowing the blue. His tongue darts out, licking the corner of his mouth like he’s tasting the sting.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice dropping an octave. “Do that again.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Heat floods your core.
You slap him once more—lighter this time. His hips buck up hard, making you gasp.
“Harder,” he growls, fingers digging into your hips so tight that he won’t be the only one with bruises tomorrow. “Fucking mark me, baby. Make sure I know this is real.”
You do.
Another slap. His moan is broken. His cock throbs inside you, leaking steadily now.
You lean down, bracing one hand beside his head, the other gripping his jaw to force his eyes on yours.
“This is real,” you hiss, rolling your hips. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m not waking up alone. You’re gonna cum inside me again, and tomorrow we’re seeing our lawyers and telling them this—the divorce—is not happening.”
Satoru nods, surging up, arms banding around your waist, flipping you so you’re still on top but he’s sitting up now. You’re chest to chest, mouths crashing together in a messy, desperate kiss. He thrusts up into you hard, using his grip on your hips to slam you down onto every brutal stroke.
You claw at his shoulders, nails leaving red trails down his back. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting.
“Gonna fill you up again,” he pants against your mouth. “Gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leaking me for days. Gonna breed this pretty pussy until you can’t think about anything but me inside you.”.
You grind down harder, clit rubbing against him with every thrust.
“Cum with me,” you beg.
He buries his face in your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin there as he slams up one last time.
He cums with a choked groan, hot and thick, pulsing inside you in long, endless spurts. The sensation tips you over—your orgasm crashes through you, walls fluttering and squeezing around him, milking every drop while you shake and sob his name into his shoulder.
He doesn’t pull out.
He holds you there, still seated deep, arms locked around you
You stay like that until your breathing evens out and the room smells like sex.
Eventually, you slump onto him, falling asleep.
It’s a little over two months later, and you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re barefoot in the kitchen, still in the pajamas you put on last night—shorts and an oversized shirt that was Satoru’s in college.
The clock on the wall reads 2:17 p.m., and your breakfast (which is really just iced coffee and a cinnamon bun from Satoru’s stash in the fridge) sits hardly touched on the island. Sunlight pours in through the floor-to-cieling windows, warming the room naturally.
The divorce papers were shredded and burned in the backyard a week after you and Satoru got back together. He moved back in the next night.
Your marriage has never felt stronger. Sure, the scars of the past are still there, but you both talk until one in the morning, fuck until three, and fall asleep tangeled in eachothers limbs like no time had passed at all.
You’re so caught up in it all that you don’t hear the front door open or his briefcase hit the floor.
You don’t hear his footsteps as his long legs carry him through the house. Not until his arms are suddenly around your waist and you’re being lifted clean off the ground in a spin that makes you shriek and dissolve into helpless giggles.
“Hey! Toru—put me down.”
Instead, you feel the cold of the countertop against the backs of your thighs as he places you down and settles between your legs. His face finds the crook of your neck/
“Missed you,” he mumbles against your skin.
His arms stay looped around, chin hooked over your shoulder as your hands find their place on his back.
You twist just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re home early.”
“Left after my meetings,” he says, pulling back to look at your face. His hands slide down and still when they reach your thighs. “Kept thinking about you in these little shorts. Made it hard to stay focused.”
You roll your eyes, but you feel the heat creep up your cheeks anyway.
He goes quiet for a second. His hold on you tightens, and you can feel the shift in his energy before he even speaks.
“Hey,” he moves back a smidge. “Can we talk about something?”
You use the space to slide off the counter.
“You’re not thinking of divorcing me again, are you?”
He chuckles in defense, hands cupping your face, and his lips planting a small, wet kiss on your forehead. “No, baby. Never.”
His expression returns serious.
“I know we talked about it. About… kids. Or not having them. About it just being us…” He trails off.
You nod slowly, pressing your back up against the counter. “We did. And I meant it. I’m happy, Satoru. Really happy.”
“I know,” he swallows. “I know you are—and I am too. But… there’s something I need to ask you. And I’ve been thinking about it for a while.
He takes your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles.
“One of my mechanics, Toji, got sick a while back.”
His eyes start to wander. He’s nervous.
You realize. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
He nods, jaw tight. “He was a good guy.” He’s silent for a few seconds before continuing. “But, he came from a really bad family. He left behind a kid, and I’ve been visiting him at the group home they placed him in.”
He pauses, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are laced with his.
“I can’t leave him there. Not with the family that’s trying to get custody just so they can collect whatever benefits come with him. He’s… he’s a good kid, baby. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s thoughtful. He loves animals. Reads too much. Reminds me of—” He stops, laughs once. “Reminds me of myself, a little.”
You squeeze his hands. “Satoru…”
“I know we said no kids,” he continues quickly, like he’s afraid you’ll stop him. “I know we were okay with it being just us, but I also know how badly you wanted to be a mother. And if you say no—if this is too much, too soon—I’ll respect it and I’ll figure something else out. But… I can’t stop thinking about him. And I can’t stop thinking about what it would look like if he had a real home. With us. With you.”
He finally meets your eyes again.
“I want to take him in. I want us to take him in. If you’ll have him. If you’ll have this.”
Tears prick your eyes, but they’re good ones this time.
You step closer, rise on your toes, and kiss him.
“Yes,” you whisper against his lips. “Yes. Let’s take him in.”
His breath catches. His arms tighten around you like he’s afraid you’ll take it back.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.” You pull back just enough to see his face. “I want to meet him.”
Satoru exhales—shaky and relieved—and drops his forehead to yours.
“Thank you,” he says, voice thick. “God—baby—thank you.”
You smile through the tears. “When can we meet him?”
“Tomorrow?” he asks, almost shy. “I told him I might bring someone special. He… he didn’t say much, but he didn’t say no.”
You laugh softly, brushing your thumbs under his eyes where they’re suspiciously shiny.
“Tomorrow,” you agree. “Bring him home.”
He kisses you again and when he pulls back he’s smiling.
“I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“I love you too.”
The conference room at the law firm smells funky.
You sit at the long polished table with Satoru on your left, Megumi on your right. The boy is quiet as always—dark hair falling into his eyes, hands folded in his lap, school uniform still on because he insisted on coming straight from class. He hasn’t said much since you picked him up, but every now and then his knee bumps yours under the table.
Satoru’s hand rests on the back of your chair, thumb brushing slow circles against your shoulder blade through your blouse. He’s in a charcoal suit today.
Megumi’s file sits open in front of the empty chair across from you.
The door opens.
You look up.
And your stomach drops.
Hiromi Higuruma steps in, briefcase in one hand, tablet in the other. He’s in a sharp navy suit, glasses perched on his nose, hair neatly combed back the way it was that night in the bar. He hasn’t changed much.
He pauses when he sees you.
Just for a second.
Long enough for recognition to flicker across his face, quick and private, before his expression smooths into professional neutrality.
“Good afternoon,” he says, voice calm and even. “I’m Higuruma. I’ll be handling your finalization today.”
He sets his things down, takes the seat across from you, and opens the file.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo,” he says, voice calm and measured. “And this must be Megumi.”
Megumi gives a small nod.
“Everything’s in order. The home study cleared last month, the background checks are complete, guardianship papers from the state are signed off. We’re just here to execute the consent forms, witness the affidavits, and file with the court. Should be straightforward.”
Hiromi clears his throat and slides the first document toward Satoru.
“If you’ll both review and sign where highlighted. Megumi—” He softens his tone, addressing the boy directly. “You don’t have to sign anything today. But the court will want to speak with you next week. Just to make sure this is what you want.”
Megumi looks up at him, then at you, then at Satoru.
“I want to stay,” he says quietly, looking down like he doesn’t want to admit it.
“Yeah,” Satoru says. “We want that too, kid.”
You squeeze Megumi’s hand. He squeezes back.
Hiromi nods once, expression unreadable, and passes you the next set of papers.
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of legalese and signatures. Satoru signs with his usual flourish. You sign with careful, deliberate strokes. Megumi watches everything with wide eyes.
When the last page is done, Hiromi gathers the documents and stands.
“I’ll file these this afternoon,” he says. “You should receive confirmation from the court within ten business days. Congratulations.”
He hesitates, then looks at you again.
“It’s good to see you again,” he says quietly.
You press your lips into a thin smile and bid him farewell. Then Hiromi is gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Satoru exhales, then pushes his own chair back, rising.
“So,” he says, grin sliding back into place. “Ice cream to celebrate? Or straight to the arcade?”
Megumi rolls his eyes, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
“Ice cream first,” he decides.
You laugh, standing, scoping Megumi up from his seat beside you.
“Ice cream first,” you agree.
And the three of you walk out of the lawyer’s office together. As a family.
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT
ok so i basically wrote the majority of this on a plane on my phone, i tried to fix most of the typos and stuff but i got lazy el oh el! ive been working on this for like more than a month so i rlyyyy hope u guys liked it :p this is also based on the song by zayne okay bye
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ the heartbreak bet⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ | chapter 3: bookworm
[about] sorority girls hate fraternity boys, it's the natural cycle of the world. they think all brothers are nasty scum, who are incapable of love. cue ryomen sukuna and his heartless reputation. if he can make you fall in love with him and not just his dick, then the frat wins. only, you're making it a little tricky.
[tags] unprotectd sex, cream pie, praise, degradation, exhibitionism, car sex, blowjobs, friends with benefits dynamics, toxic greek life, sukuna is a jerk, frat! kuna, hockey player! sukuna, nerd! reader, bet romance, ending uncertain, choking, a little bit of name calling, not a lot of aftercare, toxic people in general, reader has a bit of anxiety, smut, humour, angst if you squint
a/n: this chapter was a little shorter than i would've liked and probably is filled with lots of spelling mistakes...plz ignore! thank you to everyone that reads and comments it makes my day! also check out the playlist and the pinterest board i made for this fic!
wc: 11.9k
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the car ride felt strikingly uncomfortable at first, which was odd considering sukuna had seen you naked on two separate occasions—but maybe that was what was causing the tension to brew in the first place.
he had guided you to his run down vehicle which had been parked carefully in the back of the frat house, a university parking pass hanging from the rearview mirror.
it was a dark turquoise colour—like a lake that had that weird dye in it. the car was decorated with a few dents in the fender and a handful of scratches along the side—you liked to think some vindictive ex-fling had left those there in an act of defiance. yet, you reasoned that it was probably the result of drunk frat-related shenanigans. the car was still functioning, though, and having a car in university was the epitome of practicality.
the radio hummed lowly, his window slightly open, the quiet whistling of the wind filling the car as he drove silently. he had the GPS open on his phone, and occasionally it’s voice popped in to give him a batch of directions.
you kept your hands in your lap, thinking about the large lumpy equipment bag he had jammed in the backseat. you wondered how he possibly could’ve been carrying all that—you could practically fit inside of it, yet he carried it with ease.
maybe you should’ve asked him something about hockey—surely he’d like that—or even something related to the frat. the options swirled through your mind, and the more you thought about them, the more fidgety you seemed to get, twisting your fingers anxiously.
“so,” he broke the quiet atmosphere first, as if picking up on the way your mind was racing. “how are your classes going?”
the question was simple enough, although, you were almost positive he had already asked you this last night. plus, you didn’t miss the way there seemed to be a hint of displeasure in his tone. you gulped, trying to ignore it. hoping that he just was trying to make some kind of small talk.
“they’re okay.” you knew it was a plain response, but you didn’t know what else to say. there was still a swelling in your heart, thinking that in the last fourty-eight hours, you’d cum more than you had in the past year alone. “i’m liking most of them so far.”
“that’s good,” sukuna responded, followed by another round of silence.
“what about your classes?” you started, “are you enjoying them?”
he first responded by sighing, as if he had been holding onto his breath for a long while. his eyes remained fixed on the ground, grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“not really.” his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth and you could see his jaw locking. “but it’s whatever.”
“oh,” you replied, voice soft. you didn’t really know how to respond to it—because on one hand, you didn’t want to pry into his life, knowing he probably couldn’t care less about small talk. still, anything was better than the awkward silence that had been engulfing you. so, you asked: “are you at least looking forward to the hockey season?”
he hummed, looking over at you momentarily before speaking: “yeah. ‘team looks promising. we sighed some pretty talented rookies”
you smiled gently at his comment, somewhat happy to hear that—even though you didn’t have anything invested in the sport, it was nice to hear that the university’s team was doing well. you thought about the offer he made to you, about seeing one of his games, and you quickly looked away from him, trying not to feel embarrassed. he probably didn’t even remember bringing it up to you, it was probably just a drunk promise, one that didn’t mean anything at all.
“that’s nice,” you responded quietly. you didn’t know much about the sport, trying to think of the little facts you knew that could maybe add to the conversation. yet, nothing came up, and you could feel a lump forming in your throat.
“yeah.” he stopped for a beat, slowing down at a traffic light, awkwardly tapping his thumb against the wheel. “i think we’re gonna win our division again this year.”
“oh,” you sounded a little more cheerful. “you won last year?”
it was a little embarrassing to admit that you didn’t follow any sports, especially the ones at the university. most students took pride in having successful sports teams, but the thought of their wins never crossed your mind before you met sukuna.
“yup,” he nodded, “and the year before that.”
his voice was distant, like his brain was an autopilot, like the majority of his attention was being put elsewhere.
at the stop sign, turn left. the GPS sounded off, giving sukuna directions.
“so you guys must practice a lot, then.” he nodded, and you felt your lips press together. “how many days a week do you practice?”
“depends,” he said while shrugging. “pre-season it’s maybe two times a week, during season it’s goes up to five times a week. mostly depends on coach’s mood.”
“wow, that’s a lot, when do you have time for school work?” your comment seemed to make his jaw clench.
“i find time,” he replied, fingers twisting around the steering wheel, gripping it a little tighter.
“right.” you nodded off, feeling the weight of the silence even more. you wondered if he was going to ask you anything in return, or if the rest of the ride was either going to be spent in excruciating silence or with awkward, one-sided chit-chat.
“so, are you from around here originally?” you ask—decided on the latter. by around here he knows you meant the city in which your university is situated. most people you had met were from the area—maybe an hour away at most, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he was. you tried to read his expression, to guess what he was going to say next, waiting for him to say something.
“kind of,” he replied. twisting his lips slightly. it was as if he was trying to think the best way to explain his situation. “i live like thirty minutes away—it’s technically a part of the city, but it’s kind of suburban, so it doesn’t feel like it.”
“that makes sense,” you hummed, thinking about what a guy like sukuna was doing in the suburban outskirts. he looked like he grew up used to a big city—like he knew how to blend in even when he quite obviously stood out.
you tried to picture him as a little, scruffy kid, running around neighbourhoods—making with a beat up bike—causing trouble with the other kids. maybe he’d be covered in bandaids and pavement scrapes—or maybe he wasn’t a troublemaker at all, maybe he was a goody-two shoes going around in the winter, offering to shovel driveways—
“what about you?” his question abruptly cut off your speculative thoughts.
blinking back into reality, you looked at him like you were still trying to process what he had asked.
“oh, i live maybe about three hours away,” you shrugged, tugging at the seatbelt gently. you kept your eyes focused on the road ahead, feeling how sukuna had turned his head to peek over at you. you told him the city name and he nodded, recognizing it.
“do you go home often?” he inquired, a little bit more invested in what you had to say. it was something people often asked when they heard your hometown was so far away—that didn’t mean that you didn’t squirm a little at his question, feeling a bit of pressure to give a good, amiable answer.
“not as much as i want to,” you mentioned quietly. “i usually have a lot of work to catch up on, so going home for the weekend is a little tough, especially since the train ride is more like five hours. my parents come up to visit sometimes.”
you didn’t mention, though, how they always come up separately. he doesn’t need to know that—to get looped into all the drama in your life. you just met the guy, afterall—the last thing you want is to drive his dick away because of all the chaos.
“no siblings?” he followed up to your reply, and it felt like the conversation had found a familiar rhythm.
you shook your head, “nope. not unless you count a cat.”
sukuna snorted, shaking his head, as if to say ‘cat’s don’t count.’ he didn’t offer up any sort of quip, though. you adjusted your glasses and tried to keep up with the flow that had been sparked, hoping not to invade on his privacy too much.
“do you have siblings?” once again, your mind started to wander off, trying to imagine his siblings. you imagined a younger sister, with the same pink hair, only completely opposite personality—bubbiling, warm, charismatic. sukuna would definitely be the protective type—never to let a little sister get shoved around on the playground, and be the type to scold boys away from her, remind her that she wasn’t allowed to date until she was 30.
“i’ve got a brother,” he said haphazardly, and a little bit begrudgingly, which made you completely shift the image you had painted in your head. you thought of a guy, maybe close in age, his hair a little bit different, maybe the same colour except a styled more professionally. or maybe he was just like sukuna—maybe even more tattooed, hair buzzed, tongue pierced. maybe he was the one to convince sukuna to get his own tattoos. your imagination went on and on, almost missing the next point that he added: “twin brother, actually.”
“oh,” there was a sense of surprise lingering in your tone—not getting a chance to properly envision what a carbon copy of sukuna might’ve looked like. “is he in university too?”
he tilted his head to the side, like he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. “he’s taking some online courses, but he mostly helps out at our family’s restaurant.”
you nodded along with the information sukuna was sharing with you, trying to make a note of everything he told you. for someone who didn’t seem like the type to crawl out of their shell, he seemed to be getting awfully comfortable.
what you couldn’t read, though, was the thoughts circling through his mind. his look was neutral, hard, fixed on the drive. you would never have guessed that he was forcing his mind to come up with answers, or that he was pushing himself to actually make small talk.
he thought about the bet, and how he would’ve never cared to know any of this about a girl normally. he wished he could just let the time pass and show up at your place in a snap—to avoid the dreary feeling of being stuck in a conversation. it didn’t help that you lived further away than he expected.
“that’s nice.” your fingers tapped against your thighs. “do you help out at the restaurant?”
he nodded, scratching his face while his mind wandered a little bit. he didn’t like thinking about his family when he wasn’t around them, especially when he hadn’t spoken to his brother in a while.
“yeah, over the summer i help out when i can,” he stated, “or when we’re on break i usually go down—the tips are pretty good.”
“i get it,” you thought about the diner—how the tips seemed to be higher than your actual wage. you tried thinking about how to keep the conversation going without seeming like you were trying to pry. you asked him: “what kind of food do you guys sell?”
“it’s traditional japanese,” he informed you, and you let your mind rack over all the traditional meals you knew. slowly, you nodded, forming a simple smile against your lips.
“sounds tasty,” you hummed, watching the way he turned up the radio slightly when a new song came on , indicating he was a fan of it—you hoped that was the case at least, and he wasn’t trying to drown out the sound of you talking. “are you and your brother eventually going to run the restaurant?”
sukuna sighed, “yeah, i guess so.”
he had tensed up, you could tell by the way he was holding onto the steering wheel, with the whites of his knuckles popping out, his jaw locking in place. you somewhat wanted him to open up a little bit, so that it wouldn’t be just you blabbering his ear off.
“i think my brother wants to run it more than me, but it’s the main reason i’m getting a business degree,” he explained in a low and somber tone. there was obviously more to what he was saying, that much was evident. but how much was he willing to divulge in with you? probably not much, as he turned his face away as you approached a red light. his hand quickly came up and rubbed his tired eyes.
you had to think on your feet—to salvage what was the first long conversation you and him had actually held. without too much time to contemplate your words, you blurted out:
“does your frat have parties often?” the switch up in conversation make you cringe, doubting your ability to socialize properly. you hoped he couldn’t sense the tense tone lingering in your voice.
“yeah,” sukuna said cooly, “usually it’s two per week, but it depends too on when the other frats are hosting—it’s the big thing they make out of it, but the most we’ve ever hosted is like thursday, friday, saturday and sunday straight.”
your eyes went a little wide at hearing that, trying to do calculations in your head—trying to piece together when on earth the man next to you had any free time whatsoever. maybe it would be harder than you anticipated to be friends with benefits, especially since he was so busy.
“why? you wanna come to the next one?” he flashed you a cheeky smile, leaning back into the car seat.
“no,” you muttered under your breath, crossing your arms. it would probably be close to impossible to try to squeeze in another party into your already busy schedule—the more the semester progressed the more stressful it would be. “just curious.”
“right,” he hummed, not really buying it. you gulped, watching the cars pass in front of you. “if you ever wanna come to one, just text me, i’ll make sure you don’t have to pay a cover or anything—should be fine, though. girls don’t usually gotta pay.”
“okay,” you responded with uncertainty. one party felt like enough, especially since you had landed yourself a new fuckbudy, parties didn’t seem to have a point. you made your opinion on that known to him: “i’m not a big party person.”
“no shit,” he laughed at your comment. his eyes scanned over you for a second, before turning back to the road ahead of him: “i can tell—you look like a lightweight.”
“what’s that supposed to mean?” you weren’t trying to sound pouty, but it was inevitable. your face flipped into a deep frown, lip jutting out ever so slightly. your gaze narrowed on him, tilting your head to the side.
“don’t worry about it, babe, it’s just a joke.” he laughed.
you were taken aback by the petname. this was only, what? your third conversation and you’d already earned the title of babe. it made you stop for a second—did he let it slip by accident? was it purposeful? what did he mean by that? did he call every girl babe?
all you knew for certain was that you didn’t like how it made you feel—your stomach cringed, practically keeling over and flinching at the sound of it. you couldn’t just let him keep teasing you, using these intimate names without a single comeback.
your lips pressed together, wondering if what you were going to say would even remotely funny whatsoever, or if it would result in an even bigger cringe.
“well you look like you’ve got, um, cirrhosis.” you raised your eyebrows with a nod, in disbelief that you even said that—and judging by his reaction, the joke clearly went over his head.
“i don’t get it.” his tone made you want to sink into the carseat and to never be seen again. he was definitely going to think you were weird now, if he didn’t already think that.
you scratched the back of your head, avoid eye contact at all costs, muttering: “nevermind.”
the embarrassment was lingering like a bad cold, and you wrapped your arms over your stomach as if trying to ease the pain of your shame. it’s what you get for trying to be funny—clearly he didn’t get it. you wanted nothing more than to slam your head against the dashboard of his car as a self-punishment for being so awkward.
“okay, well, did you at least have a good time at the one party you did go to?”
there was a a shit-eating grin lining his lips, which made you recognize right away what he was getting at—he wasn’t asking about the music or the alcohol, he was thinking about how he practically fucked you into his mattress. the answer to his question, then, should’ve been obvious.
he took your lack of response and flustered face as enough of a reply. sukuna let out another dry chuckle. he shook his head as if he couldn’t get enough of teasing you, asking one more question:
“so was the only reason you came out last night to get laid? or did it just work out conveniently?” you didn’t know if he was trying to tease you more, or to make the embarrassment you were already feeling spread to your entire organism.
you bit your lip, feeling flustered at the interrogation behind held. you crossed your arms over your chest defensively, feeling the way the car seat felt a whole lot tighter—the sides of the car starting to slowly impede on you.
“the second one.” merge into the right lane, then at the lights, turn right. you used the sound of the GPS to collect your thoughts, trying to fight the pout that had parted to form on your lips. “it’s not easy to get laid, though. it’s a lot of work.”
sukuna wanted to laugh out loud—it was almost cute how worked-up these things made you, and he wondered what was going on in that mind of yours, always seeming to curl in on yourself, trying to defend every breath you took. he thought about outright teasing you, but he noticed with the way you were fidgeting in the passenger seat that teasing was not the way to your heart. yet, he couldn’t resist himself—it was in his nature to be a bit of jerk, and he couldn’t stop the words from rolling out of his mouth.
“mhm, tell me about it.” his voice was laced with sarcasm, and he thought it was obvious. only, judging by the frown on your face that only grew bigger, you hadn’t picked up on it. he straightened his posture, watching how you seemed to be formulating another question in your mind.
“it’s hard for you, too? how many people have you slept with?” it felt like a weird thing to ask, but you were curious, and judging by the way he slightly tensed up, you realized maybe that wasn’t something to ask a person you barely knew.
it was like you couldn’t believe that he was having trouble finding sex—built like he’d been sculpted and brought to life by aphrodite herself. the way his body seemed to move, he obviously knew what he was going. he knew how to look at you just right to make you gush. was he joking? were you that dense that you couldn’t pick up on some low grade humor? your stomach started to churn thinking of how badly you might’ve read the situation, and it was only made worse after seeing his reaction.
sukuna snorted, shaking his head.
“what are we playing twenty-questions or something?” another joke, great, you didn’t think his teasing would still make you feel so shy. you should’ve been used to it by now, and remembering what the guy who opened the door said—he’s an oaf.
you shrugged, trying not to seem too worked up, replying cooly: “well aren’t we friends with benefits… just thought we should know each other a little better? you were asking questions too…”
biting your lip, you realized that maybe he didn’t necessarily want to be friends.
only, he let out a burst of laughter, shaking his head playfully. you didn’t realize this was all so amusing to him, yet, there you were—at his mercy.
“i guess we are friends,” he said, pausing to think about how to respond. your heart thumped waiting to hear. “i don’t remember. maybe fourteen… maybe fifteen girls.”
his voice seemed to get a little pitchier, as if he was lying about the total. you wondered how many it actually was, considering he thought it was necessary to give you a fake number—that for some, was already high. either way, it didn’t bother you—in many ways it was to be expected. he was in a frat, good looking, fit. the only thing that could’ve lost him points was his rigid personality.
“what about you?” his question cut through your train of thought. “how many guys on average does a girl like you sleep with?”
“girl like me?” your head pulled back with a little bit of a snort. your eyes narrowed in on him, trying to understand the game he was playing.
“yeah, y’know?” his evasive tone made you want to smile, even though you knew you shouldn’t. you barely knew him and it clear he was poking fun at you.
the teasing felt friendly, familiar almost, and you didn’t see the harm in playing along. your body had turned to face him better, resting your head on the seat. “what, nerdy?”
“that.”
you didn’t know if you should’ve been offended by that, or if he was simply just being descriptive. sure, he had slept with you, and had even agreed to your fuck buddy, surely he didn’t have a grudge against nerds, right?
dirty fucking nerd, his words from earlier rattled through your mind, making your throat go dry.
“three,” you responded simply, “since you’re asking.”
he let out an impressed whistle, a devilish smile pressing against his lips. “wow, and here i thought you mighta been a first timer. is that number including me too?”
you nodded, looking out your window so that he couldn’t take a look at your heated expression. the houses passed by in the distance, allowing you to take your mind off your conversation. the scenery had started to become more and more familiar, and it was obvious that you were getting closer and closer to your apartment complex.
it kinda felt like your time had been cut short.
turn left, and you have arrived at your destination.
the car drove smoothly into the parking lot, and you directed the spot that was meant for your unit. it was near the edge of the lot, covered by a large branch, slotted next to the dumpster. it wasn’t an ideal location, but you didn’t have a car, so it didn’t bug you much.
“thanks, again, for the ride,” you weakly smiled once more, “i know it was a little out of the way.”
“don’t worry about it,” he answered, seemingly in a better mood than he was earlier. it made it easier, you thought, to ask something that had been swelling in your chest.
your eyes darted from his red eyes down to his lap, the way his sweats clung against his thighs—and his crotch. your mouth started to water, thighs pressing together. were you this horny because of how he was teasing you? that was pretty pathetic—but you didn’t care.
you knew his dick was tucked under there, waiting to be unleashed. you blinked a few times, trying to collect your thoughts.
“before i go,” you started, voice trailing off slowly. you looked out the back window, and from the side. no one was around, and no one would see you. directly in front of you was a fence; to your right there was a huge mental dumpster and to your left there was a car that hadn’t been moved since you moved in.
“there’s something i didn’t get to do before—like, at your place.” you shifted in your seat, starting to turn your body towards him ever so slightly.
sukuna, though, didn’t seem to be picking up on these cues right away. he started back at you, tilting his head like a lost puppy. your lips pressed together, wondering just how you were going to say this.
“can, i, um,” you stopped, looking at the time written right above the radio. you didn’t know what time he had to be at the rink, but you figured you shouldn't keep him long. a pang of doubt raced through your mind.
“can you, what?” sukuna asked, a little snappier now.
you gulped, hoping that your shyness hadn’t struck a nerve. you looked at him through our eyelashes, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.
your gaze trailed down to his bulge, to take in the sight of the imprint of his dick. it almost made your mouth water, and you knew if you wanted to get what you were thinking about, you had to ask.
“can i give you a blowjob?” your voice was small, laced with anxiety and fear of rejection.
although, you missed the way his eyes widened, lighting up with surprise. in the past twenty-four hours, he had already cum so much—he wasn’t even sure if he had anything left in him. yet, that didn’t stop him from getting hard. in a matter of seconds his cock was chubbing up under his sweetpants, his horniness not caring that he had to be on the ice soon.
sukuna smirked, snickering lightly: “here i was still thinking you were all innocent—guess i should know better by now.”
his hand reached over to you, strokinging your thigh gently, as if he was trying to pull you closer to him. his other hand subtly reached for the adjusting lever on the side of his seat, tugging himself back ever so carefully, giving you more room to work. he unclipped the seatbelt, shifting back as if it was some kind of pre-game ritual.
you blinked at him, swallowing hard before unbuckling your seatbelt as well. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, sliding your body closer to his, trying to overcome the center console.
looking down, you got a good look at the imprint left by his dick, and you could almost taste it now—the heavy weight of it and the salty precum. it was something that had been simmering on the back of your mind ever since you left the frat house, but you figured now would be a good time to actually let it out.
“shy about some things,” he started, his hand finding the back of your head as if to guide you closer to his crotch, “but you don’t mind sucking dick in a parking lot, huh?”
your fingers hooked under his sweatpants, and you were glad your face was down, so that he couldn’t see the way your face had completely heated up at his comment. no one was around, it was the middle of the day, plus, he was parked in a spot that ensured no one would catch you, right?
sukuna let out another low chuckle, this time, though, the sound went straight to your cunt, relishing in the low timber as his fingers gently scratched your scalp.
he lifted his hips ever so slightly so that you were able to take both his pants and boxers off with ease, exposing him to you. his tip seemed pinker, more flush, like it was still sensitive from before. surely it was—he had already cum so much in the last few hours alone.
and your hypothesis was only confirmed the moment your lips touched his cock. the soft wetness of your plump lips wrapping around his tip made his body bolt forward, and for a moment, sukuna felt like he was a teenager again.
unable to contain himself, the way your tongue licked a stride up his length, starting from the base going all the way up to his tip—his body shivered as he let a low pitched groan escape his lips. he could feel his cock twitching as you kept going, opening your mouth to take him inch by inch.
your hand resting against his thigh to stabilise yourself, feeling him against your tongue and filling up your throat. saliva slipped from you as the muffled sounds of your chokes echoed in the car. you pulled away quickly, gasping slightly for hair.
yet, you didn’t want long before getting back to it—focusing on just his tip; hollowing out your cheeks and sucking him like it was a lollipop.
“shit,” he hissed, gripping the root of your hair, but that didn’t make you stop. no, it only encouraged you further—clearly you were doing something right.
with your free hand, you wrapped your delicate fingers around the base of his cock, pumping up slowly, only removing your mouth tot spit down his length. sukuna tilted his head back in response, shutting his eyes and letting his lips remain parted, deep breaths rolling off his tongue.
you heard when you would’ve never expected from him—a whimper, small but audible leaving his throat like he had lost all sense of restraint. maybe it was just because he was already sensitive, or maybe you were just that good—you liked to believe that it was the latter.
he twitched in your mouth, and you could sense the way his abs tightened like he was ready to cum. he didn’t have any smart remarks, or degrading comments—not even praise: he was at a loss for words. instead, his quiet moans made your pussy flutter.
“fuck, not like this.” he gasped, pulling you off of him, stopping himself from cumming too early.
his dick slapped against his lower stomach as it popped out of your mouth, leaving a trail of sloppy spit between your and his tip.
“take your fucking clothes off,” he ordered, still trying to catch his breath.
you can feel a wave of embarrassment finally washing over you as you became more aware of the situation you were in—he was right, anyone could see you. no matter how much your core seemed to burn, you needed to use your reason to say no.
but you couldn’t.
not with the way his chest rose and fell with every laboured breath, and how his length twitch, the taste of it still lingering on your tongue. he looked at you with such desperate eyes, like nothing you had seen from him before. it was almost as if he was begging for you.
“use your manners,” you said while pressing your lips together, not bothering to readjust your glasses. you wanted him to see him a little bit needier than before, perhaps a taste of his own medicine or for your own personal satisfaction.
sukuna’s eyes narrowed, he was not the type to ask nicely for these sorts of things—and definitely was not the type to beg. but with the way you were peering at him through your glasses, hair all tangled from where he had grabbed it, his dick crying for some attention, he felt himself getting hot, cheeks tinted pink.
“please,” he said through gritted teeth. his tone was stern, not trying to seem needy. “take your clothes off, and come over here.”
his words made you giggle to yourself, wiggling out of the pants you were wearing quickly, you figured it would be too difficult to take off all your clothes.
you could feel his gaze intensify over you, like he was counting down the seconds until you were crawling over the centre console again and propping yourself on his lap. the thought crossed his mind again that somehow you must’ve been the most sex-addicted person he knew—other than himself, of course. in some ways, it worked out well; out of all the potential nerdy girls he could’ve been forced to woo, alpha chi managed to pick the sluttiest one. so at least he didn’t have to give up pussy for this dumb ass bet.
he felt your weight fall on his lap, awkwardly trying to avoid hitting your head anywhere. it made him chuckle internally, but as soon as he saw you pulling your panties to the side, his attitude became more serious.
your warm cunt was so close to his sensative cock, and he wanted to fuck you so badly, to get another taste of what the two of you had been up to earlier that day.
“ryo…” you muttered softly, already starting to roll your hips forward, wanting him to take control. how funny was it—you trying to get him to beg just a minute earlier now getting all worked up before you’d even gotten an opportunity
he let out another breath, wrapping one arm around you, hoisting you up a little and lining you up with his cock.
the stretch was amazing, like you body had been missing it for so long even though two hours hadn’t passed since he was last inside you. your walls clung to him desperately, your own arms falling against his chest, trying to hold onto him as he bullied his way up.
“shit you’re still so fucking tight,” sukuna commented, burying his face in your neck, smelling the sweet scent of sex and perfume. his teeth grazed against your gentle skin, running along your collar bone, over previous markings that he had left and carefully kissed down on them.
the motion made you shiver, your pussy fluttering, making him let out a shaky exhale.
you whined quietly, body already feeling overwhelmed, you were so caught up in thinking about sukuna’s sensitivity, you had forgotten about your own. your clit throbbed as his tip gave a soft kiss to your cervix, filling you up to the point that any thoughts floating around in your head had been dispelled.
“ryo,” you repeated, not knowing what else to say. his hand traced up and down your back, his lips still busy with kissing different sweet spots on your neck.
he tried to comfort you a bit, hearing the way you were starting to tear up. he hushed you quickly, “i know, know.”
it made him almost seem kind and doting, like he was pitying you for being so overstimulated already. only, the next words to slip his mouth made up for it, reminding you how filthy he really was:
“it’s too big for you—poor little slut can’t get enough. cryin’ cause you love getting fucked like this.” chills ran up your spine, body melting into his. you braced yourself for him to begin thrusting up into you, but it never came. you figured he noticed the pout on your lips which caused him to laugh, “nah, i’m feeling lazy.”
you whined again, but he only continued: “you can do the work, can’t you?”
“i guess,” you mumbled, staring back at him with puppy dog eyes, you didn’t want to do it all yourself, but with the aching feeling that was starting to brew, you didn’t have another choice.
slowly, you began to grind down against him, letting your clit drag against him, driving you wild. your hips moved in drawn out circles, focusing on handling the sheer size of him. you closed your eyes momentarily, feeling the veins of his dick cling against your velvet walls, your body squeezing him in with every lazy motion.
when your eyes opened again, you caught sukuna looking at you, his gaze intense and hungry. his hands were all over your ass in a matter of seconds, pulling you closer and into a sloppy kiss.
your lips crashed together, creating a consistent rhythm of pushing and pulling—lips moving in sync, his tongue grazing against yours. you didn’t want to stop kissing him, even though you needed to catch your breath. he was just so overwhelming, and the more intense your makeout became, the snappier the movements of your hips became.
it was obvious you were chasing a high, just as much as he was—his own hips thrusting upwards to meet your actions. you braced yourself against the door, holding on highly before lifting your ass up, only to drop it down again.
“just like that,” he breathed out, giving out a momentary break from kissing. his hand whacked down on your butt, hitting already sore spots, making your body tremble. your little yelps didn’t stop him from continuing, though, making sure you could feel the pain turn into pleasure, and that with every little spank you could feel how your ass was shaking.
you kept riding him through the winces, letting him fill you up with his dick over and over again as you bounced on it.
“i bet you wish someone caught us like this,” he commented, groping your butt with both his hands, feeling the weight of it in his hands. “you little pervert.”
you shook your head with a pout, “nuh uh.”
trying to fight it, though, but sukuna is stubborn in his beliefs. he had branded you as an exhibitionist, and you were forever stuck under that category, right next to nerd and bookworm. you couldn’t lie, though, a part of you did feel a little rush at the idea.
“why’d you clench up then? making me beg to fuck you in this parking lot instead of just gong up to your place?” he questioned, making you flush as a result. you didn’t want to admit that maybe he was right. you were stubborn, too, after all.
“my room’s messy,” you commented, a little bit of a bratty undertone to your words. sukuna only laughed, shaking his head like he didn’t believe you. he got his tongue ready to twist out more degrading words, looping his strong arms around you and readying himself to actually fuck you.
“i’m sure it is,” he snickered, relieving you of your laborious grinding motions and replacing them with bold thrusts.
your lips parted, and sweet little moans starting to stream out of your mouth, a coil starting to form in your stomach, knitting itself into a million different knots—all of which were threatening to snap.
his fingers dug into your skin without regret, his own orgasm also moments away. he was so close, and seeing the way your face contorted in pleasure made him even hornier. without thinking, he reached up, placing his hand on your neck, squeezing the sides just enough to make you see stars.
that seemed to make you even tighter.
“ryo—oh-h! i’m gonna cum—cumming, cumming! oh my god!” you told him, gripping onto him like your life depended on it.
“atta girl,” he grinned, but the smug act didn’t last long as his own resolve was starting to crumble.
he was back to the messy start he started in when your lips were wrapped around his cock—feeling the way his heart was starting to race and the air was escaping his lungs. your pussy pulsed around him as you finished, riding you through your orgasm only to finally snap himself.
his head was spinning and he hardly had the energy to be more vocal, in other circumstances he would’ve taunted you about being cum addicted, addicted to his big dick—but now he was trying his best to not lose his cool.
“fuck lemme fill you up, fuck!” he whimpered the last part, too proud to admit that you had taken him for everything he had. the nerdy girl of all people. a part of him couldn’t believe it, and maybe it was some kind of twisted post-nut clarity, but he enjoyed the fact such an innocent looking girl was deep down a huge fucking freak.
you felt warm inside, filled with his cum—the little he had left after going so many rounds. sukuna was great in bed, but he was still human, he could only cum so much. still, his load left heft inside of you. you could feel the way the white liquid threatened to slip down and dirty the seats. it was a good thing his softening cock was keeping it in place for now.
for at least a minute, the two of you stayed put, slumped together and breathing heavy. you could’ve sworn the rhythm of your hearts had synched up, breathing in the smell of sex. you didn’t want to get up, your energy drained—what a long day, and for second you felt bad for the fact sukuna had to go to practice after this.
“that was,” you started, pushing up your glasses. “fun.”
sukuna nodded away in agreement, running a hand through his hair before placing that very hand down on your ass. in typical fashion, he smoothed over the stinging spots, the ones he had spanked so harshly just moments before. yet, he seemed calm.
“would’ve been more fun if someone caught us,” he joked.
you reacted quickly, nudging his chest, but you weren’t angry enough to completely pull away. your head fell against his shoulders, your eyes closing.
“don’t say that,” you whined under your breath. you didn’t know what had come over you, but you felt clingier than usual. maybe it was because sukuna was just some stranger, nor a figment of your imagination? sure, he wasn’t the bubbiliest person to be around, but you could tolerate him.
he chuckled, not rushing you to get up even though he knew he had to be somewhere. coach would make him skate an extra lap for every minute he was late—and he wasn’t in the mood to push his already tired body anymore than he had to.
you sat up, leaning back without thinking, accidentally brushing against the horn. a loud beep ripped through the air. you jumped at the sound, startled, before breaking out in an awkward laugh. it was good that sukuna laughed with you—it spared you from a little bit of embarrassment.
“i should go shower,” you sighed, trying to find a polite reason to go. for another moment, though, you relished the feeling of cockwarming him in a post-sex haze. it was surprising nice. “thanks for the ride, again.”
he slipped out of you, giving you just enough time to readjust your panties before beads of cum rolled out. you tried to be graceful about sliding back to the passenger seat but it was more difficult than imagined. still, you got back into your pants, a little bit out of breath from the confined movement.
you smiled at him one more time, “and thanks for the sex. that was really good, too.”
“anytime,” he smirked, seeing how you waved goodbye at him, he waved back. it made him want to laugh more than he should’ve and as he pulled his pants back up, careful around his flushed cock. he readjusted his seat, fixing the mirror and any settings that might’ve been moved during your quick round of car sex with a sigh.
he looked to his side mirror, his eyes locked onto your walking figure as you strutted towards the door of your apartment, letting yourself in and disappearing from his view. he was still trying to catch his breath, staring at the clock that sat right above the radio. he would be late if he didn’t leave soon, running a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up a little bit before finally driving off.
the thoughts of you and your pussy were pushed to the back of his mind, shifting his focus on practice. he hadn’t been as focused over the summer on keeping up with his training regiment, slacking off more than he should’ve. it didn’t help now, that his body was near it’s limits already and he hadn’t even gotten to the rink yet.
when he got onto the ice, it felt like a familiar routine had finally settled on him. there was a sense of comfort that was already starting to wash over him—the push of his skates, the smell of cold air, the sound of pucks and sticks slapping together.
he couldn’t deny that he was tired—somehow you’d worn him out pretty well. his padding felt heavier than more days, his head a little foggier. the rookies were skating circles around him—or at least, that’s what it felt like.
“slacked off over off season ‘kuna?” his teammates asked him, with a playful yet teasing tone. it would be lie to say that he hadn’t been dedicated for this first practice—and it didn’t help that his cock was still so sensitive after you quite literally drained him for everything that he had. but it wasn’t as if his teammate was off the mark, he was right.
the drills continued on, pushing each player to their limit and sukuna’s muscles were starting to ache, and as the team stood near the goalie’s net they got ready to practice slapshots. one of his teammates nudged him with his arm in a playful but loving way, only sukuna wasn’t in the mood.
there was a giddy look on his teammate’s face, like he knew some dirty little secret that sukuna didn’t. he jerked his head to the side, directing his view to the stands. normally, they didn’t get an audience at practices, so any face in the distance stood out. yet, this one stood out more than others.
“looks like somebody’s got a visitor, hm, ‘kuna?”
his eyes darted to the brown-haired girl watching from a distance. her pink sweater hugged her body, and the sight of her flirty smile made him cringe. her arm lifted, slender fingers waving over to him as if they were friends. what the fuck was she doing here?
he rolled his eyes, looking away and trying to refocus himself on the drills in front of him. it was good he had the reputation he did, because if any other guy had some chick showing up at practice he was sure they’d be getting teased relentlessly. it was good they were still scared of him.
all he could do was focus in the drills at hand, and the rest of the practice. he didn’t need any more distractions—he needed to give his all on the ice, otherwise he ran the risk of falling behind. if he was lucky, yorozu would just get impatient and leave before bothering to talk to him in the lobby—he could only imagine what the fuck she had to say.
“sukuna,” his coach called him over and he quickly skated over to the bench. with him was the captain, and the two of them exchanged glances for just a second.
at first, he thought he was going to get dogged for not performing at his best during practice, or maybe even given the typical pre-season warning about trying to avoid getting into too many fights while on the ice. instead, though, the conversation shifted to something a little more promising.
“we’re going to scrimmage. both of you will be captain. have your pick—but just try to pick the rookies first, gotta build their confidence.”
the statement brightened his expression ever so slightly—this was promising for him. if coach was looking at him to take a leadership role, there was a good change that in the following season he’d be in the running for captain. this was how coach always seemed to pick his captains, so naturally, there was a fuzzy feeling in his chest.
the practice continued as usual, the scrimmage went well—he scored a couple goals, made a few good passes; most importantly, he didn’t manage to spoil his mood and start a fight—all good signs.
so despite how tired and absolutely drained he felt walking into the locker room, he was happy. what sucked, though, was that yorozu’s crazy ass was still there lingering, stalking him like a malevolent ghost in the night. he could feel his ears bleeding before she even opened her mouth.
he undressed quickly, checking his phone before hitting the shower. of course, there was a message from gojo, making him roll his eyes.
annoying asf dnr: remember VERY important chapter meeting tonight!
he scrolled down further to see an unexpected notification—you had sent him a text. he was surprised to see that you had messaged him so quickly after last hooking up, and to ask something so simple at that:
you: when are you on campus this week?
he glanced at it from him lock screen before letting his phone drop into his bag, making a b-line for the showers. he’d answer it later, now, he was just focused on washing all his exhaustion off of him.
his teammates chatted about, talking about how excited they were for the season, how they were all sure they’d win another title—that coach was gonna be training them extra hard to prep for the competitions…yada, yada, yada.
sukuna wasn’t one for team spirit, which was a little ironic considering how badly he wanted to be captain, and how much he locked hockey—a team sport nonetheless. he just wasn’t the friendliest guy—he knew that well, but as he let the hot water hit his body, he couldn’t stop letting his mind wander.
he was a little mean to you—a little bit meaner than he should’ve been. regardless of the bet, you didn’t sign up to be involved in it, so why should he take anger out on you? it was easier said than done, though, because his irritation radiated off of him so easily. maybe, though, it was best to tone down on the nerd comments—but on the other hand, a part of his got a sadistic kick out of seeing you all pouty and rushing to stop your glasses from slipping down your nose.
running his hands through his hair, he shook the ideas from his mind quickly, thinking about the chapter meeting he was being subjected too. a part of him anticipated it all being a set up—that both gojo and geto would treat it as a ‘masterclass on seducing women 101’ so that winning the bet became a more plausible reality. although, he didn’t doubt that they wanted to decide on the theme of their next party.
he sighed and shut off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading over to his locker again. he wondered what he should reply to you—maybe just send you a picture of his schedule, that seemed to make sense. he hoped that there was some overlap in your days, so that he could see you on campus—making you fall in love from afar would be too difficult of a task.
so he did just that, staring down at his phone, listening to the whooshing sending of the message. he followed it up with a text about his hockey schedule, that for the foreseeable future their practices would primarily be taking place early in the morning, with the exception of sunday nights.
“that chick’s still waiting for you, ‘kuna,” one of his teammates informed him, patting his shoulder as he walked by. the unnoticed smile that had slowly crept onto his lips had disappeared instantly. he had almost completely forgotten about yorozu.
“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling on the last of his clothes. he threw his equipment bag over his shoulder, setting his sights on the closest exit—he was planning on completely avoiding her, being both too tired and too annoyed to bother striking any form of conversation. with her, though, it would probably be a nag-fest rather than an actual conversation, though, which made it even worse. he was hungry and exhausted—a combination made to only maximize his temper.
for a second, he thought he was in the clear, walking straight for the door, but of course, the universe had other plans for him. from behind he could hear a shrilly, off putting voice calling out his name.
“sukuna!” his eyes rolled in response, but he had no choice but to turn around and look at her head-on.
there yorozu was, with her bright pink lipgloss, and layered mascara, shivering in a little mini-skirt and sweater so tight it was practically a normal t-shirt. he hair looked like it had been freshly done, and that she had put on her typical silver hoops—the ones sukuna had complimented her on once.
“i figured i’d find you here,” she giggled, placing a hand on his forearm.
“yeah, no fucking shit,” he sneered, pulling his arm away as quickly as he could. he didn’t get why she wasn’t picking up on the not so subtle hints that you didn’t want her around, but yet she kept going like they were best friends.
“alpha phi is throwing a party this weekend, you guys should come. i heard delta kappa nu wasn’t hosting—it’ll be lots of fun.” she grinned, twirling a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. sukuna rolled his eyes again.
“i’m sure it will be,” he replied plainly, but there was nothing fun about those sorority parties. they were always oozing with drama, and barely had any good beer—just overcrowded fridges with seltzers and coolers. the last thing he wanted was to be listening to shitty music and sipping on a white claw.
“it would be great, if you were there, y’know?” she said while batting her eyelashes. “maybe you could even bring your little nerdy girlfriend, too. i’m sure she’d like to see what real parties look like.”
sukuna’s eye twitched, staring at the way yorozu was giggling like she had said something funny. yet, he wasn’t in the mood for her bitchy personality.
“she’s not my girlfriend,” he grunted. hoisting his equipment further up on his shoulder. “you know i’m only doing this shit because you made the dumbest fucking bet in the world.”
“really?” she sounded sarcastic. “you’re telling me that she’s not your type?”
he knew she was saying that just to get on his nerves, and maybe if he was a more patient men he could’ve ignored the bait. but sukuna wasn’t patient, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be listening to yorozu any longer. he couldn’t help but snap.
“you know i’d never be into a girl like that,” he hissed, “and more important. i don’t date. i’m sure you've heard that about me, haven’t you?”
he was going for blood, testing to see how much yorozu could handle before she exploded like a leaky water fountain of fake sorority tears. her face stiffened, her lip quivering ever so slightly, and it was obvious she was trying her ebay to keep a neural expression. she had to bite back harder, and try to really get under his skin.
“that’s funny, because from what i heard the two of you were getting real cozy the other night. or will you just stick your dick into anything at this point?”
that comment seemed to light sukuna’s face like a lightbulb—as if he had finally found a move that would put him in a checkmate. his lips spread into a devilish grin, looking down at her as if he had already won.
“oh not anything, sweetheart—you know that,” he spoke calmly, which was a completely juxtaposition to the flashes of chaos drying across his eyes. “and i’m sure that makes you real fucking jealous, doesn’t it?”
any resemblance of a smile that she had on her face dropped completely, like she’d been slapped in the face. what was left for her to say? how could she possibly think of any type of retaliation? especially after such a humiliating comment.
yet, there wasn’t any signs of embarrassment on her face, and instead her expression became stone cold. she titled her chin up, as if she was better than him, her arms crossing over her chest while her breaths became heavier. obviously sukuna had struck a nerve.
he felt his phone buzz and when to check it, not caring that the behaviour would be considered rude to yorozu. in fact, that’s why he did it.
it was from you.
you: cool! we have a break at the same time on thursday
it was an inconspicuous message, and knowing the slutty habits you had maybe you’d be trying to pull him into an empty classroom for a quickie. he contemplated the idea before flickering his eyes back up to look at yorozu.
“you’re such a jerk,” she huffed and rolled her eyes. “i’ll be surprised if you can get her to fall in love with you.”
as she stomped away, sukuna was finally happy to get rid of her, walking out to his car like nothing had happened. he considered messaging you back, but he couldn’t bring himself to swipe his thumbs across his screen to actually text you. he didn’t have anything to say, either, giving him all the more reason to just leave you on read.
he figured the worst case scenario he’d bump into you on campus, or text you when your schedules overlapped.
he let the days slip by, not thinking twice about the bet—other than those instances of harassment from president gojo, where he would be battered with unsolicited, typically unusual, advice on the best ways to seduce you.
monday, tuesday, wednesday all slipped by like that and when thursday came, he was surprised to see you hadn’t messaged him to meet.
he shouldn’t have been surprised, though, because even you were adamant that there were no strings attached, like just like him, you weren’t in the mood for a serious relationship. just sex.
he wasn’t expecting to actually see you on campus. there were so many buildings, so many people, what were the chances he’d walk into the cafe you were studying at?
there you were, sitting alone at a table, headphones slung over your ears, your lap top open, a thick novel filled with an array of colourful sticky notes. clearly you were hard at work, only stopping to take the occasional sip from the pink lemonade you had just bought from the cafe. he wondered if you had noticed him walking in and were ignoring him on purpose.
but you were too concentrated on your assignment, typing away at an essay that was taking up way too much of your time, and as the deadline approached, you needed to get it down sooner rather than later. even though the semester was still fresh, there was so much work to get done, too many books to read, too many lab reports to write up. so even though you were certain everything you were putting onto the document were pure and utter word vomit, at least you would’ve had something done. you could always revise and make it better.
chewing against the straw of your lemonade, you stared into the screen, hoping to pull any more ideas out of your brain.
you were so lost in your own thoughts, that you didn’t sense someone standing behind you.
“boo,” a voice stated, grabbing onto your shoulders at the same time making you yelp and jump a little in your seat.
snapping your head back, you saw that last person you thought would be in the cafe—your new friend… friend with benefits…
“you scared me,” you muttered, a little bit embarrassed by the fact he had caught you so off guard. you pushed your glasses back up your face, and picked up your lemonade again, trying your best to play it cool.
sukuna, though, was having a real laugh at it, not noticing the way your lips seemed to twist into a little pout. you brought your stuff closer to you, thinking that maybe he would want to sit with you. you were about to offer when the barista called his name.
you weren’t expecting to see him with a colourful smoothie—you were expecting a bitter coffee, one that was sugarless and lacking any type of emotion—something more fitting to his personality. he caught you staring at the cup in his hand and laughed again, this time, though it didn’t seem like the laugh was directed at you.
“what? they put caffeine shots in these motherfuckers.” he took a big slurp. “it’s tasty.”
you only hummed, and without asking he sat down. for some reason, he seemed to be in a bit more of a playful mood, which you found a tiny bit amusing.
out of the four chairs at the little table, he picked the one closest to you. he could’ve sat across—or not at all. yet, there he was, slinging his backpack onto the ground and lazily resting in the chair. as he sat his foot brushed against yours, but he didn’t bother apologizing—why would he?
“what are you working on?” you realized you had to converse with him, and slowly as you took off your headphones, you explained to him:
“i’m writing an essay. it’s about the symbolism of location and place in jane eyre,” you spoke softly, but as if each of your words had been carefully chosen. “i’m taking a course on victorian novels.”
although he seemed to be listening, he didn’t seem to be very intrigued. he rested his elbow on the table and used it to rest his chin on. his eyes were a dull shade, a little bit tired—you figured he had yet another early morning practice.
“sounds boring as fuck,” he stated with a little bit of yawn. he took another sip of his smooth, trying to peek over at your computer screen. even though there was nothing incriminating on there, you started to close it out of habit, pulling the screen down so that he couldn’t get a glance.
“it’s really not that bad,” you responded shyly. you hated when people dogged on your subject of interest. “the professor is really nice, and the novels she’s picked are more interesting than i thought they’d be.”
sukuna hummed again, leaning back in his seat. he simply nodded along with what you were saying, wondering whether or not to change the conversation—he feared that if he didn’t, there would be a heavy weight of awkward silence that fell over the two of you.
“what are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked cooly. he ran a hand over his face, staring at you until you replied.
“studying, why?” you questioned, crossing one leg over the other. you racked through your mind, recalling all the different quizzes that needed to be studied for—not to mention that presentation you had coming up, you needed to prep for that too. it seemed like a busy schedule, not to mention you needed to finish the essay you were currently working on.
sukuna didn’t seem to be amused by this comment, as he was never really one of put all that effort into his work—he got the grades he needed to to stay on scholarship and that was it. he didn’t care about bonus marks, participation, or attendance. as long as he knew he would do well on all the other stuff, he was fine. sure, though, his dad wouldn’t be too happy about that, but at the moment, he didn’t care too much about what his dad thought.
he took a long, drawn out gulp from his smoothie, letting the flavour sit on his tongue before swallowing.
“lame,” he teased, before putting the straw back between his teeth.
he scratched his head, looking at you as though you had confessed to something atrocious, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“it’s friday night and all you’re doing is studying?” the tone was judgmental when in reality, he didn’t have anything planned for friday either. the frat wasn’t hosting a party, and he would rather die than go with them to alpha phi’s sorry excuse for a mixer. just the thought of yorozu and her fake lashes was enough to make him hurl.
“i didn’t realize that was a crime,” you mused with a monotone voice.
his foot brushed against yours for a second time, and once again, he failed to acknowledge it. sukuna was clearly the type of guy to do things like that just to get on your nerves so early in the day. you could tell just by the devilish smile that he was sporting on his lips.
“how about we do something, then?” the tone of his voice didn’t give anything away about what he was really thinking, nor did his body language, leaving you in a crisis—overthinking what he could’ve meant by that.
surely it was too early in the morning to be drunk—so there was no way in hell he’d be suggesting a date, you were both very clear about the conditions of your arrangement. did he mean sex? no, that couldn’t be the case—he was taking about going out. did he mean to do something for fun that would maybe lead to sex? maybe, that was a possibility. but what could you do that wouldn’t feel like a date?
you were lost in how many questions were circulating your mind at once, and you hoped that the pause in between didn’t feel as long for sukuna as they did for you. the only thing you didn’t realize, though, was that he too was lost in his own haze of self-doubt.
the countless coaching from gojo and geto had resulted in him figuring that he needed to be more direct about certain things—they hadn’t been too pleased that the two of you had only amounted to friends with benefits, and that he hadn’t texted you for over forty eight hours. they were very clear on what they expected from him—he was meant to be a knight in shining armour, to seem interested in all your interests, but also to break you out of your comfort zone, to be the perfect and most ideal boyfriend.
but who were they kidding? if sukuna could pull that off they might as well have given him an oscar—that shit wasn’t him. he was the type to kick a girl out of his room before she had time to even get dressed fully—or, he would sleep with the same girl twice because he had forgotten they had slept together a first time.
and now he was second guessing the way he phrased it. he didn’t mean anything weird by it. he thought maybe you’d go to the bar or something, maybe fuck after—he hadn’t noticed how horny he’d gotten until he sat down, watching your lips move, thinking back to his car, and to those times in his room. it wasn’t that crazy to think, he figured, you were friends with benefits now—if you weren’t fucking at least once a week what was the point to it? he needed to blow off some steam either way.
“like what?” you finally asked in reply.
sukuna shrugged, “i don’t know. you wanna go to the bar?”
you hadn’t really been out to the bar with your friends before, even though they had always insisted on you coming. each time that you had said no you knew they were gossiping about you behind your back. but still, you could never bring yourself to actually go. that world, that scene seemed like it would swallow you whole—like everyone there would know you felt out of place the moment you walked in.
he could see the way the suggestion made you squirm and as you shook your head, he should’ve anticipated that sort of reaction.
“i don’t think so, sorry,” you apologized awkwardly. “it’s not really my thing. maybe another time?”
“it’s fine,” he waved off, tapping his finger against the table, thinking hard to suggest something else.
“next friday,” he started, “we’re having a white lies party. come to that. it’ll be fun, we can fuck after, or before, or the whole time, doesn’t matter to me.”
you gulped, feeling a rush of heat run to your face. there were so many people around you, and he wasn’t necessarily talking in a discrete tone—you were sure that at least one person heard the way he was talking so crudely. you felt so shy, ignoring the fact you had fucked him in his car, in the parking lot of our apartment.
“or,” he filled in, “we could play cup pong, drink—whatever. but no excuses that you can’t come. you have more than enough notice, dontcha think? you can read all your books before, right?”
you didn’t know what to say, even though your first party had been a generally pleasant experience, you were still hesitant. it sounded like it could be fun, but it also might not be. sukuna would probably know almost everyone there, and they most likely would be taking up so much of his time, what if you show up and just resume your role of wallflower? that he’ll only come and pluck you from your spot when he’s ready to fuck? obviously you wanted to sleep with him, so it wasn’t an issue of just being used for sex—-but the thought of people staring, judging, looking, you didn’t want to deal with it.
“i don’t have anything to wear,” you stated, which wasn’t a complete lie. you had borrowed that shirt from one of your friends. none of the other clothes you had screamed frat party material, unfortunately.
“do you have a white t-shirt?” he asked, starting to sound the slightest bit annoyed.
you nodded slowly, feeling your throat go dry.
“then you’ll be fine,” he sighed as if he was re-feeling all the exhaustion that had been piling up on his body. he wanted to sneak off somewhere to elevate all that stress, but you seemed to have tunnel vision when it came to schoolwork .
“i’ll text you closer to,” he continued, “for when to show up. okay?”
“okay,” you agreed, realizing there was no way to get out of the situation now. you would be going to that party whether you wanted to or not. sukuna grinned at your response, taking one more sip of his drink before standing up.
“i’ve got class,” he announced. “i’ll see you around.”
“i’ll text you,” you said, offering up a weak smile while fixing your glasses again. he was standing over you, his large frame casting a shadow down on you while you stared at him. the look in your eyes was clear on what text meant—it implied another hook-up, which only made him smile wider.
he didn’t say anything else, simply putting his hand on your head and ruffling your hair like you were a little puppy. he did it with a low chuckle, grabbing his bag and leaving without a care in the world.
you felt a little bit embarrassed by his action, hoping that no one else had seen it. but, of course, someone had.
sitting on the other side of the cafe were two alpha phi girls, sipping away at their iced coffees, taking a moment to stop their conversation to observe.
“isn’t that the guy yorozu has a thing with?” one of them asked the other.
“it totally is, oh my god!” the other exclaimed, baffled. they leaned closer to each other, as if trying to decode the situation. “what the hell was he doing with her?”
the answer was unclear to them, but they did know one thing for certain—they had to tell yorozu about this.
FOLLOW THE LIFE OF YOUR LOCAL TOWN BUTCHER AND HIS SWEET WIFE!
"toji, honey, they missed you!"
"tone it down, will ya peach?"
SERIES OF WRITING FEATURING. BUTCHERTOJI!
butcher..! as in meat butcher
taglist open! lemme know if u want to be notified
content. toji's in his late 30s and ocs in her mid 20s. toji owns a butcher shop and a farmland. rural town. oc used to live in the city but eventually settled with toji. mature content. (specific warnings in each part) mdni. parts are not required to be read in order but i highly recommend to follow for best reading.
keep in mind that this is a repost. i didn't steal this. he's mine ;3
playlist — visual 1 — ao3 (march 1st) toji art by usero_jw
[s] - smut
৻ꪆ life with butchertoji as a husband
৻ꪆ butchertoji coming home after a long day at work
৻ꪆ butchertoji dealing with locals bothering his wife
৻ꪆ butchertoji handling his wife on her period
৻ꪆ butchertoji teaching you manual labor his way
৻ꪆ pr3gnancy scare with butchertoji
৻ꪆ sexting with butchertoji [s]
৻ꪆ lazy sex after work [s]
৻ꪆ butchertoji handling his wife and her pregnancy cravings
