❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . makes you purposely get on your knees in front of him while people are around just to embarrass you.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . forces you to marry him ( even if you don’t wish to. )
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . calls you the perfect sex doll.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . loves opening up your holes, whether its using his mouth or dick.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . calls you to his private chambers when you’re obedient.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . fucks you in deep while whispering in your ear “shh, husband. the servants will hear.”
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . will deliberately make you eat your own cum.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . forces all those pretty lil screams and squeals out of you by delving his tongue into your puckered up hole.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . definitely has a humiliation kink and loves getting caught.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . will purposely fuck you in such open areas, not caring who’ll walk in.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . rarely gives you aftercare, even after 4 long rounds
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . shoves his long cock into your mouth while his hand squeezes your neck, not allowing you to breathe.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . makes you bend over his lap and spanks you til your cheeks turn a warm color. all this because you complain that “it’s too much,” or “too big.”
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . forces you call your friends as he roughly fucks you, just so they can hear the needy whines and groans, just so they can know who you belong to.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . loves seeing you in pain.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . forces you to go tell the maids that “you” made a mess, even tho it was all ‘kuna’s fault.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . loves having sex with you.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . bites your nipples while your sleeping, just to wake you up.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . makes you cock warm him in the middle of the night, just for him to end up destroying and rearranging your guts.
❛ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎 . . . has some sort of sadistic relationship with you.
𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 was massive beneath you, all corded muscle and old scars that stood out like pale ropes in the gloom. your hands were braced on his shoulders, your hips moving in a slow, grinding rhythm that made him let out a low, continuous groan.
“fuck… that’s it,” he rumbled, his voice a gravelly scrape that held decades of smoke and grit. his hands, rough and enormous, spanned your waist, guiding you, urging you to take more of him. “use me. i ain’t gonna break.”
you leaned forward, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “you’re so big,” you whispered, feeling him twitch inside you at the words. “so strong. y-you could crush me…”
a dark, pleased sound vibrated in his chest. “i could,” he agreed, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. “but i like you, so i won’t.” his hips gave a shallow thrust up, burying him to the hilt, and you gasped. “your turn. do your worst, sweetheart.”
there was a challenge there, an invitation you’d been circling all night. you’d seen the way his eyes tracked your hands, the faint, almost hopeful tension in his jaw when your grip tightened. you were wary. he was older, his body a map of hard use, and the thought of truly hurting him felt dangerous.
but the want in his eyes was undeniable.
tentatively, you dragged your nails down the thick column of his neck. not hard. just a scratch.
his reaction was instantaneous. his whole body seized, a sharp, punched-out “ah!” escaping his lips. his eyes, which had been half-lidded with pleasure, flew open, locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. not pain. hunger.
“again,” he demanded, his voice gone ragged. “harder. c’mon, don’t fuckin’ tease me.”
emboldened, you did it again, digging in this time, leaving four stark red lines in your wake. he threw his head back against the pillow, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm. “yes— f-fuck, just like that—!”
“you like that?” you breathed, riding him harder, spurred on by his reaction.
“love it,” he grunted, his hands sliding up to grip your hips hard enough to make you wince. “gimme more. mark me up. wanna feel it tomorrow.”
it unlocked something in you. you scratched down his chest, over the dense muscle and the web of old, silvery scars. you bit his shoulder, not a love bite, but a real, sinking clamp of your teeth. he cried out, a raw, broken sound, and his control shattered. his hands left your hips to fist in the sheets, his knuckles white, as he surrendered completely to the sensations, his body arching under yours.
“shitshitshit— ah, fuck—!” he chanted, each scratch, each bite pulling another desperate, punched-out noise from him. his head thrashed against the pillow. “harder— hurt me—”
“god, look at you.” you moaned, riding him frantically now, your own pleasure coiling tight, fed by his utter wreckage. “you’re begging for it, for me—”
“i am, i am,” he gasped, his eyes wild, pupils blown black in the dim light. his hands, which had been fisted in the sheets, flew up to grip your wrists, not to stop you, but to guide your nails deeper into his skin. “wanna be yours. wanna— w-wanna— just— ruin me.”
the raw plea, the submission from a man built of nothing but hard edges and defiance, was the most potent thing you’d ever felt. you leaned down, sinking your teeth into the thick muscle where his neck met his shoulder, biting down until you tasted the faintest hint of copper.
you raked your nails down his sides, hard, and he came with a shout that was half-sob, his big body convulsing violently beneath you, his release triggering your own. you collapsed onto his heaving chest, both of you slick with sweat and breathing in ragged unison.
for a long time, the only sound was the frantic beat of his heart under your ear. slowly, one of his heavy arms came up to wrap around your back, his hand splaying possessively between your shoulder blades.
his other hand came up, fingers tracing lightly over the fresh scratches on his chest. a slow, deeply satisfied smile spread across his face, softening the harsh lines of it.
“good girl,” he murmured, the words a low rumble you felt more than heard. he pressed a rough, dry kiss to the top of your head. “knew you had it in you.”
Synopsis. Loserboys, creeps, and straight-up pervs: the weirder they are, the better the D?!
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reade
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Iosers and pervs, pánty-steaIing, exhíbitíonism, jorkin it, bear hybrid!Nanami, bréeding, slightly lNSANE Geto, marathons, overstím, p talking, GOONERS, cameras, pIot, true form!Sukuna, DP, Sukuna’s second mouth, nerd!Gojo, vírgins, first times (theirs), spítting, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, NEEDY JJK men, prem. ejac, creampíes, cúmpIay, REACTIONS, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Choso’s inspired by this AMAAAAZING art by the talented @jabesa0 <33
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - PERV-next-door!
“Hey, girlie.” Toji leans against the entrance to your apartment, his off-white tank top showing off those beefy muscles. One hand grabs onto the top of your door- just because he could. And it made your eyes bulge as you tried (and failed) not to gawk at those biceps of his, then all the better…
And then there was his other hand: wrapped around something so red and lacy.
You lunge—“Oh my-” Swiping at the flimsy undergarment. Yours. “Where did you even this, you per-”
“If I was a pervert, I would’ve kept it.”
“I know what you’re like.” The wind these days was awful - and even worse was that smug look on your neighbor’s face as he brought over your blown-away laundry.
He’s holding it well above your height, snickering at the way you jump for it. “Easy there, mama. With the way these things fly over to my place, m’starting to think that you want me to have them.”
Your jaw drops—and you’re snatching the gauzy fabric from his hands. “You wish-”
“Oh, I do.” And he’s just so shameless, just so sleazy as he flashes you a smile - the very same one that you’d been gifted when you first moved here. Because Toji Fushiguro was your neighbor, and you suppose that the proximity of your apartments side-by-side made it so that the man himself didn’t have a concept of personal space.
At least with you- he’s leaning in ever-closer.
His scorched breath tingling your features—the devilishly handsome older man next-door. “And the next time those pretty lil’ panties fly over, you’re not getting them back, girlie.”
You struggle to not back away- or worse, not step forwards. To lean against him. “Y-you wish.”
.
.
.
And so the first evening afterwards had passed with…only a sock disappearing.
And you could stand to lose a sock! Toji didn’t come banging at your door with a sock thrown over his broad shoulders that day, and you didn’t expect him to.
The second evening had passed with your panties disappearing.
The third evening had passed by with even more panties and a pretty lil’ top worn only on nights out disappearing.
The fourth evening had, by far, been the worst.
You’d been running low on underwear these days - being too stubborn to ask your neighbors, and being too close to rent to replace clothes you could easily request back. So imagine your utmost horror when you’d found nearly all your panties and a few of your bras had disappeared.
By the fifth evening you were running on only a singular pair of grandma panties.
By the sixth evening that had disappeared, too.
And by the sixth night you were knocking at Toji Fushiguro’s door-
Only for him to open it up with a smug smile, “Took you long enough to notice.”
Notice…notice?
It’s then that his door unhinges just a little wider- and you’re eyeing the sliver it shows of Toji’s bedroom. The pile of pretty panties piled on top of it.
Oh—it’s only then that you’re hit with the retaliation—he’d taken them.
It’s less than a few minutes later that you find yourself shoved face-first into the frilly pieces of themselves. Your hands plucking at the soft blankets, your thighs shaking at the sheer slapping force of his hips.
Pap-pap-pap- Toji’s pounding into you from behind.
His thiiiiick globular cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and finding the deepest, sweetest spots inside of you. It’s as though Toji was bruising the smooth inner lining of your walls—finding himself damn addicted to the feeling of how you’d clench ‘round him.
“Damn…” How you’d dribble out in the silkiest hot slick from both pairs of your lips. Creating a puddle that you find yourself slipping n’ sliding upon. “Easy there, girlie- arch up a bit more f’me…”
“I should report you, is what.” You’re grumbling behind you.
“Should what now?”
Right as you’re opening your mouth to snark back, his swollen shaft reaches for the back of your pussy and pummels out a good strike. How cute. “O-oh—fuck, Toji.”
“You are fuckin’ me.” He’s snickering out, grabbing both sides of your waists to help you squirm against him- yes. Toji wasn’t stopping you from rutting your hips back as needily as you wanted, instead, he was letting your cunt salivate all she wanted down his length. He helps you jerk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “Yer welcome for that.”
“I didn’t say thank you.” Swallowing back your dollops of spittle- only for it to be pushed out of you all over again with a sudden thwack! at your g-spot.
“Yeah, ungrateful girl.” And it’s with his drawling tone that he slithers a hand between your legs—the fatness of his thumb slippin’ apart your pussylips. He rolls over your clit fast enough that it’s nothing but a blur, “Should be thankful.”
You’re pressing your face against the flimsy panties- “F-for what—”
“For takin’ such goood care of these slutty panties, of course.” Toji gruffs out, leaning over you to grab one of them. He’s letting his muscular weight rest on top of you, holding up his treasure- and your heart races as you realize that he’d picked out the strappiest, sexiest pair of panties from the bunch. “Look at that.”
But soon enough, you couldn’t look at whatever he was referring to- because Toji had your panties looped between his fingers. His fingers slipping down to his cock—
Almost like a decoration, Toji wraps the red, red fabric around his thickened hilt.
Fucking you while he has it on-
“You can also thank me fer making such good use of these panties.” His words stick against the back of your spine like perspiration. “For fucking my cock to th-these-” The daintily textured fabric grazes against your clit and your outer pussy in such a carnal way. “-eeeeevery single night I had them.”
You breathe out, “Shit, you didn’t.”
But he merely grunts out in such mean laughter, “You can thank me for cleaning up the mess- oh, and what messes I made with these. Heh.” His words are filthy enough to make your ears ring, and you’re gulping at the image of his…messes. “You can thank me for thinking of you each- and- every- time.”
Such ruthless smooches at your g-spot, all your nerves fried at the sheer pace of him. “You’re just…fuck.”
“Dick got yer tongue?”
“Filthy.”
“Nah, girlie.” His teeth sink into the lobes of your ears- you can physically feel the presence of his smirk. And that was saying the least, you could already feel the presence of his rude cockhead bashin’ in at your throat-
Toji hooks his free hand around your throat, pulling you up into a damn headlock. You’re crushed between his biceps. “I’m a pervert.”
“M-mercy…”
Your mouth gets stuffed with those lacy red panties immediately.
.
.
.
The next knock on Toji Fushiguro’s apartment door comes hours after yours- and unlike your urgent one, this time it was steady. Stern.
Certainly not that of someone who’d lost their panties.
But then again, Toji certainly didn’t expect the person on the other side of the door to be-
“You.”
“You?”
Shiu Kong wanted to be the last person knocking on Toji Fushiguro’s door right now.
“I just moved in.” He explains, sounding as though his soul was being sapped away with every single syllable. The man peeks through the crack in the door—to where you were poking your head out of the bedroom. Right along with a…mountain of panties? “Next door…” Breathless.
“And?” Toji gruffs out, “I’ve got shit to do, man- or more like someone to do.”
Shiu deadpans, “I’ve come to formally file a noise complaint.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hiber-MUNCH.
You had a problem.
See, the problem wasn’t that you were dating a bear hybrid: Ursus arctos horribilis, over seven feet tall and the most gentle man you’ve ever known. The problem wasn’t that it’d been a bit of a learning curve to get used to your separate species lifestyles - yours as a human, and Nanami’s with his den, his appetite, and his hibernation.
The problem wasn’t even the forty plus bed frames that Nanami had broken over the course of your relationship until now!
See, the problem was that…your panties had been disappearing.
You had more than enough pairs stuffed in your bottom drawer - frilly ones, spotted ones, sexy ones, even the odd grandma ones that hung loosely. And sure- occasionally you’d notice them more rumpled than you remember, or find one you particularly liked nowhere to be found.
But this morning, you’d lugged open your drawer and found—nothing. Absolutely nothing.
None of your panties.
Your drawer was wiped as clean as the day you bought it.
And who better to ask about what happened than your boyfriend? Though the process was a rather lengthy one- these days he’d been cooped up in a room he’d deemed his den. The season was nearing for Nanami to hibernate, to do nothing but stack his den full to the brim, to sleepily float through his days and leave you envious at the fact.
You’re knocking on the door to his den- and when no sound answers you, you’re throwing the room open to find it empty—hm…he must’ve gone out to buy more food.
Still, you hadn’t been inside here too often. Simply leaving your bear-hybrid boyfriend to his own habits until he was done with it.
And perhaps that was why - perhaps - you slipped through the door and looked around the space. It was plastered in cosy paintings, blankets, and carpets, radiating a warmth that always seemed to cling onto Nanami Kento like a second skin. Because of his sleep schedule during hibernation, Nanami already had a separate bed prepared in his den.
And you can’t help but inch over to the inviting thing—it was just so big.
With the silkiest covers and a wide space and- oh. And a strange lump under one of the numerous pillows.
Brows furrowing, you slip your hand inside and…pull out a heap of your panties. Scrunched-up. Rumpled. Used—they were just soaked in all of Nanami’s heady whiskey-infused pheromones, just so addictive that it sends you swaying on your feet.
It was him.
He was stealing your panties-
The front door clicks open.
“My love, I’m home—”
Steady footsteps.
And before you can find an inkling of rationality within you to perhaps stow away your panties- perhaps think up what your excuse for coming in here might be- Nanami Kento is already at the bedroom door.
Lips parting as he stares at you.
At the panties in your hands.
At you.
The groceries drop from Nanami’s jittering, feverish hands- and he’s in front of you before you can even blink. So fast that you think he might have just used magic. So hard that he’s wondering why he hadn’t led you inside here sooner.
The vision of you holding his dirty secret in your hands makes him…oh. Something inside him twitches.
So needy that you’re practically thrown by the whiskey essence leaving him in waves-
“My mate.” Panting out a scalding breath. Ears twitching. Even his voice trembled with something desperate- “So you’ve found my stash.”
You don’t flinch for a single second when Nanami raises an overlarge hand up—cupping your cheek gently. “My mate-” Octaves higher, unsteadier than you remember him ever being. That very same hand gently on your face slips down to choke your throat- “-m’gonna be thinking of your pussy all hibernation.”
You’re not getting out of here alive.
In no time, Nanami has his rugged hands scooped underneath your legs and his buff arms carrying you- dusted with light hairs. Strong. Sensual. As if you were nothing but a ragdoll. He’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking the few steps it takes to splay you out on the king-sized bed.
“My mate.” The blond man husks against your ear, something in his tone sounding as if he was agonized once he slips a hand underneath your skirt. Pantyless—you’d run out of them, of course.
He’s pressing his weight down on top of your squirming body, pinning you down against the blanket-covered mattress. Each ripple and ridge of his thick core-
And then you feel it.
The incredible length of his erection.
As a bear-hybrid, Nanami was just naturally large. So thick.
Your eyes dip downwards and you’re catching just the pinkish globe of his shaft peeking out, a shade that matches the pretty blush on his face. The fabric you were wearing starts to wetten with all the gooey drops of slick that he was leeeeaking out-
“O-oh my—” Your jaw drops at the feeling of something hard and sultry swipin’ down between your pussylips. Just pushing your skirt up your hips, his erection bulges your folds outwards. “Kento, you’re already- mmpf-”
And then you’re having one of your own soaked panties stuffed between your lips. “Shhhh, quiet for hibernation.”
“But-”
You’re hissing at the primal stretch opening up your thighs, blinking back your tears and-
Fuck.
He’s locking your ankles around his hefty waist, he’s letting his hips jerk forwards. “Mmmpf, Kento-” Swabbing his blushin’ globular tip inwards-
“My- ngh, mate.” And just the mere sound of your voice is enough to make him flinch- blond strands of hair falling over his gaze. He’s humping you like an animal in heat—maybe he was in heat already. “My mate-” And you can feel the lengthy girth of his cock slip iiiiiiin and ooooout past your folds, “My—fuck…”
“Kent- mmm.” It was just so difficult to speak past the gauzy underwear gagging your throat. “Baby, haven’t you even realized that you’ve cum?”
Already.
“Hmmm?” His molten gaze tries to focus on you, but Nanami was just so bleary with need that you wonder whether he could properly even see you. You’re jutting your chin out and gesturing at the mess he’s made below- the one that was drippin’ a hot white sheen down your core.
And it’s only then that the hybrid’s darkened eyes widen in realization, puffy lips parting—did he seriously just register the fact?
Lewd leering locked on the place between your legs, Nanami can’t help himself from pressing his leaking cock right between your pussylips. Using his right hand, he claws on top of your stomach and watches as a gooey white sap seeeeps straight out of your hole. Making it look as though you were so overstuffed that you were spilling out.
His balls clench at the heavenly vision, pumpin’ out more and more.
Pumping your hole more full than you could ever possibly handle at the moment, he grits down on his teeth and pushes. Eyes shut. Forehead perspired. “My…my mate.”
His voice fucking breaking as he echoes out that familiar mantra, Nanami sounded damn near tears. “I’m sorry I stole your panties.” Probin’ the entire shaft - entire fattened furious shaft - of his cock between your pussylips and straight up to your womb. “I’m sorry I c-couldn’t help myself- I’m sorry I fucked my cock with those panties—and plan to do it all ngh- over again.” Before you can even answer, he’s pummeling out the deepest, hardest hit to your cervix. “My mate.”
“Shit-”
Globular cockhead swipin’ inside your channel. It makes you see white. “My mate- my mate my mate my mate—”
He was trying to fuck each web of cum inside you like an animal-
Your entire body zaps with an electric orgasm as he leans down- scorched pants breezing down your features when Nanami bites down on the panties protruding from your lips. That strappy fabric now transferred to his own mouth, he’s leaning back and taking it in one hand.
Guiding that very hand down to wrap around his thick cock. As Nanami fucks you, he’s pumping his excess length with those sodden panties.
“B-by the end of this hibernation-” He growls, wobbly. “-yer gonna give me a cub, aren’t you, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Jealous, jealous, jealous
“Negi.” Geto Suguru’s soft, simpering voice echoes through the hallways of the temple. Though the sweetness was not one to underestimate - and Negi knew better than to not straighten up immediately.
“Y-yes, dear leader?” The young man yelps out.
But Geto wasn’t looking at him. All that could be seen of him was his waterfall of jet-black hair—almost like a Stygian river of sorts. Geto Suguru had his eyes turned towards you - as they often did - except this time they were narrowed down at the animated conversation you were having with some newer member of the association. And Geto knew that look in his eyes - just a tad too shiny, his smile just a degree too happy. “By dayfall I should know every bit of information there is to know about that man.”
Negi shivers- he just thanks the heavens that that wasn’t him.
.
.
.
“Ngh—oh.” Mere minutes later and you’ve found yourself in Geto Suguru’s vast chamber. It was one in a traditional Japanese style- and while you’d usually find yourself fucked on his soft futon.
Usually.
But now you’ve deviated until half your ass was dangling off of the mattress, your cunt spilling out in a puddle of your sweet, sweet slick. Geto had his hands gripped underneath your knees and tugging you upwards- a full nelson.
He had you in a fucking full nelson.
And it didn’t seem like he was going to let go of you any time soon. “F—fuck.” Geto’s spitting out through clenched teeth, just the tiniest primal tear from the back of his throat. “One more, right, gorgeous?”
“Suguru, you’ve said that-” Your pupils roll stupidly inside the whites of your eyes, “-all night long.”
Just swervin’ in the same circular pattern with his bludgeoning cockhead. He managed to pinpoint every tender spot inside you and thud away- banging hard and deep. At a pace that your body definitely couldn’t keep up with—“What was that?” He’s panting out. “Doesn’t sound like an answer to my question, honey…”
“I mean-”
“Oops, too late.” He’s smiling- you could hear it. And just as meanly, Geto pours out a trickle of precum that sploshes around inside of you n’ ends up leaking between your folds. It’s just letting out the most lecherous slurp- “One more, right, gorgeous?”
And your jaw parts as if to answer-
Before you’re quickly realizing that the question wasn’t directed at you.
It was directed at your swollen, slippery pussy all guuuulping down every inch that Geto gave. His rough cockhead prods around your inside- easing completely out with a plop!
Before gliding right back in.
Right until the hilt.
And to that pretty noise that escapes you, Geto cranes his ears. “‘Mmm, that sounded like a ‘give me one more’ to me.” He’s tittering out from behind you- and by now he’d already mapped out every inch and spot inside of you. By now he could already tell the faintest signals of your body—
And Geto knew when you were about to squirm restlessly—or even better, when you were about to run.
So he’s hiking his forearms up the undersides of your thighs, arms spreading your legs wiiiide open. Hips rutting up into yours. Geto tightens the way he has your body folded - almost like a ragdoll - and pricks away delicately at the sweetest spots inside you. Thud-thud-thud—
“Where’d you think you’re running, gorgeous?” Geto’s pouting from behind you, mockingly. “Your pussy’s the one that said she wanted- hah, one more. One more round. One more helping of Geto Suguru’s cum- that greedy girl.”
Sloppy strokes that end up bangin’ in your g-spot dead-on. “And you’re the pussy whisperer now?” He wasn’t showing you any mercy- so you couldn’t help but bite back.
“Oho?” One dark brow raises, “I always was good with kitties~”
Two sharp canines find themselves gnawing on the shell of your ear. Unable to move, unable to think—the only thing you can do is keeeeen out as he stretches an arm between your legs and pinches rudely at your clit.
Just so damn needy. Geto counts about one-two-three throbs at that sensitive nub before you’re shattering.
Straight into your nth high of the night that he knew would be taking over you very soon- he’s shivering at the sudden pulses of your walls. So soft n’ wet that it felt like heaven he was funneling his cock into. “Mmm—oh. And there goes your hah, ‘one more’, gorgeous.” He - too - ends up pumping out a few sticky wads of cum.
A slick seed that layers your dewy insides all white. “Sh-shit, how are you still cumming so much-”
“Well, that wasn’t for you.” Such a mean tone that he had - even when he sounded so kindly. Geto urged out something cornered and carnal inside of you that only made you even wetter- “That was for this pretty pussy o’ mine- duh.”
You whine. Bucking.
And he’s chasing those hips of yours riiiight up the softened surface, not letting his plump cockhead break contact with your cervix for a single second. Up-up-uuuuuup. “And she’s telling me that-”
“Oh no.”
“That you can handle three more.”
And you’re not sure whether it’s the sheer shock of his words, you’re not sure whether it’s the fact that his cock was still achingly hard and throbbing between your folds, you’re not sure whether it was simply the aftermath of your high- but your body grows restless.
Squirming. Stuttering.
You’re attempting to plant your feet on the edge of the futon and try to balance your hips- but all that does is make Geto hold onto you even harder.
His voice taking on such a breathy, broken tone. “Running again…” Tutting. “We still have ah- how many was it? Five more rounds to go, gorgeous.” It was three- but right now you’re too fucked stupid to answer anyway.
“I-it was…”
“And besides-” He hums, “Where’d you think you’re going anyway? Actually?”
“Nowhere-”
“It couldn’t be- to him, could it?”
Your tear-flooded lids snap open- when did they even close? And you’re desperately looking over your shoulder, about to ask just who he meant when—oh.
When you see that expression on Geto Suguru’s face.
It wasn’t that faux smile he often paraded to visitors of the temple, it wasn’t even that serene look he got when he was planning some attack or scheme. It was an expression that reminded you that there was a reason why even the most powerful amongst Jujutsu Society didn’t dare say a word against him.
And you’re quickly finding out just why - Geto Suguru was ruthless.
Geto Suguru would do anything to get what he wanted.
He dips his head down and whispers in your ear—low and ice-cold. “I’d say that I prefer if you do not see him again, honey.” A deliberate pause. “But I know that you won’t see him again.”
And then he’s hammering you straight into your fourth, fifth and sixth orgasms yet.
.
.
.
“As you may have noticed, my family, one amongst us is missing.” Geto’s voice was clear and strong - unwavering in both himself and his echo as it reaches every corner of the expansive hallway. The hundreds upon thousands of associations were lined up in neat rows, crouched into bows so deep that they looked like ants from here.
He sits upon the stage like a throne, you on his lap.
Smile quirking at the edge of his pretty lips, he continues- “Now you know that I am a generous man.” They almost seem to flinch at his words. “You know that I share with you my home, my food, my protection, and my blessing.”
A pause.
“But there is one thing I do not share.”
He looks at you, amethyst eyes burning.
“And shall never share.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - PANTY PRINCE
Your phone buzzes with a notification.
Cho (loml): hey baby, i’m deep-cleaning the apartment today including our room. lmk if there’s anything you don’t want me to touch.
Cho (loml): i love you.
You have to suppress your smile in case your professor was feeling especially tetchy today, and you discreetly swipe to your messages.
You: Babyyyy you’re the best <3
You: Nuh-uh, go for it ml. I’ll get you those donuts you like from the shop downtown to make up for it <33
You: I love you.
Your phone buzzes again.
Cho (loml): <333!!!<333!111!!!1!!<333
Cho (loml): sorry tppo.
Cho (loml): *typo.
Cho (loml): meant to say i love you more.
Giggling, you’re content to let your phone sit on your table as you jot down your notes. Getting deep into the slideshow your professor drones on about when-
Another buzz.
Cho (loml): baby i’m cleaning out your panty drawer >.<
Cho (loml): woah baby…when did you get this lacy black set??
Cho (loml): fuck i can see my fingers through it.
Cho (loml): it barely even covers my palm.
You: Hehehe recently. Was meant to be a surprise but oh well.
Cho (loml): fuck.
You: Have fun <3
It’s only silence for a few minutes thereafter.
In fact, you’re just about to resign to the fact that you might not hear from him until you’re getting home- Choso always did tend to get wrapped up in whatever he was doing at the time. And you reach until the end of the class without-
Yet another buzz.
Cho (loml): i’m outside.
Outside? Your head reels—outside outside?
What the hell was your boyfriend doing outside? And you can’t pluck yourself out of your chair and speed down the lecture hall faster, reaching the edge of the entrance before-
A pale hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.
You’re being dragged into the nearest bathroom before you even realize that it’s your boyfriend leading you. His hands jittery. His coat flapping behind him.
His legs stepping frantically before you- thrumming with nervous energy even as he guides you inside the clan bathroom stall. Shutting the door behind him, he stares down at you and gnaws on his puffy pink lips. Choso looked as though he was on the verge of a secret. A confession.
“Baby?” You start, still startled by the whiplash journey here. “Are you alright? What happened? I thought you were at the apartment, why are you h-”
And he doesn’t answer- no.
That’s not why you’re cutting yourself off.
Instead, you’re enraptured by the way that Choso reaches for the hemline of his thin black t-shirt and—tugs upwards. Displaying the shape of his v-line, the beginning of his abs, the scruff of black happy trail that was still visible through your sheer panties.
You freeze.
Your sheer panties.
You could recognize those straps anywhere- they were barely-there and the type of gauzy lace that had patterns on it. Now wrapped around Choso’s toned hips—his cock strained against your underwear. Long and painfully hard.
He reaches up and exposes more of himself to you.
Your matching bra set stretched around his pectorals.
So it was practically a no-brainer once you’d grabbed Choso by the shoulders- shoving him against the thin stall divider. Tugging his pants down just enough for you to take in all of him in those sinful panties, you’re gliding your fingertips down his erection.
Over the thin layers of fabric, that pretty pink tip that peaked just out. Uncontained.
He hisses at your touch, head throwing back behind him and hitting the plastic wall. Not even looking down at you, his hips seem to move before his mind and rub-rub-rub his protruding cockhead between your pussylips. “Sh-shit.” And you swear that what he’s letting out were the prettiest whimpers you’ve heard in your entire life. “Shit, baby—oh, baby, I don’t think m’gonna last much longer.”
“I just put my hands on you, Cho.” You tease.
“B-but I was just so fucking hard all the way here.” Choso blubbers out, sobs crackling at the back of his throat. One hand grabs at the side of your right ass cheek, bringing your pussy down to kiss his cock. The other reaches down—“Because I kept thinking about- ngh, you picking these just f’me. You trying them on—” Down to pump his cock. “Oh, your pussy probably felt so fucking good in these.”
You could feel your cunt throb at the words.
And before long you’re bouncin’ your hips down onto his. You’ve cornered him - easily, because Choso did love to be at your mercy, after all.
The hand furiously fisting his cock reaches upwards to chase your pussy with a whine- rutting his cockhead in a frenzy. Lids falling shut in a second, “And I k-kept thinking about just how maaaaad you’d be at me.”
“Well, I am mad, Choso.” You hum.
Lower lip wobbling cutely, Choso pleads up at you with watery eyes- ones that are nearly bulging out of his head. Because in a single motion you veer your hips down and sliiiiide all his thickened inches inside of you.
You swear he’s the hardest you’ve ever felt him to be- pulsing out the most lecherous ba-dump! inside of you. You tug on the little curls at the nape of his neck, “I’m mad you didn’t tell me about this little liking of yours sooner…”
“W-well, I didn’t know.” He hiccups, puckered tip swipin’ at your cervix. “I thought you’d tell me off- ngh, tell me how naughty I am for wearing your panties.”
“Not just my panties.” Sliding a hand underneath his t-shirt. You’re reaching where his pecs stretched out your poor bra, his chest puffed up and panting. Those perky pink nipples of his were straining against the transparent fabric, and you’re grazing your thumb uuuup and down- “You’re not just naughty- you’re filthy, Choso.”
“Ngh—” He’s whimpering out, hips jerking upwards. That strawberry pink divot at the end of his shaft leaks out in glittering wads of precum that coat your hole. “Baby, and I also fucked m-myself using this panties- ngh, felt so good to rub it down my cock…”
He was egging you on. “Mmm, I take it back then.” Choso flinches at your tone. “Just sinful, baby.”
“Fuh-fuuuuck-” Choso was on the verge of creamin’ himself just from the mean words you were telling him. His rovering shaft was probing into your every sweet spot, the smallest geyser being filled up by his relentless divot. “And I’d do it again- fuck, I’d do it again, baby.”
You’re pulling on his sweat-drenched hair - and it’s enough to make him spray out in his scalding hot syrup. “How did I ever manage to get a boyfriend this depraved, hm?”
“Baby, m’gonna cum.” He whines out.
“Hmm…” You’re reaching behind you and unclipping that bra he was wearing- and Choso lets you shrug it off easily. Wrapping it around your hand and slitherin’ upwards to stuff his pretty lips. “Then stay quiet, hm? Also if you make a mess then you’re buying me new ones, Cho.”
He hisses through his nostrils, “That can be arranged…”
And it’s the last thing rasping out of the poor man before he’s then splatterin’ out hot and deep inside you with all his cum. It’s reaching into every depth, splashing against your walls and cascading along your walls.
It ends up gushing right up to the front of your hole. Leaving a streak of white glued to Choso’s cock and your panties barely containing his cock-
“Oh…” His mouth drops, parched. Tight balls slappin’ your cunt away—“Now it looks even prettier, baby.”
.
.
.
The next time you’re visiting the sweet lingerie store you snapped that black set in, it’s with Choso as well.
He’s trailing in behind you—as though your figure could cover his own, body hunched, hands permanently on you, eyes darting around the store. Even though he was about a head taller than you and two times as more intimidating- “B-baby, maybe this isn’t a good idea-”
“Welcome, madam~” A lovely girl bounds up to you- and you’ve no doubt that the two of you make quite the strange pair. Her eyes flick between you and your boyfriend, “I take it that you enjoyed our piece from last week?”
You share a look with Choso- who only blushes deeper. “Oh, you could say that.”
She giggles knowingly, “And how can I help you today?”
“One just the same.” You hum, “Perhaps in different colors, perhaps some a little more…risqué.”
“Oh, we have just the thing-” Urging the two of you to follow her, “There’ve been some new shipments and I came across one that would look perfect on you, madam-”
“Actually…” You interject, “We’re looking for one for him.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Your Majesty…
It was widely known throughout the land that Ryomen Sukuna was not a shy man.
That was saying the least of it: he was an actual tyrant.
This could be widely agreed-upon by most inhabiting Japan, most of all by the attendants who had the privilege to serve the King of Curses. They would see first-hand the way a mere flick of the man’s hand would be more powerful than the cursed energy of the nation combined, the way the massive estate itself seemed to tremble before him, the way he’d make you tremble…
Though in a different way entirely.
And so it’d come as quite the shock to both well-wishers and traitors when they were brought to mercy before the man’s courts- and would find themselves face-to-face with the King upon his throne. You seated upon his lap.
Your cunt being split by both sets of his shafts, split up n’ down—just baaaaarely hidden by the expensive robes that he’d dress you up in.
The King’s infamous Queen.
Oh, this was his favorite part - this was the only way he’d be able to handle growing through hundreds perhaps thousands of those who come begging for his favor and his forgiveness.
And they’d have a choice- run away or stay bowed.
With their heads lowered to the floors, they’d remain. Trying not to make a single noise or movement that would indicate the heat burning between their own two legs-
Though, Ryomen Sukuna would know either way.
Casting a dismissive glance at the subjects kneeled before him, before he scoffs- “This pussy of yours has some admirers again, brat.” When it doesn’t look as though you were about to respond any time soon, the King scoffs and jerks his hips up to bruise your womb twice. “Ya hear me? Too fucked dumb? Oi—we have guests ya know.”
“Sh-shush, Kuna.” And telling the King of Curses to silence himself?
Those subjects kneeled at your feet aren’t sure whether they’re shivering due to your blatant treason or due to the rough, echoing laugh that Sukuna lets out.
Bouncing his thick thighs up just a little to make you buck n’ whine- “Easy there, woman.” He’s snarling out a smile with both sets of teeth, showcasing those pearly white canines. “ Gonna ruin my reputation, callin’ me that.” And then he’s addressing the rest of the room, “Chatty, huh? She always gets like this when she’s needy- heh.”
“Kuna…” Embarrassed at the blatant stares at your back- but too far gone on his sinful cocks to do anything about it.
One of his plump cockheads swipe against your g-spot and make you arch lecherously. Your hands coming to claw at his toned shoulders with a repeated whine- “Sorry ‘bout her.” Flickering his eyes over to the bowed men, it’s intense enough to make them flinch where they bent. “C’mon, brat- why don’t we put ya in quiet time.”
“Mmmpf-” You’re blubbering out at the scorching breath of his second mouth opening wide.
With a belched chuckle his slick cursed tongue glides down to your pussy- “Heh, we almost don’t even need to- yer fucked dumb as is.” Sukuna’s grumbling from above you—and of course, one of his four hands comes to clasp the back of your head. “But this part’s always so fun—”
“Kuna- mmpf.”
The sets of eyes from the kneeled spectators snap up at the sound of the filthiest squelch they’ve heard in their entire life. Looking up right in time to see the sorcerer’s cursed mouth opening up and slippin’ his hooked tongue between your own lips.
Makin’ out with you.
And Sukuna narrows his eyes down at their abashed faces—shocked. “Look look-” He’s thrusting his hefty hips up to get your attention. “They’re shocked at what a naughty girl ya are, brat.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, “Mmmpf-”
“The only thing you can say, huh?” He snickers, before turning his crimson eyes to the men before him. Their cocks likely throbbing only half as much as his own two were- slippin’ and sliding along your wet walls to hit each spot inside you perfectly. “Proceed.”
His subjects gape.
Sukuna furrows his pale pink brows- though there was a quality about it that made it seem so mocking. “Didn’t hear me above her pussy?” And to their sensual excitement, the King was grabbing ahold of your hips- pausing the squelching tone for a mere few seconds. “Proceed.”
But in the next sultry moments, they could barely even hear their own breaths at just how loud the wettened slap-slap-slapping noise was becoming. Sukuna’s hot, throbbing lengths were almost nothing but blurs disappearing in and out of your tight hole.
“I-I…” The man at the forefront of the bowed subjects starts to speak, eyes ogling the display. “I bring myself before you to ask for forgiveness for the treason-”
“Ah ah-” Sukuna sharply interrupts, “Won’t you first greet your royals?”
“My apologies-” He rushes, “All the prosperity to you, My King. And-”
“And your Queen?”
“And ever-more to My Queen.” All but crying out.
“Well, she’s my Queen.” Sukuna’s grumbling underneath his breath- now with his eyes locked on you and reluctant to move away. You were just the prettiest with both sets of your puffy lips gaped wiiiide open for him, glossed in so many layers of slick. “But proceed.”
“W-well, as I was saying, I bring myself before you to ask for forgiveness for the treason of conspiring with another-”
And this time he’s cut off by you—
“Sh-shit, Kuuuna-” Your shrill voice echoing into each four corners of the throne room, “M’cumming, m’cumming-”
Spit dribbles down the corner of your mouth and makes the King swipe away at the mess with one of his hands. The edge of his own lips lifting up at the thwack! of his ruddied tips against your spongy cervix. Again and again.
Fucking you through your orgasm.
“Heh…” Sukuna’s four crimson eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement, “And whaddaya think? Do they deserve forgiveness, brat?” When you aren’t able to answer- he’s pummelin’ away even harder along your webbed walls. “How abooooout- if you cum again, they deserve forgiveness. And if you don’t cum again, they don’t deserve forgiveness. And if you squirt, m’gonna execute them for treason.”
He chuckles meanly.
Each of the human subjects quiver before this monster.
Because the one thing that no one mentions about the King of Curses?
He was downright filthy for you.
♡ INO TAKUMA - 143
“I love you…” Ino pants out, breath fogging the glass.
He reaches out to wipe away the mist from his computer screen- but actually ends up keeping his palm splayed out upon it. Almost as if he was inches away from heaven and yearning to reach right through it—“I love you.”
And he doesn’t even have the mind to wince as his voice cracks- perfectly in time with the way his hand grows furious on his cock. Pumping long and hard.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down—
He’s flicking his slender thumb underneath the rim of his slit, watching as his precum spurts out in overtime because of it. But he can’t cum now- he flattens his thumb on top of his shaft. He can’t cum until you do.
“I love you I love you I—” Absolutely botching his tone at the back of his voice, Ino trembles as you start to twitch on screen in that way you did whenever you got close. “I love you- hck.”
And then he’s throwing his head back and cumming right on time as you - in lewd synchronization.
He fucks his fist right through that looooong and aching high, pumping out so many wads of cum that his lap faintly resembles a waterpark by now. It’s dripping down his tannish thighs and creating a lacquer of white that gleams under the glare of the computer- the only source of light in the room.
As Ino comes down from his high, he hears - almost as if from a distance - the sweet tone that was your voice. He could pick out your voice anywhere. “—and I’ll be having a raffle where one lucky subscriber of mine will get the chance to spend a whooooole night-” You lean in closer to the lens, letting it capture every pretty inch of you. Right down to where you’d gnawed down on your lower lip from cumming too hard- “-with me.”
He doesn’t care about the tens of hundreds of thousands likely doing the same right now - and commenting that they were, too.
He’s never entered anything so fast in his entire life.
He’s never wanted so badly to win.
.
.
.
Ino supposes that it wasn’t a miracle that he won (though…it sort of was) considering he’d entered the raffle multiple times. Even going so far as to create fake accounts and type his name into that form.
Again. And again.
And again and again and again- okay, maybe Ino Takuma was just a little obsessive. But what’s a little yearning when it comes to true love?
Either way, he considers all those long and sleepless nights spent entering a damn raffle to be worth it. Aaaaaall so worth it when it comes to this very moment: with you laid out on top of him. Just like in his dreams.
With your hands pinning his toned body down to your bed (one he’s seen so many times in your videos before!), with your hips bouncin’ up and down his cock craaaaaazily. Whatever you’ve done previously with all those curled dildos and hot-pink vibrators were nothing against what you were doing to his cock- slicked with spittle n’ all smooooth inside your cunt, sensitive wherever your walls rubbed.
He was pussydrunk practically from the first thrust inside your gooey depths- babbling away underneath you as you swerved n’ tugged. Wrestling his cock inside of you as you tried to find your most favorite spots-
“Oh.” Suddenly, you’re arching your back with an elongated moan. The prettiest noise that he wishes he could record right now. Your lashes flutter in that irresistible way that always sends your subscribers into a frenzy. “Mmm, I think you found the spot, baby.”
Technically, you were the one that did all the work- but Ino’s happy to nod his head stupidly. “I-I did, baby. Does it feel good?”
“Mhmmm—so good.” And without warning, you’re dragging his palm over to stick against your front. Right above where his blushin’ red tip kept on poking at your cervix- “X marks the spot, mhm?”
“M-mhm.” He frantically agrees.
And shit- he looks so cute with his lips all wobbly and tears streaming down his pretty face. Ino Takuma didn’t even seem to realize just how attractive he looked when he was falling apart on your pussy. Face blushing. Tone ruined.
His thighs giving off the greatest shivers once you cleeeench your sopping wet walls around him.
“I love you.”
Ino’s spit-slicked lips part open with a whisper-
And for a good few seconds you don’t even think you heard him correctly.
In an attempt to hear him better, you falter your rough plapping down onto his hips. You crane in with a gentle smile, “What was that, Taku?”
But the man beneath you merely shakes his head.
Merely scrunches his eyes and lets his throat wrack with a tiny sob- he’s shaking and shaking his head at the first signs of you stopping. Before grabbing either side of your waist and push-push-pushing his pretty cockhead upwards. “I love you.” Almost as if he couldn’t stop the sentence from escaping. He’s not letting you slow down for a single second whilst he scours your deepest innards with his dripping cock. “I love you I love you I—hck! love you.”
And every time Ino shoves the length of his puckered shaft inside you, you can feel it hitting at your throat. “You love me, Taku?”
He doesn’t seem to pick up on the tease, and can only needily nod. “I do. I love you, pretty—ngh.”
“Awww—do you mean to say you love this pussy?” You’re whispering filthily into his ear, watching as the skin of his ear grows red. “Or do you love these hips-” On cue, you’re slamming them down onto his - meeting his sloppy cadence dead-on. “Or do you love these tits—”
“I love you.” He’s echoing out once more.
And it doesn’t matter how red and sensitive the skin ‘round his pelvis is growing, it doesn’t matter how sensitively his ruddied tip feels. It doesn’t even matter how pussydrunk he finds himself on your cunt, because Ino’s always chasing your gooey pussy up for more, more, more-
“I love all of you-” After a few more vicious strokes, he manages out. Gliding a hand between the valley of your chest. “I love your tits.” Down to your waist. “Love your hips.” Down to flick at your clit. “Loooooove your pussy.”
“And?” You ask, breathless.
And he’s blinking his teary lashes up at you, “But most of all I love you.”
There were practically hearts in his eyes- in fact, his pupils were starting to look like hearts. Or maybe you were slowly growing cockdrunk, as well…
You feel yourself clamping down on him- and you can feel Ino twitchin’ even harder. Close.
“Well, whaddaya say to that-” And this time you’re talking - but not to Ino at all. Instead, you’re swivelling your head to the glaring light at your side. Right where your professional camera was propped up, alongside some bright ring lights n’ a wide screen with the two of you.
And the numerous comments.
“-you horny fuckers think he deserves to cum?”
pvssydestroya: omg gooooooooo for it, girl!!!
wk505: nah lol he didnt do shit to deserve it
Zeninheirlol: FUCK HIM LMAO
kusakebab: make him cum, please.
daddycries69 donated 500 tokens.
daddycries69: Make the pretty boy cum <3
“Well, you heard what they say.” You’re beaming down at him with a too-sultry smile.
And he’s almost seeing heaven as you speed your hips up lewdly, just chaaaasing that sweet, sweet release. Though, Ino’s sure that he could cum right then and there at the way you’re leaning down to whisper in a voice just for him. “After this is all over, how about a date?”
“I really do love you.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - “Erm- actually!”
“Shhhh—” At this point you can’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out and physically pressing it against your tutor’s mouth.
It was a pretty one, alright, but you anyone within a five -mile radius would forget anything about Gojo Satoru’s prettiness just as soon as he opened that damn mouth- “Enough.” Your weary voice sounds even louder in your empty dorm room. Late into the night. Textbooks spread out all around you. “You will not be debating me on the g-spot of all things-”
“Erm-”
“Try again.”
“Look, I’m just saying alright—!” Gojo pushes his thick glasses further up his nosebridge. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes, and fixes you with a piercing sapphire gaze. “The existence of the Gräfenberg spot has not been scientifically proven to be an anatomical structure universally present in-”
“But it’s true that there is an erogenous area on the inner vaginal wall, isn’t it?”
“Reportedly, yes.” He’s fixing his glasses once more, one index raising into the air the way it did whenever he was rambling about something or the other. “Though we aren’t sure whether this is an extension of the clitoral structure or a separate network altogether- and that is if the Gräfenberg spot, like I said, is a pre-existing requisite for the-”
“Requisite or not, at least I know I have it.” You’re rolling your eyes.
“And how would you confirm that? Scientifically?”
You…what?
You’re giving the bespectacled man in front of you the most deadpan look in your life- and no matter how many emotions flit across your face in that very moment, it all ends in one single word: virgin.
But Gojo Satoru was a smart man - and so he’s quickly picking up on what he’d just said.
With a pointed cough, he’s adjusting his glasses when he so-clearly didn’t need to. Looking away from you, you could see the way the tips of his ears were burning bright red. “W-well, of course you could study…that scientifically.” Gojo stutters as he attempts to salvage whatever’s left of his dignity, “In fact, you probably have more experience regarding your Gräfenberg spot than- than anyone. Though m-most scientific studies are vetted- but this degree of ah- anatomy is—”
“Satoru.” You’re cutting right through yet another one of his rambles- and he almost looked relieved to be stopped himself. “Do you want to fuck me?”
Gojo squeaks out in surprise—“What- I mean yes—but in a perfectly scientific…though perhaps we should reconsider the implications- however, if you would like to-”
This time when he’s interrupted, it still is by you.
Though not by your voice, your words, your groans of displease.
But rather- by the way you’re starting to tug off your shirt and unclip your bra. And Gojo Satoru is only growing more and more flushed until his glasses looked as though they were completely fogged—“Just shut and fuck me, nerd.”
“I could f-find the Gräfenberg spot in real life…” He’s breathlessly whispering.
“Satoru.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And in practically no time, you’ve tugged down his stupid Digimon sweatpants and urged him to loom on top of you. Gojo’s hands planted on either side of your head, his legs spreading apart your thighs.
Those slender hips of his tremble juuuuust the slightest bit as he leans in- ruby-red erection almost painfully hard. His cockhead bobs as it slides between your pussylips—Gojo’s brows furrowing in concentration. “Sh-shit, remember what they taught you-” He’s whispering to himself. Tongue sticking between his pretty pink lips, “Remember what all that hentai taught you-”
Your head snaps to him, “What?”
“What?”
And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before a sudden jerk of his honed, hungry hips lean in. Before he’s squeezing his thickened cockhead- “Sh-shiiiiiiit—” Octaves higher. Voice breaking. His cock slips right between your pussylips and gives such a tight thrust- “Oh my- shiiiit. Fuck. Oh my-”
“Are you alright, Satoru?” You almost have to hold back a giggle.
He sounds as though he was shaking- in fact, he was shaking. Blushing from the roots of his white hair and all the way down to his protruding cockhead, “This is—oh.” Gojo throws his head back with a moan loud enough that you’re sure you’d receive a noise complaint tonight, closing his blue eyes in pure delight. “This is so much better than the hentai made it seem, sweetheart.”
“You learned everything from hentai?” You gasp.
“Most of it.” He admits, “But why does it feel like I’m the one…”
“The one?”
“I’m the one getting all…pussydrunk.”
And he just can’t help how good you feel.
He just can’t help himself from pumpin’ and pumpin’ his cocktip against you like a madman- pistoning his veiny inches inside you wildly. Gojo places a hand on top of your stomach to keep you grounded to the bed, at least…that’s what you think he’s doing.
But after a few vulgar strokes hittin’ at your spongy cervix, it becomes obvious that what he’s using his leverage for instead is to reach for your softest spot. That favorite spot of yours.
The Gräfenberg spot, as he had put it.
“Anterior vaginal walls…” He’s mumbling to himself, staring so deeply and desperately at the place where his roverin’ cockhead kept on hitting. Hitting and hitting. “About 2.0 inches to 3.1 inches inside based on most studies—”
His heavy balls were smack-smack-smacking away at the very forefront of your cunt, leaving you feeling all raw from the inside and out.
The only one feeling more raw than you being Gojo himself - his glasses kept slipping down his face because of all the tears, snifflin’ out the biggest sobs down his pretty cheeks. It just felt so gooooood that he can’t help but shiver- “Though disagreement persists, s-sexologists believe it is towards the urinary system-” Not realizing. Not even registering in that muddled haze of a brain, nothing but a space for him to memorize just how you slurp n’ suck on his cock. “And along the outer mucosa that should be riiiiiight around here-”
“Shit, you’re close.” You feel his ridged tip drag along your velvety insides. And it’s as if the more determined he was to find that particular spot - the one he was so sure wasn’t proven earlier - the messier he got. “Satoru, how did you manage to get even sloppier?”
Not even fully pulling out by this point—his crowned, ruddied tip was kissin’ away at your womb and push, push, puuuushing even deeper.
He’d go even past your womb had it been scientifically possible.
The sheer carnal pressure makes you clench, and Gojo’s echoing out such a tooootured groan. Blissfully tortured.
“Oh—oh.” Hissing. Hatching out tiny whimpers at the back of his throat, “Even considering the diverse physiological differences, and the fact that it might not even—fuck, keep squeezin’ me like that, my girl.” And it’s almost as if the more he was fucking you, the more pussydrunk he was becoming, the more and more he was babbling away. “A network of erogenous zones that-”
“Satoru-”
“-theoretically ends up with your g-spot being-”
“Shit, it feels too good-”
“-right here.”
Gojo’s hand presses down on your core. Gojo’s cock presses down on your g-spot- just like the cutest button that works to make your body twitch.
The first early signs of your orgasm overtaking you—before Gojo’s mentally reeling through the signals and registering that you were cumming. Just from that. He’s fucking into you as if he hated you, as if he couldn’t get enough of that pretty g-spot he’d just proven the existence of-
“You didn’t prove shit.” You’re spitting through clenched teeth- shit, had he said that out loud? Your eyes widen, “You did…”
And had he said that out loud?
With a crazed chuckle, the white-haired man slithers his hand down n’ starts toying with your clit. “Erm- actually, you’re the one cumming because of this- hah, loser virgin nerd.” He presents you with such a content smile, “So checkmate, sweetheart.”
“Satoru, you’re utterly p-pussydrunk.” Struggling to speak over the constant overflow of moans. It just fried your brain until you almost felt numb- the way he kept on bashin’ your g-spot.
It’s such a long wave of euphoria that Gojo was dragging you through, his slicked cock peeeerfectly shaped to rover all over your walls. Your deepest innards. Your womb.
You just couldn’t get enough of him ending off each rude hammer with a strike there. “But it’s okay…” And he’s lethargically letting you pull him down n’ kiss him on the lips - you could do whatever you wanted with Gojo Satoru by this point, and he’d let you. “-because I’m cockdrunk, too.”
And Gojo had never read, scientifically, about orgasms that just take you by surprise.
But it happens the moment you utter those sweet words- electricity zapping through him as though he’d just been shocked. He’s twitching at the sudden pour of ivory sap from his cockhead.
Pouring and pouring.
Puddling up somewhere deep inside you that he-
“Fertilization can occur between a t-time period of five minutes to several days.” Gojo mutters out half-ruined. He’s scraping his hand across your front and feeling as his erection just plaps! out webbed volumes of seed. More than he knew he’d ever be able to produce in his entire life.
You groan as he fucks each honeyed ounce inside of you- “Yes?”
“Then it doesn’t hurt to have a second trail, right?” He’s pleading with you, “Out of twenty-five?”
Like a damn science experiment.
.
.
.
A call of your name.
You’re turning around swiftly- right before you’re reaching the edge of the lecture hall.
Professor Yaga meets you in the middle of the open space, and once he does he gives you a short but sweet nod of affirmation. “I have noticed significant progress in your knowledge of anatomy and signaling pathways this past assignment.” And though he always sounded like a sort of army sergeant, you knew that Yaga always meant well. “It’s impressive, I advise you to keep it.”
“Thank you, professor.” You’re smiling gratefully, eyes flickering over to a flash of white somewhere behind him. “I’ve just got a hell of a tutor lately.”
And he’s following your line of sight—“Ah- Mister Gojo? He’s the brightest of the department for a reason.” But then a slightly concerned expression crosses his face - as though Yaga himself was having flashbacks to all the ‘erm- actually’ he’s had to endure. “Though perhaps a little…lacking in the social department. I take it that tutoring hasn’t been without its hiccups?”
“Oh, you could say that…” You trail off- and Gojo had reached where you were by this point.
He hovers as though he was trying to disappear into the wall but not make it seem as though he wanted to disappear into the wall-
“But he’s a really hands-on teacher.” You finish off, looking straaaight at the nerdy boy. “I like that.”
Gojo squeals loud enough that Yaga snaps his head over.
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 30-year-old Virgin
“Do you need any help with that, sir?”
He shuffles a document, “No, no.” Flashing you a brief but unfairly attractive smile, “Continue.”
“Alright alright…” You let your voice trail off, peeking over the glaring computer screen. Higuruma Hiromi, or should you say…your boss, raises a dark brow in challenge. “Truth or dare, sir?”
“I told you not to call me that.” He sighs, slightly shuddering- was it drafty inside the office?
The midnight air was the coldest this time of year; alert and cutting, like the long hours you’d spent cooped up inside the company building. Combing through every receipt and contract and photograph of what should be a slam dunk fraud case for your client—false, of course. Or so that’s what you were supposed to prove.
“Truth.” That deep voice cuts you out of your work-induced stupor.
“Truth, hm…” You’re tapping on your chin thoughtfully, wondering what other sweet secret to wrench out of your ever-stoic boss. You were lucky that it was just the two of you working overtime - all those morsels of Higuruma being single and being a cat person and once being bullied before he threatened to sue them were all yours. So you can’t help it-
“When did you lose your virginity?”
And at that, you watch the dark-haired man’s eyes widen. “P-pardon?”
“Cat got your tongue?” You tease, “When did you lose your virginity?”
Higuruma Hiromi - the most eloquent man you’ve met in your entire life, the most dependable lawyer on court, a terror with his words - gulps. He looks away. Speechless.
And you’re just about wondering whether you’ve overstepped your boundaries (when did he lose his virginity, seriously—) when he whispers.
Just a whisper.
“I’m a virgin, miss.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
Not that there was anything wrong with that—but with a face like that, and a body like that? You’d always assumed that the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between would be lining up for a piece of him. And so you can’t help but wonder…
“Do you need any help with that, sir?”
.
.
.
Two minutes later- perhaps even less, you’re bent over Higuruma’s desk.
A wet sheen down your inner thighs. Achingly needy.
With your tight skirt lifted to expose your lower half, and your pussy drippin’ through your sodden panties. Just dripping.
So damn soaked that he could see it from where he was standing behind you. Higuruma has both hands glued to the sides of your hips, his rough palms drawing lovin’ circles over and over as if he couldn’t trust his very eyes.
As if he couldn’t register it. As if he knew that he was seeing his pretty junior attorney and her just-as-gorgeous pussy. “So fuckin’ wet…” But he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was all real. “S’this all for me, angel?”
“Yes—” You moan, pushing your cunt back against him. Your slit drags down the tight front of his pants n’ snags on his thickened erection. “Give it t’me, sir.”
“Fuck.” His body ruts- shoving you against the wooden lining of the desk. Uncontrollable.
You yelp at the way you’re pushed further up the furniture, important documents fluttering at the movement. “O-oh—”
“Careful, angel. Caaaaareful.” His husky baritone sends shivers up your spine- heightened even more at the ringing sound of his zipper. Being pushed aaaaaall the way down as he pulls his throbbing cock out- you attempt to swivel your head behind to take a good look at him.
Only for Higuruma to bang a hand down atop your head and smush your cheek to the frigid surface. All of a sudden, a lecherous slurp! emanating from between your legs - something thick and rock-hard kissin’ your entrance. “I might be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean m’not your boss still, hm?” He gives the lightest rut—the lightest, and sends your hole achin’ at the raw stretch of his cockhead. “Isn’t that right?”
You’re gasping out desperately, “You’re right- you’re right-”
“I’m right…who?” He’s humming - enjoying this far too much. Sounding so mean.
“What?” Struggling against his hold to stare into those deep, dark eyes. “I thought you said not to-”
“That was then.” There was such a tone of finality in Higuruma’s voice, and his jaw unfastens a little when he feels just how wet you’re gushing out against him. Sliiiiiiding your glaze down his plumpened tip and all the way along his shaft- “But when we fuck…call me ‘sir’.”
And that’s exactly what you’re keening out - loud enough that you’re sure the entire building might have heard had it not been empty at this sinful hour. Because just then, Higuruma swabs his slurpin’ cockhead against your hole and funnels you with his length.
So long. So thick.
Such an incredible primal length that it-
“Fuh-fuck.” Did Higuruma Hiromi just stutter?
And not only was the lawyer stuttering - letting his voice shatter into a zillion pieces at the back of his throat - but he was nearly collapsing his body onto yours. His entire hefty weight resting on your cunt, his fingers trembling wherever they held onto you, his cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and hitting your cervix with a great bang!
Eeeeeeeeasing in. Long and slick.
“Fuck.” He’s repeating like a mantra, like a broken record-player. You hear Higuruma audibly swallow a few times and try to regain his balance-
“Are you alright, si—oh.” Before all his adjusting makes him graze the curvaceous cocktip against your nerves. One of those delicate spots that make you throw your head back and clench-
“Don’t you fucking move.” Higuruma barks out like an order. Suddenly reeling his hips closer and jerking his plump tip against that spot once more- harsh. Sloppy. It’s as if he didn’t even realize he was doing so until he already was. “Actually- don’t do anything.”
“How can I possibly even…”
Pupils blown, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the rapid thud-thud-thudding with his rounded cockhead. “Don’t even say anything.” Almost on cue, his heavy balls were clenching at the pretty sound of your voice. “Don’t even fuh-fuck back.” And you never realized just how strong your boss was until he’s pressing up against you from behind. His ruthless pelvis pinning your restless hips down as he drills into you like a madman.
An utter madman-
“Don’t even fuck- take your panties off.” It was just dizzying the pace he was pounding out already. No hesitation in his thrusts. “Don’t even think—”
A bead of sweat drips down Higuruma’s forehead and ends up splashing onto your back. With his teeth clenched, he’s slithering a hand between your legs and giving your throbbing clit a good pinch-
“Don’t you fucking—oh.”
To make you squeeze his inexperienced cock harder than ever.
And he sounds almost agonized.
Ruby-red tip glazed with all his creamy pre- he flinches away inside you with no warning. Draggin’ inside your walls with the delicious line of his slit, he’s managing to press into every tiny spot and crevice…before simply halting. Not moving his hips.
Not even one bit.
Like there was something clawing at the most carnal parts of him- and just as you’re about to ask Higuruma what was wrong…you feel something hot and treacly fill you up inside.
Your voice catches in your throat, “Sh-shit, did you just-”
“Yes.”
“Just from that?”
“Just from that…”
Though you really didn’t need an answer to your query - because at your innards you could feel Higuruma’s seed splosh! away. Taking over every inch of space inside your cunt and glazing each nook with his ivory sap.
His hand migrates from the back of your head to your neck, pinning your body down further against the mahogany. “Does- fuck, there’s no way pussy feels this good.”
“I mean- ngh.” You babble, mind muddled at the sensation of him stuffing you. Making you overspill. You attempt uselessly to move your hips behind in desire of some friction, “Are you pussydrunk already, sir?”
But he holds steadfast. “No- no, it must just be this pussy. It must just be yours—that’s so fuckin’ unfair.” His voice breaks. His hand slaps down on your skin- and you didn’t think you’d ever get away with going against his orders, did you? Higuruma Hiromi always had been the stern type of boss, always expecting the best from his employees. And that even seeps into his desire right now when he’s shovelling his hips against yours to stop you from moving. Hitting that soft, sweetened target of your womb—hard. “This pussy should be illegal.”
“Oh—” Clawing at the polished wood before you. Allowing the soles of your feet to be fucked inches off of the floor. “Oh my- fuck, sir, I think you’re gonna break the table-”
“So let me break it.” He grumbles, “It’s my table.” Constantly webbing up the back of your pussy with his ribbons of cum- “And you’re my employee.”
“I am-”
“I am…who?”
“I am, sir.” He’s fucking you like he hated you.
“After all-” And you swear you can hear him break out into a chuckle from behind you. “-don’t you worry, angel.”
And you almost dread to hear what nasty words your boss was going to be whispering in your ear. Teething his pearly whites against your sensitive ear.
megumi blinks up at you. big sleepy eyes. bedhead like a baby sea urchin. one sock on. holding his favourite stuffed frog in one chubby hand.
he stares at the bedroom door. then back at you.
"go on." you whisper. "jump on him. he deserves it."
megumi wobbles off - toddling unsteadily across the room on tiny legs, determination in every step. you peek around the corner, holding in a laugh.
toji is dead asleep.
on his back. arm flopped over his face. hair a mess. the blanket has migrated halfway to the floor, revealing a very shirtless torso and the faintest trail of scars down his abdomen.
megumi climbs onto the bed with the grace of a potato. crawls right up onto toji’s stomach. squats there like a little gremlin.
and then-
"dada," he announces. pats his chest with a thump-thump-thump. "wake up."
toji groans.
megumi pats harder. "dadaaaa. wakey. wakey wakey wakey wakey- "
"‘s fuckin’ saturday," toji mumbles, voice gravel. "what did i do to deserve this."
"you forgot to do the dishes last night," you call sweetly from the hallway.
"snitch," he groans.
megumi takes this as encouragement. flops down fully on toji’s chest and sticks his froggie plush directly into his face.
"wibbit," he says very seriously, with his raspy lisp. "froggie say wake."
toji cracks one eye open. stares blankly at the ceiling. lets out the heaviest sigh in recorded history.
and then he sits up - baby still attached to his torso - and mutters, “this family is insane.”
you climb into bed beside them both, hands finding its way into gumi’s wild hair. the other resting over toji’s warm chest.
they smell like sleep and laundry detergent and something that feels like home.
"this bed is overcrowded," toji mutters.
"deal with it," you mumble, half-asleep already.
megumi sneezes. toji groans. you laugh into his skin.
A/N: just a short one i wrote on my plane ride back from holidays AGES ago. lol
Absolutely love your stuff, and especially love that you do FTM reader stuff! If you're taking request still, I'd love to see something with Dabi eating out his ftm boyfriend ❤️
Getting to these in order! Thank you for a great request, I appreciate your patience 🫶
Dabi x FTM!reader - use of femme anatomical terms, masc terminology
===========================
Dabi isn’t gentle in the way people mean it.
He doesn’t soften his voice or clean up his edges just because he loves you. Love, to him, isn’t a performance. It’s a fact. A weight. Something that settles deep and stays there, even when everything else is on fire.
And he does love you.
It shows in the way he watches you when you’re not looking—half-lidded eyes tracking your movements like he’s memorizing them for later. The way his attention sharpens when someone misgenders you, the air around him going colder, his jaw tightening just enough that you know he’s already planning violence in his head.
“You good?” he asks you afterward, voice casual, like he’s asking if you want a drink.
But his hand is already hovering near your back, not touching—giving you the choice. He always does that with you.
You nod, because you are. Mostly. You’ve learned how to be.
He hums, unimpressed with the answer but accepting it. “Yeah. Figured.”
Dabi treats your gender the same way he treats everything else that matters to him: as non-negotiable. There’s no hesitation, no awkward adjustment period. You’re his boyfriend. That’s it. Anyone who can’t grasp that is stupid, and Dabi has never had patience for stupid.
He’s not openly affectionate. Not in public, not really. But he stands close. Always close enough that you feel his heat at your side, blue flames licking just beneath his skin when his mood turns sharp. When you walk, his shoulder bumps yours—not accidental, not apologetic. A reminder. I’m here.
In private, he’s different. Not soft—never soft—but quieter. He leans against doorframes while you talk, arms crossed, listening in that intense, unnerving way that makes you feel like every word is being catalogued. He remembers things you don’t expect him to: offhand comments, insecurities you didn’t mean to say out loud, the way your voice drops when you’re tired.
Sometimes you catch him staring at the scars on your body, his gaze unreadable. When you ask what he’s thinking, he scoffs.
“Just thinking we’d look fucked up as hell together in a police file.”
It’s half a joke. Half not.
Dabi understands dysphoria in his own way. Not because his experience matches yours—but because he knows what it’s like to hate a body that feels like it betrayed you. He never pushes you to talk about it. Never tries to fix it. He just… adjusts. If there are days you don’t want to be touched, he keeps his distance without making it a thing. If there are days you need grounding, his hand finds yours without comment, fingers rough and warm and solid.
When he touches you, it’s deliberate. Possessive without being controlling. Like he’s reminding both of you that you’re real, that you’re here, that the world hasn’t burned you away yet.
“You know,” he mutters once, cigarette glowing between his fingers, “you’ve got a real annoying habit of making me care.”
You snort. “Tragic.”
“Yeah,” he huffed.
Loving Dabi means accepting that danger follows him like a shadow. That some nights he comes back smelling like smoke and blood, eyes bright in a way that makes your stomach twist. You don’t ask for details. He doesn’t offer them. But he lets you sit with him in the aftermath, lets you press your forehead to his shoulder while he exhales slowly, grounding himself with your presence.
You’re not his morality chain. You’re not his redemption.
You’re his anchor.
But it’s late. The kind of late where the world feels hollowed out, quiet enough that your own thoughts start echoing too loud.
Dabi leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you pace like something’s crawling under your skin. He doesn’t interrupt. He knows better. He lets you burn yourself out first.
“You’re restless,” he says eventually, voice low, amused. Not teasing—observant.
You shrug, but it’s weak. He sees right through it.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, pushing off the doorframe.
You don’t even remember deciding to move. One second you’re standing there, the next his hand is on your wrist, warm and firm, thumb brushing over your pulse. He studies you like that for a moment—really looks at you. Like he’s checking in without asking.
“Still with me?” he asks.
You nod.
“Good.”
He backs you up slowly, deliberately, until the edge of the bed hits the backs of your knees. Dabi doesn’t rush. He never does when it matters. He presses in close, heat radiating off him, and tilts your chin up with two fingers—not forcing, just guiding.
Well… maybe forceful enough to make your stomach turn.
His mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s all hunger and restraint. Teeth scrape, breath shared, the tension coiling tighter instead of breaking. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“You trust me,” he says. Not a question.
You answer by reaching for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
That’s all the permission he needs.
Dabi lowers you back with surprising care, movements controlled, eyes never leaving your face. He takes his time stripping away layers—not like he’s unwrapping a gift, but like he’s absorbing the feel of you, the way your breath stutters, the way your hands twitch when he gets close.
He pauses, hand resting on your thigh, grounding. “Say it if you want me to stop.”
You swallow. “Don’t.”
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. Not cruel. Not cocky. Something darker. Something private.
He leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your stomach, then another, then another—each one deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your chest feel tight. His hands anchor you, thumbs tracing idle patterns, keeping you present.
Dabi doesn’t look away when you tense. When your breath changes. When you feel exposed in that vulnerable, electric way that makes you want to disappear and be seen at the same time.
He finds the perfect space to slip off your boxers and pants, leaving you in just a protective shirt that rode up just above your navel.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now, just for you. “Breathe.”
You do. Because he told you to. Because the way his voice rumbled against your stomach was enough to melt your brain.
He smirked.
Cocky fucking bastard.
Dabi lowers himself between your legs as if he’s settling into something familiar, something he’s already decided belongs to him.
His hands slide up your thighs, slow and deliberate, thumbs pressing into muscle as if to remind you not to float away. You feel the heat of him before anything else—the warmth of his body, the faint burn that always clings to his skin. He pauses there, still, savoring the way you tense under his attention.
He looks at you once. Eyes sharp. Focused. No humor this time.
“Don’t go quiet on me,” he murmurs.
Then he leans in.
His warm tongue tasted every drop of excitement that had dripped out of you, making your back arch. The first touch is unhurried, exploratory, and he’s definitely mapping you out by feel alone. He doesn’t rush to overwhelm you.
He groaned softly, the tip of his tongue drawing small circles into the length of your clit. You could feel the quick release of breath from his nose in silent contentment. His eyes narrowed, watching every little jump and lurch you’d made while he’d broken you down on his tongue.
He loved how you tried to scoot away from the pleasure.. escape from how good it was to go slow. To be felt.
To be tasted.
That was.. until he wasn’t so patient.
After taking his time and drinking every little squirm and whimper from you, he’d decided that he couldn’t wait a minute more. He flattened his tongue, lapping from your entrance to the swell of your clit. He panted softly, wrapping his lips around the swollen bundle of nerves and quietly groaning into you.
Fuck was he weak for the little moans and whines that escaped you when you were desperate for him.
He sets a rhythm—measured, controlled—letting the sensation build until your breath turns uneven and your hands curl into the sheets without you realizing it.
Dabi notices everything.
Sees the way your hips react before you mean them to. The way your stomach tightens when he shifts closer. He adjusts without being told, changing pressure, angle, pace, like he’s tuning you to something only he can hear.
“That’s my boy,” he panted between laps, “you’re being so fucking good f’me.”
Your hips buck into his mouth as he finished his sentence, desperate to fuck his lips swollen as best as you could.
A low, satisfied sound vibrates against you, and one of his hands tightens on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to hold you still when your body tries to chase him again. Not rough. Just firm. Claiming.
“Easy,” he mutters, voice dark, almost amused. “I’ve got you.”
His focus never wavers. He stays close, keeps you right on that edge—pulling back just long enough to make your chest ache before returning with intent that leaves you shaking. Every movement is deliberate. Every pause feels intentional, like he’s deciding exactly how far to take you before easing you back again.
He pulls his lips off, watching as your poor swollen clit twitches in desperate anticipation. He smiles, pressing sweet kisses to the vascular hood. He dragged a thumb over, using it to spread and expose you a bit further.
“You like getting your dick sucked?” He hummed, cocking his head a bit. And before you can even respond, his lips were wrapped around you once again.
Your reactions draw another hum from him, pleased and possessive, this is exactly what he wanted. Like this is proof of something.
When he finally pulls away, it’s slow. Careful. One hand stays anchored to you, grounding, keeping you present while the rest of the world rushes back in around you.
He lifts his head, eyes flicking up to meet yours, mouth curled into that familiar, dangerous smirk.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Knew you’d look like that.”
Your eyes begged for exactly what you needed; to cum in that pretty mouth of his.
You whine, allowing one hand to escape from the position it was forced into at the start of this. It slipped into his hair, petting him as he watched you struggle.
The mental debate of begging to cum.
“Say it,” he growled as he pressed a cheek to your thigh. “I want to hear you beg for it properly.”
Which made your stomach clenched in ways that were lethal.
“Fuck..” you groaned, feeling yourself practically leak from his ministrations. “Dabi… please… let me cum..” you whine.
And he smiled.
Once he reconnected his lips to you, he wasn’t kind. He bobbed his head, tongue lapping at the expanse of the underside of your clit. He made sure to savor you each time his head dips.
That’s when he felt the walls of your cunt flutter, desperately contracting and seeking out your high. His hands gripped your shaking thighs tighter, anchoring you in place as you finally caved.
And fuck did it hit you like a truck.
Your back arched your forward, gasping softly as your eyebrows furrowed.
You panted, eyes meeting his again.
“Good,” he cooed, letting his tongue finish off his sentence. “Now that I’ve got you prepped,” he smirked, moving to hover above you.
sum. MIA for two whole days, your older boyfriend finds you have been sick the whole time but don’t worry, they are here to take care of you!
warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, you are early twenty and they are late twenty, petnames, fluff, crack,
GOJO SATORU
he bursts through your apartment door like a whirlwind in a storm — keys jangling as they hit the floor, designer sunglasses still perched on his nose, even though it's nearly sundown. the moment the door swings open, his voice echoes through the quiet, too-quiet apartment.
“sweetheart? baby?” his voice is deceptively cheerful, light and sing-song, but the tension is there, tight in the undercurrent. he hasn’t heard from you in two days. no text. no call. nothing. and you never go that quiet, not even when you’re mad at him.
satoru’s long legs carry him through your apartment like he owns the place — which, to be fair, he kind of does, considering he pays your rent without your knowledge. he steps into the dimly lit living room and freezes.
you’re there, bundled up on the couch like a miserable, sniffling ghost. oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, one of his, naturally, and a pathetic mountain of tissues around you like a fortress. there’s a blanket halfway off your legs, a cold cup of tea on the table, and your phone sitting dead by your hand.
“...what the hell,” he breathes, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he takes it in, brows furrowing under snowy bangs. “are you seriously dying in silence? do you hate me?”
you groan softly, barely able to lift your head. “didn’t wanna bother you… you’re busy with work…”
“busy with work? babe, i thought you got kidnapped by some creepy guy who’s into sniffing socks or something—which, by the way, i would’ve lost my shit over.”
he’s already moving, dropping to his knees in front of the couch, hands large and warm as they cup your flushed face. you’re burning. “oh my god, you’re so hot,” he says, wide-eyed, like it’s not from the fever. “and not in the good, ride-me-until-my-legs-don’t-work way. like… medically concerning.”
you manage a weak laugh, and he beams like you just handed him the moon. satoru brushes your hair back with trembling fingers, his usual smugness cracking under genuine concern.
“you didn’t even call me,” he murmurs, voice dipping low. “two days, angel. two days. i almost broke into your classes like a psycho sugar daddy with a god complex.”
you sniffle, leaning into his palm. “didn’t wanna make you worry…”
“i always worry about you,” he says, exasperated. “that’s, like, half my personality. haven’t you noticed?”
and then, of course, he softens — because he’s a menace, but he’s your menace. satoru stands, scooping you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you squirm, mumbling protests, but your limbs are too heavy, and his arms are warm.
“shut up. we’re doing this,” he says, already carrying you to your bed. “you’re sleeping somewhere with actual blankets and no tissue graveyard. jesus, babe, this whole place smells like menthol and heartbreak.”
he sets you down carefully, tucking the blankets around you like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. he presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then lingers near your lips, hesitant.
“can i…? or am i gonna get the plague?”
you pout. “you’ll get sick.”
“worth it,” he says immediately, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss — just enough pressure to make your heart ache, his thumb brushing your cheek like he’s scared you’ll disappear.
when he pulls back, he’s grinning again, wicked this time. “besides, i bet i’d look hot with a fever. you’d have to nurse me back to health in, like, a slutty little nurse outfit. win-win, right?”
you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re impossible.”
“and you’re my favorite stupid little college girl who forgets to eat when she’s sick.” his hands are already sliding under the covers, slipping around your waist, pulling you close. “so now i’m gonna hold you like a clingy teddy bear, make you drink water, and maybe talk about how good you’d look drooling all over my shirt.”
you snort. “what happened to concern?”
“baby, i am concerned. but i’m also very horny, emotionally overwhelmed, and tragically in love with you. deal with it.”
you let him spoon you from behind, his breath warm on your neck, his body a furnace. his fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach, lips brushing your shoulder.
“next time you’re sick,” he mumbles, “you better call me. i swear to god, i’ll tattoo my number on your forehead if that’s what it takes.”
you nod sleepily, and satoru kisses the shell of your ear.
“good girl.”
GETO SUGURU
he doesn’t knock.
he doesn’t need to — your spare key has been hanging on his keyring for months now, worn from use. suguru opens your door slowly, shoulders tense under his tailored black coat, hair pulled into a lazy low bun like he didn’t even bother styling it this morning. he’s been in meetings all day, working too much, sleeping too little — and now, he’s standing in your apartment, greeted by silence and dim, static air.
“baby?”
his voice is low, velvety, laced with concern that makes your stomach twist. it’s the first time you’ve heard him in two days. you were too sick, too dizzy, too caught up in your own haze of shivers and aching limbs to call him, even though you wanted to. god, you wanted to.
you hear his steps grow closer, steady and measured, then stop right in front of your bedroom door. it creaks open. his tall frame fills the doorway.
and that’s all it takes.
your throat tightens immediately, and like a switch flipped, you burst into tears. snotty, pathetic, breathless sobs that hit you harder than you expected. your voice cracks as you try to speak, but nothing coherent comes out — just a whimper, an ugly sniffle, and a tremble in your bottom lip.
“suguru…” you croak, eyes watery as you sit up on the bed.
his expression falters for half a second — just a flicker of panic under the cool surface. he moves toward you so fast it’s like instinct, dropping his bag to the floor and shrugging off his coat in one motion.
but you beat him to it.
you swing your legs over the edge of the bed with all the theatrical effort of a dying victorian bride, forcing your shaky body upright. it makes your vision spin, but you don’t care — you throw your arms open dramatically, like some sad, flu-stricken princess summoning her knight.
“hold me,” you sniffle, hiccupping through the tears. “i’m sick and miserable and ugly, and i think i’m dying.”
he blinks. then huffs a breath — a soft, low laugh, like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or scold you.
“you’re the most dramatic little brat i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, but he’s already on his knees in front of you, pulling you into his chest. his arms wrap around you fully, palms spread over your back as he tucks your face into the crook of his neck.
“i missed you,” you whimper into his skin, voice cracking. “i was too dizzy to text you and i tried to make soup but it just turned into sadness—”
“shh,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently. “breathe, baby. you’re okay now.”
you cling to him like a koala, fists bunching the back of his shirt. your body sags in his arms, and he holds you up without flinching, like he wants to carry your weight, all of it — your illness, your loneliness, your melodramatic sniffles.
“two days without you and i already look like a corpse,” you mumble. “my skin’s grey. i’m withering.”
he chuckles against your hair, then pulls back just enough to cup your flushed cheeks. “hm. dramatic. needy. sick. crying in my arms like a heartbroken soap opera wife.” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “you know that’s kind of hot, right?”
you blink. “i’m literally disgusting right now.”
“you’re my favorite disgusting little creature,” he says, and kisses your forehead. “now lie back. i’m going to order real food, give you meds, and make you drink water even if i have to hold your nose shut.”
you sniffle again, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzle into his chest.
“you’re gonna spoil me,” you mumble.
he smiles, kissing your hair.
“i already do, sweetheart.”
his hand trails lower under the blanket, slipping to your waist, possessive and warm.
“and after you stop looking like a dying victorian girl,” he murmurs by your ear, voice dipping low, “i’m gonna spoil you in other ways.”
you groan into his chest, heat blooming in your cheeks. “gross.”
“mm. you love it.”
and he’s right. because even at your worst — sick, crying, clingy — suguru geto looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made his life worth slowing down for.
NANAMI KENTO
he should’ve come sooner.
the thought pounds in his head, rhythmic and steady like the ticking of his watch as he pushes into your apartment with a key he made you give him months ago — “for emergencies,” you said, laughing. but this feels like one. you hadn’t texted him back in two days, and that’s unlike you. you were always eager to reply, dramatic even in your “i miss you” messages. so when the silence stretched into a second night, nanami ended his meeting mid-sentence, picked up his coat, and walked out without an ounce of hesitation.
the moment he steps inside, he knows something’s wrong.
your apartment smells off — like the sour tang of sickness masked under old lavender candles. he closes the door quietly, gaze sharp as he sets down his briefcase and calls your name once, calmly.
no answer.
the bathroom light is on.
and then he hears it — the retching.
nanami’s blood runs cold. he moves fast, faster than you’d ever expect from the man who lectures you about walking too quickly indoors. the bathroom door is cracked open. inside, you’re slumped on the cold tile, hugging the toilet bowl, trembling and feverish. your hoodie is sticking to your back with sweat, your knees red from the floor.
you don’t hear him. not until his calm, familiar voice cuts through the haze.
“sweetheart.”
your head jerks up weakly. your voice comes out hoarse, cracking. “kento…?”
he doesn’t say anything at first — just takes a slow breath and kneels beside you, sleeves rolled up in one fluid motion. his tie dangles over your shoulder as he brushes your damp hair back gently, then reaches for the towel nearby to wipe your mouth. his hand doesn’t shake, but his jaw clenches. tight.
“how long has this been happening?” he asks softly, but there’s steel under it. restrained panic. the kind that only surfaces when something he cares about is suffering — and you are the only one who makes him lose control like this.
you sniffle, dazed. “since last night… thought it would pass…”
“and you didn’t call me.”
“you were working,” you mumble. “didn’t wanna stress you out.”
nanami lets out a breath. a sharp one. he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, his frown deepening. you’re burning up.
“you’re shaking,” he mutters. “you’re not staying in here another second.”
“but i threw up—”
“exactly why you’re not staying in here,” he says firmly.
and that’s when your vision blurs again, but this time with hot tears. you cover your face with your hands, voice cracking like glass. “i feel gross, kento. i smell disgusting. my mouth tastes like death. i wanted to clean up before you came and now you’re seeing me like this—”
he doesn’t let you spiral.
his hands, large and warm, wrap around your wrists and gently pull them from your face. he leans in, forehead to yours, voice calm but low.
“you think any of that matters to me?” he whispers. “you’re sick. and you’re mine. i don’t care if you smell like hell. you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”
you sniff, swallowing another sob. “i look like a wet rat.”
he presses a kiss to your damp forehead. “then you’re my wet rat.”
and despite everything, you laugh — a weak, wet, pitiful sound, but it makes him smile.
then he lifts you. no warning. one smooth motion, as if you weigh nothing. your arms cling to his neck, dizzy and lightheaded as he carries you out of the bathroom and down the hall.
“where—?”
“bed? no,” he says, striding straight past it. “you’re burning up and soaked through.”
he stops in front of your closet and kicks it open gently. “clean clothes,” he mutters. “then i’m drawing you a bath.”
you blink. “aren’t you going to let me change myself?”
he looks at you, unimpressed. “do you really think i’m letting you stand on your own right now?”
you pout. “you’re bossy when i’m sick.”
“i’m bossy because you’re reckless and dramatic and refuse to call me when you need help,” he says, setting you down on the edge of your bed. his hands reach up, unzipping your hoodie with such care it makes your breath catch. “and if you ever do this again, i swear to god—”
you reach out weakly, tugging at his tie. “you’ll what?”
he leans in, gaze dark and heavy.
“i’ll handcuff you to my bed and monitor your temperature every hour until you learn your lesson.”
your eyes go wide. “…is that a threat or a promise?”
his lips curl into the barest smirk.
“both.”
TOJI FUSHIGURO
you were crying. again.
but not soft, delicate tears — oh no. it was messy, snotty, full-volume dramatic sobbing, the kind you’d only let out in the privacy of your kitchen, hunched over like some tragic figure in a bad medical drama.
the bottle of meds sat in front of you. sealed. stupid. evil.
and your fingers? useless. trembling. too weak to twist it open. your body had already betrayed you all day — shivering under five blankets, sweating through them an hour later, barely able to sit up without seeing stars. and this goddamn childproof bottle was the final straw.
“open,” you whispered hoarsely, turning it with your palms, your arms shaking.
“open, please… i’m not strong enough, oh my god. i’m a weak pathetic little victorian widow.”
you tried again. failed again.
your bottom lip quivered.
you dropped your head onto the counter with a dramatic thunk.
“this is it,” you wailed to no one. “this is how i die. taken out by a five-dollar bottle of generic tylenol.”
and that was, of course, the exact moment the front door opened with a heavy thud.
of course it was toji.
he was supposed to be out — working, training, maybe casually intimidating someone. but no. your hot mess of a dramatic arc just had to intersect with him at the peak of your suffering.
“you better not be on the floor again,” his voice called out dryly.
you gasped. “toji—!”
and in he walked, black shirt clinging to his chest, hair still slightly wet from the shower he probably took at the gym, eyebrow cocked in that way — the one that said he knew he was walking into bullshit.
he paused at the kitchen doorway.
you were curled in front of the counter, shaking like a leaf in your hoodie and fuzzy socks, cradling the bottle of meds in your hands like it was your last hope.
your eyes, glossy with fever and tears, locked on him like he was salvation.
“babe,” you croaked, dramatic hand on your heart. “i’m too weak. i need you.”
his face was unreadable.
then he sighed.
“you can’t open your meds bottle?”
“no,” you sobbed. “i tried. i begged. i even yelled at it. and it laughed at me, toji.”
he walked over slowly. “the bottle laughed at you?”
“with its silence.”
“you’re outta your damn mind.”
you whimpered as he took the bottle from your hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. he twisted it open with one hand. one hand.
your mouth dropped open in betrayal.
“don’t gloat,” you muttered.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you were thinking it. i can hear your thoughts. they’re all smug and condescending.”
toji plucked two pills out, popped them in your hand. “yeah? what else are my thoughts saying?”
“they’re saying, ‘wow, my girlfriend’s so weak and small and pitiful, i could crush her with one hand.’”
he snorted, pushing the water bottle toward you.
“i’d rather use the one hand to spank you next time you act like an idiot instead of calling me.”
your eyes widened. “i was preserving your peace!”
“and i’m preserving your life, you dramatic little shit.”
you downed the meds, still sniffling. “i want chicken soup and cuddles.”
“yeah? say please.”
you glared at him.
he leaned down, grabbed you by the back of the thighs, and lifted you up with zero warning, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.
you squealed. “toji—!”
“you want cuddles? you get ‘em after soup. and no more dying alone in the kitchen, dumbass.”
you whined into his back, but your fingers were already gripping the hem of his shirt, safe and secure.
he set you on the couch, tucked you in aggressively, and went back to the kitchen to slam pots around. the bottle of meds still sat on the counter, now open. completely defeated.
you glared at it from your blanket cocoon.
“i hope you fall off the counter and roll under the fridge, you little bitch.”
“what was that?” toji called.
“nothing, babe! love you!”
“that’s what i thought.”
RYOMEN SUKUNA
he knew something was off the second he walked through the door.
your apartment was dark. quiet. no sounds of you stomping around, no dramatic voice echoing from the bedroom about how he never refills the snacks or always leaves his rings on the counter like you’re his damn butler.
nothing.
just silence.
and sukuna?
he doesn’t do silence when it comes to you.
so his voice comes loud, sharp. “oi. where the fuck are you?”
no answer.
he’s already heading down the hall, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s ready to rip the universe in half if it’s taken you from him. he calls for you again—louder this time. still nothing. until—
a soft, pathetic sound.
gagging.
choking.
then… sniffling.
he throws open the bathroom door and freezes.
you’re on the cold tile, curled up dramatically beside the toilet like a tragic heroine in some bad romance movie. your hair is a mess, face flushed with fever, nose red, eyes glassy with tears. you’re shivering in one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked up like a child. and you’re talking to yourself.
rambling.
like you’re saying goodbye.
“tell… tell my mom i loved her,” you whisper hoarsely to no one. “and you can have my manga… just not the signed ones. bury me with those. and don’t let that bitch from the office come to my funeral—”
sukuna blinks. hard.
“what. the fuck,” he growls, stepping in. “are you doing?”
you gasp, like he’s a ghost. “sukuna? is that you? i can’t see, i’m so cold—”
he crouches beside you instantly, hands grabbing your face. your skin is clammy. lips dry. eyes dramatic as hell.
you’re not dying.
you’ve just been throwing up for hours and working yourself into a spiral.
“are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” he hisses, brushing your hair back, eyes scanning every inch of you. “you didn’t call. didn’t text. didn’t scream at me for buying the wrong brand of tea. i thought someone killed you.”
you sniffle, grabbing his wrist with trembling fingers. “i tried to crawl to the kitchen… to get water… but then i thought, what’s the point? i’m dying anyway—”
he looks like he’s two seconds from slamming his fist into the wall.
“you’ve got a stomach bug. not the plague. stop acting like you’re in a fuckin’ soap opera.”
“easy for you to say,” you croak. “you’re not the one rotting from the inside out.”
sukuna lets out a sound that’s half-growl, half-laugh, and scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you cling to him instantly, arms locking around his neck like a koala.
“don’t cremate me,” you mumble into his throat. “i wanna be dramatic even in death. open casket. fake lashes. maybe some light fog and music—”
he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your thigh. “shut up.”
you gasp, offended. “did you just spank me on my deathbed?!”
“you’re not dying,” he growls, carrying you to the bed. “but if you keep talking, i’ll kill you myself.”
you whimper pitifully in his arms. “then… will you at least keep my diary? the one hidden in the closet behind the shoe box? don’t read it—”
“i’ve already read it.”
“what?!”
he lays you down gently, brushing his thumb across your damp cheek.
“you wrote about me in it,” he says, voice low and dangerous now, “every page. even the ones where you were mad. you love me so much it’s pathetic.”
you sniff, cheeks heating up. “i’m allowed to be obsessed with you. it’s your fault.”
he leans down, face inches from yours. “and i’m gonna baby you so hard after this that you’re gonna wish you died, brat.”
“you promise?” you whisper.
his eyes flash with something possessive, raw, feral.
“yeah,” he says, dragging his thumb along your bottom lip, “but only after i get some fluids in you. and not the kind you’re thinking, you filthy little goblin.”
you smile weakly.
and sukuna — your unhinged, dangerous, older boyfriend — tucks you into bed, curses the germs under his breath, and spends the entire night at your side.
because dramatic or not… you’re his.
and he’s not letting you go.
SHIU KONG
he had a key.
of course he had a key. he demanded it after you once locked yourself out at 3 a.m. wearing nothing but a t-shirt and one sock, sobbing over forgotten dumplings. "never again," he’d muttered, shoving the key into his wallet with the same reverence he gave blackmail material.
he wasn’t expecting the door to be unlocked today.
or to hear… whimpering.
low, pitiful, echoing from somewhere deeper in the apartment.
“babe?” he calls out, already slipping off his shoes. his voice carries a lazy calm, the kind he always uses when he’s preparing for bullshit. “you better not be doing something stupid again.”
he turns the corner and freezes.
you’re on the floor.
literally on the floor, crawling toward the kitchen like a Victorian orphan in the final act. your blanket is trailing behind you like a cape, your hair a mess, eyes glassy with tears as you stretch your trembling hand toward the counter like it’s the promised land.
you pause, mid-drag, and look up at him with the most heartbroken face he’s ever seen.
“i dropped… my toast…”
shiu blinks.
you sniffle. “it fell jelly-side down.”
his lips twitch. “oh no.”
“and then i got dizzy.”
“mhm.”
“and i think the floor is sucking the life out of me, shiu.”
he’s walking toward you now, casually, like he’s not biting back a laugh. “you’re telling me… you belly-crawled like a war hero because you dropped toast?”
“i’m starving. i haven’t eaten in days.”
he bends down, squats beside you, one elbow resting on his knee as he watches you dramatically paw at the floor like you’re about to fade into the afterlife.
“you had broth.”
“broth isn’t food. it’s liquid regret.”
shiu snorts. actually snorts. “you’re outta your mind.”
but his voice is gentler now, and without warning, he slips an arm under your waist and another beneath your knees, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you yelp, clinging to his shirt.
“shiu! put me down! i was making progress!”
“toward what? an oscar?”
“toward the toaster!”
he carries you to the couch instead, ignoring your weak little kicks as he deposits you like a fragile treasure, tucks your blanket around you like he hasn’t seen you cry over expired yogurt before, then leans in close.
his voice drops, soft and dangerous.
“next time you wanna reenact your dramatic death, text me first, sweetheart.”
“i didn’t wanna bother you.”
“you’re my favorite kind of bother.”
you blink up at him, pout trembling.
“you’re such an asshole.”
he grins, brushes your hair back gently with a sigh. “but i’m your asshole.”
and then he disappears into the kitchen, mumbling something about how he’s going to make toast the size of your face and spoon-feed you if you try to crawl again.
he does.
he even cuts it into heart shapes.
he just won’t admit it.
HIROMI HIGURUMA
he knew something was off the second he called and you didn’t answer.
you always answered. even if it was just a groggy voice telling him you hated his ringtone and to never call you again. so when he’d finished his meeting, walked out of the courthouse with his tie loosened and a coffee he didn’t even want, and still hadn’t heard from you?
his stomach turned.
fifteen minutes later, he was at your apartment door, unlocking it with the key you gave him the night you first got sick and told him he was your emergency contact “because you look like you’d yell at doctors for me.”
he pushes the door open.
“...hello?”
silence.
and then—
soft sniffles. pen scratching paper. a dramatic sigh.
he follows the sound to the living room and—
freezes.
there you are. wrapped in a blanket like a sad little lump, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your head resting against the coffee table. a whole stack of napkins laid out in front of you like legal documents, each one written in your slightly-shaky, overly-loopy script.
he walks closer, blinking at the one closest to him.
“to my beloved hiromi: you can have my succulents, even though you always forget to water them. i forgive you. i love you. tell my cat i said bye.”
his brow twitches. “...what the hell is this?”
you jump, head snapping up like a child caught drawing on the walls. your eyes are watery and dramatic, red from crying, your nose a little stuffy and your cheeks flushed from fever. you clutch a pen like it’s a quill and you’re writing your last will before war.
“you came,” you whisper.
“yeah. what the hell is going on.”
you sniffle, voice soft and shaking. “i think i’m dying.”
he looks at the box of tissues, the half-empty bottle of cough syrup, and the room-temperature cup of tea on the table.
“you have a cold.”
“a terminal one.”
he sighs, long-suffering but fond, dropping the briefcase onto the floor with a soft thud.
“you sent me twelve napkin letters. in one of them you said i can have your pinterest password when you die.”
“you should know what i liked. to mourn properly.”
“you also left the air fryer to nanami.”
“he said he liked it once!”
he crouches down in front of you, long legs folding easily, eyes scanning your flushed face. he lifts a hand to press it gently to your forehead.
“jesus,” he mutters. “you’re burning up.”
you gaze at him with tear-filled devotion. “if i go, you have to be the one to eulogize me. make it sound like i was sexy and mysterious.”
“you’re congested and covered in napkins.”
“so was marilyn monroe probably.”
hiromi lets out a soft breath. then he leans forward, gathering you into his arms with a slow, practiced motion, your blanket and all, lifting you gently until you’re in his lap, cheek pressed against his shoulder.
you melt into him instantly, mumbling, “i left you my lip balm too. don’t let another girl use it.”
he hums. presses a kiss to your forehead.
“don’t worry, angel. you’re not dying.”
“you sound like a lawyer.”
“i am one. and i can legally promise you’re going to be fine.”
you grumble something about rewriting your will just in case, and he lets you. even picks up a fresh napkin for you and hands you your glitter pen with a quiet, indulgent smile.
“just let me make you some soup after,” he murmurs. “and then i’ll read every one of your dramatic goodbyes.”
“even the one where i left you my collection of embarrassing texts?”
“especially that one.”
he holds you tighter. his voice soft, but his touch firm. grounding. safe.
because for all your chaos, he wouldn’t be anywhere else.
contents ౨ৎ ⋆ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. cursing. ⭑ a series of grocery trips after touya is discharged from the hospital gives you both a sense of normalcy you never thought you’d be able to have again.
monday
“put it back.” he wrinkles his nose as you continue to pick out tomatoes from the neat stack in front of you. “i said put it back.”
you stick your tongue out and tie up the bag after you put the last tomato in, dropping it in the cart he was pushing.
“ew.”
you giggle, he was acting like a little kid.
“touyaaa, you have to eat your veggies to grow big and strong.”
“bullshit. all the brat eats is soba and he’s almost taller than me now.” he grumbles. “and tomatoes are fruits.”
“tastes like a veggie.” your hip gently bumps into his after you walk back to him from the vegetables. “and maybe shoto’s taller than you ‘cause he actually listens to me.”
he rolls his eyes at that, and hesitantly reaches for your hand.
he’s still not used to being with you like this, alone, despite knowing you stayed by his side through countless hospital visits he wished he was conscious for.
but it’s okay because you’re here now, soft skin soothing against his rough, charred flesh. you don’t seem to mind though, not even the fact that he tends to holds you a little more tightly than he used to.
touya doesn’t let go of your hand. not once. not when you went to get a napa cabbage, or when you inspected the peaches on sale for any mushy spots.
or even when he lets you drag him to a stand in the freezer aisle where a nice store employee offers you two samples of gyoza, which was surprisingly good considering it was from a brand you’ve never heard of.
you feed touya his share, his eyes wide as he waits for you to finish blowing on it for him before holding it in front of his lips to eat.
not until you ask “can you go get more bags for me touya?” in that soft voice of yours that turns his knees to jelly, does he even consider the idea of releasing you from his grasp. you ran out when you were getting green onions.
turquoise eyes flicker to you, a hint of disappointment in them. he really doesn’t want to let go.
with a quick glance around, it’s obvious the supermarket was practically empty. which made sense, the two of you purposely chose to come on a monday morning.
perfect.
you use the handle of the cart to push yourself on your tippy toes, taking the opportunity to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.
“please?”
he blinks rapidly, ducking his head down as he barely bites back a smile. you had him wrapped around your little finger and you didn’t even know it sometimes.
he’s always been weak for you.
“‘kay. be right back.” and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your throat, knowing he means it this time.
from now on, he’ll always come back to you. to home.
he quickly returns from his trip to the dispenser roll of plastic bags near the checkout line and promptly dumps them in the cart.
“i changed my mind.” he says as he swiftly slips behind you to hug your waist, catching you in the middle of putting a packet of tofu skin in the nearly full cart. a soft weight can be felt on your hair as his chin rests on your head.
you smile, squeezing his forearms. “about what?”
“….i guess i’ll eat tomatoes.”
“awww, for me?”
“only for you.”
friday
— wild geraniums are rich in flower symbolism. they are associated with love, peace, joy, health, fertility, and spirituality.
it was a warm friday afternoon the next time you and touya go shopping.
the shizuoka prefecture had reached a new high today for the month, a sweltering thirty four degrees, and by the time you two get there you’re sweating bullets.
the cold air conditioning blasts you in the face, cooling your sweat as you’re met with the sight of mothers and elderly women bustling around, carts laden with fresh produce to last the next few weeks by cooking warm meals for their families.
he sighs next to you as the both of you stand in silence, enjoying the breeze for just moment longer.
touya grabs a basket for you, since you’re only planning to grab a few things for shoto anyway. a light pink sticky note rests on the palm of your hand, and he watches as you peer at the youngest’s neat handwriting.
a packet of soba noodles, a new pocky flavor, mousse matcha, that he wanted to try with his friends, and a bottle of green tea.
the two of you are in the snack aisle when he texts, touya too busy examining the ingredients of a box of choco-pie to notice you taking your phone out.
shoto [08:51]
Sorry for the late notice, can you please pick up a potted flower?
It’s for mom.
But don’t let Touya-nii pick.
It’s your choice that I trust.
you giggle at his remark, while your fingers fumble for the pen you know is somewhere.
thankfully, touya saves you by magically pulling it out from the depths of your bag, and places it in the palm of your hand.
you whisper a quick thanks and kiss his cheek. his face goes hot the moment you pull away to scribble on the list in your hand.
‘stop by the plant nursery’ is added to your sticky. it was only a block away on the way back to the todoroki house, so touya and you could just swing by really quick after getting shoto’s stuff. due to lack of a hard surface to write on, your writing was kind of messy.
maybe you should’ve asked touya if you could use his chest, but you doubt the grandmas in the aisle over would approve.
a new notification pops up on your screen.
natsuo [09:03]
helloo my favorite future sister-in-law
can u pick up some fish for sashimi pls
pls pls i got an A on my presentation today
touya leans over your shoulder to read the text and fakes a gag. he never liked fish, and eating it raw? no way in hell.
between the four of them inheriting most of their mother’s likeness (fuck whatever his dad’s weak ass excuse for genes was), you’d think they’d also gain her love of warm dishes like oden and niku-jaga.
as the eldest, of course it was his duty to set things straight and comment on his sibling’s questionable tastes.
you [09:04]
ew
you [09:04]
hot soba is better
mission accomplished, touya proudly hands your phone back to you. you bite back a laugh as you read his texts.
how eloquent of him.
natsuo [09:05]
????????
natsuo [09:05]
BITCH
I KNOW THATS YOU TOUYA
you roll your eyes at the two’s antics and grab your boyfriends hand, leading him to the seafood section.
a wide array of fish was displayed before you, and you take a picture of the ones labeled for sashimi.
you [09:10]
which one? :)
natsuo [09:11]
the salmon !!!!!
you [09:12]
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆
natsuo [09:13]
THANK USOMHCH
I LOV YOU
MORE THANTOUYA
another notification appears as you quickly swipe out of natsuo’s texts before your boyfriend can throw your phone across the supermarket.
fuyumi [09:26]
are you guys at the mart right now?
you [09:27]
we are lol :9
did natsu brag about getting sashimi the moment he got home from his lecture?
fuyumi [09:28]
yeah.
giggling a little, you can almost hear her slightly exasperated tone.
you take a picture of an unsuspecting dabi looking at the frozen steamed buns and he side eyes you after you turn away, already having a sneaking suspicion who you were sending it to.
you [09:28]
touyamakinghearteyesatredbeanbuns.png
fuyumi [09:30]
fatass
you muffle your laughter as touya stalks over to you, swiping the phone out of your hands just as fuyumi texts again.
fuyumi [09:31]
anyways i was going to ask
can you add panko bread crumbs to your cart please?
i wanted make katsudon for you all tonight :>
touya’s types furiously as you hide your face in his chest in a silent fit of laughter.
you [09:32]
only if you take back calling me a fatass, fatass
fuyumi [09:33]
please i’ve hear worse threats from my kindergarteners in the sandbox
you’re almost to the checkout line, before touya stops you.
you don’t even have to take a glance in the direction he’s looking in.
“touya, no.”
“touya, yes.”
he wants to grin so bad but his new staples are still fresh from last week’s surgery.
his mouth settles for a safe pout to win your pity.
unfortunately for him you had an iron will in concerns to his health.
“the nurse said ‘no processed foods for the next thirteen days.’ that includes shrimp chips, dummy.”
your hand around his bicep is firm as you drag him away, and he stares longingly back at the snack aisle.
“where are we going?” he murmurs, the grocery bags that he had insisted carrying in one hand while letting you drag him along in the other.
he makes sure he’s walking on the side of the curb.
you slow your pace to walk beside him and he can hear the teasing smile in your voice.
“to bring a baby home to your mom.”
“okay… wait what?!”
he stares at the potted geraniums in your hands as you exit the plant nursery, eyes flicking up to meet your cheeky grin.
“our baby.”
so that’s what you meant.
you looked a little too pleased with yourself and had somehow gotten a smudge of dirt on your forehead in the process of choosing the perfect flowers for his mother.
he wipes it off with his thumb, and pretends to lick it to see your reaction. your squeals of protest and the way your eyes smile when you laugh make his stomach do a flip.
just like when he met you for the first time.
touya decides anything is worth it as long as he gets to see you make that face. especially pretending eating dirt. fuck the shrimp chips, the only snack he needed was you.
except you weren’t just a snack.
you were a goddamn meal.
he raises an eyebrow and smirks, eyes dancing with mischief as he looks down at you. a firm hand pressed against your belly as he places a painstakingly soft kiss on the spot where the dirt smudge used to be.
“don’t worry.” he breathes. you can feel him smile into the crook of your neck, his fingers caressing your stomach as you squirm ticklishly against him.
“i’ll get you a real one someday.”
you nearly drop the geraniums on his foot.
sunday
today is sunday.
meaning it’s weekly movie night in the todoroki household.
shoto was the one who made it a tradition, after liking it so much when he did it with his classmates. everyone agreed it was the perfect low-effort family bonding activity after a long week.
natsuo just finished taking his finals. you’re relieved not to see him pull anymore all-nighters.
fuyumi’s on summer break. letters from her students written in crayon and covered in silly doodles of her are litter the front of the fridge.
you smile as you pass by it when you’re on on the way to shoto’s room to help him do that little braid he liked on the side of his hair. he was starting to grow it out now.
rei makes sure to volunteer at the local gardening center in the mornings, ensuring her afternoons and evenings are free to spend time with her kids.
enji calls off from work the moment it hits six. his sidekicks at the agency can take care of whatever happens while he’s gone.
touya and you are in charge of buying snacks, and you get everyone’s favorite. after checking out, the two of you head home hand in hand.
you’re snuggled under a blanket with touya. it was shoto’s turn to choose a movie, and the sounds of shrek played as you grew sleepier and sleepier. touya’s warm arms, which had you trapped in his lap, were not helping.
you point at the plate of tuna mayo onigiri on the coffee table. rei and fuyumi had made them earlier while you and him were out at the supermarket.
“remember when you ate so many of those because natsuo dared you to and you got a tummy ache?” he lets out a noise akin to a giggle, and your mouth splits into a grin at the familiar sound.
memories of hot summers sleeping on the floor with the fan on full blast and staying up to see fireflies come flooding back to you.
lying on the roof, you remember him resting his head on your chest while pointing out constellations to you, echoes of shared laughter filling the night air as he’d get them wrong every single time.
the stolen glances at each other between bites of juicy watermelon and soba. his ears turning redder than the slice of fruit in his hands when you catch him staring, the smug look on your face quickly turning into one of concern as he choked on his food and you rushed to pat his back.
in the present, you cuddle up impossibly closer to him, and he shivers as your warm breath hits his neck.
you had really missed this. he did too.
he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the summer with you.
the rest of his life, too. he wasn’t planning on leaving you alone again, not now, not ever.
with you in his arms, he focuses on the movie, laughing along with shoto as fiona attempts to yank out the arrow in shrek’s butt. he turns to you, a smile tugging at his lips. his hair looks even softer against the glow of the projector.
“would you love me if i turned into shrek?”
you grin, poking his cheek. “i’d miss this pretty face of yours too much.”
"scars and all?"
"scars and all."
he frowns playfully at that despite the butterflies coming to life in his stomach, and leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder. you smirk, catching a whiff of your conditioner. “i knew you only liked me for my looks.”
“shush.” you point at something on the coffee table.
he spots the bag of shrimp chips, not so subtly lighting up.
you must have snuck them onto the conveyor belt while you two were standing in the checkout line when he wasn’t looking.
“i love you so much holy shit.” he whispers, nuzzling into your shoulder.
“i know.”
cue the side eye from him.
you roll your eyes at his dramatics and turn around to straddle his strong thighs, raising your hands to gently hold his face in them.
touya shivers as your thumb brushes against his cheek, your touch sweet like the peaches he shared with you after breakfast that morning.
“i love you too.” you whisper back, just in time before he lifts the blanket up to cover the both of you in the dark as he hungrily leans forward to close the gap between you.
rei’s the first one to notice you two asleep on the couch as the ending credits roll.
she gets another fluffy blanket from the closet to layer on top of the one already on your sleeping forms, making sure you’re both properly covered.
she places a kiss on touya’s forehead, then yours, before hugging the rest of her children goodnight and giving them kisses as well.
enji follows suit, muttering a gruff goodnight to everyone. a chorus of quiet good nights trail after him as he lumbers off.
fuyumi, natsuo, and shoto are the last ones left in the living room.
they smirk knowingly at each other as they see touya squeeze you tighter in his sleep, mumbling something about how lucky he is that you’re his.
something about getting you a ring too.
as the three siblings exit the room, they wordlessly shared one last excited glance before heading separate ways to their respective beds. shoto was especially pleased.
when you started living with them, he could ask you to help braid his hair everyday.
he wants you to teach him when you have the time, too. touya could never get it right like you did when you weren’t here.
at least touya had enough of a grasp on his sense of style to help him pick outfits.
you, obviously, were already a todoroki in all of their hearts.
but they still couldn’t wait for their big brother to grow a pair and tie the knot with you.
