A soft moment between you and Chris, where he likes the feeling of your nails scrapping across his scalp..
Chris sturniolo x reader
Warnings: none just soft sugary fluff<3
The air in his room was cold as the day slowly settled into night, the morning traffic replaced by the occasional sounds of passing cars racing to get home and the glittering light of the moon shining through the curtains.
Your fingers were threading through Chris’s hair as the fan blew softly across your intertwined bodies, the t.v. playing some random sitcom.
You then stop scratching his head to reply to a message from Tara asking if you wanted to hangout tomorrow and all you hear is a tiny grunt,
“Chris?”
You said softly looking down at Chris as his face was plastered between the valley of your breasts.
“Did I say you could stop?”
You widen your eyes at his attitude,
“Who are you talking to like that?”
Chris whines and sits up, having his arms extend to cage you between his now toned arms. Chris’s face is inches from yours and you smile softly,
“Keep doing what you were doing…”
You raise an eyebrow in confusion, before smiling at him.
“You’re such a baby, I was texting Tara..”
Chris scoffed and laid back down on your chest pushing his nose into your skin.
“I’m more important..”
You roll your eyes and continue scratching his scalp as he groans at the soothing feeling of your nails scrapping across his head. The feeling making his spine shiver,
“You’re so dramatic and I’m telling Tara about this..”
Chris lets out a lazy agreement, obviously not listening.
“Yeah whatever I don’t care…”
You smile at Chris and continue to enjoy the tender moment between you and your needy boyfriend.
⚠︎ - smut. oral (m receiving). pnv (unprotected). lwk both sub&dom!matt. panties used as gag. bsf!matt. bsf!reader. swearing. pet names.
wc: 1.4k
matt’s pulse hammered in his ears as he stood frozen by the fridge, the cold pepsi can sweating in his grip. he could feel you watching, your eyes lingering on him for a little too long. he shifted his weight, trying to angle his body so the delicate white lace didn’t peek out any further.
you sat up a little straighter on the couch, blanket slipping down your bare thighs. the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from nick’s room hung loose on you. your gaze still abiding right to that flash of fabric.
“matt,” you said softly, “what’s that in your pocket?”
his stomach dropped. heat flooded his face all over again as he placed the can on the table, one hand flying behind him to cover the evidence. “nothing. just… laundry shit.”
you tilted your head, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "laundry shit? that looks a lot a lot like my thong.”
matt’s throat went dry. he could still feel the ghost of that same fabric wrapped around his cock minutes ago, the way he’d stroked himself while breathing in the faint scent of you left on the lace. his spent cock twitched again at the memory, already half-hard despite the panic.
“i—i didn’t mean to grab it,” he stammered, voice cracking. “it was mixed in with my stuff. i was gonna give it back.”
you rose from the couch slowly, blanket falling away completely. the hoodie barely covered the tops of your thighs as you padded toward him barefoot. every step made his heart race faster. when you stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of your perfume still clinging to your skin, you reached around and plucked the thong from his pocket yourself.
the white lace dangled from your fingers between you. matt’s eyes locked on it, then flicked up to meet yours. shame and raw want warred in his chest.
“you were in your room for a while, hm?” you murmured, voice low. “what were doing?”
matt’s breath hitched. his cock pressed insistently against the front of his sweatpants now, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the growing bulge. he tried to step back but the counter trapped him.
“nothing i—”
“i heard you,” you cut in, stepping even closer until your body nearly brushed his. your free hand came up to rest lightly on his chest, feeling how fast his heart pounded. “while you were jerking off with my thong.”
a broken sound escaped him. his hands gripped the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles white. the confession hung heavy in the air, and the way your eyes darkened told him you weren’t disgusted—you were intrigued.
you lifted the thong higher, letting the delicate fabric brush against his lower lip. “did it feel good?” you asked, almost teasing. “using something that was between my legs?”
matt’s hips jerked forward involuntarily. his cock throbbed, a small wet spot forming at the tip of his sweatpants. “fuck… yes,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “i couldn’t stop thinking about you. about how you’d look wearing just that.”
you smiled at first, teasingly. then pressed the lace against his mouth. “open.”
he obeyed without thinking, parting his lips so you could push the thong inside. the taste of fabric and faint traces of his and your arousal hit his tongue. his eyes fluttered shut as a moan vibrated around the lace.
your hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, and lower until your palm cupped the hard line of his cock through his pants. you gave a slow, firm squeeze that made his knees buckle.
“still hard for me,” you whispered, leaning in so your breath ghosted over his ear. “even after you already came.”
matt nodded hesitantly, hips pushing into your touch. you rubbed him through the fabric, feeling every twitch and throb. precum soaked through, making the material slick under your fingers.
you pulled the thong from his mouth with your other hand, strings of saliva connecting it to his lips for a second before it broke. then you dropped down, your knees hitting the cold floor right there in the kitchen.
matt’s eyes widened. “wait—what if nick or chris—”
“they’re not here,” you said simply, hooking your fingers into his waistband. you tugged his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion. his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, still glistening from his earlier release.
you wrapped your fingers around the base, giving one slow stroke from root to tip. matt’s head fell back against the cabinet with a dull thud. a low groan tore from his throat as you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside, collecting the fresh bead of precum.
“fuck—your mouth,” he gasped.
you took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth. your tongue swirled around the head before you sank lower, taking half of him in one smooth motion. matt’s hands flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding on as you bobbed your head. wet sounds filled the kitchen—your mouth working him, saliva dripping down his shaft onto your chin.
you pulled off with a pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock. “what did you think about?” you murmured, pumping him with your fist. he brought his head back up, giving you a look of confusion. “did you cum thinking about fucking me?”
“yes,” matt panted. “every time. i’ve wanted you for so long.”
you stood up suddenly, pressing your body against his. the hoodie rode up as you grabbed his hand and guided it between your legs. his fingers met bare, slick heat—no panties, just your dripping pussy.
“feel how wet i am for you?” you breathed. “hearing you moan my name did that.”
matt’s fingers slid through your folds, gathering your arousal before circling your clit. you rocked against his hand, a soft moan escaping you. he pushed two fingers inside without warning, curling them against that spot that made your thighs shake.
you reached down and grabbed his cock again, lining him up.
“fuck me right here,” you ordered. “against the counter.”
he didn’t hesitate. gripping your hips, he lifted you onto the edge of the counter. your legs wrapped around his waist as he notched the head of his cock against your entrance. one thrust and he buried himself to the hilt inside your tight heat.
both of you groaned at the same time.
“fuck, you’re so tight,” he hummed. “…feel so good.”
matt’s forehead dropped to your shoulder as he started moving—hard, but still gentle strokes that made the counter creak. your pussy clenched around him with every thrust, slick and hot. the wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the kitchen as his hips met the backs of your thighs.
you clawed at his back, pulling him closer. “harder,” you gasped. “don’t hold back.”
matt obeyed, pounding into you with desperate force.
“matt—oh my, fuuuck.” you moan in response.
one hand slipped under your hoodie to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers while his mouth found yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
you broke the kiss first, nuzzling into his neck to muffle your moans as your orgasm built. matt felt your walls flutter and tighten, signaling you were close.
“you close?” he questions you, receiving an immediate nod from you. “go ahead, sweetheart. make a mess all over my cock.” he reached between you, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit until you came with a sharp cry, pussy pulsing around his cock.
the sensation pushed him over the edge. “fuck y/n, where do you want me?” he groans.
“inside, please.” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding him closer to you. he buried himself deep one last time and came hard, flooding your insides with thick ropes of cum. his hips jerked with each pulse, emptying everything he had left.
for a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the fridge. matt stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling.
eventually he pulled out slowly, cum dripping from you onto the counter. he reached down, scooped some onto his fingers, and brought them to your lips. you sucked them clean without hesitation.
you smirked, sliding off the counter and adjusting the hoodie. “next time,” you said, voice still husky, “don’t hide in your room. just come find me.”
matt stared at you, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and glistening with your combined release. the white lace thong lay forgotten on the floor between you.
he swallowed hard, a shaky smile breaking across his face. “yeah… okay.”
author’s note: idk if i like ts but here’s your part two
CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL - Rintaro Suna
18+ After practice in the empty locker room, your boyfriend Rintaro catches you staring at his muscles and forces you onto your knees gagging on his cock.
note: I've been posting daily my drafts and I've been loving itttt! btw I need to update my masterlist I will try to do it today.
The locker room was quiet after practice, the distant echoes of slamming doors and fading footsteps long gone. Most of the Inarizaki team had already cleared out, leaving just the humid scent of sweat, the faint metallic tang of lockers, and the low hum of the overhead lights. You sat on the wooden bench, pretending to scroll through your phone. But your eyes kept drifting.
Suna Rintaro stood a few feet away, back to you, peeling off his damp practice jersey. The muscles along his spine flexed and shifted as he shrugged it off—broad shoulders tapering into his athletic build. His skin glistened faintly with sweat, the lines of his back dipping into the waistband of his shorts. You couldn’t look away.
He paused, then glanced over his shoulder. Those sharp, half-lidded eyes caught you instantly. A slow, cocky smirk tugged at his lips.
“Take a picture,” he drawled, voice low and lazy like he couldn’t be bothered to put any real effort into the tease. “It’ll last longer.”
Your face burned. “I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, you were.” He turned halfway, giving you a better view of his toned chest and the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his shorts. He didn’t rush to cover up. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his shorts down just enough to tease, watching your reaction with that signature bored-but-amused expression. “Staring like you’ve never seen a guy change before. What’s the matter?”
You swallowed, trying to play it cool. “You’re the one taking forever. Hurry up so we can leave.”
Suna chuckled softly, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. “Nah. I think you like the show.” His hand came up, lazily brushing a strand of hair from your face before gripping your chin. “Eyes were glued to my back. You into backs now? Or just mine?”
He kept talking in that slow, mean drawl, making you squirm on the bench. Every denial just made his smirk widen. Before you knew it, your hands were on his thighs, and he was guiding you down.
“On your knees, then,” he murmured, voice dropping. “If you’re gonna stare, might as well make yourself useful.”
You sank to the cool tile floor, heart hammering. Suna leaned back against the lockers with a lazy sigh, one hand threading through your hair. He didn’t yank—yet. He just held you there, looking down with those sleepy eyes that hid how sharp he really was.
“Pretty like this,” he commented, almost offhand. He freed himself, already half-hard from the teasing and the power trip. “C’mon. Open up.”
You took him into your mouth, slow at first, tongue swirling around the head. Suna let out a low groan, fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck… yeah, just like that. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
He was thick, heavy on your tongue. You worked him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and he hissed through his teeth. “Good girl. Deeper—ah, shit.”
You pushed further, and when he hit the back of your throat, you gagged softly. Suna’s grip turned firmer, pulling your hair just enough to guide you. “Easy. Breathe through your nose. You can take more than that, can’t you?”
Another gag as he rocked his hips forward lazily. He didn’t thrust hard—he never needed to with that effortless control—but the pull on your scalp and the way he filled your mouth made your eyes water.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough but still so fucking lazy. He leaned down a little, catching your watery gaze. That cocky smirk deepened. “Can’t understand you with your mouth full. What were you trying to say? ‘Too big’? Or ‘more’?”
You tried to answer around him—something muffled and wet—and he groaned again, eyes fluttering half-shut in pleasure. “Yeah… keep making those sounds. Feels good when you gag like that. So eager.”
He kept talking you through it, mean little praises mixed with commands. “Slower—fuck, yeah, swirl your tongue right there. You’re drooling everywhere, messy girl. You like sucking me off in the locker room? Risky. What if someone walks in and sees you on your knees for me?”
Your thighs pressed together, heat pooling low. Every gag earned another tug on your hair and another smirk when he tilted your head up to watch your face. “Eyes on me. Yeah… just like that. You’re doing so good.”
After a few more minutes of his lazy thrusts and filthy commentary, he pulled you off with a wet pop, breathing heavier but still looking far too composed. Strings of saliva connected your lips to his cock. He wiped your chin with his thumb, almost gentle.
“Up,” he said, tugging you to your feet and turning you toward the bench. “Bend over. I’m not done with you.”
You braced your hands on the bench, shorts and underwear shoved down in one lazy motion by him. Suna pressed up behind you, rubbing his slick cock against your entrance. He was still talking, voice low against your ear.
“I know, I know,” he murmured, that cocky smirk audible even if you couldn’t see it. “It’s big. But you can take it, can’t you? You got this far.”
He pushed in slowly, stretching you open. You gasped, fingers curling against the wood. “Suna—fuck, slow—”
“Shh. Relax.” He sank deeper, groaning low in his throat. “So tight… good girl. Look at you, taking every inch. Knew you could.”
Once he bottomed out, he paused, hips flush against your ass, letting you adjust while his hands roamed lazily over your back and hips. Then he started moving—long, deep strokes that were unhurried but relentless. The slap of skin echoed softly in the empty locker room.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he grunted, one hand sliding up to grip your hair again, pulling your head back slightly. “So wet for me already. Been wet since you were staring at my back, huh?”
You moaned, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Yes—ah—Suna, harder…”
“Harder?” He laughed softly, mean and breathless. “Greedy. Thought you were struggling with how big it is.” He picked up the pace just enough to make you cry out, hitting that spot inside you with infuriating precision. “Say it. Tell me how much you like it.”
“I like it—fuck, I love it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. “You’re so deep—”
“Yeah? Feel me here?” He pressed a hand to your lower stomach, grinding in. “That’s me. Filling you up.”
The teasing never stopped. Every time you moaned too loud, he’d smirk against your shoulder and whisper, “Quiet. Unless you want the team to come back and see how well you take my cock.”
He fucked you like that for a long time—deep, steady, lazy strokes mixed with sharp snaps of his hips when he wanted to hear you whine. His free hand slipped between your legs, rubbing lazy circles that made your knees buckle.
“Come on,” he groaned, voice getting rougher. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing me.”
You came clenching around him with a broken moan of his name. Suna hissed, thrusts faltering for the first time as he chased his own release.
“Fuck… that’s it.” He buried himself deep and came with a low, satisfied groan, hips twitching against you.
He pulled out slowly, helping you straighten up with uncharacteristic gentleness for how mean he’d been minutes earlier. But the smirk was back as he handed you your clothes.
“Clean up quick. Or do you want to walk out of here looking like you just got railed in the locker room?”
brat taming with choso ! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
in which you refuse his princess treatment !? (smut)
you’re on one knee in the hallway, fingers fumbling with the laces of your left sneaker, when you hear choso’s footsteps stop behind you.
“princess?” his voice is soft, confused. “what are you doing?”
you glance over your shoulder. he’s standing there in his usual black hoodie, hair loose, brows drawn together like you just announced you were moving to another country. you finish the knot, double it, and stand up.
“tying my shoes,” you say, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon.”
he blinks. “i always do that for you.”
“yeah, well.” you grab your bag from the hook by the door. “i can do it myself today.”
choso doesn’t move. he just watches you, quiet, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. you’re already reaching for the doorknob when he finally speaks again.
“did i forget something?” he asks. “did i do something wrong?”
you pause, turn around. his face is open, genuinely worried, and it makes your chest twist. “no, baby. you didn’t do anything wrong. i just… wanted to do it myself this morning.”
he nods slowly, but the crease between his brows doesn’t smooth out. “okay.”
you make it all the way to the kitchen before he appears again. you’re standing at the counter, pouring cereal into a bowl, when he stops in the doorway.
“princess,” he says again, softer this time. “i made you breakfast already. it’s in the fridge. the good yogurt. the one with the strawberries you like.”
you look at the bowl in your hands, then at him. “i know. i just felt like cereal today.”
he stares at you for a long moment. “you hate that cereal.”
“it’s fine.”
“you said it tastes like cardboard last week.”
you sigh, setting the bowl down. “choso, it’s okay. i can make my own breakfast. you don’t have to do everything for me.”
he doesn’t argue. he just watches you eat three bites of the cardboard cereal before you give up and push the bowl away. he doesn’t say anything when you grab a banana instead. instead, he keeps watching, quiet and thoughtful, like he’s cataloging every small rebellion.
by the time you’re in the car, he’s still quiet. his hand rests on your thigh like it always does, thumb stroking absent circles, but his mind is clearly somewhere else. you don’t push it. you just let the silence sit between you, warm and familiar.
he doesn’t ask again until you’re home that night.
you’re in the bedroom, changing out of your work clothes, when he appears in the doorway. he’s been home for an hour already—long enough to shower, long enough to make dinner and leave it covered on the stove. but he doesn’t mention any of that. he just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you pull a t-shirt over your head.
“sweetheart,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice now. lower. “come here.”
you turn. he’s still in the doorway, but his eyes have that look—the one he gets when he’s been thinking too hard about something and finally decided what to do about it. you cross the room slowly. he meets you halfway, his hands finding your waist, pulling you in until your chest is pressed to his.
“you’ve been doing everything today,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. “tying your shoes. making breakfast. carrying your own bag. i didn’t stop you. but i need to know why.”
you rest your forehead against his collarbone. “i don’t know. i just wanted to feel like i could handle things. without you doing everything for me.”
he’s quiet for a moment. then his hands slide down to your ass, gripping you firmly, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist. he carries you to the bed like you weigh nothing, laying you down on your stomach, his body already covering yours.
“you can handle things,” he says against the back of your neck, his voice low and rough. “i know that. but you don’t have to.” his hands are already working your jeans down your hips, yanking your panties with them. “you don’t have to do anything when i’m here. that’s the point.”
you feel him shift behind you, hear the sound of his zipper, feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. he doesn’t wait. doesn’t tease. just pushes inside in one slow, deliberate thrust that has you gasping into the mattress.
“choso—”
“shut up,” he snaps, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you harder. “you wanna act like you don’t need me? fine. but you’re gonna take this cock like its the only thing you need.”
his hips snap forward, burying him deeper, and you moan, your fingers fisting the sheets. “you were so fucking stubborn this morning. tying your own shoes like i wasn’t right there. making that shitty cereal like i didn’t already have something ready for you. what the fuck was that?”
you whimper, your body rocking with every thrust. “i just—i wanted—”
“you wanted to be difficult,” he growls, his hand sliding around to your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your thighs shake. “you wanted to prove something. but look at you now. face down, ass up, dripping all over my cock because you can’t even pretend you don’t need me.” his pace is brutal, each thrust punching a moan out of you. “say it. tell me how badly you need me.”
“i- i need you,” you gasp. “cho, please—”
“that’s right,” he pants, his voice dark and mean. “you need me. you need me to fuck you like this because you can't make yourself cum as good as i can. but you’re still my good girl, aren’t you? my perfect little princess who just needed to be reminded who she belongs to.” his fingers work faster, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, and you’re so close you can barely think. “cum for me. cum on this cock like the needy slut you are. show me how much you need it.”
you cum with a broken moan, your walls clenching around him, your body shaking. he fucks you through it, his pace relentless, his hand still working your clit until you’re sobbing into the pillow. only then does he let himself go, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he fills you.
he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves. then he rolls off you, pulling you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair.
“now,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with sleep. “are you gonna be good and let me take care of you?”
you press a kiss to his chest, your body still humming. “okay.”
A loud knock interrupted sleep, well your attempt at falling asleep. You turn over, eyes peeking at the clock on your side table, 2:12AM.
A knock rings through your room once more, slower this time, heavier, as if whoever was standing on the other side of the door was putting their weight into it.
You groaned, running your red-rimmed eyes and dragging yourself out of bed and towards the door. Who was up at this time? There's no way your neighbours were out this late and locked themselves out — especially not on a weeknight.
You straightened your night shirt and shorts, the shirt wasn't even yours, it still smelt of him yet you couldn't bear the shame of returning it.
“Satoru?”
Gojo swayed in the doorway, tall frame hunched beneath the dim hallway light. His white hair was a mess, cheeks pink from alcohol and the cold night air. His designer jacket smelt of cheap alcohol and expensive cologne.
And his usually bright, blue eyes looked… wrecked as if he hadn't slept a wink in days.
The moment his eyes met yours something in him cracked.
Before you could even question him on why he was at your dorm at this hour he slumped into your arms, his large frame nearly knocking you over. “Missed you… S’much,” he slurred into your hair, nuzzling his face closer and inhaling your shampoo.
Something in your stomach twisted. You shouldn't be bitter about it, not really, it's not like you two were official or anything. But it still hurt.
It hurt because he was the first guy to really see you, not just as the ‘quiet kid’ or the ‘nerd,’ Satoru saw you for you, despite being a frat brother, all those late night drives, those cafe study dates, even the lingering kisses.
Then one day he stopped answering your texts, started avoiding you in the library, and eventually told you he had lost feelings on some random Tuesday.
You cried for an entire week, beating yourself up for believing he would want to be with you.
“Satoru,” your voice came out shakier than intended, “are you drunk?”
“Only jus’ a little.” he slurred out, drool starting to pool at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you drinking, I thought you didn't like it?” He giggled at your words, “You always know me too well, pretty girl.”
He stayed clinging to you, backing you up until he was fully inside your dorm and the door clicked shut behind him. It was silent for a moment — except for Gojo’s breath in your ear, then something wet dripped onto your neck.
“Ew are you drooling —” you pulled him off you, finally meeting his gaze again, a soft gasp escaped you, “— why are you crying?” His eyes were redder now, soft tears spilling onto his pale cheeks.
He hiccuped, pulling you closer once more. “I lied… I messed up s’bad, I didn't get bored, fuck I could never get bored of you. You're so funny, and pretty, and you smell really good. Like a cupcake.” His rambling continued as fresh tears welled in his eyes.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to look away. “Then why did you do it?”
“M’stupid, that's why.”
“I know that, but that's not an answer.”
His head dropped forward until his forehead rested against yours. “The guys got to my head,” he admitted quietly. “They said I’m wasting my ‘potential’ and could pull that hot girl Shoko hangs out with.” He took a gasping breath, face contorting into one of disgust, “but she isn't hot, she's just not a nerd like you. But that makes you hot.”
You had to bite back a laugh, forcing a serious expression as he continued. “They said you're clingy, too serious but I loved that about you. You're perfect for my stupid self.”
“It really hurt me, what you did.” Your voice felt small, as if your throat was tightening.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them. “You don't know how it felt,” you choked out. “Like I was some hobby, or some prop you kept around.” Gojo’s mouth twisted into a deeper frown, “Don't say that —”
“It’s true.”
“No it's not.” His voice came out desperate this time, yet somehow firm.
He cupped your face carefully, like he thought you might break apart in his hands. “You meant everything,” he said shakily. “That was the problem, I let them convince me that being utterly whipped for you was a bad thing.”
You stared at him through your tears, and a soft sniffle filled the silence.
“A-and I tried to ignore them, o-or tell them that I didn't care about you like that, but I do.” He gave a soft laugh, words sloshing around his mouth as he slipped further into his drunk haze.
Another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, swiping it away. “I wanted to answer your texts, to see you in the library at lunch — hell I wanted to come over,” he whispered, “I knew I fucked up.”
He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I got hammered just to tell you this, y’know? I hate drinking but you're worth it.”
His eyes searched yours desperately. “Kept thinking about your laugh and your stupid jokes you make and the way you steal my clothes—”
A choked laugh escaped you despite yourself and Satoru’s expression softened at the sound. “There she is,” he murmured.
You shook your head, crying harder now. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah…but I’m your asshole…?” He looked down at you hopefully, “Ew, don't make it weird.” You laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes.
A tiny smile tugged weakly at his mouth. He swayed dangerously, alcohol still humming in his veins, “Let's get you to bed, Satoru.” You caught the mischievous glint in his eyes, “Don’t be a freak, I mean to sleep.” You watched his face fall then brighten up once more, “Can we sleep together —” He straightened when he saw your stern gaze, “— not like that.”
You guided him to your bedroom, he kicked his shoes off messily near the door and practically collapsed into your bed with a dramatic groan that almost made you laugh again.
“God,” he muttered. “The room is spinning.” You rolled your eyes, tossing over some of his clothes that you had stole forgot to return. “Hey, keep your eyes to yourself.” He muttered as he not-so-gracefully shimmied out of his jeans.
You climbed into bed beside him, the second you did, Gojo opened his arms. You hesitantly curled up next to him, the feeling oddly familiar.
“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his eyes fluttering shut and sleep began to take him.
“I know.”
He pressed a wet kiss to your forehead, finally succumbing to the after-effects of the alcohol.
He's going to be in for it tomorrow when you ‘ran out’ of painkillers for his hangover.
a/n: thank you @ingydingyy for the request I hope I did your idea justice <3
coming home from a tiring day and expecting bkg to be up and ready and cooking but to find him on the couch snoozing :(
nom nom nom
for the next move in your relationship with bakugou katsuki, he gave you the key to his apartment. it’s a fancy word, apartment. not flat, not your student shared house you lived in a few years ago or your family home with your tiny bedroom and snacks that will be snatched by your siblings.
your boyfriend’s apartment. it’s a skyscraper bachelor pad which, with the integration of you in his life, has become a home of more. or really katsuki’s house, with mini shrines to you all over it.
your favourite cereal and fruit bars in the cupboards, your favourite biscuits you dip in your tea and the fridge with a tub of the only yoghurt you eat. his living room which before had no blankets, has four. all chosen by you every time you go shopping with him and his inability to say no. then about three books you’re currently reading, your nintendo switch you leave at his house. his bathroom with your spare toothbrush, makeup wipes and a duplicate skincare selection of the one you have at home.
however, even though it might look like you live here for half of your week, your boyfriend still loves to treat you like a guest.
cooking for your every time you come over. fluffing up his cushions so you don’t think he only comes to his apartment to sleep and leaves for work. cleans up, showers, resprays himself with cologne and deodorant.
with all that said, you know what to expect with katsuki, especially when you use his front door key for the first time. no need to knock and wait to hear him rush over to the door, waiting a single second to pretend to look like he didn’t just run before opening the door.
this time, you opened the door yourself and instead of seeing your boyfriend in his kitchen, mixing something in his wok, adding soy sauce somewhere and veggies somewhere else, you can’t see him anywhere. you know he’s home though, he texted you an hour ago to say he would be.
you kick off your shoes and pull off your jacket. dumping your bag on the floor, you wade your way through his apartment.
“katsuki? are you on the toilet?” you call but as soon as you enter his living room, you go silent. a smile springs up on your face instead.
“awe,” you mumble and the feeling you get when you see a cute puppy, a little tiny kitten or a chubby sweet baby, fills up inside of you. warmth and love, everything pink with the urge to squeeze.
this grown ass man was dead to the world. laid in his cloud ivory L shaped sofa, on his back, chest softly breathing up and down, up and down. in through his nose and out through his lips.
it’s rare you witness katsuki sleeping. he’s always up before you for his work and on weekends when you get to sleep in, he’s always in that half awake stage when if you try and sneak out under him, suddenly he gains all consciousness to drag you back.
the size of him is a shock. to see a man that large resting. he feels like a lion, ready to pounce at any hint of a predator. he’s in his comfy clothes, wool hoodie and grey joggers. both his hands on his stomach, resting over each other like an old man. you coo at the sight of him with no frowns nor is he on the edge of a bark.
you kneel at the edge of the sofa, knowing that if anyone where to see you now, you’d be framed as a loving girlfriend or an utter creep.
you couldn’t care less. you brush katsuki’s damp blonde strands off his forehead, wondering whether kissing his cheek is worth it to wake him up.
until one eye snaps open. bakugou jumps out of your grasp, onto his elbows with a yelp, “fuck!”
he makes you jump too, eyes wide as you watch his cortisol slowly level back to normal.
“it’s just me!”
“shit, i wasn’t expectin’ you to be there.” he lays back on the sofa, forearm over his eyes. sleep causes his voice to be a deep growl, every word delicious. “didn’t even realise i fell asleep, was supposed to be startin’ dinner for ya.”
“it’s okay, you must have been sleepy,” you say quietly, hands back on your lap and bakugou swings his head over to look at you.
he licks his bottom lip. eyes with creases around them, skin stiff but the endearment in his eyes is undeniable.
“how are you, sweets? sorry, i’m outta it.” he reaches for your waist, urging you to sit up next to him on the sofa.
you do eagerly, flinging your body over his like he’s your life boat, head on his shoulder. bakugou wraps his arms around your back.
“i’m fine. you’re such a cute sleeper.”
bakugou scoffs, closing his eyes, “shut up.”
“you are! like a baby, one who’s eating all their meals.”
“yeah?” he entertains.
“hm,” you hum, “wanna kiss all over your sweet cheeks.”
he peels one eye open. one thing about the prohero, he loves your attention. “go on. then i’ll start cookin’.”
you sit up, hands on his shoulders, “we can always order in. you’re clearly exhausted.”
“i like cookin’ for you,” he mumbles when you press your lips onto his cheekbone.
immediately bakugou grins, hands resting on your hips.
“but you don’t have to.”
another kiss to his right cheekbone. then his chin.
“i would rather lay here with you,” he murmurs.
“nice. i’ll look for something for us.”
a kiss on his eyelids, then his forehead.
“proper kiss now.” he pushes, tilting up his chin to keep closer to your face.
“so bossy,” you smirk before pressing your lips onto his.
fratjo never goes down… unless its you, of course ! (⸝⸝> ω <⸝⸝)
the first rule of being satoru gojo was simple: you never, ever went down on a girl.
“it’s undignified,” he declared, leaning back in the worn-out frat house armchair, one leg slung over the arm. a bottle of cheap beer dangled from his fingers. “like, biologically, it makes no sense. you’re putting your face in a swamp. a swamp.i have standards.”
his friends—a chorus of nodding, beer-addled bros—laughed and clinked bottles in agreement. “preach, man!”
“seriously,” gojo continued, warming to his theme, his white hair glowing under the shitty fluorescent light. “what’s in it for me? the view is mid. the taste is questionable. naaah. my talents are better utilized elsewhere.” he gestured vaguely with the bottle. “let them worship me. that’s the natural order. i’m a giver, sure, but that’s just… not in my repertoire. ever.”
he said it with such absolute, unshakeable conviction that it became gospel in the frat house. gojo doesn’t eat pussy. it was a known fact, like the sky being blue or his ego being planetary in size.
cut to three hours later.
the same satoru gojo is currently buried so deep between your thighs he might need a rescue team. the arrogant smirk is gone, replaced by a look of single-minded, desperate devotion. his glasses are discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor.
“fuuuhhck,” he slurs, the word muffled against your skin as his tongue—that clever, wicked tongue he claimed was too good for this—lashes your clit in tight, frantic circles. “fuck, fuck, fuck… mmmh, so good…”
he’s not just doing it. he’s feasting. one large hand pins your hip to the mattress, the other is tangled in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life. the wet, obscene sounds filling the room are coming from him as much as from you— slurps, groans, hungry hums that vibrate straight to your core. each flick of his tongue draws a new, breathy moan from him, a symphony of whines and low, possessive growls.
you card your fingers through his sweaty white hair, tugging gently. “t-thought you didn’t do this,” you gasp, arching into his mouth.
he pulls off just enough to growl, his lips and chin glistening. “shut up,” he breathes, pupils blown wide, looking utterly pussydrunk. a string of saliva connects his lower lip to your folds. “you taste like fucking heaven. ‘s different.” he nuzzles back in, inhaling deeply with a shuddering sigh. “god, you smell so good… mmph…” then he dives back in with a needy whimper, his nose pressing against you as he laps at your entrance, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst. every swallow is punctuated by a soft, satisfied groan from the back of his throat.
he’s lost all composure, all his cool, frat-boy posturing dissolved into a primal, whimpering mess. he moans into you, a continuous, low-pitched moans synced with the thrust of his tongue, his hips grinding uselessly against the mattress. when your legs start to shake around his head, he lets out a muffled, encouraging “yesssss, c’mon, baby, g-give it to me— n-need it s'bad—”
when you finally come, crying out his name, he doesn’t pull away. he rides out every pulse with his tongue, swallowing every drop, a deep, resonant sigh of pleasure vibrating against your oversensitive flesh until you’re pushing his head away, trembling and spent.
he collapses beside you, breathing raggedly, a dazed, blissed-out smile on his slick lips. he looks ruined, triumphant, and utterly, completely yours. he lets out a long, shaky exhale that’s almost a laugh.
“…okay,” he pants after a minute, turning to nuzzle your shoulder. he presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “maybe i do go down. but only for you.” he licks his lips, still tasting you, and lets out another soft, involuntary sigh. “and you better not tell anyone.”
"we'll see about that," you just smile, running a thumb over his swollen lower lip.
choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything.
it’s not something he’s ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.
you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. you’ve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.
"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. he’s already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. he’s wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."
"you’re going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but you’re already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.
"that’s the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."
he’s wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like he’s polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the day’s mask. when he’s done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshly—never harshly—but with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.
you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when you’re down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like you’re something fragile.
"sleep," he whispers.
but you catch his wrist. you’re not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.
"stay," you plead.
he hesitates. "you’re tired."
"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but i’m... i’m exhausted. but— but i want you— but i don't want to do anything—"
something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.
"then don’t," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until he’s hovering over you. "don’t do anything. don’t even think. just let me make you feel good."
"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.
he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.
"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."
he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.
he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"
you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"
"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"
he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.
"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."
you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.
"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."
you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.
"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"
"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.
"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."
you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.
before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.
"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."
"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.
he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"
you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.
he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"
he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.
"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."
"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"
"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."
his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.
you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.
"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"
he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.
"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.
you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."
"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."
you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."
Imagine Rodrick 's biceps 🤤🤤 he's got to have some muscle built up from playing drums
-🐞
down in the basement is where you and rodrick spend most of your nights. sometimes he steals his susan's projector to 'corrupt' it with slasher and zombie movies. but most of the time he's smashing hi-toms to medium toms with his battered drum sticks.
you sit across the room on the couch, watching his toned arms peak out of his shirt. rodrick was never the one to exercise. he'd rather listen to his cds or eat mountains of hot dogs instead. but ever since he got loded diper together he's been doing his own kind of exercise. and god, is it working.
the sound of booming bass simmers into silence. rodrick looks at you expectantly, eager to hear your praise. "do you like that version better?"
you hum, his words going in your ear and pouring out the other, seeping down your neck. your eyes glued to his arms made your legs move under you. you pad over to him, "yeah, 's good." you murmur.
he tilts his head, "just good?" he notices how your eyes have practically glazed over. "is anyone in there?" he grins as he follows your gaze. you paw at him, your palms squeeze the firm ridges of his forearms. "arms are pretty."
"yeah? wanna see how pretty they can get?" he purrs as he pulls you into his lap.
~
you're draped over his lap, his legs keeping your legs spread. his thick arms wrap around your hips, his palm slips into your jeans. the pad of his finger feel your clothed bundle of nerves.
he murmurs close to your ear, "so beautiful. getting all worked up from my arms, hm?" you nod, grabbing at the muscle. "love your arms." he hums, "but you love my fingers more, don't you pretty?" his hand slips down under your panties, his pointer and middle finger swipe through your damp folds. the corner of his lips curl as he watches you gasp. "i knew it."
he's curling his digits, caressing your gummy walls. crying out, your head dips as moans spill from out your lips. his knuckles deep inside nudges your walls making you feel how truly deep he is.
leaning back in his stool, your back is pressed up against his chest, he spreads your legs wider, his fingers caress your sweet spot. a scream gets caught in your throat. you tense, feeling a knot tying in your lower stomach.
"you gonna cum? hm? all over my fingers?" he kisses down your throat, "or are you gonna cum all over my drums?" he grins at the look of your face: eyes and eyebrows scrunched up in ecstasy. "depends how good it feels. huh?"
in the matter of seconds, the knot tightens and blooms into release. the warmth settled in your bones. spurts of cum decorated rodrick's arms, dribbling down onto his jeans forming wet patches. you whimper, chasing the high.
"such a pretty girl." rodrick comments as he pulls out his coated fingers. he places them in his mouth sucking off the goodness. "you such watch me play more often."
bf!rodrick who swore he'd never in a million years fall for one of the plastics. if you asked him who he fancied last year, he'd shrug and say, "dunno.. someone who'd wanna tour with the band. oh, and they can't wear pink. löded diper policy."
bf!rodrick who'd see you strutting down the hall, heels clicking as you transformed the linoleum floors into a runway. he'd sneer from his locker and chuck a spitball at you, muttering a snarky, "chicks dig bad boys!" to his bandmates.
bf!rodrick who asked you to be his girlfriend on prom night. he stood outside your house in formal clothes (in his definition, formal means anything that isn't pajamas) holding up a handmade sign that said, "you löded my diper when no one else would. will you let me be your böyfriend?" in sharpie. you scoffed at the sight, because did he seriously think he'd have the chance with you? get real.
bf!rodrick who thought he'd blown it big time seeing your initial reaction. he switched off the speakers, turned around and was ready to chuck the sign into the back of his van. you waltzed over to him, whispering a sarcastic, "as if" before grabbing his face and pulling him into a long kiss. "i'll be your girlfriend if you promise not to be a jerk."
bf!rodrick who treats you like an absolute goddess. he'll drive you around, blowing off his bandmates during practice saying he needs, 'girlfriend time'. he's actually started cleaning out his van regularly now to accommodate you.. and also because he's learnt a new concept called hi-jean or something. whatever, there's too many letters.
bf!rodrick who's grown used to the inevitable bling you've brought into his life. your stuff is cluttered around his room, juicy couture taking over his closet and adding a burst of glitter into his monochrome life. at his house parties, he'll have you attached at the hip the entire time because he likes showing you off ♡
bf!rodrick who will write corny love songs for you even if you make fun of him. he gets most of his songwriting inspiration from your relationship. his first album titled, "löve is an open dore" featured your voice in the background for an artistic touch, he said. if he really can't get out of practice, he'll let you sit on his lap and try his best not to bang your head with a drumstick.
bf!rodrick who lets you do his makeup before going on stage. he'll giggle as you pat down a generous amount of foundation on his cheeks, saying, "mom's gonna kill me.." as he passes you a stick of cream eyeliner. "she likes me, don't worry," you smile, placing a chaste kiss on his face and staining his cheek with bright red lip gloss.
bf!rodrick who's parents have become incredibly fond of you. they'll invite you to family dinners, on christmas, easter, you name it. greg considers you part of the family now. they'll often joke and say, "we don't know what he'd do without you!" but there's a hint of sincerity in their words. they've never seen rodrick so happy.. and clean.
bf!rodrick who still wonders how he pulled you. one of the plastics dating a lanky drummer boy certainly wasn't on anyones bingo card this year, but here's the 4-1-1.. you and rodrick make such an oddly compatible couple that everyone else can only dream of a relationship like yours.
a/n "i'm not gonna write for any more fandoms" also me:
overstimulating megumi because he keeps asking for it ୨୧ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader ୨୧ saw a video once...it was hot
you have been pleasuring megumi for hours. he randomly came up to you, needy and whiny, asking you to help him out.
and you did.
you hold the vibrator against his length, watching his tip grow red as precum spills out. megumi squirms all over the place, but never pulls away from the wand.
you're shocked that he's still hard after everything. you gave him the best blowjob of his life, then gave him the trusty handjob, when that didn't help you moved onto the vibrator.
he's cum so many times, yet he's still so hard and whiny. you're not complaining though.
the vibrator feels electric on his cock, it vibrates on him perfectly, making him let out pathetic whines. sweat rolls down his temples as he breathes harshly from the sensitivity he's feeling.
it almost hurts. the delicious type of pain that makes you want more.
you lean down, licking the precum that's leaking from his burning tip. he lets out a whiny moan, gripping your hair harshly as he rubs his tip against your tongue. he tastes so good and you can't help but give a small suck to his tip.
he nearly shoots cum in your mouth. "oh, fuck! don't do that! gonna make me cum."
you laugh at him. "isn't that the goal, pretty boy?"
he doesn't say anything. his chest heaves as he feels his high coming. he tightens his grip on your hair and pushes you closer to his tip. you're still holding the vibrator against his length.
"suck, please!" he whines, whimpers, and cries out. you listen to him, never ignoring his beautiful pleas. you lick his tip softly before sucking his tip harshly. his hips lift off the bed as he cums in your mouth.
he cries out in pleasure, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth, fucking your mouth sloppily.
when he pulls out his eyes are dazed. he pants, slumping against the headboard of the bed. he sighs softly.
megumi presses his lips against your inner thigh, kissing the plush skin softly. he knows you're nervous, he's even more nervous. he's never done this before, he doesn't even know how.
he watched tutorials on youtube, though he would never admit it. he even asked yuji, who was no help.
but now laying here with you, he thinks he's got this. his nose brushes your clothed mound gently as he looks up and meets your eyes.
"just trust me, yeah?"
you nod, cheeks flushed. he smiles and kisses the mound softly before hooking his finger and pulling the fabric away from you. you gasp, still nervous.
he kisses your bare mound, taking his sweet time with getting you to calm down.
"lift your hips, sweets."
you do as he says and he slides your panties off. now you're bare in front of him, stomach curling in knots of nervousness. he stares at your pretty pussy, wet and pretty, just for him.
he reaches a hand up and intertwines his fingers with yours.
"it's okay." he kisses your thigh. "are you sure you want this? we don't have to."
you nod. "please, gumi."
he hums, sliding a finger over your slit. you twitch, letting out a deep breath. its a new feeling.
megumi presses a kiss to your slit, slipping his tongue inside. his tongue is warm as he licks your slick. it feels good, the warmth, the wetness, his nose pressed on your skin.
he kisses your clit gently, giving it kitten licks that make you squirm. you whine softly, hips unconsiously trying to get more friction.
he keeps his fingers intertwined in yours, enjoying the warmth your provide. his tongue dives deeper, spit mixing with your arousal. his chin gets messy and he licks all over.
your whines and sighs start to get into his head as he licks faster, now learning to suck on your clit. it makes you gasp loudly and megumi figures out pretty quickly that it feels good for you.
he gives harsh sucks on your clit, hand squeezing yours softly, a promise that he's still there.
you start to get extra squirmy, rutting your pussy on his face and he can tell you're close. your whines come out more frequently and then you stop, toes curling and hips trembling softly.
he smiles against you, giving sweet sucks on your bud, kissing and licking till your hand meets his forehead and pushes him away.
his lips are messy but he looks in awe of you.
"you're sweet." he whispers. you smile, dazed.
he lays next to you, licking his lips clean and pulls you into his chest.
he thinks he might have to start doing this every night.
:: cws :: hurt to comfort to fluff, established relationships, something short and sweet. 𓏲˚ ۪
The static on the line vibrates right against your eardrum. It’s 2:14 AM, and you’re tired. It’s been three weeks, twenty-one days of dead silence from your situationship slash talking stage slash man that’s not really your man. Your phone burns a hole through the dark on your nightstand. You don’t even say hello. You press the glass to your ear, listening to the heavy, uneven hitch of his breathing.
"Hey," he whispers.
The sound is raw, similar to sandpaper over silk. There’s none of that blinding, obnoxious Gojo Satoru theater in his voice, it’s the quiet, hollowed-out weight of a man who hasn't slept in a month.
"Satoru?" Your voice is small, thick with sleep.
A ragged breath hits the mic on his end. "I'm outside. Well. Outside your window, specifically. And I’m drenched." A weak, self-deprecating chuckle breaks through the static. "Even Infinity doesn't feel like keeping the water off tonight." Liar. You know how he is.
You sit up, the blankets pooling around your waist. "Come inside. The window's unlocked." A second later, the latch clicks. A chill cuts through the bedroom air, followed by the soft, heavy thud of socks on your floorboards. He’s a massive, dark silhouette in the shadows, his white hair damp and hanging loose over his forehead, completely covering his eyes. The blindfold is stuffed into his pocket.
He doesn't move toward the bed. He stands there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped. The strongest sorcerer alive, looking entirely fragile.
"I tried," he says, his voice cracking slightly on the syllable. He swallows hard, the movement of his throat sharp in the dim light. "I tried to do the whole... distant thing. To give you space. Keep you out of the mess. But I’m stupid. I’m so stupid."
You slide to the edge of the mattress, reaching out. Your fingers catch the damp hem of his sleeve. "Satoru, what's wrong?"
He collapses forward. Not hard, but like a tree finally giving into the wind. He drops to his knees by the bedside, burying his face directly into your lap. His hands come out of his pockets and wrap around your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him above water.
He’s warm, radiating that intense, overwhelming heat he always has, but he’s trembling. Just a little.
"I can’t do it," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your thighs. "Everything is loud. The noise, the people, the higher ups... it’s all just constant noise. When I’m with you, it stops. My brain actually shuts up."
You run your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, despite the dampness, clumping between your fingertips. He lets out a long, shuddering sigh at the touch, leaning into your palm like a stray cat.
"Three weeks," he whispers, tilting his head up just enough so you can see the brilliant, fractured blue of his eyes in the dark. They’re wide, blinking up at you with a desperate, sweet vulnerability that he only ever saves for this room. "Twenty-one days. I haven’t eaten properly. I broke three coffee mugs because I wasn't paying attention. I can't function, baby. I’m completely useless without you. It’s pathetic."
"It's not pathetic," you soften, leaning down to press your forehead against his damp hairline.
"It is," he insists, a tiny, genuine trace of his usual pout returning to his lips. He pulls himself up, shifting until he’s crawling onto the mattress, crowding your space until he can wrap his long arms completely around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, breathing you in.
"I love you," he confesses, the words tumbling out fast, urgent, completely devoid of his usual smirk. "I love you so much it makes me dizzy. Please don’t ever let us argue for that long again. Just let me stay here. Let me be small for a little bit."
You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him tight, feeling the rapid, steady thud of his heart against your ribs. "You can stay, Satoru. As long as you need."
He relaxes completely, his heavy frame going pliant against yours, burying his face back into your neck with a soft, content sigh. The strongest man in the world, finally safe enough to sleep.
the kitchen smells like garlic, butter, and whatever expensive seasoning satoru bought last week because apparently “regular salt is boring.”
you’re standing at the stove stirring dinner while quietly regretting ever teaching your husband how to cook.
not because he’s bad at it, unfortunately, he’s annoyingly good.
but because now he treats the kitchen like his personal playground whenever you’re inside it.
“whatcha makin’?” satoru asks for the fourth time in ten minutes.
you don’t even turn around. “food.”
“woaah,” he gasps dramatically behind you. “really?”
you sigh.
already, you can feel him hovering nearby.
he never just stands normally either. no. he leans against counters dramatically, stretches himself over your shoulder unnecessarily, or wraps himself around you like an oversized cat who thinks personal space is offensive.
today seems to be one of those days.
before you can react, long arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest.
“satoru,” you warn immediately.
“what?” he hums innocently against your shoulder.
“i’m cooking.”
“and?”
“and you’re attached to me.”
“exactly.”
you close your eyes briefly. this man.
“go sit down.”
“don’t wanna.”
of course he doesn’t.
he rests his chin on your shoulder now, white hair tickling your cheek while he watches the pan like he’s genuinely interested in what you’re doing.
“…yer stirring too aggressively.”
you stop mid-motion, then slowly turn your head toward him.
“i’m sorry?”
“mhm,” he nods seriously. “the vegetables are scared.”
you stare at him flatly, he grins immediately.
there it is.
that stupid grin that says he knows exactly how annoying he’s being.
“you’re unbearable,” you mutter, turning back toward the stove.
“but ya love me.”
and you can’t even argue against it. because you do, way too much honestly.
you try focusing again, ignoring the way his fingers lazily tap against your stomach while he sways both of you side to side slightly.
for exactly twelve seconds.
then,
“baby.”
you sigh. “what.”
“kiss.”
“i’m cooking.”
“multitask.”
you snort despite yourself. instantly, he notices.
“there’s the laugh i wanted,” he says proudly.
you roll your eyes. “you’re acting like a child.”
“yeah, but i’m your child.”
“that is absolutely not romantic.”
“worked though.”
before you can respond, he suddenly steals the spoon from your hand.
“satoru-”
he takes a dramatic taste directly from it, humming thoughtfully like he’s judging a five-star restaurant.
“…needs more love.”
you blink.
“love?”
“mhm.”
“that’s not an ingredient.”
“sure it is.” he points the spoon toward you accusingly. “yer cooking while annoyed at me. the food can tell.”
you laugh again, quieter this time.
he’s impossible.
and somehow fully aware that making you laugh is exactly how he gets away with everything.
he beams the second he hears it, immediately tightening his arms around you.
“there it is.”
“you’re insane.”
“and yet ya married me anyway.”
fair.
you shake your head, reaching for the spoon again, but instead of giving it back immediately, he lifts it higher out of reach.
“satoru.”
“say please.”
you narrow your eyes. “i’m going to hit you with this pan.”
“violent. scary. terrifying even.”
“…satoru.”
he grins, then finally hands it back only to immediately steal a kiss from your cheek while you’re distracted.
you let out an annoyed sound, but he just laughs softly against your skin.
“worth it.”
you swear he gets clingier the longer you’re married. not less.
because now he follows you everywhere around the apartment like he physically cannot handle being more than three feet away from you.
and the worst part?
you’re used to it now.
used to the random kisses, the constant touching and the dramatic whining whenever you don’t give him attention immediately.
“baby,” he says again suddenly.
you point the spoon toward him threateningly. “if you ask for another kiss while i’m holding hot oil, i’m divorcing you.”
he gasps loudly.
“wow. so this is what our marriage has become?”
“you caused this.”
“false,” he says immediately. “i’m adorable.”
you finally turn toward him fully, raising a brow.
“…adorable.”
“mhm.”
“…not annoying?”
“both can exist.”
you hate that he’s right.
satoru notices your expression immediately and lights up like he’s won something.
“you think i’m cute.”
“i think you should leave my kitchen.”
instead of listening, he pulls you closer again, large hands settling against your hips this time.
then, without warning-
he buries his face into your neck dramatically.
“missed you today,” he mumbles.
your expression softens instantly.
ah.
there it is, underneath all the teasing, he just wanted attention.
you sigh quietly, setting the spoon down before reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.
immediately, he melts against you, completely.
“you saw me this morning,” you murmur.
“too long ago.”
“…you’re needy.”
“only for you.”
his voice is quieter now, warmer.
and suddenly the teasing husband act slips just enough for you to see the softer part underneath it.
the real part.
you smile despite yourself, scratching lightly against his scalp.
“okay,” you whisper. “you can stay.”
he lifts his head immediately, grinning like he just won the lottery.
“sick. what’re we making?”
a/n : first time writing for gojo 👀👀 yall is this mic on 👀👀. tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿ GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა
first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna ac. su2kuna ಎ
⎯⎯ ✉️ awky ⨍ reader 2.2k
the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.
he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.
and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.
simple. intimate. perfect for you.
a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.
and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.
because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.
which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.
“oi.”
you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.
yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.
“. . . what?”
he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”
your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.
lip gloss.
receipt.
wires.
a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?
everything but your keys.
normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—
“you regret comin’ out with me?”
oh . . .
for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.
“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.
sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.
“you heard me.”
your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.
his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.
“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”
“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”
“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”
well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.
“well, no! i just—” what an insufferable man. “i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”
“just nervous.”
“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”
your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.
sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.
“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”
you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”
sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.
“your call.”
and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.
“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.
“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”
“platonically,” you added after a moment.
. . .
his brows lifted slowly.
“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”
“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”
“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”
“that too.”
silence.
then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.
“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”
your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”
he kept walking.
not far. just enough to be annoying.
“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”
a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”
your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”
his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”
“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.
his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.
before you could overthink, your lips meet his.
it’s quick. chaste. shy even.
his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.
he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.
you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.
your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—
“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”
you pant, “what does that even mean?”
his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.
the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.
a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”
you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.
except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.
his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.
you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.
it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.
the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.
then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.
“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.
he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”
“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.
your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.
“here.”
you pause.
and there they were.
your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.
“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”
he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”
you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”
his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”
you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.
“…thanks,” you mutter.
“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”
and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.
you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .
“you alright?”
“yes.”
“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”
“i know!” you shoot back immediately.
the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
“ okay . . . ” you hummed.
“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.
but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.
despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.
you liked it.
you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.
“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.
except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.
“fuck—”
you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”
and then, you’re gone.
the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.
outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.
