your super rich boyfie!satoru takes spoiling you very seriously ♡
oh, satoru has a hero complex. a big one. it's not even the typical 'i need to save the world' hero complex (though he has that, too). it's the 'i need to save you from mild inconveniences' complex. and it's exhausting.
you’d think that being a jujutsu sorcerer would make the little things seem insignificant—like a burnt piece of toast or a flat tire—but to satoru, these things were personal attacks on your peace and happiness. a minor inconvenience to you was an all-out emergency for him.
for example, the other day, you came home after a particularly long mission, grumbling about how the straps on your backpack were digging into your shoulders. a perfectly normal, end-of-the-day complaint. but satoru’s eyes went wide, his smile vanishing, and he instantly became a whirlwind of frantic planning.
“no, no, no, absolutely not. that’s unacceptable,” he declared, already pulling out his phone. "which brand? what color? i'm getting you a whole new luggage set, a proper one. i’m talking custom-made, ergonomic straps, with memory foam lining the shoulders. maybe we should look into a personal chauffeur, too, for your next trips. that way you don’t have to carry anything at all.”
you just stared at him, tilting your head. “satoru, it’s just, like, a backpack. i’m just tired.”
“exactly! you shouldn’t be tired! you should be pampered! this is all the backpack’s fault,” he insisted, dramatically throwing your perfectly fine, slightly worn-out bag into a corner. he then pulled you onto the couch, already ordering takeout from your favorite high-end restaurant because you "clearly need high-quality nutrients to recover from such shoulder trauma."
you sighed, burying your face into his shoulder. "i just wanted a hug, 'toru."
he tightened his arms around you, but his phone was still glowing with shopping tabs. "a hug and a five-star dining experience, darling. and maybe a whole new wardrobe. just in case those clothes are also... digging into you. or something."
you knew better than to argue. the fight had been lost the moment your mildly strained shoulders had been mentioned. you were beautiful, and you were his, and therefore, you must be protected from everything, even the minor discomforts of daily life.
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knowing the bouncer at your favourite club really is the best..♡ (bouncer!toji x chubby!reader)
every bouncer at the club knows you by now because you always show up laughing too loud with a tiny outfit on, all soft curves, heels clicking against the sidewalk while toji stands outside the entrance built like a damn wall pretending he doesnt immediately notice you in line every single weekend.
"there he is!" you yell happily the second you spot him, pointing at him dramatically while the people around you turn to look.
toji reaches over immediately and snatches your ID out of your hand before you can wave it around any harder, his brows pulling together while he checks it despite already knowing your birthday by memory at this point.
"why you always gotta announce yourself like that," he mutters roughly, handing the ID back while his eyes drag over your face for a second too long. you grin at him without shame, fingers curling around the card while you lean closer to the barricade.
"cause youre my favorite bouncer," you tell him sweetly, lashes batting just enough to make the guy behind you snort.
toji clicks his tongue under his breath like hes annoyed, but the corner of his mouth still twitches before he steps aside to let you in. the other bouncers think the whole thing is hilarious because toji hates almost everybody at this job.
everybody else gets dirty looks, grunts, and the occasional threat when they start acting stupid, but you quite literally get let in for free half the time.
the problem starts a couple hours later when youre drunk enough to think climbing onto the bar during some terrible song is a good idea. and one of the bartenders immediately goes to get toji, again.
toji pushes through the crowd already looking irritated, broad shoulders knocking people aside while flashing lights bounce across his face, and the second you spot him your entire face lights up.
"my bouncer!" you yell excitedly, nearly losing your balance trying to point at him.
"yeah, yeah." he mutters tiredly, grabbing your waist before you can topple over backward, his fingers digging into the generous flesh there. "partys done, cmon."
you whine dramatically while he hauls you away from the bar like an oversized cat, one massive arm locked around your middle while your heels scrape uselessly against the floor.
"noo, toji, Im dancin.." you complain loudly, head falling against his shoulder while he drags you through the crowd.
"you were damn near upside down on top'a the counter," he replies flatly, tightening his grip when you wobble again.
"thats not illegal.." you argue immediately, pouting up at him while the cold air hits your face the second he carries you outside.
"felt illegal." he mutters, finally setting you down near the entrance while keeping one hand firm on your waist so you dont drift away. usually this is the part where people get shoved into an uber and sent home, but not you, because youre special apparently.
thirty minutes later youre still standing beside him at the front entrance with his security jacket hanging off your shoulders while you "help" check IDs.
"you missed one." you whisper suspiciously while leaning heavily against his arm, pointing at a completely normal man entering the club. toji glances down at you slowly, cigarette tucked behind his ear while his hand stays braced against your back.
"you can barely see straight," he says dryly, watching your eyes struggle to focus on the line.
"Im checking. I can tell when someones lying from how theyre dressed." you reply seriously, narrowing your eyes at the next person walking up.
"that aint a real thing," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face while you dramatically stick your hand out toward the poor guy in front of you.
"ID," you demand sternly, trying your hardest to sound authoritative despite swaying slightly, and the man actually hands it over.
you stare at it for several long seconds, lips pursed in concentration while toji watches the whole thing.
"I dont know what any of this means.." you admit finally, turning toward him with complete sincerity while holding the ID up helplessly. toji lets out this rough tired laugh through his nose before taking it from your hand, shoulders shaking slightly while he hands it back to the customer.
"go sit down somewhere fore you mess this all up. ya cant even read right now." he mutters, steering you gently away from the entrance with one large hand against your lower back.
"no," you reply immediately, grabbing onto his arm with both hands while your cheek presses against his shoulder. "Im working."
"you are absolutely not workin," he says flatly, but he still keeps you beside him anyway while you whisper nonsense security concerns into his ear for the next twenty minutes.
and by the time toji finally gets his break, youre still attached to him, warm and tipsy beside his body while his security jacket nearly swallows you whole.
"you see them shoes?" you whisper to him, leaning closer.
"baby, focus on standin upright first."
you glare at him immediately. youre not having the disrespect.
"I am upright." you huff, even though you almost trip while saying it.
"that guy has fake gucci.." you whisper seriously while pointing toward the entrance, eyes narrowed with drunken suspicion.
toji snorts quietly around the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth before grabbing your waist and pulling you straight into his lap the second he sits down behind the club, your ass hitting his thighs.
"you can barely see," he mutters, settling back in the chair while one thick arm locks securely around your middle, hand resting on your upper thigh.
"I can feel it," you insist stubbornly, immediately melting against his chest while your fingers start playing with the rings on his hand.
"that dont even make sense." he replies, smoke curling into the cold night air while his rough palm rubs slowly up your thigh absentmindedly. one of the other bouncers walks past and laughs under his breath after spotting you curled up comfortably in tojis lap.
"you babysittin again?" the guy asks, grinning while toji shoots him an irritated look.
"mind your business," toji mutters immediately, pulling you a little closer against his chest while you mumble something sleepy into his shoulder. a couple minutes later your head starts drooping heavier against him, lashes fluttering while the alcohol finally catches up to you completely.
"..toji" you mumble tiredly, fingers hooking weakly into the front of his shirt. "i think m'gettin sleepy.."
"yeah?" he mutters, glancing down at you while putting out his cigarette against the metal chair beside him.
you squint up at him lazily, still curled against his chest while music pounds faintly from inside the club.
"am I fired?" you ask.
toji actually laughs at that, one hand sliding up your back while he shakes his head.
"course. cant have you takin my job, aye? gonna leave me broke."
tou hum thoughtfully like youre genuinely considering that before your eyes start closing again. the second your body goes limp against him, toji sighs quietly through his nose before adjusting his grip under your thighs and standing up with you still in his arms.
one of the bartenders passing by raises an eyebrow immediately.
"you takin her home already?"
toji glances down at your sleepy face tucked against his neck, his security jacket bunched around your body while you cling to him without even realizing it.
"yeah," he mutters, tightening his hold slightly. "shes done causin' problems for tonight."
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."
✮ warning! don't ever agree to help gym coach!toji with his sit-ups ⸺ unless you wanna end up with his dick stuck inside you.
"yo, help me out with my sit ups."
you just held a damn plank for three minutes, your white top was soaked through, sticking to your belly, under your tits, and your spine. you straight up felt like you're gonna croak any second.
the gym was ghosted, the lights were dimmed to a low glow — like when the place is about to close, but someone’s too lazy to kick the last few freaks out. nobody worked out this late. nobody except for one psycho.
toji fushiguro. your massive, hot-as-fuck trainer. he sat on a bench by the rack, lazily re-wrapping his wrists.
"toji, i swear, i'm gonna pass ou—"
"just shut your damn mouth and get over here."
you sighed 'cause it was pointless to argue with him and headed over. he was already on the mat by the time you hit the stretching zone. shirtless, pants hanging so low you could see his happy trail, and rockin' that signature smirk.
"get over here."
you sat on his knees like you did a hundred times before, but today everything felt off. toji grabbed your waist and yanked you up onto his thighs, right on his bare, rock-hard cock.
god-tier cock. huge, veins popping and throbbing at the base, with a thick head already leaking pre-cum. you felt it even through your shorts. "toji… people will see…"
"shhh. you earned a treat, you worked so hard today."
he started moving you back and forth slowly, making your shorts rub against him, but you still felt how hard he was and how he kept twitching under you. "we ain't supposed to… mmnh… if they see us..."
he didn't even let you finish, just hoisted you up with one hand 'cause his left one was gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks. he jerked your panties and shorts to the side and sat you down on his dick. the whole damn thing.
you let out a loud moan — couldn't help it, couldn't even catch your breath because he filled you up to the hilt. you slapped a hand over your mouth right away, digging your fingers into your lips, terrified someone might hear.
after all, you were in a public gym.
"watch that pretty mouth," he purred. "we don't want 'em to catch this fine little pussy swallowin' her coach's cock, do we?" his dick was tearing you up inside, your muscles twitching all crazy around him trying to take it all, but it was too much. you just sat there frozen, shaking and wet, with your mouth wide open, just letting out a silent sob.
"count." he sits up. you feel his abs tighten under your fingers, the way they crunch as he curls up. his shoulder blades leave the mat and that dick inside you moves — up, even deeper if that's even possible, and you feel it hittin' so damn deep.
"on— hahh!" a high, whiny moan rips out of you. you can't catch it, can't close your mouth — you just roll your eyes back and dig your nails into his shoulders, making him laugh. "i said count." his hand stays on your thigh, keeping you from just riding him like a total slut and screaming his name through the whole gym. "that one didn't count. start over."
he slowly sinks back to the mat, his cock almost slips out an inch, maybe two — and you feel every single vein as it slides. right until it’s almost gone.
your hips twitch on their own — you just wanna drop down and feel him inside. "h-nngh! toji...hnnn! just stop bein' such an asshole!"
he peeps you with a raised brow. "babe, i'm gettin' old. ain't gonna wait all night."
"on…"
"can't hear ya."
"one! mmnghh!"
he lifts his torso again, muscles rolling under his skin. he comes all the way up until you're face to face, his cock plunges back in — deep and hard. "h-ahh! two! two!"
you wanna lean on his shoulders or his chest, but he catches both your wrists with one hand and yanks them up. your palms end up over his head, your back arches, and your chest pushes forward, showing off your rock-hard nipples. he leans in and licks 'em right through the top, then takes one in his mouth and starts sucking. there's a wet spot on your top when he pulls away. "such a good girl."
then his hand slaps your ass, making a loud smack echo through the gym. he goes down — and up again, crunch after crunch. he works like a piston, driving you onto his dick with every single lift.
on the sixth rep, you feel a knot tighten inside you. "nngghh! t-toji! i'm gonna cum, oh god, i'm gonna cum right now!"
he speeds it up. the crunches get shorter, meaner. his upper part is working at the limit — you see how strained his muscles are, how the sweat glistens on his belly. his breath gets shaky and raspy.
he hoists his hips up, going in as deep as it gets, and stays like that for a few seconds. his dick is so deep you feel it throbbin' inside.
"one left. c'mon, babe."
he lifts his torso one last time — your legs are shaking in a cramp, wrists still pinned up, you can't move, just grinding your hips in circles. "mmgh! haa-aahh! i'm cummin', i'm cummin', i'm cummin'! tee-e-en! nngghh!"
you come with a loud moan, couldn't even stifle it — no air to breathe, no brain to think. just wave after wave rolling through you, muscles clenching around his cock all jerky and greedy, squeezing every drop out of him.
suddenly, the lights flick on and you hear a muffled voice. "what the fuck are y'all doin' in here?"
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situationship fratkuna tells his friends how you're always so needy for his attention. . . but you know better & now so does he
pleading, offering nights of hot sex, and grovelling at your feet is a new low. even for sukuna.
but you're reeeal petty.
"baby, y'know i wasn't— fuck, I wasn't bein' serious. . ."
sukuna groans, deep in chest, dragging his lips up to your shin then to your knee until he finally settles his cheek against the soft skin of your thigh. he nuzzles his nose into you, inhaling your scent like an addict.
if any of his frat brothers see where he is now, on his knees with his fingers wrapped loosely around your ankles to keep you from pushing him away, he'd never hear the end of it.
"you think i'm too clingy, kuna?"
the question sounds innocent enough, however, with the way you're peering down at him from the edge of your bed in nothing but a bra and some little lace panties is anything but innocent.
"nah, baby, course not." sukuna's palms glide down the backs of your calves, massaging the muscles coaxingly.
your foot nudges his chubbing thickness in his boxers and he pants hotly, sinking his blunt nails into the backs of your calves almost pathetically.
and he was the one calling you clingy?
sukuna swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he forces the words from his lips.
he swears he's never looked, talked to, or talked about another man funny over you.
he says, and i quote, 'jealousy is stupid. why would i be jealous over someone who's already mine?'
and you... kind of believed it? well, until you didn't.
you're sitting together at a resturant, one you decided it would be nice to go out two since you two hadn't been out in a while.
toji sits in front of you, scanning the resturant. for what, you don't know.
until he stops chewing. then continues. then stops. then... squints.
"the fuck." he mutters under his breath, more of a statement than question.
you look at him with raised brows, your mouth stuffed with your burger. "hmm?"
he looks at you. "nothing."
then a few seconds pass.
you're staring at him, he's staring at you. then, his eyes slowly drift away from you, and he drops his burger on his plate. "what the fuck."
"what, toji?" you frown, tilting your head at the mans behavior.
"what the fuck is he staring at?" he grumbles, leaning back and wiping his hands on a napkin. "'cause i know damn sure it's not me."
you look off to the side to see what he's talking about. "I have no idea..." you drift off, then, you see it. actually, you make eye contact with it. a man, staring directly at you with a small smirk. you look away. "oh, wow."
"what's his problem?" toji crosses his arms.
"don't worry about it, toji–"
"hey!" he throws his hand up to get the mans attention, but he gets more than just the mans attention, and it causes you to sink in your seat.
"oh my god..."
"fuck're you lookin' at?" he frowns. "you want my wife or somethin'?"
you hear the guy quickly deny his question. "no man–"
"bullshit." he mutters right before pushing his food aside and jolting from his chair.
"no," your eyes widen. "no, no, no, toji–!"
your elbows rested against the car door, and you're staring out of the window with low eyes, and pursed lips.
toji, one hand on the wheel, one arm on the door, glances over at you. "what's with the attitude?" he questions.
you roll your eyes. "you got us kicked out of the resturant. that's with the attitude."
at first, he says nothing.
just mouths your words with his hand.
when you whip your head over to him, he quickly drops it and stares at the road.
then, clearing his throat, "told 'em to stop staring."
"you literally didn't."
"i tried."
you squint over at the man. "you said you weren't jealous."
he scoffs. "not jealousy. it's..." he tries to think of something, and cant. so he says nothing.
Convincing Pervy roommate!Choso it’s not cheating if it’s over the clothes
“Are you sure?” he asks, whispering. Of course he’s whispering; his ‘girlfriend’ is sleeping right beside you two — a twisted sleepover nightmare.
Tucked under the covers, you two shuffle together tight. He’s got something fat, heavy, and burning between your thighs. It’s slowly but surely rubbing right up against your clothed cunt, dragging out quiet squelchessss. “Yeah, Cho. It’s a rule; it’s only -mm- cheating if it’s s-skin to skin.”
“Okay. That’s -ngh oh fuck- good.” Choso’s hips are furiously rutting against you, nudging your throbbing clit through your panties. You’re driving him absolutely crazy. He can feel the wet mark at your gusset on his skin, just as you can feel the wet streak his leaking pre is leaving on your inner thighs. He sucks in a loud breath behind you.
“Shush,” you scold, “you don’t want to wake your girlfriend.”
“Who?” he asks, absentmindedly.
“Your girlfriend,” you remind him. Rolling your eyes, you twist under your blanket and come face to face with him before you shove him onto his back. You straddle his hips, grinding your cunt onto the length of his bare cock. And as he groans, a finger tilts his head to the side.
His new girlfriend’s fast asleep, drooling on the pillows. She’d invited herself over for your weekly tradition of having a sleepover in the living room, partly due to her desire to hang out with him, and partly because she didn’t feel comfortable with you two sleeping beside each other. Which is good intuition — these sleepovers usually start, consist of, and end with him licking your cunt to back-to-back orgasms as a movie plays in the background.
“Oh, Choso. We’re not cheaters, are we?” you murmur. He shakes his head whilst moving your hips over his cock, particularly over his pretty, pink cockhead. “No, of course not. We’re not cheating now. And we won’t cheat ever. So, let’s make this easier for ourselves. You go and break up with her tomorrow morning and we can keep doing this without hiding, ‘kay?”
Choso furrows his brows. “Break up with who?”
You groan. “Your girlfriend!”
“Oh.” There’s nothing better than holding you. Nothing better than feeling your puffy pussy lips part for him, your heartbeat thrumming through your clit, and the softness of your thighs squeezing his cum out in steady drops. So if having no girlfriend means more of this, then that’s perfect.
Still moving you back and forth on his cock, he leans over to the side and shakes the woman. She wakes with a jolt. “Oh, my god. W-what’s happening?” she asks, tearing up.
Choso palms your tits through your thin tank top, tweaking your nipples as he licks his lips. He’s not even looking at her. No, he’s far too fixated on the growing see-through spot of your panties, which the dull light from the TV is making clear to his beady eyes.
“We’re over. Night.”
She scrambles up from the floor, disbelieving. In a hurry, she gets to the door and opens the thing, letting in light. When she looks back, you’re both illuminated and still unashamedly, relentlessly, grinding against each other. The last things she sees are the spurts of his orgasm painting his chest white and your victorious smile.
You and Satoru broke up for a reason, you keep reminding yourself.
But even months later and, ehm… other people later, you find yourself staring at his contact picture, typing and deleting the same message over and over again.
How are you even supposed to break no contact? Is there a good way of reaching out to your ex without coming across as desperate or delusional?
"I miss you" your fingers type.
Delete.
No way you're starting with that – even if it is the truth.
"Hope you're well" …you groan before you even finish typing that one, the little sound of each letter disappearing managing to piss you off even more.
You had heard it enough times already. A monotone soundtrack to every little memory of Satoru, both good and bad, that jumped to your mind without warning the longer you stared at his handsome picture.
It felt ridiculous to miss him that much. You had tried so hard to move on – maybe just to prove a point too. Because otherwise you’d have to admit what he knew all along.
You shouldn’t embarrass yourself like that, you decide with a long sigh, ready to lock the device.
But suddenly – three little dots appear on the screen.
satoru: just send it already i can't take it anymore
Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and it takes everything in you to not throw the phone across the room and hide from sheer embarrassment.
Then it pings again.
satoru: hellooo?
Fuck.
Was it too late to change your number and move to a different country?
You sigh, finally typing a message you actually send.
y/n: how long have you been watching the screen
Three dots.
satoru: like 10 minutes
You let out a silent scream, heart hammering in your chest.
This is the worst possible scenario – time to deflect.
y/n: why the hell did you have my chat open anyway
Three dots again…
satoru: princess I've been waiting for this moment for months
Your cheeks heat up with something other than embarrassment this time.
y/n: you're an idiot
You know he’d practically be able to hear your pout through that text. But then–
satoru: that guy you were dating finally fuck up?
You let out a small chuckle at his honesty. And yeah, fuck up was putting it lightly, but you didn't exactly want to get into how every man since Satoru had been a complete disappointment.
You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to try and force back the smile that tried to form on your lips.
y/n: guess you could say that
Satoru was typing again, three dots appearing and disappearing. Maybe he was the one deleting the messages on the other side now.
You could almost picture him – that wide cheese eating grin, celebrating his prophecy coming true. You hated how right he was about the fact you wouldn't find anyone better than him.
The overly confident bastard he was.
But the message you received wasn't smug at all. If anything, it made your heart ache with that familiar comfort no one but him seemed able to give you.
satoru: did he hurt you?
You felt a tightness in your throat as you typed out a yes. It's not like you were ever in love with the guy – you hadn't really been in love with anyone since, well… since the man you were texting right now.
White haired, blue eyed, handsome Satoru Gojo, shining so bright he overshadowed everyone in his wake, including you.
But how could anyone else even compare?
satoru: are you ok?
You bite your lower lip, reading and rereading his text. Yes that guy proved to be an asshole, but what was really making your chest hurt wasn't that short lived situationship – it was how much you missed Satoru.
Missed his stupid jokes. Missed the way he'd easily pick you up and place kisses all over your face. Missed cuddling on cold nights, laughing at the dumb movie he chose, baking cookies for lunch when his adorable pout convinced you it was healthy.
What was the use of lying, anyway?
y/n: i just really miss you
There. You finally admitted the truth you had been trying to conceal for months now.
And his response came so fast you wondered how his thumbs could type so quickly.
satoru: ill be there in 10
You laugh – Satoru easily lives a half an hour away, but you fully believe him.
How did you ever think you’d get over Satoru Gojo?
(important) DO NOT MESSAGE YOUR EX – unless he is satoru gojo, of course
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summary. sukuna cannot stop fantasizing about you, the sweet waitress he frequents on his route. he’s convinced you’re too stupid to look after yourself, so he takes things into his own hands—which means showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night with the means to fuck you.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, DUB-CON, dead dove do not eat, stalking, perversions, corruption, obsession, sukuna is NOT a good person with very fucked up thoughts, bimbo reader, making out, dominant sukuna, sukuna has a prince albert piercing and a tattooed dick LOL, submissive reader, degradation, rough sex, size difference, running from it, marking, manhandling, cunnilingus, piv, missioniary, unprotected sex, slapping, unsolicited drugging/feeding aphrodisiacs without consent, mentions of lot lizards.
a/n. this was requested by 🚚 anon here <3 please read the warnings and enjoy!
TRUCKER!SUKUNA took the exact same route every single week. 9 bleak hours behind the wheel, transporting goods and parts from one side of the country, to the other. And thrice a week, he would find himself at a humble little diner. Food was pretty shit, but it was better than going hungry for another 200 miles.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a simple man. Stack of six pancakes for a late breakfast, three sides of eggs doused in ketchup, fried hash browns, and black coffee that tasted... off. It was decent. But what kept him wasn’t the food, no. It was the doe-eyed waitress that would serve him like clockwork every time. Skimpy little skirt that showed off the curve of your ass, your tits practically hanging out from your uniform when you leaned over to take the hefty tip he’d leave.
It’s not like TRUCKER!SUKUNA had a hard time getting some. When he needed to wet his dick, he practically soaked it. But he couldn’t find himself getting as hard as he did than when you were in his proximity. Lot lizard’s couldn’t do it for him anymore, his cock flaccid when he tried to fuck literally anyone else.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA began to look forward to his unconventional brunches. No, not for the eggs or hash browns or pancakes. But for the pretty girl waiting for him. It was clear you were attracted to him at least, seeing as your pupils would dilate when he’d walk in and your gaze would fix on his rolled cuff shirt strangling his thick biceps.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to fuck you. He wants to hear all the soft noises you make when his tongue flattens against your throbbing slit, how your tits will jiggle when he gropes you, how you’ll probably cry when he shoves his cock into you.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is at risk of losing his job. His loads arrive late for drop-off and inspection, because now he lingers after your shift. He’ll sit in the driver’s seat, staring at you through the diner windows, waiting for you to clock out. And when you do, he doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t even approach you.
No, TRUCKER!SUKUNA follows you home. You must be stupid seeing as you don’t notice the very same red truck with black detailing and flames parking down your block multiple times a week.
You need someone to look after you, TRUCKER!SUKUNA concludes. Someone to make sure you don’t fall into the wrong hands or bed, seeing as you’re too idiotic to sort this out yourself.
So, TRUCKER!SUKUNA spends the next few weeks keeping an eye on you. Making sure you get to work safely, that you receive enough of a tip to stash into your savings, to ensure you get home timely.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has done so much for you. He scrubs the five o’clock shadow growing on his chin and jaw, certain that he’s due for a reward now. If only you’d known how he’s watched over you, you’d want to thank him, right?
Your doorbell rings in the middle of the night, stirring you from your slumber. You stumble out in a see-through tank that hugs you just right, and skimpy panties.
“Sukuna…?” you rub the sleep from your eyes, which widen when you see he’s clearly been standing in the rain for quite some time now as his pink strands have fallen over his forehead and cling to the skin, his leather jacket glistening with droplets.
TRUCKER!SUKUNAthinks you’re an angel that’s fallen from the heaven’s to bless him.
“Are you okay? I didn’t see you at the diner today,” you grab his wrist, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind you.
God, if TRUCKER!SUKUNA wanted to murder you right now, he could. Because not only have you opened the door for a stranger, you allowed him into your house.
But, no. TRUCKER!SUKUNA has other plans for you.
“Ya live alone, don’t you?”
You squint. “Yes, I do.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA towers over you, gaze dancing across your face. He’s never realized how soft and supple your skin was. “What about your boyfriend?”
“…I don’t have a boyfriend,” you whisper, feeling your voice waver as he corners you.
Your back meets the wall, and TRUCKER!SUKUNA slams a hand down next to your head.
“You’re dim, you know that?” he reckons, the low timbre of his tone sending sparks up your spine.
“E-excuse me?” you gulp, peering into his crimson irises that have thinned into slits. You’ve never been this close to him, but you feel your stomach somersaulting at the close proximity. He smells a little like cigarettes and gasoline.
“Could have my way with you right now. Since ya let anyone into this place,” he finally breaks his gaze from yours and looks around. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“To the left.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA smirks from ear to ear, before lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.
You gasp, head nearly knocking into his broad back. “Put me down!”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, bird. I’ll be nice tonight. …Maybe.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kicks the door to your bedroom open, tossing you onto your sheets and taking in his surroundings. You two are exact opposites—seeing the soft pastels of pink and yellow and purple decorating your space, decorated with plushies and figures.
You land on your back, blood roaring in your ears as TRUCKER!SUKUNA tugs his shirt over his head. Not only is he absolutely fucking shredded, but his skin is littered in scars and thick black ink, the tattoos only making him look all the more terrifying.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA crawls over you, slow and calculated like a predator hunting it’s prey. He slots himself between your thighs and grips your forearms just to pin them beside your head.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kisses you. Not soft, not nice like he promised. Demanding, bruising. He’s rough as his weight settles atop you, shoving his tongue down your throat and nibbling on your lip just to hear you whimper. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, swapping saliva. He groans repeatedly, enough to tell you he’s enjoying this.
When you squirm, TRUCKER!SUKUNA presses his knee into your sex. You try to run from the mind-numbing bliss, but he doesn’t allow it. Heat settles low, your panties damp with slick and leaving a wet stain across the flimsy fabric.
You can barely breathe—chest heaving up and down, pushing against his bruising grip on your arms, but the man is a reinforced tank that refuses to budge.
When he finally pulls away, all breathless and wrecked with a flushed face and a sleazy grin, you know you’re in for a long night.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA plays with the strap of your tank, before tearing the fabric down the middle. You gasp, but he flicks a pebbled nipple with a click of his tongue. “I’ve given you enough money t’buy a millon of these, brat.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA latches his lips onto your perky tits, leaving bruising love bites across your unmarked skin, groaning as the tent in his jeans only grows suffocating.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to be gentle. But gentle isn’t what you need, no. You need a guiding hand—one that keeps you in place when you fuck up and directs you where you need it. Reprimands you, punishes you. “Don’t fight it,” he groans low and wrecked, dragging his tongue up the shell of your ear. “Let me in.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA slots his head between your thighs, peppering soft kisses against your skin to get you to trust him. Glossy, wide eyes stare back at him. Uncertain, unsure. The first kiss he presses against your clothed clit has you bucking. “Already so wet f’me, hm?”
Your panties are torn down the middle of the gusset, and then you’re devoured like TRUCKER!SUKUNA has been starved for weeks. Suckling, nipping, biting. Spreading, teasing, lavving. You keen, tears biting your waterline as he works you open on a single digit. “S’like you’ve never been fucked… Have you? Been fucked? Can’t help but think a pretty thing like you has already been broken in… but the way you’re, fuck, squeezing n’ sucking me in… got me thinkin’ otherwise.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA works you through an orgasm, stars blotting out behind your eyelids as his tongue flicks your hooded clit and fingers stretch you wide, nestling deep and prodding those sweet spots. You orgasm again soon after the climax. Then another. And another. You start to lose track, thighs burning and core sore.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA barely allows you to catch your breath before he’s kissing you sloppily—your juices slathered all across his lips and chin soaking into your mouth. You taste him, and you taste you. “Gonna fuck you raw now, little bird.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has a massive cock. After tugging his belt off, the metal clasp hitting your bedroom floor, and freeing himself from his briefs, do you feel your stomach swoon. It springs upwards with a slight curve. There’s a double band of black ink rings at the base, buried in pink pubic hair that looks rough to the touch. Bulging veins that run thick with molten lava dance across the length up to a weeping tip piercing with a horseshoe ring.
“Y-you have a-?”
“Prince Albert,” he smirks, all proud of himself as he strokes his dick. He cocks his head, muscles flexing as he watches you squirm. “You scared?”
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you shake your head timidly.
“Good. It doesn’t bite. But, I do.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA splays his large palms on the backs of your thighs as he spreads you open, his dick rutting forward while he glides himself through your folds. He rests his dick on your abdomen, captivated in the size difference. “Gonna feel me in your lungs like this, woman. So fuckin' cute,” he teases as he runs his hands across your body.
When he’s noticed that you’ve had enough foreplay, he presses his unprotected tip against your entrance. You grip the sheets, your breath catching in your throat. When TRUCKER!SUKUNAnotices your inability to breath properly while he feeds his cock to you, his calloused palm meets your cheek, slapping some sense into you. “Not gonna fuck you if you’re passed out, brat,” he grumbles, leaning down to dig his teeth into your collarbone. “Where’s the fun in that?”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a rough fuck. You can barely accommodate to his girthy size, but he continues to push deeper, stretching you out until all you feel is him. His thrusts start off slow, shallow. But when he’s grown impatient, he punctuates each groan with a deep stroke. You cry out, fingernails raking crimson trails to match his eyes down his biceps and shoulder-blades. “Tryna’ milk me for everything I’ve got, woman?”
It doesn’t help that his cock is fucking you senseless, but the cold, metallic feel of his piercing swathed in precum bumping your G-spot has you convulsing and screaming out his name. His grunts, barely contained nor controlled, vibrate through your ears as he pumps in and out and in and out of your drooling hole.
You’re not sure how many times you hit your peak that night seeing as you passed out at some point and woke up to a barely legible note scribbled on a napkin from TRUCKER!SUKUNA, saying he had to get his affairs sorted.
But, you know TRUCKER!SUKUNA won’t be gone for long, at least not with the aphrodisiacs you’d been slipping into his coffee at every visit to your diner.
❧ you've sat across the other side of the table :( utter betrayal II Gojo Satoru x gn!reader
“Are you mad at me?”
You look up from the menu and across the table, hand frozen midair from flicking through the sticky pages. “What?”
Around you, the diner patrons continue with their afternoon meals. The waitress approaching slows down, unsure of what situation she’s walking into and whether the tip is worth the trauma. Glasses clink, knives scrape against plates, and Satoru Gojo worries his lower lip – harnessing the demeanour of a wounded puppy – from across the table.
When you don’t respond, running through the events of the day because what on Earth is he talking about, he nudges your foot under the table, like footsies might remind you he exists. Perhaps he’s seeking a little contact too, because his palm is splayed across the table’s middle – like he wants you to reach out and hold his hand, but isn’t willing to tell you that. Well, not yet anyway, because again, he’s focused on if–
“You are mad at me.” Satoru slumps into the leather of the booth seat like a wilting flower, cheek kissing the table. His bangs dramatically settle into place as if styled and not because of his melodramatics. His (still lonely) hand is still settled on the middle of the table. The waitress wisely backs away.
Okay, fine. You’ll play along. With a dramatic sigh that nearly lives up to his, you rest your palm over his. It’s comical how fast he perks up, like a dog who’s just heard someone say ‘treat’. “I’m not mad at you.”
“But you’re sitting on the other side of the table.” Said like it’s a personal tragedy, like someone just insulted his entire existence. His voice cracks in the middle, emotionally wounded by your grave misjudgement.
“Oh no.” You tilt your head, tap your chin with your free hand like you’re really thinking about your options. And then you lean in co-conspiratively like a corrupt detective. “Absolutely unforgivable. Do you…do you wanna switch sides?” You’re just messing with him. He’s clearly not fussed over whether he gets to sit on the side with the pepper shakers or not.
The forlorn crease of Satoru’s eyebrows returns with a vengeance, but before he can say another word, the waitress interrupts. Polite, notepad in hand. “Are we ready to order?”
“I’d like the—”
“I’d like the chance to fix my relationship,” Satoru cuts in, with the solemnity of a mournful widow, lifting his head off the table just enough to throw you a betrayed look. The waitress blinks twice, pen hovering midair. You stare at him.
“I–uh–the pancakes?” You smile so hard at the waitress, your cheeks start aching. “With syrup. Please.” Please accept my apologies. Please ignore my overdramatic boyfriend. Is what you don’t say.
The waitress scribbles something down, glances between you like she’s stumbled into a breakup in progress, and mutters, “I’ll…give you two a minute.” She disappears with record speed, leaving you to deal with…him.
You watch her go, waiting until she’s rounded the corner – no doubt to warn the others about the couple on table fifteen – before turning to face Satoru. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m starving,” he retorts, though he stares mournfully at your side of the booth like it’s a whole different continent.
“Fine. Come here then.”
His eyes snap up, electric blue and childishly hopeful. “Really?”
“Before I change my mind.”
He’s up before you can blink, sliding next to you – all limbs and chaos. His shoulder bumps into yours, knees brush – accidental touches he doesn’t take back.
You roll your eyes, but he’s already stretching an arm across your shoulders like he’s claiming a trophy. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” Satoru leans in, impossibly closer and somehow still not close enough. He’s silent for a beat, sapphire irises raking in the view of you, right beside him (where you belong).
“You smell nice.”
“Yeah?” you deadpan. “It’s the scent of regret.”
He grins, unbothered by your faux chagrin. “My favourite.”
You try to look unimpressed, but your heart’s already halfway to forgiving him. He only nudges your shoulder again, voice dropping to something softer. “‘Cause it means I’m next to you.”
The traitorous muscle in your chest does an embarrassing little flip.
You try – really try – not to smile, but he’s giving you a look like you’ve hung the moon, all tenderness, and the booth feels too warm, too small.
“Idiot,” you mumble, but you don’t move away, instead pressing your thigh closer to his.
A pleased little hum escapes his lips. “Your idiot.”
— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your daughter doesn’t like when satoru keeps his blindfold on.
you find him lying on the couch, head slumped against multiple pillows, and a blanket loosely wrapped around his body. a trip hazard if he were to get up, so to speak. the lights are dimmed, he’s got one arm tucked beneath his head while the other hangs off the couch. he’s not asleep, that much you know. “baby?” you call out, daughter happily tugging on your shirt and babbling into your neck.
satoru makes a soft sound, a greeting when words don’t come easily to him certain nights. he doesn’t move, doesn’t take his blindfold off, he just lies there contentedly while you walk over and carefully place your daughter onto his chest. she doesn’t stop her happy babbling, but now she’s with her dad and she’s cooing softly and slowly crawling up his chest; the arm hanging off the couch now wrapped around her loosely to make sure she doesn’t fall. “hi, sweetheart.” he keeps his voice soft and quite to try and drown out the throbbing migraine he’s dealing with.
“baaba!” her small, chubby hand pats at his cheek first, then it moves up slowly, and your eyes track every single one of her movements, especially when her fingers find the black material around his eyes. tugging it down fails on her first attempt, you know by the way she whines sadly and tries again. each time she can’t get it down, you can see the way satoru’s lip twitches in amusement just slightly. “dada!” a small hiccup sound emits from her, and finally, she tugs the fabric down just enough to see his bright blue eyes.
“dada’s here, baby, i promise.” satoru smiles at her.
from your spot on the other couch, satoru isn’t sure when you even sat down, you notice the way he strains his head up just enough for her, see’s the way his eyes flutter closed more than usual, and you can definitely see the way he’s trying his best not to let out any sounds of discomfort knowing how badly his headaches get sometimes. but she doesn’t know that, your daughter doesn’t know anything about the stuff he keeps from her, the stuff he tries to leave at the front door before coming home just to keep her safe. all she knows is that satoru is her daddy. “baby, maybe we should let daddy keep the blindfold on for a little bit longer, hm?”
she doesn’t pay attention to your words; she just places her small, delicate hands on his cheeks and squishes them carefully, giggling to herself. “s’okay, baby, don’t mind her taking it off to look at me for a while.” he shoots you a tired smile and finds himself laughing quietly when she blows a raspberry on his cheek suddnely. “thank you, sweet girl, i needed that.” his fingers wrap around one of her wrists and kisses her hand while moving the the hand from behind his head to trace the side of her face slowly. “i love you, you’re everything.”
she doesn’t understand what he’s saying fully, not yet, but she smiles and giggles happily like she does anyway.
his eyes droop again, and this time you can’t stop yourself from reaching over to tug the material back up over his eyes when he does wince, your heart breaking at your daughter’s distressed cries of it being back over his face and no longer able to see his eyes. “m’sorry, sweetheart, but daddy needs it right now.” you frown and wipe the tears already falling down her cheeks.
“daddy’s still here, angel.” satoru promises again, placing his hand on her back and murmuring soft words against her head when she tucks hers into the crook of his neck with a sigh. comfortable and safe.
quietly, you pull another blanket from the other couch, unfold it, and carefully place it over the two of them as best you can. you thread fingers through his white hair, and you smile fondly to yourself when he’s leaning into your touch as best he can without causing your daughter to fuss. “m’gonna get you some water, honey, do you want something for your head?”
“just the water, baby, thank you.”
he hears you go and his grip on his daughter tightens just slightly. her soft cooing sounds ground him, keep him above sea level and he listens to the way her breathing gets softer, her body relaxing more against his and the way her small fingers , which have a mind of their own, blindly grip the material of his blindfold.
“i love you,” he whispers against her forehead. “i know you don’t understand me right now, sweetheart, and that’s okay, just need you to know i love you, mommy loves you and we’ll protect you no matter what. i will do anything to keep you safe, cross my heart.” satoru sniffles and pulls the blanket you put over them, over her small body a little more. always wanting her to be warm.
by the time you came back with his water a few minutes later, your feet came to a halt when you took in the sight of your husband and daughter fast asleep together. smiling to yourself, without making too much noise, you place the glass of water on the coffee table before sitting down on the oak.
lightly threading you fingers through his hair again, you lean down enough to kiss both of them on their heads, doing everything you can to not wake them up. “goodnight my babies,” you pause, tucking the other half of the blanket under his chin. “i love you both so much.”
and satoru continues sleeping but with a soft smile on his lips.
teaching loser bsf! nerdjo how to fuck, but he gets into it leaving you shaking.
you’d agreed to this out of pity, your bestfriend satoru, the campus freak with his wild white hair, taped-up glasses perpetually slipping down his nose, and that awkward hunch from hours hunched over quantum physics textbooks.
“i have a date tomorrow..” he’d mumbled, cheeks flaming red “and i… don’t want to screw it up, like, literally.” so here you were, in his cramped dorm room, textbooks shoved aside on the desk.
“okay, lesson one.” you said, stripping off your shirt with a casual flick. “gentle touches first, don’t just dive in.”
he nodded too eagerly, those piercing blue eyes usually hidden, wide and hungry behind his glasses as he fumbled with his own clothes.
his body was surprisingly toned under the baggy hoodies, lean muscle from all that cursed energy training he bragged about in class, but his hands shook when he reached for you.
you guided him onto the bed, straddling his lap to demonstrate rhythm, grinding slow against the bulge straining his boxers.
“see? build it up. tease her clit like this..” your fingers circled your own, showing him, but gojo’s breath hitched, his hips bucking up involuntarily, cock twitching hard against your thigh.
“like… this?” he rasped, voice cracking from disuse in anything but lectures, his hands, surprisingly strong, gripped your hips, mimicking your roll but with too much force, slamming you down onto him.
you yelped, but before you could correct him, he flipped you onto your back with a surge of that infinite strength he never shut up about. “wait, satoru, slow—”
no mercy, the nerd had cracked open a forbidden textbook, and now he was devouring the chapter.
he yanked your panties aside, fingers plunging in without warning, two, then three curling roughly against yourg-spot.
“you’re so wet already,” he muttered, fascination lacing his awe, glasses fogging as he pumped faster, thumb mashing your clit in erratic circles.
your walls clenched around the intrusion, slick sounds filling the room, but he didn’t stop to check—just watched your face twist, learning from your gasps. “does this… make you cum?.”
you tried to push his hand away, “c..calm down..” but he pinned your wrists with one hand as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck.
“no, teach me right, all of it.” his free hand freed his cock, fucking massive, veined and flushed, tip leaking pre-cum like.
he lined up and thrust in, no prep beyond his fingers, stretching you wide in one brutal slide, you cried out, back arching, the burn morphing into filthy pleasure as he bottomed out.
gojo turned absolutely feral, hips snapping with precision — deep, grinding strokes that hit every nerve, his cock dragging along your walls, bullying your cervix with each plunge.
“Ffck, you’re tight..” he groaned, voice dropping to a guttural whine, glasses slipping as sweat dripped down his temple.
he hiked your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half for leverage, pounding relentlessly, the bedframe rattling.
no gentle tutorial now, he was experimenting, tweaking angles, shifting to grind his pubic bone against your clit, then pulling out almost fully to slam back in, watching your pussy flutter and gape around him, creamy arousal coating his shaft.
“slow down — satoru, slow down!” you gasped, nails raking his back, but he just grinned, wild and unhinged, that loser facade shattered.
“can’t, feels too good.. look how you’re creaming on me.” he reached down, pinching your nipples hard, twisting until you keened, then smeared your own slick over them, nasty and possessive.
his pace turned punishing, cock throbbing inside you, veins pulsing as he chased his orgasm, yours came crashing first, walls spasming, milking him as you squirted messily around him, soaking the sheets.
but he didn’t stop, tlipped you onto your stomach, lifted your ass up, and railed you from behind, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back, the other spanking your cheeks red.
“gonna fill you up.. you know…practice for tomorrow.” he panted with a sneer smirk on his lips, though his date was the last thing on his mind.
thrusts grew erratic, sloppy-wet slaps echoing, until he buried deep and erupted, hot thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, overflowing in creamy dribbles down your thighs.
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“yes you can,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours, breath hot and trembling. “please. jus’ a little more. wanna feel you again. need it, baby- need you.”
you don’t know how many times you’ve cum. four? five? more? everything’s wet, flushed, aching. his dick’s still hard inside you, twitching like it hasn’t already ruined you. and he won’t stop kissing you. won’t stop whispering your name like it’s the only word he knows.
your thighs are sore. your stomach’s in knots. your cunt’s so puffy and swollen you swear he’s ruined something inside you. and choso?
he’s still going.
still rolling his hips into yours with that slow, dizzy rhythm, like he doesn’t know what enough means. he’s drunk off your pussy. completely addicted. muttering, “so good, baby. you feel sooo good, fuck- can’t stop. don’t wanna stop.”
he’s always like this. everytime you let him get too deep in his feelings, everytime you kiss his throat or scratch his back or let him hold you just a little too long— he turns into this. soft. desperate. dick stupid. and soso clingy.
you’ve never had anyone look at you like this before. like they’re in pain with how much they want you. like fucking you is a holy ritual and your pussy is salvation.
“look at me,” he breathes, voice cracking as your walls flutter around him again. “mommy, please, look at me when i cum.”
oh fuck.
your head spins. you clench around him on reflex, and that’s all it takes— choso chokes on a groan, collapsing over you as his hips stutter, cock twitching violently inside your raw, sensitive cunt. hot spurts fill you up again, thick and messy, and he’s moaning through it. whining in your ear as he cums so deep you feel it in your stomach.
and you should be overwhelmed. you are. but you’re also soaked again. so turned on it’s dizzying. because it’s choso.
your big, beefy, soft-spoken boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on. who has tattoos and broad shoulders and the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. who lifts you like you weigh nothing, eats you like he’s starving, and calls you mommy in the heat of the moment like it’s the only word that’ll soothe him.
he’s so hot like this you wanna scream.
“oh my god,” you whisper, dazed, letting your nails drag lightly down his back. “you’re such a loser.”
“mm,” he hums, breathless. “yours though.”
you giggle, stupidly turned on, even with your legs shaking and your pussy leaking down to the sheets. “you like calling me that?”
he hides his face in your neck. nods. “feels right.”
“you’re so fucked,” you murmur. “you’ve got issues.”
he whines softly, “i know,” but he’s already shifting, slipping out slowly with a filthy squelch, and then immediately pressing his face between your thighs like he didn’t just spend the last hour stuffing you full.
“c-choso—!”
he groans like a man possessed. hands gripping your thighs to spread them wider, tongue lapping at your folds with dirty precision. drinking his own cum out of your sore cunt like it’s ambrosia.
your whole body jerks. your brain blanks. and you’re not sure if it’s pain or pleasure anymore— all you know is he’s not stopping.
his voice is muffled, desperate. “need it. need more. gimme more, please- fuck, mommy, you’re dripping. missed your taste. lemme clean you up. lemme make you cum again. promise i’ll be good, i swear, i swear—”
you’re already cumming by the time he finishes the sentence. again. thighs clamped around his head, breath caught in your throat, pussy twitching under his tongue like he’s rewired your entire nervous system.
and after? he doesn’t even leave.
he drags you into his chest, wraps his arms around your waist as though he’s scared you’ll disappear, and murmurs, half-asleep:
