Awkwardly, UNIQUELY Me

shopping with choso was now turning into a nightmare for his friends.

he’d always keep them waiting, whether it was because he had to run errands for his little brother, or worse. he had to do something for his girlfriend first.

“what’s taking him so long?” satoru looked out the car the window again to see if there was any sign of movement in choso’s apartment.

“i don’t know, but he’s got two minutes before i’m leaving.” suguru was in the driver’s seat, checking his rear view mirror. “is yuji with him today?”

“nah, he’s with his dad.” sukuna answered. “don’t know what’s taking him so long.”

“do you think he’s with—” satoru looked out the window and let out a raw, frustrated groan, “oh god.”

as if on cue, choso finally came out of his apartment block door. alongside the most likely reason that he was late coming out. the boys all looked out their windows to see choso and his uninvited, but always with him, guest.

“of course.” sukuna narrowed his eyes at choso and his girlfriend, “we should’ve known.”

walking hand in hand with the emo, brooding, rock loving choso was you. his sweet, bright and bubbly girlfriend. you were the complete antithesis to their best friend. where he was quiet, shy and darkly dressed, you were loud, extremely hyperactive and the epitome of sunshine and rainbows.

also. you were really fucking pink.

you grinned at the boys in the car window and speed walked to the car, your pink kitten heels clacking with every step. choso was right behind you, holding your hand to make sure you didn’t fall.

suguru chuckled to himself then looked at his friends sitting behind him.

“3… 2… 1.”

choso opened the passenger door for you to get in. once in the car, you smiled and waved excitedly at everyone.

“HIIIIIIIII!!!!”

“hello y/n.” suguru smiled and his friends chortled. he hummed at your dyed pink hair that was styled in two high puffs. “your hair’s nice.”

“thank you so much, chocho chose the hairstyle for me.” you smiled.

choso close the door and sat you down on his lap before putting his seatbelt over the two of you. when he felt the stares of his two friends next to him, he looked at them blankly.

“what?”

“you’re late.” satoru responded.

“sorry, lost track of time.” choso said casually.

“doing what?”

“eating.”

sukuna furrowed his brows until it clicked a second later. he scoffed in amusement then sighed. satoru rubbed his eyes and audibly sighed at the reasoning.

“can please i put my playlist on sugu?” you asked sweetly.

“oh my god no.” satoru objected immediately, shaking his head in refusal, “please no.”

you frowned at the white haired boy, “why not?”

“because every time you come in here you play your—”

“dude.” sukuna shook his head as a sign to just drop it. his eyes shifted to the emo boy beside him, who was giving a death glare to poor satoru.

there was a brief silence. after seeing choso’s glare, satoru gave in and sighed in frustration.

“yes y/n.” suguru finally answered, “you can play music.”

“yay! thank you!” you plugged in the aux cable and with that, suguru left the car park and the journey to the mall began.

every single time.

there was an unspoken rule in suguru’s car that whenever you were in the car, you were able to control the aux. no matter how long the journey was. which meant for the entire car ride, they’d be subjected to your music taste which completely contradicted theirs. all that chief keef, gunna, ftuture, radiohead, deftones and green day was thrown out the window.

satoru was recently trying to protest it, but the rule was already established by then.

you sang along to day 1 by red velvet as you checked how you look in your hand mirror and reapplied your lip gloss. suguru hummed along to the song, subconsciously air strumming to the bass guitar on his steering wheel.

sukuna nodded his head to the beat and air drummed while choso hummed along, already knowing this song because you’d played it a thousand times around him.

satoru looked behind him and scoffed, “don’t tell me you like this shit.”

“what? it’s a good song.” sukuna said, still air drumming to the beat.

“it’s manufactured garbage.”

choso’s beady eyes appeared from behind your shoulder, “so is your existence satoru. but you don’t hear me saying that.”

satoru’s face fell. choso was always the quietest one in the group until anyone said anything that was ever so slightly disrespectful to you. then nothing was too far for him.

a small smile crept up on your face and you squeezed his hand, “be nice, choso.”

“but he doesn’t deserve it.” he muttered against your neck.

you giggled and got some gum out of your bag. you offered some to suguru and satoru but they shook shook their heads no. then you offered some to sukuna, to which he accepted with a thank you.

for choso, you took the gum out of the silver wrapper. 2 minutes later, you handed him both the stick of gum and the silver wrapper you folded into a love heart.

choso accepted the gum and the love heart with a small smile. he bit one half of the gum, holding it in his mouth while you bit the other half. he pulled you in for your lips to meet as you bit down on your halves of the gum.

satoru grimaced and scrunched up his face at the emo boy in the backseat, “that’s gross man.”

“not grosser than your body count.”

satoru could hear suguru and sukuna’s stifled laughter and scowled at the both of them. the white haired man turned around and narrowed his eyes at choso, “you say that like you were the image of purity before you met y/n.”

sukuna snorted and side eyed his friend, “and now look at him.”

his friends could all see his hands trying to get under your skirt, but choso was too busy nibbling on your neck and inhaling your sweet, cocoa butter and vanilla scent to care.

you let out a whine only he could hear and tapped his thigh repeatedly, “choso...”

choso began to kiss you all the way from your cheek down to your neck, “you smell so fucking good.” you rolled your eyes but still ruffled his hair as encouragement.

“not now.”

“we should’ve stayed home.” he grumbled as he wrapped one hand around your waist. “i can’t eat it here.”

that was satoru’s last straw, “dude can you not?!”

Warnings: reader is shorter than Sukuna and is quite bubbly; soft!Kuna; mention of mpreg

A/N: I never tried this kind of post, so I don't know if it's good. I just had these scenes in mind, but not the connection scenes and decided to try this format. As always, I didn't proofread it, so I apologize for any mistakes. And I know technically beautiful is only female, but Idc, I call everything and everyone beautiful, it's gn to me. I hope you enjoy :)

Videos: Aquarium Date

Clip 1

You stood in front of the big tank, eyes beaming with wonder, awestruck as they observed and followed different fishes. Underneath the buzz of the crowd of visitors, a soft whisper of "beautiful" could be heard leaving Ryomen's mouth.

When you turned to him to make him look at something, you finally saw the camera pointed at you, prompting you to cover its lense out of embarrassment. Only his quick reflexes avoided it, raising his hand to keep recording.

"Don't do that"

"What?"

"Record me in secret, it's embarrassing, I don't know how I look"

You hid your face in his chest, his free arm coming up to hug you close as he planted a kiss on the crown of your hair.

"You always look beautiful"

────୨ৎ────

Clip 2

"Oh my god, look, he's pregnant! Which girl do you think breeded him?"

"You can't tell male and female seahorses apart"

"Yeah, but only males can get pregnant. I wish it was like that for humans too, it'd be amazing if men could give birth. If you were able to, I'd make sure to get you pregnant"

You looked up at him with innocent eyes after sealing your words with a sweet kiss on his lips behind the camera, the lights from the water reflected into your iris, creating a beautiful effect.

"What kind of twisted love declaration was that?"

"A very heartfelt one"

────୨ৎ────

Clip 3

"It's coming this way!"

A otter was indeed sprinting to where you were positioned, squatted in front of the small plastic tube, ready to feed the animal. As soon as you placed a fish in the tunnel, the otter's paw went inside, grabbing it and bringing it to its mouth to eat. You kept on giving it fishes, caressing the paw whenever it came out, trying to keep down your squeals about how cute the animal was as to not scare it.

"Isn't it so adorable?"

Ryomen switched between you and the otter, the camera following his eyes before he zoomed in on you.

"Yeah, you look alike"

"What? Me and the otter?"

He only hummed in agreement, enjoying how your cheeks became pinkier and your lips pursed to hide a smile. Only the squeal from the animal snapped you out of the daze.

"Can you go buy more fishes for her?"

"It's a girl? How'd you know?"

"Yeah, I saw their profiles and I recognized her. I'd never feed a male"

"Of course"

────୨ৎ────

Clip 4

The camera was in your hand as you showed off your outfit in the mirror, framed with various photos of fishes. Ryomen could be seen behind, studying the map to understand where to go next. When he looked up and saw what you were doing, he acted instinctively.

He walked closer, until he stood directly behind you, chest pressed to your back, towering over you. His hand came up, gently wrapping around your throat, not applying any pressure, but craning your neck back and capturing your lips with his.

It took everything in you not to drop the camera.

────୨ৎ────

Clip 5

"It's us!"

You dangled two keychains in front of the camera. They were two plushies of otters, their paws united by a magnet.

"When they sleep, otters hold hands, so they don't loose each other, and you said I look like an otter, so-"

"Put them in the basket"

- cut -

꩜ ◞ THE CROWN PRINCE IS A LOVESICK FOOL

Crown Prince Satoru believes that you have cursed him; sadly, it is not a curse, but the age old illness of love.

content ꩜ 1.7k words ， imperial au ， (domestic) fluff ， mutual pining ， established relationship ， arranged marriage ， childhood friends to lovers ， married life

Crown Prince Satoru believes he is cursed with an ailment of supreme concern by Amaterasu Ōmikami herself, at your behest. There are several claims that support this, three of which are substantial.

You've known Prince Satoru since you were two children, boredom consuming your hearts at the Imperial Palace's courts. The first time you met, you ended up counting how many cranes are painted on the screens because the adults were talking about boring political expansions. You became friends. So you frequent the palace gardens thereafter, wandering while attended by ladies-in-waiting and guards standing a respectful distance away.

Childhood settled into routine with surprising ease. Whenever your father attended court, you attended with him, then you wandered off with Prince Satoru. Everybody allowed it because the daughter of the Konoe patriarch—whose family had served the emperor for generations—running laughing beside Prince Satoru only strengthened diplomatic ties and was an indispensable win when you inevitably become married to each other.

Whenever the Crown Prince escaped his tutors, he somehow found the gardens. You fed koi that Satoru insisted remembered the two of you from the previous spring. You played sugoroku until he accused the dice of treason, because Satoru, while good at everything he seems to touch the second time, is extraordinarily petty You watched maple leaves drift across the ponds in autumn and counted plum blossoms in winter because there was very little else two noble children were permitted to do.

Adults smiled knowingly from afar.

Children, after all, were wonderfully easy to arrange. It surprised neither of you when the engagement was announced. You had only reached your seventeenth birthday not long ago and everyone believed it was time. In truth, everyone else had known years before either of you did.

Satoru stared at the imperial decree for a very long while at the time, fingers unable to stay still, twitching ever so slightly. His face held no disdain in it. At the time, when he finally spoke, "Well," you echoed back, only to be met with, "You're tolerable."

"How generous," you snorted out.

He supposed he didn't object. You were one of his closest companions after all, another, being a merchant's son Suguru, though you were never privy to the extent of their friendship. Of course he wouldn't object. And that was considered an unusually enthusiastic acceptance by court standards.

The wedding was beautiful and the shiromuku you wore made men and women alike weep from your beauty. Some were quietly mourning that the two most sought-after young nobles had unionized.

So then married life proved remarkably ordinary. You shared breakfasts. You walked the eastern gardens together. You reminded him to attend audiences. He reminded you to wear another layer whenever winter settled over Kyoto. If one of you happened to wait for the other before beginning dinner, neither commented upon it. If one of you lingered after saying goodnight, neither commented upon that either.

Affection, perhaps. Love? Certainly not.

Then spring arrived.

Satoru awoke one morning, looked across the room as you sat before your mirror arranging your hair, and was struck by the immediate and overwhelming certainty that something was profoundly wrong. It is not that you were not beautiful. Or that something was wrong physically. Satoru knows that you are quite beautiful. You had suitors all across the country who revered you, but Satoru took it as just a fact he could simply get past, and somehow, today, he could not.

You smiled at him and his heart lurched out of his own body; it had begun running away from him.

You asked whether he preferred the pale blue kimono or the white one, pointing at each one with an expression of pure thoughtfulness. He forgot how language worked.

When another court noble complimented your sleeves that afternoon, Satoru briefly imagined having the man reassigned to the northern provinces. It was extremely concerning.

You have been married for two years. You sleep beside each other soundly. You shed your kimono off in front of him comfortably (note; you have never consummated with the Imperial Prince, nor have you stood bare in front of him, truly). And somehow, now he cannot bare whenever you fall into your daily rhythms. He cannot sleep beside you because he has suddenly become aware of your hands. He cannot even hear mentions of your clothes.

During breakfast, you approach Satoru with an airy smile, settling down onto the tatami and nudging him softly. Instinctively, he flinches. "Do not touch me."

You tilt your head in confusion. "...Good morning to you as well."

Satoru says lots of outlandish things, nothing has shocked you. You have known the man since you were both seven years old and you are used to his unusual quirks. So you reach over anyway to brush a strand of white hair away from his face.

He freezes, akin to the mountain deer that occupy the foothills. His ears redden.

You blink. "...Your Highness?"

He clears his throat so hard it almost sounds painful. "...There," he swallows, shifting away from you, as if he were frightened. It only serves to confuse you more. "You have done it again."

"I have done what?" you question, inching closer cautiously.

"My pulse," Satoru says weakly, almost confused in his own self.

You do not notice Satoru's reddening ears, at least not the cause. You also do not notice that his pulse is hammering beneath his skin so hard that something in his body may burst. "My... what?"

He repeats. "My pulse."

Within three days of this petrifying feeling, Prince Satoru has decided you have cursed him. This is natural. Your family is old, noble. They've also produced many shrine maidens, onmyōji, and many court diviners alike. Prince Satoru has known this and also paid no mind, but he is smart; the only logical conclusion to come to is that you have cursed him, whether accidentally or not, into having contractions inside the stomach whenever you look at him.

Therefore, it is reasonable for Prince Satoru to journey into the mountains and into an old hut, incense burning with the smell of hinoki. Already waiting for him, there is a very old shaman who has clearly seen enough nonsense for several lifetimes.

Satoru bows. "I seek purification."

"For?"

"I have been cursed."

The shaman nods, peering up at him with utter seriousness. "What are your symptoms?"

Satoru immediately produces a scroll. The shaman sighs. Of course there's a scroll. When the shaman opens it, he cannot believe his eyes. First Month, Ninth Day; she smiled; heart irregular. The shaman keeps reading. First Month, Eleventh Day; she rested upon my shoulder; could not remember military expenditure. Another. First Month, Twelfth Day; another man complimented her sleeves; heart ached.

The shaman slowly lowers the scroll. "...Has anyone actually cursed you?"

"Yes," Satoru nods solemnly. "My wife," then he continues, "when Lady [Name] pours my tea, my chest hurts," the shaman simply nods. "When she laughs, my hands become warm," the shaman's fingers twitch involuntarily. "When another man complimented her kimono, I briefly considered execution."

The shaman slowly puts down his tea. "Your Highness. You are describing your wife."

"Exactly," Satoru nods once more. "She has cursed me," his hands fly upward, gripping at the low table. "I am cursed. I have been bewitched. I have surely offended a deity. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I have begun composing poetry."

For a moment, the shaman only stares at Satoru peculiarly, as if he were bewildered and Satoru was a rare animal that he encountered in the woods. At the next second, the shaman topples over and a guffaw escapes his lips too fast for him to catch. He would not want to catch it anyway. The Crown Prince seems to be a fool. The shaman continues his boisterous laughter and Satoru frowns.

"What is it? What is the cure?" he asks frantically.

Finally the shaman looks at the Prince and he shakes his head. "You are not cursed. Or bewitched," he says, "you are in love. It is incurable."

The color drains from Satoru's face. At that, the shaman slaps his arm with a fan. "Go apologize to your wife for accusing her of witchcraft, Your Highness."

The Imperial Prince returns to his home looking defeated. He had told you he wished to seek a shaman for his illness, but he did not say that he believed you had cursed him. Now that he has taken some time to think, he's realized, everyone he has consulted with believes he is foolish. The court physicians think so as well.

You are embroidering when he returns, signaled by the creak of the floorboards and the whish of the sliding door. You turn towards him, giving him a small smile. It's wiped off your face though because Satoru drops dramatically beside you, face first into your shoulder. "That poorly? What did the shaman say?"

"He laughed," Satoru sulks, "for... quite a long time," at that, you murmur a sorry, then your hand moves to gently stroke his hair. Satoru feels his face burning again and his stomach curling with that same, now regular feeling. "He said..." you look at him expectantly. "...he said I am merely fond of you."

"Merely?"

He sighs with all the dignity of a prince attending his own funeral. "...He called it love," the words stick at the roof of mouth, and he sighs once more with defeatism, ""he insists I love my own wife."

A pause comes and you only position yourself so your husband could lean against you more comfortably. "...Well."

"...Well?"

"I should hope so."

He lifts his head. "You knew?"

"You follow me around," no, he patrols. "You ask whether I've eaten," that is simply a reasonable inquiry. "You pout whenever another nobleman speaks to me," that is only because they speak for too long. "You've started writing poems."

The final one cannot be parried. Your smile melts into something distinctively adoring, watching Satoru and his lack of words with amusement. You kiss his forehead and Satoru retreats just a single millimeter before drifting right back against you.

"...My heart is behaving strangely again."

You grin. "That'll happen."

He sighs dramatically, curling his arms around your waist carefully. "What a dreadful illness."

"It truly is."

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platform nor feed my works into generative AI.

pairing: suguru x reader, satoru x reader

summary: satoru wants you back but can’t break his bad habits. when things get out of hand, you call the only person you can think of.

tw: drug abuse, alcohol use, unhealthy relationships

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.

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when they were in your yard, standing around, quietly kicking dirt while he loitered your doorstep all but begging on his knees for you to come back to him, they didn’t look like everyday menaces to society.

they didn’t look like they would hurt themselves or anybody else recreationally, they only looked like a band of less than merry men down on their luck. but you knew better.

to be fair, they were down on their luck. life had kicked the shit out of them once, twice, and everyday of their lives. they never seemed to catch a break, but they could’ve been anything. anything in this miserable world of heartbreak and anxiety, and still, they chose to be self destructive and add into the poison that so many others already added to the world. they did bad things and somewhere deep down, you were sure that they had the heart and the capacity to be good people, but that would require wanting to be. and they didn’t. none of them did.

they just wanted to eat, drink, and ruin, and that was exactly why your heart dropped at the fact that he would actually bring them here.

you let him give his agonized speech, knowing cutting in would do no good, he wouldn’t stop until he was finished, and then you ended it there. it took some back and forth and you ran the risk of an argument with such an unhinged man, but you couldn’t have them hanging around any longer.

“and satoru,”

you called to him before he could make it past your porch. “please don’t bring them to my house again.”

you couldn’t send him away without slipping that in there, but you really didn’t want to. it risked starting him up all over again.

and it did. he turned to face you dead on with newfound agitation in his eyes. “you serious? They’re not gonna hurt you,” he said, much too loudly for your liking and extending his arm to vaguely gesture towards them as if talking about them out loud wasn’t bad enough. it caught their attention and your breath got caught in her throat.

had they been insulted or offended at what you were insinuating about them, who knows what they would have done. but, luckily for you, they ignored it and went back to shooting the breeze amongst themselves.

“you’re my girl, they wouldn’t do that to me.”

there was so, so much wrong with what he just said, but you didn’t have the time to correct him. beneath every substance and emotion flowing through him, weighing him down, he had to know that you weren’t a thing anymore. that you couldn’t be. that he had changed their lives forever without a second thought.

“I mean it, satoru, and just… please just go home.”

you didn’t wait for a response, you didn’t want to know or hear what he had to say next. you closed the door on him and locked it, falling limp against it while satoru stood slouched in the same spot, staring at the bottom of the door, hating himself more than he did five minutes ago.

it was scary. every time he thought he couldn’t loathe himself anymore than he already did, the hate within him took itself to new levels, levels that he didn’t even understand, levels that no mentally stable person could ever achieve. levels that genuinely scared him.

you were right. beneath everything, there was coherent thinking. he hated how he felt and he didn’t want to want to die, and that was reality. but he had lost touch with reality a long time ago and it was now buried beneath layers and layers of pain and horrible choices.

“you are my home.”

he mumbled miserably to no one because no one was there to hear him anymore. with a sigh, he turned back to his friends and cleared your porch.

“night’s young,” he muttered lifelessly. “what place we hitting up first?”

he took her newest wave of rejection really hard, but that was subjective.

he took it hard every time you rejected him.

every time he got no reply to a text, every time you missed or declined a call, his mood would plummet.

but there was something about how you were so okay seeing his face and sending him away anyway. when he saw you, it was like he was being born all over again. to this day, he doesn’t know of anyone more beautiful than you. you took his breath away, you made his heart stop, you made him wanna fall to his knees and weep and beg until you knelt beside him and held him, fuck, what he would give to be held by you again.

if the roles were reversed, he felt nearly certain that all it would take for you to gain his forgiveness and a return to normalcy was to see your face alone. he’d crumble and surrender to you because there was nothing in the world that he loved even half as much as he loves you.

so what did this mean? what could it mean, it couldn’t mean that you didn’t love him, he knew you did. so what was all of this about, why were you turning away from him, why did you turn away from him to begin with, didn’t you understand how much he needed you? he fuckin needed you more than he needed air and you were being such a cold bitch.

sometimes he really felt like he hated you. he’d stay up at night wanting to curse your name and replace all of the love in his heart for you for cold, hard hate, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t ever hate you. you were the only reason he was still here. he’d push the limits but he always made sure he stayed alive. stay alive just in case you decided to accept him back. just on the off chance you’d come back to him and make him whole again.

still. before that, he was reckless and driven by his frustrations and pain. he always took care to stay alive, but sometimes he cut it a little close.

he went out on an enraged escapade and found himself inching towards death’s doorstep. they separated sometime past midnight and he found himself stumbling through the rain, eventually crawling through the streets until he found a phone booth. he emptied his pockets for one phone call and dialed the only number he knew by heart.

it wasn’t light work. not by a long shot. he couldn’t walk. not on his own, and even with him doing the best he could, using every last bit of his own strength, you were still practically holding the entirety of his upper body up off of the concrete while you trudged through the rain to your car.

not a person around for miles because no one was crazy enough to be out in this setting willingly, and that just made things all the more creepy, but there was no danger lurking in the shadows. you were helping the danger into the passenger seat of your car.

as soon as you was sure that all of his limbs were tucked in the car, you shut the door and circled the front of it, hurrying into the driver’s seat and shutting the door with a sigh.

he needed his seatbelt but you needed a breath. he was heavier than he looked when he was incapacitated. while you locked the doors and leaned over to pull his seatbelt over him, you wondered just what kind of trouble he had gotten into tonight.

those friends of his who he seemed to think so highly of earlier had left him high and dry, dunk, and high on the streets. the shitty part was that as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning, he’d be headed right back over there. with them. while you settled back into your own seat to put your own seatbelt on and get them the hell away from this corner of nowhere, satoru lolled his head from side to side, putting all of his focus into stopping it to look at you.

you noticed his gaze lingering as you threw the car into drive. you only glanced in his direction before pulling off from the curb.

“Christ, Satoru.”

you grumbled just above your breath, and, like the little shit he was, he smiled. a hazy, heartbreaking smile.

“beautiful,” he slurred. “m’girl’s so pretty.”

he smiled wider to himself, lifting a heavy arm to brush the backs of his fingers against your cheek.

“knew you’d come.”

a ragged breath gave the illusion of your frame trembling. you had already shuddered once when you felt his touch.

it had been a long time. you couldn’t say you didn’t want to feel him, but not like this. not under these circumstances.

“‘s cause you still love me.” he continued, carrying the conversation on without any help from you. “you do, don’t you?”

even if he were sober, it would’ve been equally impossible to get a good read of you expression. he was saying some pretty heavy things, all things considered, but you weren’t giving much of a reaction to any of them. not a smile nor a grimace, not showing any signs of elation or annoyance, you stared through the windshield bearing no expression at all.

you conveyed a particular sense of numbness that he failed to pick up on. maybe you were tired. maybe you’d talk more in the morning. maybe you were so overcome with emotion that you couldn’t find the right words, but in satoru land, all was well and the pieces were falling right into place.

back at the house, you dragged him inside as soon as you could get him off the car. you made sure to secure all the locks just in case his doting friends decided to come looking for him here.

they knew exactly where to go seeing as he so graciously showed them the way earlier.

dragging his body all the way up the stairs was a long and tedious task, easily the hardest part of the entire thing since his body was almost completely limp by now. he helped with about two steps total the entire way up and so you were on your own for the rest of the way.

he smelled bad. like smoke from all kinds of substances but also smoke from fire.

where there wasn’t soot on him, there were scrapes and cuts. blood and countless open wounds. nothing too bad, but still.

by the time you stumbled into your bathroom with him, tears had already welled up in your eyes thinking of everything that he could’ve been getting himself into before he called.

you wondered while you debated whether or not to take his clothes off before you decidedly shoved him in her tub to let him cool off if he was tired of any of this yet.

wasn’t it tiring taking to the streets with the intention of getting hurt? what was he trying to prove? why did he hate himself enough to do this to himself? enough to put you through the things that he put you through?

it hurt to see him in this state, out of it enough to actually smile once you got him settled in the tub. fully clothed, covered in God knows what, hurt more than he wouldn’t even realize til morning, smiling because he was with you.

at long last, after feeling cold, hard rejection, you weren’t leaving his side now. instead, you were tending to his every need, breathlessly stumbling back over to the tub to turn the water on.

he didn’t even jump when the first cold drops hit his skin. it was warm by the time it started to soak his clothes and then he just sat there, holding onto his wakefulness by the tips of his fingers while the blood and nameless gunk rinsed from his hair, clothes and skin and ran fast into the drain.

your tub would be stained by the time you pulled him out, leaving yet another mess of his for you to clean up. you had placed him strategically and took care to set him where he couldn’t move from his sitting position and he wouldn’t drown in the running water either. he was safe and slipping out of consciousness for now. so, you did the only thing that you really felt like doing for that moment in time. you pushed yourself off the side of the tub and tried not to let your heart break completely as you watched him slowly fall asleep.

you backed away from him until you couldn’t anymore, sliding down into a sit when your back touched the wall. there was no reason to think that he may have been watching or that he could even make sense of what you were doing or feeling, so you let it all out on your bathroom floor.

you cried with your knees hugged to your chest, watching him while you let every emotion inside of you come to pass, and you cried until you couldn’t anymore. after a while, you shut off the water.

the stench of all of the mischief that he had gotten into seemed to lessen significantly from his vessel and your bathroom, but you had no energy to lug him out of the tub. he had no clothes here. not anymore. you wanted to leave the bathroom and sleep. on your mattress or right there where your feet stood on the floor, it made no difference, you were just so damned tired in every sense of the word.

he was too damn big to be lugging around like you were a grown man of equal physique. you couldn’t keep doing this, not while you was already running on E.

the digital clock on your bedside read half past two and it was an unforgiving hour to make a phone call, but you didn’t see that you had many other options. the time read 2:32 am but suguru picked up on the third ring. it was a miracle that you still had his number saved.

“y/n?”

even more miraculous that he still had your number saved. you hadn’t talked much at all since you dropped satoru and he went even further off the rails.

“it’s late, is everything alright?

where you thought that you had finally pulled yourself together, your tears instantly welled up at the question and your heart dropped. you didn’t know how much he knew about all that his best friend had gotten up to these days and the thought of being the one to drop it on him broke your heart.

while you did your very best to control the emotional outburst that seemed to overcome you, suguru did his best to talk sensible in your ear and calm you down enough to understand what was going on. when that failed and all that he managed to get out of you was where you were, he threw on a t-shirt, scooped up his keys and hurried over.

while suguru made his way to you, you watched satoru sleep in your tub. he never stirred and he looked almost peaceful if not for his clothes and his disheveled hair and skin. it made you wonder if a bathtub was the most comfortable place that he had found to rest in a while, but that was none of your business.

while you were at it, it was none of suguru’s business either. you were reminded of that when he knocked quickly and firmly at your front door. this was probably a mistake, an act of dragging an innocent bystander into a mess that you kept throwing yourself into. either way. suguru was already there and you would leave it up to him if he wanted to leave you with your hands full. if he wanted to, that was fair, this wasn’t either one’s mess to clean up, but suguru was never that kind of guy.

satoru was his best friend, whether he would presently agree with that statement or not, but the two of you weren’t just friends by extension. he cared about you too, which was why he was absolutely devastated to see the state that you were in when you pulled the door open.

the wet spots on your clothes were almost fully dry, but the blood and gunk that transferred from satoru’s skin and clothes to yours were still present and evident, say nothing of your tear stained cheeks and the tears still in your eyes.

“hey,” he greeted cautiously. “what’s going on, are you hurt?” he shut the door behind him and made quick work of assessing you as well as he could, collecting all that he could from face value.

you shook your head, sniffling and tightening your arms around your frame.

“no. not me, but, suguru… we need to talk.”

.

.

You and Satoru agree to become friends with benefits with one cliché rule: no falling in love. But you do. And you stupidly confess. What now?

Tags: Smut, angst w comfort if you squint, fwb, p in v, riding, kinks, gojo is a little avoidant shit, model!gojo. Haven’t proofread yettt, I don’t write as much lately. 18+++ I have never written smut please don’t fire me..

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

You have felt Satoru everywhere by now—buried deep in between your legs, lengthy cock stretching you and hitting that one spongy spot that makes your vision go blank, his hands on your face like he's holding something precious.

You have felt his large hands map every inch of skin you wear. No surface untouched especially late at night when he texts you he's coming over with little to no explanation why.

No feelings.

No strings.

That was the deal. No, that is the deal.

Just sex.

And you have had a lot of sex with Satoru. From fucking in the comfort of your bedroom or his, to riding him all sweaty and hot in his jeep, to even getting eaten out in changing rooms during his fittings.

He's tried everything with you. Every curiosity he's had about a new toy, a new kink, a new position—he's tried and fulfilled with you. You've been stretched into positions you never thought you could with him.

Your legs over his shoulder with him greedily thrusting, your back so arched against his chest while receiving mean back shots, reverse cowgirl with a leash around your neck, full nelson—anything, you name it, you've done.

You've had him in between your legs so many times to point out that he particularly dislikes missionary, loves rope play, biting and marking your skin like you don't have a shift next morning—but he's never vanilla.

Never.

Well, he never was.

He always devoured you with a hungry mouth, a desperate and lustful look in his eyes, animalistic thrusts, brutal grip on your hips when he slammed down on you like he wanted you to break.

Sex was casual between the both of you.

Sure, he was attractive. And you didn't have a problem with hooking up with him when he'd bring you over the gates of heaven or soothed you through the most aggressive orgasms ever.

You were fine with the whole arrangement before last week when he'd texted you "I'm coming over, leave the door open." At 2 AM.

Shrugging, you left him on read, unlocked the front door and he was walking through it no more than 15 minutes later—dark gray sweatshirt masking his muscles, hood messily pulled over his white tuff of hair, sunglasses slipping from his nose bridge, usually bright eyes dull like you'd never seen them before.

He had crossed the threshold to the balcony where you were curled up in on the couch, crawled on top of you and...

Kissed you with soft lips, slow movements of his jaw, reverent touches, hesitant hands that mapped your body under him.

He kissed with too much feeling. With too much gentleness. With something so not Satoru.

Slid in between your legs, deliberately softened your walls till you could take him, tasting you on his tongue till you were tattooed in his mind, made you fall apart like he'd never done before.

Then he repositioned himself, chin glistening from your juices, didn't bother with a condom—you were too far gone to even stop him and remind him of protection, mind hazy with his unusual attitude.

He had pushed himself inside, losing himself in your wetness bit by bit, watching how his cock disappeared inside your walls.

Both your legs by his sides.

And he drew his chest down—skin flush against your breasts—locking himself in missionary, a position he avoided at any given chance.

You shook underneath him—eyes glossed over from the feeling of him, unprotected, raw in you. The slow drag of his cock in you, meeting your warmth over and over.

Veins imprinting themselves in you, leaving their shape, moulding your pussy to fit him and only him. The deep, intimate thrusts had your throat go dry, a ball growing there and your orgasm growing painfully slow.

Satoru's breathing was shaky, his lips on your neck, behind your ear. Sucking on your nipples, leaving faint marks you'd see in your reflection morning.

Desperately begging in your ears with pleas that had you clenching around him.

"Please look at me, baby, please."

He was making love to you.

No harsh grinding, no position switching or new experiments.

It was terrifying.

So terrifying.

Because you liked it too much.

You liked this Satoru too much.

Fuck.

Sex is never just sex.

You should have listened to your friends when they warned you.

You knew you were fucked when he came undone with you, whispering sweet nothings you found yourself silently praying to be true.

"You look so—hng- beautiful, angel."

Babbling when he held your face, blue orbs melting with yours when his gaze was zeroed on you and only you. Not on your skin meeting his.

"Just a bit more beautiful, I'm almost there—shit, you're close too, huh? Clenching onto me so sweetly..."

Those stupid nicknames of his—making your heartbeat falter, your pulse travel to pound against your temples, heat settle on your cheeks.

God, he's such an asshole.

Making love to you on your balcony under the moonlight, on the 10th floor where no one else lives.

When morning came, when you found yourself on your bed alone and with a heavy chest, you knew you were screwed.

He kept fucking you after that day like he didn't rearrange the wires in your brain with no effort.

He kept having sex with you like he wasn't kissing every crevice of you just a week ago. Like he hadn't silently loved every part of you, kissed and paid attention to every insecurity and scar on your skin.

Still, he took you to the moon, had you spasming around his cock like always—only this time, leaving you empty even after he filled you up with his cum.

You knew you felt empty because you wanted him to love you again. You wanted him to see you again, not the body he goes to whenever he wants.

Fuck, you really messed everything up.

You were asking for the impossible, for Satoru to care and love.

So you tried to push him away. Avoid meetups and his messages that only arrived after midnight strikes the clock.

It made no difference—in fact, you felt worse without him around.

By the second week of dodging him, you were about to cave and call him when your front door unlocked and there he was.

Dressed in all black, straight from work—black chemise with enough buttons undone to reveal his pale collarbones. Black slacks and perfectly tailored dark pants that only highlighted his height.

Your heart lurched—half fear and half relief that had adrenaline already coursing through your veins. You stumbled over your words.

"Satoru—what are you—how did you get in here?" Voice shaky, a light frown placing itself on your face.

He was wearing a stern expression on his face, all pursed lips and locked jaws is the kind. An unfamiliar sight to you as he was always obnoxiously smiling even when ticked off.

His hand rose to reveal your spare keys, you dont remember even granting him access to them but don't have time to ponder about that before his arm drops, he throws the keys on the counter and closes the distance between the both of you till he's looming directly over you—hands in his pocket.

"You have been avoiding me." He says, an underlying layer of annoyance sending a chill down your spine.

You try to deflect, "No."

A beat passes, the expression on his face remains.

"No, I haven't." You say more clearly.

And finish with, "I've been busy."

Complete and utter bullshit, you get off work on the dot and your shifts have never been so boring.

But he doesn't need to know that.

Not convinced at all, Satoru curves his spine till his glasses slide off on their own from where they were perched on his nose just enough for his eyes to pierce holes through you.

Blue, cerulean, sky blue consumes you.

And you hate it so much.

So much you wish you could swim in them.

In him.

"Try again." He says, not narrowing his eyes. You swallow, feeling an uneasy sensation in your stomach that makes you want to throw up when revealing yourself to him crosses your mind.

But he won’t believe you if you spew some other bullshit out.

Fuck it.

“Satoru.” You whisper, seeing his eyes run over your whole face.

“I messed up.”

His figure stiffens. A thousand thoughts running through his mind, a billion questions. Shit, are you pregnant? Weren’t you on the pill? Fuck, what is he supposed to do now?

You see the way his adam’s apple bobs at your statement.

“What is it?” He asks, feeling his knuckles turning white in his pockets, a shiver overtaking his body.

Trying to start, you say. “I.. uh.” Still not sure, and still not confident enough.

Satoru silently prays it isn’t what he thinks it is.

A moment of silence passes, he watches you shift around, fiddling with your hands. Biting on and on your lips.

“Y/N?” He calls out to you and you snap out of it.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

And it’s not as stupid as it sounds.

You don’t like Satoru because he fucks you like no other man has. But because he messes with your heart without even knowing it.

Holding you after he’s done is not casual, it’s not normal. You’ve had ex boyfriends who don’t know the world aftercare, but Satoru bathes you, he wipes you clean.

Holds you in the bathtub, washes your hair, draws absentmindedly circles on your tired and tense shoulders.

Brings you your favorite dessert before he goes on to have his fav.

Makes you laugh a laugh that comes from the deepest parts of you that yearn to be light and happy with him.

He’s such a prick, completely unaware of his effect beyond his looks.

And you’re such an idiot for believing him.

For liking someone so good.

He stands there, quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your chest is tight when he straightens up and takes a step back.

Well, this is it.

“We agreed on no feelings, Y/N.” He says like your heart isn’t splitting in half.

You breathe out a shaky breath, slowly nodding because you know. “I know, I’m sorry.”

His eyes unlatch from you, taking a look at the window that shows the view of Tokyo from your floor.

“I don’t see you that way.”

You pull a tight smile on your face. “Okay.”

Then you tip the glass over, ruin yourself further. “We can keep seeing eachother if you want, my feelings won’t come between us. I know what I got myself into.” You say. A bittersweet feeling on your tongue.

You just can’t let him go.

He looks shaken by your proposal, head swinging back to you.

“No, you’ll just hurt yourself, Y/N.”

Stop saying my name, stop being so considerate.

You almost choke on your words from the thorns growing in your throat when you speak. “No, I promise I won’t. We can keep seeing each other.”

Push and pull.

He pushes you, you pull.

And you both keep seeing eachother.

But you detach yourself from everything. From him.

He notices your fucked out state on a different world the first time he feels you after the confession. A distant look in your eyes and not the usual cloud of pleasure in them.

Is he not making you feel good?

It took a week, a full week for you to let him in after what happened.

And it’s not true, you do feel good. You know you feel good because he’s doing everything right—the coil is threatening to snap in your lower stomach, but you don’t feel it as much as before.

You’re quiet, minimally moaning, hiding the noises. Not saying a single word unless he asks you something.

“Baby?” His hands find the back of your neck, making your eyes flutter open while he pounds into you.

Propping himself with one hand next to your head, his other holds the back of your neck while your sight settles on him and the worried look on his face.

“Hm?” You sleepily hum, exhausted from the orgasms, the rounds, the ache in your legs and the sensibility of your clit.

He asks, breath heavy, pieces of hair clinging to his forehead as he reaches his escape—quiet groans filling your ears. “You okay, sweets?”

You nod, not really sure what he’s even asking.

“Fuck.” He groans, thrusting a few times before burying himself deep in you as you clench around him and feel his ropes paint your insides white.

Collapsing next to you, his hands leave your body and you run cold. An arm protectively swings over your waist as he readjusts on the bed, coming down from his high before he cleans you up.

You still haven’t said a word. Somewhere too far gone, feeling too used. But you agreed to this.

There’s no one to blame.

And though you’ve both been at it for hours, even though Satoru’s cum is oozing out of you and his cock is limp, he doesn’t feel satisfied.

That uncomfortable feeling in his pit stays there for days while he works.

A photoshoot here and there, a text to you which he receives no reply to, a runway, no response from you. A missed call.

He finds himself wondering what you’re doing when you don’t reply.

Cooking in those skimpy little lace shorts he brought back for you from a high end brand? Brushing your soft hair with your legs crossed and your face stoic? Covering your beauty marks with concealer maybe?

The days drag on and on, hours struggle to bleed into other when his phone is so dry, when the smell of you is no longer clinging onto him.

His sex drive is dead. Libido low for the first time reaching a new low.

He doesn’t even text you multiple times a day for sex, he just wants you to reply.

Or to see you.

So much he considers driving himself back to your house again.

But he doesn’t have the spare keys anymore. The ones he had sneakily picked up one time.

Those would’ve been really useful for a surprise right now—he could’ve painted your apartment in pink roses, gift bags of Victoria’s Secret’s new line he heard just came out.

Gosh he’d do everything to see you in those new panties. To then take them off and kiss every curve of your body, every dip of skin.

Shit, it’s never really just sex.

You suffocate in your feelings, in the emptiness that comes of being a toy. Turns out, you’re not as strong as you thought you were.

Being nonchalant about what you feel is way harder than you thought it would be.

So you ignore him.

For days.

A month passes.

Your girlfriends are sick of it. Sick of hearing about him.

You feel stupid.

Maybe you are.

The whole scenario of him rejecting you runs another lap around your head as the elevator climbs 10 floors.

The familiar automatic ding of the lift snaps you out of your head. Doors opening, you step out.

You step out and boxes and boxes of pink flowers are on your doorstep, swallowing the entry with no way to get in your house.

Of course it’s him.

Sure, you knew he was a sex addict. But… not to this extent.

So when you catch sight of the singular envelope sticking out from the biggest box of roses and pluck it out, you expect something like “U and me tonight?” With a cheeky emoji.

But you rip the envelope open to “Please pick up the phone, princess.”

Fucking asshole.

Yet, you kick the roses sideways to make way, unlock your door, drop your bag and text “Door is unlocked.” With a disappointed sigh leaving you.

You make your bed knowing it’s going to get ruined in a few hours, clean the kitchen like he’s going to care about anything that isn’t ramming into you.

And the door unlocks sometime past 9 in the evening while you swirl a glass of wine in between your fingers on the balcony, sore legs kicked over the small coffee table.

He comes up on your right through the door. The details of his outfit unknown as you don’t pan your eyes over to him.

One month of no sex—no, no you, has shown Satoru that he does feel for you.

It’s shown him that what he felt was not just naturally from sex, it was straight from his heart. It wasn’t his hormones acting when his chest tightened when he had to leave.

Leave your peacefully sleeping figure in the morning all alone when it was practically begging for his arms to wrap around you again.

It’s shown him that he can’t breathe without you there.

He kneels in front of where you’re sat on the couch to reach your line of sight as you refuse to even acknowledge him.

Your eyes narrow to the wine before downing it all and setting it down on the glass table and swinging your feet off it.

The silence is thick with tension, unspoken words clawing at your lips. Both yours and Satoru’s.

You feel his eyes trace your every action.

Your spine meets the leather of the couch before you finally break the silence.

“I’m yours, Satoru. Just get on with it.”

His heart shatters into a billion different pieces. Just get on with it? Like you’re a task he has to finish? Like you’re not someone with feelings?

Feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, his mind starts running with questions. Do you not want him anymore? Does he not satisfy you anymore? Have you found someone else?

The thought of you with someone else has his stomach churning. He hasn’t even come to have sex with you, just to clear the air.

Still, your vague look and lack of expression makes his body go cold.

“I’m not here for that.” He says, feeling his voice waver, vocal chords shaking.

Your head finally turns to him. “Then why are you here?”

Internally, he winces. “Because I can’t go another second without you, Y/N.”

You feel the stars sparkle in amazement, the moon shine in delight. Your heart double over.

Is he..?

“I love you.” He cuts your thoughts off.

“I’m a liar, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not around. When you’re not talking to me or holding me.”

“It was never just sex—I”

You cut him off, smashing your lips against him on his knee. There’s no need for you to reciprocate, he knows you love him.

He sighs against you, shoulders dropping from the tension in them leaving, forearms wrapping around your waist as he gets up and sits in your seat.

You land on him, knees digging onto the leather by his sides—feeling his heartbeat against your chest while he pulls you flush against him.

Your arms hold him tight by the neck. Moving around and repositioning yourself ears you a grunt from him as you feel him grow beneath you.

A sheepish smirk presses against his lips as you fail to suppress it. In revenge, his hands drop from your waist and onto your ass, pushing your clothed pussy over his hardening boner.

One month of celibacy has you sensitive to the slightest touch, the imprint of him being nothing like the shitty toys you hoped would get you off in his absence.

He groans once more as you shift over him—now deliberately grinding in slow movements.

A hand slips under the shirt you’re wearing to find that you aren’t wearing a bra, though he already suspected it from your hard nipples against his chest.

You let out a quiet moan from his cold hands against your back.

The low sound of his muffled chuckle vibrates against your lips as he invades your mouth, tongue tasting every inch of you.

Not letting him be in charge, you tug his hair and his mouth falls open for you to explore.

Your lungs beg for air and only then do you break the kiss, feeling his hand push your shirt upwards till your breasts meet the cold night air.

Without even catching his breath, Satoru’s mouth latches onto your nipple like he’s starved and you’re his favorite food.

His tongue swirls while his other fingers pinch your lonely nipple, coating your chest in saliva, bundles of nerves electrifying under his touch.

You’re a moaning mess till you have enough of the teasing.

“A-ah—Satoru-” He doesn’t stop at your calling.

“Satoru—”

Finally he perks up. “Yes, sweetheart?”

You try to focus on your words as he humps you dry. “Make-make—love to me.”

His eyes widen like it’s Christmas day. A second passes. He crashes. God, his name coming from your lips, the seemingly innocent request when it’s so secretly filthy. The wires reconnect in his brain and suddenly you’re grateful you only wore a really oversize, old shirt of his you stole.

What else would you need to wear with him around? The damp material of your lacy panties gets pushed aside and he unbuckles his pants, freeing his hard, dusty pink, groomed cock out.

You gasp when his tip pushes at your entrance, having forgotten the sheer size of him and his girth.

“Satoru!”

He groans, head falling back as your juices leak down on him.

“Oh fuuuck,” he drags, eyes falling closed. “Ah- should’ve prepped you—It’s been a while now, hasn’t it, baby? But you’re so wet I’m sure you can take me, right my sweet girl?”

So you do, you bite your lips, stabilise yourself on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him. He kisses you slow, pressing soft skin against you, bitting your bottom lip delicately.

His hands leave your ass and one of them wraps around your back, bringing you impossibly close to him.

The other presses into your hair, angling your head sideways so he can lose himself in your mouth.

He lets you stay bottomed out for a moment so you can readjust, relearn the shape of him.

A needy whine vibrates against Satoru's lips once he shifts inside of you.

You feel his grin against you before he delivers the first thrust—deep, slow, curved just right to hit your cervix right off the bat. Your lips part for you to let out a moan from your chest.

He takes the opportunity to bite your neck. Leave his mark and kiss down your carotid. Gentle, reverent kisses. Deliberate nips. Purple and pink shades decorating fron your neck to your collarbone and breasts.

You're his vision. His canvas.

With two hands under your thighs, Satoru bounces you on his length. Perfectly inclined pink tip that never really leaves your pussy when he lifts your hips, but meets the familiar muscular ring deep within you whenever he drops you down every.single.time.

The sound of skin meeting skin so intimately getting absorbed by the sky.

You writhe over him, legs starting to ache, lips swelling—throat going dry from the moaning once he starts to circle around your clit, drawing you closer to the edge.

In one sudden movement, he lays you down on the couch. Your back against the soft cushions—his hot figure hovering over you, hand on your hip, elbow dug in the leather to prop himself up.

And he really starts hitting the spot. Your sight starts to blur, tears prickling at the corners from the feeling of sheer fullness. He starts to pick up the speed just a bit, going harder, not fast yet enough for him to feel you reaching your climax.

Your nails claw at his back under his shirt, looking for something that will tether you to earth while you clench and clench till his rhythm is stuttering.

"Oh my pretty girl, I'm so close-ugh—you're doing so well f'me." His teeth sink into your shoulder and you feel your legs going weak.

A hand dips under you, hooking under your back and arching you upwards.

Once.

Twice, he thrusts.

And you come. Hard.

He follows immediately, shaking when he buries himself inside of you. Walls fluttering and pulling him in viciously.

Neither of you dare to move, he collapses over you and flips you both with him still inside your walls till your head lands on his chest.

You don't need to say it out loud.

But you're his.

And he's yours.

Haven’t proofed this yet because im a little lazy buttttt what if its not just a masterlist either…?

DECEMBER 24TH, DAY OF THE NIGHT PARADE OF A HUNDRED DEMONS

It's a trap. Voices ring through Gojo Satoru's ears. He doesn't know which thunders louder, his Six Eyes or an intense wave of emotion bubbling from his chest. But whatever it is, it all leads to one thing: they're being stalled.

Yuta. 

Satoru could only curse at himself because they practically handed the kid on a silver platter for Suguru. They might as well have tied his head with a red ribbon and exclaimed, "Merry Christmas!" while they're at it. 

"You must've figured it out already, I presume?" Miguel says. 

"The one person who declared war for my student isn't here," he adjusts his bandage, "kinda hard not to miss that, sorry." 

Miguel laughs mockingly. And for whatever reason, it just made Satoru hate this man more. Miguel successfully got under his skin.

"Ah, so you haven't figured it out yet."

Satoru doesn't respond, which Miguel takes as an invitation to continue. 

"Pity. Everyone said you were always two steps ahead."

A curse runs towards Satoru, flailing its arms miserably, and without batting an eye from Miguel, the curse implodes simply from a flick of his finger. "I'm not in a pretty mood to play some games here. Like I said before, I'm in a hurry." 

"Thought you could use one. It seems that you're missing a piece here. And that must be killing you." 

And Satoru finally snaps. Motherfucker.

They exchange techniques, blow for blow. Buildings surrounding Satoru's Limitless turn into rubble for every punches, kicks, and throws he's done. Miguel's energy is waning, and he is fairing worse by the second. Good. 

Satoru's patience has worn considerably thin, close to non-existent. He's not here to dilly-dally knowing that Yuta and Maki are in danger and he can only hope he directed Panda and Toge exactly where —

Satoru catches the oncoming fist and freezes. 

No. 

Yuta is not Suguru's priority. How could he have missed that? There is that same unnamed feeling, only this time it's seeping much deeper, nearly suffocating him from the impact. "He's after —" 

You. 

Miguel grins knowingly. "He still wants Yuta, of course. But he wants her more."

Suguru has his hands cup around your cheeks delicately. You can feel his thumbs brush the healed scar on your right and Maki's dried blood from your left. You refuse to stand down, shielding Maki's unconscious form from Suguru. 

The moment you've sensed the veil surrounding Jujutsu High, you try and gather who was left. It wasn't difficult to ask Yuta to stay put before you literally barreled through panels after panels to get to Maki in time before Suguru does something unforgivable.

You don't know whether you made it in a nick of time, but hearing Maki's breath, albeit labored, is enough to put your mind slightly at ease. 

"There's that eyes," he whispers hauntingly. 

"Suguru —"

"Please, don't talk." He almost sounds like he's in pain. "Just let me have this." 

You don't move. You can't will yourself to. Right now, Suguru appears like he's lowered his guard, and subduing him like this gives you a better chance of getting Maki out of here. 

If he can just give you one slip, that's all you need to escape.

"I want you to come with me." He says. 

Stall. 

"Why?" 

Suguru's thumbs twitch. 

Idiot! You internally kick yourself. The curses floating around him shifts, but when Suguru watches the change in your expression, he orders them to back off. 

That's it. Keep his eyes on you.

"You left me." Every word cuts you because even if you did mourn his presence, it hurts you more to lie like this. "You left everyone."

"There were things they never would have agreed to." He presses his lips to your nose. 

You hold your breath. 

"Suguru," you turn your ahead away from his advances, "what you were willing to do, they're not . . ."

"I did it for you."

"W-What?" You stammer. 

"I will never forget the times you would run to me, crying because of how much they treated you. Did you think that I would just let that slide? At nights where I stayed with you, watched you cry yourself to sleep, and pretended that everything's fine in the morning is unbearable. They've hurt one of the few people I've come to care about. Monkeys. All of them. They're all the same."

"That's different." You say. "And even if they did hurt me, nobody deserves this." 

Suguru turns your head, forcing you to look at his tired eyes again. "I will give you the world if you ask me to."

"You can't."

"But I can, if you let me."

"You know that I —" 

"I will even let that," he motions his chin towards Maki, "live. If that's what you want. You only have to say it."

Out. A way out. "Suguru." 

"I will not harm her." He promises. "None of my curses will harm her either." 

"And she gets to live?" You notice the spark in his eyes returning, as if just a tiny more push and you'd be able to finally be by his side. 

"Anything you want." 

You notice two shadows moving behind Suguru. Your heart beats faster. Timing is crucial in this moment. 

You shakily grab his hands, kiss his open palm and say, "Okay." 

It's basically a blur from here on out. You remember moving your limbs towards Maki's figure, hauling her on your back and sprinting out of Toge's range. Curses spring everywhere, but Panda creates a cover for you. Yuta bounds the steps and stops in horror at the entire scene playing out. 

"She's fine." You manage to wheeze out when the kid continues to stare. "Just need to get her stabilized but she's not gravely injured."

"Will she —"

"She'll live. Help me get her out of here." 

You hear Suguru roar in frustration. A distinct ring explodes in your head and before you know it, you gurgle blood out. Maki's weapon that's now embedded against the wooden panel vibrates from the force of Suguru's throw. 

Yuta cries out your name, you barely see him reach his hands towards you before you fall on your knees and collapse. 

"You're always late." Suguru breathes out. 

Satoru could only stare. 

Suguru watches the cold indifference. "How is she?" 

"I got her." Is Satoru's only reply. Not right now. He can't bring himself to lose composure. "That's all you need to know." 

Suguru sputters a smile, "I knew she was lying."

Satoru walks forward. 

Suguru continues. "From the moment she stood in front of me, without a weapon, without anything against me, I knew she would lie, and lie, and lie. She was never the best liar when it comes to saving people. Especially when her emotions get the best of her." 

He takes another step. 

"And I let her. I always do. Maybe I'm partly to blame for making her believe she can lie." 

Another step in. 

"But still, I would've let her lie a thousand times and thousand more. Just so I can see her again. To look her in the eyes and watch her."

There it is again. 

"To hold her. To touch her."

That feeling he felt earlier. It's stronger. 

"To hear her call my name," 

And this time, like an epiphany, Satoru knows what it is. 

When he found your body, bleeding profusely with Yuta begging you to keep fighting, he nearly lost it. He didn't know whether to kill Suguru or tuck you in a place where no one would dare hurt you again. 

Blood drenched you from head to toe. The weapon sliced through you cleanly, Yuta reported, and you went down hard and fast. Satoru had never seen you that beaten up, because for all the times you've gone on missions, he realizes he always shows up in time for you. 

He always volunteers, mostly forced himself to, for those missions, and keeps you safe. Not in a way he would coddle you, in fact he barely gets in your way every time you exorcize curses. He just wants to be near you — just as much as Suguru is proclaiming right now. 

All those stolen glances with each other, the lame excuses he made just to hold you in his arms, those tantalizing whispers you would do when you had something shitty to say about the elders. That burning feeling he once felt when he saw you across the training grounds holding Suguru's hand, laughing about something he wished to desperately know. Most of all? He loves the way you fluster and turn red when you would tip toe your way to his cheek and give him a swift kiss every time you would thank him for something, before you'd run away screaming what the hell you've done. 

He dreams about you, about how nice it would be to be his forever. 

Satoru is in love with you. Probably for as long as he can remember. And it hurts so much more because he almost lost you. To his best friend, of all people. 

"I have never thought that —" Suguru coughs. 

Satoru finally stops a few distance from Suguru. 

"I wished that she had loved me —" 

"Suguru —"

"— The way she loves you." 

bf!sukuna comforting gf!reader

(pure fluff, comforting + i cried writing this)

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside rain tapped lightly against the windows, streaking the glass with silver lines while the clock on the microwave blinked 2:13 AM in dull green numbers.

You sat curled on the kitchen floor in one of Sukuna’s hoodies, knees against your chest, staring blankly at nothing and still you hadn’t turned the lights on.

Hadn’t answered your phone.

Hadn’t moved for almost an hour.

And when the front door finally unlocked, you didn’t even look up.

Heavy footsteps paused immediately.

Then—

“Baby?”

His voice changed instantly.

Not the rough, cocky tone he used with everyone else. Soft. Careful. Like he was approaching something fragile.

Sukuna dropped his gym bag by the door and crossed the apartment fast, crouching in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured. “What’re you doin’ down here in the dark?”

You shrugged weakly.

He looked at your face for a long moment, red eyes scanning every little thing—the exhaustion under your eyes, the untouched tea beside you gone cold, the way your fingers trembled inside his sleeves.

And his entire expression softened.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The nickname nearly broke you.

Your lips pressed together hard as tears burned suddenly behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered automatically.

His brows pulled together immediately. “Why the hell are you apologizing?”

“I dunno… I just—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t stop feeling like this.”

Sukuna exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to stay gentle.

Then he reached out carefully, sliding both hands under your arms.

“C’mere.”

You resisted weakly. “Kuna, I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not.” His voice stayed soft anyway. “And that’s okay.”

Before you could protest again, he lifted you effortlessly into his lap and sat against the kitchen cabinets with you tucked against his chest.

Warm and safe.

One large hand rubbed slowly up and down your back.

“Have you eaten today?”

“…No.” A tiny shake of your head.

He sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your temple.

You hated how pathetic you felt. Hated how dependent this moment made you seem.

“I’m ruining your night,” you mumbled.

That made him pull back immediately.

His hand came up to cradle your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“But—”

“You think I care about anything else when you’re hurting?”

Your throat tightened.

Sukuna wasn’t good at pretty speeches. He wasn’t poetic. Wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things.

But he loved hard.

Completely.

“You don’t gotta pretend around me,” he said quietly. “If getting through the day is hard right now, then it’s hard. Doesn’t make you annoying.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

He wiped it away with his thumb instantly.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

And there was nothing cruel in his face. Nothing impatient.

Just worry.

“You stay alive long enough for me to love you through this, aight?”

That did break you.

A sob escaped your chest before you could hide it, and Sukuna immediately pulled you fully against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I got you, baby.”

No rushing.

Just his warm hands rubbing your back, fingers threading through your hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Eventually, when your breathing calmed a little, he shifted enough to stand—still carrying you.

“Kuna—”

“Nope. You’re not walking.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you.

“There she is,” he murmured with a faint smile.

He carried you to the couch, wrapped you in blankets, then disappeared briefly into the kitchen.

You heard cabinets opening.

The microwave humming.

A minute later he returned with instant ramen, cut fruit, and water balanced carefully in his tattooed hands.

“You’re gonna eat a little,” he said. “And then I’m putting on that stupid baking show you like.”

“You hate that show.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly, handing you the bowl. “But you smile at the old lady with the cupcakes, so now I’m emotionally attached to Brenda.”

You laughed again—small and watery.

Sukuna pretended not to notice the way your hands shook when you reached for the chopsticks.

Not because he didn’t care.

Because he knew you hated being watched when things got bad.

So instead, he leaned back into the couch beside you, one arm stretched across the cushions behind your head while the baking show played quietly on the TV.

Some overly cheerful woman was crying over sponge cake.

You sniffled. “She dropped it for like… three seconds. Why’s she acting like someone died?”

“She’s weak,” Sukuna said immediately.

A tiny smile tugged at your mouth.

There it is.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Sukuna always noticed.

You managed a few bites before your appetite disappeared again, and when you started absentmindedly stirring the noodles instead of eating, his eyes flicked over.

“That all you can do?”

You nodded guiltily.

“Okay.”

No disappointment.

He took the bowl from your hands and set it aside before tugging you closer until your legs rested over his lap.

Sukuna’s fingers kept tracing slow patterns against your calf through the blanket.

Your head eventually tipped against his shoulder, exhaustion dragging at you now that the worst of the crying had passed.

Quietly, you whispered, “Do you ever get tired of me?”

The room seemed to still.

Sukuna looked down at you slowly.

“Tired of you?”

You instantly regretted saying it.

“It’s stupid, forget it—”

“No.” His hand slid up to the back of your neck gently. Don’t ask me something and then take it back.”

Your chest tightened.

He studied your face for a second before speaking.

“I get tired of the way you talk about yourself.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“I get tired of seeing you hurt,” he continued quietly. “I get tired of watching you apologize for existing.” His thumb brushed your skin softly. “But you?” He shook his head once. “Never.”

The sincerity in his voice hurt worse than anything else.

Because part of you still didn’t understand how someone like him could say things like that and mean them.

“I’m hard to love,” you whispered.

Sukuna actually frowned.

Like the statement irritated him.

“Says who?”

“…Me.”

“Well, your brain’s a liar sometimes.”

You stared at him.

And he looked so genuinely certain.

Like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

“You know what you do when I come home?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You peek through the blinds when you hear my bike outside.”

Heat crept into your face immediately. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said smugly. “Every damn time.”

“That’s creepy. Why are you watching me watch you?”

“Because you’re cute.”

You groaned softly and hid your face against his shoulder.

He chuckled under his breath, deep and warm, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“And every morning,” he continued, quieter now, “you make coffee and forget your own cup because you’re busy making mine exactly how I like it.”

Your throat tightened again.

“And when you think I’m asleep, you fix the blanket on me.” Another kiss against your forehead. “You remember what days are hard for me without me saying anything. You leave little notes in my lunch even though your handwriting sucks.”

A weak offended noise left you.

“There she is again,” he murmured softly, smiling.

Then his expression gentled.

“So don’t sit here and tell me you’re hard to love.”

Your eyes burned all over again.

Sukuna noticed immediately and sighed dramatically.

“Ah, shit. C’mere.”

He pulled you fully into his chest before the tears could fall again, wrapping both arms around you and laying back against the couch with you on top of him.

You listened to his heartbeat while his hand stroked slowly through your hair.

Steady.

Patient.

Safe.

After a long silence, you mumbled against his shirt, “You’re too good to me.”

“Nah,” he said easily. “Just good to the right person.”

And for the first time in weeks— the heaviness in your chest didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

By the third episode of the baking show, you were practically glued to him.

Not that Sukuna seemed to mind.

One of your legs was tangled with his, your face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his waist beneath his hoodie like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go for even a second.

Every time he shifted even slightly, your grip tightened again.

He noticed.

But instead of teasing you immediately, he just rested his chin on top of your head and kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“Tired?” he murmured.

You shook your head against him.

(what a lie)

He could feel it in the way your body melted heavier into his every minute.

Still, you clung tighter.

Sukuna glanced down finally, amused warmth flickering in his eyes.

“You tryin’ to crawl inside my ribcage or what?”

“Maybe.”

Your voice came out muffled against his throat.

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest.

“Dramatic.”

But his arms wrapped around you even tighter anyway.

You inhaled slowly, comforted by everything about him—the smell of his cologne and rain, the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

It made your chest ache.

Because lately everything in your mind felt exhausting and heavy and loud— except him.

With him, things went quiet.

“You’re comfy,” you mumbled sleepily.

“I better be. You use me as a damn weighted blanket every day.”

“…You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

You lifted your head just enough to squint at him.

He was already smirking.

Liar.

Your expression softened before you could stop it.

God, you loved him.

Loved him so much it scared you sometimes.

Sukuna noticed the look immediately.

His brows lifted slightly. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit.”

You hid your face again.

He snorted softly. “Baby.”

One hand slid under your jaw, gently forcing your face back up toward him.

His expression shifted the second he really looked at you.

Not teasing anymore.

Just soft.

“What’s goin’ on in that head?”

You stared at him for a second too long before the words slipped out quietly.

“I really love you.”

The room went still.

Not awkward.

Just full.

Heavy with something warm and overwhelming.

Sukuna’s entire face softened in a way almost nobody else ever got to see.

His thumb brushed slowly over your cheek.

“Yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded, eyes already getting shiny again from how intensely you felt everything tonight.

“So much,” you whispered. “Like… too much.”

A tiny crease appeared between his brows immediately.

“There’s no such thing.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you.

Slow. Careful.

You melted instantly, hands grabbing the front of his shirt while he held your face so gently it made your chest hurt.

When he pulled back, he stayed close enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

“I love you more than anything,” he said quietly.

And Sukuna almost never sounded vulnerable.

But he did now.

Raw and certain.

“You hear me?” he murmured. “More than anything.”

Your eyes filled completely this time.

“Oh, c’mon,” he sighed softly, smiling a little as he wiped beneath your eyes. “Why’re you cryin’ again?”

“You’re just…” You laughed shakily. “Too sweet.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not.”

“Hm.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”

You smiled for real then. Small.

Beautiful enough to make his chest ache.

There it is.

Sukuna stared at you for a moment like he wanted to memorize the sight.

Then you suddenly climbed fully into his lap without warning, wrapping yourself around him again.

He blinked once.

“…Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“You cling harder than a haunted doll.”

But his hands were already settling securely on your waist.

You tucked your face into his chest with a content little sigh.

“I just wanna be close to you.”

The honesty of it nearly killed him.

Sukuna leaned back into the couch, one hand smoothing through your hair over and over.

“Then stay close,” he whispered.

So you did.

And sometime later, long after the baking show ended, Sukuna looked down to find you fast asleep on top of him— still holding onto his shirt tightly even in your dreams.

He smiled so softly no one else would’ve believed it.

Then he pulled the blanket higher around you and kissed your forehead carefully.

“Love you too, clingy girl.”

hai! Ive been so busy this month, i wrote this after several episodes in which i felt 100% like reader and I thought it was a good idea to write something, so as not to make other people feel alone.

original work, do not stole, copy, plagiarize my work - sturduststrails

♯ really need to step up my writing skills.. please never get bored of my domestic choso

Dating Choso for a few months had been surprisingly normal.

At first, he was quiet, respectful of your space, and very careful with every touch.

Honestly, you thought he'd always be that shy. How can you not? He'd hold your hands gently, sitting closely but not too close, and ask before kissing you.

Then somewhere along the way, something changed.

Maybe he was getting comfortable. But whatever the reason was, your boyfriend slowly transformed into the clingiest man alive.

"Choso."

"Hm?"

You turned your head to look at him, letting out a small laugh. "Why are you standing there?"

He blinked once. "I missed you."

You tilted your head. "I was gone for five minutes, to the bathroom."

"It felt longer," He frowned slightly.

You laughed under your breath, turning back toward the kitchen counter. "You're getting clingy."

Quiet footsteps approached behind you.

Then, you felt his warmth behind you. His arms slipped around your waist with his chin settled on top of your head, like this had become a second nature to him.

"Choso," you sighed fondly. "I'm trying to cook here."

"You can still do that," he murmured.

"Not when my boyfriend is attached to me."

"I like being close to you."

Over time, he grew clingier in small ways.

Hand resting on your thigh whenever you sat next to each other, quietly following you around the apartment, pulling you back into bed whenever you tried getting up.

Today was no different.

You had almost escaped, almost.

Your foot was already on the floor, ready to start the day.

Then the mattress dipped behind you. A sleepy groan echoed through the room before something warm enveloped your waist.

"Mm, stay," he grumbles.

You laughed quietly. "Good morning to you too," you whispered.

You glanced over your shoulder to look at him. His hair was a mess, eyes barely open as he clung to you.

"Too early," he mumbled as he buried his face deeper against your back.

"It's almost ten."

"So?"

"So.. it's not early?" You said, rubbing his hair.

His arms tightened slightly around your waist as you tried to move again.

"Just stay."

You sighed. "I need to get up."

Suddenly, you were pulled backward onto the mattress with a surprised laugh. Choso immediately curled around you again.

"Hey!" You tried to push him, playfully, but he won't move.

You turned slightly in his hold, only to find him already staring at you with those sleepy eyes.

"Let's make a deal, Cho," you said suddenly.

Choso blinked once before propping his head with his hand.

"What deal?"

"You let me get out of bed," you added. "And when i come back, we can cuddle all day. Maybe we can have lunch in bed?"

Choso went quiet immediately.

Slowly, his grip on your waits loosened.

"Lunch in bed?"

"Mhm."

"Together, right?"

You laughed softly. "Of course."

Choso hummed thoughtfully, still unconvinced. But after a moment, he finally let his arm fall away from your waist.

"Fine," he mumbled. "But make it quick."

You smiled triumphantly, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Deal."

The second you pulled away, Choso caught your wrist again.

"Can you bring me with you?"

You tilted your head. "To.. where?"

"Wherever you're going."

"Wherever i'm going," you repeated, trying not to smile. "Even when i'm brushing my teeth?"

"Mhm," Choso nodded against the pillow. "I'll wait."

You stared at him for a moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

"You're actually attached to me now."

Choso leaned in to the kiss, looking completely unashamed. "I don't see a problem."

୨ ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ babydaddy!toji fucking hates your new boyfriend! [18+]

( mdni. cw: (18+), infidelity/cheating, possessive/jealous ex, breeding kink, oral sex (cunnilingus), rough yet loving penetrative sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, )

The front door clicked shut behind your boyfriend, his goodbye kiss as perfunctory as always—quick, distracted, already scrolling his phone as he headed to his car. You sighed, locking up and glancing at the clock. Nearly 10 PM.

Megumi had crashed out after storytime, his little chest rising and falling in his race car bed down the hall.

Your baby daughter, sweet-faced and tiny at just eight months, was bundled in her crib, monitor humming softly on the kitchen counter. The house settled into that familiar quiet, the kind that amplified every creak and whisper.

Life had shifted since you and Toji split two years ago. Back then, things were fire and chaos—passionate nights tangled in sheets, his massive frame pinning you down, cock stretching you until you saw stars. But commitment? He dodged it like a curse.

Fights escalated, toxicity poisoned the air, and you walked away for the kids' sake. Separate paths, co-parenting through gritted teeth.

He showed up religiously, though—picking up Megumi for park days, cradling the baby with surprising gentleness, handing over child support without a fuss. But his eyes always lingered on you too long, that scarred lip twitching into a smirk that hid regret.

Then came your new boyfriend. Steady job, nice enough, made you laugh sometimes. But the sex? Vanilla. Predictable thrusts, over too soon, leaving you feigning satisfaction. Toji hated him.

Every visit, he'd grill Megumi: "So, what's this guy's deal, kid? He treatin' ya mom right?" Megumi, loyal little echo, would shrug: "Dunno, Dad. He brings pizza."

The baby just babbled, oblivious. Toji's jaw would clench, green eyes darkening. Possessive. Always had been.

A sharp knock rattled the door—three raps, firm. Your heart stuttered. Peering through the peephole, there he was: Toji Fushiguro, towering on the porch in a black hoodie zipped low over his pecs, sweatpants slung low on those V-cut hips. Hair messy, like he'd been pacing.

You cracked the door, chain still latched. "Toji? It's late. Kids are asleep. What's up?"

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, biceps bulging. "Can I come in? Need to talk. About the kids... and shit."

Hesitating, you unlatched, stepping back. He ducked inside, filling the space, that familiar scent—clean sweat, faint cologne, raw man—flooding your senses.

You shut the door softly, arms folding over your chest. "Talk, then. Megumi's got a check-up Tuesday. Baby's teething, needs more formula—"

"Not about that." His voice dropped, rough as gravel. He toed off his boots, padding into the living room like he owned it—hell, parts of him did, etched into your kids, your memories.

He dropped onto the couch, manspreading wide, patting the cushion beside him. "Sit. Please."

You perched on the edge, knees together, hyperaware of the inches between you. "What is it, Toji?"

He rubbed his neck, scarred lip quirking. "Miss you, Y/N. Fuckin' miss this." Gesture swept the room—the photos on the mantle of Megumi's first steps, baby girl's ultrasound.

"Livin' here together. Wakin' up to you in my shirt, pussy still wet from the night before. Cookin' breakfast while I fuck you over the counter. That life."

Heat bloomed low in your belly, traitorous. You missed it too—the way he'd wreck you, body molding to his like clay. But you schooled your face. "We're not together anymore. You made that clear."

"Yeah, and I regret every goddamn second." His eyes bored into yours, intense. "Was a dumbass. Too caught up in my bullshit. But seein' you with him? That prick? Kills me. Megumi mentions him droppin' by, baby coos at him—fuck that. He make you happy?"

You swallowed, glancing away. "He's... fine. Steady."

Toji scoffed, shifting closer, thigh brushing yours. Electricity sparked. "Steady. That's code for borin'. Does he fuck you better than me? Huh? Stretch that tight pussy like I did? Make you scream loud enough to wake the neighbors?" His hand landed on your knee—warm, callused, thumb stroking slow circles.

"Toji—stop." But your voice wavered, nipples pebbling under your tank top. Deep down, you ached for him. That boyfriend never ignited this fire.

"Tell me," he pressed, body crowding yours now, breath hot on your neck. "He hit it right? Or you fakin' it, thinkin' of my cock the whole time?" Face inches away, lips brushing your ear. "I know you, doll. This pussy's mine. Always has been."

Your resolve cracked. "He left ten minutes ago. Kids asleep. This is crazy."

"Crazy's what we do best." He cupped your jaw, turning your face. Lips crashed—slow at first, testing. You melted, mouth opening under his, tongue stroking deep. Tastes of mint and him, hands fisting his hoodie as you kissed back, hungry.

He pulled back, smirking. "Knew you missed me. C'mere." Scooping you up effortless, he carried you to the bedroom—your room, door clicking shut. Laid you on the bed gentle, despite the hunger in his eyes.

"Toji, we can't—" Protest died as he knelt between your thighs, peeling your sleep shorts down slow, panties clinging wet to your folds. "Fuck... look at you. Soaked already. This for me?"

You nodded, biting your lip. He spread your legs wide, thumbs parting slick lips, exposing your clit—swollen, begging.

"Missed this pretty pussy. Sweetest thing." Leaned in, breath ghosting your core. Nose dragged along your slit, inhaling deep. "Smells like heaven."

Tongue flicked out—flat, slow lick from hole to clit. You gasped, hips bucking. He pinned you down, one hand splayed on your belly, the other fingers circling your entrance teasing. "Stay still, mama. Gonna eat you proper."

Lips sealed around your clit, sucking soft—pulling pulses that made stars burst.

Tongue delved lower, spearing your hole, fucking in shallow thrusts. Wet sounds filled the room, his groans vibrating through you. "Taste so fuckin' good. Forgot how you drip for me."

Fingers joined—two thick ones sliding in easy, curling right against that spot. He pumped slow, deliberate, thumb rubbing your clit in tandem.

"This what he does? Nah. He don't know your spots like I do." Mouth latched back, sucking harder, tongue lashing your bud while fingers scissored, stretching you.

Pleasure coiled tight, your hands fisting sheets. "Toji—oh god—"

"Cum on my tongue. Gimme it." He devoured—licking, sucking, fingers crooking relentless. You shattered, walls clamping his digits, juices flooding his palm. He lapped every drop, humming approval.

Not done. He stripped slow—hoodie off, revealing slabs of pecs, ridges of abs glistening faint sweat.

Sweatpants shoved down, cock springing free: thick, veined, head leaking pre-cum. "See this? Made our babies. Gonna make another."

You whimpered, legs wrapping his waist as he notched at your entrance. Pushed in slow—inch by burning inch, walls fluttering around girth. "Fuck... tight as ever. Missed squeezin' me like this."

Bottomed out, balls snug to your ass. Held still, forehead to yours, kissing soft—loving. "Love you, Y/N. Always did. Gonna fuck you right, make you mine again."

Hips rolled deep—grinding, then withdrawing halfway, slamming back. Rhythm built sensual: long drags, circling grinds hitting your clit. Hands roamed—tweaking nipples, gripping ass, pulling you onto him.

"This pussy's home," he growled, pace quickening. Skin slapped skin, wet squelches echoing. "He can't fill you like this. Bet he cums quick, leaves you empty. Not me. Gonna breed you full."

Words ignited you. "Harder—please—"

He obliged—thrusts punishing yet tender, one hand cradling your face. "Yeah? Want daddy's load? Pump you up, tits swell again. Fuck that stupid boyfriend— you're mine." Cock pistoned, hitting cervix, balls tightening.

Second orgasm ripped through—screaming into his shoulder, nails raking his back. He followed, roaring low, cock pulsing ropes of thick cum deep. Held buried, grinding to push it higher. "Take it all. Good girl."

Collapsed together, breaths syncing. He kissed your temple, arm banding possessive. "Don't need him. We fix this—family. Me, you, kids. Yeah?"

You nodded, tears pricking—truth spilling. "Missed you too."

── you’re a flashback in a film reel ♡‧₊ ⸝⸝

♡.ᐟ GN! Reader x N. Kento

☽☾ angst ☽☾ hurt/no comfort ☽☾ academic insecurity ☽☾ general insecurity idk ☽☾

“Darling.” Kento murmured, “Don’t go.”

You didn’t know when your hands slipped from his, when your gaze left his, when his warmth abandoned you — or rather, when you abandoned his warmth — but it happened. Rapid like quicksand, vapid like the sensibility you were discarding, and rabid, like the grief of never being enough.

“You’re enough.” He pressed, over the invisible open wound, cottony words to soak the ceaseless blood of your self inflicted rage, visible to no eyes but yours.

How could he understand something that wasn’t in front of his eyes? 

He wouldn’t. 

And you’d go all your life trying to palate your words to feed him. Alter the syllables to make him understand. 

“No, Kento.” Your exhale echoed over his assurances, cutting them in a sharp slice, “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me, my love. Make me understand.” He begged, his hands reaching out to pull you back in his embrace — but lord. You were sick of this. Sick of the never-ending feeling of going to the mountains but falling short of a cliff. You were sick of the perfectionism he held and commanded, that never seemed to come to you.

You were sick of this.

Sick of this uselessness of failing again and again and again and yet again. You were sick of measuring yourself to the scale that always seemed to exist, visible to you and you alone. Sick. So fucking sick.

You were tired of pulling yourself from the dredges of unfamiliarity to earn a belongingness to a place that left you parched. You wanted that to come with ease, but it never did. Why? What were you missing? What was empty in you? What effort had you not put in.

“Darling.” Kento begged again, but you could only meet his eyes this time, shamefully, grief stricken, angry, tired, exhausted. 

His eyes were sad. Infinitely sad, brimming with tears, and a brave few trickles drumming down his cheeks, “Please. Darling.” 

“I can’t, Kento.” You looked away, cowardice overpowering your stubborn convictions, unhealthily attached to a result that never came to you, “I can’t.”

You wanted to apologise, but what was there to apologise? You wouldn’t believe your own empty words of fake remorse. You weren’t sorry. Not this time. Perhaps there was an emptiness, a dying ember of satisfaction that you chose yourself first this time, but knowing your luck, it would run out too, leaving you empty and silent, isolated like you were meant to be.

Perhaps that was your fate anyhow. 

“Darling. Talk to me. No — Please. Please— darling, don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I can’t— my love. I can’t. Don’t. Please. Darling.” Kento’s words trembled into a hesitant sob as you shut the door behind you, luggages packed that mocked his muffled beseeches.

You didn’t look at him for that last time. After all, pragmatism has always been your stark quality.

🏷️ : @pleaseimastarv2 @realalpacorn @heliumshorns @maru-the-alien @fortunatelydistinguishedobject @oporotheca @stellarixe @lunarevia @lilithkleia @hoax-of-light @midnitebugging @cactusvolumes @getorade @antonellavanella @kldgo @claryeverlarkf @ribbonsiess

Dividers by: @/cursed-carmine @/bronzewasp

🏐 "𝑺𝑼𝑮𝑼𝑹𝑼 𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑶," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw frat!geto x virgin!reader ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡

Your friends were bad for you, especially when they teased you for being a virgin.

Being a virgin in university was not a crime, nor was it bad... but your friends made you feel like a baby for it. Always cooing at you, saying things like "Don't talk about your sex life! Y/N's here!" before covering your ear with playful gasps, as if you were some innocent 4 year old.

It annoyed you to no end, so you started decided to put plan "begin your sex life" into action. Scoping out the boys in your lecture halls, on campus, are cafe's... everywhere. You hadn't found anyone until you visited an infamous frat part hosted by a man everyone knew on campus.

Suguru Geto. Playboy, fuckboy, almost every other girl has heard of how ungodly of a dicking he gave... and his infamous labret lip piercing.

You actually had eyed up Nanami at first, ticking off your mental checklist. he had money, if you fell pregnant he would be responsible, he's nice to you in your criminal law lectures. He was perfect! Your innocent smile must have attracted the wolves in the dark, as just as you were about to approach the blond haired man, someone's arm slid around you shoulders.

Wide, confused eyes, meeting purple irises with a small glint in them. The man's hair was tied up into a short half up, half down, silky black locks resting on his shoulder. That infamous lip piercing, those soft lips, that sweet alluring voice speaking against your ear, separated from the rest of the loud party.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you at one of my parties," Suguru purred.

Sukuna and Choso are your roomies and they do not understand the word privacy! constantly just walking in while you're taking a shower, taking over your bed - If they're gonna be that way, you could at least get backshots, but no! They'd rather play Mario Kart and manspread with you on the couch. Sukuna keeps throwing you off rainbow road, (rude!) which leads to your own revenge - cucking him.

pairings - choso x reader x sukuna

warnings- fingering, lots of titty worship, nipple sucking, edging, making Choso whimper, cucking tf outta Kuna in a pink chair lol, petty reader (I luv her) yandere tendencies (both boys) p in v sex, creampie, cum swallowing, ragebaiting kuna -4k

this was a commission for my baby @martianzmars ahhh this is like our fourth one!? I luv u sm!!! - pt 2 here!

art is from @/679sora on IG

Sukuna and Choso are by far the most annoying roommates a girl could have – constantly in your space, always eating all your favorite snacks, not allowing you any privacy. Shower? They’re standing in the damn bathroom talking to you, thinking you can masturbate in peace? No, they wanna come hang out in your room all the time!

Not just in the apartment either – no, they don’t even let you go anywhere without them, the couple times they have they’ve come to the parties and made sure they were on either side of you, fending off any of the men. Aside from work and classes they’re not in, the two men tag along anywhere – up to and including getting manicures.

It was pretty cute to see them get their nails painted black, and how ticklish they get when they’re getting pedicures – but to have no alone time? To have no girls nights out, no they go to those too, heaven help if a guy maybe tries to talk to you, the two of them make sure anyone who is brave enough to approach is sent off running.

You love having them around, even when the two giant men just take over your entire bed, big ass arms all heavy and weighing you down when you wake up. Maybe you wouldn’t mind that if either of them used their cocks that were pressing on either side of you, but no they just snuggle you closer, leaving you soaking wet and aching, unable to use any of your toys in peace.

Menaces, they’re menaces.

Choso is an adorable menace, a sweetheart – but menace nonetheless. Sukuna was more outspoken with how insane he was, he lived to fuck with you, once he thought it would be funny to hide your dildo collection you’re so proud of. You didn’t talk to him for a week after that, until he groveled and bought you a brand new one for your addition.

Little did you know – Sukuna had it moulded to fit his cock exactly, the thought that you were getting stretched out by his shape made it even sweeter when he heard your soft little whines. When he’d jerk it in his room, groaning and tilting his head against that wall like a pervert.

Sometimes he’d use your panties to cum, he loved when you couldn’t find them and got all upset – he even took your scrunchies because they smell like your shampoo. Okay maybe Sukuna’s a bit obsessed with you, but is Choso much better?

No, he’s not, Choso is just a little sneakier, thinking of fucking you and jerking it when he’s in the shower and you’re talking to him, trying to muffle his moans as he pictures you right on your knees.

Not that you’re aware of any of it.

Content: mdni, smut (duh). masturbation, semi-voyeurism(?). That’s it, read it if you wanna find out. :)

Word count: 3.2k

Pairing: bf!nanami x afab reader

ft. husband!Nanami and boyfriend!Toji (talks of getting married in toji's)

swearing, pregnancy, very fluffy

i kinda wrote toji maybe a bit ooc?? idk i just feel like he wouldn't be mad if his girl was pregnant

Boyfriend Toji taking care off you when you’re tired <3

tonight was another one of those nights. you had worn the smallest shorts around the house with a loose tank top. choso thought he was going to lose it. it was so hard to contain himself from begging you to touch him, to do whatever you wanted as long as it pleased you. he had managed to hold back his urges until bedtime. it had been around an hour, and you’re peacefully sleeping by his side. choso, however, has been so painfully hard it’s kept him up. he could jerk off, but he felt so guilty doing it while you were sleeping :(. he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to fall asleep when he heard a moan. his eyes immediately shot open, looking at you.

you let out another small moan, you hips moving slightly back and forth as you did. choso’s cock twitched in his pants. god he felt like such a perv, being even more turned on at some noises you made in your sleep. his eyes closed again, trying to ignore it when

“mmm- cho-“ now he couldn’t ignore it. he loved when you moaned his name. his dick strained against his pants so much he was sure the seams would rip. he cursed himself as he unzipped them and took them off. “just a little bit, i won’t do too much” he promised himself as he lined his covered cock with the fabric of your shorts. despite the barrier, it felt so good. moving a little won’t hurt, right? he began to gently grind against your ass, trying to contain his whimpers with every move. was it wrong? a bit. but it felt too good for him to stop. he blamed the hours he spent pent up.

your hips unconsciously shifted abruptly, the feeling causing choso to let out a pathetic moan. his blood ran cold as you stirred awake at the noise. he didn’t want you to be mad at him, but there was little way out of this. you turned over slightly to look at him.

“cho? what’s going o-“ before you can finish he’s tearing up

“i’m sorry baby i-i just-“ he sniffles “i was so hard because i w-was so horny all night but i didn’t want to bother you since im always on you a-and then you started moaning and you s-said my name, and you know what that does to m-“ to stop his rambling, you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “it’s okay cho, keep going.”

choso’s face flushed immediately. “y-you mean you aren’t upset with me?”

you shook your head. “of course not. if anything i feel bad, i don’t want you retraining yourself because you think you’re bothering me.”

your hand began to trail down to the waistband of his boxers. “you said you’ve been hard all night?” choso nods. “my poor baby. that must’ve been awful” he whimpers quietly at your words and wipes his eyes.

you move your hands now to fully pull down his boxers, his tip red and leaking. you look back up at him, “can i help you with this, baby?” his nods are frantic and you wrap your fingers around his large shaft. you begin to slowly move up and down his length, kissing as neck lightly as you do. choso is whimpering again already, the feeling of your hand on his dick and lips on his neck is borderline euphoric. your kisses start to trail up to his ear.

“what do you want me to do?” you whisper, your grip around him tightening. choso bites his lip to hold back a moan, “i want you to fuck me- please-“ he sounds to desperate, making you clench your thighs together.

“yeah baby? you think you deserve it after you grinded on me like a perv?” his head falls to the crook of your neck, another moan escapes his lips. “i said im sorry— please ill do anything, i’ll be s-so good for you-“

you grin, you’ve barely done anything and he’s so wrapped around your finger, and it’s hot. “you’ll be a good boy for me cho?” he whimpers so pathetically once again. “y-yes i’ll be such a good boy for you,”

with that, you kiss his neck again before pulling your sleep shorts down. your move his dick to align with your wet folds, and bring the tip up and down your slit. choso can’t stop moaning. the hours of waiting to the teasing is just too much for him. his eyes start to well up again and he’s begging you to put him inside. he’s letting out pleas and cries, trying to his hips up onto you.

“baby, i said to be good. is this what good boys do?” you tsk. he shakes his head, “im s-so sorry— please i can’t wait— need to be inside you so b-bad— please-“ his cries are pathetic, but instead of teasing him more you decide to allow him what he wants. you sink your throbbing heat onto his excruciatingly hard dick, and the tears flow out. choso’s hands moves to grab your hips, your back, anything he can grab onto. his head is once again in the crook of your neck. his moans are muffled, but you can make out what he’s saying. lots of

“i love you so much”

“your pussy feels so good— it was made for me”

“tell me im your good boy— please”

he can’t stop stuttering through his sobs and whimpers as you talk him through it. saying how perfect he is and how he’s doing so good. your hand moves to tangle in his hair, pulling slightly.

“mmm- don’t d-do that please. i-i’ll— mmm c-cum right now” choso warns, but you don’t listen. when you do it again, telling him how much you love your good, perfect boy, he cums instantly. you moan at the feeling of him filling you up and continue to ride him through the rest of his orgasm. he moved his head out of your neck and you wipe his tears off.

“thank you, that was amazing” choso says, kissing the top of your head. you nod and smile, “of course baby. anything for you.” he pulls you into a gentle hug, “can i stay inside you tonight?”

who were you to say no to him?

Bright eyed and perky, money-hungry beyond belief and perpetually horny. You’ve wormed your way into the life and the guarded, frigid heart of a much older man. Managing to thaw it, if only slightly, through methods widely regarded as morally ambiguous. All in exchange for designer shoes and glittering necklaces whose price tags eclipse the average person’s rent.

Maybe you’d feel a twinge of shame, being bent right against the cold metal of his Rolls-Royce like a common whore, if dick was all you were getting. But you get it all—an orgasm (not exactly your demographic’s strong suit), the scrap of affection, and the spoils of his wealth. Today is a good day. Cuz you’re getting the best of both worlds: him inside you, and a private viewing of your favorite designer’s newest collection. A peace offering, if you will. He’s been gone all week on some work trip. He knows exactly what it costs to make you forget he ever left.

“You’re terrible,” you scoff, glancing back at him. Sukuna’s already hauling your frilly skirt up, shoving your soaked panties aside with thinly veiled impatience. There’s an urgency to it. He’s eager to make up for lost time, attention entirely fixed on you and on the way your puffy pussy is glistening with slick.