justapenguin

having the world’s most insatiable perv as a boyfriend meant satisfying his needs in the craziest ways

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“Oh my god that’s perfect,” Suguru whines, admiring your glistening body through his phone’s camera lense. The cold breeze of the living room fan contrasts with the glossy layer of oil he’d rubbed all over you earlier, goosebumps erupting up your thighs and back.

Your monthly photo shoots with your boyfriend seemed to be the least perverted thing Suguru had convinced you to do over the course of your relationship. Every bikini, every set of panties, and every tiny little skirt you brought home deserved got one— his sick little way of christening your wardrobe.

A simple black bikini had set him off this time, something simple you’d bought at the mall last week. You had tried so hard not to roll your eyes after he’d waltzed into your shared bedroom with the fabric clutched in his fist, tempting you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“Please?” He whined, reaching for your hands to pull you up and out of bed. “For me?”

“..Fine,” you say sternly, knowing there was absolutely zero way he’d let you buy something skimpy without taking a couple pictures for his spank bank. You swear you spy him jumping up and down in your peripheral as you strip out of your pajamas.

And that’s —for better or for worse— how you’d ended up on the living room carpet with your boyfriend standing over you, covered in a thin sheen of body oil he’d tenderly massaged into your skin and staring right into the twin cameras on back of his cellphone.

“Fuck— stay like that,” Suguru marvels, adjusting his obvious hard-on through the fabric of his lounge pants.

“What? Like this?” You giggle, pulling at the middle of your bikini top to show more cleavage. The breathy noise it earns you is nothing short of adorable. Suguru shakes like a leaf as he snaps a few more photos, holding onto his sanity by a thread while all the blood in his body drains right into his dick.

You shade your eyes from the camera flash, blowing him a kiss from where you kneel on the carpet. Suguru kneels behind you, a wave of warmth radiating off of him as he reaches to move your hair across one shoulder.

A calloused palm on your back coaxes you face down onto the carpet, back arched with your thong-clad ass in the air.

“Shit…” he marvels. The tiny piece of fabric leaves so little to the imagination, settling in the rift between your lips perfectly.

You wiggle your ass back and forth in invitation, giggling as his thumb pulls the sticky thong to the side and rubs over your heat.

“Take a video, no?” you tease, feeling a thick finger slide into you as the man behind you groans in earnest. Suguru slips his thumb out of you slowly, bringing his hand to your mouth to have you suck his finger for the camera.

A quick warm-up

tags. fluff. college au.

it's the usual routine: two cans of redbull. 7pm. sitting on the living room floor at the coffee table. the company of a particularly handsome, white-haired nerd.

said nerd? he's currently yapping your ear off about chemical thermodynamics as you fight to keep your eyes open. it would be rude if you just fell asleep while someone was talking, so you do your best to seem interested.

"any questions?"

you blink twice. "uh, nah, i'm good."

he hums, seemingly satisfied. "okay, pop quiz time."

you groan dramatically, which he fortunately finds funny. but then again, he finds everything you do funny, which is quite the compliment given that he literally has no reason to like you whatsoever.

you're a pain in the ass, and utterly hopeless at chemistry. he got unlucky enough to sit next to you on the first day of class, and somehow he has a heart of gold, immediately offering you his free-of-charge tutoring services after seeing you still somehow balance equations wrong in Advanced Chemistry II.

which brings you to now. these weekly little sessions.

for the most part, you've been a great student. a stupid one, but you try your best and bring him cookies every now and then so you think it all works out. but unfortunately today, you're having a hard time paying attention to what he's saying.

instead, you find your eyes drifting to his face. he's really cute, you think. in that unassuming, comforting way. you think that if he took off his glasses and cut his hair shorter, maybe swapping out those oversized t-shirts for a tank top, he'd be a real looker.

but then again, you quite like him like this, too.

"so, you ready for this pop quiz?"

oh right. he's tutoring you.

"sure," you reply, completely unconfident but willing to try anyway. see? great student.

he hands you a sheet of paper and you get to work, scribbling away like you know what you're doing. he averts his attention to his laptop, where he's probably working on far more complicated tasks.

when you get to question number five, your blinks last longer. a wave of fatigue rushes over you.

at question number seven, you rest your head on the table and your handwriting starts to get messy.

you don't get to question number ten.

the coffee table wood is cold against your cheek. your hair drops down, covering your face, but you can't find the energy to brush it away.

you're not asleep, no. you're in this weird, catatonic state where you can't move but you still know that you're alive.

beside you, there's a slow chuckle. you hear him shift slightly, face coming down to rest on the table too. you can't see him, but you know he's there.

he hums, voice low and soft, vibrating through the table and buzzing against your cheek. has he always sounded so... hot?

then, the most feather-light touch graces your face, brushing your hair away and tucking it behind your ear. his finger traces your forehead and cheek. you get goosebumps.

"silly girl," he mutters, breath tickling your skin. "how can you fall asleep so easily in front of me?"

although your eyes are still closed, your heart thumps rapidly against your chest.

yeah, you're definitely awake now.

gojo satoru had experienced hell before, that one time he lined up to get his favorite manga signed by the author but kept letting people cut in front of him because he was too scared to say something and he’s just nice like that. that was until geto told him off for doing it because he ended up not getting his book signed. he’s so dumb.

but this—this was a different kind of hell. he’s sat on the couch at a house party with.. yeah, you guessed it. the squad: suguru geto, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna… a whole bunch of hotties

it’s not really a pleasant sight to see. 2 girls clinging onto sukuna, fushiguro making out with one and geto talking to a girl who is clearly interested in him..

and then there’s gojo.

sitting there awkwardly, clutching a cup in his hand while sipping on nothing.

sure, he loves his best friend suguru. he just hates how popular he is. at every function, all the girls seem to be magnetised to his mysterious and brooding aura. and gojo’s just there, i guess. he huffs at the thought. he thinks knows that he could treat a girl soooo right if they just gave him a chance!

geto excuses himself to go upstairs with the girl. satoru already knows where this is going, so he brushes it off. he then eyes the group of girls from afar giggling and whispering to each other while looking at the guys on the couch. actually.. it looks like they’re looking towards his direction.

“come on y/n! just ask him!” your friends keep nudging and shoving you towards his direction, and gojo couldn’t help but scowl.

after finally mustering up the courage to come up to him, you fiddle with your fingers before stuttering out a quiet “hi,”

gojo sighs, “if you’re here to ask for suguru’s number, i’m not interested.”

your eyes widen in confusion which makes him confused too.

“oh, uh.. i was actually going to ask for yours..?”

what.

there’s no way.

“it’s fine if you’re not interested, i’m sorry—”

“NO, NO, I AM!” he internally cringes at his response. “sorry, i just.. thought you were gonna ask about suguru.” he puts his palm out, silently asking you to give him the sharpie. you shrug and give it to him, rolling your sleeve up.

you smile after he writes down his number on your forearm, giving you back your pen. “thanks,” he nods at you. “and for the record.. i think you’re way cuter than geto.” gojo’s face heats up as you walk away, burying his face into his hoodie.

you tuck the pen into your pocket, suppressing a grin as you walk away. behind you, gojo groans, burying his face deeper into his hoodie, his muffled voice barely audible.

“way cuter than geto,” he mutters to himself, kicking at the ground. “way cuter. oh my god.”

read more of my works here !

as the speakers blasted bass boosted music, you sit on the couch with a red cup in your hand, rationing the drink in it because you’re too afraid to go up to the bar alone.

it’s a bit crowded, your friends on the dance floor while you just watch other people rubbing up against each other. not an ideal way to spend your weekend when you have exams coming up but oh well, yolo.

you’re not much of a party person, well- you’ve tried to become one but it just didn’t work. not when it felt awkward to dance and everyone ignored you in conversations. you’ve never felt so unseen.

that was, until…

you felt the couch sink on your right side. you turn your head to see the one and only—“Most Popular” Playboy—Satoru Gojo.

you panic internally, why is he here?!

“hey,” you nod back in response to his greeting, visibly confused on why he’s talking to you—the girl he’s been basically in all of the same classes with since high school but has never uttered a word to?

“you here alone?” you hum in disagreement. he looks out to the crowd of dancers then back at you. “where are your friends?”

okay, now you’re really confused. why is he asking you all of these questions? is this a prank? “oh, uhm.. they’re on the dance floor.” he nods, then eyes your figure up and down.

“i like your ring, it’s from ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ right?” your eyes light up, you definitely did not expect that. you stutter a bit before letting out a quiet mhm. he asked you to repeat it, and you just nodded. he smiles at you and suddenly you understand why every girl falls for— no, no. no you don’t. you’re not falling for this propaganda!!

“what other animes do you like?”

—

you step into the room upstairs, entering what looked and felt like being at an anime shop. blue walls, posters everywhere, displays of action figures in glass boxes… who knew this popular frat guy would be such a geek??

you spot various pieces of fiction, such as digimon, ghibli movies, 2000s romcoms, resident evil, and so much more!!!

“didn’t take you for a romcom guy.” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of his bed. “yeah, i don’t think anyone does.”

you hum then gasp at his displayed pokémon cards. “is that the pikachu illustrator?! how the hell did you acquire such a rare card??” he chuckles and explains how he got it, he’s rich obviously!

—

the night was long. the speakers still blare from downstairs, but you and gojo talked about the same interests for hours. this definitely wasn’t on your bucket list, ‘befriending’ the most popular guy in school history who also happens to be super similar to you??

in gojo’s eyes, he’s never met a girl like you. call him teruhashi from saiki k because everyone is all over him. he’s never even had a relationship or involved himself in hookups despite being known as a ‘playboy.’ but tonight.. tonight seemed genuine—like you’re not just another person who’s trying to get in his pants.

it can be tiring. despite there being people who would kill to be him, all he wants is someone he can settle down with for life. someone who’s not there for the money or the popularity, but for him. and that’s exactly how he feels about you. 4 hour conversations about films and niche interests? yes please.

his fantasy was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone—of course it was your friends. why did you have to leave the party just because they want to?

“i have to go, it was great talking to you though!” he grips the sheets as you smile, god you were adorable. he waves goodbye, sinking into the sheets as you closed the door behind you.

he’s definitely gonna search for you on campus tomorrow.

໒꒱ིྀ༝⁺┆pairings: fem!reader x hiromi higuruma

❝ on christmas eve, hiromi reluctantly plays santa while making presents late at night, and you kiss him- unnoticed, or so you think. your three-year-old daughter sees this and believes her mother has kissed santa, making you face a difficult confrontation. ❞

໒꒱ིྀ༝⁺┆warnings: fluff, dadhiromi, short, etc.

໒꒱ིྀ༝⁺┆author note: am i late for this lol?? i just wanted to make a small fic with hiromi since he’s gonna be animated soon (finally!!)

snow pressed softly against the windows, frosting the edges of the glass while the apartment glowed in warm golden light. the christmas tree shimmered quietly in the corner, ornaments reflecting in the lenses of hiromi higuruma’s glasses as he sat at the dining table far too late at night.

he looked deeply, tragically serious.

which would’ve been intimidating- if he wasn’t wearing a santa hat.

“you know,” you murmured from the doorway, arms folded as you watched him carefully wrap a small wooden music box, “most people just buy presents.”

without looking up, he replied flatly, “most people lack standards.”

you stepped closer, smiling. scraps of wrapping paper were aligned perfectly beside him. tags were written in his precise handwriting. even the tape was placed with surgical neatness.

“she’s three, hiromi.”

“she is perceptive,” he corrected. “she notices details.”

“she also tried to eat glue yesterday.”

he finally looked up at you, unimpressed. “that is not relevant to this discussion.”

the santa hat slipped slightly over his dark hair, and something about it - the contrast between his stern expression and the soft red felt - made your chest ache.

“you’re cute,” you whispered.

his brows drew together. “i am not-“

you leaned down and kissed him.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t teasing. it was soft and warm and quiet, your hand cupping his cheek, his breath catching for just a second before his hand came up to steady your waist. the room felt smaller, cozier, filled only with the faint scent of pine and paper and him.

he melted into it more than he would ever admit.

neither of you noticed the small pair of wide eyes peeking from the hallway.

aimi stood there in her tiny pajamas, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

she saw the red hat.

she saw mama kiss santa.

her little world tilted.

she shuffled backward silently, lip trembling, and disappeared down the hallway.

morning came bright and loud.

aimi ran into the living room at first, excited, curls bouncing, but when she saw her father standing near the tree - no santa suit, just him - her excitement faded into something confused.

higuruma adjusted his glasses. “good morning.”

she stared at him.

then she turned to you.

then back to him.

her little face crumpled.

“papa…” her voice wobbled.

he immediately crouched down, concern replacing his usual calm. “what’s wrong?”

she looked devastated.

“i saw santa,” she said, on the verge of tears.

you froze.

higuruma blinked once. “did you?”

aimi nodded, eyes glossy. “he was here.”

“i see.”

her tiny hands balled into fists.

“mama kissed him.”

silence.

absolute silence.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

higuruma went completely still.

aimi’s voice broke. “why did mama kiss santa? doesn’t mama love you?”

the words were small. confused. genuinely heartbroken.

you immediately knelt beside her. “aimi, sweetheart-“

but she was already looking at her father, waiting for his reaction. waiting for him to be upset. waiting for something terrible.

higuruma inhaled slowly.

then, very gently, he reached forward and wiped at the tear clinging to her lashes.

“aimi,” he said calmly, voice softer than usual. “the santa you saw… was me.”

she blinked.

“… what?”

“i was testing the hat,” he continued, utterly serious. “for quality control.”

you made a strangled sound trying not to laugh.

he shot you the briefest warning glance before focusing back on your daughter.

“your mother kissed me,” he clarified carefully. “because i am her husband.”

aimi’s mouth opened slightly.

she looked between you both.

“… santa was papa?”

“unfortunately,” he said dryly.

she processed this with visible effort.

then she threw her arms around his neck and started crying harder - this time in relief.

“i thought mama didn’t love you anymore,” she sniffled.

his expression softened completely.

he held her close, one hand cradling the back of her head. “that is not possible,” he said quietly.

you leaned in too, wrapping both of them in your arms.

aimi pulled back slightly, still teary. “so mama only kisses papa?”

you smiled, brushing her curls away from her face. “only papa.”

she nodded, finally satisfied.

a few minutes later, she was distracted by presents, laughing as wrapping paper flew everywhere. but every so often, she would glance at the santa hat on the table, just to be sure.

higuruma stood beside you as she played, his shoulder brushing yours.

quietly, without looking at you, he murmured, “we are never discussing this again.”

you smiled and slipped your hand into his.

“of course not.”

he hesitated.

then leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to your temple.

from across the room, aimi squinted suspiciously.

“… that’s okay,” she declared. “that’s not santa.”

higuruma closed his eyes briefly.

and for once, you saw him smile openly.

the show? romance kaisen 🌹 the leading lady? you 🤗 your beau? all the male cast 😛 the otp? *cue crashing noises and endless bickering*

warnings + additional tags: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, actor au, celebrity au, i made jjk a romance comedy, gojo x y/n and sukuna x y/n centered + slight nanami x reader, everyone is an adult, hints of reverse harem, JUST ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS

nanami kento was the epitome of a gentleman.

his undertones always contained respect, especially against his beloved wife. his harsh (as harsh as a gentleman like him could be) words carried the specific warmness you reconned, his stern looks carried a glint of fondness beneath. even when he had been clearly upset with you, he made sure he always carried love and respect within. his soft hands found your waist while he voiced his displeasure, caressing your sides with gentle yet strict words.

he held the doors for you all the time, whether his hands were occupied or not did not matter, it was out of question. he whispered “dear” in your ear right before asking for a favor, nuzzling to you with his soft body, his puffy hair tickling your cheeks, gentle voice tracing your ears and neck with his dewy lips touching you knowingly.

like he knows you’ll probably just be more mad and will end up slapping him for even trying that bs with his limitless but you’re severely underestimating his need for your attention.

you’re reading a book, lying on your stomach, calm in those extra fancy sheets satoru bought for you. and then he’s there. well, right next to the side of your bed, blindfold shoved up above his eerily blue eyes. your head snaps as you see him out your peripheral, jumping back immediately, nearly rolling off your bed when he appears.

“listen, baby—” a book hits him in his face—well almost does. it bounces off his…force field thingy…? if you’re honest every time he goes off on a tangent on his powers you just space out and nod along saying ‘so cool, toru’. he frowns like it’s an insane thing you tried to do that.

“what on earth is wrong with you, gojo!?” your voice is laced with shock, clenching your hands on the sheets, still a little shaken up from seeing his figure randomly appear in your room during your ‘decompressing time’ where you were supposed to be free of him.

“gojo? c’mon, you can’t be that mad?”

you ready your pillow in your hands, knowing it’ll still probably bounce right off if you throw it at him.

“what part of ‘fuck off.’ do you not get?” you’re raising your voice now and he looks physically hurt by it.

“well you said until i was ready to apologize,” he bends down, lying his arms on the bed infront of you while you jolt away. he frowns even more. “and i am, dear.” you kick his hands away when they try and trace his way up your shins.

he pouts like a child denied ice cream.

“i, satoru gojo,” he lies his head on the bed, still looking at you as he crones his head to the side. “apologize to my amazing, utterly gorgeous girlfriend, for embarrassing you infront of your boss.”

“you are such a child.” he sighs. you’re probably right—he got shitfaced infront of all your coworkers on wine coolers and disgustingly sweet alcohol, after insisting upon coming, and saying utter bullshit to your boss like a college kid. “and you just teleport here with your stupid powers? go to hell, satoru.” you throw the pillow, hitting him dead in the face after he deactivates his limitless.

you hate how cute he looks all pathetic like this, letting you throw stuff at him because he deserves this—he does—and just lying his face by your feet all pouty looking up at you. and you hate how his face actually makes you fold.

“you can sleep on my couch, tonight.” his head shoots up, dopey frog looking ass smile spreading across his face.

he ignores the rest of what you say unintentionally while he thinks about how so goddamn happy he is you don’t hate hate him.

he’s so fucking stupid.