ℳ𝓊𝒾

geto’s a little better. quieter. way too quiet.

he used to roll his eyes whenever gojo made some offhand joke about you— usually something stupid and borderline flirty, just to get a reaction. now, he just shuts down completely. won’t talk to you unless he has to. doesn’t sit next to you on the couch anymore. and one time when you leaned over to grab the remote, he actually flinched.

you’re not blind. you know what guilt looks like.

and for the last few days, both of them have been wearing it like a second skin.

it’s driving you insane.

you’ve been in each other’s lives since forever. you’ve seen them at their worst— finding them passed out on your bathroom floor at ungodly hours, listening to them cry over situationships that lasted no longer than a month, seeing them stumbling around half-naked and sleep-deprived, attempting to deep fry gummy worms while blackout drunk. but this?

this is different.

this is pathetic.

you try to ignore it at first. try to give them space. but by day five, you’ve had enough.

so when you catch them whispering from the hallway, hunched over like two kids who just got caught vaping in the bathroom, you do what any good best friend would do.

you storm into the living room and demand answers.

“okay,” you say, dropping onto the couch with a loud huff. “what the fuck is going on with you two.”

gojo tugs at the collar of his shirt, all jittery tension. geto stays perfectly still, posture rigid, buzzing with restraint.

“nothing,” he says.

“bullshit.”

“she’s mad,” gojo mutters under his breath.

“no shit i’m mad,” you snap, arms crossed, tone sharp with frustration. “you guys have been acting so weird lately. you won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me, you’re twitchier than usual, and honestly it’s starting to freak me out.”

geto opens his mouth, falters, then sighs instead.

“it’s not that deep,” he mutters, voice low and clearly strained.

you scoff. “then why do you both look like you committed a crime?”

“because we kinda did,” gojo blurts, too fast.

geto immediately turns to him with a look that could kill on impact.

you blink. “…what?”

the room stiffens. the silence is deafening.

gojo starts to speak, but freezes up— caught in headlights, guilt painted all over his face.

geto doesn’t even look at him. “you wanna tell her?” he asks flatly.

“nope.”

“then shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up.”

you blink again. are they seriously doing this right now?

“you’re the one who started it—” geto snaps, sitting up straighter, his expression suddenly defensive.

“how did i start it?!” gojo shoots back, eyebrows raised in disbelief, arm thrown over the back of the couch like he’s about to launch himself at him.

“you said she looked hot in that skirt!”

your breath catches. your skirt?

“you said you wanted to ruin her pussy!” gojo barks, pointing an accusatory finger like he’s making a damn legal case.

geto’s face darkens. “you came when i said her name—!”

everything halts.

the room goes still.

your ears start ringing.

“oh my god,” you say, voice cracking, eyes wide with pure horror. “what the fuck are you guys talking about?!”

the conversation dies instantly, a chill racing up your spine in its place.

gojo visibly deflates, slumping into the cushions, wishing they’d swallow him whole. geto looks away, suddenly very interested in the floor.

your eyes flick between them. “did you… do something?”

“define ‘do something,’” gojo mumbles weakly.

you squint. “…did you hook up?”

“no!” they both shout in unison.

“then what?!”

another pause.

then, quieter than you’d expect from someone so loud, gojo says:

“we… may have jerked off. on the couch. together. right after you left.”

your jaw drops. “…together?!”

“not like that!” gojo squeaks. “it was just- we were talking about you and things sort of… escalated.”

“you’re disgusting,” geto mutters.

“you were hard too!”

“wait—” you cut in, absolutely stunned. “let me get this straight. you both jerked off. to me. together?”

gojo lets out the most dramatic sigh known to man. “look, we didn’t plan it—”

“but you did it.”

“…yes.”

the air feels tens times heavier.

you look between them— one flushed, one brooding. they look ready to be executed. completely humiliated.

you should probably be angry. or shocked. maybe creeped out. but instead?

you bite your lip.

because they don’t know the half of it.

they don’t know about the way you’ve touched yourself thinking about them. they don’t know how many times you’ve imagined being pinned between them, teased and praised and used until you couldn’t think straight. they don’t know how long you’ve waited for them to crack first.

“you guys are so fucking easy,” you say, grinning now, amused by how wrecked they look.

gojo blinks. “what?”

“you think i didn’t know?”

geto’s brow lifts, eyes narrowing slightly. “you knew?”

“i knew something happened,” you murmur, rising to your feet with a slow stretch, voice dripping with satisfaction. “i just didn’t know it would be this hot.”

gojo makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

“you’re not mad?” geto asks, low and cautious.

you tilt your head, mock-thinking. “should i be?”

they go quiet again. watching you. barely breathing.

you step closer, your fingers casually toying with the hem of your shirt, eyes warm with wicked curiosity.

“jerk off for me,” you say sweetly. “show me what i missed.”

gojo stares. “…you’re serious?”

“you’ve already done it once. might as well do it right.”

+

they’re a fucking sight.

gojo’s hand is already wrapped around his cock, pumping slow and desperate strokes over the soaked head, breath hitching every few seconds from the pent-up need crawling under his skin. geto’s next to him, equally hard, jerking himself with rough, controlled movements. his other hand is knotted in gojo’s hair, forcing his head back— keeping him exposed, vulnerable, pliant.

and the worst part? they still cant believe this is happening. not because they haven’t thought about it before— fantasized about you, gotten off to the idea of your mouth, your moans, the little pout you do when you’re annoyed but pretending you’re not.

no. it’s the fact that it’s you. you were supposed to be the innocent one. soft-spoken. sweet. the best friend who used to blush at their dirty jokes and text ‘goodnight’ with a heart at the end, every damn time.

and now you’re sitting across from them, gaze heavy, completely in control— watching them come undone like this was your plan all along.

“don’t stop,” you murmur, settling deeper into the couch, one leg crossed over the other. “i wanna see both of you fall apart.”

gojo lets out a high, cracked moan, his spine curving as he jerks faster, thighs clenching, cock leaking all over his knuckles. he’s trembling. unraveling. you can see it in the way his hips stutter, muscles tensing like he’s barely holding himself together.

you let the moment stretch until it’s thick enough to taste. their breathing fills the space, you tilt your head and speak again— calm, firm, dangerous.

“suguru.”

he glances up at you through half‑lidded eyes. his rhythm falters, just for a second.

“touch him,” you say. “i want you to stroke him.”

geto stills.

his hand freezes mid-motion. his jaw ticks. you can practically see the memory of that night slamming into him— his own voice echoing back at him, the guilt, the embarrassment. the way he’d ended up moaning your name just because gojo told him to say it.

“c’mon,” gojo pants, leaning into the air between them without realizing. “please—”

geto shoots him a look like he wants to shut him up, but his cock twitches in his grip anyway.

“suguru,” you repeat, softer but sharper. “do it.”

there’s a beat where he considers resisting.

then he gives in.

slowly, hesitantly, he slides his hand over gojo’s— fingers wrapping around the base, forcing the pace higher, guiding the stroke himself. gojo lets out a strangled whine the moment they sync, back arching, hips lurching helplessly into geto’s touch.

“good,” you say, voice dipping lower. “that’s it. just like that.”

gojo shudders head to toe. his thighs quake. his head lolls back, resting against geto’s shoulder.

“fuck- fuck- suguru—”

“don’t make it weird,” geto mutters, but his hand doesn’t stop. it gets meaner, wetter, crueler. “she said do it. so shut up and take it.”

gojo cries out, loud and broken, cock throbbing in their slick fists. his hips jerk without control, spilling more pre across both their hands.

you spread your legs a little wider and let your fingers slip into your panties.

“look at you,” you whisper. “two big, pathetic men getting each other off because i told you to.”

gojo whimpers— choked and pitiful. geto swallows hard, eyes fixed on the way your fingers disappear between your thighs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“faster,” you order.

and they obey.

geto’s grip clamps down, dragging gojo’s cock through wet, punishing strokes. gojo’s mouth falls open, breath hot and frantic against geto’s skin. he’s liquefying under him— cock angry-red, dripping steady, overwhelmed by every brutal pull.

“you gonna cum for her again?” geto rasps, momentum ruthless. “gonna show her how pretty you look when you lose it?”

“please,” gojo cries, nearly incoherent. “please let me—”

“beg louder.”

you thrust two fingers deep, rubbing messy circles against your clit, lips parted around a low moan. they’re putting on a show for you— but you’re the one in charge of the ending.

“fuck, y/n,” gojo breathes, eyes glazed over. “you look so good touching yourself.”

your smile is sharp enough to cut.

“you wanna cum, satoru?”

“yes- please—”

“ask suguru.”

gojo’s head turns with effort, chest rising in shaky bursts.

“please,” he begs, words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “please let me cum- please, suguru- please—”

geto’s breath stutters. he fucks his fist harder, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the sight of gojo begging for permission turning him on far more than he’ll ever admit.

“go ahead,” he growls. “make a mess.”

gojo breaks instantly.

he sobs when he cums— loud and shameless— thick white stripes splatter across both his and geto’s hand. his whole body trembles violently, his voice cracking as he rides it out, whining your name like he’ll die without you.

a soft moan slips out, fingers circling your clit faster as you drink in the view.

“don’t stop,” you say, breathless. “your turn.”

geto grits his teeth, hips snapping forward, chasing the edge— until he finally breaks, cum flooding out in heavy, molten ropes across his body. the noise he makes is rough and feral, torn straight from his chest, and it sends heat straight through your core, obscene and unmistakably male.

he doesn’t even catch it all. some of it lands on his hand. some hits his chest. his stomach flexes like he’s trying to force the rest out. you can hear it; every wet stroke, every breath punched out of his lungs.

they look destroyed. used. twitching.

perfect.

you rise slow, letting your fingers graze their shoulders as you step between them. neither one flinches. they just breathe harder.

“lay down,” you tell gojo, gaze dropping to his wet, flushed face. “you first.”

his eyes widen. “me?”

you smirk. “you already made a mess. might as well let me use you.”

geto is still catching his breath, but he watches— dark-eyed, silent, possessive— as you straddle gojo’s face and press your soaked pussy to his mouth.

“open up,” you whisper. “you made me wait long enough.”

i’m edging y’all bc i’m evil #srrynotsrry. but i hope u guys liked the way i went about this bc i wanted them to be absolute losers lmao (for now) but stay tuned for pt 3 bc it’ll only get crazier from here hehehe <3

you were expecting an older, beer-bellied guy with a toolbox and an attitude.

what you got instead, was a giant.

the man who shows up at your door is massive. broad chest, thick arms, all black workwear clinging to his frame like a second skin. his sleeves are rolled up, revealing veins that pop out of his forearms like cords, and a deep scar cuts through the corner of his lip. he’s got the kind of body you only see on those ‘before and after gym bro’ tiktoks— except this man looks like he was born with it.

and he’s hot. not just attractive. dangerously hot. make-your-thighs-press-together type of hot.

toji grunts a quiet “hey,” scratches the back of his neck, and steps inside after you open the door.

“i’m here for the…uh. bathroom. pipe thing.” his voice comes out low and gravelly, like he doesn’t talk much. you nod like an idiot and gesture toward the hallway.

“can i get you anything? water, or…tea?” you offer, wanting to seem a bit more hospitable.

he glances over his shoulder. “nah, i’m good.” his lips twitch, almost smiling but doesn’t.

you scamper back to your room, trying not to be weird. trying not to think about the man crouched under your sink, fiddling with your plumbing, flexing those arms.

but then—

“hey, sweetheart?” he calls about twenty minutes later.

you step into the bathroom, careful to keep your eyes on his face. he’s crouched near the exposed cabinet under the sink, wrench in one hand, hair falling slightly in his eyes.

“yeah?”

“you got a towel or somethin’? pipe’s still got some water in it. don’t wanna make a mess on your floor.”

“oh! yeah- yeah, give me a sec.”

you bend down to grab a rag from the cabinet behind you and hand it to him, finally letting your eyes drop for just a second..

bad move.

his forearm is flexed, grip tight around the wrench, the veins in his bicep bulging as he turns it. he’s not even trying to show off, but he doesn’t have to. his arms are unreal. and the black tee he’s wearing has a grease stain across the front that clung to his chest like it’s painted on.

you stare.

and toji sees it.

he lifts an eyebrow, the scar on his lip twitching with a crooked grin. “something wrong, baby?”

you blink, cheeks warming. “no! no, i was just…watching you work.”

“mm,” he hums. “you always eye your contractors like that?”

you shake your head, too embarrassed to speak. you start to backpedal, “sorry, i didn’t mean to—”

“i didn’t say stop,” he cuts you off, “kinda like it.”

he leans back on his haunches, hands braced on his thighs, staring you up and down. “you live here alone?”

you nod.

“figures. you look like the sweet little type. all soft. innocent.”

your heart skips.

“bet you were hopin’ it’d be me showin’ up when you saw the name, huh? or did you think i’d be some old fart with a beer gut?”

“…a little,” you admit, and he chuckles.

“lucky you, then.”

he drops the wrench onto the floor and stands to full height. only then do you realize just how tall he is now that he’s towering over you. he doesn’t move closer— just looks at you. as if he’s daring you to say what’s been sitting at the tip of your tongue since he walked in.

“i-i didn’t mean to bother you,” you mumble.

he tilts his head. “you weren’t botherin’ me. not unless you’re askin’ me to fix more than just the sink.”

your lips part. “is that…something you do?”

“mm,” he shrugs. “depends. you need somethin’ handled?”

the way he says it makes your thighs clench. you don’t say yes, but you don’t say no either.

he takes a step forward. then another. and another.

you don’t even realize he’s backed you up until the hard, cool edge of the bathroom counter collides with the small of your back. it makes you inhale, your fingers subconsciously curl around the edge behind you as some defense mechanism, even though you’re not planning on running.

“i can handle a lotta things, y’know. heavy lifting. pipe jobs. busted wiring. leaky holes.”

your breath hitches.

his hands come up, reaching for your waist, thumbs just barely brushing the hem of your thin sleep shorts. his skin feels hot, too hot. he isn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

“bet this place ain’t the only thing that needs a little tightening.”

“toji—” you whisper, the name leaving your lips before you even realize you said it.

“yeah, sweetheart?” his smirk deepens. he’s already so close you can feel the warmth of his body bleeding into yours, see the grease still smeared on his hands, that dark, hungry glint in his eyes.

“i… i don’t think i should—”

he leans in just a little more. “but you want to, huh?”

you nod, pathetically. your whole body answers for you.

his lips are on yours a seconds later.

he kisses you hard. rough. he doesn’t ask for permission. doesn’t ease into it. he grabs your face like he owns it, yanks your body into his, already claiming you, and kisses you with the kind of pressure that makes your knees weak. it’s wet. teeth and tongue and spit. your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling, needy, not even thinking straight anymore. your shirt gets yanked off fast, thrown somewhere to the floor. then your shorts. your body is flushed and buzzing before he even really touches you.

you hear the distinct clink of his belt, metal on metal, and your heart leaps into your throat. before you can even form a single thought, he grabs you by the hips and hoists you up, setting your ass right on the cold edge of the counter.

“spread those pretty legs for me.”

you do, immediately.

his fingers dip between your thighs, stroking the wet spot on your panties. “fuckin’ soaked, and i barely touched you.”

you squirm, heat rushing to your cheeks, too dazed to hide how much you want it.

he hooks one thick finger under the fabric and pushes it aside, groaning when he sees the mess between your legs.

“look at this pussy. shit. bet your landlord didn’t warn you about this leaky problem.”

“toji—!”

he grins against your neck, biting playfully as his fingers trace along your slit. “what? i’m just doin’ my job.”

then, without warning, his fingers are inside you. two thick ones, knuckle-deep— and he curls them up in slow, smooth motions. the stretch makes your mouth fall open, hips jerking into his hand on reflex.

“oh god—”

he licks a stripe up your throat and bites your jaw. “bet you never had a repair job this good, huh?”

you can barely speak, let alone think. your walls clamp around his fingers as if your body’s trying to trap him there forever. he doesn’t slow down. he keeps pumping into you, angling his wrist to hit that sweet spot again and again, until you’re panting.

“let me guess.” he says against your ear, “no man around to take care of this? been using that pretty vibrator in your drawer?”

your eyes shoot open. “w-what ?”

he grins. “oh, don’t look surprised. i fix apartments, not morals.”

your legs twitch. he pulls his fingers out slowly, still caked in your slick, then rubs them against your clit just to watch you squirm again.

you let out a tiny whimper.

“you want my cock, baby? or should i just keep usin’ my fingers like some damn amateur?”

you grab his shirt and tug. “need it. please.”

he’s quick to unzip his jeans upon hearing that.

when he finally pushes into you, it’s slow, cruel. he’s huge. and you feel every vein and ridge, his girth stretching you out until your jaw drops and your legs lock around his hips. he doesn’t even try to make it easier. he wants you to feel everything.

you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase. “it’s- it’s not gonna fit—”

“it is,” he growls. “relax, lemme stretch you out. let this big cock fix that pretty little attitude.”

his hips slam into you with enough force to make the mirror shake. your legs wrap around him instinctively, toes curling. your head falls back with a cry, and your body can’t decide whether to squirm away or drag him in deeper.

he never lets up or falters even for a second. just keeps fucking you like you’re some problem he’s trying to solve, snapping his hips into yours at a punishing pace, sweat beading along his forehead.

and he talks through every single thrust.

“yeah, that’s it. take it all. gotta get in deep so i can seal the damage, right?”

you’re moaning shamelessly now, head thrown back, fingernails digging half moons into his arms.

“shit- pussy squeezin’ me like crazy. you tryna keep me in there?”

“toji, please—”

“you beg real sweet, baby. might have to come fix your pipes every week.”

you clamp down around him at the words, and he groans, head dipping down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. then he leans back, sliding one hand between your bodies and pressing hard against your lower stomach.

“shit. there. right there. feel that? that’s me fixin’ the foundation.”

your thighs start to shake. he sees it, feels it.

“c’mon. you can give it to me. come on this cock. wanna see it leak all over me.”

your whole body goes tense, then spasms. you cry out, legs twitching around him, cunt pulsing around his cock as you cum hard, coating him in wet heat. but he still doesn’t stop. he grabs your hips and keeps going— driving into you like he’s trying to fuck another orgasm right out of you.

“goddamn, that’s it. pretty fuckin’ mess, now lemme stuff you full. gotta fill the gaps, right?”

“toji—!”

a deep, guttural groan escapes him as he slams into you one last time, burying himself all the way, letting out a low growl as he cums inside you. thick, hot ropes flood your insides and drip out around his cock, and you’re still convulsing from the aftershocks when he finally slows.

he kisses your jaw, still panting.

“wanna leave a review?”

you snort. “five stars.”

“damn right.” he pulls back, winking down at you. “best service in the city.”