♯ VEN!CE

When toji married you, he was well aware it’s unfair to you to have to raise two kids that weren’t your own. Especially when he also knew your intent on having a baby, a dream you’ve discussed with him more times than he cares to remember—a passion, even.

You’ve been nothing but kind to Tsumiki and Megumi. Toji clearly remembers the look on your face when Tsumiki confided in you that she wishes to call you ‘mom’. Yes, Toji recalls the way you were smiling the entire week after it so much to the point he thought your jaw would fall off. He still reminds you sometimes of the first time Megumi called you that too, bringing back the memory in the form of an inside joke.

And toji continues to watch you treating his children as if they were truly your own, so much to the point that some of your mannerism has been rubbing off on the children. Toji trusts your judgment more than even his own, the compassion in your eyes more than enough proof that you truly do love them wholeheartedly. 

But he also acknowledges that you deserve to have the baby you’ve always wanted. You deserve to experience the happiness of carrying a newborn in your arms. And toji holds no intentions of leaving your dream unfulfilled.

That’s why today of all days, on the day that celebrates mothers, he promised you you’ll celebrate it with a new addition to your family next year. That’s why he had you folded in half at the edge of your bed, legs spread apart, while he pushed his length into you.

You gasp at the stretch. It’s as if no matter the amount of times you take him, you’ll never truly get used to his size. You desperately claw at the bed sheets, looking for an anchor to hold you. 

“Fuck–baby, calm down f’me, will ya?” His frame towers over you in an almost intimidating way, but as his palm finds your abdomen, gently rubbing your lower tummy, you find nothing but comfort in him. “Gonna need you to loosen up, ‘kay?”

You whimper softly, eyes shut to highlight the pleasure, leaving you with nothing to focus on but him. Inhaling, you loosen up as much as you can, which in turn allows your walls to swallow more and more of his length. Your emerald-eyed husband watches your reaction keenly, waiting for the right moment to move.

He starts by rocking his hips gently, allowing your insides to get accustomed. Every curt thrust hits deep, making you see stars even though he hasn’t even begun. It takes more concentration than toji pleases, consuming all his self-control. He’s tempted to toss it all and ravish you, but intimacy requires patience. 

Soft grunts leave his lips, his pace growing steadily. You take him so well, wrapped around him and squeezing him so tight he could come on the spot.

Your room fills with lewd sounds, skin flush against skin. He bottoms out, only to pull back and thrust in again, making your back arch from the pleasure. You feel him all, moving in and out, then in and out, and again. Moving to feel you. Moving for you. He wants this night to be memorable for you.

And you? Oh, you're a sight created by god himself. Your face churns with every move he makes, contorting to moan at every brief contact his skin makes with yours. Your legs hung in the air, held in place by his strong grip.

“Oh- toji–” your walls convulse around him, feeling a much familiar knot form in your stomach. You manage to move your hand, clawing at his thigh for contact.

It’s amusing to him, yet so adorable it arouses him further. “Want me to hold yer’ hand?” He mumbles, voice sultry and stained. You mewl and it’s his answer, warm palm moving to remove your hand from his thigh.

His brawny figure leans down, pinning your hand beside your head while his other holds your hip firmly. You can feel his thrusts better at this angle—sloppy thrusts that make you whine louder, chanting his name in a symphony he can’t grab the rhythm of. His pelvis rubs against your clit, adding to the stimulation. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling your body shake under the pressure.

“Y’feel so good–hah–baby,” he manages, moving his face by your neck. He licks a stripe down the crook of it, specifically over a certain hickey he left despite your continuous complaints about his odd and much visible choice of spots. “Gonna fill ya up so good, wanna see you big and full of my baby, mhm?”

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GOJO SATORU

⋆ no contact mission (smut) ⋆ bittersweet boy

TOJI FUSHIGURO

⋆ mother's day (smut)

CHOSO KAMO

⋆ welcome

GETO SUGURU

when satoru is on a no-contact mission, his #1 goal is to get everything done as soon as possible to return to you.

but he doesn’t expect the mission to take so fucking long. He’s not used to going for a couple of days without you, let alone a whole month. satoru’s patience grows thin day by day, pent-up tension becoming unbearable.

before he left, he swore not to touch himself and just wait until he came back because your pussy was just ‘that godly’, according to him.

but only 5 weeks in, he caves; picking up his phone and opening a hidden folder full of… intimate pictures of you. he just can’t help it, he misses you so much. he misses your face, your jokes, your hair, your mouth, your moans, your ass… the list goes on. he should’ve passed on this mission.

when he’s back in your arms, though, he makes sure to make up for all the time he ‘deprived you of his love’—too prideful to admit he'd been all but bereft of your presence.

“fuck– satoru—” your breath comes in short huffs, head pushed into the pillows of your shared bed. He hasn’t been in japan for two hours, but his head is already pressed between your legs as his tongue leaped at your clit, two long digits penetrating your poor hole. 

“s’fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes before going for the sensitive bundle of nerves again. you swear you see stars as tears begin to form in your eyes. so long without a single orgasm made the coil in your stomach form a lot sooner than it did before he left. he feels your walls tightening around his fingers. “gonna cum on my face, pretty? can ya’ do that f’me?”

gasping for air, your fingers pull at his white strands. the forceful tug causing a grunt to escape him and vibrate through you, making you shiver. his fingers hit deep and fast, spreading warmth through your tight channels as they hit that spot that sends shocks of pleasure straight to your very brain.

“satoru-! ah- fuck– satoru—,” your moans come shorter, louder, indicating the orgasm you’re about to release. “i’m close– satoru– fuck– don’t stop, please, toru’—”

your orgasm rushes, warm and fast, your body shudders with the pleasure coursing through you. you jerk, he doesn’t stop, tongue colliding with your cunt as he makes sure to drink all of your essence. the way your body trembles, moans turning into an exasperated pitch so delicious it almost makes him move to attack your mouth instead. and gojo is a man with very little self control when it came to you.

your grip on his hair loosens as you come down from your high, legs twitching every time his tongue flicks at your clit again.

Choso doesn’t understand how your shoes end up by the door every night. He doesn’t remember you taking them off, doesn’t recall you walking in. But somehow, they always end up there, neatly placed like you’ve done this a thousand times.

He doesn’t know why you make yourself at home in his space, but you do. It’s subtle—like how you leave your favorite book on the couch or the empty mug you forget to bring back to the kitchen. He tries to ignore it, tells himself it doesn’t matter, but when he’s alone, he notices. The silence feels different now, even when you’re not around.

Choso doesn’t get why you always offer to cook for him. He’s perfectly fine with his quick meals, simple and easy. But you insist, sliding into the kitchen with a soft smile, humming under your breath. The first few times, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Now, he leans against the counter, watching you move around like it’s something he’s always known. He can’t figure out how you make him want to just... stay.

He doesn’t understand why you bother with his scars. You always ask about them, gently tracing the old marks on his skin like they mean something. He doesn’t tell you, but it’s the first time anyone’s ever paid attention to them without disgust. Choso’s not good at showing how he feels, but when you touch him like that, something in him shifts.

Even on days when he’s tired—worn out, quiet—he can’t help but find himself looking for you. It’s never an overt thing, never a need. It’s just... a pull. Like when he walks into his apartment and expects to find you there. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t know why it feels like something’s missing when you’re not around.

Sometimes, Choso catches himself watching you when you’re not looking. You’ll laugh at something, or brush a stray piece of hair out of your face, and for a moment, he’ll forget how to breathe. It’s not something he’s used to—this feeling of wanting someone more than just physically. But it’s there, lingering, undeniable.

There are nights, when the space between you two feels thinner than usual. When the softness of your skin against his feels almost impossible, like the connection between him, a half-curse, and you, a human, shouldn’t make sense. But when your bodies align, when the weight of you presses against him in the quiet aftermath, he doesn’t question it. In those moments, he feels something in him settle—something darker, something older—but it’s not unwelcome. The thought that a half-curse like him could feel this much... this human, is strange. But the way your breath trembles against his skin makes it all feel too real.

You don’t ask for anything from him, but still, he wants to give. It’s strange, this wanting to do more for you, to protect you in ways he never imagined for himself. He doesn’t know where it comes from, only that it’s there—like a weight he can’t shake.

And Choso? He doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly understand why you love him. But when you curl up next to him after a long day, when your warmth presses against his side, he can’t bring himself to question it anymore.

Maybe some things don’t need to be understood. Maybe, for once, it’s enough to just feel.

It doesn’t take Suguru long to get used to your presence. Sometimes you forget something and end up staying, other times he calls after one of his lectures and tells you to come over, maybe stopping by his place after a study date. You visit him at least twice every week. He makes sure of it.

That’s why, when he comes back from a gig you couldn’t attend, an undeniable loneliness creeps into his chest. He pushes it aside, blaming it on the tequila he gulped down backstage.

His entire body aches with exhaustion. He barely manages to kick off his shoes before throwing himself onto the mattress, the bed creaking softly beneath his weight. His guitar is forgotten somewhere by the entrance, carelessly discarded the moment he stepped inside.

The peace doesn't last long. His phone vibrates in the pocket of his pants.

Suguru groans, muttering a few curses under his breath as he reaches for it. He doesn't bother checking who's calling, silencing it with a single click before tossing it onto the bedside table.

Once the interruption settles in, he struggles to return to the bliss he'd found only moments ago, turning over in search of that fleeting comfort.

His eyes wander around the room absentmindedly before catching on an unfamiliar splash of pink. It doesn't take him long to recognize the perfume bottle as yours.

He can't help the smug smile tugging at his lips. Something about you forgetting your perfume in his apartment feels oddly... intimate.

The sight of your shampoo in his bathroom, panties and bras mixed in with his laundry. An extra mug tucked away somewhere in the kitchen now, a new coffee blend far too sweet for him, even a charging cable that doesn't fit his phone.

You've infiltrated his life, and he's only just realizing how far it's gotten. There isn't much for the raven-haired man to complain about; it's been a blessing in one sense, and a punishment in another. He can't have you tonight. You're not within reach. His skin burns with an ache, begging to be met by yours, but you're not around half as much as he wishes you were.

And Suguru hates missing you. He hates the way his chest tightens, the way he has to fight the urge to call you, how all he needs now is your voice to lull him to sleep. Once an independent man with a life forlorn and companionless, now waiting for you to check in, to text back...

The phone vibrates in his pale hand, making him jolt. Suguru glances at the screen, now lit as another text rolls in.

One corner of his mouth lifts.

be sooo for real , venice..?

𓏲ּ𝄢 brought to u by the only :— venice , twny , s.her , toji’s babe n’ higururma’s stress relief .ᐟ ’kay babe....

reqs n’ thirsts r so open , but u tots gotta be old enough arnd here, no one under 18 years of age, so mdni .ᐟnot spoiler free.ᐟ check rules please ,, feel free to ask vennie anytn .ᐟ