🕷️

toji had almost nothing to his name, so when he saw you in the club, flaunting a wad of cash that easily summed up to almost 10,000 bucks like it was nothing, he immediately found the next girl he'd set eyes on; his next victim to fund his life and gambling addiction.

the process of getting into bed with you was far too easy, just a little bit of sweet talking, a little praise, and a promise to give you the best dicking down of your entire life, had you mewling and clawing at his shoulders.

toji was similar to a bed bug: he hopped from girl to girl to ensure that he had a roof over his head without doing any hard work. so when he had you, one of the richest girls in the entire country, under him whilst his cock was balls deep in your perfect cunt, there was only one thing he could think of doing: breeding you.

"you like this dick?" toji's large hand wraps around your neck, thick fingers squeezing either side of your neck - small white dots start to cloud your vision. your cunt flutters around his cock as you nod pathetically, eyes rolling back into your head.

"i asked you a question baby girl, answer when daddy talks to you," toji's hand moves from your neck to slap you across the face, leaving a dark red hand print on your cheek. you moan, legs going like jelly as you claw at his back.

"love-love your dick daddy, so deep," you mewl, head tilting to the side before toji suddenly stops and lifts your legs over his shoulders. you sob, tear filled doe eyes finding his in a silent plea for him to continue pounding you. "please daddy, please fuck my dirty cunt,"

"desperate whore," toji slams his cock back into you in the new position, the mating press, your legs were lifted so far up your back was almost arched off the bed. your stomach bulged with just how deep his thick cock was stretching you out.

your mouth hangs open, your eyes cross in the middle as each moan is literally fucked out of your body. "does that feel good baby? your rich pussy being fucked with some street cock? isn't this what you needed? some dirty man putting his paws in this million dollar pussy?" he grabs your jaw with his hand, parting your lips fully and spitting into your mouth.

you can barely muster up a response with words, only clenching and fluttering around his length as a thick rim of white cream starts to form at his base. " gonna stuff this cunt full of my cum, make you round with my kids," toji moans into your ear before ducking his head down to suck a dark hickey into your neck.

the possibility of his future being filled with money and a fancy car makes the thought of knocking you up far too enticing. his balls tighten, forearms barricading each side of your head as he dumbs his entire hot load inside of you.

you gasp, clawing at his back, "to-daddy, should of pulled out!" your sentence is half formed, slurred, and barely even coherent as your own orgasm rips through you thanks to toji's thumb rubbing at your clit. his cock is forced out of you as you squirt all over him, and the sheets.

"sh-shouldn't have fucked you," you sob, attempting to push him off even as you come down from your orgasm.

nsfw, cucking, cuckquean!reader, college au

it was true, what people said about your boyfriend and utahime. they did look good together. it wasn’t surprising that people forgot you were dating gojo; you were always the quiet, overlooked type while he was the outgoing, carefree type who was always stopping to talk to a friend on campus. he was hot and extroverted; everyone loved him. and utahime? well, she was his counterpart and the complete opposite of you. utahime was confident and always put together. it was no wonder that she was just as popular as gojo. you could tell why people shipped them together— hell, you couldn’t even blame them. they both looked like models and who doesn’t love to see hot people dating each other?

despite the contrast between you and utahime, and how she naturally matched gojo’s aesthetic, you never felt threatened by her. you and gojo worked so well because you were different. which was exactly why you had no problem with inviting her into gojo’s bed.

warnings. fem!reader, body worship, praise, kissing, clit play, body image issues, nipple play, implied plus sized reader but read how you like, general insecurities, fluffy smut. nsfw 18+ mdni.

──── ୨୧ ────

You’d been trying to get dressed for the last hour.

More precisely, you’d been trying to find anything at all that didn’t make you feel bloated, or oddly proportioned, or downright ugly to wear to your husband’s very important work event, which also just so happened to be happening very soon.

You’d torn your shared wardrobe apart. Scattered every dress or piece of party attire you think you’d ever owned across every square inch of your bedroom, and yet here you stood, buck naked aside from the old band shirt you’d tugged on in a furious fit after the last dress you’d tried on had made you feel like a trussed up Christmas turkey.

With tears prickling hotly in your eyes and a sob threatening to break free in your throat, you tossed yourself onto your bed. Wallowing amidst a plethora of abandoned gowns and several shoes missing their pairs.

Your husband, for all his patience and tact, had remained at your side throughout the ordeal. Silent aside from a few well intended comments which, by no fault of his own, had only left you spiralling further.

He now settled onto the bed beside you, a quiet, steady presence. You listened to the gentle creak of the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he leaned over you, studying your expression with a concerned one of his own.

he’s bisexual

he loves it when people fawn over him and compliment him. he let miwa take a selfie with him and he was eating up the attention from the schoolgirls in hidden inventory. born for shoujo romance, forced to battle shonen. i think he would definitely engage in friendly flirting and banter, if he was single.

he has been in love with geto the whole time. maybe they dated during school or maybe they didn’t, but gojo definitely pined over him from hidden inventory arc, and all the way until he died. he recognized geto by scent, “my six eyes tells me you’re suguru geto, but my soul knows otherwise,” his last words to geto being 3 words in english, censored, and made geto blush. he literally let geto walk away, didn’t want to kill him, picked geto’s death anniversary for the final battle, to which kenjaku said would be a ‘romantic’ date.

i don’t think gojo had any other serious relationships and i don’t think he wanted to, not even just because of geto. he’s a workaholic. his whole life, day to day, revolved around being a jujutsu sorcerer because he was the strongest and because he wanted to make a change via teaching his students. so a) i don’t think he ever cared about someone romantically as he did geto, b) i don’t think he had the time, and c) i think he knew he would always have to prioritize his job over a romantic partner 😔 after hidden inventory, he either occasionally met and hooked up with geto or he had other casual one night stands just to satisfy any needs he may have had (i like to think it’s the former).

gege said if gojo wasn’t a sorcerer, he’d be a sugar baby, basically. i think gojo would like to be spoiled. little things like surprising him with sweets and candy that he likes would warm his heart. he’d be moved if someone tried to pay for him, despite him being loaded. he’d probably blurt out ‘i love you’ if someone brought him homemade brownies.

he would leave (stupid) love notes. they’d be really short with his little doodles and poorly drawn hearts. it’s the childish type of note that one rolls their eyes at receiving but secretly cherishes. i like to think the ones he gives his partner is a little more in taste than the ones he’s given to nanami and megumi though, lol. unless it’s geto; he definitely left geto even more immature notes.

he sends corny romantic posts and says ‘us.’ and if he really wants to be annoying, he’ll tag his partner in the comments too.

four fingers come down harsh on your cheek, your professor glaring down at you disapprovingly. the scars along his left side should've told you all you needed to know about him; the eye patch only added another layer to what he'd been through. he was rough inside and out, violent and mean and downright nasty.

professor nanami had no time to think about anyone other than himself. an infamously tough professor, he'd only chosen education as a career around his 50th birthday when he was supposed to 'settle down'. he was thankful that a college would even hire him with his looks and personality—the other things he did during his tenure were just a bonus.

a violent gag erupts from you around the head of his cock, hands tapping his thighs to tell him to let you go, but he chooses otherwise. he likes how repulsed you are by this, by him, and he looks forward to how much you'll hate yourself after it's over.

you are unfortunately his favorite type of person to pick on—bright students who've never had a challenge until his class. girls who look at the world with big eyes and optimism because they don't know the reality of how fucked so many people around them are. he likes to toy with girls like you. sick fuck.

when your husband is supposed to be the calm, rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand, whining into the dark.

but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging useless from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough, punishing strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time—at the soft curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.

and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.

the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales like he’s drowning, shuddering so hard the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your musky scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound him at all.

“fuck, baby—” it rips out of him, pitched way too high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t—can’t stop.”

his cock is obscene. flushed dark, veins raised under the skin, the head slick enough to shine in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him, messy and loud—schlick, schlick, schlick.

he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnhm!—if i just had the chance...”

his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods in obscene drops.

disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.

but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad–fuck, i’d worship you, i'd never stop—”

he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is humiliating, a high and euphoric whine. his thighs shake.

cum spurts out in heavy ropes, hot and endless, painting his stomach, his abs, his fist, the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock still twitching violently.

“ah—mnhg—fuck, t-too much, i can’t...” his voice cracks, strangled, but his fist won’t let go. more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.

when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still twitches against his stomach, still half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.

and you’re still asleep, lips parted beautifully while he stands there.

streamer!gojo who drags you into his lap whenever you enter his gaming room without knowing he’s streaming, bragging about you to his live as he keeps you pressed against his chest, kissing your cheeks and embarrassing you.

"We’ve been together for a few years now, can’t wait to marry my pretty baby." He chimed before pecking your lips, your face flushed before the camera.

streamer!gojo who loves it when you go down on him while he’s streams, his hand fisting in your hair and his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip to hide his groans, and when his chat questioned it, he just said it’s cause he’s ‘focused.’ (focused my ass)

streamer!gojo who will take his rage out on you by fingering you senselessly, his middle and ring finger thrusting in and out of you as he mutters swears under his breath, mumbling about his recent play on his stream.

"That last play was rigged, I totally had that guy." He angrily mumbled before pulling his fingers out and licking them, tasting your wetness across his fingers.

"Tastes so sweet baby." He chimed, pressing kisses to your clit.

streamer!gojo who lets you rest in his lap while he streams, occasionally muttering sweet nothings into your ear, his chat going insane over the way he treats you.

"Isn’t she just the cutest, I’m so fuckin’ lucky." He mumbled, kissing the spot below your ear before his hands continued on the keyboard in front of him.

streamer!gojo who once let you cockwarm him while he was on live, his hips slowly rocking against your ass while he played, free hand on your thigh.

but it was all over once the chat had found out, and his live got shut down that night.

wc: 795

It’s too late to recall the moment your relationship with Gojo Satoru took a turn for the worst.

All you remember is the first few instances. He came home late—way later than usual. No texts in advance, not even a call. And when he stripped himself bare to crawl into bed beside you, that’s when you saw it.

Thick, long streaks of red scraped down his back.

Scratches.

But how the hell would he have scratches?

He said it was a curse. And you—stupidly in love—believed him.

Another day when you hugged him, he didn’t smell like his usual self. Gone was the smell of fresh laundry, that hint of floral. Maybe even some sandalwood and incense that usually brought you such serenity.

No. He smelled of gourmand. Like a marshmallow wrapped under a thick-knitted blanket of vanilla.

He said it was the bakery he went to on his lunch break.

You believed him. Again.

He began turning his phone face-down, his kisses wouldn’t linger as long as they used to, and his touches started feeling like lies staining your skin.

Even after all the incriminating evidence, the loyalty that was slowly being diminished night after night, you stayed.

You cooked his meals, you helped clean up around the house like normal, you’d go to work like you weren’t completely sick to your stomach for eight hours straight, anxiously checking your phone.

Because at the end of the day, when it was late at night and he would finally come home…you’d let him back in. Time and time again.

You let him crawl into the bed wordlessly—pressing yourself into the shape of a woman he used to want. You’d let him hold you like you’re enough. And you’d pretend you don’t hear him whisper the wrong name in the dark.

He doesn’t question when you cry during sex. He wipes your tears after he’s finishing spilling inside of you, cleaning you up with delicacy before muttering: “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You tell yourself this is power. That staying is strength. But your heart aches in a language you can’t speak aloud.

No matter what you do, you’ve already lost him—and yourself in the process.

You thought about packing a bag. Just once.

But then the water shuts off. And his voice—gentle, practiced—calls out, “You still up, babe?”

And like a fucking fool, you say, “Yeah.”

You always do.

While he gives the best parts of himself to another, he still keeps you here. Either draped over his arm in public or folded up in bed at night.

You don’t cry when he leaves the house in the same clothes he wore the day before.

Instead, you perform.

You smile when his friends come over. You laugh when they joke about how lucky he is to have a woman like you. You clean up the messes—his and your own—because what else is there to do?

You’ve forgotten how to be someone outside of his orbit.

All you do is talk to yourself more. In the grocery aisles, picking his favorite brand of coffee that he doesn’t even drink at home anymore. Or in the elevator, looking at yourself in the reflection of the doors, bracing yourself for what heartbreak you’ll walk into next.

Practicing lines that you know you can never say.

“Who is she?”

“Do you love her?”

“When did I stop being enough?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I thought you loved me.”

The doors ding open before you could ever come up with anything else to confront him with.

Slugging your body to your shared apartment, eyes hollow and feet heavy. You insert the key into the door and open it.

The first thing you smell?

Marshmallows wrapped in vanilla.

Your stomach drops, incredibly so. Your body runs cold and shivers spike up your spine so quick it almost scares you as much as the scene in front of you.

“Oh, hi! You must be his girlfriend!”

What might sound like a cheery voice to others sounds like nails on a chalkboard for you. You locate a smiling face, bright eyes. Next are her pink lips, long and luscious hair, followed by her slim figure.

Standing beside her?

Your boyfriend. Adjusting his belt.

His grin almost makes you see white, his hug next has your ears ringing.

“This is my friend,” he introduces. “Say hi.”

Your fingers tremble by your sides, physically enduring the crushing weight of it all. Your throat constricts tightly, a familiar stinging sensation behind your eyes. Your heart begins to beat rapidly and it almost feels like you’re about to die.

But in the end…what do you do?

You force an uneven, but as much of a polite smile as you can offer.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

a/n: and if i say ill turn this into a full fic, what then?? what happens then?? huh??? hmmmm??? 😾 (tagging my moot @lily-bisque 😜)

also including my favorite comment @redrrem left on this while reading through 😭😭😭

stepdad! gojo who first meets you at a dinner your mom arranged. sitting pretty by her side, polite and shy, but still regarding him as an intruder.

stepdad! gojo who doesn’t wait too long to move into your house. two toothbrushes turned into three, the toilet seat would now be left up from time to time, and no longer being able to walk around in a shirt with nothing under it but panties.

stepdad! gojo whose cock he feels twitch in his pants when you flinch and scoot closer to him after another jumpscare of the horror movie you’re watching.

stepdad! gojo who expertly hides his longing gazes, filthy stares behind his glasses or when your mom’s not looking.

stepdad! gojo takes a few of your panties from the laundry basket without you knowing.

stepdad! gojo who rubs a few out in the shower to the thought of your tight cunt wrapped around his cock. or pretending he’s using the bathroom right after you do, only to let the hot steam of your bath cling to his skin, invading his nostrils, all the while jerking off.

stepdad! gojo who imagines it’s you sucking his dick instead of your mom.

stepdad! gojo who finally makes the first move when your mom’s at work. trapping your body between the kitchen counter and his chest, large hands greedily feeling for every curve.

you squeal and try to push him away, yelling out “what are you doing?!”

he let you go, smiling and coyly apologizing. coming up with an excuse that he’s been sleep deprived and thought you were your mom.

you stomped upstairs, all the while eyeing him like he was a villain.

at least you know.

stepdad! gojo who slips into your room in the dead of night to pry your thighs open and finger your hole like it’s some sort of interesting artifact. you didn’t even wear panties.

“slutty,” he whispered in your ear, followed by two lengthy fingers plunging in.

stepdad! gojo who purposefully leaves the bathroom door cracked open when he’s towel-drying himself off, waiting to see if you’ll sneak a glance. when you do, he smirks knowingly, cock heavy and dripping.

stepdad! gojo who gets hard when you call him “Satoru” instead of “Dad.” the way your tongue flicks on that name? makes him think about how you’d sound choking on his length.

stepdad! gojo who fingers your panties when no one’s home, rubbing his cock between the soft cotton until he cums all over them—then folds them back into your drawer like nothing happened.

stepdad! gojo who stops knocking when he enters your room, catching you in compromising positions on purpose. and when he sees you with your fingers between your thighs, he just chuckles and says,

“need help, baby? daddy’s better with his hands.”

you scream and slam the door on him.

stepdad! gojo who “accidentally” leaves a bottle of lube and a thick toy in your top drawer—then waits for the moment you use it, ear pressed against your door late at night, stroking his cock to the soft whimpers spilling from your throat.

stepdad! gojo who starts testing how far he can go. Late-night back rubs turn into his hands dipping under your shorts, breath hot in your ear as he whispers,

“just helping you relax, angel. that’s what daddies do.”

stepdad! gojo who sets up hidden cameras in your room. he watches you undress at night, fingers sliding between your legs, and he cums all over himself before the video even ends. then watches again. and again.

stepdad! gojo who starts leaving your door open after late-night visits. letting you wake up soaked, stretched, aching—with no proof it wasn’t a dream… except the soreness between your thighs and the faint scent of him on your sheets.

stepdad! gojo who’s finally had enough of holding back when he comes home early one day from work. the first thing that welcomes him is an unfamiliar pair of men’s shoes by the door. then moaning. loud, loud moaning. and your bed creaking from upstairs.

stepdad! gojo who drops his keys the moment he hears it—your moaning. raw, breathy, desperate. it shoots straight to his cock. but then he hears another voice. male. and that’s when the heat flooding his body turns feral.

He doesn’t call out. Doesn’t ask questions. Just slowly climbs the stairs like a predator tracking prey, each step deliberate. Controlled.

And when he reaches your bedroom, he finds the door slightly ajar—and you, bent over the side of the bed, skin flushed, face pressed into the sheets while some pathetic boy fucks you from behind, his rhythm sloppy and fast.

Gojo’s jaw clenches.

He watches for a few seconds, silently. Unblinking. His cock throbbing with fury and something worse—jealousy.

The boy doesn’t notice him until it’s too late. A sharp, heavy bang echoes through the room as Gojo kicks the door open. You gasp, twisting to look, eyes wide and frantic.

“Out,” Gojo says, voice cold, unreadable.

The boy freezes mid-thrust, like a deer caught in headlights, stammering, scrambling to pull his pants up with trembling hands. You try to speak—try to cover yourself with the sheets—but Gojo’s stare pins you in place.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he says again, voice low, deadly calm.

The guy bolts, practically tripping over his own shoes on the way out. The door slams shut behind him, and now it’s just you and him. The silence is suffocating. Your breath is still heaving, cheeks burning with shame, but your thighs are wet, sticky, still trembling.

Gojo doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there, watching you.

His tie is loosened. His hair is messy. His chest rises and falls slowly, too slowly for how unhinged his eyes look.

Then he moves.

One slow step. Then another. Until he’s standing at the edge of your bed.

“You let that little fuck touch you?” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “Let him use what’s mine?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. Doesn’t want an answer. He grabs your ankle and yanks you down the bed until your ass is hanging off the edge.

Your gasp turns into a strangled moan when he slaps your pussy, already slick and twitching.

“You’re dripping,” he growls. “Pathetic little slut… liked being wrongfully fucked, don’t you?”

You shake your head—but your body betrays you. You’re soaking. Throbbing.

Gojo grins, slow and wide and cruel.

synopsis. satoru gojo had messed up once and you being the angel you are, forgave him. but when he messed up again, you refused to let him back in, even if you missed him

content warnings. cheating cheating cheating, satosugu, satoru is a huge ass player, usage of yn, cursing, frat boys and frat parties (🤮), toxic relationship, hurt/no comfort

author’s note. the people yearned for this so the people get what they want!!!! it was about time someone wrote a hurt no comfort fic and that person is gonna be me because its so hard to find a hurt/no comfort fic. also, comment to be added on taglist!!!

prologue. cold hearted girl

chapter one. i’ll leave without a trace

chapter two. boys don’t cry

chapter three. is it too much to ask?

chapter four. we hug now

chapter five. your best American girl

chapter six (finale). i know the end

@gnabisms © ─ 2026 don’t repost or steal or translate on any platform without my permission. absolutely don’t use to train to AI or feed to AI chatbots.

coming home after a long day of being at work and catching your boyfriend of 3 years shirtless practically almost naked , on top of another girl on your couch was definitely not on your bingo list.

they didn’t notice you at first , they were to busy swallowing each other’s faces. you dropped everything in hand. your phone , house keys , purse , and your water up. your face was red with pure anger and disgust. you stood there for a second just waiting to see if one of them would at least glance at you. but they didn’t.

‘what the fuck fushiguro.’ your voice was filled with so much disgust. how could he fucking do this to me. your mind raced with so many thoughts.

the both of them froze in horror.

toji slowly stood up , his broad body blocking the unknown female. ‘babe- babe , i-i- i swear this isn’t what it looks like.’

the fucking audacity of this man.

‘excuse me? it looks like my whore of a boyfriend is to busy swallowing this random’s face off.’ you scoffed.

the unknown girl took toji’s shirt to cover her face and she quickly grabbed all her belongings off of your coffee table and tried to book it out of the tension filled room.

‘ohhhh fuck no girl. i think the fuck not.’ you stopped her out of her tracks. you weren’t going to blame her. she probably didn’t even know. but if she did. oh she was going to get her ass beat.

‘look i didn’t even know he had a girfriendl. he told me he was single.’ the unknown girl said before she ran out the door.

coward. but honestly you weren’t gonna blame her.

toji stood there silent as ever. rubbing his crocodile tears off his face.

‘oh fuck me. why the fuck are you crying fushiguro.’ you rolled your eyes , crossing your arms. you were surprised you weren’t crying. the adrenaline rush was a good thing right now.

‘baby don’t call me that.’ toji cried as he tried to come closer to you. you held your hand up as if you were in a fight with a sick person. you technically were but hey.

‘get out of my apartment fushiguro.’ you demanded toji who was still crying crocodile tears. ‘now.’

‘y/n i will do anything to fix this. please baby.’ you couldn’t help but laugh at this situation.

‘get the fuck out toji. please. i don’t feel like doing this shit right now. get out.’ you sighed , you were wore out from everything, you needed some alone time.

he did his walk of shame to the front door. he dramatically turned around before he opened the door. ‘y/n please don’t do this.’

‘toji actually get the fuck out. you can get your shit downstairs’ you pointed to the door , hoping the door really hit his ass on his way out.

toji shamefully walked out your door , with his head down. sobbing down the hallway. what a shame.

three fucking years down the drain.

that’s what hurt you more. not of the fact toji cheated. it’s the fact you wasted all these years with someone who was willing to throw it all away for sex.

you spent the next hour throwing all his stuff out the balcony. toji stood there with embarrassment flowing through his veins picking up all his stuff. neighbors recording everything going down.

you finally finished getting rid of toji’s belongings , you shut the sliding door before sliding down against the glass.

‘fuck him. i don’t need a man.’ you whispered to yourself as you wiped your tears away. this would be the last time you’d cry over a man.

you lived on too be so successful. you finally got the lavish life you deserved.