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sukuna was scary — many people on campus made sure to try not to cross paths with him. the face tattoos, the rough,deep voice and his pure hight and muscles attracted many girls while still scaring away half.
there was really no inbetween being inlove with him or hating him. not that he cared about that anyway. because since he laid his eyes on you for the first time something clicked in his brain — he wanted, no, needed you to be his.
to his surprise,you, the sweet, shy girl, weren't scard of him — the opposite, you always looked at him with this loving expression it made him feel strangely warm.
to many people it didn't make any sense how he got with a sweet girl like you. everytime someone asked you why in the hell you would choose someone like sukuna your eyebrows furrowed in confusion becuase, what's wrong with sukuna?
well, they probably wouldn't expect the king of fratboys to spend his day tasting the sweets you baked, or watching a badly written romance movie under a baby pink blanket.
" you made this for me?"
he was sound asleep when you decided to knock on his door an a saturday morning, still hungover from the night before. he was ready to lash out on the person who decided to wake him at this hour, quickly desregarding any anger he felt the moment he openend the door — seeing you stand there in a cute outfit, hair styled and a fresh batch of cookies in your hands.
you're looking up at him smiling, letting yourself in when he stands at the side to make space for you to come in. "yeah, i know you're always hungry after partying all night so i wanted you to have somethning fresh to eat!"
and bless your heart, you don't realise what you're doing to your boyfriend, his chest warming as he trails behind you back to his room, where you put the cookies down.
"do you have a headache? i can get you some painkillers if you need some." the way you'Re worrying makes him almost smile if he weren't so tired. he unexpectedly pulls you into a hug, burrying your head into his chest, his head ontop of yours inhaling the strawberry vanilla shampoo scent.
you let out a quiet surprised squeal, quickly adapting and trying, keyword trying, to wrap your arms around him. "are you alright babe?" voice muffled against his chest.
he lets out a huff, thightening his embrace before pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up to make you look at him with those adorable eyes he loves. "what did i do to deserve such a sweet girl like you hm?" his voice is sleepy, but full of honestly, like he seriously can't wrap his head around how he got you.
you blush, shying away from the eye contact. "i just made you something to eat it's nothing special." you mumble but he still hears you cleary.
"f'course it is." he doesn't explain further, dragging you back to bed with him, laying ontop of you. "let me sleep with you and after i'll eat your cookies." it's not a question, his arms trapping you under him, making it impossible to escape, and he's already snoozing off.
so yeah, you're confused when someone says sukuna couldn't possibly be nice enough for you because he's not just nice he's actually caring.
synopsis. the frat president is so much sweeter than you expected
contents. sfw! fluff + a smidge of angst. frat!jo x fem! reader. college au. satoru is sickeningly sweet. a little ooc maybe. cw. mentions of drinking + cheating ⇢ reader is freshly broken up with an unnamed ex. art creds: shesofyee on x ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
frat parties have never been your thing. you hate the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol that clings to the air, to your clothes, to your skin. you hate the way the music makes your ears ring. you hate the way you have to shout to be heard. you only came to this party because your now-ex-boyfriend had asked you to, promising it would be different this time. it wasn’t.
the fight was a blur of muffled words in the middle of the sea of people dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to the world crashing down around you.
he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when you’d confronted him about his infidelity, he’d muttered something about it ‘not being a big deal’ and claimed you were overreacting — a casual dismissal of the time and effort you’d poured into him.
the cruelty of it all sent you stumbling through indifferent bodies until you found sanctuary in the quiet of the upstairs bathroom.
you’ve been crying for ten minutes straight. your makeup is a smudged, runny mess, and your face feels puffy and raw. you’re huddled on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your hands, when the doorknob rattles violently.
“go away,” you mumble to the door, the words muffled by your palms as you press your knuckles to your swollen eyes.
“c’mon dude, i gotta piss!” a voice slurs as the doorknob continues to shake, “you’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.”
“chill, there’s another one downstairs,” another voice cuts in, this one you recognize. it’s the frat president satoru gojo. you’ve seen him around campus, you’ve heard all the rumors. he’s exactly the kind of guy you avoid.
his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.
you think you’re alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how you’re getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.
your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. he’s not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.
“shit, sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. “the lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?”
you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. “i’m fine,” you lie
he doesn’t buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.
“that was your boyfriend, right?” he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. “. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.”
“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.
“ahh shit," he says sympathetically. “that sucks.”
“yeah,” you sigh, another sob wracking your body, “it really, really sucks.”
“don’t waste your tears on him,” he frowns, brows furrowing. “he’s not worth a single one, ‘kay?”
you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we came together and my phone’s dead and i just. . . i can’t be here anymore.”
he’s silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the ‘sounds like a you problem’, the kind of dismissal you’d expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.
“fair enough,” he says. “first, we’re getting you out of this gross bathroom. then we’re getting you home.”
your head snaps up. “but—”
“no cuts, no buts, no coconuts,” he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. “i’ve got you. i’m not letting you walk home alone this late. i’ve been drinking, so i can’t drive, but i can walk with you. it’s not a problem.”
satoru gojo — the guy who’s rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend — is the last person you’d expect to show you even a hint of kindness. you’re not even sure if he knows your name.
“are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper
“dead serious,” he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.
he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,
a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. it’s worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.
“i look awful,” you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. “i can’t have anyone see me like this.”
“‘s nothing a little damage control can’t fix,” satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until they’re a damp clump. “it’s not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,” he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, “but it should work.”
he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.
he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you don’t. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and it’s oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough
“there,” he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. “better?”
you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like you’ve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.
“yeah,” you sigh, your voice barely audible. “better.”
“good,” a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips
“why are you being so nice to me?” you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.
“i don’t like seeing pretty girls cry,”
the words hang in the air between you, “oh,” you murmur, because you can’t think of anything tangible to say.
he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. “c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he holds out his hand again, and this time you don’t hesitate.
satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor
just as you’re nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. it’s suguru geto, satoru’s other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.
“there you are, satoru,” suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. “toji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.”
satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. “maybe when i get back.”
“get back from where exactly?” suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.
satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. “walking her home.”
the shift in suguru’s expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. ‘don't.’
suguru’s mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.
“right, right,” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. “you two have fun.”
as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music “about damn time, you idiot.”
you don’t understand the full weight of his words
you don’t know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.
you don’t know that he calls you ‘the pretty girl with the sketchbook’ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you — the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.
all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right
you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesn’t even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but it’s duller now
cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.
“which way?” he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize he’s still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously
you point to the left side of the street. “that way. it’s like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.”
“cool,” he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,
“so, what did he do?” he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. “actually nevermind i probably shouldn’t be asking that right now—”
“he’s been cheating on me,” you sigh, “he gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it and—” your breath hitches
“oh fuck don’t cry again,” satoru frowns
“sorry it’s just . . . ”
“don’t apologize either,” he says, “none of this is your fault.”
“we were together for eight months,” you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. “i thought. . . i don’t know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.”
“he’s an idiot,” satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. “anyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.”
“you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“nah i’m saying it ‘cause i mean it,” he shakes his head.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you don’t notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue
you frown down at your phone. it’s completely dead and he wishes he’d offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he could’ve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.
he’s grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.
“you hungry?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
“a little,” you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.
“me too,” he says. “there’s a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.”
you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal
“ramen?” you ask, holding one up, “i get this brand a lot”
“you’ve got good taste” he says, grabbing one for himself. “i like this brand too”
you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.
you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“i feel bad for dragging you away from the party,” you say between slurps. “i’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.”
“nah, i don’t have one,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. “not really my thing.” he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.
“not your thing?” you raise a brow. “you’re notorious for having girlfriends.”
his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. “i’ve never had one.”
you don’t seem convinced.
“i’ve had girl friends,” he says, “i don’t really do labels.”
stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.
“someone’s got commitment issues.” you hum
for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. he’d do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.
a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.
“cold?” he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.
he drapes his jacket—a black and crimson varsity jacket with the frat’s letters stitched on the chest—over your shoulders. it’s heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla
“i don’t need it,” you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it
“you do,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s cold out.”
you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.
the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you don’t feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesn’t seem to either. it’s just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.
before you know it, you’re turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
“i didn’t know you lived in the dorms,” he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.
“mm my family lives a couple hours away, it’s convenient,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.
you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.
“well,” you start, shrugging out of his jacket. “thanks. for everything. really.” you hold it out to him. “i appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuff”
he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says. what he doesn’t say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.
“what? no, i can’t. it’s your crossing jacket.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “isn’t this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?”
“yeah well. . .” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “i need a reason to see you again,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
you blink at him, completely taken aback. “oh. . right”
“yeah,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “get some sleep.” he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.
you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. it’s a small, crumpled piece of paper.
you bend down to pick it up, it’s the receipt from the konbini. you’re about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:
keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p
you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.
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ryomen sukuna proves he can treat you better than your asshole bf
ryomen sukuna does not concern himself with the miserable dwellings of day to day life of peasants (aka his frat buddies)
he parties,he gyms, he balls. he looks good and smells good and keeps his women limited to strict one night schedules.
he doesn't give two shits about who's fucking whom and whichever latest breakups circulating around campus. and he definitely doesn't keep track of his friends' girlfriends.
except when he spotted you one night , sitting in one corner of the raging neon lit room , fiddling with your fingers as you watched your boyfriend dance with other women .
sukuna told himself he didn't care about how your smile kept faltering or how sad your eyes looked.
yet, he never wanted to punch a man to oblivion so much than at that moment. he reigned himself in that night.
but the next time when he saw your crestfallen expression when your asshole boyfriend dismissed your homecooked lunch before the entire team , sukuna lost it.
so yeah. he did punch his teammate and frat mate to oblivion.
the rest was easy and quick. some bruises here and there. a little blood. but his favourite part was hearing your shy mouth yell "fuck you , you bastard" on your boyfriends bloody and beaten face (courtesy of him)
but sukuna's life somehow became even more convoluted after that.
his eyes track the slight colouring of your cheeks , the way your gaze darts away from his as you mutter a shy "thank you" .
the sweet scent of your shampoo lingers in his nose when you pass by him in the corridors. his mind replays the small smile you gave him when he crossed paths with you, in the dark quiet of his room.
days escalate to weeks and he finds himself sitting on the bleachers after practice, eating from the cute pink bento you prepared for him as he listens to you read out a line from your favourite book.
he surprises himself when he throws away his entire stash of cigarettes after you tell him one afternoon that you dislike the smell of them.
as autumn approaches, sukuna finds himself before you , pink cheeked, handing you the books he picked out in hopes that you would enjoy them.
ryomen sukuna did not care about feelings . he never bothered to question his own lack of them. but then how was he supposed to justify the way his heart beat stuttered when you placed a soft, barely there kiss on his cheek after he walked you to your apartment?
ryomen sukuna did not bother with cheek kisses. he was rough and in the bed,took from the women what he wanted.
and you were the antagonist of everything he was accustomed to. because it wasn't rough and hard and frantic when it came to you. hell, he hadn't even tasted your lips, and somehow sex hadn't even crossed his mind.
he was willing to take even the tiniest bit of affection you showed him. and somehow it was enough for him.
with you it was lingering fingers, and soft glances. easy smiles and reading poetry. eating sundaes at 10pm under the streetlights .
and when he realised that he looked forward to hearing your soft voice as you read to him, and eating your handcooked meals instead of his bland protein shakes and walking you home as the lamposts cast a warm glow on your skin—sukuna realised that he was utterly fucked.
because, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was no fool.
halloween party with bully!gojo (ik its not october yet but wtv)
cw: unsafe sex
you two (mostly him) decides you're gonna do a cute couples costume, like the stuff you always see on tiktok or pinterest. after a few days of thinking, you finally come up with what was the obvious answer all along.
whats better than a cop with his prisoner!
gojo got to be the cop of course. you think it suits him, with his cocky attitude and enjoyment of control, it makes sense. that means that you have to be his naughty prisoner, forced to walk around with his cuffs on your hands.
he keeps you close to him all night, making sure he doesn't drink too much so he can keep his eye on you. whilst you're not really equipped for parties, gojo can spot the eyes of other men a while away, and he wants to make sure they know you're his.
that's way later that night, when you're getting a little pouty and just the right amount of tipsy, he takes you to the bathroom.
"c'mon, my little prisoner. time for your punishment."
you giggle as he helps you sit on the counter, making sure you're balanced before he reaches in to kiss you. one of his hands reached down to caress your clit through the orange jumpsuit, to which you whine into his lips.
"you've been a bad girl, huh?"
"y-yes, yes sir."
"oh, i like that."
he unzips your suit and carefully pulls down your underwear, pressing a firm kiss to your hole.
"give me your hands baby." he says, cuffing them in front of you with his 'fake' handcuffs (of course they're real). he unbuckles his belt, noticing how you seem to glow with heat and need, but also seem a little shy.
"you like a man in uniform?"
"y-yeah."
"haha, you're funny baby. want me to tell you what to do?"
"yes please."
gojo gently places a hand around your neck.
"that's yes sir to you."
"y-yes sir."
"good girl."
he takes out his firm member and begins prodding your hole with his hand. you whine and squirm your hips forward, making gojo smile.
"you ready for me?"
"yes sir."
"alright, stay still."
he steps forward, positioning his huge cock to your hole. he slowly pushes into you, watching how you watch him disappear into you. he gets halfway in before he pulls out again and begins a steady pace.
"y'know, you look good in orange."
"t-thank you sir."
"god, i love that little nickname. you've gotta call me that more often."
suddenly, there's a banging on the door. you jump at the sound and gojo quickly covers your mouth.
"anyone in there? i gotta piss."
gojo keeps your mouth covered as he slowly pushes all the way into you and holds himself there.
"sorry man," he calls out. "find another."
"really? you gonna make me piss outside?"
"you gotta dick for a reason."
the stranger outside grunts and storms off, allowing gojo to look back at you. you, with your sweaty face and lidded eyes, trying your best not to moan at his size.
"so smart, baby. so well behaved." he whispers, beginning a harder pace. you moan freely as he removes his hand, your cuffed hands not quite knowing what to do. he continues to fuck you and begins rubbing your clit.
"you getting close baby?"
"y-yes."
"you wanna cum?"
"yes please."
"hm, can you add a 'sir' onto that?"
"please, please let me c-cum, sir."
"good prisoner."
he speeds up his movements, watching your face closely as soon, your eyes roll back and you cum hard on his cock. he quickly pulls out, spilling his seed onto your convulsing belly. you both pant as you come down from your highs, and gojo gently takes the cuffs off you.
"we gotta do roleplay more often. c'mon, let's get outta here."
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being insecure of your tummy when riding olderbf!toji ♡︎ (olderbf!toji x chubby!reader)
you hate the way your stomach drops when toji asks you to get on top.
it took you a long time to even get fully naked during sex with toji — the insecurity still lingers, even years later. you couldn’t escape it.
you knew your older boyfriend couldn’t give less of a fuck what your body looks like. every time you complain you’ve gained weight, he’s straight to the gym hip thrusting however much you’d gained, shrugging the whole thing off like it was the last thing he cared about.
which it was. as long as you’re happy, that’s all that mattered to him.
oftentimes, during sex with toji, you were laid on your back, or on all fours as he pounds the shit out of you. you were also too fucked out and cockdrunk to completely care what you looked like, anyway.
but riding him? you wanted to curl up in a ball and die. you loathed the way your belly looked even larger, rolls on full display — how it jiggled with every movement.
it doesn’t stop him from trying once in a while.
"cmon, doll. just sit on my dick" he purrs, flipping your positions so youre straddling his lap, thick, leaky cock pressed against your stomach.
he watches the way your face heats up, how your eyes wander down to your stomach in insecurity, hands darting out to cover it.
that just wouldn’t do.
"nah. don’t hide from me," he commands gently, pulling your hands forward to rest on his toned, scarred chest. "i just hate the way i-"
before you can finish your sentence, toji lifts you effortlessly by your hips, sinking you down onto his cock, making you gasp in pleasure. he grips your soft hips, rocking you against him.
"you were sayin’?" he says, smirking as he locks eyes with you, knowing damn well you can’t form a coherent sentence while he’s stuffing you full like this — dragging his cock through your gummy walls, hitting all those spots you can’t reach on your own.
“i don’t—nghmm—" you struggle, digging your fingernails into his chest, mouth gaped wide open.
then, he grips your hips harder, planting his feet on the mattress, rutting into you harder — faster. "say somethin’ bad about yourself, cmon," he grunts, cock twitching deliciously at the sight of you bouncing on top of him.
a sight he rarely got to enjoy.
he tugs you forward as you moan shamelessly, two large hands spreading you open by the fat of your ass, mouth attaching itself to your nipple.
"look so fuckin’ perfect. y’know that?" he mumbles against your full breast, giving your ass a firm slap.
you bury your face in the crook of his neck, panting against his skin. you can’t talk, nor protest, the only thing coming out of your mouth was needy whines or moans of his name.
"that’s my girl, don’t think about nothin’ else," he encourages, feeling your cunt flutter around him desperately.
"ahhnn! toji, m’gonna—"
"yeah, i know. let go baby," he interrupts, heavy balls slapping harshly against your ass.
with toji’s encouragement and unforgiving thrusts, you can’t hold off any longer, creaming on his cock and leaving a sticky white ring at the base.
toji follows after, filling you to the brim with his warm load, thrusts becoming short and sharp. "love ya’ so — hah — much," he groans.
"don’t ever hide from me again," he adds as you pant together, pressing a kiss to your temple.
a/n; toji x chubby reader as requested 🌚 i love you chubby girlies our tummies are 10/10 btw
"c'mon, you know you want to." he says. gojo is currently leaning against your locker as you pack your bag, practically begging you to come to his house.
"i said no, satoru. i'm going home to study."
"but you can just cheat of meee. please?" he begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes and pout. you sigh as you look at him, shaking your head and closing your locker.
"satoru, i said no. why don't you hang out with your friends or something?"
"i do hang out with them, they're just not as stupid and disgusting as you." he teases, eyes carefully watching your reaction.
"go jack off or something. fuck some other girl, i don't know. i'm going home." you huff. you go to walk past him and he stands in front of you, blocking your path.
"nuh uh honey, you're coming to mine, remember?" he smiles brightly, smug face. you laugh in his face and walk around him, not giving him another word.
he attempts to grab your bag but you're already gone, free from his grip. did you really just turn your back on him? gojo stands, watching as your body disappears outside the building.
shit, what is he gonna do now? you'll go to the library right, he'll just go there too. if not, he'll just drive to your house. yeah, that should be fine, then he'll get to remind you how much you need him and how you can't live without his cock.
oh, oh. oh shit, he realises. when did he become so attached?
gojo huffs and rolls his eyes, knocking into people as he storms through the halls and out to his car. he wears a scowl on his face as he reverses and practically speeds home.
he doesn't need you, his cock only needs a firm hand to get off. stupid girl, he thinks, going home to fuckin' study.
it takes gojo three hours to cum that night, and he only did when looking at that photo he saved from the janitor's closet a while ago.
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