Sukuna’s Bop It

Hiiii, I’m Amber

a.k.a Sukuna’s Bop It

~ yes, the name is dumb and I won’t be changing it 🤪

I love writing fanfics, especially for my faves: Sukuna and Choso ♡

[Masterlist]

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- mostly jjk NSFW fanfics, headcanons, whatever delulu possesses my imagination

- requests are open

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500 follower special - puppyboy!sukuna

Artist credit: sakimenz

TW: blood, breeding kink, namecalling

You already knew the evacuation order was coming. Sukuna has spent three days snapping at the servants, not that it isn’t a normal circumstance for him, but even losing it over them breathing too loudly. And also because his heavy pink tail has dropped low and stiff to the floor, as it always does when he’s in a foul mood.

Now his manor is nearly empty. The servants practically left in a stampede when the order was announced, eager to keep their heads attached to their necks. Only a handful of people were excluded from the evacuation order. Mostly males (which unfortunately he is much harder on than females in times like this). They all have the sense to stay well out of Lord Sukuna’s way when he’s in one of his ruts.

You read the list twice and realize your name isn’t on it. In fact… you’re the only female servant whose name isn’t on it. It must be a mistake.

You find him on the engawa overlooking the garden. He’s watching storm clouds stack over the mountains with a bored, irritated expression. He’s wearing a white kimono that’s loose at the collar, making the black markings on his chest visible. 

He isn’t wearing anything under it. Not even pants. He rarely does during ruts, since he runs too hot, and it’s his estate, so in truth he could simply walk around completely bare if he chooses to.

“My lord,” you say, taking a bow. “Did you mean to exclude me from the evacuation order?”

One pink ear swivels towards you, then flicks back. He doesn’t bother turning his head to look at you. “Do you want to leave?” he growls.

“No. I just want to know if the list was correct.” You take one careful step closer to him, peeking at his grumpy expression. “If you want me to stay, then I want the same.”

His head turns towards you and his nose twitches traitorously as your scent reaches him through the humid air. His ears pin flat against his hair for a second before he forces them back up with all his willpower.

“What terrible instincts you have then,” he mutters, leaning back on his hands. “If you’re still here by sundown, I’ll take that as your answer to the more obvious question.”

His heavy tail gives one slow sleep across the floorboards, but he stops it fast. 

…Was he wagging?

“Once again, I desire what you desire,” you say, cracking a little smile. You sweep your hair back over your shoulder, baring your neck even more to him so he can catch more of your scent, and faintly bite your bottom lip. “So I’ll go make dinner then.” You watch his nostrils flare and his stare become fiery just before you turn away.

You walk so softly like you didn’t just make his cock start painfully throbbing under his kimono. His rut turns his desire into a constant ache, and you’ve purposely stoked it into a full burn. He snarls and drools uncontrollably from the sides of his lips like a starved mutt. The King of Curses, reduced to this mess. Unfortunately the humiliation of it does nothing to soften him down there.

He palms himself rough and gracelessly through the silk, grinding up against his own hand, and a ragged growl rises from his chest. It doesn’t help. It makes it worse. Everything makes it worse. Only thing that could possibly satiate it is fucking you again and again until dawn.

You are so infuriatingly beautiful. His ears pin back in frustration. His instincts are screaming go, take, now, she clearly wants it, she reeks of lust, you smelled it on her. But going to you is the one thing he won’t do. 

Because you haven’t earned it yet. Ryomen Sukuna does not chase. Having him like that is a privilege. But at the same time… he’s not so sure how long his stubborn principles can endure this suffering.

….

It only takes a mere minute for him to lose to himself.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping food at the counter with the storm rolling closer outside, and you can already feel him standing at the doorway. He’s a furnace when he’s in his ruts, and warms a room just by standing in it. You can feel the hot air climbing up the back of your neck. You smile faintly but you don’t turn around. You just keep your knife moving.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another hour, my lord,” you say to the cutting board.

The floorboards creak under his bare feet as he pads over to you. You can hear him breathing ragged and restless through his nose. Even with the aroma of bison and garlic sizzling on the stove, your sweet scent is stronger, and it’s filled every corner of this room for him inescapably.

But he doesn’t wish to escape it. He’s come to stand in it. Wants to submerge himself in the sweet aroma of your skin like stepping into a hotspring.

The floorboards creak closer, then his hands come down on the counter on both sides of your body, caging you in without touching you. Those huge, tattooed, clawed hands, white-knuckled against the cherrywood. 

The whole burning length of his cock presses into your lower back. It’s twitching and tremoring with the restraint running through his body, and his hot breath stirs your hair. He presses his nose to the curve of your neck and inhales sharply.

“You’re burning the food,” he rasps, and you feel his drool drip down the side of your neck, soaking onto the shoulder of your kimono. 

“The food is just fine,” you murmur with a smile, setting the knife down. You tip your head back against his shoulder. “Hungry, my lord?”

Thump, thump, thump. His pink tail swings against the cabinets behind you both, but he doesn’t bother to stop the wagging this time. He drags his hot tongue up the side of your neck, retracing the path his drool took. All the way up, over your pulse, and to your ear. His claws sink hard into the counter with a soft crunch.

“Starving,” he breathes low and ragged into your ear. “I believe the storm has caused the sun to set early this evening.”

“Is that how it works now?” You turn inside the cage of his arms and get your first proper look at his face, and at what you’ve done to him.

He’s flushed from his tattooed cheekbones down past his open collar, chest heaving, ears twitching restlessly, four pupils blown wide between blazing red irises. Drool drips from his mouth, making his sharp pearly canines glisten.

Thump, thump, thump.

“It works…” he heaves, “...however I say it works.”

Crrriicckk. His claws mark long sharp lines into the counter. “My home. My storm. My sun. My—” his eyes narrow on yours and his voice drops low and gravelly, “—girl. Aiming those doe eyes at me. Smelling like that. Asking me ridiculous questions about the sky as if I take orders from it.”

“So which is it?” he asks, reaching for the stove without his eyes leaving yours, and the flame dies with a click. He leans in and grazes his lips against yours, most likely the last feather-soft gesture you’ll receive from him tonight. And every ragged word comes out as a hot, wet huff against your face. “My room, or right here?”

….

He tosses you onto his huge bed, on the silk sheets, and stands at the edge with his broad chest heaving, looking down at you with the patience of a match that’s been struck. The hum of the heavy rainstorm pounds against the curtained windows. 

Before he has the chance to pounce, you rise up to your knees and slowly untie the sash of his kimono. It slides off his shoulders and drops to his feet. Then there’s nothing left but his bare, furnace-hot body under the glow of the lantern light. 

Black markings band all over his body, his chest, his arms, his thighs that are flushed rut dark and shining faintly with the way he’s been leaking all over himself with excitement. And two more black markings wrap around his heavy, twitching cock.

You slide your hands up his chest over the ink and hot muscle, and beneath your hands his heart is pounding like prey. You can’t help but smile with amusement. Of all the things you’ve ever witnessed, nothing compares to this. The most dangerous sorcerer alive is so precious.

“Your heart’s racing, my lord,” you say through your small smile that you’re trying your best to fight.

“Tch.” He darts his fiery eyes away and bites the edge of his lip with a single canine. “Quit stalling, girl.”

“I’m not stalling.” You press your tongue flat against his abdomen to taste him, and drag is slowly up the hard ridges of his washboard abs. He tastes like clean sweat and rainwater, like the storm outside got into his skin. “I’m savoring.”

He bites off his embarrassingly ruined groan much too late, then darts his vision back to you with a growl. But when you start sucking and nipping gently on his skin, his head falls back in blissful defeat.

“Ten seconds,” he groans through gritted teeth as he grips your hair with two clawed hands that prick into your scalp. “You have ten more seconds of this.” His tail is wagging behind him in a shameless blur of pink. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

You wrap your hand around the throbbing base of his cock. It’s so thick that your fingers don’t meet. Then you glide your tongue all the way up his veiny length to the tip, and he’s watching you again, eyes unbelievably wide.

He detonates.

He doesn’t even warn you before painting every inch of your pretty face with his cum, in almost endless hot spurts. The snarls that drags from his throat sounds less like pleasure and more like furiousness. The mess of it all drips down your neck and collarbone, all over your kimono and the bedsheets.

His tail has gone still and the rain is suddenly much louder in the silence. You look up at his face, and his head is tipped back all over again as he’s very pointedly looking up at the ceiling, chest heaving, flushed all the way up his chest to his ears. “That,” he heaves through a tattered breath, “was your fault.”

“I barely did anything,” you say with a sultry smile.

“You know what I’ve been going through, brat,” he snarls with his ears back, but when his eyes fall back down to the mess he’s made of you, his frustration melts and he bites his lip. He drags his thumb through it, spreading it deliberately across your cheekbone. “...No. Better this way. Now you smell right for the rest of it.”

His cock, against every law of nature, hasn’t softened a bit. 

“You’ve done nothing but sharpen me, girl.”

He quickly grabs your waist and turns you, pushing you forward onto your hands and knees. He presses his heavy palm between your shoulder blades until your chest and face are pressed against the silk bedding, and your ass is raised for him. He removes your kimono and swiftly rips off your panties in one tug.

“Spread like a whore and blushing like a bride,” he muses with dark delight.

Smack! His heavy palm slaps hard across your ass. The whimper that comes from your lips melts into a smile against the mattress.

“I’m going to breed this pretty cunt until it takes,” he growls with a sharp grin. “Then I’ll continue fucking you stupid because I can. Because you’re mine.”

“Mm. Words, words, words,” you say with a bored little smirk, suddenly feeling very bratty. And though you know you’re ass-up and dripping, and a heartbeat away from being claimed by the strongest sorcerer—you yawn delicately just to tease him. “Wake me when the breeding starts, my lord.”

“You have the nerve to yawn at me, brat?” Both of his hands smack against your asscheeks with a rough, iron grip, and his claws sink in. Ten sharp points piercing through, with thin lines of blood trailing down the backs of your flushed thighs.

You grit your teeth, but the breath that shudders from your chest is not a protest in the least. It’s embarrassingly, and very obviously into it.

“No more ‘my lord” he growls with a devastating sharp smile, mocking your tone, “That’s what my servants call me. What you are is much less dignified. You’ll moan Sukuna like the needy whore you are. Say it while you bleed for me, foolish girl.”

He leans down and drags his tongue slowly over one of the blood trails, lapping it up like a wolf over a fresh kill, and speaks against your skin. “Say it.”

“Suku—”

Shliickk! He splits the name into a scream when he slams his thick cock inside you, all the way to the hilt, his balls smacking heavily against your dripping pussy. Your knees almost give out from the force.

“Rnnghh—nnnmm…” His growl dissolves into something dangerously close to a moan. The smile on his face goes slack from the sheer heat of your insides squeezing around him. But he drags his sneer back into place. He’ll be damned if his brat’s heavenly cunt gets in the way of him taming her.

He leans over your back with his claws dug into the sheets, and grinds slow and deep while you shake. “Hm,” he huffs against your ear, keeping himself insufferably calm even though his tail is wagging with uncontained excitement. “I didn’t hear it. Start over.”

“Suku—”

He draws every veiny inch all the way back and —smack! 

He slams home again and again, making you cry out, “Ahh-ahh-ahh!” He fists your hair and lifts your mouth off the silk so nothing muffles you.

“Keep failing, girl. Fail louder.”

“Suku—aah! hnngh—Suku—nngh!”

Your failure is music to his ears. But at the same time he’s coming apart in his own way, and the evidence of it is dripping all over your skin. His drool drips freely from his mouth, sliding down from your neck to the bottom of your spine. 

His mouth is animalistically watering beyond any hope of control with your slick pussy clenched around him and your sweet scent filling his nostrils.

But instead of trying to hide his ecstasy anymore, he owns it, just owns making a slobbery mess of you. He drags his long, hot tongue up the back of your neck to taste your sweat as he slams into you with powerful thrusts plap plap plap! His heavy pink tail thump thump thumps eagerly against the mattress.

“At this rate, your belly will be round with my pup before you even finish my name,” he laughs low, fangs grazing your shoulder. 

But you stop trying to say his name altogether and he notices it. His ears flick up as he cranes his neck to take a peek at your wrecked face.

“...Given up already, brat?” His drool-wet, dark chuckle burns against your shoulder. “Surrender suits y—”

You reach back and scratch the perfect spot behind his ear.

“Don’t—fuck!—”

You can feel the consequence of your actions, his knot swelling like a balloon inside you, stretching your pussy around his throbbing cock. He’s buried so impossibly deep that it’s punching the air from your lungs and you can’t help but take your hand back to desperately grip the sheets as his dick has nowhere to grow but further into you.

“Now you’ve done it,” he snarls, jackhammering the fat head against your womb like he’s trying to break in and make it his home. “I intended to take my time with you, but it’s too late for that now.”

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

The knot tugs at the stretched rim of your aching pussy. He’s panting open-mouthed, drool falling in hot drops onto your back. Behind him, completely at odds with the vicious pace of his hips, his tail is still wagging in a blur, broadcasting his pure canine ecstasy while his mouth keeps snarling the sexiest threats.

“I’m going to seal every drop of my seed inside you—hhnn—huff huff—get you pregnant—huff—everyone will smell me on you when they return—rrrgh fuck—take it—”

You’re wailing into the sheets when he erupts. His hot, tattooed chest crashes down against your back and he floods you in thick, pulsing spurts. Each one is wrung out with a ragged growl against your shoulder as his cock twitches in the tight clutch of your sticky insides.

Thump thump thump. His tail still drums against the mattress through every spurt like an applause, and he’d murder anyone else for witnessing it.

It takes a long time to end. When it does, he’s a heavy furnace pressed against your back, still locked deep, chest heaving.

“We’re stuck now,” he says dryly, tipping you both onto your sides and tugging you back against him with one arm around your waist. He buries his face in your hair, taking in the sweet scent of his new mate. 

“...Not that it matters,” he grumbles, fangs grazing the nape of your neck through your tangled hair. “Knowing this rut, I’ll be ready to go again while we’re still locked.”

The rain has softened to a gentle patter and his heartbeat is slowing down now. “Mm… Sukuna?” you mumble. 

One pink ear flicks against your hair. “Hm.”

“Am I just a mate or… do you intend to make me your wife?”

There’s a long enough silence that you think he’s fallen asleep. Then a lazy, “Do you want to be my wife?”

“...I asked first.”

“And I outrank you.” His nose drags through your hair. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

He snickers against the back of your neck. “Then beg for it.”

Your cheeks heat up. “Seriously?” you ask, but you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder and use your most sultry tone. “Please, Sukuna,” you say breathily. “Make me your wife. I want it so bad.”

His plush tail that’s resting heavy across your leg thumps hard involuntarily, and you feel his cock twitch inside you where you’re still locked together. “Very well,” he huffs, trying to seem composed even though you just completely melted him from the ears down. “No need for a ceremony. That’s what you are now.”

“Mm… but I want a romantic wedding with you. This is too anticlimactic.”

“Oh, you want climax, do you?” he drawls, tilting your chin back over your shoulder with one claw.

He presses his lips to yours, deep, slow and shameless. His long tongue slips past your teeth to dance with your own, tasting you while he holds your jaw at the angle he wants it. The over-the-shoulder twist should be awkward, but it isn’t at all. 

You can’t help but crack open your eyelids to look into those hazy, smug rubies, the eyes of your mate, your husband, whose own eyes are cracked open as well to watch you in return.

Then the knot inside you softens and slips loose, and you can feel his warm release flooding down your thighs. He pulls back an inch and looks down at it. “Hm. Faster than usual. Oh well. Just means I get to take you another way.”

He quickly turns you onto your back and tugs your legs over his shoulders. He holds his hardening cock and drags the fat tip through your slit that’s still dripping with him. “Hold something, wife. Or your head will hit the headboard.”

You grip the silk sheets because there’s nothing else to find. He’s upright on his knees with his arms wrapped around your calves. Everything of him you could touch, could scratch, could use against him, is a foot beyond your fingertips.

Your fists twist hard into the bedding on both sides of your hips. And it;s a good thing, because he wasn’t exaggerating about the headboard. 

SMACK. That first full thrust practically punches into your already sensitive pussy, making you scream louder than you ever have in your life. His answering growl is thick with satisfaction, and he slides all the way back out with a honeyed schlick sound.

“There it is. That’s the angle,” he says with a fanged grin. He drives home again brutally. SMACK. “Don’t you dare let go of those sheets. Want to watch your knuckles go white while I ruin you.”

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

He’s magnificent like this and he knows it. Towering over you on his knees, tail thumping, tattooed muscles in the low light, giving it all to you while you scream into the storm noise that’s returned with a vengeance. You’ve already twisted the sheets half off the bed.

When he takes you over the edge and you cum around his cock with a slick squeeze, you decide in the white-hot blur of ecstasy, to end him.

“Sukunaaa,” you whimper needily, looking up at him through your lashes, knowing full well you’re driving his rut-brain crazy. “Please breed me.”

His rhythm instantly trips up and his ears flatten. “Shut—hhnn—not now—”

“Pleaseee, need it sosobad! Need to be full of you! Need to stay full! Put a pup in me!” You squeeze even tighter around his twitching cock as you babble and beg. He stares into your eyes, clenching his teeth.

He leans down, folding you like a lawn chair, and slams his huge palm over your mouth. His hips grind to a shuddering halt buried to the hilt and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck—girl—” he bites out, barely leashed. You can feel his cock jerking wildly, feel how close you dragged him to the edge. “Do you want this to end too quickly again?”

You lick his palm.

His ears pin flatter. “Stop that, brat.”

You speak anyway, muffled and shameless against his hand. “Mmph…use me… please… pin me down by my throat and pump me full…”

A high, cracked dog whine escapes him involuntarily before he can strangle it. He sounded like a puppy that was denied a toy. His whole face ignites with a mortified color of red.

He feels your lips pursing under his palm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls.

But you can’t help it. Your laugh bubbled up anyway, muffled and helpless against his hand.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he breathes, and his hand slides from your mouth to wrap around your throat, pricking you with his claws.

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

He gives you no time to gloat. He fucks into you savagely, each thrust rocking you up the mattress until you’re forced to press your hands against the headboard so you don’t slam against it.

He leans down over you with his flushed face and his blown pupils and snarls: “Laugh—hh—laugh again—huff huff—see what it—fuck—see what it gets you—” 

You clench harder around him and he keens embarrassingly loud. “Brat—filthy—perfect fucking—take it—it’s coming, take it—”

The knot swells fast this time and stretches you all over again to seal you around his fat, throbbing cock. He throws his head back and lets out a full-throated howl, throat bared in the low flickering light, hips grinding as he stuffs you full for the second time.

His howl is so wild and loud it swallows the sound of the storm whole, and then it frays into a groan, and the groan into your name, and your name into ragged breath as he slumps over you again, locked deep inside, still pulsing.

“Brat…” he huffs against your neck, “the whine never happened.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And neither did the howl.”

“Sure,” you snicker, patting his arm. “Whatever you say, puppy.”

Taglist (closed)

Catboy!geto - Who's always intimately grooming you between his knees. Sometimes his mouth gets involved and that's when it starts getting heated, but he'll still smile and tell you to hold still.

Catboy!nanami - Who kneads biscuits into your shoulders when you’re tense and stressed. His heavy blonde tail wraps around your waist without a thought as he works you over with the perfect pressure.

Catboy!yuji - Who's the only cat whose tail wags fast and happy like a dog. Whenever you get home he greets you by headbutting you at full sprint and knocking you to the floor with eager cuddles and kisses.

Catboy!megumi - Whose tail wraps around your wrist like a handcuff when he’s touch-starved but feels too awkward to ask. He thinks he's being subtle. But the subtlety falls apart when you scratch behind his ear and he leans into your palm with a shallow purr.

Catboy!choso - Who buries his face in your lap the second you sit down. Arms wrapped around your waist, claws accidentally hooked into the back of your shirt. He mumbles a sleepy apology and retracts them one at a time, but forgets to unhook the rest by the time he gets to the third one.

Catboy!toji - Who is a smug alleycat that's decided your apartment is his territory now. He eats all the food in your fridge and never leaves. He always denies the way he purrs in his sleep while trapping you between his heavy arms.

Catboy!sukuna - Who loves to hunt you for the fun of it. He watches you from across the room with his tail flicking and his four eyes wide and dilated. You've got five seconds before you're pinned under 200 lbs of muscle and fluff, teeth sinking playful but hungrily into your skin.

Catboy!kashimo - Whose fur is permanently staticky. Your battle-junkie bf zaps you every time you touch him, then he purrs like a faulty robot and considers it foreplay.

Offbeat - drummer!choso x fem reader

Part 3

slow burn • roommates to lovers • mutual pining • jealousy • angst with happy ending • smut

Sorry it took me forever to get this part finished! This fic is just so important to me and I wanted to put everything into it. I hope you enjoy it! ~ also I don't have time to add the taglist atm, sorry o-o

The band venue is a converted warehouse with dark brick walls and a stage barely raised off the floor. You get there a few minutes after 8pm and it’s basically empty right now. Other than the four-person band on stage, the only people here are the sound guy and the bartender.

The stage is bathed in blue and purple lights that make everything look dreamlike. But the real dream is sitting behind the drum kit with his head down as he adjusts the height of a cymbal. His hair is back up in the two spiky buns and he’s wearing a loose black tank top that says the name of his band ‘Death Painting.’ 

Eso is tuning his base by the amps while Kechizu is taping down cables, green hair falling over his eyes. Then Choso looks up. He bites the nail of his pinky finger, molten chocolate eyes locked on you. He loves you to death, hell, he’d bend a knee right now and ask you to marry him if he thought you’d say yes, but he can’t help the filthy things he’s doing to you in his mind right now. He blinks hard and shakes his head to clear his vision.

“Woah.”

Choso’s eyes narrow and snap to the source of the word, who idiotically said it loud and right into the mic. Every head in the room turns to look at Satoru. And unlike Choso’s silent awe, he takes action immediately and hops off the stage with a huge smile. 

His white hair and silver snake bites glint in the colorful lights as he walks up to wrap his lanky arms around you. “Hey, Y/N! You’re really early this time. And damn, you look amazing.”

“Hey, Toru,” you say with a laugh, patting his back. “Choso invited me to come early.”

Choso can literally feel his chest twist at the sight of Satoru hugging you. He wants to run across the room right now and pull you apart. But he doesn’t, he stays put.

“Oh, did he now?” Satoru asks, looking back over his shoulder and wiggling his pierced brow at Choso. “Interesting.”

But Choso’s back is already turned away as his boots nearly stomp down the short stairs at stage left. Then he makes his way toward you. “Glad you could make it,” he says low.

His strong tattooed arms wrap tightly around your waist and pull you against his chest. You’re so close that your nose is buried against his skin just above the neckline of his tank top. Despite the boldness of it, his palms are jittery where they press into your skin.

He doesn’t let go. Five seconds. Ten.

“Hey, Cho…” you breathe against his flushed chest, laughing a little. “You’ve never hugged me this long.”

“Mm.” His chin drops lightly to the top of your head. “Then I’ve been slacking.”

When he finally lets go of you and steps back, his eyes do one more slow glance over your outfit, and a flush creeps up his neck. “You look…” He rubs the back of his neck. “That sweater’s a good color on you.”

That sweater’s a good color on you. He wants to bury himself alive. What he meant was: you look like every daydream I’ve ever had. You look like my girl. My future wife. The reason I’m probably going to miss every cue tonight.

“Thanks,” you say with a lip-biting smile. “I dressed up a little.”

“A little,” his voice cracks faintly.

“Sorry to steal your man!” Satoru hollers from the stage, back at his mic. “But we’ve got a sound check to do.”

Choso sighs and walks back to his drums.

You sit on the edge of the stage during the sound check, legs crossed at the knee. You go between watching Choso and scrolling through your phone. The band runs through some half-songs.

At some point between the songs, you feel someone crouch down behind you. You don’t even have to look to know who it is, because you hear Eso say “Satoru,” dryly, then the sound of Choso’s boots.

THWACK.

“Ow!!”

You turn around quickly and see Satoru rubbing the back of his shoulder and Choso standing over him with his drumstick still raised.

“What?” Satoru whines. “I dropped a pick.”

“You play no instruments,” Choso snaps at him. “Go back to your mic.”

“You’re so violent, drummer boy.”

“Did you really have to hit him?” you ask, looking up at Choso.

“Yes,” he mutters, sitting back down behind his drums.

“He just likes abusing me,” Satoru mumbles from the mic, trying to be cute. “Don’t mind him.”

“Huh??” You raise your brows.

Kechizu from across the stage: “Satoru was trying to look up your skirt!”

“HEY, WHY YOU GOTTA OUT ME LIKE THAT?!”

You uncross and recross your legs the other way, giving Satoru an intimidating look that has a hint of amusement in it, mostly because you’ve always known this is how he is. He gives you an unrepentant dimpled grin, then looks forward.

By 9pm the place is hot and packed with people. The band’s been backstage since twenty minutes ago, waiting for the showtime to come. You’ve claimed your spot at stage left and are leaning against the barrier, right where you said you’d be. Right where Choso can see you.

All the lights drop to darkness and the crowd’s chatter dies out. Then the stage lights come up and the band walks out to claps and cheers. Choso sits behind his drums and does a little showoff. Trr-trr-dm-dm-duh-dm-CRASH! The cheers get louder. He looks out at the crowd and finds you instantly, keeping his eyes on yours as Satoru steps up to the mic.

“Hey everyone,” Satoru says with that effortless charm and a flip of his white hair. “We’re Death Painting, and this one’s called Chokehold.”

This set is the best you’ve ever heard them play. You’d say that even if you weren’t madly in love with the drummer, but you are, so it only heightens the lovestruck experience of watching him come apart and come alive in front of your eyes.

His hair coming loose from its ties, sticking to his temples. His tank top clinging to his chest, tattooed arms swinging the drumsticks like a pro. Though his eyes are dark, they burn feverishly bright with energy, half-lidded but focused like he’s in some kind of trance. 

But they fall out of the trance every once in a while, just to find you. Just to see the way you look up at him.

Satoru is feasting on the attention of the crowd. He tilts his head down and his hair flops over one eye. He’s got one hand wrapped loose around the mic like he’s whispering a secret to it, and his other hand is reaching out toward the screaming girls in the front row.

“There’s a fire in my chest, rising up my throat, love. And it’s burning, burning, burning at the fingers of your glove.”

He sinks to his knees on the last word and tips his head back, and the crowd absolutely loses it. You’d probably cheer louder too if you could tear your eyes off the drummer. Choso gives you a little half smile when he notices you’re not looking at Satoru at all.

Choso mouths along to the lyrics, eyes locked on yours. Him and Eso wrote this song years ago. He never thought he’d have a face in his head when he played it. But he’s got one now.

You’re the face to every one of these songs now.

When the set ends, he stands from behind the kit, chest heaving, drenched, and points one drumstick directly at you before the lights drop.

The girl next to you grabs your arm and screams, “OH MY GOD, IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND??” You blush and smile from ear to ear, and you don’t correct her.

—

After the show, the band waits backstage for the crowd to slowly clear out. Choso sits at a desk in a room that smells like sweat and energy drinks. He’s got his notebook open and a towel around his neck, jotting down some lyrics. His hands are still buzzing. His whole body is buzzing, and honestly only about 60% of it is because of the show.

The door swings open and Satoru walks in. He hops up to sit on the counter, heels of his sneakers bouncing off the cabinet. “Hey. Question. Are you and Y/N dating?”

Choso’s pen stops hard on the page. 

“No.” He hates how easily the word comes out of his mouth. It tastes disgusting. But unfortunately it’s true.

“Huh.” Satoru tips his head back against the mirror, deep in thought. “I gotta be honest, man. She is so hot. Especially tonight.” He whistles low. “You’d tell me if there was something between you two, right? So… you care if I shoot my shot?”

And here it is. The moment. All Choso has to do is say it. Yes. Back off. I’m in love with her. 

It’s the confession he’s never let past his teeth in front of you, even. And now he’s supposed to spill it to Satoru fucking Gojo? Not a chance in hell.

He’s not putting his poor, tattered heart on the counter next to the energy drinks for him of all people to poke at. And if you found out from Satoru before he ever worked up the nerve—

“Do what you want,” Choso says harshly.

“Siiick,” Satoru says, not picking up his tone at all somehow. He hops off the counter and ruffles Choso’s damp hair on his way out the door. “Great show, by the way, you animal.”

The second the door clicks shut, Choso spins around in his chair and grits his teeth so hard his jaw creaks. He is seething. But after a few seconds he sighs hard, rolls his tired eyes at the ceiling, and mutters “...Idiot.”

He turns back to his notebook and goes back to writing lyrics, his handwriting slightly more angry and jagged-looking than usual.

It’s fine, he tells himself. You know exactly what kind of guy Satoru is. You’ve watched him flirt with half the girls in the city. You’re not going to give someone that dense a chance.

…Right?

—

It accidentally becomes a sort of after-party after that. Someone mentions food and someone else mentions how your place is the closest, and by midnight the five of you are at yours and Choso’s little two bedroom apartment. Three boxes of pizza are open on the counter and Satoru is sprawled across the couch like he pays the rent.

You’re wedged into the far corner of that same couch. The couch. The drum lesson couch. Satoru’s eyes turn a full wattage of bright blue when he turns to look at you. 

“Y/N. Sweetheart. Light of my life,” he says with a flirty grin. You raise a brow in response. “I gave the greatest performance of my life tonight, and I didn’t see you look at me even once.” He clicks his tongue with disappointment. “I was looking at you a whole lot. Kinda hurt my feelings you weren’t looking back.”

You tsk and take a sip of your drink. “Poor baby popstar.”

Satoru sits all the way up. He tips his head back against the couch cushion right next to you and laughs, landing his hand on your knee. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Funny AND gorgeous. Y/N. Baby. Why are we not—”

Across the room, Choso (who’s been rinsing the same bowl in the sink for five minutes) sets it down with a loud clack. You lift Satoru’s hand off your knee by the wrist, like removing a bug, and deposit back on his own leg. But Choso doesn’t see that, because he won’t even let himself look anymore. “Because you flirt with everyone, Toru. We both know it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Wow. Wow.” He plays offended and clutches at his heart. “She sees right through me. That’s so hot too, actually—”

“Satoru, come eat your pizza,” Eso says from the kitchen. “No one else is touching the pineapple, hot honey, pickle one you insisted on ordering.”

“Y’all wouldn’t know good pizza if it slapped you—”

Kechizu flops onto the cushion and squeezes between you like a golden retriever, effectively ending the conversation. He starts showing you videos that fans took from the crowd tonight. You laugh at one where you can see Choso with his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration.

Then Kechizu, the angel that he is, holds his phone out toward the kitchen. “Choso! Come look, someone got your whole solo—”

“Later.”

It comes out harsher than he means it to. Kechizu blinks and wilts a little, and turns back to you. And now Choso feels like a jerk on top of everything else. He knows he should feel good about this. His band. His brothers. You. Almost everyone he cares about is in this one small room. But he feels like he’s watching everything through glass.

He’s already mentally rehearsing the text he’ll send Satoru later. 

Hey. Great show, you animal. By the way, if you touch her again I’ll run you over with my car.

He deletes it obviously. In his head. Where it lives with the other five hundred things he’s never said.

—

Everyone clears out around 2am. Satoru tries for a hug but only gets a formal handshake from you, like a Victorian gentleman, and he shakes your hand with a slightly bruised ego. You and Choso clean up the littered paper plates and cups. 

“I’m gonna shower,” you say as you toss the last few into the trash.

“Kay,” he says, just one syllable. He’s acting so different tonight…

You strip out of your clothes in the bathroom and step into the hot shower. Your winged eyeliner runs black down your face and you grab some face wash to clean all the makeup off. You tip your head back under the water and start wiping your face.

That’s when the drums start.

Not his usual late-night playing. Not the loose rhythms you’ve managed to fall asleep to a hundred times through the wall. This is violent. It rattles the shelf of shampoo bottles above your head. You go still and just listen.

You know his moods by now. You know them by ear. You’ve heard grief in his playing, and joy, and boredom, and the fizzy restlessness he gets before shows. But you’ve never heard this. This is fury. This is a man trying to beat something out of his chest before it kills him.

You rush to clean yourself off and wash your hair, then you shut the shower off. The drums don’t stop. They get louder without the shower to muffle them, so loud you can feel them in the tile under your feet. You quickly dry off and your hands fumble to put your black bathrobe on. Your hair is still dripping like crazy but you don’t bother with it.

You pad down the hall barefoot, leaving wet footprints on the wood, and into the living room. He’s at his kit in the corner with his back half to you, still in his show clothes, hair fully loose now and whipping from the movements. 

He’s hitting so hard the crash stand is walking across the floor. His teeth are bared, bright canines glistening under the low light of the lamp, with a sharp scowl carved into his features that are usually so gentle. It makes your stomach drop.

“Choso.”

Nothing. He can’t hear you.

“Choso!”

You step into his line of sight.

The sound cuts off so abruptly the silence rings your ears. He’s heaving for breath, drumsticks white-knuckled in his fists. Eyes on you.

On all of you. On the bathrobe. On the water beading at your collarbones. On your wet hair clinging to your neck in wet ribbons. On your flushed bare thighs peeking out beneath the hem of your bathrobe.

His mouth falls open slightly and his drumsticks go slack in his hands. Whatever fury was driving him a second ago slips away so completely you can see it happen.

That really is all it takes, isn’t it?

His eyes raise to your face and find you watching him watch you. His cheeks flood pink. His eyes are burning and glassy in a way that scares you a little. “Sorry,” he rasps. “Too loud. I’ll stop.”

“I don’t care that it’s loud.” You take a step closer and his eyes flick down your body again helplessly to where the sash cinches at your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Cho. Please.”

“Nothing, it’s—” He drags his eyes away and up to the ceiling with what looks like serious effort. “Did you have fun tonight?”

His tone sounds uncharacteristically bitter. “...Yes? You were so good, Cho—”

“Not the show.” A muscle twitches in his cheek. “After. On the couch. With Satoru.”

You stare at him. Do you seriously need to answer that question? You thought he knew you better than that.

“Choso… are you jealous?”

“No.” His nose crinkles, making the dark line jagged. “...Yes. Fuck.” The drumsticks clatter into the snare and he drags his hands down his face, the way he does when he’s coming apart. “He asked me tonight if he could—shoot his shot—with you. And I said do what you want. And then he touched you on our couch. And I just—” His breath shudders out of him. “I can’t lose you to him. I can’t lose you to anyone. Not you too.”

Not you too. The words detonate in your aching heart like a bomb. You slowly step over a fallen drumstick and take his face into both hands, tilting it up to yours.

“Hey. Look at me.” His wrecked eyes drag up to meet yours. “You’re not losing me. I turned him down. I thought you knew that. And even if it was someone else, I would’ve done the same thing, because—” Your thumbs trace down his cheekbones and your voice goes soft. “Choso, I’ve always been yours.”

You feel his breath stop under your hands. “...What?”

“I don’t wear a skirt like that in October for Satoru,” you say with a smile. “Cho, sweetheart. C’mon. You had to know it was all for you.”

Choso surges up from the drum throne and then his mouth is on yours fast, like he was only waiting for the smallest sliver of a sign from you before letting himself steal a kiss.

It’s nothing like you imagined (and you’ve imagined it exhaustively) because in your head his first kiss with you was hesitant and careful. But just as he’s proved you wrong before, he proves you wrong again.

This is the realest kiss you ever had. A year of starving, finally fed. His hand fists passionately in your wet hair, the other splayed across your back, walking you backward until your legs hit the arm of the couch and you tumble over it together with him on top of you.

You grip the front of his tank top with both hands. When he pulls back from the kiss to let you pull it over his head, you suck on his tongue so pretty his heart stutters in his chest. He lets out a strangled groan.

“You have no idea,” he pants against your lips, “how bad I’ve needed you.” He kisses you hard again, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. “No idea what you do to me.” His words are muffled from his lips pressed against yours.

“I have some idea.” You glide your hands down the ridges of his washboard abs, and palm him through his jeans. He’s so hard and needy, he bucks into your hand with an uncontrollable whimper as his head drops to your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he huffs hot against your neck. “When we had that drum lesson… did you… did you know what I was doing…”

“Of course I knew, Cho. I felt it.” You give his throbbing hard cock a gentle squeeze and watch a flush climb all the way up from his neck to his cheeks. “Been thinking about it a lot. Been wanting it.”

“Oh f-f-fuuuck.” He sounds equally blissed-out and frustrated. “B-but—but you said you were tired.”

“I panicked!” you laugh breathlessly. “You’ve never done anything like that with me, I didn’t know what to do with my hands—”

“I’ll show you what to do with them,” he says before his brain can stop his mouth, and his eyes go wide himself, and yours go wider. You both laugh into another kiss that becomes slower and hungrier, until the laughter runs out of it.

He sits back against the couch and pulls you onto his lap, this is the position from that night reversed and corrected, you straddling his lap, thighs spread over him, face to face this time. His calloused palms slide up your robe and grip your hips with his fingers spread wide.

There’s no thought left in his head outside of the realization that your slick, bare heat is soaking through his jeans as you grind your hips against his clothed cock. He raggedly gasps like it’s his first breath after coming up from water. 

And since you’ve realized you love to drive him crazy, you untie the sash of your robe. Then keeping your eyes on his, you rise up on your knees and shrug it off your shoulders, and let the whole thing slide down your arms and drop to the floor behind you.

Choso’s chest heaves as his eyes slowly travel down your body and land on the slope of your breasts. His eyes are teary and awestruck like he’s staring right at heaven’s gates. “Please… please…” His forehead thuds against yours, still staring down at your bare body with hazy, unfocused eyes. “Need to… d-do you want to… rnngh…” He inhales hard against your neck, taking in your scent, then grips your waist with both hands. “W-want to fuck you… so bad…”

“Choso, baby.” You tilt his chin up and brush his hair back from his face to kiss him softly. Then you do another slow grind against the aching bulge in his jeans, making honeyed slick sounds against him. “Do I feel like a girl who wants to stop?”

His heart is thudding in his chest as he slides his hands down from your waist to your ass to grip hard, tugging you down onto him as he ruts himself against your needy pussy. 

“No,” he rasps, using your dripping slit to gain the friction he desperately needs. “No, you feel—hnngh—so soaked—so pretty—f-fuck, I can’t—” His hands leave your body and fly to his belt buckle, clumsy and shaking, fumbling to get it loose. “Hnnh—sorry, my love, I just—I need—c-can’t wait ‘nymore, m’sorry, I can’t—”

He shoves them down his hips with his boxers and his heavy cock springs up against his abdomen with a wet slap. He lets out a high-pitched whine through gritted teeth. “F-fuck, sorry, th-that’s embarassing,” he heaves, ears burning red. A thick pearl of precum wells up at the flushed tip and slides down his veiny shaft. “It–it’s just been a while—and you’re so pretty.”

When you glance up at his face, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed. “P-please just touch it, bounce on it, anything—anything, baby.”

You wrap your hand around him and stroke down once from tip to base with a wet shlick, spreading the mess down to his balls and the dark patch of hair, and he actually wails. His head tips back, hips bucking into your fist, and he makes such a beautiful broken sound, one that you want tattooed on the inside of your skull.

“S’pretty Cho,” you breathe, looking up at him through your lashes as you stroke him slowly, watching him shudder and moan. “You have such a pretty cock. Can’t wait to—”

“Now,” he whines raggedly, dragging you forward by your waist and pulling flush against his heaving chest. His cock is trapped between your bare stomachs and smearing slick precum everywhere. “Now, now, now, please, baby, please—put it in, sit on it, I can’t—need to put it inside you, please—”

You lean back and grind your aching, needy slit along his throbbing shaft. The fat, dripping head nudges at your entrance with every slow grind. “You can wait just a little longer, Cho,” you tease, gripping his shoulders as you move.

His cock twitches hard and he sobs, then fists the tears away from his dark eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment for even beginning to cry about this. “P-please. Please, baby. I’m not playing,” he chokes out. “I’m not—hnngh—I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Any—any way you want, any night, any—I’ll cook, I’ll do dishes for a year, I’ll—”

“Shhh…” You grab his wrists and press them back against the couch cushion on both sides of his head, and whisper against his open mouth, “I’ve got you, Cho. Watch me take it.”

You line yourself up over the dripping head and sink down, watching his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open around senseless little ah, ah, ah sounds. He forces his eyes back forward and pulls his wrists out of your grip to wrap his tattooed arms crushingly tight around your back, face buried in your throat. He holds you close against him, trembling all over.

The thick stretch of his cock has your insides squeezing and yielding around him inch by enormous inch. He’s never been so achingly hard in his life. His fingers dig hard into your flushed skin but never once push, letting you take him at your own pace.

When he bottoms out inside you, he huffs hard against the side of your neck, breath hot. “Nnngh… my love,” he groans. “I can feel your heartbeat. I can feel it all around me.”

You brace your hands flat against his heaving chest and start giving him rolling lifts of your hips, sinking back down onto him with soft breathy moans, letting each stroke pull a wet sound from where you’re joined. 

He whines and groans, then leans back against the couch again to watch you ride him. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping, ungripping, gripping again. “Higher—up, baby, up—please—hnnh—faster, need it faster please—”

But you can feel him twitching hard inside you with every slow drop of your hips. The way his stomach muscles tense up. You smile down at him, drag one nail lightly down the center of his chest, and shake your head. “Mm-mm. Don’t want you to cum too soon, baby.”

“I won’t—” his voice cracks desperately. “I won’t, I swear, I’ll make sure I won’t. Please, baby, please just—bounce on it a little faster.”

You tut softly at him and keep riding him maddeningly slow, letting him feel every inch on the way up, every inch on the way down. “I can feel you twitching so hard, Cho,” you say with a honey-sweet tone.

His face crumples. “Y/N—my love—please—”

Too slow. It’s too slow. He can’t take the tension anymore. He lets out a desperate groan and grips your hips roughly. Then before you can process the wild shift in his eyes, he flips you.

You let out a small startled yelp as your back hits the couch cushions, and suddenly he’s on top of you, caging you in, hair falling loose around his flushed face in dark layers. His heavy cock is dripping against your thigh where he slipped out of you in the flip.

“Sorry—sorry, baby—” he rasps. He’s already grabbing himself, one hand braced beside your head, dragging the tip back through your soaked slit to line himself up again. “I can’t do it that way. I need—I need to be on top, I need to fuck you, I need to fuck you—”

He slides in with a shlick so wet it makes you moan together. He drops his forehead to yours, breath scalding hot, and pushes forward with a strangled “nnngh—fuck—fuuuuck—” until his hips meet yours and there’s nothing left between you at all. Then he really starts fucking you, taking you deep, his heavy balls smacking wetly against your skin.

“Ah—ahh! Cho!” 

He’s making you his so messily, his dark hair curtaining both of your faces. His mouth is open. His eyes are burning and half-lidded with pleasure, watching every reaction on your face as he plays you like a drum kit.

“Told you—told you, baby,” he pants against your face, sweat dripping down his temples. “Told you I can—hhhn—hold back from cumming too soon.” Shlick-shlick-shlick! “Gonna make this—make this so—hnngh—so good m’pretty girl can’t even—think—”

You’re crying out his name in cracked pieces. His beautiful name, over and over between loud moans punched out of your lungs on every thrust. Every slap of his hips against yours drags the mess of you both further onto the couch cushions.

He dips his head and drags his tongue hot up your ear, making you whimper. You clench around him hard and he whines, but still tries to play dom. “Good—nnn… fuuuck—good girl. Squeezing me s-so good. Want—want to make you cum, gonna make you cum s-so hard—”

But then his face changes and his brows knit together like he’s about to lose it, and he pulls out of you with a shlck-pop and a broken “unnh—fuck—hng—hng—” 

His cock slaps up against his stomach, twitching hard, a thick string of your combined slick stretching from the tip to your pussy before it breaks. He clamps his hand around the base, teeth bared, chest heaving, forcing himself back down from the edge.

He drags in a shaky breath, waiting for the throb to pass. Then he grips your hips and flips you onto your stomach. “C’mere,” he huffs, trying so hard to sound like he’s in control and didn’t almost just finish before you did. He gently tugs your knees up by your hips. “C’mere baby. W-wanna take you like this now. Want you in every position I can have you.”

He smooths one hand over the curve of your ass and leans over your body to kiss the back of your shoulder, buying himself another few seconds. Then he eases back into your sticky insides. Squish. Deeper. Squishh. Until his hips meet the backs of your thighs and he groans low and long in his throat.

He reaches around your body with his free hand and slides two fingers between your thighs to rub gentle circles on your clit. Just feeling you in every way he can. He moves his fingers faster and faster, in a maddening rhythm that only a drummer’s hands know by heart.

His breath is a hot, wet rasp against the back of your neck. His forehead drops between your shoulder blades and stays there.

“Nnnn… Chosooo… that feels so—sosogood!” you moan breathlessly.

He lets out an involuntary “hnnh” at that. Then another. Then, like a dam breaking, he can’t stop.

“Hnnh—mmh—nghh—oh—my love—my love, my love—”

His hips speed up on their own. His words tumble out unbroken, not sentences, just sounds and pieces of your name and soft, wrecked “so good, s’good, s’good, s’good” against the nape of your neck.

PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-

His fingers move in pace with his hips. He’s making these devastating whimpers every time he slams into you now, the kinds of sounds he’d never let anyone else hear. “C-cum for me—please cum for me—I need it—I can’t—I can’t hold it much longer—please, baby, please, my love—”

You let out a broken cry into the cushion and cum around him hard, and he starts sobbing from the absolute bliss, just a wrecked, adoring sound like he’s the one falling apart right now.

“Y/NNNN…” His hips slam home and he spills into you thick and hot, and there’s so much of it, you feel it flooding into you. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words fall out of him uncontrollably, over and over, into your damp hair, muffled against your skin. He’s shaking hard, arms caging you in from behind with his forehead glued to the space between your shoulder blades.

“Loved you since the day I met you—the whole time,” his voice cracks. “Wanna—nngh—wanna make you mine in every way I can—every way, baby, every way—”

He drags in a shuddering breath and finally lifts his head and glances down, dazed and blissed out. But when he sees his cum sliding thick down your inner thigh, his eyes go wider. “Nnn—nn-no—baby, don’t let it—don’t let it go—not a drop—hnnh—”

His softening cock is throbbing weakly inside you and he’s so oversensitive he whimpers when he moves, but he tries to fuck it all back in anyway with small shaky thrusts. Filthy little rolls of his hips.

“Nngh, Cho!” you laugh breathlessly.

“Hnnn—sen–sensitive but—but I need—I need to—can’t have you lose it—”

His thumb gathers a hot pearl of cum off your thigh and pushes it back up toward your used-up pussy, smearing it into you around his cock. “There,” he breathes shakily. “There, baby, that’s it—stay in her—hnnh—that’s mine, sweetheart, that’s—that’s mine.”

—

Later that night, he holds you against his chest, and you’re half asleep when you hear him sigh through his nose. “Y/N… I have to tell you something…” he mumbles nervously. “And you’re going to think I’m disgusting…” he says with a wince.

“There’s nothing that could make me think that,” you say, kissing his chest.

“Okay… well…” He swallows hard. “You know the purple lace panties you thought you lost…?”

You lift your head slowly. He’s staring at the ceiling, ears going scarlet red. “They’re in my dresser,” he whispers. “I’ve had them for weeks… I’m sorry. I wash them though.” He slaps his hand over his face. “Fuck, that made it sound so much worse.”

You stare at him. Then you drop your face to his neck and start laughing hard. He groans, “D-don’t—don’t laugh—I’m confessing something terrible…” but his arms wrap tighter around you anyway.

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3 (final)

artist credit: syllysmot

Read part 1 here!

Read part 2 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brings his hands to your back, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. He’s physically incapable of pulling his hungry eyes away from your flushed, soft breasts that rise and fall with your trembling breaths. The clasp gives and he slides the straps down your shoulders.

The look on Yuji’s face is just drunk. Lovedrunk. Wrecked. Honey-brown eyes glazed over, fixed on your bare breasts like they knocked the air straight from his lungs. He cups both of his palms over your hardened peaks. So soft. So pretty. They’re the most gorgeous pair of tits he’s ever seen—well, the only tits he’s ever seen, at least in person.

He slides one hand down to your waist and his mouth closes hot around your nipple. He flicks his tongue and you moan softly, head falling back. He already knows. He knows he’s not going to last. He’s too far gone already, and the second he’s inside you, he’s done for. There’s no way he’ll last for more than a minute, if that. And the thought of disappointing you is even worse than how achingly bad he wants you.

What he doesn’t know is that you’re barely holding yourself together enough to speak, and that you’re just as gone as he is. You’re squeezing your thighs together against the burning hot ache between them. “Yuji~” you whine, and god you sound so desperate even to your own ears.

You’re so woozy with desire you don’t even remember taking his shirt off, but you did, or maybe he did, and now your palms are sliding down his hot, defined chest. His abs tense under your desperate touches as your hands trail down to his abdomen, two manicured fingers running down that pink trail of hair, then to his belt to work it open with a soft clink.

“Wait,” he whispers, voice wrecked and hoarse as he gently grips your wrist. “You first.” And before you can even process what he means, the bedframe creaks and you’re chest to chest with him, back pressed against the mattress.

His belt is still undone and hanging loose as he presses hot open-mouthed kisses from your neck, down to your ribs, then your stomach, and then you feel his fingers working at the button of your jeans. He hooks his fingers in the waistband and slowly tugs them down your plush thighs.

He tosses your jeans to the floor and gets up on his knees to look at you. You’re spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but your panties, lips parted, looking up at him with those gorgeous, needy eyes. He runs his finger up your soaked slit through the cotton of your panties, feeling your wetness seep through to coat his fingertip. It draws an agonized groan straight from his chest.

He doesn’t even consciously think about it before he yanks your panties off and starts french-kissing your throbbing, wet pussy, simultaneously squeezing the fat of your ass. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t care. He just wants to taste your sweet, honey-like slick, messily lapping it up and gulping it down with hungry groans. Any nervousness that was within him is completely gone now, replaced by his desperate need to devour you. He’s addicted. Fucking hypnotized.

“Yuji, please,” you whimper, and he pulls back slightly when he hears it, looking up at you with dark, hazy eyes. Your juices are obscenely dripping down his chin, glistening in the low light. “Please,” you beg, voice cracking. “Please fuck me. I need you—I need you so bad I can’t take it anymore.”

He rests his face against your thigh with a sultry little smile. Then you feel him let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh against your skin before he presses a soft kiss there. He sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“When you ask like that?” he says through a ragged whisper, looking down at you with an awestruck grin. “Yeah. Anything.”

He slides his belt from the loops with a soft fwip. “You can have anything.”

Then he pushes his pants down his toned legs, still kneeling between yours. His velvety black boxers hang dangerously low on his hips, and there’s an obvious bulge tenting the fabric. You can’t help yourself. You reach down with both hands and tug his boxers down over his hip bones.

“Oh fuck.”

You didn’t mean for the words to slip from your lips but they did. He’s massive. Hard and thick, veiny along the shaft, his heavy cock resting against his thigh. Your mouth falls open as you just stare and try to process it. When he sees your expression, he can’t quite hide the smirk on his lips. “You like it?” he asks.

“Um, yeah?” you say breathlessly, noticing how the hair at the base is neatly trimmed. “How could I not?”

“I trimmed it for you,” he admits, voice going quiet and rough, sounding almost shy again despite the smirk he was just wearing. “Been doing it for a while, actually. Just in case we—” He drags his hand up the back of his flushed neck. “In case I ever got a chance with you.”

He slides one hand from your thigh to your waist, the other wrapping around his cock. His breath comes out shaky as he drags the blunt head of his cock up and down your sopping slit. “And you’re just so—” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing. “God, you’re so much hotter than anything I imagined.” He meets your eyes. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you gasp needily, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you try to pull him closer. “God, yes, please.”

He gives you a gentle squeeze on the side of your waist. “I love you.”

If he’s going to hit you with those words, he’s going to hit you with them now. When you can’t help but—

“Fuuuuck…” you cry out, clenching hard around the few, fat inches he’s given you. “Nnnn… Yuji, I love you too!”

He wants to savor those words, god he wants to, but every ounce of his concentration is dedicated to staying perfectly still. Don’t cum. Don’t you dare. His teeth are clenched, face contorted in agony even though his eyes are blissfully rolling back from the way your perfect pussy is squeezing him.

“Yuji, please,” you whimper. “Please move—even just a little…”

He gives you a shaky nod, pink hair falling into his eyes. He breathes hard through his nose and wraps his muscular arms around your thighs, mostly buying time. His face is burning feverishly hot as he starts shallowly thrusting, pulling out slowly then sliding back in, and fuck, it feels like your pussy is trying to suck him in.

Gradually he realizes… he’s doing it. He can last. The realization makes him breathe a little easier, and he slightly picks up the pace. He drinks in the sight of your gorgeous body as you let out the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard, your hair spread out across his pillow.

Then he looks down and his eyes widen slightly when he sees the outline of himself pressing against your stomach from the inside. It mesmerizes him for a few seconds as he testingly watches the bulge move with each thrust.

“Holy fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, splaying his hands over your lower stomach, pressing down gently, watching the bulge become even more pronounced. “I can see my dick inside you. Nnngh, fuck—that’s—”

His raw, filthy words make your eager pussy clench harder around him, and he feels a fresh gush of hot slick coat his veiny shaft. There’s so much of it he can see it dripping down onto his tensing balls, and he heaves out a ragged breath at the sight.

Fuck it.

He leans down and captures your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth catching your bottom lip in a gentle bite. He greedily swallows every whimper, every moan you make, as his hips start moving faster, harder, driving into your tight, wet heat with urgency.

Plap—plap—plap!

The bedframe shakes and creaks, headboard slamming against the wall with each desperate thrust. “You like that?” he asks between kisses, voice rough with pleasure.

“Yes!” you moan loudly. “Fuck yes—sosogoood.”

He brings his lips to your ear, brushing the shell as he keeps pounding into your pussy like an absolute legend. “Tell me how it feels,” he pants. “Tell me exactly how it feels, baby.”

He’s been like this ever since he’s known you. Always needing praise. Getting off on it. It’s like a drug to him, and only when it comes from your lips.

“Amazing,” you cry out. “Yuji, you feel so perfect—so thick—so fucking deep—nnngh, stretching me so good, baby—don’t stop!”

“God, baby—” He brokenly moans, reaching up to grip the headboard with one hand for leverage as he fucks into you harder, using his other hand to slide two fingers in your mouth, watching you drool down the edges of your lips with muffled moans. “Suck on them, gorgeous,” he groans raggedly. “Wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around my fingers while I—fuuuck—nnn, baby how close are you?”

“Nggnnhmm…” you mumble around his fingers.

“Nod if you’re close,” he says, teeth gritted in ecstasy.

You nod frantically, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. It feels so heavenly, overwhelming in the best way, and he can hear it in the obscene sounds your bodies make together. Loud, wet squelches fill the room as he ruts in and out of you sloppily, his flushed tip pressing against your cervix each time his hips meet yours.

Thwack—thwack—thwack!

He’s dragging his leaking precum across your tender insides with every desperate stroke. Your breasts bounce heavily with each bruising thrust, and god he loves the sight—can’t tear his eyes away.

Your climax hits you so suddenly you barely noticed the buildup until your insides are fluttering and convulsing around him. “Mmmmppphh!!!” you moan around his fingers, back arching beautifully, legs shaking where they’re wrapped around his body. And he can’t help but smile and bite his lip. “Oh, fuck—babyy… are you cumming on my cock?”

You nod as tears of overstimulated bliss roll down your cheeks, mixing with the drool at the corners of your mouth, and something about seeing you so wrecked makes his eyes soften. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to gently wipe away your tears.

“Yuji,” you beg, voice wrecked. “I need your cum—nnngh, pleaseee…”

That’s it. That’s what breaks him.

“Fuck—baby, I’m—” His words cut off into a gutteral groan. His hips stutter as he cums hard, spilling deep inside your oversensitive pussy. He keeps thrusting through it to prolong it, until he feels his hot cum overflowing around his twitching cock, trailing down your ass and onto the sheets. He collapses forward and catches himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

After he catches his breath, he pulls out slowly and immediately wraps himself around you. He can’t bear an inch of distance. Can he just keep you in his bed forever actually? You’re both sweaty, exhausted, completely wrecked, and he’s never been happier.

“So…” you say with a little breathy laugh. “You really do have a praise kink, huh?”

His face goes red even after everything you just did together. “Is that—is that weird?”

“No,” you say, gently scratching your nails down his back. “It’s sweet. And hot. And I’m definitely going to have fun with that knowledge.”

“Oh, please do,” he groans, half-embarrassed and half-pleased as he hugs you tighter. “God help me,” he murmurs with a grin. “I’m so gone for you.”

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

Made this a bit longer than I anticipated sooo, part 3 on Saturday~

artist credit: syllysmot

Read part 1 here!

Update: Read part 3 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah?” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as he looks into your eyes. “You think so?”

You nod and he leans closer, he can’t help it. You’re right here in his arms, your pretty plush lips parted, so damn beautiful that his own lips are tingling, tingling to kiss you. Just a little closer and—

BEEEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

A car speeds by and honks at another and Yuji’s eyes fly open. Was he really about to kiss you in front of your spider-infested apartment building? That would definitely taint this perfect memory.

“I should—uh!” He clears his throat, face burning. “Do you want me to put you down? Or…” God, you sound like an idiot, he thinks to himself. Though the embarrassment still doesn’t stop him from talking. “Or I could carry you the whole way. I can if you want. It’s not far. I don’t mind.”

You laugh a little. “I’m good. I can walk,” you say, patting his chest. He reluctantly sets you down on the sidewalk, looking a little disappointed in himself for even asking.

But then you slide your hand down his muscular arm, wrapping your fingers gently around his bicep. You look up at him with that smile that makes him completely forget how to think. “Lead the way, my hero.”

He nods quickly, blushing like crazy, and you stuff the big wooden spoon in the back pocket of your jeans. God, you’re such a dork and he loves you for it.

“It’s about a twenty minute walk,” he says, leading the way but sort of dragging his feet. “Or like… five if you want me to carry you again.”

“Yuji,” you say with a giggle. “Are you looking for an excuse to pick me up again?”

“Huh? No! You—you just went through a traumatic experience and I—”

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh, leaning into his arm. “If it’s that much faster then let’s do it.”

“Okay, yeah—if you’re sure,” he says, a grin lighting up his face before he can even think to stop it. He scoops you up in his arms again and hugs you against his broad chest. “Hold on tight, okay?”

You wrap your arms around him and he goes into a full sprint. It doesn’t seem to be exhausting for him at all. In his mind, he’s not even focused on the workout. He’s just so completely consumed with the thought of you.

God, this is literally a dream come true. She’s actually staying the night with me.

He hops over a puddle.

Wait. Is my apartment clean…? Did I leave a pile of dishes in the sink? Is there still that cup of instant ramen from two days ago? Oh god, is it growing mold?

He swiftly turns a corner, shoes skidding on the sidewalk, progressively getting more nervous.

Did I leave anything embarrassing out? Are my underwear on the floor? Oh FUCK, what if she sees the Yoruichi body pillow Nobara got me as a joke? Nononono…

“You good?” you ask, noticing the panic on his face.

“Great!” he says quickly, his voice coming out slightly strangled. “It’s just my concentration face. Making sure I don’t drop you.”

“Hm… okay,” you say skeptically, but you hold onto him tighter.

Can I somehow distract her while I shove everything in the closet?

When his apartment building comes into view, he slowly looks up, stomach sinking. “So…” his voice cracks slightly, “My place is kind of… I wasn’t expecting company.”

“My place is filled with spiders so my standards are on the floor,” you say with a laugh.

Good, because that’s where most of my stuff is too. On the damn floor.

He groans. “Right. Yeah, okay. Don’t judge me too hard?”

“Never,” you say, playfully scratching your fingers through his pink hair.

Even though your hand in his hair makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine, the walk up the stairs feels like he’s walking to his execution. He sets you down at his door and hesitantly unlocks it.

Please don’t let it be bad. Don’t let it be bad. God, why can’t I remember if it’s bad or not?

The tower of dishes in the sink is the first thing you notice when he opens the door. There are clothes on the floor and some clutter and trash, but it’s not like it’s an absolute dump. And at least the body pillow is mercifully hidden in his closet.

“It’s… cozy,” you say, stepping inside.

“You don’t have to do that.” He closes the door behind him, looking defeated. “I know it’s a mess. I swear it’s not usually this bad.”

He quickly starts gathering the clothes off the floor. “I was gonna do the dishes tonight,” he says, very embarrassed. “I’ve actually been a lot more responsible since I got my own place. It’s just—my focus has been on other things the last few days.”

“Like on styling your hair?” you ask teasingly.

“Uh—that’s not like the only thing but… yeah, I guess I have been spending more time on my hair than on housework.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

Because you called it pretty, rewired my brain, and now I’m basically Pavlov’s dog waiting for another compliment.

“Just… wanted to try something new,” he mumbles, tossing the pile of clothes he gathered into a laundry basket.

“Well, I love it,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Are you blushing? “You just look… like I said. It’s stunning.” You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “Not to make it seem like I’m hitting on you or anything,” you laugh nervously.

He’s looking up at you, still crouched over the laundry basket, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. But then he puts on a slight grin and drags a hand through his hair, sweeping it back a little more. “I mean… that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Your stomach does a full flip. How does he shift so quickly from awkward to so fucking HOT? “Oh…” You laugh nervously again. “Good to know.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly having no clue what to do with yourself. You point up at a sock on his ceiling fan. “That’s creative.”

He looks up and his smooth charm falls apart. “Oh god, that’s embarrassing,” he says with a humiliated groan. His hoodie rides up when he reaches for it, enough for you to see the trail of pink hair riding up his toned abdomen, which only makes you melt for him so much more. He yeets the sock into the laundry basket like it’s his mortal enemy.

“Okay, moving on from the disaster. Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can order pizza or something.”

“Pizza sounds good,” you say, cheeks still burning hot.

He’s so grateful for the subject change. He starts scrolling through his phone to find his usual pizza place. “You like pepperoni?” he asks.

“Yeah, pepperoni’s perfect.”

“Cool.” He starts putting in the order. “I’m gonna get two so we can have some for breakfast.”

You sit down on his couch and feel something dig in your hip. “Oh,” you say, tugging it out from under you and holding it up with an embarrassed laugh. “I forgot about my pocket spoon.”

“Pocket spoon,” he chuckles, looking up from his phone. “Every hero needs a signature weapon.”

“You were the hero. I was just the damsel with the wooden spoon.”

“Well you got the one on my shoulder so we’re both heroes,” he says with a smile as he finishes putting in the order. “Pizza will be here in like forty-five minutes. Wanna watch something while we wait? I don’t have a TV in the living room yet, but uh—” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve got one in my room if you want to watch there.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh, yeah. That’s fine.”

He leads you to his room. The bed is unmade and he immediately scrambles to straighten out the blankets. You look to the wall and there’s a large TV mounted with a gaming console hooked up underneath.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, patting the bed. Then he reaches down and blows your mind when he pulls his hoodie off. He’s wearing a fitted black shirt, and it would be impossible not to see the perfect definition of his muscles underneath. You already knew he was fit, and you’ve always found him attractive, but god, he’s had a serious glow up.

He flops down on the bed, remote in hand, completely oblivious to what he’s just done to your heart. “What’re you in the mood for?” he asks.

Uh, you.

You’re just standing there, staring at him like a total weirdo.

He doesn’t even notice. He scrolls through the options. “Action? Horror? Comedy? I’ve got everything.”

“Action’s good,” you say breathily. You get next to him on the bed and lay back on the pillow.

The movie barely starts before there’s a knock at the door. “Huh? That was fast,” Yuji says, checking his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks out the door and you take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. You’re suddenly so turned on, ever since he pulled his hoodie off. Is that really all it takes?

He comes back in the room with two pizza boxes, and they smell incredible, that perfect, warm, cheesy scent. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loud.

“Someone’s hungry,” he teases, setting the pizza boxes down on the bed.

“The spider trauma burnt a lot of calories, I guess,” you say with a little laugh.

“Poor thing. All that spider fighting,” he says, sitting on the bed and opening one of the boxes. He pulls out a slice and holds it towards you with a grin. “Want me to feed you?”

“Sure,” you say with a sultry smile, leaning forward and opening your mouth.

“I—wait, really?” He was clearly not expecting you to say yes. “I was just teasing, but I will if you want me to.”

“Ehh, well it depends actually,” you say, eyeing the slice. “Are you going to make airplane noises?”

“Do you want me to make airplane noises?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no airplane noises.” He waves the slice a little. “Come on, let me live out my hero fantasy.”

“Your hero fantasy involves feeding me pizza?” you ask, taking a bite.

“My hero fantasy involves a lot of things, actually,” he says thoughtfully, holding the slice of pizza to your lips. “Like…” 

His hazy eyes meet yours, then his cheeks heat up and he seems to snap back to reality. “Actually, this is kinda weird, isn’t it? Do you just want to hold it yourself?”

“Backing out of your fantasy already?” you tease, but you take the pizza from his hand.

“I mean, it seemed a bit good in my head,” he says with a nervous smile, grabbing his own slice. “But then I was like ‘what am I doing?’” He takes a bite, shaking his head at himself. The movie is still playing but neither of you really care at this point.

“I thought it was cute,” you say, taking another bite.

He stops chewing and looks at you with wide eyes. “Cute?”

“Yeah, in kind of a dorky way. Not to say I’m not dorky too.”

“You think I’m dorky?”

“More cute than dorky,” you say, smiling at him over your pizza.

“...So you think I’m cute?” There’s a little blushing smirk on his face as he sets his pizza down on a paper plate.

“Of course I think you’re cute,” you say, acting like it’s not big news at all. “I’ve always thought so.”

“What else?” he asks, leaning forward a little.

“What else what?”

“What else do you think about me?” he asks, and there’s something so intense and electric in his eyes now. “Besides cute.”

“You’re suddenly so forward,” you say with a breathy laugh, cheeks flushing hot. “What happened to the guy who was just panicking over feeding me pizza?”

“Hey, I didn’t panic,” he says, darting his eyes away for only half a second before bringing them right back to yours. “I’m just curious.”

You set your pizza down slowly, buying time. “I don’t know if I should say…”

“Please.” He scoots closer on his knees. “Nothing you say could possibly make things weird. We’re way past weird already. And I love it, by the way.”

You let out a heavy sigh. You’re really not sure how honest you should be. “I think you’re the sweetest person I know… and… I think you’re really attractive. Like, gorgeous actually. And…” You look away and shake your head, your face embarrassingly red. “God, this is embarrassing.”

He doesn’t even let you spiral. He brings both hands to your cheeks and pulls you in desperately, kissing you hard and messy. It surprises you so much you gasp into his mouth, and it only urges him on. He uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between your lips, tangling it with yours.

He brings his hands down to your waist as he breaks from your lips to kiss along your jawline. “You have no idea how much I think about you,” he says breathily. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, heaving on your scent. “You’re the most beautiful girl I ever met and I can’t believe you’re staying the night with me,” he groans, fingers digging desperately into your waist. “You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.”

This is all happening so fast it’s making your head spin. Your hands, while having been clutching his shirt during that hungry kiss, trail down to his abdomen.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, voice rough and hot against your neck. “I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking…” Your fingers slide down to the waistband of his jeans. You’re so mesmerized by his body, so completely enamored with the heat of lips on your skin that you can barely think of anything else. “Is it too soon for…”

He stops kissing, then pulls back to look at you with wide eyes. It could never be too soon. He wants it so fucking badly, you have no idea. So badly he can’t even let himself believe that’s what you’re asking for.

“Too soon for…” he repeats hoarsely. “You want to… are you asking if we can—” he can’t seem to finish either. “Sex?” he forces himself to blurt out, chest heaving with excitement. “You mean sex?”

You nod and look up at him through your lashes, trying not to seem like you’re unbelievably nervous for his response. It’s not too hard, since your desire for him is severely overriding your nerves.

But he just stares at you in shock, mouth fallen open, and suddenly you think you’ve fucked everything up. “I mean, if you don’t want to it’s okay—”

“Oh god—no, come here.” His hands eagerly slide up under your shirt and you gasp. “I’ve been losing my mind wanting you. But—” His hands pause when they cup your bra. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say breathily, slipping your hands under his shirt in return and sliding them up his washboard abs.

He knows he should take his time, but his fingers are already tugging the hem of your shirt over your head, and his pupils dilate when he takes in the sight. He can’t fathom how the hell he thought you calling him stunning or gorgeous was the peak. 

And as much as he desperately chased it, he can’t fathom how someone as beautiful as you could look at him with even a fraction of the awe he feels right now. You’re a goddess.  And he hasn’t even seen all of you yet. Not even close.

Pretty - Yuji Itadori x Fem Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writing this one gave me butterflies 🦋🤭

There will be a spicy part 2 as well~

artist credit: syllysmot

Update: Part 2 here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuji tilts his head in the mirror, running his fingers through the pink strands. His hair is swept back now, not left to the messy, go-with-gravity thing he had going on before. 

Some longer pieces fall across his forehead, and he pushes them to the side so they’re just grazing the edge of his eyebrows. The rosy-pink is illuminated, almost shimmering from the sunlight streaming through the window.

Pretty.

So pretty, Yuji.

That’s what you said to him, and he’ll never forget it.

Of course, you were talking about the cherry blossoms. At least that’s what you said you were talking about, the color of them, but you were looking at him. Comparing his hair to the falling sakura petals.

He’s replayed that moment about a thousand times since then. He’ll hum with a smile, eyes half-lidded when he’s elbow deep in dishwater, or folding laundry, or doing any of the mundane crap he normally hates doing. Just lost in it. Lost in the memory of you calling him pretty. Because you did. That’s what you meant. He’d stake his life on it.

It’s ridiculous how often pink things make him automatically think of you now. Pink sunsets. Strawberry milk. That salmon-colored building he passes on his morning runs. Everything loops back to that afternoon, your fingers almost reaching out to touch his hair before you pulled back with a blush dusting across your cheeks.

Most of the time, he used to just roll out of his bed and go. Let his hair do whatever it wanted. And if you thought it was pretty before, when he wasn’t even trying… well. He wants to blow you away.

He’s tested a few different styles. Let it grow out a little bit. This one feels right. Still him, just makes him look a little older. It’s a kind of style that says he’s grown up, been through things, and hasn’t stopped caring about taking care of himself.

Would you notice? Would it make you look twice?

Would you call it pretty again?

Or maybe you’d call it sexy—

“I’M WALKING ON SUNSHINE, WOAAHHH!”

Yuji’s soul almost jumps from his body when he hears his phone explode with your ringtone.

Your contact photo flashes across the screen and his heart does that little skip-pap thing it always does when he sees your face. He grabs it, taps the green button and brings the phone to his ear with a nervous, lovestruck smile. “Hey—”

“YUJI! YUJI HELP! OH GOD—NO NO NO—”

His smile falls immediately. He hears you let out a panicked scream that makes every hair on his body stand on end.

He presses his phone hard against his ear. “Y/N?? WHERE ARE YOU?? WHAT’S GOING ON??”

His mind is racing with all the possible dangers you could be in. Curse attack? Curse user? Mugged? Kidnapped? He’s already shoving his feet into his shoes before he even consciously decided to.

“YUJI THERE’S LIKE A HUNDRED SPIDERS!”

He freezes halfway out the door. “SPIDER… CURSES? A SPIDERCURSE??”

“NO! REAL SPIDERS! REAL ONES!”

“…Huh?” He scratches the nape of his neck, dumbfounded. This is all just about some spiders?

He hears a thump and a crash on the other end of the line. Your breath is heaving fast and panicked.

“They’re everywhere, oh my god, I don’t—I don’t know where they all came from, they just—” Your voice pitches up again. “YUJI PLEASE KILL THEM! PLEASE COME KILL THEM ALL!”

“Uh—o-okay! Okay, I’m coming right now,” he says quickly, as he starts running. “I’ll be there in five minutes, just—”

“FIVE MINUTES?!”

“Three!” he huffs, pushing himself to his absolute limit to run as fast as he possibly can. “I’ll be there in three minutes!”

He makes it in two and a half, taking the stairs up to your apartment three steps at a time. Your door is unlocked and he bursts through, leading with a breathless, “I’m here, I’m—holy shit.”

You’re crouched on the back of your couch like some kind of feral cat, feet planted on the highest point, knees bent, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. Your hair is a mess, your eyes are teary, and you’re absolutely surrounded.

You weren’t exaggerating. There are easily a hundred spiders. Probably more. They cover your floor in a writhing carpet of brown, spindly bodies, crawling up your walls and furniture. It’s a whole goddamn spider convention. A spider rave.

“YUJIII!” You spot him and nearly fall off your couch in relief, but you gasp and catch yourself to stay up high. “PLEASE KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!

He jumps into action, stomping on the clusters of spiders. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. You both wince with disgust as he does this demented dance across your living room floor, crushing spiders with each step.

But they just keep coming. For every five he kills, ten more seem to scuttle out from under your furniture. “Where the hell are they all coming from?!” he yells.

“I don’t know!” You swat at one that’s making a run up your couch, sending it flying. “I woke up from a nap and they were just—EVERYWHERE!”

He stomps his way towards the kitchen, crushing as many as he can, but stops when he realizes it’s futile. They’re emerging from the baseboards, from under the fridge, from inside your cabinets. This isn’t just an average infestation.

“Okay, uh.” He kicks a few off his pant legs. “I don’t think I can kill all of these.”

“WHAT?!”

“You need like… an exterminator. Or a priest.” He stomps twice more with emphasis.

You make a sound of pure despair, slumping on your couch perch. A spider drops from the ceiling and lands on your shoulder. You flail and shriek, smacking your shoulder again and again with the wooden spoon. You’re so petrified you actually fall off the couch.

Yuji runs up and catches you in his arms before you hit the spider-covered floor, swinging you up close to his chest. You immediately lock your arms around his neck, spoon still clutched in hand, and you bury your face against his hoodie.

“I can’t stay here,” you say, voice muffled against him. “I can’t sleep here. Yuji, what if they crawl on me in my sleep? What if they crawl inside my mouth?” You audibly gag.

“Jesus, don’t—” He shudders and has to fight back a grimace. “Yeah, no, we’re going. Let’s go. You can stay at my place until they’re gone.”

You pull back slightly and look up at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

His face goes full blush. God, you’re cute.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not leaving you here in spider central,” he says, kicking a few more spiders off his shoes as he heads for the door. “We’ll call an exterminator and let them do their thing, and you can crash with me.”

“Oh my god, thank you.” You wrap your arms tighter around him in relief and gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank—” SMACK. “Eugh, sorry, there was one on your shoulder.”

He just shrugs with a smile, not breaking a stride. “It’s cool. Thanks for the backup.”

He carries you straight out of your apartment, not stopping until you’re both on the sidewalk. You’re still clinging to him like a koala with your face leaned against his chest. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t driving him insane in the best possible way. And he’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little grateful for the spider invasion.

“Your hair’s different,” you say suddenly, and his heart stops. “It’s…” He gazes down at you with those hazel eyes, pupils dilated, holding his breath for what you might say. Your fingers brush down one of the loose pink strands on his face. “Stunning.”

Time stops. Restarts. He’s different now than he was three seconds ago. And just like that, another unforgettable memory burns into his brain.

He’ll be chasing this feeling forever.

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A compilation of all my writing on this blog. This post will be updated whenever I post more.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Drunk on You - Roommate!sukuna loses his mind when you tell him you're going on a date.

Tongue-Tied (part 1) - You get paired up with frat!sukuna, the biggest asshole in uni, for a class project. A study session at his frat house is bad enough, until a thunderstorm traps you there overnight. (part 2 here)

Puppyboy!Sukuna - Sukuna’s in a rut and it’s making him on edge, and of course his infatuation with you doesn’t help at all. But he would like it noted… he does NOT chase.

CHOSO

Offbeat (part 1) - You've fallen hard for drummer!choso, your quiet roommate who you've grown close to. But he's fallen harder. Way harder. (part 2 here) (part 3 here)

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

A totally gone for you Megumi Fushiguro (part 1) - Your boyfriend's had a long day and needs to let off some steam. (part 2 here)

YUJI ITADORI