#111dumps

just Toji being a big meanie

☆☆☆

Your thighs quivered beneath his iron grip, the stretch bordering on too much as you clawed at his shoulders, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Toji drawled, his smirk downright wicked as he shifted his hips just a fraction deeper, making you gasp. "I know you can take it. This little pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"

"T-Toji—!" you half-sobbed, your hands sliding up to fist in his hair, desperate for anything to anchor you. He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his broad chest.

"What's wrong, baby? Feelin' full?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he deliberately rolled his hips again, sending a wave of heat crashing over your body. "Thought you said you could handle me. Now you're acting all shy?"

His teasing was relentless, but his touch— god, his touch— was just as merciless, one hand sliding to your waist to keep you pinned as he slowly pulled back, letting you feel every inch of him before slamming back in, leaving you breathless.

"You're lucky I like the way you beg," he murmured, his voice gravelly but laced with a dangerous affection. "Otherwise, I'd keep you like this all night— stretched out, squirming, beggin' me to let you cum."

Toji stared at the counter. The ingredients you demanded sat before him like a challenge issued by the gods: instant ramen, whipped cream, peanut butter, and pickles. A lineup so vile it could send even the most daring chef into an existential crisis.

"Are you serious about this, or am I just getting pranked?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

You sat on the couch, legs crossed, a pillow pressed against your baby bump as you gave him the most innocent look in return. "Dead serious."

"You want ramen topped with this… stuff? And you're gonna eat it."

"Yup."

Toji groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. Of course, you had to pick this moment in your pregnancy to throw curveballs at him. The man was many things—an ex-hitman, a gambler, a loving yet blunt husband—but a gourmet chef? Not so much.

Still, he got to work. He boiled water, ripped open the ramen packet, and eyed the whipped cream like it might explode if he got too close. The sound of the kettle whistling filled the silence, but your voice broke through soon after.

“Don’t forget to add peanut butter! Like a lottt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, spooning a glob of it into the pot and stirring like his life depended on it. The smell was… not great. Toji’s nose wrinkled in pure, unfiltered disgust. “You sure this ain’t gonna poison the kid?”

“It’s what the kid wants, Toji. I’m just the messenger,” you quipped.

When it was finally done—complete with pickles carefully arranged on top—Toji approached you with the steaming bowl in hand. He hesitated, watching your excited expression as you reached for it.

“I can’t believe you’re actually gonna eat this. You’re insane,” he muttered, plopping down beside you on the couch.

“Hey, you married me,” you shot back, grabbing the bowl and digging in with absolutely no hesitation.

Toji watched, equal parts fascinated and horrified, as you slurped up the ramen, the whipped cream melting into the broth in a way that should’ve been illegal. He leaned back, arms crossed, still trying to wrap his head around the scene.

“This is actually amazing,” you said between bites, offering him the spoon. “Wanna try?”

He recoiled immediately, glaring at you like you’d suggested he jump off a cliff. “Not in a million years, woman.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t knock it ‘til you try it!”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take your word for it.”

Despite his grumbling, he stayed by your side, handing you napkins, fetching water when you needed it, and even cleaning up after you finished. Disgusted or not, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let you handle it yourself.

Later that night, as you snuggled into him in bed, you mumbled, “Thanks for putting up with me. And the weird cravings.”

Toji pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting protectively on your belly. “Tch. Don’t mention it. Just don’t ask me to eat that crap.”

Warning: lots of cursing, a little too sweet, maybe.

☆☆☆

Pregnant Wife x Sukuna (Modern AU)

Sukuna had fought wars, broken bones, and stared down death more times than he could count. None of that, none of it, compared to the absolute chaos of living with his pregnant wife.

It started at 2:37 a.m. on a Tuesday.

You nudged him awake, eyes glassy and desperate.

“Sukuna. I want—” you paused dramatically, as if it was life or death, “—spicy ramen. With ice cream. Vanilla.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Spicy ramen and ice cream? What the fuck kind of combination is that?”

“Your child wants it,” you snapped, arms crossed over your very round belly. “And you love me. So you’re gonna get it.”

He muttered something vulgar under his breath, but fifteen minutes later, the King of Curses was standing in the fluorescent glow of a 24-hour convenience store, shoving ramen and ice cream into a basket while glaring at the cashier like don’t even ask.

---

The cravings only got worse. Pickles dipped in peanut butter. A sandwich stacked with sardines and Nutella. One time you cried because he brought you strawberry yogurt instead of blueberry.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he growled, staring at the unopened cup of strawberry yogurt on the counter.

Tears welled up instantly. “You don’t even care about me or the baby! Strawberry is disgusting, Sukuna! Disgusting!”

For a moment, his eyebrow twitched like he might actually lose it. But then, with a heavy sigh, he stalked out the door, muttering, “Blueberry, or I won’t hear the end of this shit.”

---

Mood swings? Oh, you had plenty.

One morning you clung to his neck, sobbing into his chest. “You’re the best husband ever, I don’t deserve you, I love you so much.”

By noon, you were throwing a pillow at his head. “You don’t do anything around here! I can’t even bend down to tie my shoes and you just sit there!”

He caught the pillow mid-air, glaring. “Tie your shoes? Woman, I literally carried you up three flights of stairs yesterday because you said the elevator felt ‘judgy.’”

You sniffled, looking at him like he just committed a war crime. “...You’re still an ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit your hormonal ass down. I’ll tie your damn shoes.”

---

But here was the thing: no matter how insane the cravings, how sharp the mood swings, how heavy the nights got with your back aching and your belly sticking out—Sukuna never faltered.

When you complained about your weight, whispering, “What if I’m too heavy for you now?” he just scoffed, picked you up effortlessly, and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“You’re carrying my kid,” he said gruffly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze, “you think I give a damn about numbers on a scale? You’ll never be too heavy for me. I’ll carry you until I fucking die.”

And he meant it. He carried you to bed, carried you down the stairs when you waddled too slow, carried your shopping bags, carried all of it.

---

The night before your due date, you were curled against him, your belly pressing into his side. You looked up at him with teary eyes.

“Are you scared?” you asked softly.

He looked down at you, one big hand stroking the swell of your stomach.

“Of being a dad? No.” His voice was low, steady. “Of losing you? Yeah.”

You blinked, surprised at his honesty. He almost never admitted weakness.

He kissed your forehead roughly, almost angrily, like he didn’t want to give away more than that.

“But you’re strong. Stronger than me. You’ll make it through. And when this kid comes out, I’ll love them just as much as I love you. Even if they want fucking pickles on their pancakes.”

You laughed wetly against his chest, and for once, your cravings and moods didn’t feel so overwhelming. Because Sukuna—your crude, terrifying, stubborn husband—was always there.

☆When he’s tutoring you, he’s trying to focus on the lesson, but all he can see is the way your lips part when you’re thinking, the way your fingers twirl your pen. His glasses keep sliding down because he’s sweating—why is it so hot in here?

☆The moment you step out for a bathroom break, it’s like a crime scene. He’s touching the bedsheets, picking up your hoodie, rubbing the fabric between his fingers like he’s studying its molecular structure.

☆If there’s a hair tie left behind? Pocketed. A pen you chewed on? Pocketed. Your perfume lingers in the air? He’s inhaling like it’s life support.

☆Worst-case scenario? He spots your underwear folded neatly in your laundry basket and just stares. It’s a moral dilemma. A test of willpower. If he touches it, he’s never coming back from this.(He touches it.)

☆When you come back, he’s red-faced, acting way too normal, legs crossed suspiciously. "A-ah, you—you were gone for a while! I—I was just reviewing our notes!" (He has not retained a single word.)

☆He thinks he’d be in control, that his intelligence means he’d have the upper hand. Wrong.

☆He tries to be composed, but the second you straddle him, he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it.

☆The first time you get even a little close, whisper something teasing in his ear? His breath hitches so hard his glasses slip down.

☆Whimpers. Like, actual gasping, high-pitched whimpers. If you so much as grind a little, he’s gone, head tilting back, eyes rolling.

☆Mumbles incoherently. Between hitched breaths, he’s whispering nonsense— “I-I can’t—this is—I shouldn’t—y-you’re too—” before cutting off with a desperate moan.

☆Absolutely clings to you, hands grasping at your thighs, your waist, your back. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

☆If you tease him? Call him cute in that sultry tone? He whines.

☆Would beg. The moment you slow down, teasing him about how needy he is, he’s nodding frantically, pupils blown wide, glasses askew. "P-please—please, I—I need—"

You were so wrong.

The second his pants hit the floor, your jaw did the same.

“What the fuck is that?” you blurted out, pointing like he had just revealed a biological weapon.

Toji, the absolute menace, just smirked, running a lazy hand down his stomach and happy trail. “A blessing,” he said smugly.

“A what? That thing is a liability. No way you’re walking around with that like it’s normal,” you gawked, half-expecting his cock to start levitating or glowing.

Toji just laughed, his chest rumbling as he stepped closer, towering over you like he was enjoying your reaction way too much. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. You can handle it.”

“Handle it? Toji, I’d need a whole battle strategy. I’d need backup. I’d need a doctor on standby.” You squinted at him. “Do you have a license for that?”

He leaned down, voice dropping into something downright wicked. “Wanna find out?”

You inhaled sharply, brain short-circuiting between fear and thrill. His fingers traced along your jaw, his stupid, cocky smirk never leaving his face. You could feel the heat rolling off him, intense, suffocating, dangerous. You can feel that pussy destroyer poking you.

“…For legal reasons, this is a bad idea,” you muttered, pressing a hand against his chest.

He chuckled, pressing closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Then it’s a good thing we’re both a little lawless, huh?”

☆Nanami's composed demeanor cracks slightly when he's around someone he deeply trusts and desires. You'd catch fleeting moments where his eyes linger a bit too long or his fingers brush against yours with purpose.

☆He has a habit of rolling up his sleeves when he's focused, knowing it distracts you. You'll notice a subtle smirk if you get caught staring too long.

☆Despite his workaholic tendencies, Nanami ensures to dedicate time to you-whether it's preparing a candlelit dinner or softly pinning you against the counter afterward, murmuring how much he's missed your presence.

☆Nanami is slow and intentional with his touch. He thrives on the build-up, watching every shiver and gasp you make as he lets his hands explore like he's memorizing a map.

☆He's a big enthusiast when it comes to giving. There's nothing that satisfies him more than watching you melt under his attention, fully giving in to him.

☆Nanami's voice drops an octave when he's feeling particularly frisky. The way he whispers your name or lets out a deep sigh right by your ear could send chills down your spine.

☆Nanami is calculated yet passionate. He ensures that every thrust, every press of his body, and every rough yet passionate kiss is deliberate- aimed to leave you trembling and satisfied.

☆He has a surprisingly possessive side. Hearing you moan his name or cling to him as he moves sends him over the edge, making him hold you tighter and move with more urgency.

MDNI !!

☆☆☆

You barely had time to register Nanami's tie hitting the floor before he was on you, his hands rough as they gripped your waist and pinned you to the wall. "You have no idea what you just started," he muttered, his voice low and dark, the heat in his gaze practically burning through you.

"You like it?" you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the way your breath hitched as his knee nudged your thighs apart.

"Like it?" he growled, one hand sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly before pulling you flush against the growing bulge in his pants. "You're fucking dangerous, walking around like this. Do you want me to lose control?"

Before you could respond, he was already slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your panties, his fingers brushing against your already slick heat. "Gods," he groaned, his forehead pressing to yours. "Already so wet. You really were planning on being a good little whore for me tonight, weren't you?"

Your gasp turned into a choked moan as he slid a finger inside, his pace relentless from the start. "Look at you," he murmured, his lips trailing along your jaw. "Dripping all over my hand and I've barely touched you. Such a needy little thing."

"Nanami, p-please-"

"Please what?" he cut in, withdrawing his hand and bringing it up to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. "Speak properly, sweetheart. Use your words."

Your cheeks burned, but the ache between your legs was unbearable. "I want your cock," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Louder," he demanded, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you toward the bed. "If you want to be fucked, you'd better ask for it like you mean it."

"I want your cock," you repeated, louder this time, your desperation making you bolder. "Please, Nanami, I need it..."

He smirked, unbuttoning his shirt with agonizing slowness before discarding it. "Good girl," he murmured, climbing onto the bed and pulling you beneath him. "Now lie there and take it like the perfect little wife you are."

The stretch was immediate, his thick length making you gasp and claw at his shoulders. "Too big," you whimpered, though your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Too big, but you're still taking it, aren't you?" he murmured, his hps snapping forward, driving himself deeper. "Because you were made for me. This tight little pussy belongs to me."

Each thrust was rough, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, but his words remained gentle, worshipful. "So good," he breathed, leaning down to kiss the tears from your cheeks. "So fucking good for me. I'll never get enough of you."

☆☆☆

"Satoru, wake up."

The voice was soft, yet insistent. Satoru groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around him as if he could escape the world’s most persistent problem—being awake. The lights flickered, and then, a sudden, dark silence blanketed the room. The power was out.

You were already half-awake, fumbling around in the pitch-black room for your phone, but it wasn’t helping. The glow of the screen was faint at best, and without any light, you might as well be blindfolded.

“Gojo Satoru,” you muttered again, a bit more forcefully this time. “Get up.”

There was a grunt from the bed, followed by a long, dramatic stretch. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” he groaned, his voice muffled from under the pillow.

You sighed and stood up, feeling your way across the room toward the bed. Your hands brushed over his bedside table, knocking over a few things in your search for—yes—his face.

With an exasperated sigh, you nudged his side. "I need you to wake up. I can’t see anything in here."

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, glowing faintly in the dark. “Really? You need me to help you with this?” His tone was cocky, like he knew exactly how ridiculous the situation was.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, I need you to be the light. You’re basically a walking flashlight.”

Satoru blinked, his eyes lighting up brighter, and then he grinned, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all. “I knew you’d come around~ I am the strongest, after all.”

You reached out, tapping the side of his face to make sure he was fully awake. “Alright, can you just move and shine for me so I don’t trip over something?”

Satoru laughed, sitting up dramatically and lifting his head like he was doing some grand reveal. His eyes glowed with an eerie, yet oddly comforting, light. “There you go. Your very own living flashlight. Try not to get too distracted by my beautiful eyes.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but chuckle as you made your way around, finally being able to see without having to grope through the dark.

Satoru leaned back against the pillows, arms behind his head, still glowing in the darkness. “You’re welcome,” he said smugly, the usual gleam in his eye never fading.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, but secretly, you were kind of glad he’d woken up.