okay since uni brain fry is real and i’m literally forcing myself to stay up rn, i’ll just write a satosugu smut one shot 😛 cuz im happy ive gained a few viewers and it feels good lolz
18+ minors… dni 🤬
top!satoru x bottom!suguru.
The late afternoon sun slanted across the courts, painting the cracked concrete in warm orange shadow. The air was thick with summer heat, the kind that clung to skin and made shirts stick damp against spines. The last echoes of sneakers squeaking against the court had only just faded, the sound replaced by cicadas and the lazy flap of a half-torn banner advertising Jujutsu High’s intramural matches.
Gojo Satoru was still buzzing.
“Did you see that three-pointer?!” he barked, half laughing, arms spread wide as if the world should bow before his glory. His shirt was plastered to him with sweat, his white hair messy and damp at the temples, and his blindfold hung loose around his neck. His eyes gleamed like twin shards of summer sky as he turned to where Geto Suguru was toweling the sweat off his face.
“Unstoppable,” Satoru declared, grinning wide enough to split his face. “Un- stop- pable. They’ll be writing songs about that shot.”
Suguru sighed, though his lips twitched faintly. “It was luck.”
“Luck?” Satoru clutched his chest in mock offense, stumbling back a step as if wounded. “How dare you? That was pure skill. Years of honed talent. The peak of human evolution.”
“The peak of something,” Suguru muttered, slinging the towel around his shoulders. His long hair was tied up, strands sticking to his jawline from the heat. He looked calm, composed as if he hadn’t just played through a grueling match with Satoru shouting plays louder than the referee.
Satoru, of course, noticed the little smirk tugging at the corner of Suguru’s mouth. And he pounced on it.
“Ohhh, so you were impressed,” he drawled, stepping closer, sweat-slicked and glowing with adrenaline. “It’s okay to admit it, Suguru. Most people are when they witness greatness in motion.”
“I said luck.”
“But your smile said otherwise.”
Suguru arched a brow, unimpressed. “You’re hallucinating.”
“Mm, nope.” Satoru leaned in, shamelessly invading Suguru’s space, his grin sharp. “Your smile was basically screaming, ‘Wow, Satoru, you’re amazing, please, let me bask in your brilliance.’”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
Suguru rolled his eyes and started walking towards the locker room. “You’re insufferable.”
“Sexy, though,” Satoru quipped, trailing after him.
“Insufferably sexy,” he added for himself, because Suguru didn’t dignify it with a reply.
The locker room was empty, their teammates already gone, the showers still dripping faintly in the background. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, humming in the silence. Suguru, his shirt half unbuttoned leaned against a bench, unlacing his shoes slowly, methodically, while Satoru prowled restlessly like a caged animal still riding the high of victory.
“You know, it’s kinda unfair,” Satoru mused, peeling his damp shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside without care. His torso gleamed with sweat, skin flushed from exertion. “Not only am I the strongest sorcerer, I’m also the hottest guy on the court. Double threat.”
Suguru’s hands stilled on his laces. “You never shut up, do you?”
Satoru grinned, stepping closer, shadows stretching long across the tile. “Not when you’re listening.”
Suguru finally looked up at him, eyes dark, expression flat. “Who said I was?”
“Oh, come on, you always are.” Satoru leaned down, bracing one hand against the lockers beside Suguru’s head, the other gesturing loosely as he talked. “You pretend you’re not, with all your eye-rolls and sighs, but I know. You’re hanging on every word.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Suguru’s voice was sharp this time, his patience thinning.
Satoru only smirked wider, dipping his head closer until Suguru could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the salt of sweat clinging to his skin. “Admit it. You like it when I get under your skin.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air buzzed heavier than the lights, thick with something unsaid. Suguru’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists against his knees.
And then–
He shoved.
The bench scraped loudly against the tiles as Suguru surged up, pinning Satoru back against the lockers with sudden, startling force. Their chests collided, breath mingling hot between them. Satoru blinked once, then grinned like a wolf who’d finally gotten the fight he wanted.
“There he is,” he murmured, voice low. “Knew you’d crack.”
“Shut up,” Suguru snapped.
Satoru leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Make me.”
Suguru opened his mouth to retort, but he never got the words out. Satoru leaned in, closing the distance in a breath. Their lips crashed together, hot and reckless.
The taste of salt and heat filled the space between them– sharp, intoxicating. Suguru’s hand fisted in Satoru’s damp hair, pulling him closer, while Satoru groaned low in his throat, pressing Suguru back now against the lockers with his entire body. The metal rattled under the force.
Their mouths moved in a feverish rhythm, lips parting, teeth grazing, tongues sliding together in messy hunger. Suguru bit down on Satoru’s lower lip, and Satoru laughed into the kiss, breathless, chasing more.
The heat was unbearable. Satoru’s palms found Suguru’s waist, slipping under fabric, dragging over overheated skin, pulling him in so close it felt like there was no space left to breathe.
Suguru’s breath hitched, his other hand splayed against Satoru’s bare chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath damp skin. The closeness, the raw press of muscle against muscle, made his head spin.
The heat between them spiked, sharper than the game, more intoxicating than victory.
Suguru bit down, and Satoru groaned into it, laughing breathless against his mouth. “God, you’re hot when you’re mad.”
Suguru answered by pushing harder, his own restraint fraying. Their bodies collided again and again, grinding against each other until there was no space left to breathe.
The whole thing was messy, desperate. Satoru ripped Suguru’s shirt off completely exposing the taut planes of Suguru’s chest. The sight stole Satoru’s breath. Suguru’s skin, bronzed and glistening with sweat made his cock throb.
He leaned in, lips brushing Suguru’s collarbone before descending, claiming one nipple with a hungry pull of his mouth. The taste of salt and heat sent a shiver through him, raw and electric. His left hand found the other, fingertips teasing, rolling, coaxing a low groan from Suguru’s throat. A sound that felt like victory and ruin all at once. Satoru’s right hand splayed across Suguru’s abs, fingers dipping into the carved ridges, reverent yet greedy, like he could memorize the feel of him, imprint it into his soul.
Suguru’s head tipped back, his breath hitching, long black hair spilling over his shoulders like ink. “Satoru,” he rasped, voice rough, almost pleading when Satoru switched to the other nipple. Satoru pressed closer, thigh slotting between Suguru’s, the heat of their bodies a collision of want and recklessness.
Satoru’s lips trailed lower, leaving Suguru’s nipples flushed and sensitive, his kisses bruising, impatient. He sank to his knees, the tiled floor biting into his skin, but he barely registered it. His hands gripped Suguru’s hips, fingers digging into the sharp cut of muscle, pulling at the waistband of Suguru’s sweatpants with a single, rough tug. They slid down, pooling at Suguru’s ankles, and Satoru’s breath caught at the sight of him. Hard, ready, every inch of him screaming want.
“Satoru, hurry,” Suguru growled, voice low, urgent, his hand fisting in Satoru’s white hair, tugging just enough to sting. The sound of footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the lockers, a reminder they could be caught any second, but it only fueled Satoru’s hunger. He didn’t hesitate, taking Suguru into his mouth in one swift motion, lips sealing tight, tongue swirling with deliberate, ruthless precision. Suguru’s groan was guttural, hips jerking forward, and Satoru’s hands pinned him harder against the locker, keeping control.
The heat, the taste, the way Suguru’s muscles tensed under his grip—it was intoxicating, a high Satoru chased with every bob of his head, every flick of his tongue. He worked fast, relentless, driven by the ticking clock of their stolen moment. Suguru’s hand tightened in his hair, guiding, pleading, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps. “Fuck, Satoru- ” The words were a broken prayer, and Satoru hummed in response, the vibration pulling another choked sound from Suguru’s throat.
But Satoru wasn’t here to drag this out. He pulled back, lips glistening, eyes burning as he rose, crowding Suguru against the locker. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough, already tugging at his own sweatpants, freeing himself. Suguru complied, movements quick, almost frantic, bracing his hands against the metal, his back a perfect arch of muscle and defiance. Satoru pressed against him, one hand sliding up Suguru’s spine, the other guiding himself, the urgency of the moment a live wire between them.
The locker room’s air was thick, humid with the ghost of their exertion, the faint squeak of Suguru’s sneakers against the tile floor grounding them in the frantic now. Sweatpants bunched around their ankles, Satoru’s and Suguru’s alike, the fabric trapping their legs, shoes still laced tight– black Nikes for Suguru, scuffed white Adidas for Satoru. No time to strip, no patience for it. The threat of discovery hung like a blade, sharpening every move.
Satoru’s hand, slick with spit, had prepped Suguru just enough. Hasty, messy, but it was all they needed. He pressed himself closer, chest flush against Suguru’s back, the heat of their bodies a furnace. His teeth grazed Suguru’s shoulder, then sank in, hard, leaving a crescent of red that bloomed under tanned skin. Suguru hissed, the sound half pain and half want, his hands clawing at the locker for leverage, metal creaking under his grip. Satoru thrusted deeper, each movement sharp and deliberate, spit easing the way but keeping it raw, urgent.
“Fuck, Suguru,” Satoru growled against his skin, voice muffled as he bit down again, another mark, this one angrier, claiming. Suguru’s shoulder was a canvas of Satoru’s need. Three, four bites now, each one a bruise of possession, stark against the sweat slicked muscle. Suguru’s head tilted back, long hair sticking to his neck, a low moan spilling out as Satoru’s hips snapped forward, the rhythm punishing, driven by the ticking seconds they didn’t have.
The locker rattled with every thrust, a metallic pulse that matched Suguru’s ragged breaths. His sneakers scuffed the floor, sweatpants tangling further, limiting his stance but making him brace harder, muscles flexing under Satoru’s hands. Satoru’s fingers dug into Suguru’s hips, pulling him back to meet each drive, the friction of skin and spit and need a wildfire. “You’re mine,” Satoru rasped, teeth finding a new spot on Suguru’s shoulder, biting down as he pushed deeper, the sting of it blending with the heat coiling in them both. Suguru’s answering groan was broken, desperate, his body trembling under the onslaught, but he pushed back, meeting Satoru’s pace, defiant even now.
The lockers clattered under Suguru’s weight. His palms pressed hard against the cold steel, his body jolted with every thrust from Satoru, who was relentless, hips snapping with a rhythm that felt like it could break them both. Sweatpants sagged around their ankles, sneakers scuffing the tiles, and Satoru’s spit slicked thrusts kept them teetering on the edge. His hand slid around Suguru’s waist, fingers wrapping around Suguru’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts- firm, fast, no mercy.
“Fuck, Satoru,” Suguru panted, voice raw, head tilted back so his hair stuck to his bitten-up shoulder, red marks blooming where Satoru’s teeth had claimed him. “What’s- ngh- hah… what’s gotten into you” Suguru moaned out.
Satoru’s laugh was low, almost feral, muffled against another bite on Suguru’s shoulder. “You love it,” he growled, hand tightening on Suguru’s cock, thumb swiping over the tip, slick with precum. “Been too long, Suguru” Satoru said panting. His hips slammed forward, driving deeper, making Suguru’s sneakers squeak as he braced harder against the locker.
Suguru’s groan was half a curse, his body trembling under the dual assault of Satoru’s thrusts and the relentless stroke of his hand. “Too long,” he admitted, voice breaking, “but you’re still- shit- fuck ngh- an asshole about it.” His words hitched with every thrust, but there was a smirk in his tone, a spark of their old banter cutting through the haze.
“Asshole who’s got you shaking,” Satoru shot back, grinning against Suguru’s skin, teeth grazing another mark into his shoulder. His hand sped up, jerking Suguru with a rhythm that matched the brutal pace of his hips, spit easing the slide but keeping it rough, desperate. “Say it- you need me.”
Suguru’s laugh was strained, needy. “Needed this- fuck, Satoru, right there- hah.” His words cut off in a moan as Satoru angled his thrusts, hitting just right, his hand relentless on Suguru’s cock. The locker rattled louder, a metallic drumbeat to their stolen seconds. Footsteps echoed somewhere too close, but neither cared anymore, too far gone in the heat and the need.
Satoru’s free hand gripped Suguru’s hip, pulling him back to meet each thrust, his own breaths turning jagged. “Gonna make you come first,” he rasped, voice thick with want, stroking faster, harder, feeling Suguru pulse under his fingers. “Do it, Suguru. Now.”
Suguru’s body tensed, muscles coiling tight, a choked “Satoru ah-” spilling from his lips as he shattered. He came hard, spilling over Satoru’s hand, hot and messy, his groan echoing off the lockers as his knees buckled, only Satoru’s grip and the metal keeping him upright. The sight, the sound, the feel of Suguru unraveling… it snapped something in Satoru. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, chasing his own edge, he was groaning, his forehead beaded with sweat. He buried his face in Suguru’s neck, teeth sinking into another bite as he came, a low growl vibrating against Suguru’s skin, his release spilling deep, claiming him in every way.
For a long moment, only their breathing filled the space. Ragged, uneven, gasping against each other’s skin.
Suguru turned around and slumped forward, forehead resting against Satoru’s shoulder, hair sticking damp between them. His chest still heaved, his body trembling faintly with aftershocks.
Satoru wrapped an arm tight around his waist, keeping him there, grinning even as his breath caught. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”
“Shut up,” Suguru muttered, voice hoarse.
“Make me,” Satoru shot back instantly, though it lacked its earlier sharpness. His hand rubbed absent circles against Suguru’s back, grounding.
Suguru sighed, but he didn’t pull away. Not yet.
The sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hall, distant but real. Both of them stiffened.
“Shit,” Suguru hissed picking his shirt from the floor, fumbling with his pants.
Satoru only laughed quietly, straightening his own clothes with zero urgency. “Relax. Worst case, they catch us. Not like anyone’s gonna scold me.”
Suguru shot him a glare sharp enough to cut. “I’ll kill you if anyone finds out.”
Satoru smirked, leaning in to steal one last kiss, slower this time, softer. “Worth it.”
The footsteps passed. Silence fell again.
Suguru sat heavily on the bench, running a hand over his face, trying to calm his racing pulse. Satoru sprawled next to him, long legs stretched out, hands behind his head like he hadn’t just nearly been caught screwing his best friend in the locker room.
“You’re a menace,” Suguru muttered.
“And you love it,” Satoru replied without missing a beat.
Suguru didn’t answer. He just leaned back against the lockers, eyes closing, letting the hum of the lights and the warmth of the moment wash over him. Satoru, for once, stayed quiet. His grin softer now, almost fond.
The game had ended hours ago. But here, with Suguru next to him fingers tangled with each others, Satoru felt like he’d just won all over again.
this is the second time i’ve written smut so idk 🧍♀️ genuinely need to know opinions so like comment idkkdkd brain fart.
