Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here!
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
Play this.
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By the time you arrived at Choso’s party, his house was already overflowing.
Bodies crowded every room, conversations blurred into laughter, red cups littered every available surface; and the air smelled like cheap perfume, vodka, and the unmistakable sweetness of someone smoking weed by the open door to the garden.
You'd already lost count after your second shot.
Maybe your third.
Shoko was talking to Choso beside you, animated as always, but the alcohol had turned her voice into little more than background noise.
Then the music shifted. The opening beat sent a ripple of cheers through the room. You barely noticed, until the lyrics started.
“I wanna watch you like a movie…”
Your fingers tightened around your cup. Not now.
“I wanna put you on the stage…”
You took another sip. Maybe the burn of the alcohol would be enough to keep that damn video from resurfacing every time the lyrics seemed determined to drag it back.
“I wanna know what you’d do to me…”
Apparently not. The universe had to be fucking with you.
“I wanna put you on the tape…”
The corner of your mouth twitched. Whoever had made the playlist had an awful sense of timing.
“Flashing red light, baby you’re a star…”
You lifted your cup for another drink, your eyes drifting absentmindedly across the room.
“Fuck me all night, show me who you are…”
Your eyes landed on a familiar face, and suddenly the music died.
“No fucking way” you whispered.
Satoru was leaning awkwardly against the far wall, towering over almost everyone around him, looking as though he’d somehow got lost on his way to the library.
A plain white T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, dark jeans hugging long legs that seemed unfairly endless. His white hair was still messy in that unintentionally perfect way, but something was different—
He wasn’t wearing his glasses.
You’d never seen him without them before.
Under the pulsing red and blue lights, his eyes looked impossibly bright, scanning the room with the same restless uncertainty he always seemed to carry outside the safety of a classroom.
God.
The alcohol was making this so much worse.
He looked dangerously handsome.
And completely miserable.
Only then did you notice the blonde girl standing beside him, chatting easily with a small group of friends.
Satoru wasn’t saying much. His shoulders were stiff, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his smile polite but painfully strained. He looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin. Every few seconds his eyes drifted somewhere else, as though he were searching for an escape route.
The sight twisted something ugly inside your chest.
He definitely came here for her.
So why did he look like he wanted to be anywhere else?
“Oh… damn,” Shoko murmured, following your gaze “He cleans up nice.”
You didn’t answer. Instead, your eyes found Choso behind the kitchen counter, busy pouring another round of drinks.
“Choso” You called over the music, nodding toward the living room. “Do you know that guy? The really tall one with white hair?”
Choso glanced over, squinting through the crowd. “Oh, him? Not really” He shrugged “The blonde girl invited him—I think? They’re in the same class or something.”
Your chest tightened painfully. Of course. You’d known it before you’d even asked. He’d come because she invited him. That was why he was here, looking unfairly hot in a party setting he clearly didn’t belong in.
Jealousy burned hot and ugly in your stomach.
“Right” you muttered.
You reached for the nearest cup and downed it in one go. It tasted like fruit punch and regret, but it didn't matter.
Shoko raised an eyebrow “You good?”
“Perfectly” you lied.
An hour later, you were properly drunk. You’d lost Shoko what felt like an eternity ago, and the air downstairs had become too thick—heavy with perfume, sweat, and a bass that hammered relentlessly against your temples.
You needed to get out.
Your feet ached inside heels that had long since become instruments of torture, carrying you away from the madness. You drifted through the crowded house, weaving between strangers with half-empty cups in their hands. Laughter blurred into conversations you couldn't quite make out.
Your head felt pleasantly light.
Or maybe dangerously so.
As you climbed the stairs, the flashing lights faded behind you. The music that had swallowed the house only moments ago softened into a dull pulse, vibrating through the floorboards and echoing faintly against the walls.
The upstairs hallway was almost empty. A single lamp cast a warm glow over the wooden floor, leaving the far end swallowed in shadow.
You blinked once.
Twice.
Letting your eyes adjust.
And then you saw him.
Satoru was standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall, half-swallowed by the darkness, his phone resting loosely in one hand. The pale glow of the screen washed over his face, tracing the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck.
Somehow, he looked even more beautiful than usual.
For a fleeting second, reality snapped back into focus. The precarious balance on your heels. The dull ache in the arches of your feet. The desperate need to stay upright.
Almost instinctively, your fingers found the hem of your skirt, tugging it down where it had ridden up against the back of your thighs—a clumsy, subconscious attempt to make yourself look at least a little more put together.
He came here for her.
And yet… He was alone. The girl who’d barely left his side downstairs was nowhere to be seen.
Your eyes lingered on the broad shoulders hidden beneath the plain white T-shirt, then drifted to the long fingers loosely curled around his phone before settling on the nervous way he shifted his weight against the wall.
He looked exactly the same as he always did.
Quiet. Awkward. Completely unaware of how beautiful he was.
Your curiosity curled hot in your stomach.
The version of Satoru you knew in daylight and the one you’d watched through a screen felt like two different people.
You were dying to know which one would look back at you if you got close enough.
Before your brain had the chance to catch up, your feet were already moving across the hallway, the sharp click of your heels breaking the silence.
“Hey.”
Satoru startled so badly he nearly dropped his phone.
“Shit—”
He looked up, quickly locking the screen before slipping the phone into his pocket with practiced ease. The movement was almost too quick, too casual—the kind of I’m just standing here composure that would’ve been convincing if his ears hadn’t already started turning pink.
“Oh…” His eyebrows lifted. “Hi.”
A beat.
“…You’re here.”
You took another step toward him. The hallway suddenly felt much narrower.
“Didn’t expect to see you at a party.”
“Yeah, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t usually come to these.”
“But you came because she invited you.” you countered, the alcohol sharpening your edges
He blinked, visibly caught off guard by the accusation.
“I—”
You didn’t let him answer.
Instead, you tilted your head, your gaze drifting over his face.
“You’re not wearing your glasses.”
You were close enough now to catch his scent—clean soap, something fresh and woody, and something underneath it that was unmistakably him.
His hand flew to his face almost on instinct.
“Oh. Yeah. I... I thought the contacts might be better for a party. Less likely to get knocked off or fogged up or… whatever.” He laughed nervously “I feel weird without them.”
You took another step. The height difference was staggering; he had to look down at you, and the way he did it—soft, shy—made your knees feel weak. You reached out, your fingers ghosting over his jaw, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone.
Satoru went completely still. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until the icy blue was nearly swallowed by black.
“I like you better with the glasses,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the place where your fingertips brushed his skin. “They make you look… smart. Cute.”
“You…” His voice cracked, a high, strained sound. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into your touch as if he were trying to memorize the feeling. “You're…” He hesitated, struggling to find his voice. “...really close.”
“Does it bother you?” you challenged, your hand moving to the back of his neck, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. “Or is it that you’d rather be with someone else?”
He shivered, a visible tremor running through his broad shoulders. He looked down at your lips, his own parting slightly.
“N-no” he whispered.
You smiled, the expression a little tipsy and a whole lot dangerous. Your other hand came up, resting flat against his chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft, but the muscle beneath it was hard, and you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your palm. You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, savoring the warmth radiating from him.
“You’re too tall,” you murmured, the words slipping out with a hunger you didn't bother to hide. “Always towering over everyone.”
Satoru swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I know. Sorry—I’m always in the way.” He tried for a light laugh, but it came out as a ragged exhale. His hands remained at his sides, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white, as if he were physically anchoring himself to the wall to keep from touching you. “You’re… you’re drunk, aren’t you?”
The question sounded like a desperate attempt to break whatever had settled between you, to remind himself of the boundaries that were rapidly dissolving.
You didn't answer. Instead, you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his collarbone as you inhaled deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.
“You smell so good,” you whispered against his skin, almost drunk on it “God, why do you smell so good?”
You didn’t care anymore that you weren’t the girl he thought about when he recorded those videos. The alcohol had burned away every last bit of restraint.
“You’re so soft..” you breathed, dragging your lips slowly along the warm skin of his neck, savoring the feeling.
Without a second thought, you pressed a slow, lingering kiss right where his pulse was jumping wildly beneath your lips.
He let out a soft, broken sound—half whimper, half sigh. It was the exact sound you’d heard a dozen times through your headphones, but hearing it now, feeling it vibrate against your mouth, was a visceral, jolting experience. The hallway felt like it was closing in, and the muffled music from the party below felt miles away.
“You shouldn’t… I mean, you’re drunk, and I—” He whispered the words. But even as he spoke, he betrayed himself by tilting his head slightly, giving you more access to his neck.
You welcomed the invitation.
Your lips trailed lower, moving to the ridge of his collarbone. You dragged your tongue slowly across the bone in one long, teasing lick. Satoru shuddered violently, a pretty, needy moan escaping his throat.
“Fuck—why are you...” His breath hitched “Ahh—why are you doing this to me?”
You could feel him hard against your hip when you pressed closer, the thick outline unmistakable. Yet his hands remained glued to his sides, fists clenched, shaking with restraint.
One of your hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his soft white hair. You pulled him down slightly, making the height difference even more obvious, and latched your mouth onto the side of his neck again.
This time you kissed him open-mouthed, sucking gently on his skin. Satoru whimpered, the sound breaking beautifully as you sucked harder, determined to leave a mark.
“Please—” he breathed. “I can’t—”
He still wouldn’t touch you back. His arms stayed rigid at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was fighting a war with his own instincts.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him.
Satoru’s eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink. It finally clicked in your hazy mind: he wasn’t touching you because he knew you were drunk. He was letting you use him however you wanted, but he refused to take advantage.
That realization might have been the hottest thing you had ever experienced in your life.
You leaned in slowly again, the height difference forcing you to stretch. Satoru’s eyes widened the moment your breath brushed his lips, impossibly surprised, almost disbelieving. He stared at you, pupils blown wide with shock and something much darker.
“What are y—”
You kissed him.
It started soft — just a gentle press of lips — but the second you felt the tiny, broken whimper vibrate against your mouth, something inside you snapped. You tilted your head and deepened the kiss, sliding your tongue along his bottom lip before pushing inside.
Satoru moaned into your mouth, the sound needy and desperate. His body trembled against yours, but his hands still stayed glued to his sides, shaking.
You kissed him harder, hungrier. Your tongue explored his mouth with lazy confidence, tasting him, teasing him, sucking on his tongue whenever he shyly tried to respond. Every little sound he made — those pretty, broken whimpers you had become addicted to — only made you more relentless.
One of your hands stayed at the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his soft white hair, while the other slowly slid down his chest. You felt every hard line of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, your palm gliding lower and lower until it stopped just above his belt.
You could feel how hard he was.
The thick, heavy length of his cock pressed insistently against your stomach, hot and unmistakable even through his pants. The same pretty cock you touched yourself to while watching him fall apart on camera. The realization made heat flood between your thighs.
The kiss turned wet and messy. Obscene sounds filled the quiet hallway as you devoured his mouth, biting his bottom lip gently before soothing it with your tongue. Satoru was shaking, breathing heavily through his nose, completely lost in the kiss but still refusing to touch you back.
God, he’s really not going to touch me.
He was letting you use his mouth, his body, his neck — whatever you wanted — while he held himself back because you were drunk.
It was infuriatingly respectful. And an absolute torture.
Just then, a voice echoed from downstairs.
“Hun? Are you up here?!”
Shoko.
Your heart jolted. You pulled back sharply, breathing hard, lips still tingling. For a second you just stared at him — at the mess you had made of him — and reality came crashing down like cold water.
Fuck. What did I just do?
Your hands were shaking. Your knees felt weak. The hallway suddenly felt too bright, too quiet. You took a shaky step back, almost losing your balance on your heels.
“I—” you whispered, voice cracking.
You couldn’t even finish the sentence.
You gave him one last frantic look — his messy white hair, swollen glossy lips, and the faint red marks you had left on his neck — before turning around. You walked away quickly, almost stumbling down the hallway, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.
You didn’t look back.
Just as you disappeared down the stairs, Satoru’s head fell back against the wall with a quiet thud, eyes squeezed shut. A second later, his legs gave out and he slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, completely ruined.
He didn’t know what was more pathetic: his trembling hands, the frantic drum of his heart, or the warm, humiliating mess in his pants.
yep. i'm basically torturing everyone: reader, Satoru, you and me.
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⏾⋆.˚ i started writing growing pains around this time last year and i've been feeling very nostalgic about it lately. this is a standalone fic but definitely has a similar theme of “you’re all i have” between in-love-for-the-first-time!megumi and fem!reader, who find themselves locked in his room during an ice storm while everyone else goes home for the holidays. . . ⊹ ࣪ aged up characters. 2.7k words. established relationship. emotion-heavy smut and lots of aftercare ♡︎ MDNI. ⏾⋆.˚
Your head fell to the side, a frustrated little sigh slipping past your lips as you continued to grind against him.
You didn't understand what was wrong— why your body was refusing to cooperate with you even after twenty minutes of giving it exactly what it wanted. Your thighs were starting to cramp, your forehead sticky with sweat while you readjusted yourself again.
Your mind was everywhere, littered with thoughts that kept pulling you back every time you'd find a good rhythm.
"Hey," Megumi stilled, hands tightening around your hips as he brought you to a gentle pause. "Look at me."
His eyes were serious, trailing over you with a sense of concern that was palpable enough to yank you straight back into the room. "Where’d you go?" His palm was warm against the side of your face, grounding as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Talk to me."
You drew in an uneven breath, guilt settling into the pit of your stomach when you looked back at him. The last thing you wanted was for him to think this was his fault.
"I'm sorry," you shook your head, letting your fingertips draw lazy patterns over his chest. “It feels really good, I just…”
It was Christmas Eve and you were the only two left at Jujutsu High— the only two who hadn’t left to go spend the holiday with friends or family and it was for the same somber reason: neither of you had a family or a home to return to.
It hadn’t bothered you this morning when you said goodbye to Itadori and Nobara. Hadn’t bothered you when the two of you came back into his dorm and put on a movie to drown out the snowstorm that was unfolding outside. Hadn’t bothered you when he’d first started kissing down your neck in that tender, sleepy way you loved while his hand slipped between your thighs.
But now… for some reason, now of all times, it was a thought you couldn’t quite get rid of.
“We can stop.” He said attentively, fingers still threading through your hair as the wind whipped against the window, creating a thick layer of frost. “You don’t owe me an explanation, you know that? You’re allowed to change your mind whenever you want—”
“No,” You shook your head again, teeth lightly sinking into your bottom lip as you stared back at him. “It’s not that.”
God, he was so pretty. So gorgeous and patient and safe that even after two years of dating, it still managed to make your head spin. “I want to keep going.” You said firmly, glancing down at the way you were still wrapped around him. “My mind is just kind of… scattered right now and I…”
You didn’t have to say why for him to know. You could pretend with everyone else but you could never hide from him. He knew how to read you. Knew every one of your hesitant little quirks and knew exactly what each one of them meant.
He gave you a low nod, eyes tentatively sweeping over you again before he leaned in.
“C’mere,” his voice felt like silk against your collarbone, his hand roaming along your waist as he carefully repositioned you. “Let me help.”
You eased into him, giving him complete control while he lowered you onto the mattress. Still holding your hips up as he reached for one of his pillows and placed it under the small of your back.
“Relax for me.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. “It’s you and me, yeah? Nothing else to worry about. Nothing else to think about. Just us.”
His words went straight to your center, releasing some of your tension as he began to line himself up with you. One hand on his base and the other spreading you apart, his fingers just barely ghosting over your slit.
A steady warmth spread through your body, your thoughts finally starting to untangle as his face gradually retuned back to yours. You were lost in watching him— fixated entirely on the way his tip was already leaking for you. The way the veins in his hand flexed as he squeezed. The slowww, methodic strokes that coaxed the softest moans out of him.
“You like watching me?” He gritted, teeth sinking into the nape of your neck as another heady noise slipped out of him. “Like knowing it’s all yours?”
Like was a vast understatement for how you were actually feeling but you were far too dizzy to form a proper response.
“Megumi…” you whined, your lips crashing into his with hazy urgency as he started to rub against your clit, smearing your slick uppp and downnn with the head of his cock. Dreamy little circular motions that had your back arching and your nails digging into his forearm.
“You know I’m all yours, right?” He let out in between breaths. “Know I’d do anything for you?”
Your core was clenching, your movements becoming needier and needier as your legs wrapped around his waist in a feverish attempt to pull him closer.
A faint little, “I know,” was all you could manage before his tip began to prod at your entrance, stealing away every other word you knew.
Your mouth fell open, the pillow propping you up at just the right angle to let him slide in as deep as he wanted. His pace was devastatingly slow and heavy, pumping into you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do in this lifetime.
He had you perfectly locked in place, leaving hardly any space between the two of you as his hand reached up to intertwine with yours. “Still with me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Your frustration was gone, completely eviscerated by the feeling of him stretching you.
“Yeah?” He panted, dark hair disheveled as his forehead pressed against yours. “What’re you thinking about right now, hm? Tell me.”
“You.” Your voice was feeble but sure— messy and raw, just the way he wanted you.
His hips snapped forward again, hitting that spot that made the edges of your vision blur and your thighs tremble. “That’s it, that’s my girl.”
Your lips parted but the only thing that came out were breathless little nothings. Your walls fluttering around him as your hips tilted up to meet his, frantic and urgent— your patience worn thin from how many times you’d already tried and failed to get yourself off.
“Don’t chase it.” He tisked, kissing you hard as he bottomed out with a thrust that made the entire room disappear. “It’s you and me, remember? There’s no rush.”
His voice felt like silk against your skin, ecstasy in your veins, your whole frame practically shaking under him. “I’ll stay like this all night if I have to. Keep you full for hours. I’m not going anywhere. Just take it, baby. Just like that.”
You were wrecked on his honesty, lost in the way he was able to bully himself into you so mean while still spilling out such soft affection.
You tried your best to listen, willing your mind to slow and your body to relax as he continued to slam into you, his tip bumping against your cervix at the same blissfully harsh pace.
“That feels so good,” you whispered, a white-ton tension steadily building in your lower abdomen. “So fucking— good, oh… mmmygod—”
“You have no idea how pretty you are,” he praised, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing across the room. “Takin’ me like this? Lettin’ me fuck you this deep?”
His composure was starting to crumble right alongside yours the faster he went, guttural moans pressing against your lips as he kept thrusting into you. Both of you rutting into each other in search of the same friction.
“Megumi… ‘m—”
There was a sense of weightlessness that crept over you, that coiling tension beginning to spread as you clenched around him. It didn’t feel like there was anything keeping you tethered to reality anymore— your senses flooded with nothing but his touch and voice.
You reached for his hand without thinking, desperate to feel him in every way as you brought his palm to your throat. Your eyes saying more than you were capable of when his stare met yours.
He knew— just like he always did— without you having to explain yourself. This wasn’t lust or some clouded lapse in judgment. This was… trust. Intimacy. Submission.
It was you handing yourself over to him, quite literally placing everything you had right in the palm of his hand and trusting him not to break it.
His fingers were curious, calloused but gentle as they wrapped around your neck. A rough kind of delicacy in the way he cut off your oxygen, determining how hard to squeeze by how wet you got for him.
You were smothering him, velvet walls clamping around him like they couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. He was barely holding himself together, his resolve cracking under the weight of your vulnerability.
“Fuck, you’re so close.” He groaned, head falling back while his grip tightened, drowning in the helpless little whimpers that were pouring out of you. “Cum with me, baby. Let it all out. Let me feel it.”
Your voice was gone, strained and buried beneath his grasp, your legs locking around his waist in the same way they always did when you were about to break.
“Mhmm.” He soothed, tongue parting your lips as your core finally start to unravel around him.
“Perfect girl.” He whispered, holding you through it, his release chasing straight after yours. “My perfect— fucking… girl… cummin’ all over me...”
A thick layer of sticky warmth settled between the two of you, binding your bodies together while his grip eased up on you— your vision slowly coming back into focus as you stared back at him in awe.
There was a beat of silence, neither of you quite ready to move as he stayed hovered above you, hand gently brushing the hair from your face. “You okay?” He exhaled, eyes carefully tracing over you.
“Yeah.” You nodded, the afterglow of your orgasm still fresh on your skin. “I’m fine, I just—” You swallowed hard, still struggling to catch your breath as small smile pulled at the corner of your mouth. “I’m just… so fucking in love with you is all.”
He paused, his stare heavy as his thumb drug across your bottom lip.
It was fitting— very him, how even after two years of being together, those three words still managed to knock him completely off balance.
He didn’t say anything just for the sake of saying it so when he reciprocated it; when he said it back in that raw and sincere tone that he only used for moments like this with you, you always knew just how much he meant it.
He pulled out of you carefully, kissing your forehead one last time before grabbing two faded black t-shirts and two sets of grey sweatpants out of his drawer.
“What’re you doing?”
He shot you his own faint smile as he reached for your hand to help get you to your feet. “Taking a shower.” He said simply. “C’mon.”
It was a rare occasion that he was the risk taker between the two of you, but you couldn’t help but freeze as you glanced back at him. “Megumi.”
“No one’s here, remember? And the storm’s not supposed to stop until late tomorrow, I really doubt anyone is gonna come back tonight.”
Butterflies flooded your stomach at the thought of his thick fingers running conditioner through your hair. The contrast of hot water hitting your skin while the snow continued to flurry outside.
You always thought you’d have to wait until after graduation to do things like shower with him or spend the night curled up next to him, but he was right— aside from Gojo and Ijichi, everyone else was gone and it wasn’t like Gojo would actually care about you guys breaking co-ed rules. If anything, he’d probably give Megumi some terrible smirk or obnoxious lecture on making good choices. He’d known about Megumi’s feelings for you before you even did and had always acted like more of an older brother than a teacher about it.
“Fine,” you conceded, “but we’re going to the girls’ side. I don’t want to know what the inside of the boys’ locker room looks like.”
“Deal.”
Your footsteps echoed across the tile as the two of you made your way down the hall, the silence of the other vacant dorm rooms hard to ignore the further down you went. It was almost eerie not having Nobara and Yuuji yelling at each other or Maki making some snide comment about your technique at practice.
The overhead lights were dim, wind still howling against the building as Megumi’s palm met the small of your back. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he deadpanned. “Hearing them or not hearing them.”
You smiled as he held the door open for you, the two of you taking a towel from the rack before heading towards the showers. The smell of strawberry and vanilla still lingering in the air from where everyone else had gotten ready earlier.
The water was warm, your foot cautiously dipping in first to let your body adjust to the temperature. Megumi stood behind you, water beading across his skin as his hands attentively roamed along your hips, placing a soft kiss to the top of your shoulder while his body pressed against yours. “Hand me your shampoo.” He whispered, still peppering light kisses across your neck.
He worked thoroughly, his nails digging into your scalp with just the right amount of pressure as he lathered and rinsed your hair. Breathing out soft praises while scrubbing away the last bit of stress you were holding onto before turning you around to face him.
There was something different about seeing him like this— hair down from the water, pale skin glowy from the steam, blue eyes wide as they trailed over you. Not a single layer of fabric or hesitation separating the two of you.
His hand was warm as it met the side of your face, his voice soft but contemplative. “I’m sorry this is how you had to spend Christmas, but—”
“Megumi,” you stopped him immediately, your stomach twisting at the fact that he felt like he owed you any kind of apology. “The only place I want to be is with you. I don’t care what holiday it is or what the weather’s like or if we’re stuck in the dorms for the next week… as long as I’m with you.”
He was used to not having a family or a childhood home to run back to during times like these. Used to the quiet sort of emptiness that came along with parental abandonment. But what he wasn’t used to was the way you looked at him, the way you meant every word you said and somehow understood him in ways no one else had before.
The way you led him back to his room after you’d dried off and slipped into his t-shirt and sweatpants like they were the best gifts he could’ve possibly given you before you snuggled up next to him in his comforter— some dumb movie running in the background as you kissed the corner of his mouth, touching him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
You didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t expect him to be great or strong or smart or live up to bloodline expectations that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to accept.
You wanted him— all of him, just because and just like this.
There was no pause when he said it this time, no trepidation or time to overthink when he grabbed your face and brought it up to his.
“I love you,” his lips pressed against yours like a promise, hands threading through your hair with fervor. “Now. Tomorrow. Next Christmas and every one after that.” His voice was barely above a whisper, honesty nearly cracking it in half. “I think I had forgotten what home felt like… until I met you.”
Your car breaks down right in front of his garage, and you’re already steeling yourself for the usual routine: a sky-high bill, too much time wasted, and a mechanic who barely looks up. Instead, you get Sukuna, who’s so offended by your previous mechanic's scams that he takes it upon himself to teach you enough to make sure it never happens again. Unfortunately for him, fixing your car is a breeze, but getting you out of his head? Not so much.
cw: mechanic!sukuna x f!reader, mostly sukuna pov, sukuna has a crush, yearning sukuna, pining sukuna, sukuna is bad at feelings, kinda slow burn
wc: 10.4k, one shot
notes: based on these two asks: first and second! thank you nonnie for the idea <3
main masterlist ◦ ao3 ◦ sukuna art by @/hunnismokah
It's barely past dawn, and as Sukuna drags the shutters up, the ungodly morning air hits him with a brisk, damp chill, cooling the coffee in his hand. He’s banking on a quiet hour to sort through the mess of inventory, maybe even enjoy the silence, before the first scheduled appointment pulls him away.
Down the road, maybe a hundred meters away, hazard lights blink through the gray mist. A hatchback sits stranded on the shoulder with its hood open. You’re there beside it, looking entirely defeated, with your shoulders hunched as you rub your arms against the biting chill that cuts straight through your jacket. You're pacing in small circles, your breath blooming in white puffs that vanish into the fog.
Taking a long sip of his coffee, Sukuna watches the scene for a beat. It’s obvious that this mess is about to become somebody's problem, and with how close you are to his driveway, that somebody's him. He lets out a resigned grunt, sets the mug aside, and starts the slow, reluctant walk down the slick, dark stretch of asphalt.
By the time he gets to you, you’re prodding at the battery terminal with pure confusion, clearly out of your depth. He stops by the driver’s side fender, his shadow stretching over the engine bay and swallowing up what little light the morning offers.
"Get in and try to crank it," he rumbles, his voice still rough from sleep.
You flinch slightly, nearly dropping your keys, as you turn to find the massive mechanic who’s just materialized out of the fog. Stumbling through a rushed, embarrassed explanation about how the dashboard lit up like a christmas tree before the steering went stiff, you slide behind the wheel, fingers trembling as you twist the key. The engine coughs out a pathetic, sluggish click-click-click before dying completely.
Sukuna leans over and scans the open engine bay with narrowed eyes. He brings his hand down to the alternator, then straightens and wipes a streak of grease off on his thigh.
"Alternator's shot," he diagnoses, pinning you with a flat stare through the windshield. “It stopped charging your battery while you were driving. That's why your steering went stiff, and all those warning lights came on. Battery's flat now."
He glances down the road toward his garage, jerks his chin in that direction, then flicks his gaze back to you, waiting. "Not fixing it out here. I can tow it in and take a look, if you want.”
You blink at him, hesitation suddenly tightening your chest. He's a huge, imposing stranger with eyes that seem to see right through you. You have no clue what his garage charges, and for all you know, he’ll tow your car a few meters and hand you a bill big enough to drain your entire savings account. Biting your lip hard, you look down the foggy road toward the distant city lights, debating whether freezing out here for your usual mechanic is worth it.
"Really?" you ask, your voice thin and cautious.
"You got a better plan?" Sukuna asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He doesn't look like he's got the patience for a long deliberation this early in the morning.
Your eyes flick from the dead dashboard to the shutters of his garage down the road again. Waiting for your own mechanic could mean hours out here, and you’re already running late. Shoulders sagging, you let out a shaky, resigned sigh and nod. "No, not really. Okay, yeah. Please tow it."
True to his word, ten minutes later your car is hooked up to his truck and rolled right onto his hydraulic lift. He works quietly, hooking up a diagnostic scanner and testing the voltage. You stand on the side, nervously watching him work through the tangle of wires and metal, while the smell of old coolant and burnt oil fills the air.
Finally, he wipes his hands on his coveralls. He glances up, meeting your gaze with a flat, unreadable look before speaking. "Alright. It's definitely the alternator. Parts and labor, you're looking at around two hundred, maybe two-fifty if the belt snapped when it seized up."
He braces himself for the usual routine: the hesitant sigh, the defensive wince, maybe a drawn-out complaint about how expensive car parts are these days. He’s seen it all before, a thousand times over.
None of that happens, though. You just blink at him, completely speechless, like he’s started speaking a foreign language.
"Are you..." You swallow hard, eyes darting between your car and the man in front of you. "Are you undercharging me out of pity? Did I really look that pathetic standing on the side of the road?"
Sukuna freezes, and the rag stops mid-wipe against his palm. He stares at you, his brow knitting into a dumbfounded, deep scowl, entirely derailed by the accusation. "What? No. That's the price of the part and half an hour of my time. I don't do pity discounts.”
"Seriously?" A breathless, half-disbelieving laugh escapes you, as your hand comes up to press against your forehead while you try to make sense of the numbers. "My mechanic charges me a small fortune every time I bring this thing in. Like... last year I paid almost three hundred for an oil change, so I figured something that actually stopped the car from running would be..." You trail off, your eyes wandering up to the underside of a different car on the lift. "Honestly, I have no idea. Just… more."
Disbelief hardens his stare, and a sharp, sudden outrage flares in his chest at whoever’s been fleecing you, quickly followed by a heavy wave of disappointment. He can't quite believe you’d just hand over a small fortune for basic maintenance without so much as a second thought.
"An oil change," he repeats in a low rasp. "He charges you three hundred dollars for an oil change?"
"Well... yeah? And..." Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you wince as your sneakers squeak against the slick concrete. Your hand waves uselessly in the air when you’re trying to remember the items from the invoices you received. "Some other things? He always says there are other things."
Silence settles over the garage, broken only by the steady drip of fluid into a drainage pan nearby, each drop echoing like a ticking clock.
Sukuna tosses the rag aside, leans against the workbench and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes narrow, studying you with a look that grows more troubled by the second, like you’re some puzzle that refuses to make sense.
"You know what those other things were?"
You frown, your shoulders pulling in slightly under the weight of his intense stare. "Not really."
That stare doesn’t budge, flat and unblinking, and it makes you want to sink straight into the concrete floor.
"And you paid anyway."
It's not a question, but a flat statement, paired with a slow, disappointed shake of his head that twists your stomach.
Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassment prickling across your skin. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself defensively, trying to salvage a scrap of dignity. “He’s a mechanic, so like… why wouldn’t I trust him about… mechanic stuff?”
"So you just pay whatever he puts on the invoice?"
After a beat of hesitation, your eyes flick toward the garage exit before you force yourself to meet his gaze again. "I mean..."
The irritation in him doesn’t fade; if anything, it settles in deeper. The more you talk, the clearer it gets that this wasn’t just one bad invoice. It’s a pattern.
"How long you been taking your car to this guy?"
A startled blink, caught off guard by the rapid-fire questioning. "A few years?"
A muscle jumps in his cheek as his jaw flexes. "Christ." His arms drop, one hand coming up to rest flat against the workbench behind him. "You don't know anything about cars, do you?"
You open your mouth, ready to stammer out some flimsy defense, but he cuts you off with a sharp, impatient wave.
"No, don't answer that." He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. "I already know." When he lowers his hand, his expression darkens. "And he knows it too. That's the problem." He takes a slow step toward you, his towering height making the small garage feel instantly crowded. "He knows you don't know what you're looking at. He knows you won’t question the invoice. He knows you’ll just nod, pull out your card, and pay whatever number he pulls out of thin air."
His words hit with bruising accuracy, uncomfortable in their honesty. Swallowing hard, you feel the bitter reality of years of being scammed settle like a stone in your stomach. Sukuna clicks his tongue, the sharp, dismissive sound echoing off the concrete walls.
"And he's been taking advantage of it, overcharging the hell out of you.” He shakes his head again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "It's disgusting."
—
The last clink of metal fades, giving way to the low, steady purr of your car’s engine. Sukuna lingers, listening to the alternator hum, his attention fixed on the sound until he’s sure everything is running just right. Only then does he cut the ignition and shut the hood.
At the sink, he scrubs at the thickest layer of grease on his hands and forearms, while each pass of the soap gives him a moment to stew. The whole time he’d been working on your hatchback, the audacity of your last mechanic kept simmering in the back of his mind, needling at his sense of professionalism and refusing to let go.
He dries his hands on a clean rag, then heads back to where you’re waiting by the office door. The invoice comes off the clipboard, and he holds it out to you along with your keys.
"Alright, you're good to go," he rumbles, his voice level and calm. "It was just the alternator. Parts and labor came out to two hundred, exactly like I said."
You take the keys and the paper, relief washing over you as your eyes land on the total. Exactly what he quoted. No hidden fees, no sneaky line items, no surprise charges, nothing lurking in the fine print.
Sukuna stands there, his large hands settling loosely on his hips. His gaze flicks from your face to the paperwork in your hands, brow furrowing slightly as he hesitates. Then, the words slip out before he can stop them.
“If you want, you can bring your old receipts by sometime. Dig 'em out of your glovebox or whatever." He clears his throat, the sudden offer surprising even him as it leaves his mouth. This isn’t something he does. He doesn’t take work home, and he sure as hell doesn’t do clerical charity for strangers. Still, he pushes through the awkwardness, keeping his tone flat and businesslike. "I’ll look through 'em and write down what you actually should have been paying for that basic stuff. That way you have a baseline reference sheet next time you go back to your guy, and you'll know if he's trying to pull a fast one."
There's no pressure behind his words. He leaves it entirely up to you, offering a casual favor simply because he despises seeing someone get taken advantage of.
You blink at him, completely caught off guard. You look up to his face, and gratitude cuts through your usual wall of caution.
"Really?" you ask, a soft smile breaking across your face. "You'd actually do that?"
Sukuna gives a short, dismissive shrug, shifting his weight like he’s trying to play down the gesture. "Takes me ten minutes. It's no big deal."
"Thank you. Seriously, that’s... incredibly nice of you," you say, genuinely touched by the gesture. You fold the invoice carefully, tucking it into your purse. "What day would work best for you? I don't want to interrupt your business."
Sukuna rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting toward the calendar tacked to the garage wall as he does the math in his head. "Day after tomorrow," he decides, looking back down at you. "I usually wrap up around six. Come by then. The shop's quiet after hours."
"Six on Wednesday. Perfect," you nod, your smile widening slightly. "Thank you again. I really appreciate you fixing the car so fast, and for... well, everything else. I'll see you Wednesday."
"Yeah," he mutters, his voice dropping a fraction softer as he nods back. "See you then. Drive safe."
He stands in the open bay, watching as your hatchback backs out of the driveway and pulls into the morning traffic. Only when your taillights disappear down the street does he finally let out a low breath, turning back to his tools and wondering what possessed him to volunteer his free time to look at old paperwork.
——
Just like he promised, the shop is mostly quiet when you pull up to the garage on Wednesday. With the bay doors rolled halfway down, the usual street noise is muffled, leaving only the clink of a wrench against metal to let you know he’s still inside.
Pushing open the side door, you’re greeted by the soft chime of the bell overhead. Sukuna appears from the back a moment later, dragging a clean rag over his forearms. His crimson eyes catch yours before flicking down to the stack of papers in your hand and the box tucked securely under your arm.
"You actually found 'em," he rumbles, a faint quirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before his expression smooths back into that usual, unreadable mask.
"Every single one I could find." Stepping up to the high counter that separates the office from the shop floor, you set the invoices down and nudge the box toward him, careful not to jostle what’s inside. "And I brought this. As a thank you."
Sukuna glances down at the cardboard box but doesn’t reach for it. He folds his arms across his chest, and his brow instantly furrows into a stubborn, defensive scowl.
"I don't need cake," he snaps, voice blunt and dismissive. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than accepting a gift. "I fixed the alternator, you paid the invoice. We're even. You don't owe me anything."
"It's not cake. It’s an apple pie. And it’s homemade," you counter softly. Before he can get another word in, you reach out and pop the lid open, letting the sweet scent of baked apples and cinnamon spill into the grimy, oil-scented room. You shoot him a small, stubborn look that dares him to refuse. "And you're taking it."
For a split second, Sukuna freezes, his eyes darting from the warm pie back up to your face, looking completely out of his depth. The tension drains from his broad shoulders, and he lets out a low, grudging grunt, realizing he’s being difficult for no good reason.
"Fine," he mutters, reaching over. He grabs the box and carries it to the small, cluttered desk in the corner, sweeping aside a stack of part catalogs to clear a spot. Pausing, he peeks into the box again, then nudges a metal stool toward the desk for you with his boot. "Sit down. Let me wash up."
While he heads over to the sink to scrub the grit from his hands, you pull the pie out of the box. Only as you glance around the cluttered office does the realization hit you. You look down at the pie, still warm in its baking dish, then at your empty hands.
When Sukuna walks back in, drying his hands on a paper towel, he finds you perched on the stool, mortification written all over your face.
"Um," you manage, cheeks burning with embarrassment that creeps up. "I just realized... I forgot plates. And forks. I was so focused on getting the pie out of the oven and not showing up late that I didn't even think about it."
Sukuna stops, staring at your flushed face, and a slow, amused smirk tugs at his lips. He opens a filing cabinet, rummages through a plastic bin in the top drawer, and pulls out two plastic forks he clearly hoarded from a takeout order.
"Don't worry about it," he says, dragging a second stool over and settling in beside you. One fork is pressed into your hand, while he plunges his own straight into the pie, breaking off a steaming chunk. "We can eat it out of the dish. Problem solved."
A relieved laugh slips out as you take a bite for yourself. The pie is actually good—better than you hoped and the relief from that is almost dizzying. Watching this massive, intimidating mechanic quietly savor a dessert you’ve made in his own garage fills you with a sudden, unexpected warmth.
A few bites in, Sukuna reaches for the stack of invoices you brought along. He fishes a battered yellow highlighter from the drawer, uncapping it with his teeth, and drags the first sheet closer. Instantly, his whole demeanor sharpens, focus narrowing as he scans the lines of text.
"Two hundred for an air filter?" he mutters, jaw clenching so fast you can almost hear his teeth grind. Flipping the page back a little too sharply, he scans the top of the sheet, eyes narrowing. "When was this?"
"Last… three months, I think?" you offer, leaning in to peer over his elbow, the edge of his sleeve brushing your arm.
"Three months ago," he confirms, voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight register. The highlighter clicks against the paper, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. "I looked at your air filter on Monday when I was checking the belt. There is absolutely no way a filter looks that bad after ninety days of city driving. He didn't even change it. He just wrote it down and charged you for the part."
Your fork stalls halfway to your mouth. Staring at the highlighted line, you feel disbelief crash over you, cold and sharp, prickling along your skin.
"Wait... what? He just... left the old one in there?" You shrink down on your stool, while both embarrassment and genuine offense burn in your chest. "I actually remember sitting in his waiting room for an hour because he said he had to go fetch the specific part from the back warehouse."
Sukuna lets out a sharp, cynical grunt that cuts through the room and makes you wince. "Yeah. He was probably back there taking a nap on your dime." He flips to the next invoice and scoffs loudly. "A hundred and fifty for a 'diagnostic fee'? Your car doesn't even have a complex computer system. You plug the reader in, it takes two minutes. He's padding the numbers because he knows you’re not gonna question it.”
You blink, eyes glued to the number on the page, the math slowly ticking through your head. "Two minutes... for a hundred and fifty...?"
He’s working himself up again, but his eyes keep flicking to you, making sure you’re following every step of his explanation on why it's a scam. He breaks down the mechanics in plain English, laying out the real labor time versus what was billed, and you find yourself keeping pace with him, asking about parts, checkup schedules, and why on earth a single fluid could ever cost that much.
Sukuna’s highlighter hovers over a line, pausing as he takes in the questions you’re firing back at him. Whatever assumption he had about you being gullible is gone now. He sees you're not stupid or careless, just someone who did what anyone would: you trusted a professional because you didn’t have the background to know better. The way you’re sitting here, eagerly learning, determined to protect yourself, earns a flicker of respect in his eyes.
"You're tracking this fine," he says, irritation melting away into something unexpectedly gentle. "You just needed someone to actually layout the baseline for you."
"Yeah," you murmur, smiling a little self-consciously. "Nobody ever really explained it before."
Any trace of your nervousness has vanished. Settled into his office, you absentmindedly swing your legs beneath the stool, taking another bite. Eating straight from the baking tin, you instinctively leave the best pieces of crust for him. It’s a small, polite habit that doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sukuna finds it oddly endearing.
Powdered sugar dusts your thumb as you hold the dish steady while digging your fork in again, and without thinking, you lick it off while scanning an invoice. The gesture is so unselfconscious, so normal, but it catches his attention and draws his gaze to your face.
This close, he can’t help but notice the small things: the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you’re focused on the paperwork, the little smile that appears each time you taste the pie, how small you look perched beside him. For a moment, his mind just goes completely blank.
The realization hits him square in the chest—you’re beautiful. And you went out of your way to bake a pie for him.
All at once, the office starts to smell different. The sharp tang of oil and metal slips away, replaced by the sweetness of apple and cinnamon, and beneath it all, your perfume.
You point to a line on the invoice, but his attention drifts to your hand resting next to his on the desk. His own fingers are thick and calloused; yours look impossibly soft and small by comparison. The urge to see how your hand would feel in his is so distracting he nearly loses track of what you were saying.
For a moment, the usually unshakeable and confident mechanic is thrown completely off balance, his thoughts tangling so fast he almost forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Somehow, he keeps his face neutral, handling the rest of the paperwork with a steady voice, but underneath, panic is already clawing at him. He has no clue how he’s supposed to get your number before you walk out that door.
Hesitation or tentativeness have never been his style. If he wants something, he takes it; if he likes someone, he just tells them. It’s always been that simple. But with you leaning over his desk, a crumb of crust clinging to the corner of your mouth, something unfamiliar creeps in and stiffens his limbs. It isn't shyness—he doesn’t have a shy bone in his body, and he certainly doesn't embarrass easily. Still, this strange, careful caution settles in his bones, making every movement feel intentional and new.
For once, he actually cares about the reaction he’s going to get, and that shift in the stakes makes his usual straightforwardness feel too rough, too heavy-handed for this. The thought that messing this up could mean never seeing you again roots him to the spot, every instinct to act suddenly tangled up in hesitation. His hands feel too big, his words too blunt, and the risk of screwing this up presses in until he feels almost clumsy.
Ideas tumble through his head, each one worse than the last, none of them good enough. Sliding his business card across the desk? Too impersonal, like he’s just angling for another job. Handing over his phone and asking you to put your number in? That’s too aggressive, too much like he’s trying to corner you in his own shop. Even making up some excuse about needing to text you a follow-up on the alternator warranty feels cheap, and the idea of playing a game just to get your number makes him feel ridiculous.
The whole thing leaves a sour taste in his mouth, every option making him feel more foolish than the last. Frustration builds until his jaw aches from how tightly he’s been clenching it, tension crawling up into his temples. He can’t remember the last time he was this stuck on something so simple.
At last, he forces his jaw to unclench, loosening his grip on the highlighter before setting it down. Glancing around the cramped office, something cuts straight through his frustration. Here you are, sitting in a garage after hours with a man twice your size you barely know, just because he offered to help. You trusted him enough to walk into his shop after closing, carrying a homemade pie as a thank-you that feels so genuine it almost hurts.
The last thing he wants, and the absolute last thing his pride will allow, is to make you feel like he used a professional angle just to corner you. If he pushes for your number now, after spending an hour showing you how vulnerable you’ve been to a scam, it’ll feel like an ambush. It’ll undo every bit of safety you felt sitting next to him and ruin any chance he might have had. The thought hits him like a splash of cold water, cooling his temper.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Sukuna reaches past you for a pen resting on the clipboard. He pulls the top invoice toward him and scrawls his phone number across the margin of the page.
"Look," he rumbles, his voice steady and stripped of the chaos in his head, sliding the stack of paperwork back across the desk to you. "You're gonna have to find a new shop now or keep dealing with that idiot down the road. If he—or anyone else—hands you a quote and it feels even a little bit off, you text a photo of the invoice to that number." He taps his thick thumb against the handwritten digits on the page. "That's my personal cell. I’ll look at it and tell you if they’re trying to rip you off."
Blinking down at the paper, you’re completely oblivious to the war he just waged with himself. The gesture is so unexpectedly kind that warmth blooms in your chest and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you glance back up at him. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you any more than I already did."
"It's not a bother," he mutters, keeping his face carefully blank even as his pulse hammers a little harder against his ribs. "Just think of it as a backup plan. I can't stand watching people get scammed."
"That… actually makes me feel a lot better. I’ll make sure to save it," you murmur, glancing up to meet his unreadable gaze. The papers fold neatly beneath your fingers before you tuck them into your bag and rise from the stool. "Thank you. Seriously. For the alternator, the invoices, all the explanation and… for the company."
"Yeah," he mutters, his throat suddenly tight as he gives a single, gruff nod. "Don't sweat it."
Once your empty baking dish is tucked back into the box, you offer him one last warm smile that squeezes his chest uncomfortably tight. He pushes himself up to walk you to the door, the bell above your head chiming bright as you step out into the cool evening air.
"Goodnight, Sukuna."
"Goodnight," he calls back, standing entirely still as he watches you walk toward your car.
The warmth lingering in the office vanishes, leaving only a cold, hollow ache in its place. Through the glass, Sukuna watches your car start up, headlights slicing through the dusk as you ease out of the driveway and disappear around the corner. The instant your taillights blink out, frustration slams into him, heavy and relentless.
"Damn it," he barks into the empty shop, slamming his hand flat against the workbench.
Never in his life has he felt this powerless. Control is what he prides himself on—knowing exactly how a machine or a situation will play out because he’s the one steering it. But right now? He’s handed over his only leverage, left the whole gamble in your hands, and the lack of control is enough to make him want to tear his hair out.
He has no name saved in his phone, no confirmation. Nothing. He’s got no way to reach you, which means he’s stuck waiting, and everything now hangs on whether you decide to text. What if you lose that paper? What if the number gets buried in your purse and you forget about it until your car dies again months from now? What if you just think he was being polite and have no intention of ever using it?
The weight of not knowing gnaws at him, driving him to pace the shop floor, muttering curses under his breath for being so damn careful.
Two hours later, fresh from the shower, he sinks into the couch with a cold beer he hasn’t even opened yet. Usually, Sukuna finds the quiet of his apartment a relief after a day spent surrounded by noise, but tonight the silence feels heavy and irritating.
His phone lies face-up on the coffee table. By ten, he’s already picked it up and set it down more times than he cares to admit, each glance met with nothing but the glow of the lock screen and the relentless crawl of minutes. By eleven, frustration curdles into something uglier—doubt.
Doubt isn’t something he’s ever felt before, but alone in the dark, his mind starts tearing apart every second of that hour you spent in his office. The memory of your shoulder brushing his lingers. He can still hear your laugh when you realized you’d forgotten the plates, see how easily you followed his explanations, and how you smiled. He’d been so sure there was something there. He’d bet on it.
But as midnight approaches without a single vibration, his thoughts twist, turning defensive and sharp. Maybe he’d read the whole thing wrong. His brow knots as a heavy, sour thought appears and settles right in his gut. You didn’t feel a connection. You were just being polite, bringing an apple pie to thank a mechanic for doing his job. Sitting on that stool, chatting with him, you were just well-mannered, not interested. He’d blown it all out of proportion, let himself believe there was a spark when, to you, he was just the guy who fixed your alternator and handed out some advice.
—
Sukuna arrives at the shop in the worst mood humanly possible. Sleep barely touched him last night, and whatever patience he might have had for the rest of the world has been ground down to nothing.
Fingers curling around the cold iron handles, he wrenches the shutters up, and metal slams against the top of the frame so hard the glass windows in the office rattle. Not that he gives a damn. His jacket lands carelessly on the hook as he storms inside, and the paper coffee cup hits the workbench hard, sloshing the dark liquid over the plastic lid. It tastes like battery acid, but he drinks it anyway, needing the bitterness to match what’s inside of his chest.
He sets his personal phone right at the edge of the workbench, telling himself it’s just so it won’t get crushed in his pocket while he works. He knows that’s bullshit. Each time he reaches for a tool or crosses the bay for another socket, his gaze flicks back to the black screen, searching for a flicker of light that stubbornly refuses to appear.
Around nine, the shop's cell rings, echoing through the empty bay. Sukuna’s heart lurches, a ridiculous, frantic leap before his brain can rein it in—maybe you lost his number but found the shop’s online. The wrench clatters to the floor as he strides into the office, snatching the phone off the desk with a grip that’s just a little too tight.
“Ryomen’s Automotive," he grunts, his voice a rough, impatient gravel.
"Hey, man, just checking if you got those brake pads in for the pickup?"
Disappointment slams into him right beneath his ribs. His jaw locks, knuckles whitening around the mobile. "Yeah. They’re here. Come get 'em," he snaps, hanging up before the customer can get another word in.
Storming back into the bay, he grabs up his phone and shoves it deep into his pocket, as if that’ll keep the urge to check it all the time. The impact gun roars as he goes after a stubborn lug nut, the booming racket finally loud enough to drown out the chaos in his head. That’s it. He’s done checking. If you haven’t texted by now, you’re not going to. You probably tossed the paper, and he needs to get over it.
By one, Sukuna is elbow-deep in the greasy undercarriage of an old sedan, forearms streaked with black smears, his expression locked in a scowl so forbidding that even the delivery drivers have been giving him a wide berth all day.
He’s just reaching for a torque wrench when his phone vibrates on the workbench.
Bzzzt.
The sudden vibration catches him off guard, freezing him mid-reach. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, letting the faint clicks of the cooling engine overhead fill the silence. It’s probably just spam, he tells himself. Or some useless data plan alert. Or a wrong number.
Peeling off his gloves, he slides a hand into his pocket, pulls out the phone, and swipes the screen awake. There’s a text from an unknown number—except the first line of the preview makes his chest seize up.
[You]: Hey! Sorry for the late text, I didn't want to bother you last night since it was way too late. Just wanted to send this so you have my contact too. Thanks again for looking through those invoices with me, the pie was a small price to pay for saving my bank account!
OH THANK FUCK.
Relief hits him in a bone-deep wave, draining the tension from his shoulders. He draws in a slow breath as he stares at the words glowing on the screen. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and register the gap between his own spiraling and your ridiculously polite message. You were just being considerate, that’s all.
Clearing his throat, he uses a clean patch of his forearm to wipe the grease off his thumb before he even thinks about typing. Something clever would be good, something that proves he’s not rattled by any of this, but his fingers feel thick and awkward on the keys. Finally, he settles for something short that won’t give him away.
[Sukuna]: No worries. Pie was great, by the way. Just let me know if you get any more of those invoices.
He taps send, eyes glued to the delivery confirmation, then instantly adds the number to his contacts. Your name appears at the top of the chat, and for the first time all day, a smirk tugs at his mouth, breaking through the hard set of his jaw.
The phone disappears back into his pocket, and he turns to the sedan on the lift, with a jolt of energy running through him. As he grabs his wrench, the reality of the situation hits him from a completely different angle: you texted just to be polite and acknowledge the professional favor, and he just capped his own response by telling you to let him know if you get more invoices, boxing himself right back into being the helpful mechanic. Now what? How is he supposed to ask you out without trampling all over the boundaries you just so carefully respected?
By Friday night, that pitiful text thread on Sukuna’s phone has become a full-blown obsession. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he ignores the bowl of dinner going cold on the counter, his attention fixed on the glow of his screen. The chat is as embarrassingly short as it was the previous day: your polite thank-you, then his own awkward reply about the pie.
With a low, frustrated rumble in the empty apartment, he taps the empty text box. He’s never had to plan a conversation in his life, but suddenly, the weight of actually caring what you think drags every word through mud.
Hey, you free this weekend?
He glares at the five words. The line looks all wrong, like something a teenager would send on a dating app, hovering over his phone, waiting around for a girl he barely knows to throw him a bone. Sukuna is a grown man; he doesn't do vague, open-ended checking-in. And if you say no, or tell him you have plans, that’s it. Conversation over. No way to push back without looking like a desperate idiot.
Worse, you texted him because he'd offered to help with invoices, not because you'd expected him to use your number for anything else.
"Don't be a fucking asshole, Sukuna," he mutters.
With a heavy, irritated sigh, he holds down the backspace key until the box is wiped clean.
Saturday evening drags in after a brutal ten-hour shift, wrestling with stubborn leaf springs and rusted exhaust bolts. As he’s slumped on his couch with a cold beer in his hand, his muscles ache, but his mind is still stuck on the same loop. He pulls out his phone again and opens the chat. All he needs is an excuse—something car-related, since that’s the only ground you both actually somewhat share.
Let me know if that alternator’s making any noise.
His thumb freezes before he can hit send, and he scowls at the message, a sharp spike of professional irritation cutting through the haze. If the alternator was making noise, that would mean he’d screwed up the belt tension. He knows it’s perfect. He checked it twice before you left the bay. Asking about it now is basically calling his own work sloppy, and his pride won’t let him insult himself just to get a text back. With a shake of his head, he deletes the line and takes a long pull from his beer, trying to rework the phrasing, still clinging to the car angle but making it less about his own hands.
Make sure you check your oil this week.
He drags his hand over his face, catching himself immediately. If he sends that, he’s just barking orders at a customer who already admitted she doesn’t know a thing about cars. It sounds bossy, too gruff, and leaves you nothing to say except a flat agreement.
"What the fuck am I doing?"
He clears the text box again and tosses the phone face down onto the cushion beside him, ready to bang his head on the wall.
Monday night is the worst. The silence of the last few days feels like a personal insult. Standing by his kitchen window, looking out at the dark street, he’s completely fed up with his own uncharacteristic hesitation. He’s Sukuna. He doesn’t sit around overthinking a three-line message like some awkward kid. Enough. He’ll just give it to you straight, no games or professional excuses. He snatches the phone off the counter and types, fingers jabbing at the screen.
I'm heading to the diner by my shop for lunch tomorrow. Come with me.
He stares at the message, breathing heavier as his thumb hovers over the blue arrow. For a split second, he almost hits it. But then your reaction flashes through his mind—opening your phone and seeing a blunt lunch demand from the mechanic who fixed your car last week, suddenly wondering whether the man who seemed so put-together had been working an angle the whole time.
"No. That's fucking creepy."
He’s completely trapped by his own respect for you, stuck suffering the consequences of having zero organic reason to reach out. He can rebuild a transmission blindfolded, but figuring out how to move a text thread from professional advice to I want to see your face again without being an asshole? That breaks his brain entirely.
A low, bitter curse slips out as he clears the message. He throws the phone onto the kitchen table, furious that one person has managed to jam his gears so completely without even lifting a finger.
“Pathetic,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
By Tuesday afternoon, the frustration has cooled into a quiet, stubborn determination. Leaning against the workbench during a lull in the shop, he stares at your name in his contacts. One more try to find a middle ground that feels natural but actually gives him an opening.
Found another complaint about that shop online. Thought you’d wanna see it.
Sukuna deletes it before he even finishes the sentence, dragging his hand down his face. Thought you’d wanna see it. He sounds like he’s trying way too hard to find an excuse to talk to you. It’s not a lie, but he’d rather die than let you catch on.
"For fuck's sake."
By Wednesday afternoon, Sukuna’s completely done with himself, and he’s become absolutely insufferable to be around. Leaning against the tool board, he glares at the calendar pinned crookedly to the office wall, his thumb drumming a relentless rhythm against his thigh.
Every scenario he plays out in his head ends with him looking like an idiot. If he’s going to make a move, it has to be on his own terms, in his own space, where he actually knows what the hell he’s doing. Turning back to his tools, he forces himself not to spiral into another round of pointless drafts. Finally, his mind clears—he doesn’t need a smooth pickup line. He just needs a real, professional reason to get you back in the garage. Maintenance. That’s it.
I’m closing up the shop tomorrow around 6. If you wanna swing by, I can show you how to check your fluids and oil so you aren’t just guessing. No worries if you’re busy.
He stares at the message for a moment. There. Completely professional. Nobody in their right mind could mistake that for flirting. Another second passes. Perfectly reasonable text to send a customer.
With that, his thumb slams the send button, heart thudding stupidly against his ribs. The phone disappears deep into his pocket as he turns back to his tools, pulse racing, completely irritated by his own anticipation and already hooked on the slow, torturous wait for your reply.
Meanwhile, you’re at home, finally sinking into the couch after a long day, when your phone buzzes against the coffee table. His name flashes across the screen, and your heart gives a small, unexpected flutter. You read his invitation twice, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tap out your reply, keeping it light and trying to match his tone.
[You]: I'd love to! Need me to bring anything? (I promise I'll actually remember the plates this time if there's food involved!)
Down in the garage, Sukuna’s been organizing the same shelf of oil filters for the last four minutes, trying to distract himself, when his pocket finally vibrates. He freezes mid-reach. He deliberately finishes placing the last filter on the rack, forcing himself to move at a normal pace, refusing to look like a lunatic even to his own reflection. Only then does he step back, dig out his phone, and unlock the screen.
Reading your text, the tight, stubborn knot in his chest unravels all at once. Relief hits so fast it’s almost dizzying, and a rush of heat crawls up his neck. You didn't say no. You didn't find an excuse, you didn't think it was weird, and you explicitly said you'd love to come back. And that little joke about the plates instantly crumbles the remaining walls of his stubborn frustration.
A massive, genuinely victorious smirk spreads across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners as a low, rough chuckle rumbles out of his chest. Energy surges through him, ridiculous and electric, like he’s just rebuilt a blown engine in record time.
Then his gaze snags on that last sentence, and his thumb freezes over the keyboard.
Food. You’re asking about bringing food.
For you, it’s testing the waters for a little more time together. But to him, it's enough to send his thoughts careening straight off the rails of the maintenance lesson and into a chaotic spiral of logistics. Does he buy something? Does he tell you to bring something? If he says no, does that mean you’ll just learn how to check a dipstick and drive away immediately after? He doesn't want you to leave. He wants you back on that metal stool, right where he can see you.
Pacing a short line next to the workbench, he types out a response, frowning as he slams straight into a wall of overthinking that’s completely foreign to him: I’ll grab some burgers. No, that’s too much like a date. Don't worry about food. No, that sounds like he doesn't want to eat with you at all. Or worse, you’ll eat before you come, and he’ll miss his chance entirely.
Frustrated with his own hesitation, he deletes the drafts, grunts, and decides to handle it the only way he knows how: blunt and completely practical.
[Sukuna]: Just bring the car. I’ll order a pizza. Pepperoni alright?
He hits send, tossing the phone back onto the bench with a sharp exhale. The message is demanding, a little aggressive, and leaves zero room for negotiation. Still, it guarantees you're staying for dinner.
A wide grin splits his face as he spins around and surveys his empty shop, eyes scanning the bays with sudden, critical focus. Twenty-four hours. That’s all he’s got to make sure his office looks halfway respectable before you walk through the door.
—
Rolling into the gravel driveway with five minutes to spare, you idle near the entrance just as the side door swings open and Sukuna steps out into the cool evening air. He’s in a plain black tee stretched across his broad shoulders and dark grey sweatpants. The change catches your eye immediately because he looks ridiculously good out of his coveralls. You can’t help but wonder if the wardrobe swap was just a coincidence, or if he actually cared about making a good impression tonight.
He walks over to the front of your car, waving his hand to guide you forward. "Bring it straight into the second bay," he calls out.
Following his gesture, you shift into drive and ease the car forward into the bay. The engine clicks softly when you shut it off, and as you step out, Sukuna’s already at the front bumper, nodding at you.
“You’ve made it," he rumbles, stepping up to pop the latch and lift your hood into place with a practiced, heavy thud.
"Told you I would," you say, glancing over the open engine bay with curiosity. "So, where are we starting? Am I going to get entirely covered in grime?"
Sukuna lets out a low, amused huff, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and pivots toward the rolling tool cabinet. "Not if I can help it."
He reaches into a cardboard box on top of the cart and pulls out a pair of thin, black single-use gloves. His size is impossible to ignore when he steps in close, suddenly crowding the space, and hands them over.
"Put these on first," he instructs, his gaze locking onto yours for a heartbeat. "The alternator's fresh, but everything else under that hood isn’t. No reason for you to ruin your hands."
You take the gloves, smoothing the black rubber over your wrists before looking up at him with a playful smile, tilting your head. "Very thoughtful. I didn't think a tough mechanic like you cared about a little dirt."
"I don't care about it on me," Sukuna mutters. His eyes linger on your hands for a second before he jerks his gaze back down at the engine bay, clears his throat, and points into the tangled mess of metal and hoses. "Alright, come here. We’re skipping the basic fluid check—you’re smart enough to know how to read a dipstick. I want to show you more interesting stuff."
Stepping in close, you slide the gloves over your hands, your shoulder brushing his for just a second. It's barely a touch, but enough to make both of you hyper-aware of the space you share.
"See this belt right here?" Sukuna asks, leaning over the grille. His deep voice drops into a steady, confident cadence as he gets into his element. "This is your serpentine belt. In case someone tells you it’s about to snap, I'll show you how to check the tension yourself, and how to spot actual dry rot versus regular wear."
He tugs on his own gloves, then reaches down. He navigates the cramped space around the engine block with ease, and you find yourself briefly distracted by the contrast between the size of his hands, the precision of the movements, and how gentle they look as he grips the heavy rubber belt. Then, with a twist, he exposes the underside to the light.
"Get your hand in right here," he says, glancing sideways at you, his eyes dark and intense in the low light. "Feel the edge of the rubber. Tell me what you notice."
For the next hour, Sukuna guides you through a standard oil change, patiently talking you through each step. He doesn't do the work for you; he has you reach beneath the chassis with a socket wrench to feel the exact point of resistance on the oil pan drain plug, his hand covering yours to adjust the angle, explaining the difference between a secure seal and stripped threads.
When he shows you a spark plug, he holds the tiny ceramic piece beneath the shop light, pointing out the faint color differences that separate a healthy engine from one that's burning fuel too rich.
All the while, Sukuna stays at your shoulder, keeping you grounded. Each time your gloved fingers falter over a stubborn clamp or an unfamiliar valve, his hand is there, nudging your wrist or guiding it with a confidence that makes it impossible to feel foolish. He answers every question thoroughly without a hint of impatience, pleased with your curiosity. By the time you peel the gloves from your hands, the machinery that once felt so intimidating is just a puzzle you’ve learned how to solve, and the satisfaction settles deep in your chest.
A sudden chime of the office bell cuts through the quiet, shattering the spell. Sukuna pulls his hand back from the engine block, his head snapping toward the front door.
"Pizza's here,” he rasps.
He strips off the gloves, tossing them in the trash before heading to the glass door to pay the delivery guy. You follow suit, peeling yours off and grabbing the plates you stashed in your trunk earlier. Stepping into the dim office, you find Sukuna already setting the steaming pizza box dead center on his desk.
"Look at that," you tease softly, sliding the plates onto the desk. "Real plates this time."
Sukuna glances down at them, and a faint, genuinely amused smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Fancy," he mutters, eyes flicking up to catch yours for a split second before his hand moves to the cardboard lid. “Bringing the good stuff to a garage."
The moment he flips the lid open, the rich, savory scent of hot cheese and pepperoni floods the room, instantly smothering the stubborn trace of motor oil that still clings to the air. He slides a massive, steaming slice onto your plate before grabbing one for himself. "Eat up before it gets cold."
For the first twenty minutes, conversation just flows easily, and to his immense relief, not a single word about car parts comes up. You ask about the shop, how long he’s been running it, and whether he always wanted to be a mechanic. He tells you how he likes working with his hands, how machines make sense in a way people never do, because if something’s broken, there’s always a reason, and always a fix.
After a while, Sukuna starts tossing questions your way. One answer leads to another, and before long you're deep in a story about that trainwreck project at work and the latest chaos your friends managed to stir up over the weekend. He doesn’t interrupt, his crimson eyes fixed on your face, watching your eyes crinkle with laughter, how your hands sketch wild shapes in the air, and the tiny smile that sneaks out when you mention your friends.
Some part of him is convinced this should be awkward. Or, at the very least, harder than this. But it feels completely natural, and before he knows it, he’s talking more than he ever does. And that’s exactly when the invisible trap closes right back around his throat.
Ask her, his mind orders, the thought landing in his chest with a sudden, heavy thud. Eight words. Do you want to go out with me? Just say the damn words.
You finish your slice and lean back a little on your stool, thumb brushing a stray crumb from your lower lip without thinking.
Do it now. She's sitting right here. She likes talking to you. Just open your stupid mouth and ask for a real date.
Sukuna shifts his weight on the metal stool as his large hand tightens around his napkin.
Don't be a coward. It's a question, not a marriage proposal.
He opens his mouth, but his throat locks up tight. He isn't actually afraid of hearing the word no—he has plenty of pride, but a rejection wouldn't break him. What paralyzes him is the fiercely protective boundary he’s drawn around you in his own head.
And then what? She realizes the mechanic who helped her has been working an angle the whole time?
He’s desperately trying not to abuse the trust he’s built with you. The sheer weight of wanting to keep this clean and respectable for your sake completely jams his gears.
"Hey," he blurts out anyway, his voice a little rough, cutting right through the middle of whatever you were saying.
You pause, blinking at him with curious eyes. "Hm?"
Sukuna freezes as his brain goes completely blank again under your direct gaze. His eyes drop to your mouth, staring at the soft curve of your lips in the dim light of the desk lamp, his mind scrambling for any kind of escape hatch.
For fuck's sake, Sukuna. You've started already. Just finish it.
Instead, his throat stays bone dry, jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek. The words just refuse to come, and the surge of internal fury that follows nearly knocks him sideways.
“Never mind.”
You study him for a long moment, and a small, knowing look flickers in your eyes as you set your crust down on the plate.
"Well," you say softly, with a playful little tilt to your head. "I guess I officially know enough about drive belts now. At this rate, I won't have an excuse to bother you anymore."
The words hit like a bucket of ice water. The thought of you just fading back into the real world, never showing up at his garage again, triggers a raw, defensive panic that steamrolls right over his hesitation.
"You don't need car trouble to stop by," he quickly says.
It comes out too blunt, his voice rough and a little too sharp in the quiet room. He winces inside, bracing for you to pull away, but you just look at him, a soft, slow smile spreading across your face.
"You know," you murmur, your voice dropping into a gentle, teasing tone as you lean just a hair closer over the edge of the desk. "Most people just ask for a date."
Sukuna goes utterly still. The words hang in the air, and the silence that follows is so thick you can hear the faint, steady hum of the fluorescent bulb overhead. He doesn’t answer right away—he can’t. The gears in his brain lock up as he stares at you, completely stunned that you’ve just outmaneuvered him without even trying.
But then the sheer absurdity of it all hits him, and the tension in his chest snaps like a rubber band.
A low, rough chuckle shakes his chest, half frustration, half pure captivation. He drops the crumpled napkin onto the desk, and suddenly his eyes are burning with that hyper-confident heat he’s been holding back all week. The cautious, hesitant mechanic is gone in a blink.
"Yeah?" he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave.
Before you can blink, he closes the distance between the stools. That massive hand of his finds the back of your neck, thick fingers curling gently, thumb pressing into the warm skin along your jaw. His sheer size blocks out the rest of the office, casting you in his shadow as he leans down, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
His eyes drop to your mouth, and the intensity of his stare makes your breath catch.
"Been trying real hard to be polite all week," he mutters with a wicked smirk right against your lips, tracing a slow line along your jaw with his thumb. "But you're entirely right. I'm taking you out tomorrow night."
He pauses, giving you one last chance to pull away if you want to. When you don't move, matching his smirk with one of your own, he closes the last bit of space without a single shred of hesitation.
The moment his lips meet yours, a ragged breath escapes him, a sound so raw it sends a shiver tearing down your spine. He’s been starving for this all week, and the force of it knocks the air from both your lungs.
Sweet vanilla and tobacco from his perfume flood your senses, drowning out everything else. Sukuna tastes exactly like he smells: warm, intense, and utterly intoxicating. Any coherent thought vanishes beneath the rush of it. Your hands find the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers twisting the fabric at his chest and bunching it tight in your fists as you pull him closer. Every bit of hunger he pours into the kiss, you give right back.
Feeling you lean in and your hands on him, a low, gravelly groan rumbles from deep in his chest. His grip at the nape of your neck tightens, thick fingers slipping higher into your hair until they're tangled in the strands at the base of your skull, leaving no room for doubt about how badly he's wanted this. His other hand leaves the desk, sliding up to cup your face, calloused thumb sweeping hard over your cheekbone as he tilts your head back, searching for a better angle.
Slow, insistent pressure parts your lips, and his mouth moves over yours in a rhythm that makes your head spin. The heat pouring off him is overwhelming, swallowing up the entire office until there's nothing left but his lips and the rough drag of his hands against your skin.
Sukuna pulls back just a fraction, barely a breath of space between you, so you can both drag in ragged breaths. Eyes closed, his forehead drops against yours while his chest heaves. But staying away isn’t an option. He leans right back in, catching your lower lip between his, sucking on it with a slow pull that rips a quiet gasp from your throat.
That deep drag is followed by a series of quick, hot pecks—one to the corner of your mouth, another firm press at the center of your lips, and finally a lingering kiss that seals your mouths together all over again.
Every tiny, breathless break just makes him hungrier. He presses in deeper, tongue tracing the shape of your lips, completely taking over the pace. Your heart hammers stupidly against your ribs, your body turning to liquid on the metal stool, kept upright only by the iron grip of his hands. He’s kissing you like he wants to leave a permanent mark, making up for an entire week spent talking himself out of this.
Even when he finally tears his mouth away, he refuses to let you go. His breath comes in short, heavy rasps that tangle with your own, crimson eyes fluttering open to find you—dark, hooded, and completely blown wide as he stares at your swollen lips. His thumb sweeps over your lower lip, wiping the dampness away with a slow, heavy pressure that makes your chest ache.
For a moment, neither of you says a word. The office is silent except for the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. His chest rises and falls close to yours, and you can feel the lingering warmth of him, the tension that hasn’t left either of your bodies.
A smirk slowly tugs at the corner of his mouth. He savors the silence every bit as much as the kiss itself.
“Text me your address,” he rumbles, his voice incredibly low and rough. His hand is still tangled in your hair, fingers threaded deep enough that when you instinctively try to lean back and get a better look at him, his grip tightens just enough to stop you. It isn’t rough, but it’s firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you as his fingers shift slightly against your scalp. “And be ready at seven.”
Blinking up at him through the haze of the kiss, you tilt your head as much as his grip allows, brows lifting as you study him. The corner of your mouth twitches, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
"Pretty sure that wasn't a question, Sukuna."
His smirk deepens as he looks down at you, completely unfazed by your tone. That arrogant confidence in his eyes is impossible to miss now, and somehow it only makes your stomach flip harder.
"Neither was taking you out tomorrow night," he murmurs.
You don’t bother answering. Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt as you drag him down, crushing your lips into his. He chuckles deeply into the kiss as his hands slide from your face to your waist. Before you can think about what he's doing, he's pulling you off the stool and into his lap. Deepening the kiss, you bury your fingers in his hair, drawing a low groan from him that sends a shiver racing down your spine and straight between your legs.
notes:
> sukuna: somebody has been scamming this woman
> sukuna: she baked me a pie
> sukuna 5 minutes later: i need her phone number or i'm going to lose my fucking mind
SATORU GOJO :: fratjo and his curated instagram profile!
(18+) :: content – frat!gojo x fem!reader, college au, smut, switch!gojo, p in v, riding, pussydrunk gojo
frat!gojo is one of those guys with a heavily curated instagram profile.
it’s not that it’s overly nonchalant, or so quiet that it looks painfully intentional, but so effortlessly busy while maintaining an air of carelessness that he makes it look like a modern day art form.
it’s all witty captions (“siri, set an alarm for those sleeping on me”, who even thinks of that?), vaguely motion-blurred pictures of neon lights and solo cups, polo clubs and martinis, late nights at the frat house, and highlights of well-shot travel pictures and selfies.
it just seems like he always knows exactly what kind of picture to take in what setting, exactly what makes him look good in front of the many people (many.) that are hungry to see what’s going on in satoru’s life. it doesn’t even seem like he’s actively trying to show off how cool and interesting and luxurious his life is – he just fucking does it.
the cherry on top? an absolutely lethal follower-to-following ratio. satoru doesn’t even follow back half of the thousands of followers he’s got.
in short: he’s got it down to a science. you’d think you knew exactly who he was simply based on the curation of his profile.
at least, that’s what you think when your sorority friends first show you his account.
you – well, you’re the type of person who’s seen it all before.
you think you’ve got it down to a science too, because you’ve always been able to accurately predict exactly who someone is based on what their social media looks like. and the minute your friends show you satoru gojo’s instagram, you don’t know whether you should laugh, scoff, or clutch your pearls tightly.
“no. he’s definitely an asshole,” you clock immediately, shaking your head. “if I tell you guys I’m bored, at least give me someone nice.”
“he’s nice!”
“I mean, someone who isn’t the definition of ‘lights on, nobody’s home’, maybe?”
your friends look at each other like they’d expected the less-than-positive reaction, but they keep pushing anyways. “just try talking to him. if you’re bored, gojo’s the person to go to. Look at his profile: he’s rich as fuck. fine as fuck. good in pictures. he passes his classes–”
you groan. “yes, because that makes him the epitome of academic excellence–”
“–just fucking text him already!”
against your better judgment, you click on that well-curated profile, and you text.
and he texts back – quickly, you might add, for someone that chronically looks like he ghosts people simply because he doesn’t have time for all of them.
it's not just that. the thing is, you and satoru keep texting – for weeks on end.
it’s not even you holding the conversations together, but him. satoru does the most; he sends you pictures of him with his brothers, him in his car, him walking to classes you didn’t think he attended.
you wanted to stop replying. you want to doubt him, call him a slut, find him annoying. but he’s really not.
you: gojo it’s getting late yk
gojo: but i wanna keep talking to you :((
you almost scoff.
you: how many girls did u JUST text that to be honest
it’s mostly a joke, partially your own morbid curiosity kicking into action. it’s late on a friday night, you’re trying to find any reason not to be intentionally texting someone who probably doesn’t give half of a shit about you, and amidst the darkness of your own bedroom, you’re fucking entertaining this. satoru’s probably off convincing some other girl she’s the only one, calling her up, coercing her into letting him come over at this hour–
gojo: [1 attachment]
it’s just you beautiful
he sends a screenshot of his recent fucking DMs.
and he’s not lying – it’s just you (pinned?), a couple of his frat brothers’ dump accounts, absolutely nothing incriminating that could justify your premature judgments about satoru.
suddenly, you’re in it now; your lip is caught between your teeth, trying to process this revelation, and he’s still fucking typing. like he doesn’t care if it looks desperate. maybe he just thinks he’s incapable of looking desperate?
gojo: soo will you keep talking to me now
i miss you its been 30 secs
you: ur so stupid
fine
okay. maybe satoru isn’t anything like his profile at all.
one day, he finally asks you to come over. it’s not even in a weird, frat fuck, booty call way either; you get home from a pretty late exam, and you somehow get into texting satoru about how you’re pissed, you think you flunked, and you hadn’t eaten anything in hours.
before you can even think about setting foot in your building elevator, he’s sending you a picture of a shit ton of sushi (he remembered you saying you liked it?), luring you into his place like a mouse trap, and threatening to make you feel better with free food and bad movies.
it’s irritating how saying no didn’t even cross your mind for a second.
even if there was a 70% chance satoru only wanted to fuck, you kind of didn’t even mind that.
and you learn that satoru is 100%, most definitely not an asshole.
he doesn’t even actually look that much like what you’d see on his profile – other than being absolutely delicious-looking, because of course that doesn’t change.
he’s tall, but half of all the bicep and muscle he loves to show off on his story highlights is hidden behind a faded digimon hoodie. satoru’s got a pair of black, thick-framed glasses perched on top of his head, pushing his snow-white bangs back, leaving a few strands to rest over his forehead.
he even smiles sweet, out of the corners of his lips, all “let’s stay in my room” and “you got any movies you like? I have all of them!”, drawing you in without even knowing it.
your heart is in your throat when he leads you to his bedroom, where he’s laid sushi and snacks out as if eating was the first thing on your mind.
you have two thoughts: first, that he’s nothing like the fuckboy he seems he is on his instagram, and second, coming over to his house, just him and you, may be the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.
so you think it takes way too long, because satoru’s way too nice.
in fact, it takes you shuffling close into his side on the bed and tugging at his hoodie string with your fingertip midway through detective pikachu for him to even notice you wanted something.
“hm?” satoru hums, his arm absentmindedly wrapping over your shoulders in a motion that makes your skin warm. “yeah? is it too cold, or–”
oh my god. you bite the inside of your cheek. “maybe you wanna keep me warm?”
“oh, for sure, i’ll go get another blanket–”
“gojo.”
and satoru dares move to get up. “i’ll be quick, don’t worry–”
“satoru.” and you’re tugging him back down, giving him half-lidded eyes, gazing beneath your eyelashes like he’s one more word away from being eaten alive.
and finally, finally, you see his eyebrows raise like something’s clicking into place, and there’s a faint grin starting to tug at the corners of his lips. maybe he is kind of an asshole – but you barely get to berate him before he’s clicking his tongue and tugging you into his lap.
⭑.ᐟ
“fuck, beautiful–”
you don’t even realize just how little satoru matches his instagram profile until he’s the one beneath you, hands roaming your waist, trailing up to pinch desperately at your hardened nipples, all while you press your hands to his bare chest and ride his huge cock.
it’s hard to remember how you ended up here, his back against his own mattress, glasses hitting his own headboard, with your legs hooked over each side of his hips, watching the frat boy’s face contort in absolute pleasure.
all you know is that every sound that leaves his lips, every flutter of his lashes over those blue fucking eyes – heat pools between your legs. it doesn’t help that satoru’s so big, each drop back down on his dick making you see stars behind your eyelids.
“s–shit,” you gasp out wantonly, a loud squelch resounding between you as your pussy clenched around him. he’s just so deep, stretching out your needy cunt so perfectly with each roll of your hips. “so fuck– fucking big, satoru–”
he hisses. “baby, you’re – oh my god – you’re killing me here. c’mon, let me take care of you–”
it’s cute how easy it is to get him, of all people, to shut the fuck up.
all it takes is a shaky scoff from your parted lips, as you lift your hips all the way up, sliding your wet entrance over his tip for a second, just to relish in the way the white-haired man below you practically whines, aching for the warmth of your pussy around him. and then you drop down fully, letting out a broken little cry as his cock splits you open again, the stretch achingly delicious.
“haah–” satoru sounds so pathetic like this, fingertips clutching at the skin of your waist tight like he needed to bounce you on his dick until you were sobbing in his hold. “come on, please, just– just let me fuck you properly, pretty.”
“mmh,” you breathe out airily as you grind down onto his cock, eyes rolling back. “but ‘s so good.”
“could make it even b–better,” satoru groans. “shit. shit, do that again,”
you almost grin, albeit cockdrunk and absolutely dripping on him, at the little whimper that escapes his lips when your fingernails claw into his chest, timed perfectly with a greedy little roll of your hips, shifting him deeper into the warmth of your cunt.
you lean forward, tits pressing against his skin as you press your lips to his. and satoru takes this opportunity as his only avenue of control — his tongue breaches your mouth, a dazed little whine escaping your lips in response, shoving the muscle as far down your mouth as it would go. as if taunting you.
but he’s fucking gone, at the end of the day, and all it takes to have his mouth dropping open is for you to slam that ass back down like your life depended on it.
“don’t be a — ah! — an asshole, satoru,” you murmur into his skin, devastating, manicured fingertips prying his hand off your waist. “be good.”
“f—fuck,” he sputters out amidst the wet plap! plap! plap! of your ass against his pelvis. “fuck, ‘re the asshole here, pretty—”
your teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, and the low, broken sound that escapes his mouth is almost enough to have you creaming around his dick right then and there. “you’re so — ngh — ungrateful. ‘m literally bouncing on your dick—”
“haah—” both of your words are messy, making it out through strings of saliva against each other’s lips, resounding across the space of satoru’s bedroom. “baby…”
“haven’t even said please.” you mumble, and the white-haired man keens at how easily you can pretend to be so innocent, voice soft and wrecked and sweet like you don’t even realize what you’re doing. “just say please for me, satoru.”
you swear you see something hot flash in those blue eyes.
he doesn’t say anything.
“satoru,” and there’s no way he can say no to that voice. not like that. not when your voice is so candied, so sweet, so intentional in trying to get him to beg to fuck you. you press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and he hisses like you’ve just bitten bruises into his shoulder. “play nice for me, okay?”
“shit, baby…”
“pleaaase. say it.”
he tries rolling his hips into you, chasing the sweet warmth of the pussy you’re denying to let him fuck. all for not much, considering you slam his hips back down and leave him whimpering beneath your touch. so adorable. so desperate, it was almost comical, considering how satoru looked, how he presented himself.
so much for the fuckboy with an allegedly long list of girls in his DMs.
because—
“please!” satoru whines out, arms flexing by your thighs, a large hand meeting your waist, fingertips gripping loosely. “fuck, please, please let me fuck you properly, you’re so tight, so good–”
he’s babbling. about your pussy. satoru’s punctuating each little plea with a pathetic gasp ripped from his throat.
the man behind the curated ig that featured countless hookups, countless parties, and he’s utterly pussydrunk as you ride him to insanity.
“yeah?” you whisper against his mouth.
“haah— yeah, fuck, yes. been thinking about it — shit! — ever since you texted me.” satoru gasps.
you find it in yourself amidst the haziness to glance down at his face, the way his lips are slicked with your drool, the way his eyes are half-lidded behind white eyelashes, so utterly destroyed. the absolute picture of intoxication, all by the hand of your cunt lewdly squelching around his length.
he’s not what he seems at all.
because the white-haired man would have never looked like he begged this pretty beneath someone like you.
and you’re just as far gone, because you kiss him hard after the admission, legs shaking as you slam your hips up and down like you wanted his tip bruising hearts into your cervix. it doesn’t take much — you’re biting at those plush lips, letting his tongue saunter down your throat, and he’s whining, stuttering into your lips as his dick twitches inside of you, pumping you full of his cum.
it’s filthy, between the gasps from his throat, warm liquid seeping out of your hole and coating your pussy lips, dripping down your asscheeks, staining his sheets. you’re not exactly any better, whimpering at the sticky feeling of his cum deep inside of you, your own wetness soaking his entire cock in a pretty sheen.
satoru’s spent for a moment, and so are you — heavy breaths are exchanged between kiss-bitten lips, his hands gripping your waist tight like you’re his only lifeline. like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t bruise your skin.
the afterglow lasts about five seconds longer. because you realize just how fucked you are when you feel the frat boy grin against the corners of your lips, long fingers moving down, down to grasp your plush thighs.
“satoru,” you mumble, somewhere between a warning and a request.
“shh,” his voice is wrecked. “said please for you, baby. promised i’d get to fuck you properly.”
“satoru—”
he presses down on the bulge where his cock is buried deep inside you, earning a soft little moan from your mouth.
and that voice makes you shudder. “you be good for me now.”
⭑.ᐟ
frat!gojo's profile is a heavily curated one.
he’s got it down to a science.
so no one realizes anything is out of place — even when he posts a carefully-shot picture of you, passed out on his bare chest, hair splayed out to obscure your face. it’s provocative enough for everyone to know exactly what he did, but barely enough for anyone to question its place in the life he showed off online.
barely enough for anyone except you, who sees that story, dressed in an oversized t-shirt, while satoru’s waking you up with gentle pecks over your face.
yeah. he’s not what anyone thinks.
@ ttakdoll, 2026
kind of just wanted this one out of my hair,, i'll do smth better soon!
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HELUVME ! ☆ 17. on his knees
⤷ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader
syn. you broke up two weeks ago... but you aren't quite done with megumi yet!
cw/tags. college/aged up megumi, he's mean, exes to lovers, kinda toxic? ANGST, jealousy, reader constantly provokes him ect. dirty/suggestive humour.
-> 2.3k words
for five minutes, megumi had been stood at the front door of your apartment, shifting the weight between his feet, chewing his bottom lip, hesitantly lifting a hand as if he was about to knock before retracting it and shaking his head, telling himself he couldn't do it.
over and over and over again.
for a moment, he thought over the events of the last month again.
the fight that'd started it all. the breakup. you drunk-texting him and kissing him in his car. then your relentless pining for him. somewhere between that, kamo had entered the picture, and his own dogs and best friends had betrayed him.
then last week. you in his kitchen again like you'd never left. asking him that question that'd made his gut turn inside out.
'is there anything i can do?'
megumi's throat bobbed with the effort of holding back tears for the umpteenth time tonight as the memory unearthed itself, murkily flashing before his eyes distastefully.
'anything? to make us normal again?'
and then you'd given up.
and then tsumiki had given him a much-needed talking to. and hadn't left him alone since. his older sister had been texting him everyday since she'd left his place, checking in with him, asking if he'd talked to you, inquiring on when he finally planned to rip the band-aid and do it.
and tonight, he'd done it. only to be met with well deserved anger and refusal. he'd been expecting it, of course. hells knew he deserved it and much, much more from you. mournfully, he'd accepted it, then shut off his phone and stared at his ceiling for a solid hour.
because he'd finally gone and done it.
all those times he'd thought he'd lost you for good, he couldn't be further from the truth.
now, though?
he had.
he had lost you and you weren't coming back.
or so he thought, because then you messaged him again.
'come over.'
and he had.
'we can talk but u on thin ice'
and he knew.
still in his pyjamas, he'd practically soared out of his sheets, thrown a jacket on and shoved his keys into his pocket. he hadn't even bothered to change out of his house slippers, headset on the front door.
until a half-asleep yuuji on the sat up from the couch, all bed-hair and bleary eyes, the tv on, some love island knockoff playing in the background. he always managed to find some new trash tv to watch. he rubbed his eyes with his fist, confused and dazed, "hey... where you goin'?"
megumi froze, turned and cleared his throat. he'd honestly thought yuuji was asleep when he walked past him just seconds prior. "weren't you just snoring?"
yuuji laughed, raspy, "oh, yeah. i do that for fun sometimes."
"oh... okay." megumi muttered, his own tired brain struggling to catch up. he clawed around his mind for any excuse he could give as to why he was leaving so late, but it was hard to think of anything but you. "uh. i'm getting groceries."
shit.
yuuji blinked, eyes going to the analogue clock on the wall, which read two forty-five am, and then to a window, where the pitch black night sky stared back at him. then he shrugged, "oh, okay."
megumi stared back in disbelief. did he really buy that? sleep deprivation is a powerful thing.
but then again, he thought, a fully awake yuuji probably would've bought it too.
"stupidity is the real power." megumi thought aloud under his breath.
"huh?"
"nothing." he turned to leave.
"waaaait..." yuuji called, then a lopsided, tired grin came to his face, "get me that ramen i like."
"...fine."
and then megumi was gone.
and now he was here. heart lodged somewhere in his throat, blocking every effort he made to swallow his pride and just do it, just knock, and talk to you. even if you didn't accept it. even if you hated him forever. even if you never spoke to him again after tonight.
he had to let you make the decision this time.
he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fist hard, nails digging into his palm, and finally lifted his hand and knocked.
footsteps padded towards the door. his heartbeat thumped in his ears, and it took everything in him not to run, to find the nearest exit and to continue avoiding the truth.
the door creaked open, and you stood there, your image mirroring his— pyjamas, messy hair, eyes red-rimmed both from tears and exhaustion, you sniffled, wiped your face with your sleeve, then stared at him.
he stared back.
"...hi."
you didn't bother greeting him back, just sighed and stepped aside, letting him in, then trudged over to the kitchenette. you leaned your hip against the counter, arms folded over your middle in a protective posture, facing away from him.
because you knew if you looked at his face for a moment longer, you'd give in.
you spoke one word, "talk." and when you did, it was hard, raspy and monotone. nothing like the sweet and loving tone that'd always been reserved for him.
megumi stared at your back, still stood by the door, biting the inside of his cheek.
a thin veil of silence stretched over the two of you for a few beats. nothing but the faint hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock.
tik. tik. tik.
and then he talked.
"i'm sorry." the words hung between the two of you. "i know that fixes nothing."
"yeah." you muttered back dryly.
your cold tone made megumi's chest hurt. but he shook off the ache. this wasn't about him. and he knew he didn't deserve to hear your warm voice when his own frozen hell had caused you endlessly greater pain than he could ever imagine.
megumi rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to lose his train of thought, "that night we broke up," he acknowledged, watching the way your shoulder muscles tensed on the right side where the fabric of your sleep shirt hung off the side. his own throat tightened at the memory, "i wasn't upset about that fight."
you didn't speak. or move.
"i was..." megumi looked down, closing his eyes. this was it. the band-aid. he cleared his throat, feeling tears build along his pinkened waterline, blurring his vision. and then he ripped it. "i suggested we should break up, and i regretted it immediately."
you blinked.
he continued.
"i held our relationship over your head. i made it seem like i wasn't willing to fight for us. that i... didn't love you enough to fight for us."
you heard his voice crack at the word 'love', then a pause, as if he was wiping away tears. and it took all your remaining pride and composure not to turn around. you stared ahead, eyes trained on a fridge magnet, willing yourself to stay stubborn, to stay cold, to give him all he'd given you and more.
"that isn't true." his voice trembled, "and i still don't know why i said it. and i hate myself for it. i... keep thinking about the way your face fell, and how you started crying and begging me to tell me i didn't mean it, and..." megumi sniffled, "i didn't. i knew i didn't. i should've taken it back, i should've apologised, i should've... done a lot. but in that moment, all i saw was that i'd done something so unforgivable, that i'd let my anger control me and hurt you without even realising, and i told myself that if i left you, i'd be protecting you."
"that's bullshit." you finally whispered, silently cursing yourself, because you'd wanted to save it all for the end. to bask in the satisfaction of listening to it all and turning him away. to let him hurt.
"i know." megumi responded.
and you stilled, not having expected that answer from him.
"all this time, i thought pushing you away was the best thing i could do for you. i thought, if i'd done something like that without realising, even if i apologised and you forgave me, what if i did it again?" he breathed out a bitter laugh, "if i didn't see it coming the first time, who's to say it wouldn't happen a second time?"
your jaw tensed. you had so much you wanted to say, you felt rage building in your chest at how convoluted and selfish and dumb and megumi that takeaway was, but before you could even voice it, he did it for you.
"that was selfish of me." megumi said, "i was making decisions for you, without ever once considering what you might want. i told myself i was protecting you, but really, i was protecting myself."
the words felt familiar. tsumiki's. his sister's wisdom. the truth.
he hoped he sounded right. he didn't have the way with words she did, and he'd never been good at communicating his feelings, but for you, he'd try, and he'd learn, even if you decided you didn't forgive him tonight or ever again.
"i was scared," he added, "because if i let you make the decision to forgive me, then i'd also have to forgive myself for what i said."
his eyes burned.
"so i watched you keep showing up, keep trying, keep fighting for me, and i pushed you away every time."
megumi stepped closer. a small, meek, unsure one at first, then a larger one, closing the space between the two of you whilst still leaving your bubble undisturbed, leaving the power in your hands.
"i miss you every day." his throat felt raw.
honesty hurt.
he swallowed it down anyway and took another step.
"i miss talking to you."
his eyes stung.
"i miss seeing you."
he took one more step, and stopped.
"i miss waking up every day and knowing you're mine."
now your eyes welled up. you looked down, blinking hard as tears rolled down your cheeks. your lips trembled as a choked sob clawed its way up your wrecked throat, but you held it in with your tongue, swiping at your nose with your sleeve.
megumi noticed the shift in your body language, from firm and angry and protective to small and sad and longing. he hated himself for it. for all for it. for ever making you feel this way. for the knowledge that all this heartbreak could've been avoided.
"i love you." he whispered.
that did it.
your chest caved in and a small cry escaped you.
"i never stopped." megumi's heart hurt at the sight before him. knowing that yet again, he was the cause of your tears, your pain, your suffering, and he couldn't hold you, couldn't comfort you, couldn't tell you everything was alright and that this was all just one big, bad dream. his vision clouded with more stinging tears, persisting, no matter how hard he blinked them back, "that day, last week, you asked me something."
you visibly cringed at the memory, eyes squeezing shut tight.
"you asked if there was anything you could do to make us normal." he looked down, shaking his head sadly, "and there wasn't. not because of anything you did or didn't do. but because i refused to let you in." he pressed his lips together, "i'm the one who should be asking you that question."
the silence after made your ears ring.
"if you tell me you never want to see me again, i'll understand." he added, "i won't make any more decisions for you." his voice cracked, "but if there's even a small part of you that still wants this... if there's anything i can do to fix this..." his voice trailed off. done speaking. still unsure if anything he'd just said was right or enough.
megumi stared at your back for a solid minute.
you stood there, weeping, thinking over his words, breathing shakily and deeply.
then finally, for the first time the entire conversation, you turned your head, looking back at him over your shoulder.
megumi stared back at you, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks shiny with tear tracks and eyes watery and longing for you, yet waiting patiently for your verdict.
something told you he would've stood there until the sun rose for you if that was what you needed.
"get on your knees." your voice croaked with disuse.
megumi blinked, body going rigid, brows drawing together, unsure if he misheard you.
then slowly, dangerously, a familiar burning glint reentered your eyes.
megumi recognised it.
the look you got right before causing problems.
"...what?"
you sniffled. rubbed your eye and fully turned you body to face him, looking at him properly and giving him a proper look at you.
"you heard me." you said, tilting your head as if daring him to question you again.
silence.
megumi stared, still struggling to compute your command. were you serious?
you stared back, entirely serious.
he swallowed.
then his tall figure sank.
both knees hit your kitchen tiles. his chin tipped up, eyes on you, waiting for your next move.
you stood there. watching him. then pushed off the counter and took a final step, closing the space between you. you leaned down, nose mere inches apart from his, so close you could feel each other's warm breath on your skin.
"apologise." you commaned.
"...i'm sorry." megumi said.
you cocked your head to the side, "why'd you hesitate?"
"i'm sorry." he said again, firmer this time.
"beg me to take you back."
he sputtered.
megumi's eyes raked over your tear-covered face in pure disbelief. he'd just spilt his guts out to you, and this was what you wanted from him?
you raised an eyebrow expectantly.
he looked down at the ground, a pink hue rising to his cheeks. "please take me back."
"look at me when you say it."
he sighed, "please t—"
"oh, i'm sorry," you folded your arms, voice dripping in mockery, "is this an inconvenience to you?"
"no." he mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, then opening them again and looking at you, "please take me back."
you studied him a few moments, as if contemplating the sincerity of his plea.
then a very pleased grin split your face.
you stood again to your full height, thoroughly satisfied, and ruffled his already messy hair, "i knew it'd all work out in my favour."
Tying up loose ends with your ex boyfriend Toji ends up in a threesome with your new boyfriend Choso?!
ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: threesome activity :: some toji x choso action :: older toji :: sub cho :: dominant reader & toji :: oral m. rec :: p in v :: dp :: both in the v :: at the same damn time :: c-pied :: kissing ::
ಇ.author's note: i have a few more drabbles with this paring - so yes more to cum in the future!
The apartment door barely clicked shut before the air thickened, heavy with the kind of tension that made your pulse stutter and your thighs press together on instinct.
Toji Fushiguro stood in your living room like he still owned the place, broad shoulders filling out that worn black shirt, scarred lips curled in that same cocky smirk you’d tried so hard to forget.
Months since you’d walked out on him, and yet here he was, invited in under the flimsiest excuse after he’d spotted you and Choso at that dimly lit bar earlier tonight. Now Choso lingered just behind you, quiet as always, dark eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of wariness and something softer, something that still made your stomach flip.
Toji didn’t waste time. His large hand caught your wrist, tugging you forward until your chest bumped his. “Missed this pretty little body,” he rumbled, voice low and mean, the way it always got when he wanted something. His other palm slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking your shirt up without asking. Choso stepped closer too, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away his hands joined in, gentler but just as eager, peeling the fabric over your head until cool air kissed your bare skin.
Clothes came off in a messy rush. Toji ripped your bra down your arms with a grunt, tossing it aside like it offended him, while Choso’s fingers worked your jeans open, pushing them down your legs along with your panties in one careful tug. You were naked between them in seconds, skin prickling under their stares.
Toji’s gaze dragged over you slow and possessive, grumpy old bastard that he was, muttering, “Still lookin’ like you were made for me, huh?” Choso said nothing, just pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his long hair brushing your cheek as his hands roamed your waist.
They walked you backward through the hallway, Toji’s bulk guiding the way with that dominant swagger he never lost, one arm hooked around your middle while Choso followed close on your other side.
The bedroom door swung open and they pushed you inside, the backs of your knees hitting the mattress before you even realized. Toji shoved you down onto the edge of the bed, standing tall over you, already palming the thick bulge straining his pants. “On your knees, sweetheart. Been thinkin’ about that mouth wrapin’ around me all night.”
You sank down obediently, the carpet soft under your knees, and tilted your head up at him with a sweet little smile that made his green eyes narrow. “Choso,” you called softly, patting the spot beside you. “Come here, baby.”
Toji’s brows shot up. “Wait, what the fuck? You ain’t callin’ him over to suck my cock or watch like some this is some goddamn show. This ain’t—”
“Shut up, Toji,” you cut in, voice calm but firm, the same tone you used when he used to push too far back when he was yours. He actually paused, jaw ticking, that scowl deepening, but he didn’t stop you.
Choso knelt beside you without hesitation, cheeks faintly pink under the dim lamp light, his dark eyes flicking up to yours for approval. You turned to him first, cupping his face and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding lazy and wet while your hand drifted down to palm Toji’s cock through his unzipped pants.
You freed him, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip, stroking him firm and steady as you made sure Toji watched every second of the kiss— the way Choso melted into it, soft little hum vibrating against your lips.
When you finally broke the kiss, a string of spit connecting you both for a moment, you smiled at Choso and murmured, “Be a good boy for me. Suck him.”
Toji barked a laugh, rough and disbelieving. “Fuck no. You serious? He ain’t—”
You shot him a look. “I said shut up and let him.”
Choso was shy about it at first, hesitating as he leaned in, but the second his pretty mouth wrapped around the head of Toji’s cock, the older man’s hips jerked and a low, shocked groan tore from his throat. “Oh my fuck…” Toji’s hand came down to tangle in Choso’s long hair, not guiding yet, just holding on as that warm, wet heat enveloped him.
Choso’s mouth was perfect— soft lips stretching around the girth, tongue swirling, lazy circles over the swollen head, lapping at the precum like he was savouring it. He took more, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed slowly, one hand braced on Toji’s thick thigh while the other came up to gently roll and tug at his heavy balls.
You watched with a satisfied little smile, still kneeling right there beside him, your hand resting on Choso’s back in quiet praise. “That’s it, good boy,” you cooed softly, voice dripping honey. “Just like that. Use your tongue more on the head, baby— he likes that.”
Toji’s head fell back for a second, a guttural curse spilling out as Choso obeyed instantly, licking broad stripes up the underside before sucking the tip back into that slick heat, eyes fluttering half-closed like he was lost in it. The contrast hit Toji hard— the way Choso moved so obediently, no backtalk, no attitude, just pure eager submission. He looked almost like a well-trained pet, kneeling there pretty and focused, long hair spilling over his shoulders while he worked Toji’s cock deeper into his throat with wet, obscene sounds.
“Fuck, ma,” Toji grunted, voice rougher now, hips twitching as he stared down at the scene. His free hand reached out to grip your chin, tilting your face up so he could see your smile. “You got him well trained like a dog. This the kinda shit you’re into now? Lettin’ your new boytoy slobber all over your ex’s dick just ‘cause you say so?”
You leaned into his touch, still smiling, eyes sparkling with that quiet triumph. “Yeah,” you said simply, voice soft and warm as you stroked Choso’s hair. “Choso listens. He’s good for me. Never argued or made everything a fight… unlike someone.”
Toji’s laugh came out breathless, a mix of annoyance and reluctant heat, his cock twitching hard between Choso’s lips as the younger man hollowed his cheeks again, taking him even deeper with a soft, muffled moan.
Choso’s tongue pressed flat against the vein running underneath, swirling and teasing, while his fingers continued their gentle massage on Toji’s balls, coaxing more precum to leak onto his tongue.
Toji’s grip tightened in Choso’s dark hair, but he didn’t force the pace— couldn’t, not when it felt this fucking good, that shy obedience wrapping around him tighter than any attitude ever had.
You stayed right there, naked and kneeling between them, one hand on Choso’s thigh for balance and the other occasionally reaching up to trace Toji’s abs, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
The bedroom filled with the wet sounds of Choso’s mouth, Toji’s low grunts, and your quiet praises whispered like secrets. “Good boy, Choso… swallow around him, just like that. See how much he likes it when you’re sweet for him?”
Choso hummed in response, the vibration making Toji hiss through his teeth, green eyes narrowing down at you with that familiar mean edge softened by raw pleasure. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much, brat,” he muttered, but there was no real bite left in it— not when his cock was buried in that perfect, warm mouth and you were watching him unravel with that knowing little smile.
Toji’s hips twitched again, thicker veins pulsing against Choso’s tongue as the younger man kept working him slow and deep, cheeks hollowed, lashes fluttering like he was lost in the taste.
That wet heat dragged along every inch, tongue pressing flat and swirling lazy circles around the swollen head before sliding back down until the tip nudged the back of Choso’s throat.
Choso didn’t gag, didn’t pull away— just swallowed around him with a soft, obedient little sound that had Toji’s abs tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
The older man’s hand stayed tangled in all that dark hair, fingers flexing like he wanted to fist it tight and fuck into that pretty mouth until tears spilled down Choso’s cheeks, but he held back, jaw clenched, breathing rough through his nose. Cocky bastard that he was, even he could feel how perfectly Choso was sucking him off, all shy devotion and slick warmth that made his balls draw up tighter with every pass.
You stayed kneeling right beside them, naked skin flushed warm, smiling that soft, satisfied smile while your hand rested on Choso’s thigh, thumb stroking gentle circles of praise. The sight of Toji trying so hard to keep control, hips barely rocking forward instead of slamming deep, sent a sweet thrill curling low in your belly.
Choso’s mouth made the filthiest sounds— wet slurps and quiet gulps, saliva already dripping down his chin and coating Toji’s heavy length in shiny streaks.
Toji’s gaze finally snapped to you, green eyes dark and hungry, his free hand shot out fast, fingers threading rough through your hair and yanking your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him.
The pull stung just enough to make you gasp, lips parting on a soft breath. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he growled, voice gravel-rough and mean. “You’re smilin’ like you won somethin’. Wet those pretty lips for me.”
He pulled out of Choso’s mouth with a wet pop, the thick head glistening, strings of saliva and precum webbing between Choso’s swollen lips and Toji’s cock like glistening threads that stretched and broke as he moved. Choso stayed kneeling there, breathing hard, lips shiny and parted, a faint blush high on his cheeks as he looked at you both with those dark, obedient eyes.
You swallowed once, throat bobbing, and Toji’s smirk sharpened, cock twitching in the cool air. “Come on, you little brat,” he said, low and taunting, tugging your hair again to tilt your face exactly where he wanted it. “Put that evil little mouth to work. Been watchin’ you direct your pet like a fuckin’ conductor— now show me what that smart mouth can really do.”
Your smile never faded, only curved wider as you leaned in, tongue darting out to trace the messy trail of spit and precum still clinging to him. Choso watched quietly from beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee like he was waiting for whatever you’d tell him next. Toji’s grip in your hair stayed firm, guiding you closer until your lips brushed the slick head, the salty taste blooming across your tongue as you opened for him.
The bedroom air felt thicker now, heavy with the scent of skin and want, the three of you tangled in that messy heat where Toji’s dominance clashed against Choso’s sweet obedience and your quiet control. You took him in slow at first, lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling just like you’d told Choso to do, while Toji’s low groan filled the room and his fingers tightened in your hair, hips finally giving one shallow thrust forward.
A low sound slipped from your throat as Toji pulled free and slapped his thick, spit-slick cock against your parted lips, the heavy weight of it landing wet and deliberate, smearing more of that messy mix of precum and Choso’s saliva across your mouth.
He did it again, harder this time, the wet smack echoing soft in the quiet bedroom while his scarred lips pulled into that mean, cocky grin. “That’s it, open wider, brat. Gonna fuck this throat pretty tonight— been thinkin’ about shuttin’ you up like this for months.”
He despised you, or at least that’s what the rough grip in your hair said, the way his fingers twisted tighter like he wanted to punish you for walking out, for replacing him with someone so sweetly obedient. But underneath scowl and the low growl in his chest, Toji knew you could take it. You always had. His hips rolled forward slow at first, feeding you inch after thick inch until the head nudged the back of your throat and your eyes watered just a little.
You swallowed around him anyway, lips stretched wide, tongue pressing flat along the underside as he started to thrust deeper, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that made your throat bulge faintly with every push.
Choso stayed knelt right beside you the whole time, dark eyes wide and fixed on the way your mouth worked Toji’s cock, the wet gluck-gluck sounds filling the room as spit dribbled down your chin and onto your bare tits. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched with that shy heat blooming across his cheeks, his own cock hard and untouched between his thighs.
Toji noticed. Of course he did. Without missing a single thrust into your throat, he reached down with his free hand and caught Choso under the chin, tilting that pretty face up towards him. “C’mere, pet,” he rumbled, voice rough but almost amused. “Give me a kiss while your girl chokes on me.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up around his cock, but Toji yanked your head forward again, burying himself deeper until your nose pressed against his pelvis and your words dissolved into a muffled gag. “Shut up and keep suckin’,” he snapped down at you, green eyes flashing with that familiar mean edge. “And watch. Eyes open, sweetheart. Don’t you dare look away.”
Choso hesitated for half a second, shy as always, but when Toji’s thumb brushed his bottom lip he leaned in obediently. Toji grabbed him harder then, fingers sliding into that long dark hair as he crushed their mouths together in a deep, filthy kiss. It wasn’t soft.
It was all tongue and teeth and dominance, Toji’s jaw working as he licked into Choso’s mouth like he owned it, swallowing the soft, surprised whimper that spilled from the younger man. Choso melted almost instantly, shoulders slumping, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed back with that quiet eagerness he always gave you— hands coming up to rest lightly on Toji’s broad chest, body leaning closer like he couldn’t help it.
You watched every second of it, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the relentless pace Toji set in your throat, but the sight burned hotter than anything.
Choso’s lashes trembling against his cheeks, a faint moan vibrating between their locked lips as Toji kissed him harder, tongue stroking deep and possessive while his hips kept snapping forward into your mouth.
Spit trailed from the corner of Choso’s lips, his cheeks flushed darker, and when Toji finally pulled back just enough for them to breathe, a thin string of saliva still connected them for a moment before breaking.
Toji’s laugh came out low and breathless, thumb swiping over Choso’s swollen bottom lip as he looked down at you. “Fuck, look at him. So damn well-trained. One kiss and he’s already drippin’ for it.” His cock twitched hard against your tongue, the praise mixed with taunt making your stomach twist in the best way.
You kept sucking through it all, hollowing your cheeks, swallowing around every thick thrust while your eyes stayed locked on the way Choso stayed pliant and open, lips parted and shiny, waiting for whatever came next.
Toji’s green eyes flicked between the two of you, that mean smirk deepening as he kept his hips rolling slow and deep into your throat. “She has you so fuckin’ obedient, huh?” he rumbled, voice thick with gravel and heat. “Bet you never fucked her throat like this. She’s a little brat, don’t let her fool ya. Acts all sweet and in control, but look at her— mouth stuffed full and still smilin’ around my cock.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up, but Toji didn’t let you. He fucked forward harder instead, burying himself to the hilt until your nose pressed flush against his pelvis and your throat convulsed around him. “See?” he growled, holding you there, eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction. “She doesn’t even fuckin’ gag anymore. Loves this shit. Been cravin’ it since she left my sorry ass, I bet.”
The stretch burned so good, spit dripping down your chin in messy rivulets as you breathed hard through your nose, tears clinging to your lashes. Toji kept you pinned like that for a long moment, savouring the tight heat, before he finally pulled out with a wet, obscene pop.
Thick strings of saliva and precum connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock before they broke, and you gasped for air, chest heaving, throat raw and tingling.
Toji stepped back, cock heavy and slick between his thighs, and dropped onto the bed with a grunt, sprawling out on his back like he owned the damn mattress. His muscles flexing under scarred skin as he stroked himself once, slow and lazy, green eyes locked on you with that cocky, command. “Get your ass up here, sweetheart. You're gonna take all of this cock. Now.”
You were still catching your breath, lips shiny and parted, but you moved anyway, crawling up the bed on shaky knees. Choso was right there, gentle hands sliding under your arms to help you up, supporting your weight with that quiet care he always gave you. His touch was soft against your flushed skin, thumb brushing your side like a silent promise as he guided you over Toji’s lap.
As you crawled forward, knees bracketing Toji’s thick thighs, hovering just above his heavy, leaking cock, Toji’s gaze shifted to Choso. “Come on, don’t just stand there like a lost puppy,” he said, voice low and rough, one hand reaching out to pat the bed beside him. “You don’t mind fuckin’ her pussy right? While she’s sittin’ on me, fuckin’ get over here.”
Choso’s cheeks flushed darker, shy with hesitation flickering across his face for half a second, but he obeyed like always, climbing onto the bed without a word. You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled close, one hand resting on your lower back, warm and steady. Toji’s palms gripped your hips hard, fingers digging in with that possessive meanness as he yanked you down just enough for the blunt head of his cock to nudge against your dripping entrance, teasing, waiting.
Toji didn’t wait long. With a low grunt he bucked his hips up, thick cock pressing into your cunt in one slow, relentless push. The stretch was brutal and perfect, that fat length splitting you open until your walls fluttered tight around every veined inch. You sank all the way down until your ass met his pelvis, a broken moan spilling from your raw throat as he bottomed out deep inside you.
Toji’s scarred hands stayed locked on your hips, holding you there, grinding you down harder so you felt every thick inch pulsing against your sensitive walls.
“Fuck, still so goddamn tight,” he muttered, voice rough and mean, green eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “Missed this greedy little pussy. Swallowing me like it never forgot who it belongs to.”
You rocked your hips experimentally, a soft gasp escaping as the head of his cock nudged that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Choso stayed right behind you, quiet and watchful, his warm palm sliding up your spine in gentle strokes while his other hand rested lightly on your hip. His dark eyes were fixed on where you and Toji were joined, lips still swollen from that shared kiss earlier, a faint flush creeping down his neck.
Toji noticed the way Choso hovered, all shy obedience and quiet heat. His smirk sharpened, one hand leaving your hip to reach over and tug Choso closer by the back of his neck. “Don’t just sit there starin’, pet. Get in her. You heard me earlier— you’re fuckin’ her pussy too.”
Choso’s breath hitched, shy as always, but he moved without argument, shifting until he was kneeling behind you on the bed. His long hair brushed your bare back as he leaned in, chest pressing warm against you, cock hard and leaking as it nestled against the curve of your ass.
Toji kept you pinned down on his thick length, hips giving lazy little rolls that made you whimper, while Choso’s hands settled on your waist, gentle and careful like he was afraid to break you.
You felt Choso’s fingers first, tentative as they slid between your spread thighs, brushing where Toji’s cock was already stretching you wide.
He traced the slick stretch of your cunt with soft fingertips, collecting the mess of your arousal before wrapping his hand around his own cock, guiding the head to nudge right beside Toji’s.
The pressure was overwhelming— two thick cocks pressing against your entrance at once, Choso’s shy hesitation making him pause until you reached back and squeezed his thigh in encouragement.
Toji laughed under his breath, that low, cocky sound. “That’s it. Push in slow, kid. She can take it. Little brat’s already drippin’ down my balls thinkin’ about both of us stretchin’ her.”
Choso obeyed, pressing forward with a soft, shaky exhale. The blunt head of his cock slipped in alongside Toji’s, the burn intense and delicious as your walls stretched even wider to take them both. Inch by inch he sank deeper, his cock sliding against Toji’s inside your tight heat, the friction making both men groan low and heavy.
You cried out, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body trembling between them as they filled you completely— Toji’s girthy thickness and Choso’s warm length buried deep together.
Toji’s hands gripped your hips harder, holding you still while he gave one experimental thrust up, making both cocks shift inside you and drag against every sensitive spot.
Choso stayed mostly still at first, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed hot against your skin, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
“Fuck… so tight,” Toji grunted, voice strained with pleasure, hips rolling up again in a deeper thrust that made you see stars. “Look at her, takin’ us both like she was made for it. You feel that, pet? How she’s squeezin’ around us?”
Choso nodded against your neck, a soft whimper escaping him as he started to move too— slow, careful rolls of his hips that matched Toji’s rhythm, their cocks sliding together inside your slick cunt.
The wet, filthy sounds of skin against skin and the slick drag of two thick lengths stretching you open filled the bedroom, your moans mixing with their low grunts as they fucked you together.
Toji’s large, rough hands slid up from your hips, palms rough and calloused as they cupped your tits, squeezing the soft flesh with that familiar possessive grip. He pinched your nipples between his thick fingers, rolling them until they pebbled hard under his touch, a mean little smirk tugging at his scarred lips when you arched into it with a broken cry. “These pretty tits always did look best when they’re bouncin’ for me,” he growled, voice low and pleased, green eyes dark with heat as he lifted his head from the pillow just enough to latch his mouth onto one swollen nipple.
He sucked hard, tongue swirling hot and wet around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt between them. The wet pull of his mouth sent sparks straight down to where both cocks were buried deep inside your stretched pussy, your walls fluttering tight around the overwhelming fullness.
Choso kept fucking you from behind with those gentle, obedient thrusts, his cock sliding slick alongside Toji’s, every slow drag pressing them both against that perfect spot inside you that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
Toji switched to your other tit, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with a low, satisfied hum, his free hand still kneading the first one, thumb flicking over the spit-slick nipple he’d just released. He loved having you like this— caught between them, body trembling and moaning, that quiet control of yours fraying at the edges while two fat cocks stretched your pretty little cunt wide open.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder, driving his thick length deeper with every thrust, the lewd squelch of your arousal coating both of them growing louder as he fucked up into you with that cocky, relentless rhythm.
“Look at you,” Toji muttered against your skin, lips brushing your nipple as he spoke, voice muffled and rough. “Takin’ two cocks like a good girl. Your pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, squeezin’ us both so tight. Bet you missed this, huh? Missed gettin’ split open by somethin’ real after playin’ house with your obedient puppy.”
You moaned louder, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body rocking between their thrusts as the pleasure built heavy and overwhelming.
Choso’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you steady while he fucked into you with that same shy care, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, soft whimpers spilling from him every time your walls clenched around their joined lengths.
Toji kept sucking on your tits, alternating between them with wet, obscene sounds, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue, his free hand sliding down to rub rough circles over your swollen clit.
The stretch was so much— both fat cocks dragging together inside your slick heat, Toji’s dominance pinning you from below and Choso supporting you from behind, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
Toji pulled off your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny with spit, and grinned up at you with a cocky smirk. “That’s it, moan for us, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you love bein’ stuffed full. Choso’s bein’ so good for you, fuckin’ this pussy nice and deep just like I told him to. But me? I’m gonna make sure you feel every inch tomorrow.”
He thrust up harder, grinding his cock against Choso’s inside you, the friction making stars burst behind your eyes as your moans turned into desperate little cries.
Choso pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, murmuring your name quietly, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm while Toji’s rough hands and hungry mouth worked your tits until they ached with pleasure.
You were lost between them, body trembling and slick with sweat, pussy clenching tight around the two thick lengths stretching you so perfectly, the heat building slow and relentless as Toji teased you with every filthy word and every deep, claiming thrust.
Toji loved every second of it— the way you fell apart so beautifully, the way Choso stayed so sweet even while buried deep inside the same cunt, the way your quiet little smile had turned into open-mouthed moans that filled the room.
He kept sucking and biting at your tits, fingers rolling your nipples, hips snapping up to meet Choso’s thrusts until the three of you moved in one messy, heated rhythm, the night stretching long and filthy with the sounds of skin slapping, wet squelches, and your broken cries echoing between the walls.
A broken little sound tore from your throat as both thick cocks dragged together inside your stretched pussy, the relentless push and pull making your walls flutter and clench around the overwhelming fullness.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder from below, driving his fat length deeper with every thrust while Choso kept that steady rhythm from behind, their cocks sliding slick and hot against each other in the tight heat of your cunt. The wet, filthy squelch filled the room, your arousal dripping down their shafts and coating their balls as they fucked you open so good.
Toji’s mouth was still latched onto your tit, sucking hard enough to leave marks before he pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen as he grinned up at you with that mean, cocky smirk.
His rough hand slid up to cup your jaw, forcing your head down so you had no choice but to meet his dark green eyes while he kept pounding up into you. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and gravel-rough, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “Admit it. Tell me what you are. A little brat who wants these cocks stretchin’ your greedy cunt. Say it.”
You tried to bite back the words, a soft whimper escaping instead as another deep thrust from both of them made your eyes roll back, but Toji wasn’t having it. He pinched your nipple hard, twisting just enough to make you cry out, his other hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you down on their joined lengths. “Don’t play shy now. You’re drippin’ all over us, pussy clenchin’ like it’s beggin’ for more. Tell me you want our cocks. Tell me you want our cum fillin’ this sloppy little hole.”
Choso stayed quiet behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his breath hot and shaky against your neck as he fucked into you with those gentle rolls of his hips, letting Toji take the lead like always. His cock throbbed alongside Toji’s, the friction delicious and overwhelming, every slow drag pressing right against that spot that made sparks shoot up your spine. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, shy and sweet, but didn’t stop moving, loving even in the middle of all this heat.
The stretch was so good it hurt, both fat cocks splitting your cunt wide open, dragging against every sensitive inch until you felt impossibly full, impossibly owned. Your tits bounced with every thrust, still slick from Toji’s mouth, nipples aching from his teeth and fingers. Toji’s hand slid down between your bodies, rough fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, mean circles that had your thighs shaking uncontrollably.
“Say it,” Toji demanded again, voice dropping lower, hips slamming up harder so the head of his cock bullied that perfect spot inside you while Choso’s length rubbed right alongside it. “You’re my little brat— our little brat. You want these cocks stretchin’ you good. You want us to fill your pussy with cum until it’s leakin’ out for days. Admit it, brat. Loud and clear.”
Your moans turned into desperate little cries, body trembling between them as the pleasure built hotter and heavier, walls squeezing tight around both thick shafts. Toji’s smirk widened, that cockiness flashing in his eyes as he felt you clench harder, knowing he was winning. Choso whimpered softly against your skin, his thrusts growing a little deeper, a little faster, following every cue you’d ever given him because he always listened, always gave you exactly what you needed.
You finally broke, voice wrecked and breathy as the words spilled out between moans. “I’m… I’m a-a brat… I want your cocks… both of you stretching my cunt so good… I want your cum… please…”
Toji laughed low and rough, satisfaction dripping from every syllable as he thrust up harder, grinding their cocks together inside your fluttering pussy. “That’s my girl. Keep sayin’ it while we fuck you full. Gonna fill this greedy hole until you’re drippin’ with both of us.”
The bedroom echoed with the wet slap of skin, your broken admissions, and the low grunts from both men as they kept fucking you together— Toji and Choso turning your body into a trembling, moaning mess caught right between them, the stretch so perfect and filthy that all you could do was take it and beg for more.
Together they fucked you deeper and harder, hips snapping in a messy, unrelenting rhythm that had both thick cocks driving into your stretched cunt at once. Toji thrusting up slamming his fat length as deep as it would go while Choso followed from behind with those steady rolls that somehow made everything feel even fuller, your arousal coating their shafts and dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you as they stretched your pussy so wide it ached in the best way.
You could feel the bulge in your tummy every time they bottomed out together, the outline of their cocks pressing visibly against your lower belly, shifting and dragging with every thrust. Toji’s rough hand slid down to press against that spot, palm flat and heavy as he growled against your tit, “Fuck, feel that? That’s us, sweetheart. Both cocks bulgin’ out your pretty tummy like you were made to take this.”
The pressure built fast and overwhelming, your walls fluttering tighter and tighter around them until you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you clenched down violently around both cocks, milking them with rhythmic, desperate pulses.
Your whole body shook between them, thighs trembling, back arching as wave after wave rolled through you, pussy gushing slick and hot around their joined lengths while the bulge in your tummy twitched and tightened with every spasm.
Choso whimpered softly against your neck, his hips stuttering as your clenching cunt squeezed him so perfectly. “Ah—fuck… you’re squeezin’ so tight,” he breathed, voice shy and wrecked, and then he was cumming too, thick ropes of warm cum spilling deep inside you in pulsing spurts. He kept thrusting through it, slow and careful even as he filled you, his cock throbbing alongside Toji’s while he painted your walls white, the added heat and slickness making the stretch feel even messier, even better.
Toji groaned low and rough at the feeling, his scarred hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he fucked up into the slick, cum-filled heat of your pussy. “That’s it, milk us, you little brat,” he grunted, green eyes dark with raw pleasure as he watched your face contort in bliss. “Clenchin’ so good around both of us— fuck, take it all.”
He didn’t last much longer after that. With a deep, guttural growl he slammed up one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed hard and started to cum, thick, heavy spurts of cum flooding your already full cunt right alongside Choso’s. The warmth spread deep inside you, both loads mixing together in messy, overflowing pulses that leaked out around their cocks with every shallow grind of their hips, dripping down your thighs and soaking their balls.
They stayed buried inside you even as they came down, chests heaving, bodies pressed tight around yours in a sweaty, trembling tangle. Toji’s hand stayed pressed to the bulge in your tummy, feeling the way it softened just a little with every twitch of your walls, while Choso nuzzled softly into the crook of your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your damp skin and murmuring quiet praises against you.
The bedroom air hung heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, the three of you locked together in that filthy, heated aftermath— your pussy still clenching weakly around their spent cocks, cum slowly leaking out in warm rivulets, Toji’s mean little smirk still playing on his lips even as his breathing evened out, and Choso’s gentle hold never loosening because he always stayed right where you wanted him.
They stayed buried deep for a long, lazy moment, cocks still twitching inside your fluttering cunt as the last weak spurts of cum leaked from them both. Then, slowly, Toji gave a low grunt and started to pull out first, his thick length dragging against Choso’s as he eased free with a wet, obscene sound.
Choso followed right after, gentler, his cock sliding out inch by inch until both heavy shafts slipped from your stretched hole completely. A thick rush of their mixed cum immediately dripped out of you, warm and pearly white, sliding down your thighs in slow, messy rivulets and pooling on the sheets beneath your trembling body.
You collapsed forward onto Toji’s broad chest with a soft, exhausted sigh, cheek pressing against the hard muscle slick with sweat. His skin was warm, scarred, rising and falling with heavy breaths as one of his large arms wrapped around your back, holding you there like he still had every right to. Choso stayed close behind you, his gentle hands smoothing over your hips and lower back, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade while his long hair tickled your skin.
Toji’s free hand slid down between your legs without warning, two thick fingers pushing back into your ruined pussy. The stretch was easy now, your walls loose and slick from taking both of them, and he scooped up the warm mixture of their cum that was still leaking out. With a lazy, filthy motion he fingered it all back inside you, slow and deliberate, pushing every drop deeper while his palm pressed firm against your swollen clit. The wet squelch of his fingers working their combined loads back into your cunt filled the quiet room, obscene and intimate all at once.
“Look at that,” Toji muttered, voice low and rough, smirk tugging at his scarred lips as he watched his fingers disappear inside you again and again. “Such a messy girl. Can’t even keep our cum inside this greedy pussy without help. Need to push it all back in where it belongs… bet you love feelin’ us drippin’ out of you, don’t you?”
You whimpered softly against his chest, hips twitching weakly as his thick fingers curled and stroked, making sure every thick rope of their release stayed buried deep. Choso’s hand joined Toji’s for a moment, tentative fingers brushing alongside as he helped press the cum back inside you, his touch so much gentler but just as eager to keep you full. The feeling of both their hands between your legs, fingers sliding through the slick mess they’d made, had fresh heat curling low in your belly even though your body felt spent and boneless.
Toji kept fingering their cum back into you, lazily, occasionally pulling his fingers out just enough to watch more of it drip before pushing it right back in with a low chuckle. “There we go… nice and full again. Gonna keep you leakin’ our loads all night, sweetheart. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Both of us markin’ up this tight little cunt.”
Choso stayed pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist now, murmuring quiet, sweet words against your skin while Toji’s fingers continued their slow, filthy work. You lay there between them, cheek on Toji’s warm chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as the cum slowly settled deep inside you, warm and heavy, a constant reminder of how thoroughly they’d claimed you tonight.
The bedroom felt heavy and quiet now, bodies tangled and slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Toji’s fingers eventually slowed but didn’t leave you completely, still lazily stroking through the mess as if he couldn’t quite stop touching what was his again, even for a little while.
Choso’s gentle hold never loosened, his breath warm against your neck, and you smiled softly against Toji’s skin, that quiet little smile that said you were exactly where you wanted to be— caught between your mean ex and your sweet boy, full of both of them, leaking and claimed and perfectly satisfied.
🪼 : some people leave fingerprints on your skin. others leave entire cities behind. a collection of summer romances scattered across the world—sun-drenched beaches, crowded festivals, hidden cafés, missed trains, and strangers who were never supposed to matter. from venice to busan, from bali to barcelona, each story follows two people colliding beneath foreign skies and finding something they never expected to take home with them. content warnings at the end.
⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍
hawaii (maui) — gojo :: you sign up for surfing lessons hoping for a relaxing summer activity and instead get stuck with the most insufferable instructor on the island. By the time your final lesson arrives, saying goodbye feels a lot harder than falling off a surfboard.
⌗ 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒
maldives — higuruma :: A post-breakup trip to the Maldives sounds perfect until you're accidentally paired with the same reserved man for nearly every excursion the resort offers. Neither of you wanted company, yet somehow Hiromi Higuruma becomes the person you spend every sunset searching for.
⌗ 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒
amalfi coast, italy — CEO gojo :: exhausted from years of running a company, Satoru Gojo disappears to the Italian coast without telling anyone who he really is. When a local florist mistakes him for an ordinary tourist, he decides not to correct her—and for the first time in years, he gets to be someone else.
⌗ 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘
malibu, california — lifeguard toji :: you insist you're perfectly capable of swimming on your own despite being terrified of deep water. Toji disagrees, and after rescuing you once, he never misses an opportunity to tease you for clinging to him every time the waves get a little too rough.
⌗ 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊
gold coast, australia — surfer gojo :: you've always been afraid of the ocean—not the beach, not the waves, but the endless darkness hiding beneath them. Unfortunately, the annoyingly handsome surf instructor determined to help you overcome that fear refuses to take no for an answer.
⌗ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑
barcelona, spain — ryomen sukuna :: it was only supposed to be a vacation fling. You'd spend a few weeks in Spain, have fun, and go home. The problem is that every day with Sukuna makes leaving feel a little more impossible, and summer never lasts forever.
⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓
rio de janeiro, brazil — toji :: caught in a sudden downpour, you're forced to share an umbrella with a stranger who looks far less thrilled about the arrangement than you are. Unfortunately for both of you, the walk home takes nearly an hour.
⌗ 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄
sydney, australia — sukuna :: every morning, the same infuriatingly attractive man beats you on your beach run by a few seconds. What starts as a silent rivalry quickly becomes an obsession neither of you is willing to admit.
⌗ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀
marrakech, morocco — geto :: one wrong turn leaves you hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Marrakech. Fortunately, a local guide named Suguru offers to help you find your way back—though neither of you seems particularly eager for the walk to end.
⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒
istanbul, turkey — higuruma :: lost and exhausted after escaping your tour group, you stumble into a quiet tea shop overlooking the water. What begins as a conversation with a handsome lawyer working remotely turns into a summer routine neither of you expected to need.
⌗ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐌 28
lisbon, portugal — gojo :: every morning, you end up sharing the same crowded yellow tram with a blue-eyed stranger. Neither of you knows the other's name, yet before long you're saving seats, sharing coffees, and dreading the day one of you stops showing up.
⌗ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈
busan, south korea — sukuna :: after getting separated from your friends during a crowded beach festival, you're rescued by the last person you'd ever want help from: a cocky stranger with a sharp tongue and an even sharper smile. One night beneath fireworks changes everything.
⌗ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 #12
okinawa, japan — toji :: your summer vacation starts badly when the grumpy surfer next door keeps stealing your porch chair. The prank war that follows is supposed to prove how much you dislike him, but somewhere along the way, it becomes something else entirely.
⌗ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓
venice, italy — gojo :: when you arrive in Venice for a summer abroad program, the last person you expect to become part of your routine is the annoyingly charming stranger you keep running into on boats, bridges, and narrow alleyways. As your final day approaches, Satoru starts acting strangely—almost like he's counting down the days until you'll leave him behind.
⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆
bali, indonesia — geto :: After one disastrous year, you travel to Bali hoping to clear your head. Every morning, fresh flower offerings appear outside your villa, and every morning you wonder who keeps leaving them there—until you catch a quiet café owner in the act.
⌗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄
paris, france — higuruma :: after a misunderstanding leaves you tangled in unexpected legal trouble during Paris Fashion Week, the last person you expect to help is a weary lawyer on vacation. Hiromi Higuruma insists he can't represent you—but somehow he keeps finding himself solving your problems anyway.
⌗ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍
new york city — gojo :: Every Friday afternoon, the same ridiculously handsome customer wanders into your bookstore asking for recommendations he never intends to read. What starts as harmless flirting slowly turns into the highlight of both your summers.
⌗ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒
santorini, greece — geto :: When a pushy group of tourists refuses to leave you alone, you panic and claim the handsome stranger nearby is your boyfriend. Suguru plays along without hesitation—and for some reason, neither of you seems eager to stop pretending.
⌗ 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍
phuket, thailand — choso :: A sudden tropical storm traps you and a shy stranger inside a tiny convenience store with nowhere to go for hours. Between shared snacks and quiet conversations, what begins as bad luck quickly becomes your favorite memory of the entire trip.
fem reader ✦ vacation romance ✦ strangers to lovers ✦ summer flings ✦ holiday romance ✦ slow burn ✦ mutual pining ✦ emotional angst ✦ long-distance themes ✦ airport goodbyes ✦ temporary relationships ✦ happy endings ✦ bittersweet endings ✦ open endings ✦ kissing ✦ mentions of alcohol ✦ travel mishaps ✦ grief ✦ loneliness ✦ fear of commitment ✦ fear of abandonment ✦ emotional vulnerability ✦ suggestive content ✦ explicit content ✦ discussions of moving away ✦ separation themes ✦ happy reunions ✦
lmk in the comments or in dms if you'd like to be tagged
YOU HAVE A DATE ˚. ᵎᵎ with frat boy!roy harper (,,>ヮ<,,)
Words from our Hostess: Congratulations! You've been selected for our Host Club. After reading your application, we decided that your best pairing for you might be Roy Harper. We prepared a little cute scenario of you and him dating
frat boy!roy harper x criminology student!reader ╱ the vice president of the frat stops going to parties... to study with his girlfriend?
art by zestynestyyy on x
Roy Harper was a dickhead, he knows it, he’s accepted it and he’s trying to do better. You were the main reason for that, the sweet and smart girl who was his partner for a project during one semester. After all those months together, of you rejecting him, making fun of him and making him realize how stupid he was… Roy Harper fell in love. With you, despite your wishes. And sadly, you kinda liked him too.
It started small, one Friday night you were buried in your criminology notes, highlighter in hand, when your phone buzzed. Roy’s name popped up with a simple text: “Hey. You busy? I’m outside your dorm with snacks if you want company.”
You peeked out the window and there he was, leaning against the brick wall in his usual hoodie, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers.
When you let him in, he kicked off his sneakers and flopped onto your bed without even asking. “I brought those sour gummies you like,” he said, pulling them out like treasure. “And those weird healthy chips because I know you’re on your ‘fuel the brain’ kick.”
You raised an eyebrow, sitting at your desk. “No party tonight?”
He shrugged, cheeks going a little pink as he watched you. “Nah. I’d rather be here bugging you while you study serial killers or whatever. The conversation is better.”
That made you smile despite yourself. Roy had always been loud and reckless before, the guy who showed up to class hungover and still managed to charm half the room. But lately? He showed up at the library during your late-night sessions with coffee exactly how you liked it. He sat through your rants about criminal psychology without interrupting, even asked questions that proved he was actually listening.
One evening you caught him staring at you again while you explained the difference between organized and disorganized offenders. His chin rested in his hand, green eyes soft making your stomach flip.
“What?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re really fucking smart. It’s hot. I think my brain short-circuits every time you talk like that.”
You threw a pen at him and he caught it easily, grinning like an idiot. He didn’t care when his old frat buddies started texting him, asking where the hell he’d been. Whipped, one of them called him when they spotted you two at a campus café. Roy just pulled you closer by the waist and kissed the top of your head.
“Let them talk,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m exactly where I wanna be.”
And he meant it. The obsession was quiet but constant. He remembered the way you liked your hoodies oversized and stole one from his closet just so you could wear it during study dates. He showed up to your criminology club meetings even though he had no clue about half the topics, just to sit in the back and watch you light up when you presented.
Late at night, when your eyes got tired from reading case files, he’d tug you into his lap on the tiny dorm couch. “Take a break, babe,” he’d whisper, arms wrapping around, his fingers would trace little patterns on your arm while you leaned into his chest, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne.
“You’re turning into a total sap,” you teased one night, tilting your head up to look at him.
Roy just smiled, it reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “For you. I don’t care if the whole campus thinks I’m pathetic. I probably am. But you make me want to be better. Someone who deserves to sit here with the smartest girl on campus.”
Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always did around him now. You reached up and brushed his red hair back from his forehead. “You’re doing okay, Harper.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, taking his time memorizing every inch of you. “Mhm, I’m not going anywhere. Frat parties can suck it. I’ve got everything I need right here.”
a/n: this is so cheesy oh my god. @bat1nsignia my queen and my baby, i hope you liked this<33 this was such a cutieful thing to write i can't i can't i'm dying of cuteness
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"Why are you looking at me like that?" You glared at him. You could take his apathy, his indifference, shove it somewhere deep inside and convince yourself that you felt the same.
"Like what?" His eyes burned into yours.
"Like you're jealous or something."
"What if I am?"
synopsis: you weren't looking for a boyfriend - one just found you anyway. but things start looking a little more complicated when the roommate you thought you hated starts cutting himself a bigger slice of your life than you ever meant to let him have.
relationships: Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Gojo x Reader (multiple endings)
content: MDNI !! angst and fluff and smut !! roommates-to-lovers, reader sleeps around, piv sex, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), shower + period sex, office sex, semi-public sex, spanking, arguments, breakups/makeups, heavy flirting/tension, threesome, mating press, blindfolds, whipped cream, jealousy, slice of life, domestic fluff, tension and teasing, messy relationships and complicated feelings
pairing: garrett graham x fem!reader (x moc)
synopsis: naked. frustrated. still under the shower spray. garrett graham’s team has just lost the last game when the football captain’s girl shows up to rub salt in the wound. should he just ignore her or show her who the real loser is?
words: 3k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: teasing, CHEATING (reader cheats on boyfriend). no use of y/n or physical description, but garrett picks her/you up. the picture is only for aesthetic purposes. S M U T!! dom!garrett, cocky!garrett, p in v (unprotected), oral (mostly f receiving), he spits, she swallows (multiple times baby!!). third person! dirty talk. caught in the act. shower sex. “hate” fucking. not proofread! be nice!!
chye's corner: this is only one of 5 drafts that i still have on my off campus boys. let me know if you want me to post all of these, i’m having a blasttttt. pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
The locker room was thick with steam and silence, the kind that pressed down after a brutal loss. Garrett Graham stood under the spray of the far showerhead, hot water pounding against his shoulders and back like it could wash away the scoreboard that still burned in his mind. 3-5. His team had fought hard, but not hard enough. Logan had scored twice, and Tucker had gone to the penalty box for fighting another player, but none of their efforts seemed to pay off.
His muscles were knotted with frustration, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Water sluiced down his broad chest, over the ridges of his abs, tracing the V that disappeared beneath the towel he’d discarded on the bench before stepping in. He braced one forearm against the tiled wall, head bowed, letting the heat beat into him as steam curled around his naked body.
“Well, that sucked,” a feminine voice made him jump. He had heard someone walk in, but he just assumed it was one of his teammates. He turned his face to look at the woman who entered his private sulking session and his expression turned annoyed. “Rough night out there, Graham?”
There she was, his little vixen. The football captain’s girlfriend, standing just inside the shower area in nothing but an oversized football jersey that barely reached mid-thigh. The rival team’s colors. Her hair was loose, and the way the damp air made the thin fabric cling to her curves left very little to the imagination. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed under her breasts, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t seem bothered at all that Garrett was naked just a few feet from her and her gaze never strayed downward.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he answered, voice low and rough from the game and the lingering adrenaline. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was still facing the wall, his body already reacting to the sight of her, blood slowly heading south despite the frustration still coiled tight in his chest.
She shrugged, stepping inside the showers, water now dotting her bare legs. “The entire school is celebrating our football team winning tonight. Figured someone should come check on the sore loser.” Her eyes finally dragged down his body, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his abs flexed with each controlled breath, the little dimple on his chiseled stomach, and she peeked just enough to have a glance of the growing hardness he made no real attempt to hide. “Tough break out there tonight, Graham. All that sweat and still couldn’t seal the deal.”
Garrett’s hand flexed against the tile. “You really came all the way down here just to run your mouth?”
“Maybe,” she said sweetly, tilting her head. “That game was painful to watch. You guys had the lead twice and still choked. What happened? Couldn’t handle the pressure?”
He let out a sharp breath, water pounding against his chest. “We played hard. Shit happens. Doesn’t mean you need to be in here gloating while I’m trying to wash it off.”
“Gloating? I’m just being honest,” she teased, crossing her arms. “You looked so pissed on the ice. Does losing always get you this worked up?”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed, tension still radiating through his shoulders as the water continued to beat down on his bare skin. “You’re wearing his jersey and walking into my locker room. You sure you want to keep poking me right now?”
She smiled, unbothered. “Why not? It’s fun watching you try to act like you’re not bothered. Tell me, Graham… what did you say to him two days ago? That you were going to enjoy seeing him lose? How does it feel now, mh?”
Garrett let out a low chuckle, tilting his head back under the spray so water ran down his face and neck. “I gotta admit, doesn’t feel like a million bucks, but you know what feels better?” He wiped water from his eyes and looked straight at her. “The fact that you’re standing here in my locker room, staring at me naked in the shower, instead of being with your boyfriend right now.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Bold. Maybe I just wanted to see the loser up close.”
“Bullshit,” Garrett shot back, his voice rough as more water cascaded over his broad chest, now fully turning towards her. He was towering over her frame and she couldn’t help but look down at his v-line. “If you wanted to be with him, you’d be at whatever victory party he’s throwing. But you’re not. You’re here. With me.” She shifted her weight. “Why aren’t you there trying to make him feel like a big man after his win? Youu snuck down here to fuck with me. Makes me wonder who you really want to be around tonight.”
Her smile grew bitter. “Careful, Graham. You sound a little jealous for someone who just got his ass handed to him on the ice.”
Garrett’s eyes darkened as he stood there, completely bare under the relentless hot spray. “Not jealous. Just observant. You’re choosing to be here with the loser instead of the winner. Says a lot more about you than it does about me.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back as water continued to pour over every inch of his muscular frame. “So keep talking your shit if you want… but we both know why you really came down here.”
She tilted her head, a challenging smile playing on her lips. “You’re just mad I’m not stroking your ego after that pathetic loss. You have your puck bunnies for that.”
Garrett’s eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and heat. He wiped water from his face, the motion making his biceps flex under the spray. “Mad? You have no clue of how I really am when I get mad.”
She crossed her arms, the oversized jersey riding up her thighs, showing off her little shorts. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm. It’s entertaining.”
“Entertaining,” Garrett repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He took a half-step forward. “Or maybe your captain doesn’t quite do it for you anymore. What? He doesn’t know how to fuck you good?”
The words hung heavy in the steamy air. A charged silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken desire. Her smirk faltered for a split second. “That’s none of your business,” she shot back, but her tone had shifted, breathier now.
“Bullshit,” Garrett said, jaw tight. “He doesn’t do it for you anymore, right? Or you wouldn’t be staring like that while I’m standing here naked. You’re not here to gloat about his win. You’re here because he leaves you wanting.”
She swallowed, her gaze flicking over his bare form before returning to his face. “You don’t know anything about us,” she said quietly.
“I know you’re not with him right now,” Garrett countered, his shoulders still rigid under the spray. “Isn’t that enough?” He finally stepped out from directly under the main spray, water dripping heavily from his broad shoulders, chest, and abs as he slowly closed the distance between them. Steam clung to his skin while his eyes stayed locked on hers, tension rolling off him in waves.
She watched him approach but didn’t back away. He lifted a hand, brushing a wet finger along her jaw. “If I kissed you here…” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of her neck, slow and deliberate, his mouth warm against her skin. She inhaled sharply. “… you wouldn’t like that?”
Her breath hitched. “Graham…”
“Or here?” He kissed her bare shoulder next, lingering longer this time, teeth grazing lightly before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Water continued dripping down his naked torso between them. “You wouldn’t like that either?”
She swallowed, her pulse visible in her throat. “You’re really pushing it tonight.”
“Am I?” He stayed close, towering over her, his wet chest nearly brushing the front of her jersey. “Or am I just saying what we’re both thinking? Your boyfriend’s probably out there basking in his victory, and you’re letting me kiss your neck in a locker room shower. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re an asshole,” she whispered, but there was no real heat behind it.
Garrett smirked, dark and tense. “Maybe. But I’m the asshole you came to see.” He dipped his head again, this time kissing the hollow just below her ear. “If I touched you right now… if I slipped my hand under that jersey… you’d still tell me to stop?”
Her fingers curled at her sides. “You lost tonight. You’re supposed to be pissed off and sulking, not… this.”
“I am pissed off,” he admitted, voice rough as he hovered close, naked and dripping. “But I’d rather take that frustration out on someone who actually wants it. Someone who walked in here knowing exactly what she was doing.”
He brushed his lips against her neck once more. “So go ahead. Tell me to stop. Tell me you’d rather be with him right now.”
She exhaled sharply but refused to melt. Instead, she gripped his shoulder and dug her nails in. “You’re really stroking your own ego tonight, Graham. Do you suddenly think you can compete with him?”
“I don’t have to compete,” he said, voice low and rough as he hovered close, breath warm on her damp skin. “You’re already choosing to be here.”
She gave his chest a firm shove, though he barely moved. “Choosing to watch you sulk in the shower is not the same as wanting you. It’s satisfying to see you all worked up and defeated.”
Garrett’s lips curved into a dark smirk. He caught her wrist, holding it against his chest. “Defeated? Funny. You’re breathing harder every time I touch you.” He kissed her neck again, slower this time, letting his teeth scrape lightly. “Tell me this doesn’t feel better than whatever safe, boring shit he gives you.”
Her free hand came up, threading into his wet hair and tugging his head back just enough to meet his gaze. “You’re so desperate to feel superior. It’s almost sad.” Her voice dropped, sharp and taunting. “Keep kissing me all you want. It won’t change that I go home to him, not you.”
Garrett’s eyes burned with frustration and heat. He stayed close, water from his body soaking into the front of her jersey. “Then why the hell are you still standing here letting me? Why aren’t you walking out that door right now?”
The hot water continued running in the background, steam curling through the locker room as Garrett slowly sank to his knees in front of her. His hands guided her hips backward until her back pressed against the cool tiled wall, putting her just under the shower’s stream. Water dripped steadily from his naked body onto the floor and her legs as he looked up at her, jaw still tight with leftover tension.
She glanced down at him, trying to keep her expression steady. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Garrett’s hands rested on her thighs, thumbs brushing lightly under the hem of the jersey. “You keep acting like you’re here by accident,” he murmured, voice low. “But we both know better.”
She threaded her fingers through his wet hair, giving it a small tug. “Are you trying to prove something?”
He leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, then glanced back up. “I told you, I’m just curious why you’re still here instead of with him.” His breath was warm against her skin. “If everything was perfect over there, you wouldn’t have walked into this locker room.”
Her back arched slightly against the wall as she fought a shiver. “You think too much of yourself, Graham.”
Garrett’s grip on her hips tightened gently, holding her in place. “And yet you’re letting me do this,” he said softly, pressing another kiss higher up her thigh. “You could’ve left ages ago, baby.”
She exhaled slowly, her fingers still tangled in his hair. “Don’t flatter yourself. This doesn’t change anything.”
He looked up at her through damp lashes, eyes dark. “Then tell me to stop,” he whispered against her skin. “Tell me you’d rather be anywhere else.”
She didn’t answer right away, the silence stretching between them, thick with everything unsaid. Her grip in his hair tightened just a fraction. “You’re making this complicated,” she finally said, voice quieter than before.
Garrett stayed on his knees, water still dripping from his shoulders. “You’re the one who came here.”
She pushed his head away from between her tights and Garrett let out a sigh that almost sounded like a defeated whine. His second loss of the night. Somehow this one stung more. Except that, without a word, she reached under the long jersey, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, and slowly slid them down her legs. They pooled at her ankles, and she stepped out of them, leaving herself with just a pair of black lace panties beneath the oversized football jersey.
Garrett’s gaze followed the movement, his breath catching for a moment. He looked up at her as he let a small smile peak through. He inhaled her scent. “You’re making it harder to believe you don’t want this,” he murmured against her skin.
She leaned back against the tiled wall, her grip in his hair tightening slightly but not pulling him away. “You talk too much for someone who’s supposed to be licking his wounds.”
He smiled faintly against her inner thigh, then kissed her again, lingering longer, his mouth moving with deliberate patience. “Maybe I’m more interested in yours right now.” Another slow kiss, higher still. “You took those off pretty easily.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop him. “Don’t read too much into it,” she said, voice quieter, almost unsteady.
Garrett’s hands slid up the backs of her thighs, gently guiding her legs a little farther apart as he continued kissing her, his mouth teasing closer to where she was now exposed. She closed her eyes for a second, exhaling shakily as his mouth moved against her. “You’re impossible tonight, Graham.”
He looked up at her with dark eyes as he finally leaned in, pressing his mouth against the thin fabric. “Fuck… you’re already soaked through these,” Garrett murmured, voice low and rough. He dragged his tongue slowly over the lace, tasting her through the material. “And you want me to believe you came down here just to tease me?”
She gasped softly. Her fingers tightened in his wet hair, but she didn’t pull him away.
Garrett groaned against her, the sound vibrating through the lace as he licked her again, firmer this time, circling her clit over the fabric. “Look at you… Your boyfriend knows you get this wet for me?”
“Garrett…” she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady.
His back shivered at the sound of his name. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her up more as he pressed his mouth harder against her panties. His tongue worked the soaked lace with slow, deliberate strokes, sucking gently on her through the fabric. “Does he know how to eat this pretty pussy or does leave you aching for someone who actually knows what he’s doing?” He dragged his tongue up and down her covered slit, savoring the way the fabric clung to her.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her soaked black lace panties and slowly dragged them down her thighs, giving her plenty of time to stop him.
She didn’t.
He pulled the ruined lace all the way off, tossing it aside onto the wet tile floor. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her completely bare now, glistening and exposed right in front of his face.
Without another word, he leaned forward and dragged his tongue slowly up her bare pussy, enjoying the taste of her with nothing in between. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he licked her again, deeper this time, parting her folds with long strokes. She gasped sharply, her hips twitched forward forcing him to hold her upright.
Garrett looked up at her, lips shiny. “There it is,” he murmured, voice low and thick. He flicked his tongue over her swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. “So fucking wet for the guy who lost tonight.”
He buried his face deeper between her thighs, eating her out with deliberate hunger. His tongue circled her clit, then dipped down to tease her entrance, lapping at her with wet, obscene sounds that echoed softly off the tiles.
“You taste even better like this,” he groaned against her, the vibration making her moan. “I think you’re the desperate one here.” He sucked her clit again, harder, before pulling back just enough to speak. “Is this what you’ve been missing?”
She whimpered, one leg trembling slightly over his shoulder as he dove back in, licking and sucking with focused intensity. Garrett’s hands gripped her hips, holding her firmly against the wall while his mouth worked her relentlessly, refusing to give her any space to think.
“Garrett…” she breathed, voice breaking.
He hummed against her pussy, clearly enjoying the way she was falling apart. “That’s right. Say my name while I’m down here tasting what’s not his.” He gripped her hips tighter and dove back in, licking slow strokes up her bare pussy before focusing on her clit with hungry circles. Her moans grew louder.
Garrett groaned against her, the sound deliciously filthy. “So fucking sweet,” he muttered, then slid two thick fingers slowly into her tight heat. He curled them instantly, stroking that sensitive spot inside her while his tongue kept working her clit with relentless pressure.
“Oh my god…” she gasped, her thighs starting to tremble around his shoulders.
He pumped his fingers deeper, matching the pace of his tongue as he sucked her clit into his mouth. The obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the steamy locker room. Water dripped from his hair and shoulders as he devoured her, completely focused on pulling more desperate noises from her throat.
“That’s it,” he growled against her pussy, voice muffled. “Fuck my fingers while I eat you. Your boyfriend ever make you this fucking sloppy?”
She couldn’t answer, only a broken moan escaped as her hips started rolling against his face. Garrett added a third finger, stretching her as he sucked harder on her swollen clit, his tongue flicking fast. Her breathing grew ragged, thighs clamping tighter around his head. “Garrett… fuck, I’m…” her mouth opened into a silent scream.
He didn’t stop. If anything, he grew more aggressive, fingers thrusting deeper while his mouth worked her clit with perfect, relentless suction. He groaned loudly against her, clearly loving the way she was falling apart.
Her orgasm hit hard. She cried out, back arching off the wall as her pussy clenched tightly around his fingers. Her hips bucked against his face, thighs shaking uncontrollably as she came undone. Garrett kept his mouth on her through every wave, licking and sucking greedily, letting her ride it out on his tongue and fingers while she soaked his chin and lips.
He stayed there until her trembling slowed, placing one last slow, possessive lick along her sensitive folds before finally pulling back slightly. His face was shiny with her release, eyes dark with satisfaction as he looked up at her.
“Fucking hell, you’re… that was beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough, still on his knees between her legs.
The hot water continued to pour down as Garrett rose slowly, water streaming down his naked, muscular body. His cock was hard and heavy, curving up against his abs. Without a word, he gripped her thighs, lifted her effortlessly, and pinned her back against the slick tiled wall.
Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He held her there, the head of his cock brushing against her soaked entrance as steam curled around them. Garrett looked directly into her eyes, breathing hard. “I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, voice low and rough, “but can I fuck you?”
She exhaled shakily, nodding. “Please.”
That was all he needed.
He gripped her ass with both hands and thrust up into her in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She moaned loudly at the sudden stretch, her nails digging into his shoulders as her pussy clenched tightly around his thick cock.
“Fuck,” Garrett groaned, holding her pinned to the wall as he started moving. He fucked her with slow strokes, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in deep.
He picked up the pace, thrusting harder, the wet sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the locker room. Water from the shower rained down over their joined bodies, making her jersey cling transparently to her breasts, her hard nipples clearly visible through the fabric.
“You’re a vision,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched the football jersey ride up around her waist while he fucked her. “Getting railed by the losing hockey player while you’ve still got your boyfriend’s name across your chest.” He slammed into her deeper, grinding his hips against hers on every thrust. “Does that turn you on? Getting fucked in his colors?”
She moaned and nodded unconsciously, her head falling back against the tile as he drove into her again and again, his cock hitting deep with every stroke.
Garrett leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “You came so hard on my tongue and now you’re letting me stretch this pussy while you’re dressed like his property.” He thrust harder, almost punishing. “Bet he doesn’t fuck you like this. Bet he doesn’t make you shake the way you’re shaking right now.”
He adjusted his grip on her ass, spreading her wider as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts making her breasts bounce under the soaked jersey.
“Say it,” he demanded between heavy breaths, still refusing to kiss her mouth. “Tell me whose cock feels better.” His hips snapped forward relentlessly, fucking her rough against the wall as water continued to cascade over their heated bodies. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the sound of the running shower as he held her pinned against the wall, her legs locked around his waist.
He suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep inside her instead, eyes locked on her parted lips. Without warning, he gripped her jaw firmly with one hand, tilting her face up toward his.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, voice dark and rough. She obeyed, lips parting. Garrett leaned in and spat directly into her open mouth, a thick string of saliva landing on her tongue. “Swallow,” he growled, watching her closely as he started fucking her hard again.
She moaned, swallowing his spit as he drove his cock even deeper. Garrett’s eyes flashed with satisfaction.
“That’s it,” he rasped, slamming into her again. “Such a dirty little slut for me tonight.” He picked up speed, fucking her relentlessly against the tiles, the force of his thrusts making her whole body jolt. Her hard nipples were rubbing against the wet fabric with every movement.
Her moans grew louder and more desperate, echoing off the tiled walls as she lost control. “Fuck, Garrett!” she cried out, voice breaking into shameless moans. “Oh my god, right there baby. Right there.”
“Yeah? You like that?” he growled, her eyes rolling back as he pounded into her.
Just then, the locker room door creaked open unexpectedly for the second time that evening. “Garrett? You in here, man? I know you’re pissed about the game, just wanted to check…” Logan stopped dead in his tracks.
From his angle, he could only see Garrett’s bare ass flexing as he thrust powerfully between a pair of legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The girl’s moans were unmistakable, loud and filthy, her ankles locked behind Garrett’s back as he fucked her against the shower wall.
Garrett turned his head slightly, still buried deep inside her, and let out a low, breathless laugh. “Shit… bad timing, bro,” he said, not stopping the deep rolls of his hips. She tried to muffle her moan against his shoulder but failed miserably.
Logan stood frozen for a second before averting his eyes. “Uh… yeah. I’ll… catch you later.”
Garrett grinned, still holding her up as he gave one particularly hard thrust that made her cry out again. “I’ll tell you about it back at the house,” he called out, voice casual despite how hard he was fucking her. “Just give me a bit.”
Logan muttered something and quickly backed out, the door shutting behind him.
Garrett chuckled darkly, turning his full attention back to her as resumed his relentless pace.
She glared at him, breathless and flushed. “You are not telling him about this,” she snapped, voice sharp even as she moaned again when he drove into her. “Don’t you dare, umphf”
Garrett cut her off instantly. He grabbed her jaw roughly with one hand, forcing her mouth open as he leaned in and spat directly onto her tongue again, thick and deliberate. “Swallow,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “And shut that pretty mouth up before you ruin the mood.”
She moaned indignantly but swallowed his spit, her pussy clenching hard around his cock. Garrett smirked and immediately dropped his hand between them, finding her swollen clit with his thumb. He started rubbing firm circles over it while continuing to fuck her with long, powerful strokes.
“That’s better,” he growled, watching her face contort with pleasure. “Getting mad at me while you’re creaming all over my dick. So. Fucking. Cute.” A word for each thrust.
Her moans turned frantic as he worked her clit faster, never slowing the deep thrusts of his cock. The combination was too much: his thick length stretching her, his thumb rubbing her relentlessly, and the filthy taste of him still on her tongue.“Garrett, holy fucking shit”
“Come,” he demanded, spitting into her open mouth one last time as he pounded into her. “Come on my cock while you’re still wearing his jersey.”
Her orgasm crashed over her violently. She cried out loudly, body shaking as her pussy spasmed hard around him. Her legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders as she came, soaking his cock and thighs. Garrett kept rubbing her clit through every wave, drawing it out until she was whimpering and trembling against him.
Garrett groaned deeply as her pussy pulsed around his cock, her walls squeezing him rhythmically. He kept thrusting through it, slower but still deep, savoring the way she fluttered and soaked him. His own breathing was ragged now, muscles tight with building pressure.
“Fuck… I’m close,” he rasped against her ear, voice strained. “So fucking close.”
He gave her a few more powerful thrusts before suddenly pulling out of her with a wet sound. He set her down on shaky legs, his cock glistening with her release and throbbing hard against his abs.
Before he could say anything, she dropped to her knees in front of him on the wet tile floor, water from the shower cascading over her shoulders and the soaked football jersey. She looked up at him with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, then wrapped her hand around his slick cock and guided it straight to her mouth.
Garrett let out a rough moan as her lips parted and she took him in eagerly, sucking him deep without hesitation.
“Shit,” He threaded his fingers through her wet hair, hips jerking forward. “That’s it… good girl. You didn’t even need me to ask.”
She moaned around his cock, the vibration traveling straight through him as she bobbed her head, taking him as deep as she could. Her tongue swirled around the head on every upstroke, tasting herself on him. Garrett’s abs flexed, his grip tightening in her hair as he fought to hold back.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, voice rough and strained. He pushed deep into her mouth one last time and held her there as he came hard. Thick ropes of cum spilled across her tongue, filling her mouth with pulse after heavy pulse. He groaned loudly, hips twitching as he emptied himself completely, watching her take every drop.
When he finally pulled out, a thin string of saliva and cum connected her lips to the head of his cock. She swallowed visibly, breathing hard.
Garrett looked down at her with a satisfied, almost cocky smirk. He reached down and gently patted her cheek twice, then cupped her face with one hand, thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “Good fucking girl,” he murmured. “Now go back to your cuckold boyfriend.”
He leaned down slightly, still holding her jaw as water poured over them. “This is our dirty little secret. You can wear his jersey and pretend to be his good girlfriend… but we both know whose cum you’re tasting right now.”
I dunno, stop apologizing for your art. This includes not posting enough, too much, changing style, inconsistent style, repetition, subject. Its your art its your expression. Have fun.
content: MDNI, established (messy) relationship, semi-public sex, getting caught, jealousy, light angst, Toji fucking you before a fight, pet names (doll, sweetheart) and name-calling, fingering, piv sex, brat taming, implied sukuna x reader, idk if this counts as breakup or makeup sex lmfao
based on this ask!! divider by @plutism !!
"Thought you weren't gonna make it," Toji tch-ed, the corner of his mouth twitching involuntarily into a smile as his eyes shrewdly flitted up-and-down your body.
"Traffic was hell," You grumbled, throwing your bag down on the bench, glancing around the cleared-out locker room. He should consider himself lucky you even showed. "Where's everyone?"
"Kicked 'em out," Your (ex?)boyfriend huffed, his broad back leaning against the tall locker, thick fingers absentmindedly picking at the sports tape wrapped around his calloused palm.
You didn't comment, didn't need to ask.
Sure, Shiu could spend half an hour trying to offer strategies and lecturing him about trying not to kill his opponent in the ring, but it'd just go in one ear and out the other.
Toji only ever wanted his good luck charm before the fight anyway.
"How much time you have left?" You hummed, sitting at the very edge of the bench, looking up at his massive frame. Smoothing out the creases in your dress, touching up your hair reflexively, disappointed in your own curiosity at what you must look like from his perspective.
"Fifteen minutes," He grunted, irritated at the distance you deliberately put between you and him. "C'mere."
"Fine right here actually, thank you," You sighed, crossing one leg over the other.
Toji really huffed now, crossing the few feet separating you in just a couple short strides, squatting down until he was face-to-face with you.
"You really wanna be a brat tonight?" He gritted his teeth, grabbing your chin between the rough pad of his thumb and his knuckles, so you couldn't look away. Toji had always been the one who needed an attitude adjustment in your relationship.
"How am I being a brat?" You feigned innocence, the muscles in your thighs automatically clenching together at the husky sound of his voice.
"You know damn well how, sweetheart," He rolled his eyes, condescension dripping from every syllable. Other men might've meant the term affectionately, but with him? It felt derogatory.
"Am I your sweetheart? Last time I checked, you were single," You huffed, reminding him of what he told an entire room full of reporters at his last match. "That means I am too."
Your back hit the cold metal bench before you blinked, your bag knocked onto the ground, a tube of lip gloss rolling out with a soft clink! as Toji's weight pressed down on you.
"Seriously?" He grunted, one hand already prying your thighs apart, the sports tape itching at your skin when it made contact. You pretended to be wholly unaffected, swatting his hand away from your chin just for him to swiftly pin both of yours above your head. "You already know you're mine, doll. Just gotta say that stuff-"
"I think that's up to me, isn't it?" You pouted, interrupting him and weakly attempting to squirm free from his iron grip.
"What're you tryna say?" His molars were grinding together, his dark eyes narrowing, a gleam of something possessive lurking in his stare.
"You know, I ran into Sukuna in-"
Toji's mouth slammed into yours, lips crashing together in a sloppy kiss to shut you up before you could finish. His tongue pushing past your teeth, colliding against your tongue, like he wanted to devour you.
He'd spit you back out though. Always did.
You didn't know why he thought the bench was a good place for this, his bulky body tipping over your precarious balance and landing fully on top of you when you fell back onto the cold tile, knocking all of the breath out of you.
"You aren't even gonna say sorry?" You muttered when his mouth moved to trail wet, hungry kisses down your throat, teeth scraping against the skin as the bulge in his shorts dug into your thigh.
Either he was ignoring you or he was too lazer-focused on his current task, the hand under your dress groping at your ass, fingers dimpling the soft flesh while he pressed his erection directly against your clit through your dress. Toji pushed your dress up, bunching it past your hips and rolling his eyes at what he saw.
"Acting all pissy with me when you don't even have any panties on, sweetheart?" He mocked, his thumb harshly swiping over the oversensitive bud, his huge palm cupping your entrance. "Fuckin' soaked too."
"You're an asshole," You gritted your teeth, sucking in a sharp inhale through your nose as his thick fingers bullied their way inside, collecting the slick down to his knuckles as he shoved them in-and-out.
His rhythm was as unforgiving as he was, plunging in deeper until he found the soft spot that he knew made your toes curl, trying to hurtle you to a blinding orgasm as fast as possible.
"What was that?" He clicked his tongue, the white scar cutting across his lips stretched taut over his crooked smile, leering over you as he planted another warm kiss against your collarbone. His free hand still pressed your wrists against the floor.
God, you hoped someone had fucking mopped in here before this.
"Asshole," You stubbornly echoed, lashes fluttering shut as he curled his fingers cruelly. Deep enough that you were probably dripping onto the scratchy tape rubbing against your thighs, your muscles desperately trying to close around his hand, clenching uselessly around his long fingers.
He chuckled, dark and low, roughly massaging circles against your clit, snickering at how close he'd already pulled you to the edge.
"Gonna cum, already?" He taunted, pinching your clit just hard enough to make you snap. A lewd moan of his name escaping your lips as your hips involuntary bucked up, needing to feel him deeper, heat pouring through you with every wave of pleasure absolutely wrecking you.
"Toji," You whined, wrists flexing to try and pull free just for his grip to tighten, keeping you pinned in place as paused making patterns on your sore bundle of nerves to tug his aching cock out, the tip red and swollen. His fist wrapped around the veiny shaft, slowly stroking up to collect a thick drop of pre-cum. "Get a fucking condom first."
He grunted, but let go of his erection to reach for your purse with one of those long arms, begrudgingly yanking it over to rifle through the loose receipts and makeup to pull out a condom wrapper, tearing it open with his teeth.
Throwing the plastic on the ground, sheathing his throbbing cock in one swift motion before just shoving it all the way in. You gasped, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his muscular back as he pushed his way past the first ring of resistance, bottoming out with enough force that your chest hurt trying to contain how fast your heart was racing, how much your lungs were straining to get any air.
"Say it to my face now, sweetheart," He groaned, his jaw slack as he watched you with those ridiculously-dark eyes, all the color practically dissolved by his blown-out pupils.
He grinded his tip against your cervix, fucking you like he couldn't stand you. Sometimes, you wondered if maybe that was true. You still ended up here though, smothered in all of him until you couldn't wonder about anything anymore.
"I hate you," You panted, you back arching, hips rolling up to meet where he was currently threatening to split you open, driving his cock in so mean. Something uncharacteristically needy underscored it though, an unspoken desperation to make you give in to him.
"You love me," He grunted, his hips smacking against you hard enough you wondered if it'd bruise later, the messy sounds of his cock sliding in-and-out and skin-slapping-skin.
"This is the last time, Toji," You spat, moaning when he pressed snugly against your favorite spot, his chest heavy when he held you down with just his weight. He squinted at you, pausing there. "I'm done."
"Yeah, right," He scoffed, quick to resume his messy strokes, pounding into you like he was trying to erase what you just said from both of your brains.
"I mean it," You whimpered when his hand slipped back up to your sore and swollen clit, pinching it before the last syllable had even finished leaving your mouth. "Oh, fuck, Toji."
"You don't mean shit," He cursed under his breath, returning to rolling it between his sturdy fingers.
"Mm, I-" Your protest died on your tongue when his was dipping inside your mouth, his warm lips colliding against yours, trying to swallow your attempts at breaking things off with him.
"Shut up," He only pulled away to mutter, a low growl caught in his throat before he nipped at your lips, breaking the thin skin there. He let go of your wrists to cup your face, tangling his fingers in your hair.
Your own hand slipped underneath his shirt, tracing up the muscles he'd spent years sculpting up to his broad shoulder blades, nails sinking into his skin to leave angry scratches down his back. So what if his fans saw? It's not like anyone would ever know who it was from anyway.
His breathing was ragged, his brows knitted together as his thrusts got sloppy, his sweaty forehead resting on yours while he barely staved off his climax to focus on making you cum again for him.
"You think I'm gonna let you go?" He muttered, and it didn't sound like he was even talking to you, his eyes closed, playing with your clit like it was his favorite toy.
You wanted to tell him he should've thought about that before, but his mouth was back on yours, not giving you the chance to talk and turn him down.
His teeth knocking against yours, sucking on your kiss-bruised lip, his nose constantly bumping into yours, and when he dragged his thumb back over your swollen bud, you couldn't hide the orgasm he practically ripped from you.
Cumming and crying his name, shuddering as you pulled him closer, burying your face in his neck and biting down to choke out your moan before anyone heard.
Too late.
It wasn't until he was moaning your name back into your mouth, tugging at your hair and finishing inside the condom while he fucked you through it that your eyes started to open and you noticed you weren't exactly alone.
Shiu readjusted the lit cigarette dangling from his lips, rolling his eyes at your compromising position on the floor before glancing over at the stunned reporter next to him, wide-eyed, his grip limp on the pen in his hand.
"Toji," You hissed in his ear, pinching the man on top of you to jolt him out of his post-sex daze. "Get up."
His grunt was annoyed, looking over his shoulder at what had captured your attention. But instead of getting pissed, he just chuckled.
"You wanted to show everyone who I belong to, right, doll?"
It'd make a good headline.
Maybe even overshadow his win.
Caught fucking his woman minutes before one of the biggest fights of his career. It didn't matter to him. Whatever sold the most tickets, whatever kept you happy. He'd use some of the extra money, take you out somewhere at least half-decent and blow your back out until you couldn't think about breaking up or whatever you kept bitching about before.
It was cute watching you cover yourself up, fix your clothes and shove your stuff back in your bag before scampering out to find your place ringside before the fight started.
So, sure, his smirk was probably shit-eating walking out to the crowd and the cheers, the posters with his name proudly on display and the cameras all pointed his way. Stepping into the ring where Sukuna was already waiting, the dickhead not even bothering to turn and look at him.
No, he was too busy eyefucking some wh-
Shit.
Sukuna was too busy eyefucking you.
You were watching him back, your cheeks still flushed, your swollen bottom lip pushed out in an annoyingly adorable pout, like you hadn't even noticed Toji's entrance.
The announcer was rambling, giving the same rehearsed spiel Toji heard a thousand times before, his opponent's narrowed gaze slowly turning to him, studying his face with a smug smile.
"Don't even fucking think about it," Toji warned.
"Yeah?" Sukuna taunted, amusement flickering in his catlike eyes.
"She's mine," He spat, gravel in his voice, something slick and oily curling in his stomach at the feeling of being out of the loop, struck at the realization he was missing something that was staring him right in the face.
"Not what she was saying an hour ago when she was cumming on my cock," Sukuna shrugged, pride flashing across his face.
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seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder, this one's gonna be freaky guys, unprotected piv sex, oral (m! receiving), more tags to be added!
