Breedmedaddyy

asking husband!toji to help you help you get the overdue baby out! ꒰♡

mdni. smut/ crack - (basically just toji getting bitched around by his pregnant wife)

"toji. get this baby the fuck out of me. now.”

your husband furrows his brows, watching you pace your shared bedroom like a mad woman, gritting your teeth in frustration.

the baby was now two weeks late. you were done — you just wanted the kid out of you already. you’d tried practically everything; herbal teas, spicy food, bouncing on that stupid yoga ball until your thighs burned… the list went on.

then, you remembered there was one thing you hadn’t tried.

"…cmon, baby. you’re tiring yourself out with all that pacin’ around. the midwife said it’ll be any day now," toji says, watching you roll your eyes in response, both hands resting on your oversized belly.

you trundle over to the bed, laying down next to toji who was quick to steady you. "now, toji!" you hiss, trying to shimmy your shorts down.

he finally gets the memo.

"what, y’want me to fuck you? now?" he asks, not moving yet.

you grit your teeth again, frustrated and overwhelmed with hormones. "no, idiot. i’m taking my pants off for no reason," you reply sarcastically.

toji bites his tongue, running the idea through his head — slightly scared to say no to you right now.

"that even safe?" he questions.

"if you don’t get this baby out of me right now, so help me i’m going to divorce you," you snarl, no real malice behind your cruel words.

toji willingly gets himself hard, an easy task when he’s right next to his wife. he climbs on top of you, careful not to rest his weight on your vulnerable frame.

he tugs his sweatpants down, then tries kissing you, ready to prep you to take him as always, but receives a firm slap on his wandering hand— "hurry up!"

"alright, alright. jesus, babe," he mumbles, quickly realising you were in no mood for foreplay.

in fact, toji was pretty sure you didn’t view this as sex at all — just an experimental way of getting this damn baby out.

toji aligns his cock with your entrance, slowly pushing in, feeling you lock your legs around him desperately, forcing him all the way. "haaah — easy," he groans.

truthfully, it’d been a while since he’d even allowed himself to stuff you full. the last thing he’d ever want to do was hurt you, or the baby.

"mnnn — okay. hard and fast. let’s go," you pant lightly, smacking his ass encouragingly.

one thing he wouldn’t let slide if you weren’t extremely pregnant.

just as you wish, toji starts moving, his pace slow at first, still cautious not to cause you discomfort. "shit, y’feel fuckin’ amazing," toji rasps, quickly snapping back into reality as you try to buck your hips against him.

"faster, mnghh — please," you mewl, now only half focused on inducing labour, your husbands dick practically hypnotising you in the process.

minutes pass. toji stays focused, giving you exactly what you need, hurried, deep thrusts making your head spin with pleasure.

then, you gasp — hands gripping your husbands meaty bicep.

toji feels the lower half of his body become drenched. “fucckkk, that’s it — make a mess," he purrs.

then he looks down, catching the large smile on your face.

"is the hospital bag ready?” you say.

"…yeah, why?"

you grab toji’s face, tugging him forward to kiss him excitedly. "my water just broke, idiot!"

not exactly the mess he was expecting.

"Seven days…," he grits out, the numbers sharp as his cursed blade… It was rare to hear him talk like that…

"Kento… please don't be mad… w-we ah~," impatient, his large hands shove your dress up your thighs, bunching the fabric around your waist, "We've been so busy with the girls lately." your hands tremble as you run them over the lapels of his jacket.

He catches your wrist and pulls your hand to his mouth. A shiver races up your spine as he kisses your palm, tongue hot and wet as it traces along your skin. His teeth are just as sharp, grazing against your skin in a warning, "I don't want excuses," Nanami growls, the low sound going straight to your cunt, "I want you."

His breath carries hints of bourbon and mint from dinner- restraint absolutely snapped, the kind that’s been simmering all week between packed lunched, overtime with Gojo, and your second grader’s nightmares about how daddy doesn’t come back home from work one day… 

Nanami refuses to waste any more time. Like he said, it’s been seven fucking days. He’s missed having you all to himself. The feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him- strangling his cock just how he likes it. 

Without hesitation. His thumb hooks into your lace panties, tearing them sideways with a rip that makes you gasp and arch, "F-fuck, Kento-!~"

synopsis . Domestic morning sex in the kitchen with your grumpy husband. content . afab!reader, manhandling, somewhat soft sex, he’s obsessed with you, implied breeding kink, established relationship, filth, lots of praise, fluff if you squint, a tinge of softkuna, cum eating, etc. (answering this nonnie req)

Sukuna gets soooo frustrated by how good you feel that he starts rolling his eyes, scrunching his brows, and pouting as he watches his cock disappear inside you. He hates it when you start tightening up around him as if your sole purpose is to milk him dry—the sensation always makes his body feel as though it were hitching.

You’re currently arched over the cold kitchen countertop and he’s trying his best not to lose his mind but fuck you make it impossible.

All his focus shoots down onto the way you feel wrapped around him, your insides suddenly warmer while he battles with that overwhelming sensation of pleasure washing over the rest of his body. It's all too much for him and he doesn't want you to realize it just yet but everything about his body language gives it away.

His lower lip pushes out into a cute pout and his already-scrunching brows begin to twitch, eyes narrowed into a sharp glare while his careful hands press into that gorgeous arch of yours—causing you to moan messily against the counter.

Sukuna's too lost is how good you feel that he can barely focus on you and your whines anymore. The only thing that registers to his ears is the rather intoxicating squelch that rings out from your sloppy cunt. The rest of the house is dead silent so every little wet pop that saps out of you seems to echo loud enough to make the man feel dizzy in his own lust.

Then there's the way your pussylips look kissing his thick base, teasing and struggling all around him as if he were on the verge of breaking you and not the other way around. His balls feel weighty with each time they come smacking against your skin and his breath quickly grows ragged before he has time to catch it.

Your words smear out against the counter as you finally notice his unsteady breathing, "Sukuna, are you-, ah, are you okay?"

"F-Fuck, uhuh, m’fine, wife." He's grunting in response, as if his very expression wasn't breaking into something else-, something needier. You notice how his hips begin to roll slower, just pumping his fat cock into you so he can watch how your lips streeetch around him and how cum dribbles out from the sides.

Then his grip on your thighs gets tighter and his sharp fingernails start digging into your skin before you hear the sound that falls past his lips. It's a high pitched whine of something desperate—so desperate that your head angles back to his face and you nearly flinch at the heaviness of his gaze already on yours, like he wanted you to hear that.

✦ ݁˖wc :: 1k+

⟡ ݁˖cw. Artist!Choso :: m. masterbation :: yearner!cho :: he sketches you and gets hard!

The room was quiet except for the soft scratch of charcoal against paper. Choso sat hunched over his desk in the late hours, lamp casting a warm glow across his sketchbook. He had been drawing you again. His ability to capture your beauty from memory never failed to amaze him. Every line, every shadow, every delicate curve of your face felt so real on the page.

His sketchbook was filled with you. Pages and pages of quiet moments he had stolen in his mind. You laughing on the couch downstairs. You biting your lip when you concentrated. You in that tiny skirt from earlier today, the one that still made his pulse race. He drew them all with careful hands, trying to hold onto every detail of you.

Tonight the drawing had started innocent enough. He wanted to get your lips just right. The soft fullness of them. The way they curved when you smiled at him like he was the only person in the room. Then he moved to your eyes. Those eyes that always seemed to see straight through him. He shaded them carefully, making them look like they were staring back at him from the paper.

But the longer he worked, the harder it became to stay focused. His mind wandered. He imagined your real lips parting for him. He imagined your real eyes watching him with that wicked little smirk you got when you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Heat pooled low in his stomach. His cock started to twitch in his sweatpants, growing heavier with every passing second.

Choso tried to ignore it at first. He gripped the charcoal tighter and kept drawing. But his will was weak when it came to you. It always had been. Soon his free hand drifted down between his legs. He palmed himself through the fabric, a low breath escaping his lips. The ache was too much. He needed relief.

He set the charcoal aside but did not bother wiping the black smudges from his fingers. The mess on his hands did not matter. The ache in his cock mattered more. He pushed his sweatpants down just enough to free his thick length. It sprang up heavy and already leaking. He wrapped his charcoal-stained fingers around the base and gave one slow stroke.

His eyes stayed fixed on the sketch. He stared at your drawn lips and imagined them wrapped around him instead. He pictured your tongue sliding along his shaft. He pictured the way you would look up at him while you took him deep into your mouth. A quiet whimper slipped from his throat.

Then his gaze moved to your eyes in the drawing. Oh, how he wished it was your real ones staring at him right now. He wanted you to watch him fall apart like this. He wanted you to see how gone he was for you. How completely you owned him without even trying.

His hand moved faster. Charcoal smudges transferred onto his cock with every stroke. The black streaks mixed with the precum beading at his tip. He pumped himself with long, needy pulls, hips twitching up into his fist. Soft, broken sounds filled the quiet room. Whimpers and shaky breaths he could not hold back.

“Fuck… you’re so beautiful,” he whispered to the page. His voice sounded rough and desperate. “Wish it was really you… wish you were here looking at me right now…”

He was so lost in the fantasy. His strokes grew quicker and tighter. His thumb rubbed over the sensitive head on every pass, spreading the slick mess. The ache built fast and sharp in his gut. His balls drew up tight. He could not stop even if he wanted to.

His eyes locked on your drawn face again. Those perfect lips, eyes that seemed to stare straight into him. The thought of you catching him like this, hand wrapped around his cock while he jerked off to your portrait, sent a violent shudder through his body.

With a choked groan, his orgasm hit hard. Thick ropes of cum shot up from his cock and splattered across the page. Warm streaks landed right over your sketched lips and cheek. One heavy spurt even landed near your eyes. The white fluid stained the charcoal lines and made the paper wrinkle slightly where it soaked in.

Choso kept stroking through it, milking every last drop until his cock twitched weakly in his hand. He stared at the ruined sketch, chest heaving. The cum glistened under the lamp light, slowly dripping down the page and blurring some of the finer details.

“Shit…” he breathed out. His voice sounded small and regretful now that the haze was clearing. He had actually wanted to show you this one. It had turned out so well before the mess. He had planned to tear the page out and slip it to you tomorrow with that shy little smile he got whenever he shared his art with you.

Now the drawing was stained and sticky. Charcoal mixed with his release in messy streaks across your beautiful face. He ran a thumb gently over the edge of the paper, careful not to smear it more. Part of him felt embarrassed. Another part, the part that was still half-hard and throbbing, wondered what you would think if you saw it anyway.

He let out a soft, tired sigh and leaned back in his chair. His clean hand came up to push dark hair out of his eyes. The room felt too quiet again. He glanced at the ruined sketch one more time, heart still racing from the high.

You had no idea how deeply he was gone for you. How every line he drew was another way of saying he could not stop thinking about you. Even now, with his cum drying on the page, he already wanted to draw you again. Maybe next time he would keep better control.

Or maybe he would not. Maybe some part of him hoped you would walk in one of these late nights and catch him exactly like this. Cock in hand, eyes fixed on your image, completely lost in you.

He closed the sketchbook slowly, but not before pressing one careful finger to the edge of the stained page. A small, secret smile tugged at his lips despite everything.

Tomorrow he would try again. And maybe, just maybe, he would let you see.

art cr @ kimama__12 on x

18+ MDNI, aged up!megumi, perv!megumi, established relationship, solo masturbation, panty kink. abstract, fushiguro megumi was doing a perfectly fine job at being your boyfriend. normal, respectful, composed. unfortunately, his dreams, his shikigami, and one very cute missing pair had other plans.

꣑ৎ MEGUMI HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT HE WAS A DECENT PERSON :)

quiet, maybe. emotionally constipated, according to nobara, which felt rude but not entirely false. he was blunt when embarrassed, painfully calm when he didn’t know what to do with his feelings, and weirdly committed to pretending he didn’t care whenever you stole his hoodies, even though he kept leaving them in places you could easily find.

then he started dating you.

and apparently, dating you had reduced him to some sort of victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

three months into the relationship, and megumi still acted like your touch needed a warning label. you could kiss his cheek outside the campus library and he would look away like he had just been caught committing tax fraud. you could lean against his side during movie night, warm and sleepy, and his whole body would go still for half a second before he remembered that boyfriends were, in fact, allowed to be held.

you thought it was cute.

megumi thought he needed professional help.

because it wasn’t just the soft things anymore. it was the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder when you stretched. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat on his bed. the way you looked after training, skin warm from the sun, hair messy, laughing with your water bottle pressed to your lips like you weren’t personally dragging his self-control behind a building.

he wanted to be normal about you. really, he did. you were his girlfriend, not some divine punishment sent to test whether his dignity could survive physical affection. you deserved a boyfriend who was calm, respectful, and not quietly combusting every time you hugged him a little too close.

megumi tried very hard to be that boyfriend.

unfortunately, wanting you had started eating through his self-control like a curse with expensive taste.

the dreams came first. vivid, feverish, humiliating things that left him waking up with a harsh gasp, his hips jerking up into the mattress to chase a ghost. your voice would linger near his ear. your skin would press flush against his. your mouth would be somewhere it shouldn’t be yet, sweet and needy and completely unfair. the details always blurred as reality crashed in, but the physical aftermath was painfully clear. he’d snap awake aching and rock hard, his chest heaving in the quiet dark, the front of his sleep pants ruined and uncomfortably sticky. he would just lie there, face burning into his pillow, before dragging himself out of bed to wash the evidence away, feeling like an absolute criminal by morning.

every time, it was you.

of course it was you.

you were his first serious girlfriend. the first person he actually wanted to be good for. the first person who made him think about things he immediately wanted to bury under concrete and never speak of again. maybe, hopefully, someday you would be his first in other ways too.

the thought alone made him shove his face into his pillow and silently consider becoming religious.

oh, he was so cooked.

the worst part started after evening training.

the campus field was still warm from the afternoon sun, grass damp beneath everyone’s shoes, the air filled with the sound of yuji complaining that nobara kept aiming for his head. you had dropped your gym bag near megumi’s by the benches, half-zipped because you never really closed anything properly, then wandered off to refill your water bottle.

megumi had summoned rabbit escape for control practice. nothing serious, just a few white rabbits scattering through the grass while yuji tried not to step on them and nobara accused him of weaponizing cuteness. one of the rabbits, smaller than the rest and apparently born with no morals, hopped toward your open bag.

megumi saw the flash of pink before anyone else did.

his body went very still.

the rabbit tugged something soft from the side pocket and sat there proudly, your panties caught between its little teeth like it had just won a prize.

megumi moved so fast he almost tripped.

he scooped the rabbit up, turned his back to the field, and pulled the fabric away before yuji could glance over. his heart was beating too hard for something that was, technically, laundry. just laundry. normal laundry. laundry that absolutely should have gone straight back into your bag like a normal boyfriend with a normal brain would do.

“don’t,” he whispered to the rabbit.

the rabbit blinked.

you called his name from across the field, smiling as you lifted your water bottle. “gumi, you okay?”

megumi panicked.

he shoved the fabric into the pocket of his track jacket.

“yeah,” he called back, voice flat enough to pass as normal if nobody looked too closely. “fine.”

just for now, he told himself. he would put it back later. when nobody was looking. when his pulse stopped acting like he had robbed a bank.

꣑ৎ DECENT PERSON, MY ASS.

that night the dorm room was too quiet. megumi sat on the edge of his bed with the lights off, only the faint glow from the campus path outside slipping through the blinds. the pink panties were still in his pocket. he hadn’t even taken his jacket off yet. his fingers brushed the soft fabric when he finally reached in, and the second he pulled them out his stomach flipped.

he should throw them back in the drawer. he should wash them. he should do anything except what he was about to do.

instead he leaned back against the pillows, breath already shaky, and unfolded the delicate pink material. the little bow caught on his thumb. the scent of you—warm skin, faint floral detergent, the ghost of your body—hit him so hard his cock twitched instantly in his sweats.

“fuck… i’m sorry,” he muttered, like you could hear him. like apologizing to the empty room would make this less pathetic.

he shoved his sweats and boxers down just enough, his cock springing free, already flushed and leaking. he wrapped the panties around his length slowly, the silky fabric cool against hot skin, and the first stroke pulled a quiet, broken sound from his throat. the little bow dragged under the head and his hips jerked up without permission.

megumi closed his eyes and let the thoughts flood in.

he imagined you in his lap, thighs spread over his, wearing nothing but that exact pair. the way you’d smile at him all teasing and fond when you felt how hard he was. the way you’d rock against him, grinding the soft fabric right against his cock while you kissed that spot under his jaw that always made him weak. your voice in his ear, low and sweet, calling him “gumi” like you knew exactly what you did to him.

his hand moved faster, twisting a little at the head, the soaked panties sliding obscenely over his shaft. pre-cum darkened the pink almost immediately. he pictured pushing the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your slick folds instead, hearing that tiny gasp you made whenever he touched you somewhere new. he wanted to bury his face between your thighs and stay there until you were shaking. wanted to hear you moan his name while he finally pushed inside you, slow and careful and so fucking deep.

“shit— you’d feel so so hng g-good,” he whispered, voice hoarse. his strokes turned messy, desperate. the wet sound of fabric and skin filled the room and it only made him harder. “so warm… so tight… f-fuck, i want you so bad—”

the guilt twisted sharp in his chest, but it only made the heat worse. he was disgusting. he was a terrible boyfriend. and still, he couldn’t stop. he pressed the panties tighter in his fist, close enough to feel the soft fabric against his palm, imagining your hand instead, your mouth, the way you’d look up at him with that bright, wicked little smile while you took him apart.

his thighs tensed. his free hand fisted the sheets. when he felt himself getting close, some ridiculous, half-functioning part of his brain still had the nerve to panic.

not on them.

megumi jerked the fabric away at the last second like it was something precious, something he had no right to ruin, and buried his face into his forearm as the feeling hit him hard and sudden. his hips stuttered, breath breaking into a choked sound he barely managed to swallow, body trembling through every shaky wave until the room went quiet again.

for a long moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like it might offer judgment. it didn’t, duh.

which was rude, honestly.

the pink panties were still clutched safely in his hand, untouched and soft, still carrying that faint trace of your perfume, your laundry soap, you. megumi looked at them through half-lidded eyes, flushed and ruined and still careful enough to fold them against his chest like that somehow made any of this less insane.

megumi, once again, told himself he would return it before this got any worse.

꣑ৎ JOKE’S ON YOU.

by the next afternoon, it had gotten worse.

not because of the drills, though they were annoying. not because yuji kept trying to turn sparring into a competition no one had agreed to. worse because you were sitting beside megumi on the bench, digging through your gym bag with a frown while he wrapped tape around his wrist and pretended the top drawer in his dorm didn’t exist.

“this is actually so annoying,” you said.

megumi kept his eyes on the tape. “what is?”

“my new pink pair is gone.” you pushed aside your towel, lip gloss, and spare shirt with growing offense. “i swear i put it in here after changing yesterday. it had a little bow and everything. very cute. now it’s missing.”

megumi’s fingers paused for one single heartbeat.

“maybe you left it in your room.”

“i checked.” you sighed like you had suffered a real tragedy. “twice. i think the campus laundry ghosts have chosen me.”

“sorry for your loss.”

“thank you. i’ll need snack compensation.”

“for underwear?”

“for emotional damage.”

he looked at you then, and you looked so genuinely annoyed that guilt twisted through him, sharp and hot. you weren’t suspicious. you weren’t accusing him. you were just talking to him the way you always did, dragging him into your little complaints because he was your boyfriend and that was supposed to mean something simple and safe.

megumi swallowed.

he would return it tonight.

probably.

training picked up again after that, saving him from having to speak. the two of you sparred under the sun until sweat slid down the side of his face and his black shirt stuck lightly to his back. you were quick today, playful, laughing whenever he dodged too easily and calling him a show-off when he pinned your wrist for half a second longer than necessary.

by the time you both stopped, megumi was warm, tired, and dangerously close to forgetting how to act normal.

he turned away and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

the movement exposed his stomach.

you went quiet.

megumi lowered the fabric just enough to see you staring, eyes fixed on the lean lines of muscle along his abdomen and the sharp dip disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. your expression changed slowly, surprise melting into something bright and wicked.

“wow, ’gumi,” you said, stepping closer. “i didn’t know you had nice abs.”

his whole body locked. “don’t say it like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re enjoying this.”

“i am enjoying this.”

that should not have affected him as much as it did.

you reached for him before he could escape, fingertips brushing the exposed skin near his ribs. megumi’s breath hitched so quietly he prayed you didn’t hear it. your touch slid lower, still teasing, still light, tracing the firm plane of his stomach until your fingers grazed the line near his hip.

his body betrayed him immediately.

megumi caught your wrist, quick but gentle, and shifted his hips back just enough to save what remained of his dignity. you blinked up at him, then smiled like you had just discovered something valuable and planned to become a menace about it.

“sensitive?” you asked.

“annoying,” he said, voice too low.

“you’re blushing.”

“it’s hot outside.”

“mhm.” your eyes flicked down for half a second. “sure.”

he was going to die on this field.

then yuji’s voice cut through the air like divine punishment. “are you two flirting or are we training?”

megumi let go of your wrist so fast it was embarrassing.

you only laughed, bright and shameless, before stepping back like you hadn’t just put him through five stages of grief in public. nobara, of course, saw enough to make her grin sharp.

“they’re flirting,” she said. “badly, but still.”

“we’re training,” megumi muttered.

“sure,” you said, attempting to tease him. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

it did not help him sleep at night.

꣑ৎ SPICE UP UR LIFE, COME GET A FREAK LIKE ME(GUMI)...

later that day, after practice ended, megumi returned to his dorm alone and opened the top drawer. he stared at the folded pink fabric tucked beneath one of his shirts. outside his window, campus lights glowed soft and yellow. on his desk, his phone buzzed.

y/n: still mourning the pink pair </3

y/n: she was cute, she was soft, she was taken too soon ☹

y/n: snack compensation tomorrow? ✌︎㋡

megumi stared at the message until the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

then he looked at the drawer again. “i’m a terrible person,” he muttered.

from the corner of the room, one of the rabbits twitched its nose like it agreed.

he should have shut the drawer. he really should have.

instead, megumi opened it again, slow enough that the wood barely made a sound. the pink fabric sat folded beneath one of his shirts, soft and damning, carrying the faintest trace of your scent. his fingers curled around it before he could talk himself out of it, and for one shameful second, he pressed the fabric directly over his nose and mouth. his eyes fell shut as he dragged in a long desperate breath.

your scent—warm, sweet, and intoxicatingly familiar—flooded his lungs, pulling a low, ragged groan from the back of his throat. his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened.

oh, he was disgusting.

worse than that, he was hopeless.

because for all his restraint, all his discipline, all his quiet little attempts to be the perfect boyfriend you deserved, fushiguro megumi had one serious problem.

he was a freak for you.

and you still had no idea.

why of all people on earth does he have to be obsessed with you, his best friend, suguru’s, sister? he’s convinced whatever god that’s up there is getting back him for being to rude to utahime back in grade school by making you essentially off limits. if he could go back in time and prevent himself from being sworn in to ‘bro-code’ he’d do it in a heartbeat. because that’d mean he’d get to have you.

he swears it was something straight out of a shojo when he first saw you. it was when you had met up with suguru back at the frat house so you two could go home for winter break together. you walked into suguru’s room, right across from gojo’s, nagging for him to hurry up. and trust him, he’s not a perv, he respects women… but from his doorway he got an amazing view of your ass in those god-damn yoga pants. like amazing amazing.

he’d heard the stories from suguru’s childhood of you, the stories about how suguru forced you to do stuff, arguments you had, how he used to practice wwe moves on you, but never did he show a photo of you, never did he mention that you look ethereal. thinking about it now, he’s only ever said “my sister” when talking about you—was your name pretty? probably. it’d only make sense. what did you even major in that he never saw you on campus ? if he had seen you before maybe he’d be able to get away with the “oh sorry, didn’t know that was your sister. kinda fucked her tho” excuse.

maybe he could try his chances with being friends atleast ? sure it would hurt a little if you never ended up liking him but it would be pretty nice to have a hot friend.

“oh uh, hey.” he says, catching you attention and making your look over your shoulder, ass still perfect in those pants. “i’m uhh suguru’s friend. satoru…gojo.”

you turn around fully now, and now he sees your tits peaking out from your hoodie and surprisingly low cut top for the weather. “no way ! i hear so much about you from sugu !” you look up at him with a smile as you speak. god you look so cute. “glad i could finally meet you. is ‘satoru’ okay?” yes. yes it is. please feel free to call him satoru. but instead of saying that he just nods.

“‘kay let’s go. i got my bags.” oh right, suguru’s here. you do a little finger wave as you walk through the hallway, suguru trialing behind you.

before he can even think of what he’s saying he yelps out, “wait—i, i never got your name!” oh god. why did he do that. he’s sure you’re infecting his brain—you have to have some weird siren hold on him that makes him not able to process his thoughts. he’s not in a fucking romance movie, why god, why did he do that. especially with suguru right there.

you tell it out back before trekking down the stairs while suguru looks back at him with a semi confused look and carries down his bags.

and then, yes, like a desperate dork the moment you leave he searches for your instagram account and requests to follow immediately. he was practically jumping on the bed like the monkeys in the nursery rhyme when he sees you accepted and followed him back. and then nearly cried when he remembers your his best friend’s sister :(

somehow his obsession has gotten worse and better at the same time. you come around the frat house more so sometimes he’ll see you when he gets back from the gym and you pass him, coming out from the shower because your dorm shower broke. and sure that’s great, he’s even gotten closer to you when you come to mixers and he pours your drink—but now it’s so goddamn hard not to combust when he sees you in a new, thin tank top. and his dick is so goddamn hard when you come over.

and he has to act all normal when suguru mentions you, knowing full well he’d give up the afterlife to kiss you once. and he has to act all normal when you get a boyfriend—except he doesn’t act normal, he cries in his room at night and prays you break up as soon as possible.

bf!toji who sleeps very deeply and wildly. you'll usually wake up in the middle of most nights finding him sprawled across your back uncomfortably for you, but so very comfortable for him. you'll move your shoulder in attempt to shake him awake. he just snores louder, forcing you to scream his name as he jumps awake mumbling curses.

bf!toji who barges in while you're doing your morning routine to use the bathroom knowing full and well you hate it. after he's done he'll try to come behind you for a hug and a kiss without washing his hands to rile you up even more. you'd dodge him, complaining with a mouth full of toothpaste suds. he knew you didn't play that, but he liked to see you get all mad.

bf!toji that lovesss when you cook for him. everything you make tastes like you uttered loving mantras right into the ingredients before you cooked it. you'd call him into the kitchen going, "babe, can you taste this? it's something i threw together. we need to go grocery shopping soon." you'd put the spoon inside his mouth. his eyes would be practically rolling into the back of his head before he hums in satifaction. he'd lay a hard smack against your ass. "fuck thats good. give me s' more," he'd say, taking the spoon out of your hand to dig inside the pot once more. you'd whip your head around, hitting him against his chest and shoving him away. "OW! NO you CANT toji. get out my damn kitchen!"

bf!toji whose always asking you to massage his shoulder blades or his back. it's gotten to a point now where you'll only service him if he'll service you afterwards. you'd give him a back massage in exchange for a foot massage, and a shoulder massage in exchange for a lower-back massage. you'd switch it up every now and again depending on how you're feeling, but he'd only every ask you for the same two things, its what he loved the most.

bf!toji who'd always leave the littlest amount of anything inside its container or bottle. you'd be craving the cookies and cream ice-cream you saw in the freezer before you left for work all day long. you'd come home, greet toji with a deep kiss, shower, and change into some incredibly comfortable clothes, readily heading to the fridge to grab what you've been day dreaming about since this morning.

taking the tub out the fridge, you're already peeping how light it feels when you pick it up. you hope and pray that at least the bottom surface of the container was filled out. oh, how wrong you were. you opened the tub to see not half, but a corner bottom of the container filled with ice-cream. you sighed a heavy, heavy sigh, walked to the living room, and threw the empty container at him. a dark scowl was on your face. toji was gonna pay. he knew that face all too well.

bf!toji whose favorite way to end the night is to be in bed with you. he'd have to wait what feels like hours before you exit the bathroom. you'd walk pass the bedroom door to grab water from the kitchen, yelling out to him if he brung your phone in the room or not, which of course he did. you'd walk into the bedroom, bonnet tied, tank top with no bra, a pair of his boxers, and some slippers on, cold water bottle in hand.

yea, he loved it when you got all dolled up. but he loved it so much more when he saw you like this. comfortable, in your natural habitat, uncaring about trying to be perfect for him (even though you were perfect to him like this). you'd climb into bed, talk, laugh, scroll through tiktoks, and cuddle until you fell asleep.

toji never failed to turn on the tv before he fell into his own slumber, knowing that you hated waking up in the middle of the night with no noise or light to ease you. he'd give you a kiss on your forehead and stare at your face for a minute before throwing his leg over yours and shoving his head between your upper back and the mattress, falling fast asleep with a snore.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★

an: reader loves putting toji out her kitchen

A LIL SUM SUM BECAUSE I GENUINELY COULDN'T BE HAPPY WITH ANY STORY I WAS WRITING

you’re in bed with your boyfriend, your face buried in his bare chest. his strong arms were wrapped tight around you, his frame curled around yours.

he just loves how small and warm you are, and the feeling of your breath falling in little wisps against his skin.

“baby. c’mere.” he whispered sleepily, pulling you impossibly closer against his chest.

“m’literally as close to you as possible, sugu.” you mutter in response, squirming a little in his grasp, attempting to get comfortable while your furnace of a boyfriend is wrapped around you.

not to mention, it’s already swelteringly hot in your apartment, and your big muscly boyfriend’s vice grip around you is not helping.

he lets out a quiet chuckle against your hair as you attempt to escape.

“suguruuu,” you whine, opting to try to pry his arms from around you instead. “you’re actually burning me.”

“oh, so you don’t like cuddling with me now?”

“it’s not that, baby. i just enjoy my mobility.”

he loosens his hold by a fraction. “that better for you, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low and sleepy and entirely serious.

you just sigh, giving into the fact that you’ll never be able to win against him, but you know that you’re right where you want to be.

||a/n: come here suguru…

A few days ago, everything went to shit.

You and Sukuna had a fight so bad that somewhere along the way, you just stopped hearing each other. Neither of you was willing to back down. Every sentence came out louder than the last, every word cutting deeper than the one before it. Eventually, you looked him straight in the eyes and, quietly, exhausted, told him you were done.

That you didn't want to see him anymore.

Didn't want to talk to him.

Didn't want anything to do with him.

Sukuna didn't even take you seriously.

Of course he didn't.

You'd been pissed at him before. You'd stormed out, slammed doors, ignored him for hours, sometimes even an entire day. But you always came back in the end because the two of you were far too damn stubborn to learn how to fight like actual adults.

So he figured this would be no different.

For the first couple of days, he genuinely believed your temper was nothing more than another flare-up that would burn itself out once you'd cooled off. But when every text he'd sent stayed unread, and you started walking right past him on campus without sparing him more than a passing glance, that confidence curdled into something cold, ugly, and suffocating.

Stretching / Muscle Pain

Whenever Sukuna touches you—even if it's only to help you stretch—his touch is always just a little rougher than it needs to be, lingering a second too long. Every time, a rush of heat floods through you.

After evening rehearsal, you're a mess. Your muscles are screaming, especially your left hip and groin. You know that if you don’t get a proper stretch in right now, you're going to be completely wrecked tomorrow morning.

You’re leaning against the wall, arched deeply, your left leg hiked up so high your heel is almost touching your shoulder. Your leg is trembling from the strain as you try to get your toes toward your ear, knee bent.

The stretch is already pulling through your inner thigh, the groin crease burning, and you hiss through your teeth when you tell Sukuna to push harder.

Sukuna is standing right there, lazily leaning against the wall. He’s holding your ankle, his grip tightening slightly as he slowly forces your leg higher.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone laced with a lazy, mocking smirk.

You nod, arching your back deeper, your spine popping softly, and murmur for him to press harder.

Sukuna lets out a low, unintelligible grunt, but he obeys. You can hear his breath hitch when he sees your body yielding beneath his hands. He steps behind you, bracing the leg you're balancing on with his own so you don't slip.

His gaze travels over your neck, your shoulder blades, the taut line of your hamstring, and he doesn’t bother hiding his hunger.

"Such a good girl, aren't you?" he purrs, his voice dripping with condescension.

Art from to00fu! ✦.cw : stalking, toxic dynamics, sex

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna seeing you for the first time at that trashy frat party. His eyes are locked on you from across the room, his knuckles white as he grips his red solo cup, completely losing his mind the second he clocks you.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna walking up to you with that cocky, arrogant smirk that usually works every damn time. He tries to pressure you into going upstairs to his room right then and there, but you hit him with such an ice-cold, disgusted look that his ego practically shatters. You just turn your back on him, leaving him standing there looking like a fucking clown.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna trying to save face by circling back with a fresh drink for you, but you don’t even spare him a glance. You step around him like he’s just another piece of trash in the hallway, and he’s left feeling like a total loser, watching your back as you walk away.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna spending the rest of the night pretending to listen to his bros bragging about football, but in reality, he’s tracking your every move. He doesn’t even realize how much of a creep he looks, neck craned awkwardly just to keep you in sight.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna watching you laugh at some other guy’s joke. A sick, stinging envy curls in his chest, making him want to howl.

Pathetic frat-boy!Sukuna waking up the next morning with a pounding head, but he doesn't give a shit about the hangover. You’re the only thing consuming his thoughts.

happy pride !!! shout out to all my queer people and my bi sisters especially <3

“sweetheart, come smoke with me.” shoko purrs, perched on her knees in front of you while you laze on satoru’s bed. she sits in only underwear and a cami tank top and with lazy, amber eyes boring into you. satoru sits against the headboard. she waves an unlit cigarette infront of you.

satoru answers before you can.

“hell fuckin’ no.” he snarls at her. she grimaces back, lips jutting out while she continues holding the unlit cigarette in her hand and other hand creeping next to you. she gets on her hands and knees, gazing down at you while her nipples poke out her shirt. “told you to stop smoking in my room.” he pouts right back, eyes squinting as he sees her look down at you.

“then i’ll take ‘er outside?” she suggest playfully. she slinks her pale finger down to simply brush a hair out of your eyelash yet her touch lingers.

“no.” he replies possessively. he sounds like an unsharing child denying another of their toy. he brings down his muscular arm from where it was resting on the headboard and brings it around your body. he pulls you up close to him, and more importantly, away from shoko. he now wraps both hands around your hips and makes your back lie against his chest.

shoko squints her eyes.

he grits his teeth and speaks up again.

“mine.”

oh god.

shoko rolls her eyes and starts to grip at your plush thigh. satoru sees this and scrunches his pretty boy face, puffing up his cheeks before kicking away her hand. she yanks it back and shakes it.

“you asshole.” she stares right at him. he smirks stupidly and brings down his head to kiss at your neck and jaw wetly and dramatically. he stares at her the whole time.

“you’re just mad she likes me better, shoko.” he quips, grinning all the same.

she looks like she’s about to snap out something again and grips on your thigh, harder than before. before she can you bring up your hands to gesture for them to stop.

“guys, stop argui—”

“she’s,” he gestures, pointing at shoko dramatically. “trying to steal you from me.” he wrings his head around your shoulder and turns to pout at you, trying to get you on his side.

“you’re” she brings up a finger from the hand currently on your leg and points at him. “jealous i eat her out better.”

“no you DON’T!” he yells, flustering and jutting out his lip farther in a pout. he turns to you again. “tell her she doesn’t!”

“guy’s jus—”

“she’s not a liar, satoru.” shoko brings her body down, arching her body and resting her head against your stomach. she smirks up at him.

you have to stop his arm mid air from smacking her.

“say one more thing and i’m leaving the both of you!” you yelp out. they go quiet, easing up as your words linger in the air.

“…kay.” they both say simultaneously, discouraged.

shoko kisses against your inner thigh, leaving a lipgloss stain against your leg. satoru huffs before yelling.

reloaded cause the format was fucked the first time

“she looks cute, doesn’t she, shoko?” satoru says from behind you. he brings your head up by gripping his slender fingers in your scalp to show shoko your face. you look dazed, nervous even. no, it’s not your first time, with a girl or a guy, but it’s definitely your first time with two.

shoko’s amber eyes look down at you while she strips out her pants. now all that’s left on her slim figure are her pink cotton bra and underwear to match.

“mmm, she does.” she climbs up onto the bed with you and satoru. satoru still sits behind you, dropping his hand down to your back to place you in an arch. an arch that pushes his cock right against your ass. shoko takes your jaw into her hand, tilting it up and staring into your eyes. “you get this dolled up for us?”

you nod quickly with a hum. shoko leans closer into you, just inches away from your face now when satoru grinds into you.

“can we start now or what? i want my cock in her already.” he whines, slinging his cock out of his boxers and placing it on your back impatiently.

“you’re so impatient you can’t even comprehend foreplay?” shoko asks, tilting her head to stare at satoru and his pout. “why i put up with you…” she trails off, redirecting her attention to you. her tired, alluring eyes bore into you. you’re about to say it’s fine and he can start until you jolt. satoru snakes one of his hands down around your body to glide two of his fingers along your dripping slit.

“she’s plenty wet, sho’.” you blush, redirecting you head from shoko’s stare as she lightly chuckles. she grasps your jaw again and makes you stare at her as she says.

“fine. better start now before she dries up remembering your terrible flirting.” she lightly smirks, just a barely there curl along her lips.

satoru’s cock rests against your folds, just waiting to push in.

“she likes me a lot better than you, shoko.” you can hear the smirk in his words when he slowly eases in the fat tip of his cock. your body collapses—well as far as it could, being on a bed— from the feeling. you grip the sheets to try and hold on before he can shove deeper. you moan out as you feel your entrance falter at his cock—which you’re assuming his half the reason he has the ego he does. satoru chuckles at your sound. “see?” he teases.

shoko grips your neck, pulling your face to hers as she arches lower herself. her lips interlock with yours, just barely innocent before her tongue slips into your mouth. it tangles itself with yours while saliva pools at the convergence between your lips from the little care of messiness. some drips down in the bed and you pay it no mind. satoru glides in deeper, scrunching his face as he relishes at the feeling.

“god, that pussy’s gotta grip to it.” he huffs, continuing to push deeper into you. shoko’s hands migrate to your breasts, feeling and groping the soft, pliant flesh. her manicured thumbs and index fingers pinch and flick at your now hardened nipples.

you clench harder around satoru. his fingers immediately grip around your hips tighter. you continue to moan into shoko’s mouth as satoru starts actually thrusting now. he sets a just bearable pace that racks the bed back and forth.

shoko pulls away, disconnecting your mouths and breaking the strand of thick, translucent saliva that formed from your makeout. she leans back. you’re still dazed and still moaning over and over from satoru’s deep thrusts. your drooling face lingers right above her pale, bare stomach.

you watch in anticipation as she kicks off her sticky, wetness soaked panties, discards them somewhere random in satoru’s room and heaves her legs to surround your body. she draws them in closer to eachother, grinning as the press against each side of your face.

you stare at her sopping cunt sitting infront of you, looking up once to see her leaning from, rested on her palms, smirk and nod in permission. before you even get the chance to lean down and lap at her cunt like you wanted to, one of satoru’s pounding thrusts sends you forwards and latched onto her clit.

shoko throws her head back and glides her hand along your head. your tongue wiggles down, curving up into her entrance and your nose rubs against her puffy clit. satoru’s movements continuously drive you forward into her pussy as she moans above you wantonly.

both her and satoru lean forward, entrapping you between their bodies. satoru’s front rests pushed against your back and shoko’s thighs clamp even harder around you. they stare at eachother’s contrasting eyes before diving into eachother’s mouth like you and shoko had before.

it’s messy and wet between them, though they don’t forget about you. satoru’s thrusts don’t stop and he brings his hand back down to rub at your clit and shoko’s grip in your scalp has significantly increased.

you feel your clit aching and pulsing as your drawn out to your orgasm, writhing and squirming beneath them as you convulse on satoru’s cock. your tongue still doesn’t give up until shoko grinds against your face and cums, leaving a trail of juices all over your lips and tongue. gojo heaves a few more times above you before pulling out and finishing on your bare back.

“are you fucking kidding me?” he yells, nose scrunched up while he stares down at you. he grates his teeth before continuing while his hands thread into his roots distressingly. “what am i doing wrong?” it’s almost weird to hear his usually deep, solemn voice so whiney.

you exasperatedly sigh, rolling your eyes and sticking your hands back into your (really his) coat pocket, ready to leave his room. “oh, here we fucking go.” his deep red eyes squint, closing in on your annoyed face.

“here we fucking go?” he quotes you, dark eyebrows raising on his forehead in disbelief. “don’t try and act like i’m being fucking crazy!” his bulky arm whips out to gesture his point while the other remains in his tussled hair.

“i think you’re overreacting a little about your friend going on a date that hasn’t even happened yet.” your choice of words is intentional. as expected, his chest heaves a couple feet away from you. “you’re being—”

“FRIEND?” he screams in what sounds like horror. your eyebrows lift in almost a mocking way. his shoulder tense even harder before he slaps his calloused hands on his tattooed face and runs them down his skin, pacing back and forth infront of you. “THAT’S what you wanna call us? i-i’ve fucked you, took you out on dates, bought you fucking flowers.” he leans on his wall, covered in his nephew choso’s band posters, facing away from you and hissing through his teeth.

“i’ve told you thank you, ryomen.” his head snaps back to hiss at you, looking over his shoulder as the words fall out your mouth.

“you can’t even call me by my fucking name?” you don’t respond, playing around with the lighter in his coat pocket. “what will it fucking take for you to like me? i’ve dedicated the past six goddamn months on you and now you’re going on a date with gojo?”

“i do like you, sukuna.” his gaze softens for a moment at your words. his bottom lip juts out ever so slightly, if he wasn’t upset right now you’d tease him about the pout. “me and gojo are just going to the movies. me and him have been friends for years.”

he grumbles under his breath, turning to fully face your gaze again. he looks conflicted, now biting at the side of his lip. in full honesty he looks pathetic, his shoulders have now slumped discouragedly yet still looking over you.

“he wants to fuck you.” he grimaces, like it disgusts him to even mention him to you or just you with another man at all. “you wouldn’t care at all if i hung out with yorozu?”

your arms crowds over themselves in front of your chest.

“i know you wouldn’t do that, ‘kuna.” he sighs out at the nickname. “unless you all of a sudden wanna give this up.” you gesture to the two of you.

“fuck.. no.” he shakes his head, pushing back the hair he did all nice for you tonight, exited to see you—atleast before you dropped you’ll be going on a date with his frat brother right after you fucked sukuna. “…why do you do this to me?” his voice cracks halfway through before his neck cranes to the side like he’s trying to hide his face from you.

you step forward, coming closer to him and softly placing your manicured hands—that sukuna insisted on paying for this past time— on his cheek and turning his face to the side. his lips are slightly ajar while his eyes bore into you.

you lean up to be level with his ear, glancing lightly at the botched ear piercing you have him when he moved at the last moment.

“i’m not doing anything, ‘kuna.” you whisper, soft just centimeters away from his skin. his large hand moves quickly to grab at your hip like he’s trying to keep you in his room forever from those words alone. he breathes hot against your neck. “how ‘bout you take me out this saturday? try to convince me you’re better than gojo.”

you’re about to step away now before his whole arm wraps around your waist, and he stares smittenly down at you. he hesitates before he finally opens his mouth to say something.

“block that other guy for me and it’ll be somewhere fancy.” he grumbles, matching your glare.

“i’ll think about it.” you kiss his cheek before he immediately tries to place his palm over where you left the smudge of lip color. “give me a reason to break gojo’s heart and not yours.”

you weave out of his grasp, and walk out of his room.

You thought it’d be funny to try that “calling your bf your friend” trend you saw on tiktok on Satoru, just to see how his hopelessly in love ass would react.

Pressing the record button on your phone, Satoru stands just slightly behind you, his arm wrapped around your neck. He’s grinning into the phone, putting up a peace sign as if to say hello.

“Hi guys! Today I’m here with my friend Satoru,” he freezes against you instantly, his arm going firm where you can feel it against your neck. “We’re gonna try some new pastries…”

You keep talking into the camera, but you can see him through the screen, he’s glancing at you through the phone as well as craning his neck to look at you.

“Want to try it first?” You turn to him, holding the whipped cream stuffed bread out to him. He makes eye contact with you, his piercing blue eyes unwavering from your gaze.

“What was that?” He murmurs, his gaze hardening. You can see his jaw clench when you ask what he’s talking about. The video long forgotten.

“No,” he reaches out for your phone, not breaking eye contact as he sets it down, not caring enough to stop the recording. “We’re not doing this.”

You step back, his arm still wrapped at your neck curls in, pulling you up against his chest. He slides his other hand down to your waist, holding it firm.

Satoru’s eye twitches with anger, his jaw still tense as he speaks again. “Friend? Hm?” He brings his hand up to your cheek, cupping the side of your face as he leans in close.

He places a kiss against your lips, it's slow and tender, but you can feel the heat and passion behind it. He pulls back, just far enough he can speak freely.

“I am,” he leans in again, pulling back just as quick as he leaned in. “Not your fucking friend.” He mumbles against your lips in between kisses.

⋆˚꩜｡

“Is this what friends do, hmm?” Satoru growls into your ear, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His large hand resting your the small of your back as he fucks into you with insane force.

You frantically shake your head, your tears wetting the satin of the bed sheets. “N..No!”

He rolls his head back on his shoulders, his Adam's apple bobbing as he suppresses a groan. “Tell me,” with a rough snap of his hips you're pushed higher up on the bed. “Who fucks you like this?”

A whine escapes your throat as he bites down on your shoulder, his pace quickens from your lack of an answer. “You! Fuck.. You, Toru!”

His large hands wrap around your stomach, his chest flush against your back as he pulls you back on him until you're on your knees. He’s still inside, in fact you’re taking him to the hilt.

“Good girl,” he hissed, his lips trailing the back of your neck as his hips twitched into yours. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a clear view of his glistening face, and that shit eating grin he’s got.

You barely have time to react before his hips snap again, fucking into you at a rapid pace. Still making eye contact with you, his hands slide up to your breasts.

His fingers playing with your nipple as he dips his head down to lick your other, the contrast of the cool air and his hot tongue are enough to make you cum right then and there.

“M’gonna- fuck,” you interrupt yourself, his free hand trails down to your clit. The pads of his fingers circling your clit as he pumbles into is too overstimulating.

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your breast, nipping at your perky nipples. Satoru seems put together, as if he’s not even close, but you feel the way his hips start stuttering, his legs shaking against your thighs. “Cum for your ‘friend’”

With one last thrust you come undone, the knot in your stomach breaking as you fall back into him. His body trembles beneath yours, hips staggering as he cums inside you.

The feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up makes you fold over. Your head hitting the pillow as he falls with you, chest pressed against your back.

⋆˚꩜｡

When you fix yourselves up and go back to the kitchen, you notice your phone’s still been recording. The timer just hitting 2:30:00.

You sit down on the couch beside Satoru and play the video back, both laughing at how upset he was. Then you skip to sometime later in the two hours it recorded.

…

“I’m cutting that out, oh my god.” You flush, hiding your face in your hands. Satoru stole your phone from your hands, pressing play.

Loud moans from both your ends cut the silence and he laughed, sending the video to himself immediately.

“brat stop hogging my girlfriend.” toji groaned out, trying to get into the covers to try to cuddle you for the past fifteen minutes—only to be met with his menace of a son trying to attack him.

“papa’s stinky.” 

you could barely stifle your giggles before megumi nuzzled into your side, only to turn his head to give his father a stinkeye.

“he’s just a baby, toji.”

“he’s hogging you.”

“and you don’t?”

“i have every right to, no?” he said, trying to pull you by the waist, his lips pressing softly against your neck while he tried to make himself comfortable—only to have megumi bite his arm the second he tightened them around you.

“megumi fushiguro. let me cuddle my girlfriend to sleep.” he snapped, all for megumi to just stick his tongue out at him before moving closer to you. 

“the two of you are horrid.” you groaned, trying to bury yourself in the blankets while both of them fought over you like lunatics—with toji sticking his tongue out right back at megumi.

“i hope you realise you’re fighting a four year old.”

“doll, he’s a lot smarter than he looks.” 

“oh, i know.”

“you’re way too biased.”

you rolled your eyes at him, watching him get into a staring contest with him, with you stuck between the two of them. toji tried to pry you away from megumi, he really did, only to have him bite him, claw at his hands, only to bat his eyelashes at you, jut his lip out until you caved.

“hmph.” 

“what is it, gumi?” you asked, hugging him closer while he looked over his dad’s shoulder just to smirk at him.

“daddy always gets t—to have you, it’s not fair!” 

“aww it’s okay megumi, i’m not going anywhere.”

“manipulative prick.”

“that’s your son.”

“i know what he is.”

i wrote this in the car while waiting for my cousins so sorry if its highkey ass