#SATORU GOJO : IC / IN CHARACTER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carnalcrows · 12 days ago

Text

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU

pairing: sukuna ryomen x male reader

synopsis: College is hell—but it gets worse when your ex is scheming, your sister just wants to date, and the only guy bold enough to flirt with you might be doing it for a bet. Sukuna is cocky, tattooed, and impossible to ignore. What starts as a setup spirals into something real: a kiss at a paintball park, a night you can’t forget, and a truth that ruins everything.

content warnings: 18+, college au, alcohol consumption, tipsy sex, semi-public sex, morally grey characters, manipulation, betrayal, cheating (implied), emotionally charged sex, lying for personal gain, heartbreak, swearing, slutshaming, emotionally neglectful behavior, public confrontation, yelling, one slap, characters being hot and toxic, unresolved family dynamics, loud party scenes, academic pressure (light), emotionally vulnerable confession in a poem, a little nanami slander, inspired by the titular movie.

word count: 8.0k - art belongs to @/to00fu on tumblr

People didn’t avoid you because you were scary. They avoided you because you made it clear you didn’t want to be spoken to.

No fake smiles. No nodding along. No “haha, yeah” in the hallway. You weren’t mean—you were efficient. Quiet when you could be. Sharp when you had to be. Your sister said it was a defence mechanism. Your last boyfriend said it was unattractive.

You said nothing. And they all took it personally.

So it wasn’t shocking that Gojo Satoru, of all people, took it as a challenge.

He dropped into the seat next to you five minutes before class, sunglasses still on despite being inside, iced coffee in hand like he wasn’t already vibrating out of his skin.

“Okay,” he said, way too casually, “hypothetical for you.”

You didn’t look up.

“What would it take for someone to date you?”

You blinked once. Turned the page of your book. “A lobotomy.”

Gojo laughed like you were joking. “Nice. So you’re saying there’s a chance.”

You finally glanced at him. He was grinning. Bright, smug, stupid.

You went back to your book. “Whatever plan you’re working on,” you said flatly, “leave me out of it.”

“Can’t,” he said. “Your sister’s dating life depends on it.”

That made you pause. Just a little.

Of course it did.

✧✧✧

Gojo said your sister’s dating life depended on you like it were some minor inconvenience. Like you were the problem, and not, say, your parents’ medieval take on dating logistics.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. He took your silence as permission.

“So—” he leaned in, like you were co-conspirators and not two people who’d had a total of three conversations ever, “just out of curiosity, are you into guys? Girls? Hot RAs with emotionally complicated backstories?”

You stared at him. He winked.

Thankfully, the professor walked in, saving you from felony assault.

But Gojo wasn’t done.

Later that day, you found Utahime sitting on the quad lawn, phone in hand, surrounded by three empty bubble tea cups and a stack of psych readings she was pretending to highlight.

She didn’t look up when you dropped onto the grass beside her.

“Gojo’s bothering me again,” you said.

“You bother yourself,” she muttered. “I just get collateral damage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She looked at you. Actually looked. Her face was too pretty to pull off annoyed, but she tried anyway.

“It means,” she said slowly, like you were a particularly stupid lab rat, “I’ve been asked out twice this week. I had to say no both times.”

You blinked. “...why?”

She stared.

“Oh,” you said.

“Yeah. Oh.”

The silence stretched between you.

“I told them you didn’t care if I dated,” she said, half-hopeful. “That you weren’t, like, emotionally invested or anything.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why won’t they believe me?”

Because once, when you were seventeen, you told your mom that if she let Utahime date some slimy little theatre kid named Kento, you’d report them both to CPS. She’d laughed. But apparently the rule stuck.

No dating for Utahime until her older brother—the one who allegedly told his ex to choke on a thesaurus—started dating again.

Flawless system.

“I'm going to die alone,” she said. “And it’s going to be your fault.”

You tipped your head back and closed your eyes. “Tell Mom and Dad I’m gay. Maybe they’ll make an exception.”

Utahime huffed. “You’re not gay. You’re just emotionally unavailable.”

“Same difference.”

There was a beat of silence. Long enough for you to hear the quiet buzz of her phone screen lighting up.

She didn’t say anything, but her tone shifted.

“I’m not giving up,” she said, almost to herself.

You cracked one eye open. “On dating?”

“On you.”

You frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

But Utahime was already standing up, gathering her notes and shoving a half-drunk boba into your hand.

“Drink this,” she said. “You need sugar or something. You’ve been looking extra feral lately.”

You watched her walk off, phone already to her ear. She was smiling. Strategically.

You narrowed your eyes.

That couldn’t be good.

✧✧✧

Naoya didn’t usually come to this café. It wasn’t his scene. Too many broke kids and philosophy majors pretending they were deep because they ordered their lattes with oat milk and wore Doc Martens like they invented rebellion. But today, he made an exception. He had a plan, and it needed someone very specific. Someone fucked-up enough to say yes.

Sukuna sat in the corner, back to the wall, hood up, earbuds in—but not playing anything. Just a signal: don’t talk to me unless you want problems. Naoya talked to him anyway.

He didn’t bother with greetings. Just slid into the seat across from him, like they were equals. Like Sukuna wasn’t already deciding if he wanted to walk out or throw his drink in Naoya’s face.

“You’re bored, right?” Naoya said. “You walk around like nothing matters. Like you’re above it all.”

Sukuna didn’t look up. “You’ve got five seconds to stop wasting my time.”

Naoya smirked. “You know Ijichi, yeah? The older one. Poetry kid. Looks like he hates everyone.”

Now, Sukuna looked at him. Not surprised—just interested enough to pause.

Naoya kept going, casual like he wasn’t holding a knife under the table. “He’s my ex. And he’s been going around acting like he’s too good for everyone now. Like he dumped me. Like I’m the joke.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “...didn’t he?”

Naoya ignored that. “I want you to date him.”

That made Sukuna smile. Or something like it. Barely there. Sharp. “You want me to fuck your ex?”

“No. I want you to make him fall for you. Properly. The whole show. Make him trust you. Think you care.” Naoya leaned in. “Then you dump him. Publicly. Leave him the way he left me. Let everyone see it.”

Sukuna studied him like he was a puzzle with missing pieces. “You want revenge.”

“I want to win.”

There was a long silence. Sukuna tilted his head, just slightly. “What’s in it for me?”

Naoya smiled. “If you pull it off, I’ll owe you. I’ve got connections. People who look the other way. Professors. Admin. You’re smart, but your grades are shit. I can fix that.” He paused. “Or—if you’re more into humiliation—I’ll read one of Gojo’s poems at open mic night. Dead serious.”

That got an actual laugh out of Sukuna. Soft. Cruel.

He leaned back in his seat and cracked his knuckles, slow and deliberate. “You think your ex is dumb enough to fall for me?”

Naoya’s grin curled like a cigarette being lit. “I think you’re pretty enough to make it happen.”

Sukuna tilted his head like the whole thing was beneath him—but maybe still worth his time.

He grabbed his drink, stood slowly, and gave Naoya a look that didn’t say yes or no—just, watch me.

“Sure,” he muttered, turning to leave. “Could use something to do.”

He didn’t wait for Naoya’s reply. Didn’t care.

Because the truth was—he’d already seen you around. And maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for an excuse.

✧✧✧

The campus bookstore was one of your favourite places to be ignored.

Not the main one—too many screaming first-years buying overpriced highlighters. No, this one was tucked into the corner of an old side street, half-forgotten and dimly lit. Records lined one wall, poetry chapbooks on the other. The kind of place where no one asked questions if you sat on the floor and read for an hour without buying anything.

You were thumbing through the “melancholy bastard” section—Leonard Cohen, Elliott Smith, the usual suspects—when someone moved into your peripheral vision. Slow. Purposeful. Close enough to make it obvious, not close enough to say hi.

You glanced up. Froze.

He was taller than you expected. Sharper, too. Hair pulled back in a lazy knot, a black hoodie stretched across broad shoulders, sleeves shoved up to the elbow. You recognised him instantly. Everyone did. Sukuna Ryomen wasn’t a person so much as a rumour with cheekbones.

He didn’t say anything. Just flipped through records two rows over like he wasn’t fully aware of your existence—like he wasn’t performing not noticing you.

So you ignored him right back. Or tried to. Until he spoke.

“Pretty sure you already read that one.”

You glanced at the book in your hand. Sylvia Plath.

“Maybe I like rereading things,” you said.

Sukuna’s mouth curled into the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Or maybe you just like being sad on purpose.”

You turned fully to face him. “You following me, or are you just naturally this annoying?”

“Neither,” he said, stepping closer now, not even pretending anymore. “You’re just loud for someone who pretends not to want attention.”

Your jaw clenched. “I’m not loud.”

“You are,” he said, so casually it felt surgical. “But it’s fine. I like loud.”

You stared at him. He stared back, lazy and unbothered, like this entire conversation was just a thing he was trying on for size.

Then he held up a record—slowly, deliberately—like an offering. The Smiths. Of course.

“Not my type,” you said.

He grinned. “Good thing I didn’t ask.”

And then he turned and walked out.

No name. No number. Just static, and you're holding a book that you suddenly can’t read anymore.

✧✧✧

He didn’t come up to you again the next day. Or the one after that. Which would’ve been fine, except now you were aware of him. Aware in the way a body is aware of a bruise: a low ache, something you’d keep accidentally brushing up against.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That the record store thing was nothing. That you weren’t flattered, weren’t intrigued, weren’t still thinking about the way he looked at you like he already knew how the story would end. But then he started showing up.

Once in the library, at the table across from yours. Once in the dining hall, passing close enough to brush shoulders. And once—most irritatingly—in your creative writing elective, which you were sure he hadn’t been enrolled in the week before.

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just… hovered. Orbiting your schedule like it was gravitational. Always on the edge of your attention. Never too obvious. But you weren’t stupid. You’d seen this game before. Some guys flirted with flowers. Others with sarcasm. Sukuna, apparently, flirted with proximity and smirks.

The next time he spoke to you, it was after class, some Thursday afternoon that already felt like a headache. You were halfway down the hallway when he fell into step beside you, calm like you’d invited him.

“You free tonight?” he asked, like you were mid-conversation.

You didn’t even look at him. “Do I look like I am?”

He hummed. “Hard to tell. You’ve got the kind of face that always looks annoyed.”

You stopped walking. Turned to face him. “Are you flirting with me, or just bored?”

Sukuna shrugged, unbothered. “Why can’t it be both?”

You stared at him. He stared back. There was something maddening about the way he held eye contact—like he wasn’t afraid of anything you could say. Like he didn’t believe you could hurt him.

“Look,” you said flatly, “whatever this is? You can stop. I’m not interested.”

He tilted his head. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He smiled, soft and slow. “Alright.” Then, almost like it was nothing: “You’ll change your mind.”

And then he walked off. No argument. No doubling down. Just that fucking smugness trailing after him like cigarette smoke.

You watched him go, jaw tight, heart doing something it shouldn’t have been doing. You hated people like that. People who were too confident, too casual. The kind of confidence that meant they never really got rejected, only delayed.

Still, you told yourself it was over. That he got the message. That someone like Ryomen Sukuna—someone cold, magnetic, and clearly a walking disaster—wouldn’t waste time chasing someone who wasn’t biting.

You were wrong, obviously.

✧✧✧

Utahime wasn’t sure what annoyed her more—the fact that Gojo had somehow gotten into her French class halfway through the semester, or the fact that he kept insisting it was fate. Not like “divine intervention” fate. More like “we made eye contact one time outside the dining hall and now we have to get married” fate. Which, for Gojo Satoru, was probably the same thing.

Today, he’d positioned himself at the desk next to hers with all the subtlety of a hurricane. Notebook open, sleeve rolled up just enough to show the faint tan line from a friendship bracelet someone had clearly made for him. Probably Utahime’s roommate. Or her professor. Or both.

“Je veux du café,” he said smoothly, pencil twirling between his fingers. “I want coffee. Which I do. Right now. With you.”

Utahime stared at him. “I want a lobotomy.”

Gojo grinned. “How do you say that in French?”

She didn’t answer. Mostly because she didn’t know, and partly because answering would be giving him exactly what he wanted—attention, reaction, eye contact that lingered a second too long.

Which she gave him anyway.

Because she was weak. And he was pretty. And she hated that about herself.

“I cry during movies,” Gojo added, like that would help. “And I recycle. I’m, like, morally irresistible.”

Before she could threaten him with physical harm, Naoya dropped into the seat on her other side like a glitch in the matrix. She hadn’t even seen him come in.

“Utahime,” he said, voice dipped in manufactured charm, “you’re looking…”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirked. “Feisty.”

Gojo leaned back in his seat, letting his arm drape casually behind Utahime’s chair. “We’re doing adjectives now? I can play. She’s radiant. Intelligent. Dangerously under-caffeinated.”

Naoya scowled at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be gay?”

Gojo’s grin sharpened. “I’m supposed to be a lot of things.”

Utahime sighed, grabbing her books. “I’m getting coffee.”

“Alone or fake-alone?” Gojo asked, already rising with her.

“You’re following me.”

“I’m practising immersion.”

Naoya frowned. “I could come, too.”

Utahime didn’t answer. She just walked off with Gojo trailing behind her like a heatwave. Naoya watched them leave, something bitter flickering behind his eyes.

Across the room, Geto—Gojo’s longtime friend and reluctant enabler—looked up from his sandwich.

“You’re losing,” he said helpfully.

Naoya turned to him. “Who even are you?”

Geto shrugged. “A prophet, apparently.”

And then he went back to eating like nothing had happened.

✧✧✧

You’d always hated group work. It was academic Tinder—awkward pairings, fake small talk, and someone inevitably doing all the work while the other coasted on vibes and a vaguely tragic backstory. You’d perfected the art of preemptively claiming a seat at the edge of the classroom, angled just far enough to be left out of any “everyone find a partner!” moments.

So when Professor Yaga said, “Pair off for today’s workshop,” you didn’t even flinch. You just opened your notebook and waited for some poor idiot to make eye contact with you long enough to get guilted into joining.

What you did not expect was Sukuna Ryomen to slide into the chair next to you like he’d been assigned to you by the devil himself.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, not looking up.

He shrugged. “I’m unpredictable.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, folding his arms behind his head, “here I am. Partnered with you. Fate’s weird like that.”

You didn’t reply. If you didn’t give him attention, maybe he’d get bored and go haunt someone else.

No such luck.

Sukuna leaned over like he was actually going to read your notes, which would’ve been hilarious if it weren’t also extremely annoying. “So… what are we doing?”

You side-eyed him. “I’m doing the assignment. You’re vibing.”

He grinned. “I like your handwriting.”

“Thanks. I use it exclusively to write insults.”

“Write one for me.”

You turned to him, finally, incredulous. “You want me to insult you?”

“Sure. Most people just talk behind my back.”

You blinked. For half a second, you caught something real in his voice. But then he smiled again, lazy and crooked, like he’d flipped a switch and gone back to whatever version of himself he thought you wanted to see.

You looked away. “I don’t know what your deal is,” you said. “But it’s not working.”

“What’s not working?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely. “The whole dark-and-mysterious routine. The sudden interest in me. The flirting that’s somehow also condescending. Whatever game you’re playing—it’s boring.”

Sukuna was quiet for a beat too long. Then: “Damn. Tell me how you really feel.”

You turned back to your notes. “I did.”

He didn’t say anything for the rest of the class. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t smirk. Just sat there, too still. Too quiet. Like maybe—for once—you’d actually surprised him.

And you told yourself that was the end of it. That you’d won. That this weird little game had finally hit a wall he couldn’t smooth-talk his way around.

But later that day, when you opened your locker, there was a Post-it stuck inside. Black ink. Slanted handwriting.

“I’m not flirting. I just like the way you look when you hate me.” —S.R.

You crumpled it and threw it away.

Then stood there for another twenty seconds, staring at the empty space where it had been.

✧✧✧

You were already regretting everything by the time you got to the front steps of the frat house. The music was so loud it vibrated through your shoes, some bastard remix of a pop song you didn’t recognise, drowning out your thoughts. You tugged at your sleeves, scowled at the flashing lights, and turned toward Utahime. “We’re not staying long.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that like I didn’t blackmail you into coming.”

“I’m still not sure how you did that.”

“I know what happened in freshman year with that T.A.,” she said sweetly. “And I still have the screenshots.”

You glared. “You are the worst.”

“And yet,” she smiled, “you’re here.”

The house was packed. Someone was already puking into the hedge. Inside, it smelled like cheap beer, weed, and something tragically floral—like a Bath & Body Works exploded. You manoeuvred your way through the crowd, ignoring every attempt at conversation, every accidental brush of arms. You were just here to babysit. To make sure Utahime didn’t end up locked in a bathroom crying because Naoya said something gross about astrology.

And of course Naoya was here. Centre of attention, glittering in that way only rich, boring people knew how to do. He spotted Utahime instantly and made a beeline for her, offering a drink and a smirk that probably worked on freshmen with low standards.

You watched from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, mood already circling the drain. And that’s when you felt it—his presence. Like a shift in pressure, a temperature drop, the back of your neck prickling for no good reason.

Sukuna.

Leaning against the hallway wall, red solo cup dangling from his fingers, eyes on you. Not on the party. Not on the crowd. You.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just watched you like he was waiting for something. You looked away fast, heart doing something stupid in your chest. You hated that he got under your skin so easily. Hated even more that he knew it.

Time blurred. The music got louder. You ended up with a drink you didn’t ask for and downed it faster than necessary. It burned. You didn’t care.

Another cup. Another burn.

And then—somewhere between your third drink and Utahime yelling “YOLO is dead, stop saying that” at Naoya—you found yourself in the living room, lights flashing, bodies moving around you like smoke, and someone yelling for you to “get on the table if you’re hot.”

You didn’t remember climbing up. Didn’t remember deciding that dancing was a good idea. All you remembered was the heat in your face, the weightlessness in your limbs, and the absolutely feral look Sukuna gave you from across the room.

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did. He stood straighter. The cup disappeared from his hand. His eyes followed you like you were a threat he wanted to keep close.

You moved to the music, loose and loud and lit up with the kind of recklessness you usually buried under sarcasm and disdain. People were cheering. Someone whistled. You didn’t care.

Sukuna was at the base of the table now. Right below you. Watching. Waiting.

You dropped into a crouch, leaned forward, close enough to speak into his ear if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

But you almost did.

Instead, you held his gaze for one beat too long. The kind of look that felt like a dare.

You jumped down off the table, blood hot and your head swimming with smoke and sugar. The crowd swallowed you whole, but your eyes found him instantly, leaning against the wall like he owned it, red cup in hand, lip caught between his teeth.

Sukuna.

His eyes were locked on you. Sharp. Starved.

You didn’t even think—just pushed through the bodies, grabbed his shirt, and muttered something like “upstairs, now.”

He followed.

Didn’t say a word. Just pressed a hand to your lower back and let you drag him through the chaos, up the stairs, into the nearest room with a door you could slam shut behind you.

The lock clicked.

And then your mouth was on his.

It was messy, clumsy at first, all teeth and breath and too many hands trying to touch at once. He groaned into the kiss when you pushed him up against the wall, his fingers tightening on your hips like he’d been waiting for this all damn semester.

Your shirt came off first. His followed. Then yours again, because he wanted to see. Touch. Explore the heat under your skin and the way your breath hitched when his mouth dragged down your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, against your collarbone, like you were something sacred and ruined all at once.

You backed toward the bed, pulling him with you. Fell into the mattress, legs tangled, teeth clashing, laughing into his mouth when he groaned your name like it hurt.

When he settled between your thighs, grinding down just hard enough to make your spine arch, you gasped. Grabbed at him. Let your head fall back with a choked sound you didn’t mean to let slip.

“Still hate me?” he asked, breath hot against your jaw.

“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered, pulling him closer.

You didn’t stop touching him. Didn’t stop moving. Your bodies slid together like they’d done this before—like they needed it. Your fingers digging into his back. His mouth on your throat, your chest, your stomach. The way he kissed you after every gasp—like he wanted to savour it. Make sure you never forgot.

And you wouldn’t.

Not the way he whispered your name right before you came. Not the way he held your face when you did. Not the way he kissed you after, slow and reverent, like he hadn’t just destroyed you.

You lay there in silence, bodies warm and wrecked and too tangled to pretend it meant nothing.

And you knew, even then: This wasn’t just a party hookup.

This was the moment you’d remember tomorrow—when it all came crashing down.

✧✧✧

You woke up with the kind of hangover that made you question every life decision from age seven onward. Your mouth tasted like regret. Your head pulsed like there was a rave happening behind your eyes. You blinked at the ceiling for a full minute before sitting up and immediately regretting that too.

Your phone had five missed texts from Utahime, two from unknown numbers, and one photo you had to squint at to realise was you, on a table, mid-dance. Shirt ridden up. Face flushed. Sukuna—barely in frame—standing below, half-shadowed, looking up at you like you were some kind of puzzle he was deciding not to solve.

You deleted the photo. Then deleted the delete.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. People danced at parties. People got drunk. People flirted with dangerous men and almost fucked them in front of fifty witnesses. It was fine.

You were halfway across the quad, hoodie up, headphones in with no music playing, when you saw him again.

Sukuna.

Sitting under one of the older trees near the main lecture hall, legs stretched out, notebook open on one knee. Writing. Or pretending to. His eyes flicked up the moment you got close.

“Morning,” he said, like nothing had happened. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just… the word.

You stopped. Against your better judgment. “Are you stalking me?”

He shrugged. “I was here first.”

“You’re always ‘here first.’ That’s weird.”

He didn’t look at you when he answered. Just kept flipping the stupid lighter in his hand like it might say something for him. “Or maybe,” he said, calm as anything, “we just hang out in the same places.”

You snorted. “We don’t hang out.”

“Tell that to the version of you dancing on the kitchen table last night.”

Your stomach turned. Too fast. Too hard. Like it had been waiting for that line, and now it didn’t know what to do with it.

“You’re not funny,” you said. Too sharp. Too flat.

“I’m kind of hilarious, actually.”

But he didn’t smile when he said it. Not really. He wasn’t doing that thing he usually did—leaning in too close, voice dipped just low enough to make you feel it. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t pushing. He just looked tired. Quiet. Like he was standing on the other side of something you couldn’t see yet.

You folded your arms across your chest. “I don’t remember much,” you said. Which wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.

He nodded once. No judgment. No sarcasm. Just—“Cool. Then we’ll say nothing happened.”

That landed harder than it should have. You blinked. “You’re not gonna be annoying about it?”

“Nope.”

And he meant it. That was the worst part. No smug grin. No smug anything. He was offering you an out. A clean break. Like he’d already accepted whatever version of this you were willing to give him.

You scoffed, because it felt safer than silence. “Fine. Nothing happened.”

“Exactly.”

You turned to walk away. Fast. Too fast. Like you could outpace the heat still lingering on your skin or the phantom feel of his hands on your waist.

But then, just as the door creaked behind you, you heard him say it.

Soft. Almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it at all.

“But it could’ve.”

You didn’t stop.

But you felt it.

All the way down.

✧✧✧

You were halfway up the metal bleachers when you realised something was off.

It was supposed to be a quiet practice. The field was open, sun bleeding through low clouds, a few students jogging the track, the campus radio playing somewhere in the background. You’d come out here to clear your head, not to be witnessed. Definitely not to be ambushed.

And yet.

The radio cut out mid-song. A pause. Then: feedback. And then—his voice.

“This is probably a bad idea,” said Sukuna, crackling through the speakers like an accidental god.

You froze.

“But you’re ignoring me, and I’m not built for being ignored. So here we are.”

Heads turned. The girl stretching two rows down looked up, confused. A guy on the field pointed toward the press box, where the campus radio station was housed.

You turned slowly.

There he was.

Sukuna, leaning into the mic, half-laughing, one arm resting on the desk like he owned the place. A little breathless. Hair pulled back. That same damn look in his eye.

“You don’t like me. I get it. You think I’m an asshole—which is fair. But you also think I don’t notice things. That I’m not paying attention. And you’re wrong.”

You felt your heartbeat in your teeth.

“You always start your notes on the bottom line of the page. You mouth the words when you read. You don’t laugh out loud unless it’s mean or unexpected. You’re mean when you’re scared. You’re scared when you like someone.”

You were going to kill him.

Not immediately. Not in front of witnesses. But soon.

“So if you’re listening—and I know you are—just know this: I’m not asking for anything. I’m just saying I see you. And I’m still here.”

Then static. Silence. Someone started clapping. A few others joined. The moment cracked open like a dropped plate.

You stood up.

Walked down the bleachers.

And made sure not to look at anyone until you were off the field and back inside.

You didn’t text him.

But that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his voice had sounded through the speaker.

A little unsure.

A little real.

Too real.

✧✧✧

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered, climbing into the passenger seat of his beat-up car.

“Sure you can,” Sukuna said, sliding into the driver’s side like this wasn’t the biggest win of his month. “You’re dying to hang out with me.”

“I’m skipping class, not confessing my feelings.”

“Same thing,” he smirked, revving the engine.

You rolled your eyes and refused to smile.

He didn’t tell you where you were going, but you didn’t ask. You just watched the trees blur past the window and tried not to think about how your chest still ached from hearing his voice on the radio yesterday. Or how he hadn’t pushed you afterwards. No smug comments. No, “so, you like me now?” Just a nod across the quad, like he knew what he’d done and wasn’t going to ruin it.

And then, suddenly—you were here.

It was an abandoned paintball park just off the edge of campus, tucked behind a shuttered rec centre and a forest that hadn’t been trimmed in years. Half the inflatables were sun-bleached. The other half looked like they were waiting to be condemned. It was perfect.

“Is this trespassing?” you asked.

He looked at you. “Do you care?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He pulled two masks and a backpack full of old paintball gear from the trunk and tossed you one.

“Winner gets to ask one question,” he said, already loading his gun.

“What if I win?”

“You won’t.”

You hit him first. Right in the ribs. Yellow paint exploded across his hoodie, and he staggered back, laughing—really laughing—and called you a bitch through the mask. You didn’t stop grinning for ten whole seconds.

It went like that for a while. Running. Hiding. Hitting each other with sharp, wet bursts of colour. At one point, you tripped and rolled behind a bunker, breathing hard. Sukuna slid in after you, tackled you with just enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs, and pinned you there.

You froze.

Paint smeared between you. His mask was off now. So was yours. His eyes were close, wild and bright. His breath hit your face in fast bursts.

Neither of you said anything.

Then—just like that—he kissed you.

Quick. Hard. Like he hadn’t meant to do it until it was already happening.

You didn’t stop him.

You kissed him back.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, and his mouth tilted against yours, hungry, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you told him to fuck off during class that first week.

When he finally pulled away, he looked wrecked. Not from the game. From you.

You swallowed. “I still hate you.”

He grinned. “Sure you do.”

And then he kissed you again.

✧✧✧

It was supposed to be a quick stop. Sukuna had followed you downtown because you wanted “real food, not vending machine garbage,” and somehow that turned into ducking into a cramped little music shop just off the main strip. Guitars lined the walls like trophies, faded band posters tacked behind the counter. The whole place smelled like old wood and warm metal.

You didn’t say anything when you picked one up.

Just grabbed the pair of beat-up studio headphones from the display, plugged in, and sat down on the little stool in the back.

Sukuna watched from a distance, pretending to be interested in a rack of bass picks. But his eyes kept sliding back to you.

The way your fingers moved—confident, casual, muscle memory kicking in like it had never left. Your eyes were half-lidded, head tilted just slightly, as you plucked out something low and slow. Not a song he recognised. Maybe not even a full melody. Just sound. Easy. Yours.

You looked so fucking calm.

So quietly happy.

When you noticed him watching, you smirked and pulled the headphones off.

“Didn’t peg you as the lingering type,” you said.

“Didn’t peg you as the secretly talented type,” he shot back.

You shrugged. “Used to play. Can’t afford one anymore. Not like I’d have time anyway.”

Then you set the guitar back on the wall, careful, like it mattered.

And walked out like none of it had meant anything.

Sukuna stayed behind a second longer.

Long enough to memorise the make. The colour. The way your eyes had gone soft when you played.

He didn’t say anything about it then.

But he remembered.

✧✧✧

Naoya wasn’t a genius, but he wasn’t stupid either.

And something was definitely going on.

He watched them from across the quad—Utahime, Gojo, and that stupid little spiral of tension they tried to play off as banter. Gojo leaning in just a bit too close, Utahime swatting him away, but never really moving. Her eyes lingered. His hands were always busy—spinning a pen, adjusting his sunglasses, reaching for a piece of her attention like it was second nature.

They weren’t dating. Not officially. But it was obvious. Everyone could feel it.

And it pissed Naoya off more than he cared to admit.

He’d asked Utahime to prom in the most low-effort way possible—half a smile and a “You’re free Saturday, right?” by the vending machines. She’d paused for a second, then shrugged. “Sure.” No exclamation point. No heart emoji. Just sure.

Still, he considered it a win. Until later that week, when he overheard Gojo asking her what colour she was wearing so he could “match his tie to her aura.” And the worst part? She laughed. Laughed. The kind of laugh you didn’t fake for social survival. The kind that lived in your throat when someone actually got under your skin—in a good way.

Naoya stared from a distance, fuming silently as Gojo offered Utahime a bite of whatever overpriced pastry he was eating. She took it. Didn’t even hesitate.

That’s when it hit him.

Gojo didn’t care about prom. He cared about winning.

And Utahime? She wasn’t even pretending anymore. Not even a little.

Naoya didn’t say anything. Just watched them walk off, their shadows overlapping on the pavement.

He had a date to the prom.

But he was starting to wonder if he was the only one who didn’t know it was a joke.

✧✧✧

You didn’t expect him to ask.

You’d already decided you weren’t going. Told Utahime you hated crowds, loud music, the idea of putting effort into something that would end with people puking in bushes and fake glitter in your underwear. She didn’t believe you, but she knew better than to push.

And then Sukuna showed up.

At your dorm door. Leaning against the frame like he hadn’t just jogged up four flights of stairs, hair a little messy, a half-wrinkle in his shirt like he’d slept in it and didn’t care. Like always.

“You going to prom?” he asked.

You blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read a language he hadn’t studied enough. “Figured if I have to suffer through a school event, you should too.”

You scoffed. “Is this your version of asking nicely?”

“It’s my version of asking at all.”

You should’ve said no.

Should’ve shut the door in his face, curled up in bed, and watched something violent while pretending you didn’t care. But the problem was—you did. And the way he was looking at you? Not smug. Not teasing. Just… waiting.

So you said yes.

Quietly. Grudgingly.

And two days later, he picked you up for suit shopping like this was just a thing you did now. Like the two of you had rules. Traditions. Somewhere between enemies and not-quite-lovers.

The shop was tucked behind a row of old bookstores, with mirrors that made you look taller and music that felt like static. You tried on three suits before settling on one that didn’t make you want to punch yourself. Sukuna lounged in the corner chair the whole time, pretending not to watch you adjust the collar, the cuffs, the shoulders.

“You clean up,” he said eventually, like it was a fact. Like it didn’t mean anything.

“You’re staring,” you replied.

He smiled. “Can you blame me?”

You didn’t answer. Just turned back to the mirror, trying not to imagine his hands on your waist again. Trying not to remember the way he kissed you behind that bunker, like he didn’t care who saw. Like he’d been waiting to do it since day one.

Later, you sat cross-legged on your bed while Utahime painted a line of dark eyeliner under your lashes. Her fingers were steady. She didn’t ask you anything, didn’t tease you about your date or your nerves. Just hummed under her breath, like this was something she knew you needed.

Gojo texted her mid-mascara. Something about his tie.

She smiled when she read it. Soft. The kind of smile you used to wear around people you didn’t think could hurt you.

And for the first time in weeks, your stomach sank.

Something about all of this felt too good. Too smooth.

And when things felt this good, something always broke.

✧✧✧

The gym didn’t look like a gym. Not tonight.

String lights dripped from the rafters like stars trying too hard. The floor had been covered in some kind of black satin tarp, and the punch had actual fruit in it, which meant some overworked student council member was probably passed out backstage from exhaustion.

You stood in the doorway, fingers curling into the cuffs of your sleeves, breath caught somewhere between dread and disbelief.

And then you saw him.

Sukuna.

Leaning against the back wall in a suit that looked criminal on him. Shirt half-open. Tie loose. Hair swept back like he’d tried, then gave up halfway. He looked bored. Dangerous. Stupidly hot.

But the second his eyes found you, he stared. Like you were gravity.

“Damn,” he said when you reached him, voice a little rough. “You clean up scary good.”

“You look like you lost a bet with fashion,” you shot back, but your voice was softer than usual.

His grin cracked something in your chest.

You danced. Eventually. Not because you wanted to, but because the song was slow and the room had started to spin, and Sukuna held out his hand like it wasn’t a question. His palm was warm. His fingers were steady. One hand on your waist, one on your wrist, like he was grounding you and holding you hostage all at once.

“I don’t do this,” you murmured.

“Dance?”

“Let people in.”

His grip tightened just a little. “Maybe you should.”

You didn’t pull away.

Across the room, Utahime was laughing at something Gojo said, a crumpled corsage in her hand. Gojo looked so smug that you wanted to throw something, but she looked happy. Like… happy.

Then Naoya showed up.

Lurking on the edge of the crowd like a shadow that hadn’t been invited. Eyes sharp. Smile sharper.

You felt it before you saw him approach—Sukuna going tense, his posture shifting just slightly, like he’d spotted a crack in the floor and knew what was coming.

Naoya didn’t say hello.

Didn’t greet you.

Just looked at Sukuna and said, loudly enough to turn heads:

“So, how’s it feel? Winning the bet?”

The music didn’t stop. But everything else did.

You blinked. “What bet?”

Naoya’s smile widened. “Oh, you didn’t tell him? Thought that was part of the game.”

You looked at Sukuna.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Just stood there. Still. Silent.

And that—that—was all it took.

You stepped back. Out of his reach. Out of his orbit.

He tried to speak—tried to explain—but you were already walking away, mouth dry, vision tunnelling.

Utahime caught up to you in the hallway. “What happened?”

And then behind you: a smack.

Loud. Sharp. Clean.

You turned just in time to see Utahime’s hand drop from Naoya’s face.

“Don’t ever talk to me again,” she said.

Naoya stood there, stunned, cheek blooming red.

Gojo looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

And Sukuna? He was still in the doorway. Still staring after you. Still not moving.

Like maybe if he stayed still long enough, you’d turn around.

You didn’t.

✧✧✧

You stopped answering texts.

Not just Sukuna’s. Everyone’s. Utahime. Gojo. That one guy from chem who always sent you TikToks you never watched. Your phone became a thing that buzzed and blinked and begged for attention, and you left it facedown every time. Like ignoring it could make everything disappear.

The campus felt smaller after that night.

Every hallway echoed. Every classroom felt like a spotlight. Every glance from people who’d heard about the scene at prom—because of course they had—made your skin itch.

And Sukuna?

He didn’t vanish. That would’ve been easier. Instead, he showed up.

Everywhere.

Leaning against the locker outside your lecture hall. Sitting on the bench across from your favourite coffee place. Lingering by the library entrance like he didn’t know where else to go.

Sometimes, he tried to talk.

Not loudly. Not the way he used to. He didn’t yell or chase or beg. Just stood there, voice low, hands in his pockets, eyes rimmed red like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he’d said once. “Until it did.”

You didn’t respond.

Another time: “It wasn’t about the bet. Not after I got to know you. I swear to god.”

You walked away before he finished.

He never pushed. Never grabbed your wrist or blocked your path or made a scene.

And that, somehow, was worse.

Because he meant it.

Because if he’d laughed in your face, you could’ve hated him clean. Sharp. Easy.

But he stood there instead—like he’d been gutted. Like you were the one who’d broken him.

It would’ve been poetic if it hadn’t hurt so much.

The worst part was: you missed him.

You missed the stupid smirk. The way he leaned too close when you talked, like he couldn’t hear you unless you were touching. You missed the quiet moments. The half-finished thoughts. The way he said your name, like it was something earned.

But every time you remembered the gym lights, Naoya’s voice, and the way Sukuna didn’t deny it, you wanted to scream.

So you didn’t say anything.

You didn’t say anything.

And Sukuna stood in your silence like it was a cage he built himself.

✧✧✧

Sukuna had never really been afraid of silence. He’d lived in it, grown up in it, learned to weaponise it. But this? This wasn’t silence. This was absence.

A blank space where laughter used to live.

No more text messages with half-spelt insults. No more boots scuffing the tile next to his. No more eyes burning into the side of his face when he said something stupid just to get a reaction.

It was like he’d imagined the whole thing.

And he was losing his mind because of it.

He hadn’t been eating. Barely sleeping. His classes were background noise, the campus a grayscale blur he wandered through in a haze. Every corner reminded him of something. A smirk. A comment. That look—the one from the paintball park, all flushed cheeks and fire.

Gone.

He was in the quad when they found him.

Gojo and Geto. The human embodiment of chaos and judgment. The worst tag team in existence.

“You look like shit,” Gojo said, flopping down next to him on the bench. “Like, more than usual.”

“Thanks,” Sukuna muttered.

Geto sat on the other side. Calm. Calculated. “So. You ruined it.”

Sukuna didn’t answer.

Gojo leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I’m just trying to understand how you managed to fumble that hard. Was the bet worth it? Huh?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Sukuna said, voice low. “Not really.”

“But it was, at first,” Geto said, no venom—just facts.

Sukuna stared at the ground.

Gojo exhaled sharply. “Look. I don’t care how it started. I care that you meant it by the end. And that you let him walk away without a fight.”

“What do you want me to do?” Sukuna snapped. “I already told him it wasn’t about the bet. I told him I was sorry. He doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Gojo said. “Not yet.”

“So what then? I keep showing up and making an idiot of myself until he forgives me?”

“Maybe,” Geto said. “Or maybe you show him something real. Something that proves it wasn’t just a game to you.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Like what? A fucking song? A love letter?”

Gojo grinned. “Oh my god. Please write him a love letter. I’ll frame it.”

“Be serious.”

“I am,” Gojo said. “You’re in love with him, Sukuna. Do something about it before it’s too late.”

That shut him up.

Because it was the truth.

He was. He was in love.

And he was going to lose you for good if he didn’t stop sulking and start trying.

✧✧✧

The assignment was simple: write a poem. Present it aloud. Be vulnerable. The professor’s words, not yours.

You weren’t going to do it.

But then you sat up the night before, fingers clenched around a pen, and the words came out like teeth.

So now you're standing here.

In front of half the class, with Sukuna sitting somewhere behind you, quiet for once, his presence like static behind your ribs.

You clear your throat.

Your hands don’t shake.

But your voice does.

“I hate the way you look at me,” you begin, tone flat, eyes locked just above everyone’s heads. “Like you’re already in on the joke. Like I’m something you’re about to ruin.”

Someone chuckles. You don’t stop.

“I hate the way you laugh when you’re nervous. Hate how it still sounds good anyway. I hate that I notice that.”

You breathe through your nose.

Don’t look at him.

“I hate the way you sit next to me like we’re not still pretending. I hate that you said it wasn’t about the bet. I hate that I believed you.”

The room is quiet now.

No laughter. No shifting chairs.

Just silence.

You swallow.

“I hate that I miss you when I shouldn't. I hate how you looked at me that night, like I meant something. I hate the paint on my old hoodie because it still smells like you. I hate that I can’t forget you. I hate that I don’t want to.”

Your voice catches.

You let it.

“I hate that I still look for you in crowds. I hate that I still love you.”

You fold the paper. Calm. Controlled.

And walk back to your seat without looking up—without looking at him.

Because if you did?

You might not survive it.

✧✧✧

A guitar was sitting in your passenger seat like it had always belonged there.

You stared at it through the open car door, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Your mouth was dry. Your hands were shaking. You didn’t know whether to scream or cry or smash it over someone's head, and honestly? That was on brand.

“Hey.”

You turned fast, shoulders tense.

Sukuna was standing a few feet behind you. Hoodie pulled over his head. Eyes soft. Like he’d been waiting hours to catch you alone.

“You broke into my car?” you said, because of course that’s what you said.

He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Spare key. Utahime gave it to me. Under threat of bodily harm, for the record.”

You looked back at the guitar. Then at him.

“I meant it,” he said, before you could fire another round. “What I said. What I didn’t say. I was a dumbass. You know that already. But I meant everything. Every second.”

You exhaled, slow and shaky.

“I hate you,” you said, and you weren’t sure if it was true or not anymore.

“I know.”

“I still hate you.”

He stepped closer.

“I still want you.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your hand fisted in the collar of his hoodie, yanked him forward, and kissed him like you were trying to kill the version of yourself that ever gave a shit about pride.

It was messy. Breathless. A little desperate. The kind of kiss that made up for all the ones you’d missed and then some.

He kissed you back like his life depended on it.

Like he’d been waiting.

When you finally pulled away, both of you dazed and a little stunned, he whispered, “Does this mean I can ride shotgun?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you shut the hell up.”

He grinned.

You tossed your bag in the back seat, slammed the door shut, and jerked your chin toward the car.

“Get in, asshole.”

He did.

And this time, he didn’t stop smiling.

Taglist: @axetivev @yyuinaa @zaynesyumei @sageofspades @onyxmango @puccigucii @the-ultimate-librarian @sooobiinn @sooniebby @i2innie @tintenka1 @timaas-blog @darlinqvi @horrorsbeyondreality @rednugget @lysanderplume @leron1108 @kauo-writez @the0ishere @calgurl @kissenturine @bleedingbl0ssom @gayaristocrat @hyppernovva [comment to be added, or send an ask]

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lovegasmic · 1 year ago

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hi ! i’m not sure if ur reqs are open but i was wondering if i could get a bff gojo x fem reader having sex for the first time even tho they’re just besties ^.^ i’m in love w bff gojo + i love ur writing !!

BFF ! ( best friends who fuck )

⋆ mdni. cunilingus, pussy drunk Satoru, a bunch of praising, dirty talk and pet names like baby, princess, pretty, angel ‹3. ( nonie ily this idea made me scream for a good while and also thank you so so much ! im happy u like what I write 𖹭 ) and yes! my requests are always open

⋆ side note: it’s up to you to decide if they're virgins or not ajsgshsh I left that open to interpretation lol.

late night friday movies with Satoru where a must, cozy blankets covering your thighs and whatever it could from your best friend’s incredibly long legs propped up on the coffee table. what started with you both picking whatever cringe movie and attempting to watch through it, ended up with giggled remarks of the horrendous plot and terrible acting in the screen.

Satoru’s rambles over any minor detail were expected, what you did not expect was for him to suggest something completely unexpected, “have you thought about it?” he asks, a big chunk of ice cream down his mouth while pointing at the tv screen where the main two characters were currently passionately making out, “you and me?”

the saliva in your mouth chokes you for a brief second before turning your head towards the man with the cocky smile, “you’re kidding”

“i’m not” he speaks, remaining unbothered, eyes glued to the now clean spoon, “we’ve known each other since so long, don’t you think our sexual chemistry would be amazing?” Satoru smirks, now turning and leaning closer to your wide eyed face.

you couldn’t deny your best friend was incredibly hot, bright blue eyes and messy white hair with matching long eyelashes, he was ethereal and Satoru thought the same about you, he never admitted how fucking gorgeous you were but his continuous praises in the shape of petnames was, hopefully, enough for you to see.

“i don’t know...” you bite your lip, a slight tug on your belly making itself present at the closeness of him, subtly forcing you to lean back until your head laid on the armrest and Satoru’s body towered over yours.

“c’mon pretty, don’t get all shy on me” he rasps, “i bet i can make you feel so good, i know your cute body like no one else” and to be fair, he is right, multiple tickling fights have had you confessing your sensitive spots to Satoru, which now he attempts to use them for your pleasure.

you whine, low and almost inaudible, “promise our friendship won’t change” you reply, and it’s all Satoru needs, a strained ‘promise’ muttered before his lips crash on yours with a satisfied groan, his tongue is quick to meet yours, tangling and allowing the lewd sound of saliva and lips crashing resonate under the tv sound muffled in the background.

“haaa” he gasps once you break the kiss, hands eagerly pulling, squeezing and tugging on your skin and clothes until you’re laying naked under his body, Satoru’s quick to take off his shirt and toss it aside along with the mess of cloth in the floor, “you’re so sexy, baby, so fuckin’ gorgeous” it’s a dark murmur, sliding your panties down for his eyes to see the threads of slick connecting your folds and the fabric, a broken sound coming from his lips as if he just got punched in the gut.

“gonna make you feel so good, princess” Satoru speaks to himself, eyes glued on your cunt as he lays down between your legs, fingertips parting your glistening folds with a soft gasp, truth to be told, he’s never been so turned on in his whole life, “wanna eat your perfect cunt so bad” he shakes, slowly grinding his boxer clothed cock against the couch, a single hand coming up to squeeze your tits while his tongue took a tentative lick on your slit that made his eyes roll.

“fuck!” you both whimper at the same time, with Satoru’s mind reeling at the taste of you, driven by his lust and pulsing cock as he leans down and attaches his lips to your pussy, messily and desperately eating you out with his eyes crossing from pleasure, a couple groans expressed directly on your sensitive flesh.

“so good, baby, you taste amazing” Satoru slurs, holding onto your asscheeks and pulling you up slightly, on the perfect angle to make out with your cunt. the moans you let out are music to his ears, driving him to plunge his tongue deeper, squeeze your ass harder and moan louder.

“’Toru, i’m so close” you squeal, expecting for him to pull back, to let you catch a break but surprisingly, he just goes faster, the sounds of his tongue in and around your pussy only increasing, fueling you to squirm and tug on his soft hair until you’re spasming around his tongue with a broken cry.

yet his tongue doesn’t stop for another couple of minutes, allowing you to ride your orgasm and buck slightly, fucking yourself on his eager tongue, “you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted” he finally grunts, voice hoarse and eyes almost black by the lust etched in his brain, the spot under his hips sticky with the copious amounts of precum his twitching cock spurted, “you’re letting me fuck you now, right princess?” Satoru murmurs, not really expecting a reply before tapping your puffy clit with the glistening tip of his cock, eyes fully focused in the way your mixed juices stick to his cock with each soft tap.

then you nod slightly, a quiet “please”, followed by your hands on his hips and he’s inching inside of you, barely spreading your folds around his girth but Satoru already feels like he’s about to faint.

“a-ah, fuck...!” he groans, shaky fingers grasp your waist and the armrest above your head, and from where you laid you could see his abs clenching, chest heaving, eyes blurry and jaw slacked, letting out loud puffs of pleasure, absolutely fucked out. it takes his whole strength to bury the rest of his long cock inside your warm cunt, groaning like it fucking hurts, but in reality, the thing it hurts him is thinking why you haven’t fucked earlier. “you’re an angel, you and your heavenly cunt” it takes everything in Satoru as not to drool and pant like a dog, slowly and sloppily fucking into your warmth, his nails are probably ripping the leather of the couch but he doesn’t mind, hell no, his mind is fully absorbed and bordering on insanity at the feeling of you, “tell me how it feels” he begs.

“so good, ’toru” you whimper, eyes not certain if to see his fucked expression or look down to where his cock buries inside of you, coming out glistening by your dripping slick, “my pussy feels so good”

“fuck, baby!” his eyes close shut, a shudder running down his spine at your words, only encouraging him to go faster, the squelch of your cunt and his balls smacking on your ass growing, “that’s right, only i can make you feel this good, hm? no other boy you’ll sleep with will make you feel like this” he roars, “this pussy is made for me to claim and mold you to the shape of my cock” his thrusts are now erratic, panting so loud you’re unsure how he hasn’t choked yet, but the continuous smack of his tip on your g-spot makes you forget about anything else, mouth open and eyes crossed as you feel yourself cumming unannounced.

“oh, god, you’re cumming?” he sounds shocked, eyes widening and cock throbbing at the sensation of your cunt sucking on his length with each thrust, as if not wishing to let him go, “i’m so close, baby, so fuckin’ close” all you hear through the slight buzz on your ears is babbling, incoherent mumbling of Satoru speaking to himself, fucking himself stupid on your pussy before, much against his wishes, pulling out of your warmth and shooting thick ropes of hot cum on your chest, some even landing on your chin by how hard you made him cum.

in the blink of an eye his lips are on yours again, shakily and way too messy for you to follow through the limp state where he left you, but don’t worry, Satoru will help you increase your stamina too, and perhaps, you’ll let him cum inside next time.

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rosy-hollow · 4 months ago

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Gojo Satoru, who’s practically best friends with your younger brother.

At first, the little boy was wary of your boyfriend, but that all changed when Satoru showed interest in your brother's Digimon collection—growing almost as fond of him as you were.

It was a slow day, so Satoru had offered to take your brother out—brother-in-law bonding time, he called it—while you ran some errands. Little did you know, your boys were plotting something big: your birthday.

Your brother, sitting atop Satoru's shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world, scanned the various shops in the mall. The moment his eyes locked onto a store you frequented constantly, your boyfriend glanced up at him with a knowing smile before racing inside.

Scanning the aisles, Satoru and your brother wore identical frowns as they examined the candy selection. Satoru already knew your favorite, but he figured you'd like trying something new—which is why he and the little boy were squinting at the shelves with such intense focus.

"Hmmm, what about this?" Satoru asked, holding up a bag of small yogurt-covered fruits.

Your brother frowned, shaking his head. "No... When she was 15, she had something similar, got food poisoning, and never ate yogurt-covered anything again." He said it matter-of-factly, and Satoru blinked, staring at the bag owlishly before quietly setting it down.

Then, the little boy’s eyes lit up as he spotted a brightly colored bag of apple-flavored gummies. "What about these? The packaging's in her favorite color!"

Satoru thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Hmm... I remember her saying a month or so ago that she was getting sick of apple-flavored stuff because it tasted too basic..."

Your brother pouted in defeat, setting the bag back down. But then—both of their eyes locked on a pack of strawberry gel-filled gummies. A silent agreement passed between them.

Into the cart it went.

Needless to say, Satoru wasn’t exactly the smartest spender. He already had tons of money to burn, and when it came to spoiling you—his amazing girlfriend—he had no restraint. So, with your younger brother enabling him by racing around the store and dumping random trinkets into the cart, Satoru was pretty sure he had enough gifts to last you at least five years’ worth of birthdays.

Which only meant he’d have to amp it up to ten years’ worth next time.

For now, he’d just FaceTime you when they got back to the car—just to see your gorgeous face and hear your pretty voice as you inevitably scolded him for letting your brother sit in the front seat and eat ice cream before dinner.

It was worth it, though. Because moments like these... they made Satoru’s heart ache in the best way. He loved you so, so much. More than you'd ever know.

And hanging out with your brother like this, watching the little guy run rampant with excitement... it made Satoru almost want to have kids of his own with you someday.

But that was a conversation for another time.

For now, he'd settle for cuddling with you on the couch while talking about Digimon with your brother.

A/N: since my last character & reader's little brother did so well... here's one with gojo !!

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snail-day · 4 months ago

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I fear my baby fever has taken over the past few days, so I present you with the JJK men as fathers headcanons.

TW: Babies, Fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight yandere behaviors.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna

WC: 3k

a/n: I won’t get into the actual pregnancy details just yet—saving that for a later date (a rather soon date). Also wasn't expecting to yap so much about this. Enjoy!

Gojo Satoru

Oh dear. This poor man.

There are very few things in the world that can shake Satoru Gojo to his core. He has stared down curses beyond comprehension, fought battles that could wipe out cities, and held the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as flinching.

But when he holds his baby for the first time?

Oh, he crumbles. Practically has to bite his lip to stop himself from outright sobbing, whole body stiff, breath caught in his throat, because how the hell is something so small, so warm, so unbelievably perfect? They’re not even cleaned off yet, and this man is already kissing their tiny head, his lips soft against their damp skin, murmuring thank yous like a prayer. To you, to the universe, to whatever god decided that he—a man who has lost too much—was allowed to have something this precious.

Don’t you worry, there will be a celebration. A sushi boat is being delivered as soon as possible (as if you weren’t already expecting that).

However, here’s the thing, Satoru was already clingy before.

Now? Now he’s unbearable. Words cannot describe how this man refuses to let you leave his eyesight for more than a moment. He adored you before, but now you’re the mother of his child. The woman who carried a piece of him inside her, who gave him something he never thought he could have. If you so much as disappear into another room? Satoru is ready to Hollow Purple the air itself.

Following you around like some puppy with his spawn that resembles him a little too much: ("Dumpling? Where’d you go?" "Satoru, I’m in the bathroom." "...Can I come in?")

Oh, and he takes such good care of you too. Sure, he teases—makes his usual dumb jokes, smirks like an idiot—but when it comes to postpartum recovery? This man is all in. You have to make that infamous diaper concoction after birth? He’s right there, handing you an ice pack for your bits, whispering, “I have never loved you more.” If you ask, hell, if you even hint at needing help with anything? He’s already doing it. Witch hazel wash? No hesitation. Helping you in and out of the bath? He’s got you. Bringing you food, making sure you drink water, physically tucking you into bed because you refuse to rest? He does it all. Yes, he will absolutely pick you up and put you back in bed if you try to do too much: ("Satoru, I can walk." "Oh, I know you can, but should you?" Cue him plopping you onto the couch with a smug grin, a fluffy blanket, and a kiss to your forehead.)

Now, as much as he loves his baby, he is deeply afraid of the newborn phase. Like, undeniably so. The idea of rolling over and crushing them in his sleep? A recurring nightmare. (Yes, he believes in skin-to-skin contact. Yes, he read a bunch of articles about it while out on missions. Yes, he panicked about every single one.) Trimming their tiny fingernails? His worst nightmare. And trust, your house is baby-proofed to the maximum.

But once they hit the toddler phase? Oh, he thrives. They're curious! They tell him the craziest stories, and he eats up every single one. He loves feeding them sweets, spoiling them rotten. He definitely brings them to the school with him, letting them color all over his mission logs (that he’s been avoiding anyway).

And when they start walking? Oh, this is where things get real.

Satoru Gojo is undeniably, unapologetically, shamelessly a leash dad. The first time his little one wobbles too far from him in public? Leash acquired. Not just any leash, oh no, it’s cute. He makes sure it matches their little outfits, maybe even gets custom ones with their initials embroidered on them (never their name, that's how they get kidnapped!) Safety first!

If anyone dares to give him a weird look? He dares them to say something. His sunglasses drop down the bridge of his nose as he grins, voice sickly sweet: "You got a problem?"

Unfortunately, probably gets one for you too. Just to be a menace of a husband, loops it around your wrist with a teasing smirk, leaning in close, "Can’t have my favorite person running off, now can I?"

("Satoru, take this off me." "Make me.")

Geto Suguru

Oh, Suguru, who definitely acts more like a mother than a father.

This man embodies nurturing (and controlling, but hey, he’s going to therapy… maybe). Sure, he technically runs a cult, but you and your twins? You don’t really need to know that. (His poor assistant, though, absolutely running damage control while he’s busy doting on you.)

From the moment you give birth, Suguru is relentless in his care. He follows every superstitious belief—some of them might be outdated, but he does not care. You will be sitting for a month. No cold foods, no heavy lifting. Okay, he’ll allow you to wash your hair, but standing in the shower? Absolutely not. Baths only. He’s drawing them for you, making sure the temperature is just right, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible.

If he weren’t a cult leader, he’d make the perfect stay-at-home dad.

Oh, the birth itself? He refuses to trust non-sorcerers with your pregnancy. No hospital, no epidurals, no way. It’s a birthing pool, at home, the natural way. And the second those babies are in his arms? He is devoted. Just like Satoru, you’re not leaving his sight. Neither are those babies.

But the baby phase? He hates it.

Not the babies themselves, of course, but dear god, two at once is a nightmare. They’re constantly tugging on his dark hair, they somehow manage to unlock baby-proofed cabinets (how are they that smart already?), and the mess? The sleepless nights? The chaos? It’s almost enough to drive him insane. But even through his exhaustion, he’s never anything but soft with them. Always the nurturing, coddling one. Because even though this phase is hell, he still loves them more than anything.

But once they hit the toddler years? That’s when he shines.

Suguru is the epitome of patience, his voice always gentle, his hands always steady as he guides them through their little tantrums and misadventures. He isn’t a leash dad, he simply doesn’t need to be. His twins are always either in his arms or holding his hands, their little fingers wrapped around his own as they toddle beside him.

Sure, some people might call him a helicopter parent. But he’s raising two little girls. The world is a dangerous place, and he’s not taking any chances. Let someone even think about looking at them the wrong way—his smile might be soft, but his presence is terrifying. No one is getting near his babies. And if anyone dares to question his overprotectiveness? He simply tilts his head, that ever-calm voice carrying something dangerous beneath the surface:

"Would you rather I let them run loose? Hm?"

Suguru is a morning person, but not in the “up at dawn” kind of way. No, he savors the mornings, stretches them out as long as possible, slow and quiet, just the way he likes it. He wakes before you do. Always. Most mornings, he watches you sleep for a little while, fingers tracing slow patterns along your hip, your back, wherever he can touch (loves your stretch marks). Something is intoxicating about these quiet moments, the way you breathe so softly, the warmth of your skin against his. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, presses the gentlest kiss to your temple.

You belong to him. It’s a dangerous thought, but one he doesn’t fight.

The twins usually wake up before you do, one always stirring the other, little giggles or babbling voices breaking the silence. Suguru moves without a hint of hesitation, careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, padding softly toward their room. Suguru melts every single time. His girls, half-asleep, hair messy, rubbing their tiny fists against their eyes, reach for him instantly with little grabby hands. Lifts them with ease, one in each arm, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads before settling them against his chest.

"Did my little princesses sleep well?"

Cue sleepy nods, little arms clinging to him as he carries them downstairs. He makes breakfast with one toddler perched on his hip, the other playing on the floor nearby. Feeds them, cleans them up, all before you even wake up. He wants you to rest, wants you to have the luxury of a slow morning. By the time you stir, he’s already setting a cup of tea on your bedside table, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

And if you dare try to get up? Oh, you better believe he’s scooping you back under the covers, lips ghosting against your ear as he hums, “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” Playful, teasing, but firm.

(Yeah, okay—maybe he’s a little possessive. But can you blame him? You gave him his whole world.)

Suguru is the definition of a doting husband. Not just in the classic ways. Sure, he makes sure you’re comfortable, that you’re taken care of, but it’s the smallest details that make it clear: this man worships you. He brushes your hair at night, fingers ghosting against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” a soft murmur like it’s an afterthought. Like he just has to say it. Absolutely loves watching you with the twins. The way your voice softens when you talk to them, the way you hold them close. He lives for it. (It does something to him, something dangerous.) Insists on tucking you in every night. Even if you’re already comfortable, even if he’s exhausted, he needs to make sure you’re safe, warm, and content. It’s his job.

When it comes to you leaving his sight? Absolutely not. You get up to leave the room? He’s watching you (on the cameras in the house, that you definitely aren't aware of). Someone dares to ask for your attention when he’s near? His hand is on your lower back before you even notice, a soft smile on his lips, but the grip is tight. God help anyone who thinks they can come between him and his family.

Because Geto Suguru might be soft with you, but for everyone else?

He’s still a damn curse user.

Nanami Kento

If there’s any man built for family life, it’s Nanami. Sure, he’s stoic. Composed. A man of few words. But when it comes to his child? Dear god, he is so soft. He loves them in a way that feels fundamental, as natural as breathing. Loves you even more for giving him something so precious. He doesn’t say it often, but it’s in every glance, every touch, every sigh of appreciation when he looks at you holding his child.

And when he holds them? He feels whole.

He savors every little moment, tiny fingers reaching for his glasses, drooly kisses pressed against his cheeks as he spoon-feeds them baby food. And no matter how messy they get, no matter how much mashed-up fruit ends up on his tie (his good tie, at that), he never complains. He just exhales, wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs, "You're a messy little thing, aren’t you?" before pressing a kiss to their forehead, regardless of the applesauce smeared across it.

Because for Nanami, this, his family, his home, the life he’s built with you, this is everything.

Nanami is an early riser. He always has been. But the difference now? He no longer rushes out the door and only lives for his work.

Instead, he takes his time.

Tends to wake up before you, slipping out of bed with careful movements so he doesn’t disturb you. The first thing he does is check on your little one—peering into their crib, watching their tiny chest rise and fall with soft, even breaths. It’s the only time he allows himself to just stand there, quietly admiring, drinking in the sight of the most important thing in his world.

If they stir, if they so much as whimper, he’s immediately reaching down, scooping them up with ease, holding them against his chest as he rubs slow circles on their back.

"It’s alright, little one. I’ve got you."

Mornings are meant to be spent slowly, feeding them breakfast (with a bib, he learned his lesson the hard way), wiping their tiny hands clean, and carrying them in one arm as he makes coffee with the other. If you’re still asleep, he lets you stay that way, keeping the house quiet, and making sure you get as much rest as possible. Because Nanami knows better than anyone, that being a parent is exhausting. And if he can shoulder some of the weight for you? He will.

Nanami isn’t possessive. Not in the way that Gojo or Geto might be.

But is he protective? Absolutely.

Taking his kid to the park is a mission. He doesn’t hover, per se, but he’s always watching. Sitting on a bench, arms crossed, eyes locked in. The second his child starts running a little too fast? He’s standing. Someone else’s kid gets a little too rough? He’s walking over. And if his child falls? He gives them a second—just one—to see if they’ll get up on their own. But the moment he hears a wobbly inhale, sees that little lip start to tremble—he’s already there. Kneeling beside them, checking them over with careful hands, murmuring, “You’re alright, sweetheart. Just a little scrape.” And then, with the gentlest look in his eyes:

"Do you want to keep playing, or do you need a hug first?"

(They always choose the hug.)

Nanami adores you. But not in a loud way. Not in the way that Gojo teases or the way Geto smothers. No, Nanami loves you in a way that feels steady. Like safety. Like home. Always makes sure you eat first, even if it means letting his food get cold. Takes care of the night feedings if you’re too exhausted. Rubs your shoulders when you look tense, presses a kiss to the back of your hand just because.

And when the baby’s asleep? That’s your time. Some nights, it’s just the two of you sitting in quiet conversation, his hand resting over yours, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your skin. Other nights, he just holds you, silent, warm... present. When the exhaustion is heavy in your bones, when you sigh in a way that sounds just a little too much like overwhelmed, he cups your face, tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"You’re doing an incredible job," he tells you, because if anyone deserves to be reassured, it’s you, and god help anyone who dares to make you doubt it.

Ryomen Sukuna

In a modern AU, if anything could fix Ryomen Sukuna, it would be a child. Not that the kid was planned, of course. But the moment he sees them—tiny, fragile, utterly defenseless—something inside him shifts. He won’t admit it, won’t say it outright, but watching his newborn slobber all over his hand while teething? Yeah, he crumples inside.

At first, he’s clueless. He’s never had to be gentle before. His hands, powerful and ruthless, were never meant for something so delicate. You have to show him how to hold them properly, how to support their head, how to not look at them like they’re a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

And does he complain? Oh, absolutely. But he listens, he's trying.

Modern AU Sukuna is absolutely a CEO. And not just any CEO, a powerful, slightly (or very) corrupt one. The kind of man that has everyone terrified to breathe wrong in his presence. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there are certain days when his employees come to work to find something... unbelievable. Their ruthless, cutthroat boss—Ryomen Sukuna—sitting at the head of a massive conference table, looking utterly unbothered as his baby naps against his chest in a tiny carrier.

The first time it happened, his employees did not know how to react. The sight of their terrifying boss with a wobbly-headed infant suckling on his tie was so surreal that no one dared to acknowledge it. They just continued their meeting in absolute silence, stealing panicked glances at one another, unsure whether laughing would get them fired, killed, or both.

Sukuna however, oh, he knows what they’re thinking. He can feel the tension in the room, the way no one is making eye contact with him. So naturally, he makes it worse.

"If any of you wake them up," he drawls, voice dark and smooth, "I’ll fire you on the spot." Cue nervous sweating from every executive in the room. Despite his threats, you know he does this because he wants to give you a break. Of course, he acts like it’s no big deal, grumbling about how "You never shut up about needing rest, woman. If bringing the brat to work gives me some damn peace at home, then so be it."

(The truth is that he secretly enjoys it. The small weight of his child against him, the quiet little snores, the way their tiny fingers sometimes curl around his thumb mid-nap. Yeah… he might actually like this fatherhood thing.)

At home, Sukuna tries to maintain his usual cold, indifferent demeanor. But it’s hard when he’s got a wobbly toddler clinging to his leg, looking up at him with your eyes, babbling nonsense like he’s the most important person in the world.

Obviously, he can’t just ignore them. "Tch. What do you want, brat?" (Picks them up anyway)

You catch him napping on the couch with the baby on his chest, one hand protectively covering their back. If you so much as mention it, he glares at you like you’ve just committed treason. Bath time? He claims he hates it, but somehow, he’s always the one washing their hair, grumbling under his breath about how “You’re doing it wrong” as he takes over. If they cry? He’s terrible at comforting, but god forbid anyone else try to step in. That’s his kid, he’ll figure it out himself.

He’s not soft, he insists. Not in the way Nanami or Geto might be. But when he tucks them into bed at night, sitting on the edge of their tiny mattress, watching their little chest rise and fall…something inside him settles. Suddenly realized he’d burn the entire world to the ground for them.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #ryoumen sukuna #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk #jjk drabble #jjk fluff #Tw: babies

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sixxels · 2 months ago

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diva

nerd!gojo loves his absolute diva of a girlfriend.

there were a lot of things satoru gojo didn’t understand.

why his professor insisted on giving 7 a.m. lectures when good sleep was scientifically proven to improve cognitive function. why the wifi crashed every time he needed to upload his lab reports. why textbooks cost more than his monthly rent.

but the one thing he understood better than anything? he was in love with his girlfriend. dramatic, high-maintenance, lip gloss shining at 8am, the whole thing was tiring sometimes, sure. but you were his lifeline, his escape.

and what surprised him the most was how much he loved the little, mundane stuff. the small rituals. the shared routines that stitched your days together.

he liked meeting you outside your psych class, where you'd always emerged with a dramatic sigh like the lecture had emotionally wounded you. “he used brain rot memes on the slides, satoru. i can’t keep doing this.” you'd say that, every time, and he’d laugh like it was the first time you'd ever said it.

he especially liked your aesthetic, full-on mcbling throwback fantasy. pink velour, rhinestoned phone cases, bedazzled hair clips, juicy sweats like it was 2004 and you were the star of your own teen drama. you looked like a fever dream from a y2k music video, and he was obsessed. the lip gloss, the glitter, the low-rise jeans with butterfly charms. it all should’ve been too much. but on you? it was perfect.

“you look like a bratz doll,” he told you once, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe you were real. “and i’d die for every version of you.”

you just blew him a kiss and said, “good. you’re supposed to.”

he liked when the two of you grabbed coffee between classes. you ordered like you were reciting a poem—iced vanilla oat milk latte, one pump caramel, light ice, no cold foam. he never even looked at the menu anymore. you'd sip yours and hum in approval while he nursed a plain black coffee like the boring nerd he was. you always wrinkled your nose at it. “you drink that voluntarily? for what? character development?”

he liked when you studied in the library together. you never lasted more than twenty minutes without complaining. “why is econ just… numbers pretending to have feelings? such a drag.” you'd whine, head resting dramatically on his shoulder, perfume hitting him like a truck. he pretended to be annoyed, but secretly, he loved when you did that—like he was her safe little island in a sea of boring lectures and broken printers.

he liked how you always dragged him around like a personal pet. pulling him into stores as you judged products you knew you were never going to buy. “should i get this ‘girlboss’ notebook?” you asked once. “cant tell if it's empowering or a hate crime.” he still didn’t know what that meant, but you looked cute holding it.

he liked the late-night walks after study sessions. you always wore those fuzzy slippers that weren’t meant for outdoors, but insisted they were “serving.” the two of you would walk under the string lights strung across the quad, your perfectly managed hand in his, talking about nothing and everything—professors the both of you hated, dumb memes, the little thoughts you had. "y'know toru, having a hot nerd like you on my arm makes me look 100 times more cunty."

and he especially liked when you'd pull him into empty stairwells just to kiss him, pulling him down to your height and shoving your tongue down his throat as you teasingly grinded your hips against his crotch in a passionate exchange. your lip gloss sticking to his mouth like a brand. “to keep you focused,” she’d tease, before strutting off like she hadn’t just short-circuited his entire brain, he was now faced with a problem in his pants.

it wasn’t just the big gestures or grand declarations that made him love you. it was the daily stuff—the little, ordinary routines that you made feel magical, chaotic, and unmistakably yours.

he didn’t need roses or fireworks.

he had oat milk lattes, sarcastic one-liners, stolen kisses between classes, and you.

and that was more than enough.

m.list !!

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yung-notorious · 7 months ago

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ALWAYS SOME NEW SHIT, AIN’T NEVER THE USUAL! I FUCK YOU SO GOOD TILL I HAVE YOU DELUSIONAL! - ♡

— your roommates are gone, the apartment is yours, and you're laid up in bed with somethin' dangerous. all you need is him, his hands, and a little time to make the most of it. — feat. satoru gojo

+18 MDI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x college!gojo, excerpt from never lose my chapter 8, porn with plot, situationship, morning sex, that good 'ol sunday dick, protected sex, dirty talk, body worship, sub/dom undertones, trust & boundaries, slight cum play, squirting, riding, fingering, voice kink, gojo kink(?), edging & milking, overstimulation, gojo’s character may be questionable but his stroke game is A1. notes. word count 5.8K, apart of a larger body of work but can stand alone as a one-shot. you can read the full chapter here: A03 & master post. title: lick me - sexyy red ft. lil baby. divider: fairytopea (tumblr)

You knew Satoru was bullshitting when he said he’d be on the phone for a few more minutes. He’s been chatting away for an extra thirty, and you’ve already gone through your entire Instagram feeds stories and now the Tiktok burnout is starting to set in.

Exhausted from doom scrolling, you chuck your phone somewhere across the bed to snuggle deeper into his embrace, resting your head against his chest. You don’t have a single fucking clue what’s being said anymore with his ear now pressed against the phone, but whatever it is definitely isn't related to earlier’s conversation. You think you catch mention of the school’s football team and the names of people you don’t recognize, but at this point, you’re too out of the loop to care. He’s lucky you actually like being around him, because had this been anyone else you’d probably kick them out telling them to go the fuck home.

What’s even more surprising is that despite being bored out of your mind, chilling with him in bed while he talks on the phone is strangely confronting. You’ve had your share of intimate moments at your young age, but you’ve never simply laid up like this with a guy before. It’s domestic as hell— whatever the girls online call it— but you’re not pushing it away.

Resting your head on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, you let the rhythm of his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket. There’s this cool boyish charm that comes through as he talks— a side of him you’ve caught glimpses of only a few times when he’s speaking to his friends. He’s more commanding and animated, yet somehow still a relaxed version of himself all together, nearly a polar opposite of how he is with you.

And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be, you’re not the one to be treated like a homie. And even though his friends do annoy the hell out of you when they’re together, seeing him be himself with them is undeniably attractive and lowkey turning you on.

Shifting over onto your stomach, you tuck an arm behind his neck, hooking a leg around his waist, letting your free hand slowly trail down his body feeling him up. Stopping to rest your hand on the inside of his thigh, you look up, waiting for a reaction.

When you don’t get one— he’s still chatting away— you decide to take it a step further, slowly creeping your hand up to cup his balls, palming his bulge.

It only takes a couple good rubs for you to feel his dick harden beneath you. Feeling bold, you wrap a tight fist around his length stroking him through his briefs. All it takes is a couple tight ones for his thighs to widen up and you take that as permission to go further.

Slipping a hand under his waistband to squeeze his dick, you watch him bite his lip, still ignoring you as he lazily stares up at the ceiling. He can try to act all cool and unbothered all he wants, but you know exactly how to melt his ice.

Taking charge, you rub your thumb carefully around his slit, your acrylic nail getting caught in the fabric of his briefs with each pressing circle. It doesn't take much effort before you’re feeling the wetness of his pre sticking to the pad of your thumb as you. Pausing to collect up what you can to wet his shaft, you grip your hand back around his length giving him more quick strokes.

Feeling more daring, you connect your lips to his neck, slowly peppering soft, wet kisses along his skin as you continue working your hand around his dick and balls. You’re finding some sort of fun in all this really, feeling him up in every which way you please while he lays beside you trying to act like he’s not bricked the hell up.

You can hear every grunt that gets stuck in his throat and cracking of his toes each time you press against the underside of his tip. It’s kind of funny how you’re unsure who’s more of a slut now: you for daring to do this, or him for letting it happen while he’s on a call. Y’all are both some trouble!

Just as you’re about to go for a gentle bite on his ear you feel the deep bass of his voice against your lips.

“Choso— Choso…bro I’ma let you go…I’ll try to be over there later tonight. Alright, I'll talk to you later. Bye.” He ends the call to lean over— your hand still tightly wrapped around his dick— to drop his phone onto the nightside with a loud thud.

Unfortunately for him, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his composure, it’ll be his own body that will betray him every single time. Men, they’re so fucking weak. You probably could rob him with a fleshlight.

Falling back onto the mattress, he turns to give you a look before opening his mouth, and of all the things you expect him to say, it definitely isn’t, “Why’d you interrupt my phone call?”

“Because you talk too much.” You say smart, releasing him to wipe your hand clean on his briefs along the side of his hip. Sitting up on your elbow to rest your cheek in your hand, you hover above his face to stare down at him challengingly, awaiting his response. This could go one or two ways, but you know for sure either way ends with you getting fucked.

"All I needed was a few minutes.” He murmurs, his hand glides up your chest stopping just below your neck before gently tracing your jawline with his thumb.

“I gave you that, now I want your attention.” You cock your head. “Did you forget where you were at?”

"You have it— so now what’s up?" He asks, his tone still soft, eyes locked on yours as he tilts your chin up just as your hand slides over to squeeze his thigh.

“You know what I want…” You breathe, inching closer to his bulge.

“Yeah?” He lets go of your chin, trailing his hand down your chest. “You don’t have to ask me— could have just pulled it out.” Eyes still locked on yours as you slip a hand under his waistband.

Letting you go, he gives you space to slip under the covers, lifting his hips to help you tug off his briefs. The second they're gone, your hand is around him, leaning over to take him between your lips. You know exactly how he likes it— your mouth and hand wrapped tight around the tip, teasing him with just the right amount of pressure that’ll make his toes curl.

You know you're doing a good job when his hand resting at the back of your neck tightens, turning into a firm grip that keeps you exactly where he wants you. Not wanting to try your luck deep throating him just yet, you brace yourself with a hand on his thigh for balance, but soon find yourself running your hand along the muscle instead, grabbing on wherever please, feeling out their solid weight and smoothness. Even though his dick is the main event— hot, thick, and heavy in your hands each time you pull off to catch your breath— it’s his thighs that have your full attention. Maybe next time you'll leave a trail of bites and hickeys along them, marking him up good just because you can.

“Get in between my legs...” He throws the covers back making room for you. Without a second thought, you crawl between his thighs, and just as you’re about to shift down the bed to lay on your stomach, his voice interrupts.

“Uh-uh, sit up...” He whispers, and despite it being nothing more than a gentle correction, it still finds a way to make your stomach tingle. You can’t even lie, that bossy shit turns you up. Glancing up at him, you slowly prop yourself up on your elbows to part your knees just enough, arching yourself down low, nice and sexy in a way you know he’ll like.

Bobbing your head up and down his dick, you lose track of every grunt and curse you pull past his lips. The wet, squishy sounds from each tight squeeze, paired with the clacking of your pretty nails around his dick, become a rhythm you get lost in until the growing dampness in your panties pulls you back in. Fuck, you’re going to have to speed this up because you really want to fuck now.

“Sloppy, baby. Make it—” His voice breaks off, caught in his throat as you pull off to throw a nasty wad of spit on his dick, watching as it drips down his length. “There you go…” He murmurs, a grin tugging at his lips. You don’t even need to look up to know he’s smiling. Anything for him, right?

“Gotta get the sides too. All of it. Just how I taught you...” His words make your stomach tighten. Glancing up through your lashes, you latch onto his shaft, tongue tracing long, slow licks along his length. The salty taste of him mixing with the slick of your spit as you pump the head of his dick with a tight fist.

“Sloppier…spit on it some more…get that shit wet for me…” He murmurs, bringing his hands down into your hair to gently pull back to keep out of your face. Taking a moment to lick his pre-cum and drool off your lips, you teasingly slap his dick against your tongue, testing its weight. Spitting down onto him again, you let it drip slow and messy before taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping tight around him. As you glance up, you catch him smiling down at you, and you can’t help but sheepishly smile back. You used to hate giving head, but for him— talking to you like this— you’ll keep going till he busts in your mouth twice.

You swear everytime he looks at you like that, something inside you loosens up. You never thought sex could be like this— fun, messy, and so damn freeing. That it’s not just about getting him off; but letting yourself enjoy it too.

Remembering the times he’s whispered for you to drop your innocence and open up awakens those butterflies in your stomach. It’s a mystery how in such a short time of knowing him, he’s managed to create a safe space for you to let go and push past the boundaries you once clung to— all without a hint of judgment.

But no matter how amazing everything feels with him, there’s this nagging thing that won’t leave you alone—a constant reminder of how off this all this really is. No matter how hard you try to push it aside, the truth is starting to feel impossible to shake, and the longer you avoid the elephant in the room, the harder it becomes to hold it all together. It’s doubt that creeps in at the end of every night, makes you wonder if any of this is even real. But fuck it, you don’t have the time to make any sense of it right now. You can talk it out with Tink later, you have to get this nut in.

"Ahmp!" You bite back a moan, caught off guard as his hand slaps your ass right when he shifts to sit up.

“Come up here…” He says, and without a second thought, you slide your soaked panties off to straddle his lap. Once fully seated, you wrap your hand around his dick, stroking him from behind your back, while your other hand rests against his shoulder for support. You can feel your wetness sticking against him, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to be a horny bunny and grind your sloppy wet pussy against his chest.

“You know where that condom at?” The question catches you off guard, making you pause— again, definitely not what you expected to hear. Someone’s full of surprises today, huh?

“Yeah, why?” You give him a confused look.

“It’s early, and I’m still kinda tired…I don’t wanna have to worry about pulling out. It be in the back of my mind when we fuck...” He says, warm hands smoothing along your stomach then up around your ribs.

Okay, cool, good to know at least one of you is trying to be responsible. Condom? Sure. Not a problem!

“I think it’s in here.” You lean over, trying to search in the top drawer of your nightstand without tipping over. “Hold me.” You warn, feeling yourself about to topple over. His hands quickly find your waist steadying you.

“I got it.” You find it stuck beneath a pile of clutter you've been meaning to sort out.

Handing him the gold foil, you scoot back a bit, giving him space to do his thing. As much as you love the feeling of raw sex, there’s something seriously hot about watching him work a tight fist along his length, struggling to stretch the latex over his girth. And as if that wasn’t enough, the damage your sanity takes from his dick snapping back against his abdomen when he lets go is downright disrespectful.

“Come on— ready?” He grabs you at your ribs, pulling you forward towards him, your breath hitches at his sudden eagerness. “You don’t need this…” He tugs at your shirt, and the second it’s off he’s grabbing hold of your boobs, squeezing them and sucking on your nipples like a baby. Never too tired to suck titties, huh!?

Taking your hand to guide his dick to your entrance, you carefully sink down onto the tip. Yet, no matter how many times you’ve done this, the feeling of just the head pushing through is one that’ll never get easier even with time.

It’s harder this time around— his dick— no pun intended. After nearly a week of constant sex, you have no choice but to take him slow, inch by inch, feeling yourself clench around him as you sink down.

“Gimme a second…” You plead, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him from bucking his hips up. On a good day you could take all of him, but with the way he’s bricked up, you’re not trying to bite off more than you can chew. See, this is that early morning dick, It’ll be a lot more than hurtful words flying out of your mouth if he so much as attempts to push you down.

“Take your time…” He teases, bringing both his hands to rub soothing circles along your jawline, fingers combing through your tresses around your nap. “Too much?”

“It’s enough— you’re not little.” You laugh, bouncing slowly on his length, giving your wetness a chance to moisten the condom as you try to fully take him in. It’s painstakingly slow working your sore pussy down his stiff dick, but guess this is the price you pay for letting him fuck you like a dog all week.

“My bad…” He chuckles. “Here, come lay on my chest— hmm.” He pulls you into his arms. Slanging one around your back, he scoots the both of you further down the bed gripping a handful of your ass to help guide you down his length.

“It’s too dry…” You come back up, the friction of the condom becoming unbearable as you feel yourself drying up from frustration. This isn’t working.

“I got you…” He brings two fingers to his mouth to wet them. Pulling out, he uses those same fingers to stroke your pussy, rubbing tight circles on and around your clit. Burying your face in his neck to stifle your moans, you feel yourself grow wetter as he whispers filthy praises in your ear, urging you on.

“This better?” He lips brush against the shell of your ear. Your thighs quiver with each teasing stroke to your clit, the oversensitivity heightening your arousal. And like a slut you can’t do much but moan against his neck when you feel those same two fingers sink into your heat. Curling deep, giving himself a feel around your velvety walls.

“Mhm…” You nod, slowly rolling your hips down to ride his hand. The exploratory movements of his fingers driving deep, stroking your g-spot. “Right there…fuck…right there…”

“I got you baby…I got you...” His palm presses against your clit as he drives his fingers even faster making sure to hit that sweet spot over and over, he’s so damn deep he could poke your cervix if he pleased. “…you’re squeezing baby, relax for me…there you go…how that feel, good?”

“Toru…I’ma fucking squirt…” You warn, already feeling yourself start to leak. Shit feels so fucking good he needs to publish a wikiHow on finger stroking pussy.

“Show me— go ‘head baby…you know I got you…” He exhales heavily, his other hand running through your hair to hold you close to him as he bullies your pussy like a pro, digging your coochie out so good, leaving her sorer than when you started. It’s a good soreness though, a sweet discomfort that’s nothing more than a reminder of how throughly he’s fucked you the past week.

“Fuck— hmmmm!” You grip his hair tight, trying your damn hardest to hold back the moan that’s fighting to erupt from you, but it’s no use because all it takes is one final stroke to your g-spot and you're cumming harder than a bull.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, clenching down on his fingers so tight he has to pull them out. Taking his hands to strum your pussy to keep you squirting, your thighs shake with such a force you have no choice but to cling onto him for dear life. A wave of pleasure hits you so intense your entire body electrifies like static off an old box TV across your chest and shoulders. His fingers are pruney once he lets go, all gooed up and coated with sticky globs of your cum.

Wiping his fingers clean on your thigh, he effortlessly guides your soaked pussy all the way down his dick, and a sweet moan comes up your throat once you’re fully seated. You’re so damn wet you can’t even feel the condom anymore, if it was any darker in here you wouldn’t even be able to tell he had one on.

“Bet that rose can’t do it like me, huh?” He teases, two hands at your waist rocking you forward. “I got you making a mess. Wetting the bed all up...”

“Heh— please shut up…” You laugh, catching your breath. Because of course he’d make a joke eight inches deep in your pussy. No matter how good his dick is it’ll never take away from how corny he can be sometimes.

Regaining your strength, your hands find his shoulders again to steady yourself as you begin a slow pace bouncing on his dick. It starts off a lot sweeter this time, nothing like your usual. No creaking bed or pounding headboard, just the quiet sound of your soft moans and his low grunts filling the room.

You’re fully lost in the moment when his hips start to move in perfect sync with yours, the delicious drag of his dick massaging your walls coaxes the softest, neediest whimpers past your lips. You’re so in love with his dick, you’re serious when you say you’ll fuck him up if you ever find out he’s sharing, because this shit right here makes no sense. It’s too damn good!

“More…right there…” You whine, needing to feel him deeper. Gripping your ass in response he presses his heels into the mattress, pulling your hips closer towards him to fuck up into you so well you have to put a hand to his chest to hold him back.

You totally get the need for the condom now— thankful for it even— because with the way he’s fucking you this damn good you don’t think he could push you off quick enough before he’s busting his load. And as bad as you want it, you’d hate to dip into that hundred dollars he gave you to spend half of it on a Plan B.

“Toru...Toru...Toru.." His name spills from your lips over and over as your brain goes fuzzy, slipping into a dizzy, dick drunken state. He's gripping you up just so right, and every stroke to your g-spot has you coming further undone, scattering every thought in your head until there's nothing left but his voice and touch occupying your mind.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby…didn’t I say I’d fuck you everyday? Hmm?” His voice rings.

“Thursday…Friday…Saturday…Sunday…” He murmurs, each day punctuated by a slow, deliberate thrust in sync with the roll of your hips. “You love this dick, don’t you?” He breathes, his hand coming down heavy giving a sharp slap against your ass.

“I do…” You whine, almost like a declaration, as you pull his hands off your waist to guide them up your chest to cup your boobs, lacing your fingers through his to show him how to squeeze them just right.

You feel so incredibly fucking sexy bouncing on his dick, riding him like it’s been a while and you miss him. You’re trying your hardest to keep it classy for him, but with one more slap to your ass, you’ll be begging him to take the safety off and hit your pussy raw from the side till it goes numb. You hope he’s loving this shit, because you’re not letting him get up in you for at least a week after this one. Your coochie needs a break!

“I wanna cum…” You whine, searching his face for permission, but he doesn’t hear you, too focused on working his own nut out.

“I wanna cum…” You whine again, your hands come down to press against his chest to grind your pussy down hard on his dick. You got him buried so deep inside you the weight of your hips are holding down his.

“You tryna be done already?” His hips still, falling flat as he watches you chase your orgasm all on your own.

“No. Just don’t move…” You plead, trying to keep him from messing up your rhythm as you hit that sweet spot like a drum. It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to rise up your body, making your face flush hot and your heart rate pick up. You’re almost there!

“Don’t move— don't move— I’m close…fuck…ahh” You babble out, toes curling. Almost there, you’re almost there!

“Damn boo…” The pet name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, bringing you into focus, your eyes meeting his right as he wraps a firm hand around your neck holding you in place. You got him pussy drunk acting rough and nasty just how you like it. “When you start taking dick like this? You showing off for me today?”

“Mmmm— fuck me after I cum…” You say through a smile, his thumb brushing gently underneath your chin. The look in your eyes clear— you’re trying to get broken off like a Kit-Kat. You want it rough, and you know he’ll deliver. He’s got you.

“Say that again?” He asks as if he can’t understand a word you’re saying. There’s no denying that your voice turns him on. But it’s cool, you have no problem spelling it out for him.

“I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me after I c— ahmp!” You yelp, a wave of giddy pleasure washing over you from the sting of his heavy hand landing across your ass again.

“One more time for me?” He pulls you forward, a devilish look in his eyes waiting for you to soften into submission in his hands.

“I want you to fuck me so bad.” You whine, voice dripping with so much need. You don't give a fuck how you sound right now, his dick drilling your pussy deep, it’s thick head messaging against your puffy walls. “I wanna feel all of it— oowww— mmmm— Fuck! You feel so fuckin— ahh good!—” You moan out, each and every one of his deep strokes punching the words from out of your chest.

“You don’t want it.” He taunts, a smirk tugging at his lips daring you to prove him wrong— to show him just how badly you want it— to beg. The sudden shift in dominance sends your heart racing, and you find yourself rocking your hips even faster.

It’s this dynamic that you love the most: how one minute he’s soft and tender, talking you through with the filthiest yet gentlest whispers, and the next, commanding and rude, giving you the space to surrender completely and embrace your submissive side. It’s the perfect balance of give and take, and with him talking in your ear nasty like this, you’re more than willing to give it all up and let him lead.

“Yes I do— fuck…fuck…” You moan breathlessly, lost in the wave of pleasure taking you under. “Make me cum…” You look down at him with those needy doll eyes, the kind that silently beg for more, even as you roll your hips slow and deliberate like the little minx you are, teasing him just enough that you know will drive him wild.

Every move is a silent challenge, a tease, a true test of his strength and you’re doing it because you know exactly what he wants, and he’s already right there ready to meet you. His hands find your waist again, gripping you firmly, and that awaiting spark of dominance lights up his eyes as he pulls you in close.

No one but him can bring this side out of you, the one that craves to be taken, to be pushed to the edge. You know he’s been holding back, waiting for you to push him there, and now, you’ve done it. His hand then tightens around your frame, the tension in his body radiating through every inch of him, and that tells you everything you need to know; you’ve got him right where you want him, you can let go.

“You not gonna run?” He presses, but you know your answer is meaningless. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried.

“No—” You whine, the sound barely escaping your throat as you bounce, the strain in your knees starting to intensify with each movement as you chase your orgasm.

“No, what?” Another good grab to your ass, this time with two hands and enough grip to bounce you on his dick himself, fucking up into with a force that causes you to fall forward, nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him. “Tell me baby…go ‘head.”

“Fuck…Gojo— Go— AHMP!” Another heavy slap to your ass before you can catch your breath to repeat it. “I’m not gonna run Gojo— I'm not gonna run—”

“You know I love hearing you say it…” He beathes heavy, one hand now threading through your hair to grip your tresses tight, the other fucking you down his dick. “You gonna cum on this dick? Yeah?”

“Yes! Fuck— Fuck— Gojo! Gojo!” You choke out, orgasm fully taking over each and every one of your senses.

“Again baby…come on…this your dick right…” He breathes, voice low and hot in your ear, hips bucking up fast as another heavy slap comes down to your ass. “Don't run from it…don’t run from it.”

“Fucckkkk— Oh my godddddd! Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop! Yes! Yes!” You cry out, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you can feel the rim of the condom scratching against your entrance. The intensity of your grip threatens to pull it loose as it’s already slipped off some.

“Mmmmm— there you gooo~“ He coos, sensing you reached your climax seeing the way your jaw goes slack and your grip around him tightens.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You’re begging like slut now throwing your arms around him to tuck behind his neck. Feeling you lose yourself, you take your fingers to work them up to brush along his undercut, anything to try and keep you grounded.

“Kiss on my neck…yeah…just like that for me— “ He moans, as you press your lips against his skin, licking hungry, wet, and sloppy. “Just like that…”

“Where you want me to nut?” His question meets your ear with urgency, the pace of his thrusts quickening in such a way that you can tell he’s close to cumming.

“Anywhere…I don’t care—” You gasp, words spilling, your body trembling with anticipation. Stupidest fucking question he could ask right now. He can bust it on your tits, ass, pussy, or even your face. You don’t care as long as his hot cum drips off your body, ready for him to scoop up and feed to you like you’re Suki.

“Shit!— Get up! Get up!” He groans, lifting you up just enough to pull off the condom to jerk his dick.

“Gimme your hand…” He takes yours to grab his length, wrapping his large hand around yours, guiding you as you both help work his nut out. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, and his heavy breathing is perfectly in sync with yours. Your thighs coming down from a trembling mess.

“Like that baby….mmmm…you gonna kiss it when you're done?” He hums through a smile, head thrown back in pure bliss. It doesn’t take more than a few tight strokes for you to feel his dick pulsate, his hot cum spills out running down both your knuckles sticking your fingers together.

“Oowww— it's so much!” You giggle, endorphins still having you feeling like you're on cloud nine as you watch amazed by the amount of cum he’s spilling, feeling a warm milky streak run sticky down the back of your hand.

“Fuck—” He exhales, chest heaving as he starts to come down from his climax. His arms drop limply to his sides, but you stay right where you’re sitting on his chest, reaching back as you keep working the cum out of his still hard dick.

You can feel him twitch with every pull as you coax the last drops of cum from him. There’s just something so sexy about the way his breath stutters and his toes crack as they curl with each slow tug…like you’re draining him of every ounce of cum he has left.

“That’s it…baby…that’s it…alright that’s it…stop…” He warns, voice strained and his face balling up, eyes shut tight as he tries to fight back a guttural moan. You feel his abs tense up underneath you, throwing off your balance but you take a hand to his chest— now flushed red and glistening with sweat— to hold him steady, fist tightening around his dick to jerk him quicker.

“Uh-uh, there’s more, look…lemme get it all out for you.” You tease with a playful laugh, tightening your hold around him. “Just relax, it doesn’t hurt.” You purr, your voice dropping low and sweet. More cum spilling with every pull.

“Oh my g— Yooooo! Stop! Stop! Stop! Bro! Stop!” He gasps, body jerking involuntarily from not being used to the overstimulation. His hips shake under your grip as if trying to escape, but he’s trapped under the weight you’re pressing down on him.

“Bro!? I’m not your bro!” You scoff with a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at the fucking nerve to address you by anything other than something ladylike! Goofy ass, now you’re really not letting up. He must have you confused for someone else.

“I swear to god, if you make me nut again— Fuck!” He growls, head tipping back as he wraps a tight hand around your wrist trying to stop you.

“Satoru, you don’t scare me— let go!” You mock, your hand steadily working his dick, grip unwavering even as his strength weakens less and less from every stroke.

“What happened to all that shit you were talking, hmm?” You pause, watching him closely. “Bet that hand can’t do it like mine?”

“I’ma fuck you up after this…I’m so serious…watch.” He breathes out, a shaky laugh breaking through, his grip on your wrist loosens completely as he gives in, letting you milk him for everything he’s got. He’s probably dead serious too, but the way his fine ass is squirming under you is too entertaining to give a damn. And to be honest, that just sounds like a promise for round two and that’s not striking fear in your heart— or pussy. Ain't no fun when the rabbits got the gun now is it? We can go till the fucking bed breaks boo, y’all got all the time in the world today!

“Schhhhhoooowwww— oh my god!” He groans, his plump lips parting with a low, desperate growl. “Alright c’mon, chill! Stop!”

“Keep lying telling people I snore, and I’ma tell your friends you moan like a bitch." You taunt, leaning closer. Pressing more of your weight down on him, your strokes turn into slow teasing massages around the tip of his dick with your palm.

“You still mad over that?” His eyes open meeting yours as his hands grip the sheets in an attempt to hold back from cumming. He can try to look intimidating with those blue eyes all he wants, but they aren’t moving you.

“I don’t get mad, I get even.” You bite back with a whole lot of sass, letting his dick go the moment you feel your hand start to cramp up. He jerks slightly, caught off guard by your sudden release. “Told you to stop trying me.”

“Clean yourself up~” You shoot him a look, wiping your cum-sticky hand off his chest as you ease yourself off his body and slide off the bed.

“Fuck you…” You hear him mumble under his breath with a laugh as you search the sheets for your phone, panties, and top before making your way to the bathroom to pee.

“What!?” You give him a look back, the fakest mean scowl you can muster up right now.

“Nothing— Fuck…” The back of his head hits the pillow again as he exhales deeply.

"Oh, okay! Like I won’t sit my ass on your chest and kill you. Talk to me nice." You fire back playfully, slipping on your top after giving up on the search for your panties— probably somewhere tangled up in the sheets.

Finding your footing, you cross the room to unplug the diffuser you left on throughout the night. With a gentle click, its light shuts off. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind you, leaving him to figure out what the hell just happened. You too are going to need a few minutes alone to yourself after this one.

#gojo x reader #gojo headcanons #tsnmi writes #never lose me #gojo smut #gojo x baddie #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nlm collection #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk au #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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infinitie · 2 months ago

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"You look ridiculous," Satoru remarks dryly, tracing his fingers along the wall as he enters the temple's main hall. Satoru knew where Suguru's whereabouts were for a long while — he had the eyes for it, and perhaps turned a blind one all this time since he'd generally been... harmless, despite his intentions. Satoru could never bring himself to kill him, let alone approach further him despite being the only one who could do it. Until now, anyway. Maybe he could change his mind this time. Maybe he just missed him. But the @lustraveil he knew wouldn't go to these theatric lengths... so maybe he's clinging to the memory that could still be in there. Misguided.

#lustraveil #SATORU GOJO : IC / IN CHARACTER

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satorusugurugurl · 11 months ago

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JJK Men: Accidentally Finding Your Private Photos

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: language, smut, unprotected, sex, cream, pies, oral sex, photography,, consensual photography, minions of nudes

Word Count: 4,861

A/N: I finally finished one of the pool from so long ago! I have to be at work in the next six hours so I’m only gonna get about two hours of sleep, but it was well worth getting this written. Geto’s nearly took me out but Nanami’s MGBBGHBJNCRGHG yummy

Gojo Satoru:

“Oh wait! Wait until you see these pictures of Megumi!” Gojo laughed out loud, smacking his thigh as you both sat in your living room. “The kid got messed up!”

“You're such an ass sometimes.” you laughed, glancing over at his phone. “It was a grade two curse.” Gojo waved a hand before you as he flipped through his photo gallery. You grimaced, feeling nothing but pure sympathy for the young boy, while your best friend snickered. “Yikes, poor kid.”

Gojo put his phone down with a content sigh. “Shoko fixed him up; he's sleeping it off.”

“Maybe he wouldn't have needed to sleep it off if you weren't too busy grabbing kikufuku.”

You felt the couch shift as Gojo dropped one of his long arms around you. “Someone's just upset she didn't get any!” He pursed his lips together, bringing his other hand up to poke you in the cheek. “I ate them all on the bullet train home~!”

You could feel your cheeks flush as you shut your eyes tight, trying to make it seem as though you were pissed off by his childish teasing when in reality, you were resisting the urge to rub your thighs together as the smell of his cologne overwhelmed you. Gojo Satoru might be your best friend and boyfriend, but he was annoying and overly confident, which left most people with a sour taste when forced to be around him. But you liked that about him.

He was an egotistical little shit, but he was your egotistical shit.

“Hey, I'm sorry; I promise to get you a bag next time.” Gojo squeezed you against his side, allowing you to feel the warmth of his body.

“Whatever, I don't care, not when I went to that new sweet shop without you when you were gone.”

The gasp that left Gojo’s mouth was soap opera-worthy—as if you had just told him his twin brother, who had fallen down an elevator shaft, was still alive. There was something almost satisfying in how he reeled back, his eyebrows furrowing underneath his blindfold.

“You promised me that we would go together!”

“Yeah? Well, I promised the second year that if they could successfully make a talisman that could prevent me from crossing a line, I would take them out for ice cream. And I was promised kikufuku! So it looks like we both broke our word!”

“You Little shit! I can’t believe you went without me!”

“Yeah, I did, and guess what?”

Gojo leaned down, his eyebrows twitching under his blindfold. “What?”

“It was fucking delicious!” you watched with satisfaction as your boyfriend slumped forward, dropping his head down.

“You’re so cruel.”

“I wouldn’t have had to brag if some gluttonous idiot didn’t forget to bring me kikufuku to share as he promised!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re sorry?”

“No, not really?”

You scoffed as you scrolled through your photos. “Oh, you’re going to be sorry.” Before your boyfriend could question what you were doing, you turned your camera to him and showed him the photos of the different desserts you had ordered in the second year.

“Stop!” he slowly licked his lips. “What is that, and why can I taste it?!”

You zoomed in on the banana pudding Maki had ordered. “Southern banana pudding with vanilla wafer and whipped cream topping..” before you could flip through the rest of the photos, your phone was plucked out of your hands.

“I hate you.” snarled them, moving through your photos in your gallery. “ I hate you so much that I’m taking you back to that same café after work, and I’m not gonna buy you anything, and I’m gonna make you watch me eat the banana—” his words were abruptly cut off as he scrolled to another photo—one that wasn’t of pastries and cake but if you.

You were nothing but a sheer black Lacey bra and matching thong. The camera was pointed above you, getting a great shot of your beautiful body. The curves and dips were so gorgeous that the swells of your breasts caught his attention. He could see your nipples through the fabric, making his mouth and anticipation of a different kind of treat.

“Toru?” the snapping fingers drew his attention away from your phone screen. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m starving.” His voice was deeper than normal, and a certain tone behind it caused heat to pool between his legs.

“W-Well,” you cleared your throat. Do you know what you’re hungry for? Did you see anything else you liked from the café besides the banana pudding?”

“Oh, I saw something I liked but wasn’t from the café.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to ask him what he wants. Instead, he turns the phone to you, much to your shock. There are no pastries on the screen. It is the photo you took the night before and the new set you bought at the store for tonight. You gasped, reaching for your phone only to have your boyfriend hold it up above his freakishly tall head.

“Oh my God! Why did you scroll that far!?”

“Why didn’t you send these to me last night?”

“I just wanted to see what it looks like on me!” hands grabbed your hips, pulling you back against your boyfriend's sturdy form.

His lips slowly trailed over your neck as he pulled you down one of the dark alleyways of the school, somewhere away from fellow sorcerers or students. “Do you want to know what I think of that pretty little set?” Gojo listened to you. I think you look delicious in it, and I just so happen to be starving.” His head tilted slightly, grinning so wide the dimple in his cheek deepened. So are you going to let me devour you?”

Both of you breathe heavily, your eyes roaming over his face breath, brushing over your bottom lip. The tension was so thick before you snapped, grabbing his face and both your hands smashing your lips against his as he growled, kissing you back with as much passion. That kiss shifted into something that most people would write as NC-17. Gojo was able to control him himself, but when he found out you were wearing the same set from the picture, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground, pinning you against the wall. Your skirt was pushed up to your hips while your pretty panties were pulled to the side. His mouth pressed against your neck, muffling his moans. Your moans muffled as his right hand pressed firmly against your mouth.

“Shit baby, you’re so fucking wet for me, sweetheart.” his left hand massaged your thigh, easing the ache that accompanied the burning sensation of you trying to keep your legs wrapped firmly around his waist as he pushed himself deeper inside of you, slamming you against the concrete wall.

“Mm~!! Mmm~!”

Your sweet, muffled moans against your boyfriend’s palm only had him moving faster to draw more out. “God, I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend is fucking sexy and stunning as you. Anything you wear looks fucking fantastic on you.” he snarled against your neck. “I want you constantly so fucking bad.” your legs tightened around him, giving him a gentle squeeze as your walls constricted around him, drawing out a louder groan from Gojo. “Oooh fuck, fuck, fuck~!!” you could feel him twitching inside of you. His little grunts and whines against your skin had your walls, stomach, and heart fluttering at the sound of his voice. “Fucck~ baby—haaah fuck yeah, keep squeezing me like that! Just like that!”

The head of his cock presses perfectly against your g-spot, making your eyes roll back, a telling sign that you are close. Gojo was thankful for this because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last any longer. He sped up his movements, slamming into you, making you scream into the palm of his hand. That erotic sound pushed him further, making him move faster, harder, fucking you with all of his strength, and being the strongest allowed him to lose all his control. He was fucking you so good. The literal wall behind you shook under the force of his thrusts.

The combination of his monstrous thrusts had cock you squirting as you cried out against his hand. Your orgasm had soaked his uniform shirt and boxers with your release. Feeling you cum so hard left Gojo growling as he bucked even harder. Thick ropes of cum filled you, and he didn’t stop there. He kept going, fucking his cum further into you, pushing it as deep as it would go until he finally stopped. His breath tingled over your skin as he slowly pulled away, smiling drunkenly at you.

“Fuck sweetheart that— sweetie? Babe?” he chuckled as your head fell forward, hitting his shoulder. “You good there?”

“I-If I knew you finding my nudes would lead to you fucking me like that, I would’ve shown them to you sooner.”

“Them—?” his voice was very soft, but his cock twitched hard inside of you. “You have more of them?” the instant Gojo found out about the whole hidden album that was on your phone full of your nudes and private videos. He dropped the veil and teleported you back to the apartment. Seeing all your pictures and videos would be worth the lecture he’d be getting from Yaga the following day.

Geto Suguru:

The days that Geto got home early from a mission or some of his favorite days. These were the days he got to take a hot shower, sleep in his bed, and see you again. Whenever he was away from you from your home, he felt like a part of him was missing

When he walked into your shared apartment, he felt all the tension in his shoulders melt away. The familiar smell of homemade aches and pains vanished as if Shoko had healed him. God, he’d love getting home early. What would have made coming home even better would have been if you had been here with him. But from the side of your slippers by the door, it was apparent that you were still stuck at work.

Suguru had about three hours before you gave him more than enough time to shower, take a nap, and do the laundry. That way, whenever you did get home tonight, all you would need to worry about was cuddling with him on the couch. Geto did everything in that exact order, and by the time the last load had been folded, you texted him that you were on your way home with dinner.

Knowing that you would be coming home soon, I encouraged Suguru to move faster, hang up the laundry, and throw his boxers in his drawer before opening yours to put your folded panties inside. He was putting away your bras when an envelope underneath the lacy fabric caught his gaze. He had put your clothes away multiple times, but he had never seen that shoved there before.

Was it wrong to look at the contents hidden at the bottom of your underwear drawer? Maybe. Was it going to stop him from looking? No way in hell.

When he freed the trap envelope from under your flimsy sets, he was pleased to see his name written over it in your handwriting. It seems as though you wanted him to find this. Plop down on the edge of the bed, open it, seeing photos inside. They were Polaroids from small squares with black backs, white frames, and a glossy finish. Flipping them over, Suguru tried to think if you both owned the Polaroid, but all those thoughts went tumbling out the window as he stared at the pictures in his hand. Whether you owned the Polaroid camera or not didn’t matter to him.

All he cared about was the nude photos of you; he held his hands.

You were in different positions in the show, sprawled out on the bed, the blanket doing nothing to cover you. Well, other photos are arranged from you sitting on your knees, back slightly arched, pushing your breasts out to you facing down on the bed, the camera pointing at your face. Seeing you so naked, looking at the camera with a sultry expression, had all of the blood from Geto’s head went rushing to the head of his cock.

Why the hell were you hiding this from him? Was this a little treat for him after a mission, or did you want to get him all riled up?

Suguru didn’t have to wait for the answer because the front door opened as soon as he put the pictures down on the bed. “Sugu, I’m home!” You barely managed to put your keys in the bowl near the front door when your boyfriend rushed out of the room, his dark hair flowing behind him. “Welcome back; I picked up your favorite Zaru Soba good—aggh!!” Suguru scooped you up, putting you over his shoulder before rushing back to the bedroom.

Your boyfriend didn’t say anything as he threw you onto the mattress. You swallowed hard, sitting up on your elbows, only to have him reach down, ripping open your uniform jacket. Buttons went flying across the room as you fell back against the mattress. Your perfect breasts bounced the confines of your shirt, making your horny boyfriend feral.

“S-Sugu!”

“Found your pictures—”

Was all he said before tugging your shirt over your head, his hands frantically pushing down your pants as he worked at his gray sweatpants. “Fuck you look so pretty in them.” Pictures? Oh God, you found the images you had taken for your anniversary with him?! You found yourself wishing that the mattress would open up and swallow you whole so you could avoid the embarrassment that was itching at the back of your skull.

“T-Th—ahh~” his lips moved expertly over your collarbone while his hands gently squeezed your breasts, pushing your shirt up enough that allowed him to tag your bra down, freeing them. “S-Sugu—those—w-were—”

“Exactly what I needed.”

Your photos may have been what he needed to get his motors going. Or maybe you were the stress relief he needed after a very annoying mission. Your pictures were the fuel that he needed to destroy you.

Drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth as Suguru grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing your face down into the mattress as he fucked you from behind. Your back was arched, ass sticking up, allowing him to slide in deep. You loved this position; it felt so good to be manhandled like this.

His long, thick fingers dug into your hair, pulling you up just an inch and allowing you to take a deep breath before your face shoved back into the comforter. You cried your hips against his cock, forcing him deeper inside of you. As you did, the other sounds besides the slapping of skin, your moans and his, the clicking of the Polaroid camera he held in his hands.

“Fuuck~ yeah~ fuck yourself. Rock your hips back against my cock Princess.” Suguru watched as your weekly whimpered, rocking your hips back pathetically slow and allowing him to snap a few pictures. “Ooh fuck.” he hissed through his teeth, grabbing the developing film, shaking it before his hips picked up his pace again, slamming into you, forcing your face back into the bedding. “Gonna keep that one in my wallet.”

“S-Sugu~! Haaah fuck!”

“Yeah, do you like the idea of that? Me having a nasty photo of you in my wallet?” He pulled back an inch, taking another photo of his cock wet with your arousal, the tip still buried inside of your wet cunt. “ only you know that was in there. And you would be the only one to know that when I’m on a mission and at a hotel alone. You’re pretty pictures are what I’m stroking my cock to at night.”

“Hnngh!” You sobbed, fingers digging into the sheets, as you tried your best to rock back against him, chasing your orgasm that was coiling deep in your abdomen. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah, do it~ cum all over this fat fucking cock, baby~ make a mess.”

The orgasm snapped like a rubber band deep in your tummy. Your toes curled as you screamed as loud as your lungs would allow into your pillow. Suguru sucked in a breath, Following your body that collapsed on the bed, his hips still frantically moving against the fat of your ass, chasing his release that came just as fast and hard.

“Fuck~ oooh fuck yes baby! Cumming~ cummin’!”

Geto continued fucking you, not once slowing down, until he fully pulled out of you, loud pop echoing off the walls. You weakly protested as he repositioned your back arched ass out, you already knew what he was doing, but your body just wanted to slump back onto the mattress and fall asleep. But this was what your boyfriend wanted to do, and seeing that your pictures were the reason for his horny desires, let him do what he wanted if you listen to several clicks from the Polaroid behind you.

“Fuck—” Suguru whispered, shaking the photo as he set the camera aside, pulling you onto his chest. “This is Playboy material, babes.” he had the picture between his pointer and middle finger, turning it for you to see the photo he had captured of his cum running out of your pussy.

Seeing such an intimate photo of yourself like that didn’t leave you feeling dirty or embarrassed in any way, shape, or form. Instead, it had you feeling the returning burning desire in your stomach. And while your boyfriend, the pictures he had taken, adding to your collection. Suguru was so entranced he nearly missed the sensation of your soft kisses trailing down his stomach.

“Excuse me,” he scoffed, setting the pictures to the side. Just what do you think you’re doing there, princess?”

“Cleaning up my mess~ get the camera ready. I want you to take a lot of pictures. That way, I can reference what I have to do to improve my technique.” Suguru wanted to chuckle, but when you dragged your tongue over the underside of his cock, his eyes rolled back as he weakly searched for the camera that was on the side of his bed. He loved coming home early.

Nanami Kento

“Ken! Baby, I think something is wrong with my laptop!” you say before dramatically hitting the keyboard.“It’s banging for me to put it out of its misery. I think it’s finally time that I retire this guy.”

“Huh, it’s not that old model.” You pouted as your husband took your laptop from before you and plopped it down on his lap as he began typing at the computer. He looked as though he was some hacker from one of those cheesy nineties movies. “If you would keep it up-to-date like I’ve told you to do multiple times, you wouldn’t have this issue every time you opened it.”

“I hate waiting—”

“You need patience in your life; it can make things go a lot smoother for you in the long run.”

You puffed out your cheeks, knowing very well that your husband had always been right. You needed to take more time to find solace in your life. Maybe one of these days you would be able to do that. Today was not one of those days, though. You need to get on your laptop and finish the report, or your boss will surely give you an earful the following day.

“Yaga will kill me if I don’t get this report to him by the end of the day. Kento baby, what am I going to do? I’m too fragile to go up against, Yaga!”

Kento laughs, looking at you over the bridge of his glasses. “You and I both know you are more than capable of taking them out. Give yourself more credit, Love.” You appreciated your husband's honesty, but that didn’t help you with your current situation.

“Kento, that’s not gonna help me with my report.”

“Love of my life, it’s an easy fix. Just use my laptop while I try to get this up-to-date for you.”

Nanami rolled his eyes as you smothered kisses alongside his cheek. “Oh my god, thank you! I love you so much!” You grabbed your husband’s laptop and went to work on your report. Well, he clicked and tapped more gently at your keyboard than you had before.

He was able to update your system. The wheel constantly turned on your screen while he sipped on his wine. Nanami made a mental note to show you how to do this yourself once your report was submitted to Yaga; as your screen returned to life, it didn’t open on your lock screen, which was usually a picture of the two of you on your wedding day. Your laptop had decided to open up right where you had left it two nights before.

It was still a picture of you, but it was from your boudoir photo shoot for your wedding. Nanami choked on his wine as he stared at the screen, his cheeks flushing, and all the tips of his ears burned as he stared at the most intimate pictures he had ever seen. Pictures you had yet to show him after three months of being married.

The intimate photos of you are done so tastefully. Most range from different positions, like lying on a couch in your robe with your veil on. While the other was of you slipping your wedding dress on the backs, nagging against the fat of your ass, showing off the pretty lacy white underwear you had been wearing. But the photo that had Nanami choking was of you on your knees, your wedding veil falling over the swells of your bare breasts as your hands covered your nipples. Your eyes narrowed, staring at the camera while your lips parted slightly. Seeing you like that made him try to inhale his wine, which ended poorly for him.

“Oh! Did it go down the wrong pipe?” You asked, putting his laptop down. “At least it's white wine and not red. Red wine stains are bitch to get out of the carpet.” You stood up from your spot, stretching your arms above your head. “I'll go get you rag quick.”

You barely moved two steps before your husband was following after you. “Why didn’t you show me the pictures from your boudoir photo shoot?”

“Oh! Well, I didn’t care for how some of them came out, so I decided to pick through my favorites before I showed you. Why do you ask?”

Nanami didn’t need to answer your question because you got your answer the second your eyes darted toward your laptop. And, of course, he was looking at one of the pictures you even had a chance to look through. You just stared at the photo of yourself before running a hand down your face.

“They’re terrible, I know. I should’ve never let Shoko convince me to do it.”

Nanami gently took your hand, leading to the front of his pants. He placed your fingers over the hard bulge that was throbbing. You swallowed hard, glancing up at your husband, who was blushing just as much as you, and his very physical reaction twitched, letting you know that your husband liked the photos from your sexy photo shoot.

“I like them; I like them a lot.”

“I can tell,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his erection through his pants. “Ken, you're so hard.”

“T-Th-hhngh photo.” he jerked his head toward your laptop, “really caught my attention.”

“Oh, it did?”

“Yes.”

Looking back at your screen, you truly took in the side of your photo. Your photographer had shot the picture in black-and-white, giving it a certain elegance despite the horny look in your eyes. You remembered asking for that specific pose for your husband. But in reality, it was for you.

You pushed Nanami back against the bed with a smirk. “Is there a reason why that picture cut your attention?” He huffed a sigh, blushing a darker shade as he watched you rub your cheek over the bulge.

“I like it because I love it when you’re on your knees for me, sucking my cock.”

Your fingers wrapped around his buckle, unfastening it. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” Nanami nodded, growling as you tucked his pants down. “That’s why I asked for her to take that specific picture. Because I know how much you love me on my knees for you.” You pressed kisses along his shaft from the base to the tip, your tongue ding over the pre-cum that was seeping through the fabric

“O-Oh—”

“Let me demonstrate.”

Your demonstration continued for what seemed like an eternity in heaven. Nanami gently stroked your hair as you slid your lips up and down, taking his cock further into your mouth. "Ohh fuck yes, those photos of you looked so good, baby girl. Makes me wanna devour you~" Kento gently grabbed the top of your head, pulling you forward until his cock slid across your tongue, hitting the back of your throat.

You hummed around him, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock before bobbing your head slowly up and down over him. Staring into the sea of lust, your eyes looked like how they had at done with the camera during your photo shoot. That submissive pose, the faux innocence in your eyes, was precisely what Nanami loved about this position.

"Ohh fuck. Perfect little mouth just for me, huh?”

You moaned in approval as you bobbed your head. Nanami was the perfect husband. If he was going to praise the photo of you, he felt like you didn’t look good, and he would get a treat. He was so kind, sweet, and considerate to you, so if you were able to spoil him once in a while as a thank you for all of his sweet words and for providing for you, you would not hesitate at the chance to do so.

Kento pushed you back by your forehead, groaning softly. "Fuck, you look so pretty~" He growled before thrusting into your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin. You whined around him, looking up at him into his eyes as he fucked your mouth. You could feel yourself getting wet on every ball of your head. He moaned low in his chest, looking back into your eyes. "Oh. I know that look~ You want me to make love to don't you honey?” Your eyes snapped wide as you blushed deeply. “Good girl~ Once I use your throat, then I'll fuck you like you need, darling~" Kento groaned, speeding up his hips.

Your eyes watered, streams of black trailing down your cheeks as he fucked your throat slowly. Watching him slowly lose control made your finger twitch as you slowly reached down, rubbing yourself. God, you loved him, and you loved how he made you feel!

"Ah-ah. What did I just say, Love. let me cum down your throat firat, then your pussy can feel good. I want to spoil you for being—ah—such a good girl.” He purred, speeding up slightly before stiffening as your tongue wrapped expertly around him, massaging his shaft in time with the bobbing of your head. “F-Fuck! Yes, j-just l-like t-th-hhngh! Haa! Fuck!” Kento snarled before cumming in your mouths, face fucking you through it.

With each spurt that filled your mouth, you eagerly swallowed it, only pulling off of him when Kemto was whimpering from the overstimulation. As you sat on your knees, licking your lips, Nanami watched you through half-lidded eyes. His lips slightly parted as he did something he had never done before. He pulled his cell phone out and held it directly in front of your face.

“Ken?”

“Stick your tongue out. Show me how you swallowed it all.” without arguing, you did as your husband asked, sticking your tongue out. As you did, he snapped a few pictures before growling and zooming in on each. “Fuck you're so beautiful.” He sighed, admiring his photos for one other second before he placed his phone down on the couch before yanking you up onto the sofa and flinging your panties off.

“Ah! K-Kento, what are you doing??!”

“You being on your knees in front of me might be one of your favorite positions.” He growled as he nipped and sucked on your inner thighs. “Well, one of my favorite positions is right here, between your thighs so sit back and relax, my love. I’ll take very good care of you.” You squealed as his tongue ran over your sensitive clit, before arching you back, eagerly bucking across his mouth.

Note to self: Get Shoko a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine for booking the boudoir photographer for you!

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satoruxx · 2 years ago

Text

ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader (hinted) | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: ghost!reader, major character death, jjk manga spoilers, so much angst bc you literally die lmao, longing, mutual pining, suppressed feelings, everyone sucks at love, some fluff, banter, might be slightly suggestive, lots of hinted feelings (read: suguru), arguments, overall this is painful so read if you enjoy angst !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this idea randomly came to me before i went to bed a few days ago and in the spirit of halloween, i figured why not? i live off of angst and need to share the pain with everyone lmao oops. this is late for halloween tho my bad !!

i. 2007

satoru brings one more flower than he did the day before. morning glories again, of course, but an extra one. he had added one more to the the bunch every day since the day you died. the first day, he brought three, wrapped with a cheap blue ribbon that he found in his desk drawer. it was hardly a respectable bouquet, but those three flowers were the ones he'd grown for you, so it only seemed fitting.

he didn't care much for gardening. but one day you asked shoko what her favorite flowers were so you could give her some on valentine's day. she asked you what yours were so she could return the favor.

satoru never forgot morning glories after that day.

he's not even sure if morning glories are appropriate to bring to a grave, but he knows you'd like them.

you would tell him it didn't matter anyway.

ii. 2007

(suguru did not cry when you died. satoru watched, intently, because there was nothing in the universe that his six eyes couldn't catch. he waited for it, even a sliver of emotion that would betray suguru's bleeding heart, but he gave nothing. he just stood in front of the stone that marked the end of your life with a deep stare. something had settled there in his eyes, cold and resolute.

a few months before you died, you had told satoru that there was something wrong with suguru. you said that he'd been distant, somewhere far away, and you worried for him. you always did, so open with your affection for him.

"don't want him to get lost." you had hummed, your shoulder brushing against satoru's as you raise the mango ice pop he brought you to your mouth. satoru watches your lips out of the corner of his eyes, his stomach flipping eagerly even as he keeps his face impassive.

"he said it was just the summer heat," he answers, ignoring the sweet mango juice dripping down his knuckles. "should be nothing."

you don't look all that convinced, turning your head to look up at him with meaningful glance. "you sure?"

he stares at you for a lengthy second, cerulean eyes darting over your facial features, before he reaches up and knocks his knuckle against your forehead. "yeah. he'll be fine." he assures, and your shoulders relax as you continue to eat the ice pop.

you were right about it all. four days after you die, suguru massacres an entire village.)

iii. 2008

satoru shifts in his bed, grunting quietly he begins to stretch his stiff joints. his eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep as he waits for his dark ceiling to come into focus. except it doesn't, because all he can see are a pair of very familiar looking eyes. unsaturated, but still so obviously the color he once knew. his own eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone as he finally makes out someone who looks exactly like you, perched on his stomach with a confused and slightly panicked expression.

he shoots up, and you pull back a little. it looks like you're on his lap, and yet he can't feel you on him at all. he gulps.

"hey toru." you say quietly, and his stomach drops. the same eyes, the same voice. gods above.

"you're dead," he says simply, trying not to betray the way his pulse is jumping at even the smallest glimpse of you again. "you're not real."

"i'm dead," you confirm, nodding your head as you look down at your translucent palms. "but i'm here somehow."

he sucks in a breath, reaching out a hand as if to touch you. the disappointment he feels when it passes through your form is sickening.

you smile shakily, shrugging your shoulders as you attempt to make light of the situation.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

he stares at you for minutes without saying a word and you stare back, equally silent.

iv. 2007

(nanami had carried your body back, his teeth gritted as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. satoru never brought it up, but he knew that nanami remained bothered by it for the rest of his life. your death was bad timing, especially after they had just lost haibara a few weeks prior.

nanami had no reason to blame himself though. if anything, it was satoru's fault you were gone.

shoko had called him from the infirmary, her voice hard and pinched as she spat out three words: "get down here."

when satoru saw your body, he didn't say a word. just took a few long strides until he was at the table where nanami had placed you down. your eyes were shut, face resting in a way that seemed so unnatural. he opened his mouth to ask shoko something, but felt like he was choking on air, so he stopped himself.

then he grabbed your limp fingers, squeezed them gently. they were still a little warm, but not as warm as you usually run. shoko didn't say anything, just stood there with her hands clenched, short brown hair falling over her dark eyes.

satoru remained there for the next thirty minutes, waiting for you to sit up and laugh at the prank you were no doubt pulling. as if your blood wasn't still dripping all over the table.

shoko was the one who finally pulled a sheet over your body with shaking hands. she didn't look satoru in the eye, and didn't spare a glance when suguru burst into the room ten minutes later.)

v. 2008

it takes satoru a while to get used to the fact that you're not physically there. he has to bite his tongue when he moves to bump your shoulder or flick your forehead only to find that his skin goes right through yours. you always give him that same little rueful smile, and he sighs to himself.

he doesn't make an effort to figure out why you're there. he figures it's similar to how jujutsu users can come back as curses due to strong feelings. when he thinks about it though, guilt lodges itself into his throat, because the first thought he had when he heard you were entering death's door was no, don't you dare die.

every day he wonders if he's the one who cursed you to stay.

you act like it doesn't matter, hovering around him as he busies himself in his empty room. at first you're quiet, as though you've forgotten how to speak to him in your incorporeal form. but then you start asking him questions, and it's one question that satoru dreads to answer that you finally bring up.

"where's suguru?"

he's not stupid. he knows there's more you think of suguru than you've ever revealed. of course you'd want to know. but that doesn't mean he wants to be the one to tell you. you had died with nothing but a good impression of geto suguru. you'd probably died with your feelings for him still intact too.

it'd be selfish of satoru to ruin that.

"nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses, voice clipped as he busies himself with preparing dinner. he knows that won't deter you.

you huff, moving to hover in his line of sight. you cross your arms as you glare at him seriously, and satoru hates how nostalgic your expression makes him feel. he tongues his cheek before sighing.

"he's gone." satoru answers simply. he tries to keep his tone even but it comes out bitter and strained. he can hear your quiet gasp, and feels your form move closer to him. if you were alive, he'd be able to feel your breath on his skin now.

"what do you mean, gone?"

satoru sighs again, turning to look at you completely. he hated everything about this. "he left school. went crazy. killed a bunch of people, including his parents."

he would've laughed at the comical way your jaw dropped if you didn't look so hurt. you sputter over your words as he picks up his bowl and moves to the table, trailing after him and demanding more information.

he doesn't hesitate to share, because he's always hated keeping secrets from you. you had this uncanny ability to see straight through him, and it never failed to make him feel unsettled. so he tells you everything that happened in the few weeks after you died. suguru leaving, their confrontation in shinjuku, his plans for non-sorcerers. he leaves nothing unsaid.

when he's done, he finally looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. but you're just staring at his food with a bitter expression, brows pinched and lips pursed. satoru says your name once.

you glance at him, and it's too quick for him to look for any accusation in it. doesn't matter though, because he's ready to own up to his mistakes.

"you were right back then. about suguru." satoru admits quietly, turning to his food. he doesn't want to look at you anymore, because he's scared you'll show him how disappointed you are with him.

you don't say anything in response. but you sit down at the small dining table and watch him eat with soft eyes, one bite at a time. satoru doesn't admit it, but the whole time he imagines that you're gently rubbing his shoulder, and he thinks he hasn't missed you more than in that moment.

vi. 2007

(it was satoru's fault you died. if he hadn't been so selfish, you'd still be next to him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you walked through the streets of tokyo.

you had knocked on his door that morning before you had left for your last mission, rocking on your heels. he opened it groggily, still half asleep.

"you going on a mission?" satoru had yawned, drowsy eyes trailing over your uniform. you nod with a grin.

"mhm, with nanami. there are two separate areas with curses though, so we'll split up when we get there. should be simple enough." you shrug, toying with the collar of your uniform jacket.

satoru decides to be annoying. "then why are you here disturbing my sleep? get out." he groans dramatically, peering at you with narrowed eyes. you smack his arm, scoffing. you've stopped questioning why he keeps his infinity down for you do those things to him.

"i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with," you hiss, crossing your arms defensively. "but i'm taking it back, asshole."

he grins. "what? can't stay away?"

you roll your eyes, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh. "don't flatter yourself."

satoru pauses for a second. "i was gonna go back to sleep." he admits, feeling a little guilty. he had just come back from a mission the night before, and he doesn't feel like leaving again. he doesn't know how to say that to you though.

but you see right through him, like you always do.

"you've been going on missions a lot lately," you smile earnestly, patting his shoulder. "no wonder you're tired."

"'m the strongest, i don't get tired." he protests, crossing his arms with a scoff. you roll your eyes again, sticking your tongue out at him as you heft your weapon over your shoulder.

"keep it up and you're seriously gonna fry your brain or something," you say with a shake of your head, eyes betraying your concern for him. he notices it, and tries to smother down the way it makes his stomach flip. "i'll be fine. you can come on my next mission with me."

fair enough, he thinks. he hadn't gone on missions with you or suguru in a while. he should remember to ask yaga to let him go on your next one. just the two of you. you and him. maybe he'd buy you a mango ice pop on the way back.

"fine." he acquiesces easily, not even thinking to protest. he'll see you later anyway, so he'll talk to you more when you get back.

you smirk a little, motioning to his bedhead, before gently kicking his shin. "go back to sleep then, stupid."

he rolls his eyes, reaching up to knock his knuckle against your forehead like he always does. "whatever. bring me some sweets on your way back, yeah?"

the laugh you give him as he shuts the door is the last thing he ever hears from you.

he should've gone with you.)

vii. 2012

satoru hates the way you're looking at him right now.

it was a stupid little mistake. he had gone to see little megumi and tsumiki earlier that afternoon, and as usual, you had tagged along with him. you'd watched him raise up the two kids over the last few years, never failing to tease about his newly acquired fatherhood, or how much he seemed to care about them despite his efforts to hide it. he didn't ever think to say that you'd helped him raise them up too. even in your incorporeal form you'd always been around to tell him what meals he could prep or to remind him that megumi liked black forest cake for his birthdays.

he'd gotten so used to you being around and he slipped up once. that afternoon when he had walked megumi home from school, teasing and poking fun at the kid, he'd made a stupid joke. megumi had rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.

and then without thinking, satoru had turned to you as you hovered next to him and groaned your name out dramatically before whining, "this kid is so mean to me!"

your eyes widened immediately, and if you were alive he'd probably see the color drain from your face. his stomach had sank and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when megumi glanced at him with a raised brow.

"who are you talking to?" he asked, and satoru gulped, shaking his head as he broke eye contact with you to look down at the kid.

"nobody." he had answered.

he tries to ignore the meaningful stare you pin him with for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that you'll just forget about it. but as soon as satoru has left the kids and he's back in his own room, you're on him. he busies himself with making a cup of hot chocolate, even though he feels sick to his stomach.

"satoru you have to figure out how to get rid of me!" you plead, eyes so sad it makes his stomach churn. "i'm gonna drive you insane!"

"i'm fine!" he snaps back, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his mug, the warmth distracting him from whatever it was you were trying to remind him of. he places it down on the table in front of him and crosses his arms defensively. "it was a stupid mistake. won't happen again."

you shimmer in and out of focus, manifesting in front of him with a glare, though your eyes are still the same. wounded and hurt. "it wasn't and you know it! you can't keep living like this. i've been haunting you for years, toru!"

"well who asked you to go ahead and die?!" he yells without thinking, and it's like he sees your hurt bubble forth in slow motion.

"i went and died because i made a stupid mistake on a mission! quit blaming yourself, you dumbass!" you shout, voice raised higher than he's ever heard it.

satoru's mug shatters against the wall.

the two of you immediately turn to look at the mess with wide eyes, before slowly turning to each other to ensure that it really did happen.

"how'd you do that?" satoru asks quietly, his voice strained as he takes a few long strides towards you. you look down at your hand, the same one that you had lifted to swipe at his mug during your fit of rage. you look back up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. satoru's head is pounding, some kind of sick hope stirring within him. "you had to have touched it."

"i don't…" you trail off, voice filled with awe and a bit of fear. satoru reaches up a hand, ignoring the tremble in it, and moves to touch your face. he will never admit to the amount of times he begs in his head, please please please.

his hand goes straight though your skin, and your eyes soften. satoru lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hiding his disappointment as he takes a step back and turns away.

viii. 2006

(satoru thinks gardening is ridiculous. plants are so fragile, needing to be constantly monitored and cared for like children. he can't understand why anyone would choose to garden as a hobby when there were less stressful things to do in spare time.

even the process was time consuming, he realizes as he scoops out piles of dirt into the small pots he had set out on his windowsill.

he thinks back to the silly little grin you had on your face as you answered shoko's question.

"morning glory," you had said, leaning against her shoulder. "i like the way they open in the morning and close at night."

shoko hummed, staring at the sky even as satoru quietly eavesdropped. "you got a favorite color?"

"the blue ones," you answered. "they're the prettiest."

your voice echoes in his head as he places the seeds into the soil, and he sighs heavily. why he was doing this for you was beyond him.

the thought makes him annoyed, and he huffs in frustration the entire time he plants them. gardening had to be the stupidest hobby ever.

and yet when three blue morning glories bloom against his windowsill, he can't hold back his grin.)

ix. 2017

satoru's grateful that you don't watch him kill suguru.

he tells you to go, and you give suguru a long stare, face pinched and sour even though your translucent eyes are shining. it's a shame suguru can't see you though, because satoru thinks you look so pretty. suguru would've been lucky to have you be the last thing he ever saw.

you turn away and disappear without a word, and after one last exchange, satoru finishes the job.

it's only after he watches rika's final goodbye to yuta does he realize the extent of what a goodbye even means. he'd said one to suguru, and yet he can't help but miss him as he walks back home. he wonders if suguru wouldn't have had to die if you were still around.

satoru had never gotten a goodbye with you though. you're somehow still with him, but he misses you so much. it puts an ugly feeling in his gut, twisted and dark. it weighs down on his shoulders as he finally opens the door to his room, heavy and overwhelming as he sees you sitting on his bed, face vacant.

he says your name, and you don't move. he takes a seat next to you, and something about your sad expression makes him so unbelievably angry.

"quit being sad about it," he finally spits out, the truthful extent of his feelings coming out. "it's not like you're even alive that you'd be able to see him."

you scoff as you give him a sidelong glare. "what's that supposed to mean? one of my closest friends just died and you expect me not to be upset about it?"

"at least he'll find a way to you!" satoru hisses, clenching his fists so hard that his nails leave crescents in his skin. "you two can have fun together for all of eternity."

there's a tense silence that follows as he grits his teeth, turning away from you. he's so disgusted right now. with suguru, with you, with himself.

"i'm all by myself." satoru mutters bitterly, the words so foreign on his tongue as the truth hits him.

god he misses you so much.

he suddenly feels a sharp thwack on the back of his head and he's turning around with wide eyes.

"don't you dare forget about shoko!" you hiss, tears in your eyes as you glare at him, hand raised. "i'll never forgive you!"

his throat goes dry, because the smack you just gave him was the first time you'd touched him since the day you died. there's a storm in his throat that threatens to break free, but he tries to keep it lodged in his throat. even with your teary eyes, he thinks you look just as pretty as you did with life flowing through you.

he misses suguru. he knows you do too, because there are translucent tears dripping down your cheeks and he has never ached to touch you more. but he can't because you're dead.

you remain in front of him all night, barely saying a word in between your sniffles. he doesn't say anything either, just watching you.

he doesn't know what there is to say. the only thing he ever wishes he got to say to you was goodbye. but you're here, in front of him, so a goodbye seems pointless.

when the sun comes up, you wish him a merry christmas, and he swears you never left him.

satoru says it back to you. you smile sadly.

he misses you so much.

x. 2007

(satoru had cleaned out your dorm room three days after you died.

he didn't really understand why he was doing it so early. shoko had frowned when he told her that he planned to pack away your things, frowned in a way that made her look like she disagreed.

well even if she did disagree, it didn't stop her from sitting in your desk chair, chewing on her nail quietly as she watched satoru fold your clothes. he didn't even understand why he was doing this.

maybe it was because every time he walked past your empty dorm room he felt sick to his stomach. there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he realized that you'd never curl up in that bed again. never sit by the window with a grin watching him and suguru bicker as they threw playing cards on the floor. he figured the faster he got rid of your remnants, the quicker the feeling would go away.

that's what he's hoping anyway. but when he picks up your jujutsu uniform he feels something claw at his throat, and he unconsciously digs his fingers into the fabric. he hears a sigh from behind him and then shoko is at his side, wordlessly easing the cloth from his hand. she lays it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles before folding it carefully. when she places it into the box, satoru thinks her hands shake a bit.

there's a bitter expression on shoko's face that he's never seen before, and it makes his stomach twist.

they work on your room for the next few hours, until the sun has disappeared behind the horizon and the cool evening breeze bullies its way into your old space. neither of them say anything, save for the occasional nostalgic hum as they remember something that you did or they're reminded of the story behind one of the trinkets in your room. otherwise it's silent, and for a second satoru feels like he can hear your laugh.

it isn't until night has completely fallen that they are interrupted.

"what are you doing?"

satoru turns around just as shoko looks up, both of them finding suguru standing in the doorway. he hadn't taken a step in yet, eyes still trailing over the emptiness of your old room from behind an uncrossed line.

"cleaning." satoru answers, his voice oddly clipped.

"it wasn't messy…" suguru mutters back, his lips slanting in such an unusual way. there was an uncharacteristically determined look in his eyes, as though there was something in him that was struggling to burst forth. satoru didn't understand what it was.

"never said it was." satoru replies noncommittally. he hears shoko inhale deeply, shifting in your old chair as she watches the two of them stare at each other. there's a tense silence as he notices suguru frown.

satoru can't remember the last time he even had a full conversation with suguru. he remembers seeing you leave for your last mission, and he wants to kick himself for not asking earlier to be sent on group missions with the two of you.

even now, he doesn't really know what to say to suguru. all he can do is tighten his fingers around the edge of the box with your stuff neatly packed in, and watch his best friend sigh.

suguru wets his lips, eyes darting over your desk. there's an odd expression on his face, and his brows pinch as he notices something. then suguru reaches out to pick up an old polaroid, and satoru knows exactly which one it is. your arms slung around suguru's shoulders, smile so wide your cheeks probably hurt. suguru's expression was uncharacteristically gentle.

satoru remembers it so well, because he's the one who took the picture.

suguru looks at the polaroid without a word, rubbing the corner between his thumb and forefinger, and his expression suddenly mirrors the gentleness in the picture. his eyes remain stormy, deep and unsettling as he reaches conclusions that satoru will never understand.

the three of them stay quiet for a few minutes, even though satoru has so many questions that he can't figure out how to phrase. shoko toys with a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit because you've always hated the smell of smoke. suguru just stands there, silently eyeing your unfiltered smile through the lens of a camera.

satoru wonders if suguru's trying to say goodbye to you. he doesn't ask, and suguru doesn't say.

only after something had clicked in suguru's eyes, did satoru realize something was over. he couldn't help but feel like he had just buried you in that cardboard box with all your things, and he swallows hard.

then suguru clenches his fists, veins flexing as he looks around your room, almost like he was committing it to memory. satoru didn't understand why; it's not like suguru couldn't come see your room anytime he wanted.

then he turns away, hand lingering on the doorframe heavily, without another word.

just as suguru walks away, satoru thinks he hears your voice whispering in his ear.

"don't want him to get lost."

xi. 2018

something is wrong. something happened. something is wrong.

satoru knows he needs to wake up. but he's so tired, so exhausted from carrying on all by himself. he suddenly remembers the taste of frozen mango, sweet and chilled, and he wants to keep thinking about it for the rest of eternity.

but something is wong. he needs to wake up.

the minute satoru forces his eyes open, he can ignore the taste of blood in his mouth because you're there.

you're kneeling at his side, sunlight shining behind your head in a way that makes you look almost angelic. he'd believe it if you said you were an angel, because you've been dead for so long now.

you'd been a ghost for so many years, hovering around him and getting him through everything that had come his way. isn't that what guardian angels were supposed to do, guiding humans through their own trials? isn't that what you were doing to him since the day you died and came back to him?

you'd been a ghost. you'd been his angel. you'd been haunting him.

you'll always haunt him.

you seem to know it too, because the expression on your face is understanding, soft and yet so sad.

for what seems like the millionth time in his life, satoru aches to touch you.

he tries to move his hand but finds that he can't. synapses misfire. he can't feel his body anymore.

he wants to touch you. gods above, he wants to touch you so badly. please just this one last wish.

your translucent forms shimmers in the sunlight, and satoru can't tell if he's hallucinating or not because you suddenly seem to become fully physical. the particles of your form solidify, slowly filling with more color until you don't look quite so dilute. the saturation of your eye color comes back, and satoru can't look away because he's never seen a ghost so pretty before.

his breath hitches as you gently cup his cheek in your palm, warm and gentle. the melancholic look on your face makes his eyes sting.

"it's good to see you." he says with a weak smile, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. his breath is short, mind racing because your skin is on his again. finally, after so many years. you're so soft, just like he remembers.

"you weren't supposed to join me this quick." you sigh, eyes shining as you smile down at him ruefully. your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and satoru's cerulean eyes flutter.

no. no more waiting. he'd missed you too much. he doesn't have it in him to stay away from you anymore. he'd done it long enough. your fingers tremble against his skin and he almost laughs.

no more haunting.

there's a resolute part of him that knows you'll be the first thing he sees when he gets to wake up again. he decides that, when he does, he'll get you a mango ice pop and plant some morning glories with you.

his eyes fall shut with a sigh.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

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sugarcoated44 · 10 months ago

Text

Male JJK Character's Kinks/Favorite Sexual Acts

Kink HCs and Favorite Sexual Acts for Male JJK Characters

\\ All characters are aged up and 18+ | Minors DNI //

NSFW... Obviously

Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, Yuji Itadori, Choso, Megumi Fushiguro, Toji Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Sugaru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toge Inumaki, and Yuta Okkotsu.

Masterlist | Female Characters: Coming Soon

Ryoumen Sukuna

Daddy Kink

He didn't think he had one at first but it just slipped out of your mouth one day and he couldn't get enough of it.

“Say that again baby, be good for me.”

Wants you to call him that all the time, not even just in the bedroom, he becomes totally obsessed

Marks/Hickeys

Wants to put them everywhere on you, not just in places where only he can see but in places other people can see as well.

He wants people to know you belong to him.

Doesn't matter where he puts them, your hips, thighs, neck, you name it his mouth has been there biting and sucking on your until there's a mark.

Choking

No surprise this man loves to take your breath away. He loves feeling your throat spasm under one of his hands while he fucks you, only letting it go so he can hear more of the garbled sweet noises that come out of your mouth while he fucks his dick into you.

Yuji Itadori

Ass Play/Anal

Anything having to do with your ass, he wasn’t lying when he said he loves a woman with a nice ass.

He loves the feeling of your ass on him, grinding on his dick or just slapping his cock on it with you bent over face down into his bed.

As much as he loves to fuck your pussy there is just something about fucking your ass, claiming another part of you for himself that he loves so much.

Constantly touching your ass when he’s with you, he is a hand in the back pocket of your jeans kind of lover. Slaps it constantly whenever you walk by him, you’ve given up on getting him to stop he just loves to watch it jiggle.

Food Play

You’re too sweet sometimes he just wants you for dessert and deserts need toppings.

It started out as just whipped cream, the two of you were in the kitchen baking and at some point you ended up on the counter without a shirt on. You squirted some of the cream onto your tits as a joke but he became absolutely enamored with it, sucking and licking at any parts of you it touched. Eventually it evolved to other things, mostly ice cream or dessert toppings, the two of you can't walk into an ice cream parlor without him getting hard anymore.

Choso

Pet Play

You bought him a collar as a joke, a fun gag that you had seen people doing to their boyfriends online. It had his name engraved into the front and “If lost please return to Y/N” on the back, he put it on without hesitation and hardly ever takes it off now.

It’s hidden under the high collar of his shirt most of the time but if the fabric slips down he has no issues with others seeing it, he’s proud to belong to you.

This man worships the ground you walk on, he will crawl to you anytime any place the second you ask him, he’s got no trouble getting down on all fours for you.

After the two of you really get into it, you buy him a leash and it’s used at home more often than it's not.

Pegging

He loves to be inside you but this man lives to be fucked by you. He was tentative at first when you brought it up but enjoyed it so much more than he thought he would. He just loves to see you happy.

Back into the pet play he loves it when you leash and fuck him, bent over a table or any surface for that matter with your thighs slapping into the back of his while he feels the collar branding him as yours gets yanked, euphoria. He loves to be dominated by you in every way.

Biting/Blood Play

He is all in all submissive to you but he loves to bite, in your inner thighs when he’s eating you out, your neck, your shoulders, anywhere his mouth can reach he is sinking his sharp canines into your flesh.

He bites so hard and often abuses a spot causing it to bleed, giving him an excuse to lap the blood up, he adores the taste of every part of you and will do everything short of devouring you.

He loves to kiss you with your blood on his lips, he loves to see himself in a mirror with your blood on his mouth. He sees something so innately romantic about you, someone who does not have such control as he does over his blood, allowing him to take part in such a vital part of your living.

Megumi Fushiguro

DIY Porn

It wouldn’t seem like it but this man loves to make home videos.

Not all the time but often enough it’s not uncommon for him to have a camera in one hand while he’s pounding into you. The focus being on your face and on your tits as they bounce around from him railing you.

Absolutely carried a nude photo of you around in his wallet, he needs it for motivation he says. He “loses” the photo sometimes and has to take a new one of you, though you know he’s got them all stuffed in his bedside drawer.

Public Sex

Dragging you into bathroom stalls, random alleys or photo booths. There's something that just gets him going about having you in places he’s not supposed to.

He’s dragged you off off random trails in forests just to pull your pants or skirt down so he can fuck you up against a random tree.

Loves to do it places the two of you frequent often so he can lean over and whisper something along the lines of, “Do you remember the pathetic noises you made for me in that photo booth over there.”

Mirrors

He has two large mirrors in the bedroom one up against the wall and another that he’s hung up on the ceiling above your bed.

You look so pretty when he’s fucking you and sometimes he wants you to see it in real time.

“You look so good for me, look at your pretty fucked out face for me baby can’t you see why I love it so much?”

Enjoys seeing you from all different angles when he’s inside of you.

Toji Fushiguro

Breeding Kink

This man loves making kids (just not taking care of them)

Obsessed with the idea of getting you pregnant, even if it takes a little while. The idea of seeing you waddling around filled with his child makes him crazy. He just wants an excuse to dote on you “For the baby” when it's really about you.

Blindfolding

Obsessed with slipping something around your eyes, even if it's just throwing his t-shirt on your head (you know he would)

Loves to see how your body reacts to his touch when you cant see whats coming, every twitch or tensing of your muscle he enjoys the element of surprise.

Licking/Spitting

Loves to lick you all over, not just your pussy, his mouth visits all areas of you when it can. Long stripes up from your navel to your neck, down your back and thighs he loves seeing you covered in his spit.

Grabbing your face to spit in your mouth is one of his favorite things to do, he loves how pretty you look with your mouth wide open waiting for him and he makes sure to let you know it.

Satoru Gojo

Daddy Kink

“Daddy's Home”

Asked you to call him Daddy once as a joke and got hard immediately after you did it, didn’t stop asking until it became a habit of yours.

It melts him, whatever you need the second the word slips out of your mouth he can’t help but give you whatever you want.

Breeding Kink

The second he saw you one of his first thoughts was how good you would look with his baby inside of you.

Going hand in hand with the Daddy Kink, he really does want to be a father.

He needs an heir, he loves to tell you that as he’s pumping in and out of you for hours on end his endless stamina turning you into a tearful overstimulated mess.

Absolutely loves to see his cum dripping out of you, it just gets him hard all over again, going round for round until there's nothing left of him to spill into you.

Oral

This man loves it when you suck his dick, his ego is massive and it only goes straight to his head.

He loves seeing you on your knees in front of him, slurping on his cock and moaning around it.

“You like that? Daddy tastes good doesn't he?”

Constant Verbal Praise from him but especially when your mouth is on him, you just look so pretty he can't help but tell you.

Suguru Geto

Impact Play

He loves to spank you, he loves leaving big red handprints on your ass.

Whips, Paddles, you name it he’s used it on you. Even more than your moans he loves how you yelp when he strikes you.

He always makes a point to take care of you afterwards, he can be a bit cruel to you during sex but aftercare is a priority making sure to massage your raw skin and let you know how much he loves you.

Toys

He loves experimenting with new toys, he’s got an extensive collection to use on you and he adores seeing how you react to new things.

You came so hard around him once while he was holding a vibrator up to your clit that he has one readily available for the two of you at all times.

Shower Fucking

Showering or bathing together is a must for him, it allows him to not get lost in his thoughts only being able to focus on you.

He loves seeing your skin glistening from the water and soap, how pretty you look with your hair plastered to your skin.

Theres just something about rubbing a soapy rag or lofa on your back as he fucks into you the wet sound of your skin slapping together mixing with the noise from the shower that drives him wild. He loves to take care of you in more way than one.

Kento Nanami

Cockwarming

This man needs to have his dick inside you whenever it can be there.

He’s a busy man, sometimes when it’s just the two of you alone and he needs to continue his work he will pull you into his lap and sink his cock up into you, using one hand to pet your hair and back while the other continues to write on whatever paperwork needs completing.

Loves to sleep with his dick in you, with you on top of him, your head on his chest. He knows you’re there as close to him as you can possibly be.

Thigh Riding

He loves to be fully clothed, button up and slacks in tack with you naked on his lap chasing your own pleasure with his body.

He needed to start doing his own dry cleaning after a while because there really was no explanation for some of the stains on his pant legs.

He loves to praise you, call you loving names, just stroking your sides and back while he watches you rut yourself on his thigh.

Roleplay

Loves seeing you in little costumes that he’s bought for you, doctor/nurse, teacher/student, etc. If theres an outfit for it he’s bought it for you so he can fuck you in it.

There’s no aspect or roles in life that he doesn't like imagining the two of you together in, he's unabashedly smitten.

Toge Inumaki

Dirty Talk/Degradation

Adores it when you talk dirty to him, he can’t fill the space with words so he loves when you do it.

Loves it when you call him names, yes he is your whore what about it?

He is in love with the sound of your voice, if you’re chatty he can just sit there and happily stare at you while he listens to anything you're saying, just you speaking even if it's about something completely random can get him hard.

Face Riding

If you don’t climb on his face to let him eat you out he will pull you onto it, he’s adept at using his tongue and he wants to show you.

This is not a man that wants you to hover, sink your full weight onto him; he can handle it. There's nothing he wants more than to have your pussy on his face grinding on him while he laps his tongue up into you.

Yuta Okkotsu

Mommy Kink

Slipped out of his mouth in casual conversation once, while you were handing him a glass of water or some other domestic act. He had been thinking of it in his head for a while, apparently too much since it slipped out without him hardly noticing until you said something.

“Thanks Mommy.” “What was that honey?” “Oh- I- Uh I said thanks…”

You love it, you coo over him and tell him it's alright and he falls into the habit hard, even calling you out in public in front of other people. He’s got no shame in your relationship as long as you’re happy with him, you’re the only one who really matters anyways.

When the two of you are having sex he absolutely whines it out, mixed in with his breathy moans

Boobs… Tits if you will

Anything to do with them, he is obsessed.

Most predominantly he loves sucking on them, whether you're on top of him grinding down onto his cock or if you’ve allowed him on top for a change he’s got his mouth attached to one of your nipples sucking on it.

Even when the two of you are not having sex he loves his head to be near or in them, often coming up to you for hugs just for the excuse to stick his face right into your chest.

Praise Kink

Please tell this man what a good boy he is, he needs it.

“Mommy’s Good Boy” “My sweet Yuta” he will do anything to hear you praise him, he only acts with more fervor when you do.

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Ran out of image spaces on the post so yall get a dotted line xD

First thing Ive written in a WHILE hope yall enjoyed \\ I intend to make a post for female characters as well but if you guys have any specific requests for females/males I did not include let me know!

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