#and then spin in circles and then throw up

[multi-fandom-imagine]

In another life || Seong Gi-Hun ||

A/n: Im not happy with that ending so I'm fixing it.

Au: Where the reader is a daughter of the richest VIP, she was often helping Kim-Jun, she and Gi-Hun fell for one another

*Spoilers*

The heavy silence of the sky, circling the three towering buildings like vultures. Below them, chaos unfolds. Blood stains the pristine glass of the Triangle. Cries echo from the Circle. The final three players are little more than ghosts now, barely clinging to life and purpose—333, 456, and the small child held tight against Gi-hun’s chest.

But up above, far removed from the carnage and desperation, you sit in a gold-trimmed VIP box high above the arena. The other VIPs leer and chuckle through gold masks and liquored breath, but you don’t move. You haven’t since the game began.

You’ve been watching him. Heart in your throat, hand trembling, eyes glued to the man who had fallen in love with.

Seong Gi-hun.

His shirt is torn, stained with blood and dust. His face is swollen and bruised from the last fight. Yet even now, with his hands trembling, clutching the baby of a dead woman as if she were his own, he doesn’t beg. He doesn’t run. He protects.

“He’s fascinating,” one of the VIPs purrs, their mask molded like a lion. “Bet you 5 billion he jumps.”

You don’t respond. You’re already pulling off your mask.

Everything felt suffocating.

Your father, seated beside you, doesn’t look at you—but you feel his eyes shift the second your heels clack against the marble floor. “Sit down,” he says lowly, a warning veiled in affection. “This isn’t your place, sweetheart.”

You spin on him.

“This isn’t a game, Daddy. That man—he’s not some pawn. He’s the only one in that arena who deserves to live.”

He says nothing. But his fingers tighten around his glass.

Your voice wavers—but your spine doesn’t. “You said you’d give me anything. Anything I asked.”

His jaw clenches.

You press your hand to the control panel on the wall—VIP access only—and punch in the override code you made him give you months ago. His eyes widen. “Y/N—”

“I want him,” you say, turning back to the screen, voice shaking. “And I want her safe.”

On the screen, Gi-hun stands at the edge of the circle platform, wind ripping through his blood-matted hair. Behind him, Player 222—just a baby—is tucked beneath a ripped jacket. The bridge groans. The final button gleams red.

And then—

“We are not horses. We are humans. And humans are—”

“Stop the game!” you shout.

Your father slams his hand down. “CUT THE FEED!”

But it’s too late.

Alarms scream through the arena. Lights flash red. The final round is frozen mid-motion, and on the screen, Gi-hun stumbles forward in shock, blinking against the sudden sirens. Drones descend from the clouds. A black VTOL aircraft lowers above the Circle building.

Gi-hun throws himself over the baby as masked agents swarm the rooftop, expecting to be executed. But instead—

You step off the aircraft.

“Gi-hun!”

He looks up, eyes wide. The blood on his hands. The baby. The wind.

“Y/N…?”

You run to him. You don’t care about the cameras. About the rules. About the legacy of the blood money behind your name.

You wrap your arms around him and the baby, burying your face into his shoulder as the world spins around you both.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper. “You’re not going to die for a game.”

He doesn’t speak. Can’t speak.

Only clutches you harder.

The VTOL hums quietly as it cuts across the dark sky. Gi-hun sits beside you in a heated cabin, wrapped in a sterile blanket, the baby asleep against his chest.

He’s still too stunned to speak. But his hand never leaves yours.

You glance at him—his profile lit by the soft golden interior lights—and smile gently.

“I told you I’d get you out.”

He laughs—broken, hoarse, but real. “You’re insane.”

“Mm,” you nod. “I am my father’s daughter. But I’m nothing like him.”

Gi-hun’s eyes shift toward the baby, then toward you.

He looks at you like you’re the only real thing left in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You lean your head on his shoulder.

“No more games,” you whisper.

He nods.

Together, the three of you disappear into the horizon—leaving the arena, the blood, and the system that chewed him up far behind.

The world never found out what happened to Seong Gi-hun.

As far as the public was concerned, Player 456 vanished after the 2024 Squid Game finale. No victor was announced. No footage released. The VIPs who had placed their bets were paid off in hush money, and the game continued its shadowy legacy—now with tighter controls, and one less unpredictable human variable.

You had ensured that.

Because Seong Gi-hun had been extracted.

Saved.

And now he was yours to protect, just as fiercely as he’d once protected a stranger’s baby in a death game with nothing left to lose.

The Cottage in New Zealand

The house isn’t large, but it’s perfect.

Stone walls, a garden overgrown with sunflowers and tomatoes, and a wraparound porch that overlooks the ocean cliffs. Far from Seoul. Far from money. Far from blood-soaked arenas and masked devils.

Inside, the air smells like breakfast and baby powder. Warm and lived-in.

Gi-hun is standing at the stove, hair a bit longer now, cheeks a little fuller. He’s humming something under his breath—something happy—as he flips pancakes one-handed, the other arm gently cradling a sleepy-eyed baby against his chest in a carrier.

Jun-hee’s daughter. Now yours. Now his.

A picture of the woman having her own spot tucked in the corner of the kitchen. You two pray to it everyday and baby now called Hana, she will know how brave her mother was.

You peek into the kitchen, barefoot and wearing one of his hoodies. He always pretends he hates when you steal them, but the fond smile on his lips whenever you wear them says otherwise.

“You’re up early,” he says, not even turning around—he always knows when you’re there.

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your cheek against his back. “Hana kicked me. She’s got a strong left foot.”

“She gets it from you.” He grins.

You laugh softly and slide to his side, peeking down at the baby in the carrier. Hana is blinking up at you with sleepy, curious eyes.

“I think she’s gonna have your nose,” you murmur.

Gi-hun leans over and kisses your forehead. “She already has your stubbornness.”

The wind is soft out on the cliffside. Ga-yeong, now fifteen, is sitting with her back to the house, sketching in her notebook. She had cried for days when she first reunited with her father. You remember watching from a distance, holding Hana and sobbing quietly as the little girl he fought so hard to stay alive for collapsed into his arms.

Now she calls you “eomma” with shy affection, braids her hair to match yours, and always makes an extra plate when she cooks. You never asked her to. She just does.

You step outside with Hana in your arms, and Gi-hun follows, carrying a thermos of tea.

“We’re really doing this,” he murmurs, sitting beside you on the porch swing.

“What?”

“Living.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “Told you I’d give you more than the games ever could.”

He turns to you, brushing your cheek gently. “You gave me everything. My daughter. A second chance. A family.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, then let your lips linger a bit longer, until you hear Hana’s little coo. She smacks his cheek with a chubby hand. Gi-hun laughs and lifts her into the air.

“Ya! Little traitor!” he teases, snuggling her. “You’re supposed to like when eomma kisses appa.”

Hana squeals in delight.

Later That Night, with The baby asleep.Ga-yeong is on a video call with a friend from school.

And in the quiet of your shared room, Gi-hun wraps you in his arms, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks softly. “That they’ll find us?”

You shake your head. “My father kept his end of the bargain. We’re ghosts now. This is our life.”

He looks at you like he still can’t believe it’s real. That you’re real.

Gi-hun presses a kiss to your temple, then murmurs:

“I’d die for you, you know.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” you whisper. “Now… you just have to live with me.”

His chest rises and falls. He closes his eyes. And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares waiting.

Just soft breathing.

Just love.

Just peace.

The game is over.

Forever.

[facingreailitysgravity]

I thought this show was about being mean and curing patients what happened

[mars-ipan]

okay am back. in jazz band we get almost two hours of only being alloweed to play music so i get a lot of time to zone out and think about things that hurt me

the magazine thing actually scared tf out of mme when i read the uuhh. "he comes home aan d finds the magazine on the kitchen table" i actually went like. 😨. hit me directly in my deep-seated fear of Parents Finding My things and i dont even do anything like tha . if i came home from school and my phone was on the kitchen table with tumblr open id throw up genuinely my worst fear and you made that happen to hajime and i read it with my own orbs. anyway. scary ending. traumatize chsp ending

second option is sad because theres another Whole Guy involved. thats his friend. how does he think about this friend after he leaves like what is his opinion on him does he miss him ?? does he resent him ?/ >?>>>??? whwhat.. let him have his epic gay sex ffs

anyway either option leads to his dad actually beating tf out of him i hate it here. heres a blurry fanart i made of me picking priestmaeda up by the collar of his robes (i didnt remember what they look like) with the full intention of killing him. pencil on sheet music, 2024

hi chisp. sorry for the Feelings but also i’m elated bc that’s exactly what i wanted to capture.

the magazine thing is meant to be that exact sort of fear. when i was closeted i knew my parents wouldn’t hate me (gay aunts make it easier), BUT i had and have friends who are closeted for safety and we both knew that if their parents found their (usually trans) stuff it would get nasty. once in middle school a friend texted me like “my parents found my binder.” and my heart sank so fucking fast. i wanna capture that Dread that Fear. bc it’s one of the most horrifying things i can think of genuinely. on par with being found with anti-fascist theory in an autocracy like it truly feels like Your Life Is Over Now. priest au is lowkey a horror story about how queer folks are abused by society . because making art about that makes me feel a little better. it’s cathartic

as for There’s A Whole Other Guy Involved: hajime leaves the reservoir without ever looking back or saying goodbye to anyone. i think one of the things he regrets most is not making sure his friend would be safe before he left. he knew his dad knew who he was, and i think he regularly worries about whether or not word got out. he’s closed that chapter in his life, but he still finds himself hoping that his best friend is okay. he hopes he wasn’t too hurt when hajime left without saying goodbye. that sort of thing

and oh noooo don’t hurt Father Komaeda…. he’s so sweet he’s so kind and gentle he’s an angel…. he’ll guide us all to the beautiful light of the lord don’t kill him. he’s innocent….

[z0mbride]

LOVING YOU WAS LIKE FUCKING THE DEAD

[rhaenys-queenofkhyrulzz]

Sup moots it's ya girl rhae coming to you live from her home 2 days after brutally stabbing herself in the eye with a wooden staff

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, mating press, soft dom choso, squirtīng, p spanking, dirty talk, size kink, praise, mdni.

you tell choso it’s practically impossible to make you orgasm – and he ends up making you squirt instead.

“really?” he’d huff in a ginger cooing voice, sucking his teeth together as he watches a thick portion of his cock disappear between your sweet soddened folds. you let off a gasping moan once you glance down, getting a wide view of him easing his hefty weight into you. choso’s got you in mating press—a position he’s been wanting to try with you for a while, and with the way you were easily clenching around him had his entire body twitching. as he’s being as gentle as possible, he lets off a soft grunt before placing a bare hand on your tummy. “so you mean like . . never, baby?”

“n- never,” you inhale an incoming breath. your legs were sprawled ‘n spread — creating a stretched ‘v’ shape with your trembling feeble limbs. choso’s got a hand wrapped around his aching shaft before he starts to gradually sink inside of you deeper. “u..ughhh,” you hiss out, hearing your own wanton squelches shriek right out of your sopping pussy. choso smears a thumb down your entrance and you could see the cunt drunken grin starting to warp against his lips. “fuck, jus make me cum choso. like that, harder.”

“okay,” choso gruffly groans, his swollen sack already starting to mercilessly slap against your entrance. it’s loud numerous ‘thwap!’ ‘s and your glassy eyes widen the moment he slowly lifts up your leg just a bit higher, sexily throwing his head back with a carnal eye-flickering-roll. “just hold still,” and with one hand, he softly caresses your chin. “ ‘n keep those pretty eyes on me. gooood girl.”

intently, dark mousy eyes bore into you whilst he’s slowly driving his inside of you. you’re whimpering, already starting to hear the growling snarling creaks of the wooden bed frame ring against your ears.

“t- thaaat’s it,” choso grunts, and you can feel his honed hips tilt inward. he’s big, and with the gaping stretch he’d always create—it’s got invisible cogwheels spinning ‘n turning at the insides of your empty brain. it doesn’t take him long before he’s sensually pounding you with deep loving thorough thrusts, making sure he’s buried at the hilt. choso’s heavily panting with raspy breaths, clawing a hand through his shaggy black strands. he’s so pretty, and you couldn’t help but stare at him whilst he’s tenderly ravaging your sweet gripping walls. choso’s hair flawlessly of his flows down his narrow shoulders before he moans. “goddd, so good. doin’ so good.”

with a cute shrilling ‘oh!’ the moment his bulbous tip meanly slams into your sweetened sensitive spots, your jaw dangles agape.

he’s already reached it, and every time his body crashes into yours at full speed at such miles per fucking hour . . your skin sticks to stick against his like glue. smacking smacks of fleshy mounds gum against each other as he’s jackhammering his slim hips up and down before you shriek. “choso… ohmygod, right there. fuck me, fuh—”

“quiet,” he whispers, grabbing your chin. your eyes meet his, and as raven bangs string down his eyes, choso gives you a quick kiss. it’s sloppy, and you moan while he’s still buried balls deep. each risqué stroke has you dizzy, craving for more and as his tongue curls through the layout of your sweltering hot mouth, he briefly pulls away. choso huskily grunts, his powerful hits against your cunt creating loud squelches that resounded off the thinly-made walls. “f- fuck, hear that, baby? think she’s trying to hah . . get a word in.”

choso’s weight remains hovering over your body as he’s pounding into you. you moan, feeling his hot breath waft against your skin as he buries his face into the cove of your left shoulder. a hand reaches between your legs, and he starts to smear all kinds of circles ‘n shapes against your glittery wet cunt. wetly, he’s lightly smacking his palm against your stuffed full entrance, droplets of your honeyed juices splattering against his hand.

‘psh’ after ‘psh’ and choso grunts, hearing how you were not only vocal from your mouth, but in between your legs too. “so pretty,” he whispers, licking a stripe down your neck, softly nibbling a playful munch at your skin. “c’mon, baby. ‘m gonna need you to make a mess for me.”

oh, his hips were just the definition of fervent though.

your pussy’s hysterically gurgling out desperate sloppy pleads of want and need as your nails decorate his toned back with many many scratches. choso’s back was your own personal canvas—and he loved whenever your fingers would drag down his skin—painting areas of his flesh every single time. “cho- chosooo,” you whine out, tossing your arms over him. you could feel his back muscles tense, feeling his askew hips deepen its strenuous hits against your pussy. it was orgasmic – his rhythm alone, and your toes were already curled, mouth dropped, eyes bulged. “ ‘m gonna cum, make me cum choso.”

“uh huh. like that, you got it,” he purrs, feeling your cute legs starting to grow limp. he’s so nice with his hips, making sure he’s got the perfect angle. choso’s cock runs through you languidly, it’s slow but steady but also speedily fast. you could feel his stout cock repeatedly trying to kiss it’s way at your fluttering g-spot before you let off a trilling whine. “easy, easyyy girl,” he cups your face, a fat thumb stroking the right side of your mouth. “hey. look at me, baby. you got it,” choso repeats, and as he’s lewdly moaning right with you, bodies slamming in such luscious rapture, choso sprinkles kisses near your chin. “give it t’ me. be my messy baby, thaaaat’s it.”

right at his exact words—you felt yourself tightening up. . although something within you bursts, and you bite down on your jaw. it’s sudden, it’s so sudden that your eyes start rolling the second you realize you’re gushing down on his cock. a shaky breath leaves out of choso as he instantaneously pauses his hips���stilling his cock inside of you without moving anymore.

pretty doe-enlarged eyes with hearts swarming in his irises focuses primarily on you, and you could hear him whining out a ‘holy shiiiit’ while you mewl out your oh-so euphoric release.

it felt like forever but it was only for about three seconds, and you’re stupidly cross-eyed, moaning once choso starts to gradually pull out. “h- heh, baby chose to be wet today, huh,” and you let off a sobbing whimper once you feel him starting to smear his tip against your leaky cunt.

you’re drooling from your glossy puffed slit, and as he’s starting to politely smack his hardened cock onto your twitching heat, choso grunts. ‘you’re sooo pretty like this,’ the exact phrase that repeats in his brain like a mantra.

“let go, good girl. keep goin’. make me just as messy as you, princess,” and your brain merely short circuits. the elatedly shocking friction of his plump tip playfully hitting your soaked cunt has nothing but cute babbles departing from your babbling lips. choso drags his swollen cockhead down further, stopping at the bottom of your clit before letting out a shuddering, ‘phew.’

“c- choso, fuck,” you moan, still feeling staticky tingles roam through every vein of your body. that was unlike any feeling you’ve felt before. as his eyes soften, meeting your gaze—choso’s nudely glistening body shadows over yours. seconds later, he slowly trails his head down, propping himself between your legs. through hazy lensed eyes, you peer down, peeping at him while finding a hand of yours pawing its way through his tangled inky strands of hair. “mhh.”

“baby,” choso whispers hoarsely, his voice a bit rough and gritty from moaning for so long. such detail made you throb and he knew it too. leisurely, he’s beginning to lick a straight slope up your weeping cunt.

he can’t help but give it a open stare for a few seconds, taking your beauty from between your legs alllll in. it’s so pretty ‘n puffed — dribbling from the sides of your slick own arousal that shot out a shimmering geyser just a few seconds ago.

you’re tender, and he can’t help but slather his hot pink tongue between the crevices of your folds. “think . . you can be my sloppy girl one time?” and as he gives your pussy one quick french kiss, he pouts at you with a wry pussy drunk grin.

“pretty please?”

[tonycries]

Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum. 

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus. 

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago. 

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side. 

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin. 

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.  

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises. 

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right? 

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.  

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam! 

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail. 

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?” 

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot. 

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-” 

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.” 

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days. 

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad. 

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer. 

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places. 

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed. 

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all. 

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body. 

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case. 

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent. 

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep” 

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before- 

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence. 

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either. 

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off. 

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late. 

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him. 

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist. 

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet. 

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind. 

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit. 

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker. 

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up. 

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.” 

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning. 

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby. 

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory. 

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race. 

 “I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.” 

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. 

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of  Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin. 

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest. 

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?” 

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap. 

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment. 

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does. 

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours. 

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love. 

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t. 

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties. 

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt. 

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs. 

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat. 

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden. 

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get. 

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole. 

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction. 

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers. 

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak. 

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting. 

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-” 

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs. 

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss. 

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“Next time you do that you’re-” 

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours. 

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes. 

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins. 

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.” 

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum. 

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters. 

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips. 

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy.  It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with. 

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you. 

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below. 

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow. 

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you. 

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” 

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. 

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can. 

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him. 

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest. 

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell. 

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?” 

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part. 

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt. 

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S’all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours. 

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out. 

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.” 

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well. 

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach. 

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget. 

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would. 

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust. 

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you. 

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you. 

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything. 

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile. 

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do. 

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump. 

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.” 

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time. 

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tojisteddy]

Meanie!simon who thinks the little attitude is cute until it isn’t.

cw: 18+ mdni, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, brat!taming, daddy kink, dad bf!simon.

Doesn’t know where you got it from, but that harsh click of your designer heal to the hardwood floor, string of blasphemous curses and a cute scowl. the brutes brown eyes twinkle and he gobbled it up. Loves the idea of you taking on some of his traits.

But you were pushing it, now atleast. Simon doesn’t mind giving you what you want. Hell, you don’t even ask most of the time, the man will just get it because he knows you so well. But lately, you’ve been storming off with a stomp of your foot mid conversation, rolling your eyes, pouting when you didn’t get that record you’d been pleading with God to get.

Simon can only let it fly once or twice till hes gotta correct it himself.

He’ll let out that deepest sarcastic chuckle known to man, eyebrow raised this time, watching you with your face all screwed up, your own eyebrows furrowing, fists balled up—

“Yor reallly cute doll, trust me.” He bellows, circling around the car with the brand new tire in his hand. “Keep the attitude act up though, I’ll fix your problem f’ya.”

It only makes you more annoyed, you dip your toes in untouched waters— “I don’t have a fuckin issue, it’s you who’s got the stick up your ass. I don’t even ask for shit, I want that damned record!”

you should’ve just shut your blabber mouth. Just this once.

You’d have you on your knees, your mouth as wide as it can, hand gripping your curls, and ramming his cock into your tight little thoat. He starts slow, let’s you take his member into your mouth till your nose is kissing his pubic hairs, then plunged back into you, till you’re unthinking,

“Daddy’s alllllways gotta teach you to watch that fuckin mouth, thoa’ I taught ya better than tha’ luvie.”

He almost never gives you time to breath, your hands gripping the back of his thigh as he uses you, his cock pulses and grows larger at the sight of you. You’re nothing but a mess, his cum mixed with your spin dripping down your chin, tears running down your face, mascara smudged, and those gorgeous brown iris’ staring up at him— oh you’re the prettiest thing known to man in this moment.

“Been fuckin bitchin at me when you just needed to put this slutty mouth t’ use. Come on baby, take it.” He groans as you moan around him, you squirm on the ground, your clit pulsing in your soaking panties.

He roughly pulls out, still gripping your hair. You coughing up a storm, panting and trying to catch up he pumps his dick in his hands, he grunts “Suck it kitty.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

And maybe it’s from the oxygen not all the way to your brain yet, but you’re completely dazed. Taking his aching red length into your hands and slapping the tip on your tongue. Your plump lips wrap around the head, sucking and slurping and taking every inch you can, deep, until you’re choking. Stroking whatever you couldnt fit in your mouth. You let your tongue follow the veins around him and then pull your head back and forth till you’re out of breath. Ditzy smile on your lips.

“Thaaaa’s it baby, look at you bein a good. fuckin. girl.” he curses, fucking your face again, throwing his head back at how warm you are around him, till you feel cock twitch, hot cum filling the depths of your throat.

“What’d’ya say?”

You hiccuped, wiping wash your tears, swallowing his release as the blonde stands you up, “Thank you daddy.”

His chest moves up and down, slowly becoming regular again. He brushes your hair out of your face, “Gonna respect your pa from now on? Yeah?”

You nod your head, eyes fluttering, your voice nothing but ragged. “Yes, sir.”

He gives a slap to your ass, sending you stumbling back into the house. Thinking, maybe he’d get you that fuckin stupid record.

The man couldn’t help but spoil is precious baby. The exact reason you acted up every now and then.

a/n: this was sloppy but 🤷🏾‍♀️ it was on my mind

most recent masterlist

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @dollfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

[bbokicidal]

[SKZ] When you're included in a SKZCODE episode

i made this before the front desk at work tried to take me out so yall can have it now since my brain is rattled n chunky.

Genre: Fluff Pairing: OT8 x Reader Warnings: Lino's pics aren't from the episode I put bc I couldn't find any, sorry!

SFW Masterlist | NSFW Masterlist

Chan: Episode: Winter is Coming [Ep 1 & 2]

Pouts when he finds out he has to try and stop you from getting the flag up and down the hill in record time because he wants you to win,,, duh.

But it doesn't stop him from absolutely ramming a ball of snow into the back of your head (on accident)

Laughs at the way the boys try to stop you with their bodies and the way you fearlessly bodyslam them in an attempt to win the game

Almost dies of laughter at seeing you spin in circles and then try to attack the poor balloon - only for it to fly away and disqualify you

Buys you hot chocolate after the shoot is over and cuddles up with you to keep warm after being outside in the snow all day <3

Minho: Episode: The Ultimate SKZCODE Recap [Ep 69-70]

Has to hide his giggles at your poor presenting of the boys' awards

And how bad they are at guessing the right answers to the quiz questions

Gets all blushy when you announce him for any award and shies away when you run to the audience to sit down and cheer so loudly for him

Ends up trying to bribe you for answers to the quiz questions by winking and blowing you kisses from his table

Until he's called out by Jisung, at least

Changbin: Episode: SKZ-ARY TOWN [Ep 57-68

Cannot hide his laughter at the way you fail at bobbing for apples

But then loses his shit jumping around and yelling "That's my baby!!" when you manage to get a few and tie with Felix for first place

Tries to bribe the staff to give him the same amount of points as you since you're dating

Tells you to do the first position in the relay game but quickly switches with you when he realizes you almost fly away with Chan and Minho trying to restrict your running with the band

He's literally bouncing around with how good you are at the mini games and ends up putting you on the toast-toss station because you're the only team member who doesn't suck

Hugs you so tight when you win the game and swings you around in his arms just because he's so excited

Hyunjin: Episode: Go! Poolside SKZ [Ep 57-58]

Has the time of his life seeing you and Jisung run and dive in together because you lost rock paper scissors

Asks for you to not be on his team because he doesn't trust your ability in the water games as if he's any better himself

Ends up accidentally hitting you with the ball a few times and immediately apologizes, then allows you to throw it at him once on purpose as revenge

Just about loses it on Seungmin when he flips over your tube like Chan did with Felix, then yells for staff to disqualify him

But he's just as brutal because in the tug of war he rips your ass off of the platform and almost falls in because of how hard he's laughing at your yells of protest

Jisung: Episode: SKZ Family Returns [Ep 39-40] (He looked SO FINE in this episode good GAWD)

Has a blast flirting it up with Minho but after Seungmin starts biting back he makes a show of turning to you instead

You play his in-law technically - Your character being Hyunjin's sibling

Everyone is in shock and making a scene of Jisung's flirtatious attitude towards you as the roleplay goes on

And they're even more surprised and making drama of it when the two of you kiss behind Hyunjin's head

He ends up sitting with his guitar and singing the 'I'm sorry' song again because of it

Almost starts fighting Seungmin at one point because he 'also wants to have an affair with you' as a joke

Felix: Episode: Bedtime Bingo Hell [Ep 55-56]

Watching him yell about how he's bronze is what makes you laugh the most

He has a blast watching you try to do the pillow air-bowling but gawks when you manage to knock a few down and then yells about how you're his and how he's so proud

He's full of giggles when you hop on the whoopie cushion

And he's full of playful rage when Changbin is called 'the one with the prettiest butt' so he begins an argument that yours is way prettier

Also almost loses his shit when you come in second for the loudest fart

He's proud but at what cost

Seungmin: Episode: Fall Field Day [Ep 59-60]

Cries at seeing you in the raw chicken blow up costume and takes a picture before making it his lockscreen because he thinks you're so cute

He ends up being the one to fight you on the mat and ends up losing to you

Don't let his cuteness fool you - he absolutely obliterates you in dodgeball

Can he aim? No. And Minho can't guard for shit; So you end up getting hit more than you probably should

He giggles at you running around the sidelines in an attempt to get back in the game, singing out "I'm sorry ~"

Takes videos of you running during the relay race because he just thinks it's so cute

Jeongin: Episode: Suspicious Lab [Ep 47-48]

He's supposed to be guessing voices but he hears you go, "Ahh - I sound so much different than all of you, this isn't fair!" in your high-pitched helium tone and bursts into laughter

Your experiment ended up breaking so you did Seungmin's after him, wearing the stimulation machine on one of your arms and trying to fold an airplane

He ends up taking the remote from Minho at some point because he's having too much fun with tormenting you and Jeongin can't stand it

Turns up the machine even more to see you squirm

Also cheats during the game where he had to try and ramp up your heart rate (He touches your ass to get a reaction out of you) and then denies it in a fit of laughter when you call him out to the staff

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[liorabb]

Take It, Baby

cw: blue collar rafe making reader ride him after work

“C’mere, baby,” he rasps, voice wrecked, jeans still half-open, sweat dripping from his hairline.

He drops onto the couch like a king on his throne — legs spread wide, cock flushed and leaking, absolutely filthy — and pats his thick thigh with a dark, dangerous grin.

“Get your sweet ass over here,” he mutters. “Gonna watch you fuck yourself on my cock like a good little slut.”

Your legs are weak, your body already wrecked — but you scramble onto his lap anyway, desperate, needy, soaking wet.

Rafe grabs his cock at the base — thick, twitching, pulsing for you — and drags the leaking tip through your folds, smearing mess everywhere, making you shudder.

“C’mon, angel,” he pants, voice low and rough. “Take it. Show me how bad you need it.”

You line yourself up — gasping at how thick he feels — and then slowly, so slowly, sink down onto him, inch by thick inch, until you’re stuffed full, stretched obscene around him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Rafe groans, throwing his head back, hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. “Look at that. Look at how pretty your pussy looks stretched around me.”

You start to move — hips grinding, circling, bouncing — and Rafe loses it, snarling low in his throat, meeting every desperate roll of your hips with a brutal thrust up.

“That’s it, ride me, baby,” he pants, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest. “Fuckin’ ride my cock like you need it to live.”

You whimper, nails digging into his dirty t-shirt, thighs burning from the effort — but Rafe doesn’t let you stop, won’t let you stop, thrusting up into you hard, deep, merciless, over and over.

“Faster,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard it echoes through the room. “Ride me faster, princess. Wanna feel you milk my cock dry.”

You try, you really do — bouncing messy, desperate, soaked — and Rafe just watches you, eyes dark and hungry, one hand sliding up to grab your throat.

“This pussy’s mine,” he snarls, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “This fuckin’ body’s mine. Say it.”

“Yours, Rafey,” you sob, riding him harder, faster, so overstimulated you’re seeing stars. “Only yours.”

He grins darkly, mean and proud, and thrusts up even harder — cock punching deep, dragging a scream from your throat.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he pants. “Now cum for me, baby. Squirt all over my cock. Wanna see you fuckin’ lose it.”

And when he slaps your clit — once, twice — you snap, gushing around him, thighs shaking, sobbing his name as you shatter completely.

Rafe groans loud and broken — “Fuck, that’s it, that’s it, so fuckin’ good,” — and then he’s cumming too, hips jerking up into you, stuffing you full all over again, hot and thick and endless.

You collapse against his chest, panting, twitching, dripping down his thighs — and Rafe just holds you there, cock still buried deep inside your spent pussy, still pulsing.

“Stay right there, angel,” he mutters against your temple. “Ain’t done with you yet. Gonna fill you up again. Gonna make sure you’re fuckin’ ruined.”

And you just whimper, clinging to him, knowing he means it.

Because Rafe Cameron?

When it comes to you — he’s never satisfied.

[grenadehearts]

drunk needy clingy kirishima??

Kirishima's drunk. You can tell by the warm, rosy flush blooming across his cheeks under the soft streetlight glow. His crimson eyes, glassy and half-lidded, blink slow and unfocused as he leans into you, words slurring just enough at the ends that the tang of alcohol clings to every breath.

And god, he's clinging. This big, broad, beefy man—pro hero, strong enough to level buildings—is latched onto his girlfriend like a needy puppy, Anyone passing by might do a double take, but luckily, the street is silent and empty at this hour. It’s one in the morning, and the city's tucked into sleep.

He whines softly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he drawls, “But babyyy, I missshhh you—hic.”

You laugh under your breath, amused and endeared. “Kiri, I’m right here.”

But he isn’t having it. He spins you around clumsily, his hands landing on your cheeks, fingers poking at the soft skin like he’s checking if you're real.

“Hmmm,” he hums suspiciously, nose wrinkling. “Don’t believe it.”

Then, after a beat, his expression breaks into a crooked grin. “Kidding. But I wanna hug you. And kiss you. Can we do that? Please?”

There’s such raw, eager affection in his tone, it tugs at your heart even as you bite back another smile. You turn your head slightly, dodging his attempts to plant a wet kiss on your cheek.

“Soon, babe. Not yet. I gotta call a cab first, ‘kay?”

He lets out a dramatic groan and crosses his arms like a sulking kid, swaying slightly on his feet as you pull your phone out. But as soon as you start dialing, he’s pressed up against your back again, wrapping you in a warm, clumsy hug. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he mumbles,

“You smell so good… and you taste good too...”

The kisses start then—sloppy, uncoordinated little pecks peppered across your jaw and neck.

You laugh, startled, and gently push him off. “Kiri, no. You’re drunk. Save the love bites for when you’re sober, yeah? The cab’ll be here any second.”

He grumbles in protest, muttering something unintelligible, but he doesn’t fight it.

The cab ride home is another challenge. Kirishima immediately collapses into you, burying his face into your chest, arms wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. At one point, he even shoves his head up under your shirt in some misguided attempt to get closer.

“M’just love you so much, y’know that?” he murmurs into your skin.

You hum, combing your fingers through his messy hair. “I know, baby.”

“You’re so manly,” he mumbles next, and it’s so slurred it takes a second to process. “Like… so manly I gotta marry you or somethin’.”

You laugh, heart swelling at the raw honesty in his voice.

“You’re so pretty I—hic—I can’t even handle it...”

And then, without warning, the tears start. His head lifts from under your shirt just long enough to rest against your shoulder, sniffling. His voice cracks as he continues, a mess of intoxicated love confessions spilling out in barely coherent sentences.

“Just wish I could crawl into your skin and… and live there. You’re so warm. So soft.”

You don’t even try to suppress the fond exhale.

Later that night, you’re in the bathroom with him, kneeling on the cold tiles. One hand holds back his messy crimson hair, the other rubbing gentle circles on his back as he throws up everything he'd drunk. A bottle of aspirin and a full glass of water wait nearby.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456

[vampzity]

strut | C.SN

“how you pick me up, pull ‘em down, turn me ‘round, oh it just makes sense.” — bed chem, sabrina carpenter

pairing: bf! san x f! reader

while being treated to a shopping spree by your loving boyfriend, he can’t help his intrusive thoughts when he sees you trying on such short dresses. all he wants is to get a taste of you.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+, smut, public sex, dom! san, sub! reader, oral (f.receiving), pet names (baby, princess, angel, good girl), praising, bite marks, clit play, fingering

word count: 1.6k

San sat on the bench in the fitting room, holding bags filled with clothes you picked out. You protested a bunch of times, but he loved to spoil you— offering to pay for the loads of clothes you picked out.

He watched you try on clothes and criticize them, while also falling love with others. It was cute. Most guys hated shopping with their girlfriends, often being annoyed with how long it took or how indecisive their lover may be. But not San. He absolutely adored you. The way you strut in front of him, how you did little turns and spins so that he could see the outfit in its full glory.

God it turned him on in ways he couldn’t explain.

“Does this look okay? It feels so short.”

His eyes scanned your body, tilting his head as you slowly turned. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of your ass peeking from below the end of the dress. It wasn’t too obvious unless someone blatantly stared, but his reaction was enough to tell you.

You sighed, pulling the dress down and holding it in place as your face flushed red from embarrassment.

“It is too short.”

You quickly turned around, about to walk back to the room when San got up. He grabbed onto your arm, his body pressing up against yours just enough for you to feel his member. He leaned over, his mouth just inches away from your ear.

“You look beautiful princess.” his free hand snaked around your waist, pushing your ass onto his clothed cock. He groaned softly, shutting his eyes.

“You can wear whatever makes you feel that way, just know it gets a reaction out of me.”

San let get of you, his hand brushed by your ass softly as he walked back to the bags. He picked them up off the ground and quickly scanned the area for anyone else who may be around. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back into your room. He closed the door, locking it and setting the bags on the side.

He towered over you, his dark gaze meeting yours as you stood there in shock. San gave you a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a soft kiss. His kisses were slow, but you could feel him wanting more. Craving more of you.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking against it constantly as he struggled to catch his breath. The kisses trailed down your cheek and to your neck, his breathing becoming staggered and heavy.

“Can I have a taste of you angel?”

You nodded, his tongue gliding up your neck. You felt your blood rush to your head, your ears turning just as red as your cheeks. San stuck his hand into your underwear, his fingers resting against your folds. He looked at you, raising as eyebrow as you bit your lip and struggled to maintain your composure.

His fingers spread you open slightly, moving between your folds to gather your slick. Your eyes fluttered closed, throwing your head back as he touched you. He was sick minded, and he knew how easily his touch worked on you.

“If you’re quiet for me,” San circled your bud lightly, his lips still pecking your neck. “I’ll let you cum.”

He pulled his hand out of you, kneeling beneath you and spreading your legs slightly. Your breath hitched as he dragged his tongue against your clothed heat. He looked up at you, head tilted and his dark eyes clouded with lust.

“Understood?”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement as his grip onto your thighs tightened. He smiled, lifting on of your leg up and placing it on the bench. He pulled his hat off and set it beside him, eyes locked on your aching cunt and its wetness leaving a spot on your underwear. What a pretty sight. In his eyes, you were simply a sweet treat.

He kissed against the underwear, sucking on your clothed clit softly and swirling his tongue around it. You threw your head back, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“Mm, you like this don’t you?” he glanced at you for a moment, raising his eyebrow. You quickly nodded, feeling tongue flick against your covered bud.

“What a little slut. I didn’t think you’d want me to do this in public.”

San kissed your inner thighs softly, making your breath hitch at his actions. You felt his teeth sink into your skin, making you whimper in response. You quickly covered your mouth, locking eyes with his deep glare as his eyebrows furrowed. He shook his head, continuing to leave countless bite marks across your inner thigh. With every bite he dealt you could feel the pain burning through your skin, though you couldn’t help that it felt so good.

“Sannie,” you mumbled, feeling your core heat up as his bites trailed closer to your cunt.

He looked up at you a small smile painting his face as his fingers toyed with your underwear.

“What is it? Use your words for me princess.”

He tugged the hem of your underwear, pulling them down your legs as he kissed your thighs softly. He was merely inches away from your soaking cunt, your legs shaking as you wanted nothing more than for him to taste you. San gave you a small look, nodding as he waited for you to reply.

“Please,” you mumbled, heart beating out of your chest.

He dragged his tongue up your thigh, stopping just beside your folds. You felt a chill run up your spine in reaction, making your hole clench around nothing.

“Please what baby?” he raised an eyebrow at you, chuckling to himself as he watched you fall apart.

“Please touch me..”

He hummed quietly at your words, placing his thumb against your clit and lifting its hold enough to expose it. He dragged his tongue between your folds, his lips sucking on your bud. You threw your head back biting your bottom lip as you tried not to cry out from pleasure.

San swirled his tongue around your heat, hungrily lapping up your juices as you struggled to maintain your balance. Your fingers ran through his hair, gripping it softly. He snaked his fingers up your thighs, spreading your folds to expose your core. You threatened to moan, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth.

“Shh.. what did I say?”

He pushed two fingers into your aching hole, watching as your walls clenched around them. He thrusted into you slowly as his tongue flicked your bud, leaving you a shaky mess. San curled his fingers slightly, pushing them against your sweet spot just perfectly as he spat against your clit.

He pulled his mouth away from you for a second, earning a look of annoyance from you. A mix of his spit and your juices stringing from his lips as he looked up at you. His chin was drenched in you, as if he knew no manners, like he was being starved of you.

“Taste so good angel. Just want to devour you whole.”

His sharp eyes pierced into your own. San pulled your cunt against his lips, his tongue beginning to fuck you as his nose brushed against your sensitive bud. You breathed out in pleasure, wanting to scream his name.

You began to grind against his face as he made out with your cunt, not missing a single spot. You were desperate— tired of playing the waiting game when all you wanted to do was drench his pretty face in your arousal. San noticed this, pulling his tongue out of your hole and pressing a soft kiss at the opening.

“Wanna cum for me baby?” he whispered, looking up at you. You quickly nodded, feeling your walls contract around nothing.

“Be a good girl and use your words like I told you.”

You tried to fight back whimpers as his fingers touched you softly. San teased you with his tongue, flicking at your sensitive bud slow enough to drive you crazy. He kissed it lightly, a small smirk appearing on his face.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop agh!”

San took you onto his face, his mouth practically enveloped around you. He stuck his fingers inside of your aching hole as he abused your clit with his tongue. Your grip on his brown locks tightened, a tingling sensation rushing throughout your body.

You moved with the motion of his tongue, throwing your head back as your shaking breaths turned into small moans. His lips slobbered around your folds, gathering your slick with every lick he dealt.

“That’s it princess, let it out for me.” he kept his dark gaze on you, making your knees buckle.

San curled his fingers inside of you, his pace moving quickly as he worked to stretch you out. Your walls clenched around his fingers, juices dripping down the sides of them as you struggled to not make a mess.

You covered your mouth as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. San used his free hand to keep your legs open as you tried to force them close.

“Aww c’mon, you got it.” he pressed his lips against your thigh, his thumb swirling around your clit as his fingers still pounded into you.

“That’s it, let it out baby.”

You pushed his head into your cunt, feeling his lips smash onto your swollen bud as he sucked on it harshly. Within seconds you came undone, your arousal dripping down San’s hand. A large smile painted his face as he pulled his fingers out of you, licking your arousal clean off of you.

“You look so pretty when I have you like this baby.” he licked your juices off of his fingers, soon pulling your underwear up.

“I wish I could have you like this all the time.”

💌: this was literally a spur of the moment.. his pictures did something to me..

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @rvereri @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @katsukis1wife @unbel1ev4ble @sojuxxi @bbykaixx @felixleftchickennugget @gncbnahc @jwnghyuns @kjr-army @tahiraax1 @wonderz_real @noxonexherexbotherxmyxteaxtime @hyunmikim @lov3yv4mps @jujusreader @heechwe @nopension

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

[maccreadysbaby]

Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick

pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)

warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)

leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)

falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)

being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)

stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)

slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)

being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)

being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)

growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)

whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)

having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)

making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)

TW for vomiting below cut !!

sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)

using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)

sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)

dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)

rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)

[hoshigray]

Hellooo, I have a requesttt. Bully!Geto & bully!gojo x reader please!!

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: didn't know how to tackle this, but I think I got it >:3

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting; satosugu + you are juniors - sex in shared space; college dorm - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play - oral (m! receiving) - facials - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - Eiffel Tower/spit-roasting position - slight degradation - pet names (baby, crybaby, cutie, good girl, plaything, pretty girl, sweetheart) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside, tho) - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

“—Gaaahh!! N-Noo, shtop! No more, no mo—Oooh!”

“Aww, don’t go cryin’ on us yet; let’s see how much this pussy can cum!”

“Satoru, keep playing with their nipples; they keep gripping my fingers like crazy…”

Being bullied seems to be an everyday thing for a wimp like you—especially in the hands of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.

What kind of person lets two of the hottest guys in the school bully them? You’re practically nearly a full-ass grown adult; you shouldn’t be letting people push you around like it’s middle school! And yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to stand for yourself, too meek and reserved to step up the ladder of confrontation, even if it’s from people who’ve tormented you most of your life.

Gojo and Geto have been your bullies for nearly your entire academic life, starting from first grade. To say that your life was hell on Earth was just the surface, coming home in tears and wishing to disappear every single day. The emotional toil was too much to bear, so much so that you did everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up in the same high school as the two, a task that you’re proud to act on as making friends and getting through the final four years of your primary education became easier to accomplish. 

However, this fulfillment was thrown out the window when you walked on campus grounds and discovered that after two years, your bullies had transferred to the same college as you! Not only in the same place but in the same dorm section and sharing the same class—had the world gone mad?! Just when you have accepted this new chapter in your life to start anew and fresh, these two spin back and the pool of anxiety swallows you back up and pulverizes your heart. There was no way for this situation to be envisaged.

“Ohaaa!! Shtooop, t’ooo fasst!!”  

And now, they have new methods to diminish your dignity.

Against your comfort, you and the two were assigned a spreadsheet to work on and have it done by Thursday, so you three were supposed to be working in the living room of their dorm apartment. Nevertheless, you don’t think lying on the couch with your back to Gojo and Geto between your legs has anything to do with the assignment…

You were squirming, Gojo’s slender hands cupping and fondling your chest, tips of his fingers tweaking your nipples roughly so that you whine helplessly. Legs spread open for your panties and bare cunt to be exposed when you were stripped from your leggings, and Geto toys your private part with his fingers. The sensation of his middle digit inside you was hard to believe, like the howl from curling onto the upper wall of your vagina.

“Uuuwww, ohmyGoooood…!” You throw your head back to the shoulder of the white-haired one whose forefingers circle the buds of your mounds. “W-We can’t be—hic—doing this…”

“Ehhh, c’mon, baby,” hearing Gojo talk to your ear so close has to be something out of a dream or nightmare. “Who says we can’t play with our favorite person, huh?”

You gulp at the lick of your earlobe. “Because…we have work to d—Aaahh!”

“Don’t think about that assignment when I’m busy shoving my fingers in you,” Geto reminds you, the pace of his digit increasing and the scrape of his fingertip having your toes curl. “Doesn’t the pretty girl wanna play us like old times?”

A hand grabs his wrist, yet that does little to hinder the raven-haired one’s diligence within your leaking chasm. “B-But…We can’t!” Jesus, it’s tough to think adequately the more Geto pushes and pulls his finger, brushing it up against your texture. Tears welled up in your eyes, your body sore from their constant touches.

“God, still cryin’ from being teased, huh, crybaby?” Gojo chuckles while cupping your cheeks. “Still a cutie, though…”

No way, there’s absolutely no way! You had to be dreaming because there is no way you’re awake to see the day Gojo is kissing you! Biting your bottom lip and shoving his tongue inside, your brain practically explodes as you moan in his mouth, and your slit contracts the rub of Geto’s finger. Did you just cum from a kiss?!

“Oh wow, they’re spasming like crazy,” Geto chortles at the sight of your legs trembling and your genitalia fluttering around the digit. “Cumming from a kiss, huh? Heh, so easy to mess with.”

Your response was deterred to that of imperceptible wails, crying into Gojo’s pillowy lips as he sucked on your tongues to hear you sob more. This was so unfair; this situation was not in your favor once you were dragged into their apartment.

Not even in the next phase of this meet-up.

Your clothes are discarded from your body to the living room floor, mounting on the couch on all fours, Geto to your front and Gojo to your back. The three of you are too far gone to think about the damn assignment—your frame too occupied by their cocks to evade them so.

Soapy lips suck on the dick of the dark-haired other, puffy cheeks making room for the limb burrowing inside your mouth. He fucks you orally with vigor, snapping his hips to your lips as your head pounds with every jab to the back of your throat. You’re not left with a second to breathe calmly, his girth overwhelming.

“Fuuuhhck, Jesus Christ,” he curses, grinding his pelvis and moaning at the feel of your tight throat. “Such a good girl, sucking me so well; got the mouth of a great cumslut.”

“Has the pussy of one, too!”

The words burn your ears, coming from behind as the guy with snowy hair plunges his length into your vagina. His hands are situated on your waist to keep you on him, the curve of his cock scratching your sweet spots too accurately that you’re forced to scream on the other’s shaft.

Gojo throws his head back with a sigh, “Fuckin’ shiiiit, this pussy…clamping on me so hard, you wanna milk me dry?” He bends down to your ear, “Want my load so bad like a little whore?” Squeezing on him was inevitable, making him hiss. “Fuck! Don’t do that…”

“Damn this throat, man,” you peer up to Geto. Your eyes have already released the tears stricken down your face, the lower part of your face all hot from the frequent hits. He chortles, “You look so good all messy like that, sweetheart…Holy shit, you looked so fucked out.” 

Of course you were; they’ve been toying with your body for ten minutes with no rest! Your frame was aching so bad, sobbing because of the cock busying your throat and the dick grazing your G-spot. It was too much to catch up with, especially when Gojo sneaks a hand to your clit to rub and swipe. Your eyes roll to the ceiling, and a scream is muffled, your figure submitting to the pinches on your sensitive pearl.

“Wanna cum?” Silver brows trench together at the clamp of your walls. “Do it, cum on my dick, you nasty crybaby.” 

More tweaks to your clitoris coincide with the erratic pistons of Gojo’s thighs, and you have no choice but to climax once more. Your cunt tightens around his cock with every hit of your orgasm, and he makes sure to get his raw cock out of you to ejaculate his milky fluid onto your back, painting your skin with his load.

The same goes for Geto as well, who grabs your head and roughly pulls himself off to paint your face with his essence. You whimper with every quiver and addition of his sperm, spurting to your forehead and decorating your cheeks to slide down your chin. You never felt so dirty in your life, your tongue accidentally tasting it from licking your lips. “Good girl,” he compliments with a teasing pinch to your cheek.

Gojo rubs his length on the cusp of your butt. “Man, cutie, you keep driving me crazy.” His fingers aimlessly play with your clit. “Now I really can’t leave you alone…”

Dread weighs your bones at his words, and you can only question how you can survive these upcoming semesters with these harassers. And now that they’re hooked on you, this fresh new start has become much more suffocating…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[sixxels]

play it back

fratboy!sukuna x fem reader

wc: 14k

!!disclaimer!! situationship, smut, p in v, mdni, angst! comfort. this is messy, so so messy but what fic of mine isn’t?

the first thing anyone ever smells when stepping into choso’s house is weed and watermelon vape. the second is tequila, the third is him. the one guy you really didn't want to see right now.

smokey, rich, him. sukuna.

you try to ignore it, the lights are dim and pink and pulsing. it’s not packed yet, but it will be. choso’s parties always fill up like bathtubs. slowly, hot.

you step through the threshold and into the thrum of it all. maki grabs your wrist the moment she spots you. “thank god,” she says, tugging you toward the living room. “i need someone sane to witness this mess.”

you barely manage a hello before she’s dragging you in, past the sliding kitchen door and down the short hall, until you see a group of all your friends sitting in a circle.

“truth or drink,” gojo booms, slamming his empty solo cup down on a wonky wooden frat table like he’s just cast a spell.

you roll your eyes. maki groans beside you.

“oh god, not again.”

“no, listen,” gojo says, serious. “this is character development. this is growth. this is—,”

“—an excuse to be nosy,” suguru cuts in.

“exactly!”

sukuna’s already here, of course he is. spread out like he owns the couch. one leg over the other, cigarette burning low between two tattooed fingers, eyes slouched half-lidded as if he’s barely awake. like he didn’t just watch you walk in.

and just like that, it begins.

choso pulls out the question cards he made last semester, a mix of drunk scribbles and genuinely soul-destroying prompts. shoko hands everyone a refill. yuki raises her eyebrows at you like, ‘buckle up, baby.’

you sit, shoulders tight, pretending not to care when the bottle lands on sukuna.

your chest pinches anyway.

“truth,” he says lazily, eyes half-lidded.

choso reads the card. “do you think you’ve ever been in love?”

the room hushes, tension vibrating like a tight string.

sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. he drags from his cigarette. smoke curls out the corner of his mouth.

“no.”

a few snickers. gojo coughs dramatically, little did you know he’s the only one who sukuna tells about your little… situation, so he was as uncertain as you were. he gave you a sympathetic look from across the circle.

“no offense,” maki mutters under her breath, “but i believe it.”

your stomach sinks. you don’t know why you expected anything different. maybe you didn’t.

you just hoped.

the bottle spins again. lands on you.

your throat goes dry, and maki grabs your hand under the table.

gojo perks up like a kid in church who just got told the sermon’s about sex.

“truth,” you say.

suguru plucks a card. “do you think the person you want wants you back?”

silence again.

you look down at your cup.

you think about sukuna’s mouth. the way he kissed you that night at the party like he was afraid he’d forget how. the way he didn’t call for two days after. the way he still texts you at 2am like you’re a convenience store.

your voice is soft. “i think maybe, like halfway?”

no one says anything for a moment.

even sukuna.

especially sukuna.

then yuki murmurs, “you deserve more than half-love, baby.”

you nod, but you don’t say anything.

what would be the point?

~

as the game dissolves into teasing and too-loud laughter, gojo throws himself dramatically across suguru’s lap and starts fake-crying like a soap opera housewife. “you never loved me!” he wails, half-choking on his drink, and suguru just hums and pets his hair like a tired husband with a golden retriever.

shoko steals the card deck. maki yells something about how is he crying without tears, and choso starts explaining the thc content in his gummy stash to a girl in a crocheted top who keeps giggling like she doesn’t understand a word.

the circle splinters. the warmth disperses. the night, like a bruise, begins to spread.

you lose sight of sukuna in the crowd.

the room gets louder. people you don’t know start filtering in. loud boys in snapbacks yelling about beer pong. girls in glitter boots clacking across the hardwood like they own the place. someone walks by with a bong shaped like pikachu and a glowstick necklace that makes your eyes hurt.

it’s not that you don’t want to be here. it’s that you suddenly feel like you’re watching it all through glass. like you’re not in the room anymore. just near it.

you slip away. quietly.

~

the kitchen is cooler than the rest of the house, the hum of the fridge a steady drone underneath the bass. you lean against the counter, press your palms into the tile. you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the silence makes your ears ring.

then,

“you gonna pretend i’m not here all night?”

you freeze.

you don’t need to look to know who it is.

that voice always comes just after you start to forget it. low, lazy, soft with smoke and something sharp underneath.

sukuna.

you inhale slow, steady. then turn.

he’s leaning against the counter like it’s a throne. one hand braced on it. the other running through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the night. his eyes are heavy-lidded. glossy. the slow drawl in his voice tells you what you already know.

he’s high. probably drunk. maybe both.

he’s beautiful in that unbearable way he always is, like a nightmare you mistake for a dream.

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

he raises his eyebrows like that’s the joke. “didn’t even look at me,” he says, voice dipped in that honey-slick sarcasm. “kinda hurts.”

you let out a breathless laugh. cold. “didn’t know you could feel pain.”

he snorts, like he expected that. “guess you bring it out in me.”

the music from the living room pulses through the walls, muffled and rhythmic like a heartbeat you can’t trust.

you cross your arms. “you high?”

“little bit.”

you nod. “figures.”

he shrugs. “you looked good tonight.”

it’s casual. too casual. like it costs him nothing to say it. but the way his gaze flickers over you, slow, warm, like he’s memorizing you, that betrays him.

your stomach flips. you hate that it still reacts to him. that your body remembers every place he’s touched even when your brain is begging you to forget.

you steady your voice. “that why you ignored me?”

he blinks. “i didn’t ignore you.”

“you didn’t look at me,” you say, softer now. “not once.”

he tilts his head like a dog hearing a strange sound. “would that have made a difference?”

you swallow. “not to you, probably.”

and there it is, the flicker in his eyes.

brief. but real.

like he didn’t expect you to say that. like it hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

he pushes off the counter. takes a step forward. then another.

too close. always too close.

his voice drops low. “don’t do that.”

you meet his gaze. “do what?”

“don’t act like you don’t know i care.”

you laugh. it’s not kind. it sounds like heartbreak breaking in reverse. “do you?”

“i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

“you’re here,” you say slowly, “because you always come back when the buzz wears off. when you’re bored. when it’s dark and quiet and you remember i’m soft.”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t deny it.

you go on, voice barely above a whisper. “you only show up when you want something. and i keep letting you.”

he stares at you. there’s a crack forming in his expression, small, hairline, but there, then he says it, just one word.

“yeah.”

no apology, no excuses, no fix, just that.

and somehow that hurts worse than all the lies he could’ve told.

you drop your gaze, chest tight.

the silence between you is thick with everything you’ve never said. everything he’ll never give you.

after another awkward silence you're interrupted by a voice.

“didn’t think i’d find you in here.” you both turn, yuki is standing in the doorway, hip cocked, drink in one hand, the other braced against the frame like she’s leaning into a scene she’s already seen too many times.

her gaze flickers between you and sukuna. calm. sharp.

“you good?” she asks you directly.

you nod. automatically.

she hums. doesn’t buy it.

she steps into the kitchen, slow and easy, like a tiger circling a campfire. her eyes settle on sukuna. “didn’t peg you for the type to haunt kitchens like a ghost with unfinished business.”

sukuna scoffs. “didn’t peg you for the type to care.”

“don’t,” yuki says, voice crisp, “mistake my presence for forgiveness.”

he doesn’t reply. but he holds her gaze.

she walks past him, pours herself another drink, doesn’t bother asking. then turns back to you.

“you want me to stay?”

it’s a soft question. one you feel all the way down.

you think about saying yes. about grabbing her hand and letting her drag you back to the circle, where maki will make you laugh and choso will roll his eyes and shoko will hand you something that tastes like pain and nostalgia.

but you don’t.

you shake your head.

yuki nods. doesn’t push. “come find me if he says anything stupid.”

then she leans in, kisses your temple, warm, steady, and says, low enough that only you hear:

“you don’t owe him anything. not even your silence.”

and just like that, she’s gone, and you’re left with him again.

sukuna is quiet now. the tension that always coils around him is looser, but not gone.

he watches you.

you watch the floor.

then you speak.

“i think i wanted you to fight for me.”

he closes his eyes for a beat. then opens them. “that’s not something i’m good at.”

you nod.

“i know.”

silence, heavy and final.

you brush past him. he doesn’t stop you.

doesn’t even move.

~

you leave before it gets too late. before you can talk yourself into staying. before sukuna can kiss you like a promise he’ll never keep.

choso finds you on your way out. he wraps you in a hug, tight and lingering.

“you okay?” he murmurs.

“yeah,” you lie.

he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t say so.

he just presses something into your hand. a shirt you must of left in his room, the one you left the last time sukuna ghosted you after 2am.

“text me when you’re home,” he says.

you nod.

you glance back once, just once, and see them through the window:

gojo dancing stupidly with a bottle of tequila. suguru with his phone flashlight on, filming it like it’s high art. maki yelling at shoko, who’s dumping popcorn in someone’s drink. yuki standing near the back…

~

the party ends slow. like the last drag of a cigarette, burnt out, bitter, and a little too quiet. music still thumps from inside choso’s place, muffled through the walls, but the energy has thinned out. people are either too drunk to notice or already stumbling home with the wrong shoes and the wrong names.

gojo’s the one who calls it. “yo, let’s dip,” he says, slinging an arm around sukuna’s shoulders like he always does, loose and lazy, like he owns the world and you’re lucky to be living in it. suguru’s behind them, silent and steady, hoodie pulled up and smelling like weed and sandalwood. they leave without saying goodbye to anyone. that’s kind of their thing.

outside, it’s humid. the kind of summer night that sticks to your skin and makes the air taste like sweat and smoke. sukuna’s already lighting another cigarette, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. he doesn’t offer one to gojo or suguru. he doesn’t need to. gojo’s got a vape in one pocket and a flask in the other, and suguru doesn’t need anything to look high. he just always does.

they don’t talk much on the walk back to the frat house. it’s not far. five blocks, maybe. quiet streets and broken streetlights. gojo’s whistling something off-beat. sukuna’s got his hands in his pockets. suguru hums low under his breath, something old and haunting.

when they get back, the house is dead. empty beer cans in the grass. some kid passed out on the porch. the usual. sukuna steps over him without blinking. gojo kicks the kid’s leg, laughs when he groans. suguru opens the front door and lets it creak.

they go upstairs, past the chaos of the main floor, past the girls’ hoodies still draped on the railing and the smell of stale liquor clinging to the carpet. third floor. the balcony. sukuna’s spot.

it’s dark out there. just a sliver of moonlight and the distant flicker of someone else’s backyard party. sukuna leans against the railing. suguru drops into the broken plastic lawn chair. gojo pulls out a blunt from somewhere deep in his jacket and waves it like a magic trick. “you’re welcome,” he says, sticking it between his teeth.

sukuna exhales slow. smoke curls up into the sky. “what, you want a medal?”

“nah. just a thank you and maybe a little kiss on the mouth.”

suguru snorts. sukuna rolls his eyes.

they pass the blunt in silence for a bit. the air’s thick with something that isn’t just weed. something quieter. heavier. the kind of shit that settles behind your ribs and makes everything feel too loud even when no one’s talking.

gojo breaks it first.

“so.” he’s watching the street below like he’s waiting for someone to walk by. “you gonna talk about it or do we have to play twenty questions?”

sukuna doesn’t look at him. doesn’t have to. “talk about what?”

gojo tilts his head. his hair’s a mess, sweat sticking to his forehead. he’s still got glitter on his cheek from some girl that kissed him three hours ago. “you know what.”

sukuna flicks ash off the balcony. “nah. i don’t.”

“you and her.”

the silence tightens. suguru shifts, leans back. he’s not getting in the middle of this. he knows better.

sukuna takes another drag. his lips twitch, just barely. “there is no me and her.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

“nah, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

sukuna finally looks at him. his eyes are sharp, red in the moonlight. not angry. just tired. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

“you don’t,” gojo says, shrugging. “but you owe her something.”

sukuna doesn’t say anything.

gojo doesn’t press. not yet. he just lets it hang there, like smoke between them. like a threat.

after a minute, sukuna mutters, “she knew what it was.”

“did she?”

silence again.

gojo sighs. leans his elbows on the railing. “look, i’m not trying to play therapist or whatever. that’s shoko’s job. but you gotta know she’s not like the other girls that come to our parties.”

sukuna scoffs. “i know that.”

“do you?”

he doesn’t answer.

gojo watches him. he’s serious now. which is rare. his voice drops low. not angry. not mocking. just honest. “she’s sweet, man. like… good. not in that fake ‘pick me’ way. like… genuinely good. and you’ve got her looking at you like you’re the sun or some shit.”

sukuna exhales through his nose. “she doesn’t.”

“she does.”

“whatever.”

gojo’s smile fades. “you’re gonna break her.”

sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“you’re already breaking her,” gojo says softer this time. “and i don’t think you want to. i think that’s what’s messing you up.”

for a second, sukuna looks like he might say something. like he might throw the blunt off the balcony or snap gojo’s neck or punch the railing until it splinters.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he says, “i didn’t mean to.”

gojo blinks. a little surprised. but he doesn’t let it show.

“i didn’t plan for any of this,” sukuna says, voice low, rough. “she was just… there. and then she wasn’t just there. she was everywhere. all of a sudden.”

gojo nods.

“i don’t do feelings,” sukuna mutters, like it’s a confession. “i don’t do this.”

“yeah, no shit.”

sukuna glares at him. gojo raises his hands, grinning.

“look,” gojo says. “i get it. you don’t wanna hurt her. you’re scared. whatever. but stringing her along? pretending she’s just some random girl you fuck when she’s clearly not? that’s worse.”

“i know,” sukuna snaps. then softer, almost like he hates himself for it—“i know.”

they go quiet again.

suguru lights another joint.

gojo leans his head back and stares at the stars. they’re faint out here. hidden behind pollution and bad choices.

“you like her?” he asks, sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

“…yeah.”

“how much?”

“too much.”

gojo grins. “gross.”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“so what now?” gojo asks. “you gonna keep acting like a cold asshole? or maybe try something new, like honesty.”

“it’s not that easy.”

“yeah, it is. you just say what you feel. preferably with your mouth and not your dick.”

sukuna doesn’t laugh, but his lips twitch again. that almost-smile he gets when he’s trying not to admit he finds gojo funny.

gojo turns to him, cocky glint in his eye now. “look, i’m just saying, if you don’t treat her right…”

he pauses. lets it hang there.

“…i will.”

sukuna snorts. “shut the fuck up.”

“i’m serious.”

“you couldn’t handle her.”

gojo grins. “oh, i could. and you know it.”

they’re both smiling now. but underneath it, there’s something sharp. something real.

a warning.

sukuna finishes his cigarette. flicks it over the railing. watches the ember fade in the grass.

“i’m not gonna let her go,” he says finally. “but i don’t know how to keep her either.”

gojo looks at him. really looks. “figure it out. before someone else does.”

the stars above them don’t offer any answers. but maybe that’s okay.

they stay out there a little longer. talking about everything and nothing. until the night bleeds into morning and the city starts to yawn.

and somewhere, not too far away, you’re still thinking about him. still waiting.

and maybe now, maybe finally, he’s starting to realize what that means.

~

mondays economic class.

he’s sitting in the back again.

legs spread like the seat was made for him, hood up, sunglasses on even though they’re indoors and the windows are closed. he hasn’t looked at you once. not during roll call, not during the lecture, not even when the professor called on him to answer a question about marginal cost and he replied with a deadpan, “pass.”

you hate him.

you hate that you’re still thinking about him even as you type notes you’ll never read again.

you hate that you still notice the way his fingers tap against the desk like he’s impatient with the whole world. you hate that you can’t forget what those hands feel like on your hips. you hate the weight of his gaze—when it’s on you, when it’s not. it doesn’t matter. he’s in your head either way.

you scroll back in your notes, realize you’ve written the same sentence three times.

you sigh. close your laptop. rest your chin in your hand and stare at the front of the class.

you didn’t even wear anything cute today. you’re in sweats. your hair’s a mess. you didn’t think he’d be here—he barely comes to econ unless he needs to cheat off someone’s midterm. so why does it feel like your heart’s pounding just because he’s breathing the same air?

you glance back, like you can help yourself.

he’s leaned back in his chair, chewing on the end of a pen. his eyes are behind his sunglasses but you know, you know, he’s watching you too.

god.

you hate that he gets to do this to you.

he fucked you once and now he gets to haunt your life like some ghost with a nicotine addiction and a fratboy attitude. it’s been months. and somehow, you’re still here. still hoping for more. still checking your phone for messages that don’t come.

you tell yourself you’re over it. you lie, the class ends. people start packing up. zippers and shuffling and half-asleep small talk.

you gather your things slow. give yourself a moment to breathe. you don’t want to walk past him. you don’t want to look like you’re trying. you don’t want to care, but you do.

you head for the door. keep your head down.

you almost make it.

but just as you step into the hallway, a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you sideways, into a side corridor no one uses, behind a column of lockers, where the lights flicker and the air smells like dust and old paper.

you already know who it is.

“sukuna,” you breathe, not quite surprised.

he looks at you like he’s bored. like this is a chore. like he didn’t just corner you like a secret. “hey.”

you try not to let your voice shake. “what do you want?”

he shrugs. leans a shoulder against the wall. everything about him is infuriatingly casual, like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. “you wanna come over?”

you blink. “…now?”

“yeah.”

he doesn’t elaborate.

you shift your weight, heart pounding. “why?”

his jaw flexes. “you know why.”

and yeah. you do.

you look up at him. his face is unreadable. dark eyes under his hood, mouth set in a line that’s too hard to call a smile. he looks tired. he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. he looks like the last time he touched you is still on his fingertips.

you shouldn’t.

you shouldn’t.

but god, he’s looking at you like he wants you again, and it’s been so long since he’s looked at you like anything at all. and you’re weak. and stupid. and still in love with a boy who never says your name unless he’s dragging it out of you in bed.

“…okay,” you whisper.

he nods like he expected you to say yes.

~

his room’s dark. always is. it smells like weed and cologne and something distinctly him. the sheets are still messy from the last time he was here, probably with someone else.

you don’t ask.

he doesn’t offer.

he locks the door behind you, tosses his hoodie to the floor, lights a cigarette and leans against his desk like he’s thinking. like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that won’t come out.

you stand awkwardly near the bed. your fingers twitch. you almost ask him what’s wrong. you almost ask him if he’s okay. you almost ask—

“you look tired,” he says instead, like it’s the only thing he knows how to offer you. you laugh, quiet. “yeah. i am.”

he stares at you. exhales smoke through his nose. walks over, slow, until he’s standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell the nicotine and aftershave and the faint scent of whatever cheap shampoo he uses.

he reaches out. brushes your cheek with the back of his hand. something in your chest pulls tight.

“you’re still sweet,” he mutters. “even now.”

you swallow hard. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he doesn’t answer.

inside his head, he’s screaming.

'tell her you think about her all the time.

tell her you can’t stop dreaming about her mouth.

tell her it’s been eating you alive that you made her feel disposable.

tell her you miss her. tell her you’re sorry. tell her—'

“take your shirt off,” he says instead.

and you do.

of course you do.

because that’s what you do when it comes to sukuna. you say yes even when you mean no. you give him pieces of yourself like they’re nothing, just hoping one day he’ll realize how much they cost you.

he kisses you like he’s angry. hands rough. mouth hungry. he kisses you like he’s trying to say all the things he’s too much of a coward to say out loud.

you let him.

you let him use your body as a place to bury his feelings.

you let yourself pretend it means something.

he fucks you like he’s punishing himself.

like he’s trying to carve you into his skin, leave a mark deeper than anything words could say.

your back hits the mattress and he’s on you in a breath, mouth everywhere, hands urgent, grip bruising. his rings drag down your ribs, your hips, your thighs, leaving fire in their wake. his teeth scrape your collarbone. he bites your neck, your shoulder, your chest, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

you moan for him. soft. breathy. helpless.

and god, the way he reacts, like your sounds are gasoline. like they’re unraveling whatever threadbare control he’s got left.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, baby. you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you want to ask what that means.

but then he’s pushing inside you — rough, deep, unforgiving — and the question dies on your tongue.

you gasp. arch. dig your nails into his shoulders.

he groans like he’s in pain. like being inside you is the only thing that makes him feel human.

“always so tight for me,” he mutters against your mouth. “like your body fucking knows who it belongs to.”

you shouldn’t let him say things like that. not when you both know it’s not real. not when you know he’ll go cold again once the high fades.

but you nod anyway. whisper, “yes.”

because in this moment, in this darkness, you do belong to him.

he fucks you slow at first. deliberate. deep enough to make your toes curl. he presses his forehead to yours. watches your face. watches the way you fall apart just for him.

“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this.”

his hand wraps around your throat, just enough to make your breath hitch. not enough to hurt. just enough to say mine.

he kisses you again, messy, possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to crawl inside you. like he’s trying to make you forget any name that isn’t his.

and you let him, you always let him.

his pace gets rougher. harder. the headboard slams the wall and you don’t care. you’re shaking. sweating. whispering his name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

“sukuna—” you gasp. “i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby?” he pants, fucking you through it. “you gonna come for me? make a mess all over my cock?”

you nod. cry out. your body tenses, then shatters.

you fall apart beneath him, and when you do — when you come with your whole heart in it — something in his face breaks.

his rhythm stutters. his jaw clenches. his breath catches like he’s never seen anything more devastating than you loving him out loud without saying a word.

he finishes with a groan. deep. guttural. like it hurts him.

and maybe it does.

because when he pulls out, he doesn’t speak.

he just collapses beside you. chest heaving. jaw clenched.

and you both lie there in the dark, skin slick, hearts racing, silence choking, pretending it didn’t mean everything.

afterward, he doesn’t say much. he smokes while you lay on your side, back to him, eyes fixed on the crack in the wall.

he wants to reach out. wants to trace his fingers down your spine. wants to ask if you’re okay. wants to say i’m sorry i don’t know how to love you right.

but all he says is:

“you can sleep here if you want.”

you don’t answer.

you fall asleep anyway.

he stays awake long after you’ve started dreaming.

'fuck.'

~

the door creaks when you open it.

you wince, glancing back at sukuna’s bed. he’s asleep, sprawled on his stomach, breathing deep. the sheets are tangled around his waist. his hand is stretched toward where you were laying minutes ago.

you leave anyway.

your sweater is inside-out and you don’t bother fixing it. you don’t look in a mirror. you don’t even grab your shoes. the floorboards are cold, but you move quiet. like a secret. like a ghost.

you’ve done this before.

the house is quiet. mostly. there’s a low hum from the fridge and the drip of the bathroom sink down the hall. you turn the corner into the kitchen, eyes blurry, mind fogged, and stop short when you see… gojo?

gojo satoru. shirtless. sleep-mussed. drinking orange juice straight from the bottle.

he freezes. you freeze.

“…uh,” he says, mid-sip.

“…hi,” you whisper, not really sure why.

he lowers the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “i wasn’t expecting company.”

“i wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake.”

he looks at you then. really looks, eyes narrowing.

taking in the state of you, your hoodie, half-zipped. your hair, messy. your bare feet. the too-quiet look in your eyes.

“…he do something?” he asks, voice low, unusually serious.

you blink. “no. no, i just—”

but the words don’t come. you shake your head instead. try to smile. it doesn’t stick.

gojo doesn’t push. he just sets the orange juice down and hops up on the counter, like he’s settling in for something. “you want tea? or whiskey? or, like… both?”

you laugh, soft. “just water’s fine.”

he nods. gets up. finds a glass. fills it. hands it to you without meeting your eyes.

you sip slowly. the silence stretches.

“…you’re not gonna ask?” you murmur.

“not yet,” he says, sitting back down.

“trying to be cool.”

you glance at him. “you’re not very good at that.”

he grins, a little sheepish. “yeah, i know.”

another beat. you lean against the fridge. hugging yourself. “he didn’t kick me out. i just… didn’t wanna stay.”

“because?”

you swallow.

“because it hurts.”

that gets his attention.

his smile fades. his whole posture shifts, shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands curling around the edge of the counter. he looks like he wants to say something sharp, but reins it in.

instead, he says, quiet: “he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you look at him. “what does that mean?”

gojo shrugs, but it’s a lie. “it means you’re not like the other girls. you’re not easy to forget. and sukuna…” he sighs. runs a hand through his hair. “sukuna likes things he can throw away. he doesn’t know what to do with something real.”

you stare at your water. “i don’t even think he likes me.”

“he does,” gojo says immediately. then catches himself. “i mean—he feels something. he wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t. that guy doesn’t even keep leftovers.”

you almost smile.

gojo swings his legs a little, like a kid. “look, i’m not… i’m not good at this. feelings. girl stuff. crying. whatever.” he gestures vaguely at you. “but i know you’re too good for this. you’ve got this… i don’t know. softness.”

you raise a brow. “softness?”

“yeah. like. you care about people. even when they don’t deserve it.” he scratches the back of his neck. “it’s rare. makes you a good person. but it also makes you a really easy target for people like him.”

you’re quiet.

“i’m not saying sukuna’s evil or anything,” gojo adds. “he’s just… scared.”

“of what?”

“of being known. of letting anyone close. of you seeing all the ways he’s already fucked up and leaving him for it.”

“…i wouldn’t.”

“i know that,” gojo says. “you know that. he doesn’t. he grew up thinking love was a weakness. that closeness meant pain.”

you stare at the floor.

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work,” he says gently.

and it hits you like a slap.

you sit down at the little kitchen table. press your palms into your eyes. “why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

gojo’s smile is sad. “because you’re the one who feels the most.”

silence again. this time thicker.

gojo watches you. watches the way you hunch your shoulders. the way you’re trying not to cry. the way your fingers tremble around your water glass.

inside, he’s fuming.

because he likes you. not romantically. not like that. but in the way a big brother likes his little sister’s best friend. in the way a guy who’s been in the game too long recognizes something rare and soft and good,and wants to keep it that way.

he remembers the first time he saw you. walking into their party with maki, eyes wide, sweater too big. he remembers thinking: she doesn’t belong here.

and now you’re sitting in their shitty kitchen in the dark, heart bruised, eyes tired, wearing his best friend’s hoodie and nothing else.

and he feels like he failed you.

“hey,” he says, softer now. “can i tell you something?”

you nod.

“if you ever decide you’re done… like, really done. if you ever stop waiting for him to grow up… i hope you find someone who deserves you.”

your voice is quiet. “you think he never will?”

gojo shrugs. “i think he might. i just don’t know if it’ll be soon enough.”

you bite your lip. look away.

he hesitates. then grins—teasing, but there’s something pointed underneath it.

“…and if he doesn’t figure it out?”

you glance back at him.

he winks.

“maybe i will.”

you laugh—really laugh—for the first time that night.

“shut up.”

“i’m just saying. i’m tall as fuck. hot. emotionally available.”

“you’re not emotionally available.”

“okay, but i pretend really well.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in it now.

gojo stands. ruffles your hair. “come crash in my room. i’ll take the floor. you can take the bed. no weirdness, just… company.”

you hesitate.

but you’re so tired. and gojo’s safe. and you can’t go back upstairs.

“…okay.”

“cool,” he says, and grabs his juice on the way out. “also. if you hear any weird noises in the walls? that’s just nanami. he lives in the vents.”

you blink. “what—?”

“long story,” gojo says, already walking away. “come on.”

you follow him down the hall.

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel so alone.

~

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, sukuna was closer than you’d thought.

he hears her laugh before he hears her voice.

soft. almost shy. tired in a way that isn’t about sleep.

sukuna leans against the wall at the end of the hallway, just out of sight. cigarette burning slow between his fingers. his hoodie half-zipped, throat dry.

he hadn’t meant to get up.

but he always wakes when she leaves. like his body knows. like something inside him panics when the bed goes cold.

so he got up. quiet. just to see.

and now he’s standing in the dark, eavesdropping like a fucking coward while she sits in the kitchen and talks to gojo.

he can hear her voice low and sad, cracking around the edges. can hear gojo trying to make her laugh, trying to make it okay.

he listens anyway.

even when it hurts.

“why does it feel like i’m always the one getting hurt?”

“because you’re the one who feels the most.”

sukuna exhales smoke, slow. clenches his jaw.

he knows gojo’s not hitting on her. not really. he knows it’s not like that.

but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is that she’s downstairs spilling her heart out to someone else. that she didn’t wake him. that she didn’t stay.

that she left.

and that gojo was the one who made her laugh.

“he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“he uses sex to avoid feelings. you use it to get closer. that’s never gonna work.”

he scoffs. quiet. bitter.

like hell gojo knows him. like hell anyone does.

they don’t know what it’s like to have something good and be too fucked-up to hold it. to want softness and flinch every time it touches you. to love someone in silence because saying it out loud would make it real.

they don’t know what it’s like to want to be better but still ruin everything you touch.

they don’t know him.

he flicks ash to the floor. keeps his back to the wall.

he should be angry. should storm in. tell gojo to back off. tell her to come back upstairs. tell her—

tell her what?

that he felt something? that he missed her the second she slipped out of bed? that he hates the way she makes him feel like there’s still a heart in his chest worth breaking?

no. instead, he presses the cigarette to his lips, takes a long drag and walks silently back upstairs. because it’s easier to leave than admit you care.

it’s easier to pretend you didn’t hear it.

it’s easier to be the villain than try to be anything else.the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

the bed is cold.

he doesn’t sleep.

~

~

“wait, wait, so you’re telling me you failed your chem midterm because you got too high and thought the beaker was flirting with you?”

choso shrugs, dragging a fry through a sad puddle of ketchup. “not flirting. just… vibing.”

you snort into your drink, shoulders shaking. “you vibed with a glass container and flunked stoichiometry?”

“the beaker started it.”

the table erupts with laughter. maki bangs her fist against the wood. “you’re such a freak.”

“hey,” choso says, mouth full, totally unbothered. “i passed the retake. c’s get degrees.”

you’re sitting at a picnic table behind the campus dining hall, where the sun cuts through gaps in the tree canopy and everyone’s pretending it’s not a monday. someone smuggled beers in gojo’s oversized backpack (probably him), and there’s music playing low from geto’s speaker, something beachy and stupid and perfect for pretending your life isn’t a mess.

it’s the full crew today. rare. loud.

gojo’s got on sunglasses even though you’re in the shade, and he keeps pulling dumb faces behind them. shoko’s halfway asleep with her feet in suguru’s lap. maki is chain-eating sweet potato fries while ruthlessly cyberbullying nanami for being too good at Wordle. yuki’s got a cherry lollipop between her teeth and is quizzing you about your classes, occasionally pausing to threaten to beat up your econ professor for “crimes against women.”

and sukuna—

sits at the far end of the mat, leaning back on his hands, shoulders tense, smoking slowly. saying nothing.

i mean, at least he came?

you haven’t spoken to him since you slipped out of his bed this morning. since you wandered barefoot into the kitchen and laughed with gojo until you felt human again.

now you’re sitting between gojo and choso, sipping lemonade like you’re not thinking about it. like you’re not wondering if he notices. if he cares. (he does. not that he’ll say it.)

“so,” gojo says, nudging your elbow. “have you seen that econ TA since the last midterm? the one with the man bun?”

you groan. “don’t remind me.” maki perks up. “what did you do?”

you bury your face in your hands. “i thought he was just some guy in the hallway and told him his fly was down.”

gojo cackles. “was it?”

“unfortunately, yes.”

yuki whistles. “bold of him to teach supply and demand with his dick out.”

“stop—”

“i won’t,” yuki says, pointing her lollipop at you like a mic. “queen behavior. you saw something, you said something. brave.”

“heroic,” maki adds.

“horny,” suguru mutters.

“you would know,” shoko mumbles, eyes still closed.

the table descends into delighted chaos again, voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright. you lean into choso’s shoulder, still grinning, cheeks warm. this — this moment — feels like breathing after being underwater. like coming up for air.

you feel normal. safe.

but you don’t miss the way sukuna’s jaw ticks as he stubs out his cigarette. or the way he keeps glancing at you from beneath his lashes, pink hair falling in his eyes, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s holding something in.

something that’s starting to crack.

from the corner of your eye you catch suguru leaning towards sukuna.

“you good?” he asks, looking down the mat.

sukuna doesn’t answer.

he lights another cigarette instead.

“you’ve had, like, four of those already,” shoko says, dry. “gonna give yourself cancer and a bigger attitude.”

gojo snorts. maki snickers.

sukuna exhales smoke toward the trees. “you want me to light one for you too, doc?”

shoko raises a brow. “i only diagnose, baby. not treat.”

the group titters again, but sukuna isn’t smiling. his gaze flicks across the mat — past gojo’s shit-eating grin, past maki’s teasing smirk, past you.

his voice comes out flat. “then shut the fuck up.”

the laughter stutters. dies.

you glance at him, startled.

shoko just blinks. “you always get this bitchy when your vape dies?”

“maybe he’s cranky ’cause someone didn’t say good morning,” gojo mutters, too quiet for most to hear — but sukuna hears it. you hear it.

your stomach drops.

sukuna stiffens, slow and cold. “the fuck did you just say?”

gojo shrugs, casual. “just saying. might’ve helped. sunshine and rainbows. breakfast in bed. a little serotonin.”

“don’t start.”

“not starting anything,” gojo says, smile sharp. “just making conversation.”

“then maybe shut your mouth.”

“jesus christ,” maki says under her breath. “chill.”

“no, really,” sukuna snaps, eyes narrowed. “why are you talking, satoru? you want her to climb into yourbed next time?”

the table freezes.

you flinch.

gojo’s grin falters, just a second — then returns, brittle and bright. “damn. someone’s projecting.”

“fuck off.”

“no, seriously. you get all bent out of shape the second she talks to someone else—”

“shut up.”

your voice cuts through the noise.

everyone turns to you. eyes wide.

you’re trembling.

“just—stop it,” you say, softer now. “you’re talking about me like i’m not sitting right here.”

silence.

sukuna looks at you like you’ve slapped him. maybe you have. metaphorically. emotionally. whatever. he goes still, face unreadable, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

you swallow. “if you’ve got something to say to me, say it. don’t take it out on everyone else.”

no response.

just a quiet, dangerous inhale. smoke curling from his lips.

you shake your head and scoff. the silence stretches — too long.

awkward. loaded. sharp as glass.

until choso clears his throat. “well,” he says, a little too loud, clapping his hands together like he’s brushing off the tension. “that was fun. but also maybe we all need to get blackout drunk and pretend none of this ever happened.”

maki snorts. “best idea you’ve ever had.”

“i’m serious,” choso says, pulling out his phone. “i was gonna wait, but whatever. we’re throwing a rager this weekend. big one. everyone’s invited. bring whoever, just don’t break my fucking windows this time.”

gojo perks up immediately. “you mean like… priject x kind of rager?”

“like ‘campus cops get called and ignore it because they’re scared’ kind of rager,” choso says, grinning.

“fuck yes,” yuki says, leaning back on her elbows. “i haven’t blacked out and woken up next to someone emotionally unavailable in weeks.”

“i thought you were seeing someone,” shoko says.

“i am,” yuki shrugs. “he’s just out of town.”

everyone laughs. it breaks the tension. just a little.

suguru raises a brow. “you sure your house can handle it?”

choso grins. “nope. but that’s the fun.”

“i’m in,” gojo says immediately. “i’ll bring ket, just got some for free off this blonde sorority girl i boned-.”

“gojo shut the fuck up,” maki says.

“aww,” gojo replies, smug.

you force a smile. nod. “yeah. sounds fun.”

choso glances at you, gently bumping your knee under the table.

you bump him back.

even sukuna mutters something that sounds vaguely like “whatever.” which, from him, is practically an rsvp.

everyone starts packing up. wrappers and half-empty cups, chattering and laughing as they get to their feet. the afternoon sun is mellow now, casting soft gold over everything. it should feel easy. warm.

but when you glance over at sukuna, he’s already standing. already walking away.

you step toward him, hesitant. “hey—”

he doesn’t stop.

doesn’t even look at you.

just shrugs. “don’t.”

your mouth opens. closes. something twists in your chest.

“i just… i thought maybe we could talk,” you say, softer now. quieter. just for him.

he slows. barely. the wind tugs at the hem of his hoodie. he looks over his shoulder, eyes cold and unreadable.

“what’s there to talk about?” he says.

it’s cold. effortless. the kind of line someone drops when they’re already halfway out the door.

you stand there, hands loosely curled at your sides, trying not to look as stupid as you feel. “sukuna…”

he finally looks at you.

and it’s worse than him not looking at all.

his expression is blank. not cruel, just tired. unreadable. like you’re just another thing he has to deal with. like this — whatever this is — doesn’t live under his skin the way it lives under yours.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters.

“i don’t want you to say anything,” you say quietly. “i want you to be honest.”

he scoffs. looks away, runs a hand through his hair. you catch the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants a cigarette but doesn’t light one.

you step closer, not touching him. just enough so you’re in his space. maybe trying to remind him that this matters. that you matter.

“you look at me like i mean something,” you whisper. “and then you act like i don’t. like i’m a problem you never meant to have.”

his mouth twitches. but he says nothing.

“we sleep together,” you go on. voice soft, cracking at the edges. “and i know it doesn't mean nothing. not for me. not the way you look at me. not the way you touch me.”

his shoulders tense.

“you’re not like this with everyone,” you say. “you’re not cold like this unless you’re trying to hide something.”

“don’t start,” he mutters.

“start what?” you say, heart racing. “caring? because i do. and i know you do, too. even if you won’t say it. even if it scares you.”

that hits something. he flinches like the words sting.

and then — nothing. a breath. a long silence.

“you don’t know me,” he says.

it’s quiet. vicious. said without heat, but it lands like a slap.

your throat tightens. “i think i do.”

“you don’t,” he snaps, louder now. “you don’t know anything about me. you think you do because i fuck around with you every now and then — and that was a mistake.”

you flinch. physically step back.

his eyes dart away, jaw locked. you see the panic in the way he won’t meet your gaze. like he hates himself even as he says it.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say, barely above a whisper. “i just wanted you.” he says nothing. just stands there, staring at the grass, at the sky, anywhere but you.

you swallow. blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “i’ll stop. if that’s what you want. just… tell me.”

for a second, you think he might. you think he might give in. say something real, but then he looks at you, and it’s gone.

the softness. the almost, he shrugs. “do what you want." and with that, he turns and walks away.

you don’t stop him, don’t cry, you just stand there in the sunlight, hands trembling, heart cracking, watching him disappear like he always does.

~

the screen door slams behind him hard enough to shake the frame.

sukuna storms into the kitchen, kicks a chair out of his way, and yanks open the fridge with the kind of force that screams unresolved issues. there’s nothing in there but a half-empty bottle of orange gatorade and someone’s leftover pasta.

he grabs a beer instead. cracks it open without looking. downs half of it in one go.

“yo,” gojo calls from the living room. “there he is. you get lost or something?”

“yeah,” geto adds, laid out across the couch with his phone in his hand. “thought you died or ran off with some groupie.”

sukuna doesn’t answer. just slams the fridge shut and leans against the counter, eyes dark.

gojo appears in the doorway a second later. grinning, barefoot, stupidly beautiful in that careless, smug way that always makes sukuna want to punch him. “what, the picnic get a little too emotional for you?”

“fuck off.”

gojo raises a brow. “whoa. easy, killer.”

geto looks up from his phone. “damn. he’s brooding. who pissed in your cheerios?”

sukuna glares. “both of you need to shut the fuck up.”

gojo snorts. “jesus. what crawled up your ass?”

“i said shut the fuck up,” sukuna snaps, voice sharp and ugly. “don’t make me say it again.”

gojo tilts his head. his grin fades just slightly. “what’s your problem, man?”

“you’re my fucking problem,” sukuna spits.

geto whistles low under his breath. “okay.”

gojo blinks. “me?”

“yeah, you. always looking at her. always acting like you give a shit.”

“maybe i do,” gojo says, folding his arms.

sukuna shoves off the counter. closes the distance fast. “then why don’t you fuck her?”

geto sits up.

gojo’s smile drops.

sukuna’s breathing hard. eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “you want her so bad, right? always hovering. always asking about her. if you’re so worried, go fuck her.”

gojo’s mouth twitches. not a smile this time. something colder. “you think this is about fucking?”

“you want her,” sukuna growls. “don’t pretend you don’t.”

“of course i fucking want her,” gojo snaps, stepping in close. their chests almost touch. “you think i’m blind? you think anyone’s blind? she’s the best fucking thing to walk into our lives, and you treat her like trash.”

sukuna shoves him.

gojo stumbles back half a step, then laughs. “hit a nerve?”

“don’t talk like you know anything,” sukuna says, low and mean.

gojo’s face twists. “i know enough. i know she looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. and you look at her like she’s a mistake.”

“shut up.”

“you’re not scared to lose her,” gojo says. “you’re scared you already have, and you’re too much of a coward to fix it.”

sukuna grabs his shirt. fists it in both hands. “say one more word.”

“you wanna hit me?” gojo challenges. “go ahead. but it won’t make her stop crying about you. it won’t make her stop waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.”

“fuck you.”

“you already said that,” gojo says, eyes gleaming. “try something new.”

sukuna shoves him hard. gojo crashes back against the wall, laughing like he’s enjoying this. like the fight is foreplay.

geto sighs loudly from the couch. “jesus christ. this is the most homoerotic thing i’ve seen all week.”

“shut up, suguru,” both of them snap at once.

geto just sips from a water bottle and settles in like he’s watching an hbo original.

gojo wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. there’s no blood, but it feels close. he’s breathing hard now, too. “you think you’re the only one who could’ve had her?”

sukuna freezes.

gojo steps forward, lower now. his voice a little quieter, sharper. “you think i couldn’t have kissed her that night in the kitchen? when she looked at me like she wanted to fall apart? you think i haven’t had the chance to touch her? to fuck her?”

something ugly twists in sukuna’s gut. his jaw ticks. “then why didn’t you?”

gojo stares him down.

“because she’s in love with you, you fucking idiot,” he says. “and i’m not the type to take advantage of a girl crying over someone else.”

that hits like a punch.

sukuna reels back, lips parted. chest rising and falling too fast. his heart feels like it’s trying to escape.

gojo’s voice is quieter now. lower. almost sad. “she’s too wrapped up in you to see the way you treat her isn’t normal. but i see it. geto sees it. everyone sees it.”

sukuna says nothing.

gojo sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “you don’t deserve her.”

geto stands up, finally. claps a hand on sukuna’s shoulder. “you okay, man?”

sukuna jerks away.

he can’t be in this room anymore.

he storms past them both, heading upstairs without another word.

he slams the door behind him and doesn’t bother locking it.

the room’s a mess, it always is, clothes on the floor, textbooks on the desk collecting dust, ashtray full from three nights ago. he kicks a chair out of the way and collapses into the couch shoved against the wall.

his fingers are shaking when he rolls the joint. it’s not even a clean roll, he’s too pissed for precision, but he lights it anyway. inhales like it’ll kill the thoughts if he burns them fast enough.

it doesn’t.

smoke curls out of his mouth in lazy spirals, and he stares at the ceiling like it might have answers. but all it has is water stains and a crack in the corner that keeps getting bigger. he exhales. slow. watches it fade.

and thinks about you.

fuck.

he should’ve kissed you at the picnic. when you looked at him like that. like he meant something. like you were hurt, but still reaching for him. he should’ve fucking said something. instead, he walked off like a coward. let you stand there in front of everyone, soft and wide-eyed and trying, and all he did was shrug you off. like you didn’t matter.

he ashes the joint into a beer can. stares at the ember. lets his thoughts get loud. why does he do that? why does he push you away like you’re nothing, only to think about you constantly when you’re gone?

you looked so pretty today. he noticed — even though he pretended not to. he always notices. the way your voice goes quiet when you talk to choso, like he’s the only one who really sees you. the way you laugh at gojo’s stupid jokes, but your eyes flick to sukuna like you’re hoping he’ll laugh too. like you’re hoping he’ll give you something.

and he doesn’t.

because he’s fucking scared.

scared that if he lets himself want you out loud, he won’t be able to stop. scared that you’ll look at him the way his father looked at his mother — like love was a leash and a punishment all in one.

scared he’ll ruin you.

because that’s what he does, right?

he ruins things.

gets high. gets laid. ghosts the ones who stay too long. pushes until they leave so he doesn’t have to watch them choose to. you haven’t left yet. and that’s what makes it worse. you stay. even when he hurts you. even when he’s cold. even when he’s drunk at a party and pretends he doesn’t see you standing across the room in a dress that makes his chest ache.

god.

he remembers how you looked that night. the one at choso’s. on the couch, tequila on your tongue, heart in your eyes.

you touched him like you meant it. like he wasn’t just another party boy with a lighter in his back pocket and no soul in his stare, you touched him like he was yours.

he exhales. coughs a little. blinks the sting from his eyes, he can still feel your fingers in his hair, he’s never had that. not really. not the kind of want that runs deep. the kind that leaves bruises you ask for.

but you gave it to him, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.

so he threw it back at you. let it rot. let it sit between you like a loaded gun and dared you to pull the trigger, but you didn’t. you just looked at him today, so sad, like you knew he’d break your heart and you were still hoping he wouldn’t.

like you loved him.

and maybe that’s the part that scares him the most. that you do.

he tips his head back against the wall. closes his eyes, takes another hit, and thinks about what it would be like if he were someone else.

someone better, someone whole, someone who could say it back,vsomeone who could hold you in public. let you fall asleep in his bed and mean it when he said stay.

but he’s not.

he’s just him.

all rough edges and bad decisions. full of want and fear and ugly things he doesn’t know how to name, and you — you’re everything soft. everything gentle. everything he doesn’t deserve, but fuck, he wants you anyway. more than he’s ever wanted anything.

he ashes the joint again and stares at the wall. and for the first time in a long time,

he feels like crying.

~

you’re sitting cross-legged on yuki’s bedroom floor, eyeliner in one hand and heartbreak in the other.

“i just feel stupid,” you mutter, carefully lining your waterline in the mirror she propped against the bed. “like… i know he's a dick yuki but it still hurts.”

the girl in question is sprawled out on her stomach, applying highlighter with the kind of nonchalant ease that makes her look like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. “you’re not stupid,” she says, voice soft, “you’re just in love with a boy who’s emotionally fucked up and terrified of intimacy.”

you snort.

“i’m serious,” she adds, rolling onto her side to face you. “sukuna is the human version of a locked file. password protected. probably booby-trapped. and yet here you are, trying to romance him with your full heart and soft eyes.”

“it’s like i’m trying to love a brick wall.”

“a hot brick wall. with great arms.”

you laugh despite yourself. “and a great dick... wait, hey! don’t gas him up.”

yuki grins. “i’m just saying. if you’re gonna have your heartbroken by anyone, at least it’s by someone with good bone structure.”

you finish your eyeliner, lips pressed tight. “you think he feels anything for me?”

yuki pauses. looks at you. “i think he feels a lot. i think that’s the problem.”

you don’t respond. just sit in the quiet buzz of your own nerves as she helps you fix your hair.

by the time you both finally leave, it’s past eleven, and the party’s already in full swing.

or, more accurately, it’s a fucking riot.

cars lined down the block. bass shaking the pavement. the frat house looks like it’s about to combust, people hanging off the porch railing, lights flickering through the upstairs windows, the whole front yard packed with bodies and booze and cigarette smoke.

you’re barely through the door when you get bumped into, hard.

“jesus,” yuki mutters, grabbing your wrist so you don’t get pulled away. “this is worse than i thought.”

inside, it’s chaos.

liquor spilled on hardwood. sweaty bodies pressed together. someone already passed out on the stairs with sharpie all over their face. strobe lights flash in the living room, where people are dancing like they’ve never heard the word tomorrow.

it smells like weed, beer, and cologne — heavy and dizzying.

you spot gojo first, shirt half-unbuttoned, pouring tequila directly into someone’s mouth on the kitchen counter. he’s laughing so hard he nearly drops the bottle.

maki’s by the fridge with shoko, both leaning against the door like it’s the only thing keeping them upright. shoko looks bored. maki looks hammered — but still effortlessly hot in a cropped corset and leather pants.

and sukuna —

god.

he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread, head tipped back, a blunt in his fingers and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor.

he’s wearing that stupid silver chain and a black tee stretched across his chest like it’s painted on. eyes half-lidded. hair tousled. cheeks a little flushed.

he looks fucked up.

high as a kite. drunk as hell. somewhere between earth and oblivion.

and he still manages to look right at you like he owns you.

you blink. look away.

“there you are,” choso says, suddenly at your side. he pulls you into a one-armed hug, his voice low in your ear. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“sorry,” you breathe, grateful to see him. “yuki took forever curling her hair.”

“hey,” yuki says behind you, flipping him off.

he just grins and hands you a red solo cup. “you okay?” he leans in a little, lowering his voice. “looks like it’s hitting you.”

you nod, hand gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. “it’s just… packed. i forgot how insane these parties get.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing around. “they started pregaming at like eight. gojo took three shots of fireball in a row and tried to backflip off the couch. shoko had to stop him. it was a whole thing.”

you glance toward the living room where the couch looks like it’s been through a war. “jesus.”

“you wanna go to the backyard?” he offers. “it’s still loud but it’s not, like, madhouseloud.”

“maybe in a sec,” you say. “i need to… settle.”

his gaze softens. “you saw him?”

you nod, eyes flicking again to sukuna, who’s now leaning forward to light his blunt. you can see the way his jaw clenches when he exhales. how his eyes sweep the room like he’s looking for a reason to get in a fight.

“he’s already gone,” you murmur. “i don’t even know if he knows i’m here.”

choso’s quiet for a second. then, gently: “he knows.”

you look at him.

“you look like that,” he says, giving your outfit a subtle once-over. “there’s no way he hasn’t noticed.”

you smile a little. sad. “yeah, but it’s not like he’ll do anything about it.”

choso shrugs. “maybe not. but it’s still driving him crazy. you showing up like this. looking like that. it’s the closest thing to revenge you’ll get without breaking something.”

you sip your drink. “what if i don’t want revenge?”

“then that makes you a better person than most of us.”

you lean against his shoulder. “thanks for always looking out for me.”

“someone’s gotta,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “and god knows it’s not gonna be him.”

~

he sees you before you see him.

you always show up late. always soft around the edges. always looking like heartbreak dressed in something tight.

and tonight—

tonight you look unreal.

you’re holding choso’s arm like the party might swallow you whole. he’s leaning in close to talk to you. protective. always too fucking close.

sukuna takes a slow drag of his blunt and exhales through his nose.

it’s like trying to smoke the jealousy out of his chest. like maybe if he gets high enough, he’ll stop caring that your hand is still on choso’s hoodie, like it belongs there.

he doesn’t.

he watches the way your eyes sweep the room. how your mouth twitches when you spot him. that quick flicker of emotion—surprise, disappointment, something soft and sharp all at once—and then you look away.

that’s what fucking kills him.

you used to look at him like he was everything.

now you barely hold his gaze.

he wants to blame you. wants to pretend this whole ache is something external, something happening to him. but it’s not. it’s him. it’s all him. his mess. his coldness. his fucking cowardice.

his fingers twitch.

you’re laughing now. some guy just handed you a drink. not choso — someone else. taller. probably some econ prick you sit next to in lecture. he’s leaning into your space like he’s earned it, and you’re letting him.

you’re fucking letting him.

sukuna watches from the couch like a phantom. bottle of jack between his boots. blunt burning slow between his fingers. high out of his goddamn mind but still crystal fucking clear on one thing:

he’s going to kill that guy, or kiss you until you forget he exists.

maybe both.

maybe he won’t do anything. maybe he’ll just rot here, on this shitty leather couch that smells like weed and sweat and spilled seltzer, and keep watching you talk to some nobody like you didn’t fall apart in his arms three weeks ago.

he should look away, he can’t.

you smile at something the guy says. tip your head back, eyes soft, lashes fluttering. sukuna’s throat goes tight.

he remembers the sound you make when you laugh for real. how it tastes against his mouth. how you cling to him like you’re afraid he’s going to disappear.

but he already did.

he disappeared the second you looked at him like he meant something.

and now he’s just here. watching you be wanted by everyone who isn’t him. letting his own silence fuck up the only good thing that’s ever looked at him like he’s worth something.

you take a sip of your drink. the guy touches your arm.

sukuna sees red.

he sits up straighter. crushes the end of the blunt into an empty red solo cup and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the floor.

if he’s going to watch you flirt with someone else, he’s not going to do it sober.

not tonight.

not when you look this good.

not when you’re glowing in the middle of a crowd, and he’s the one who turned you into a ghost.

he downs the rest of the whiskey like it’s water. doesn’t even flinch.

liquid courage or liquid idiocy — at this point, what’s the difference?

you’re still across the room, still talking to the same guy, still pretending you don’t feel his eyes on your back like a second skin.

fine.

you wanna ignore him?

then he’ll make sure you can’t.

“yo,” he slurs, pushing off the couch. “gojo. shotgun?”

gojo, already halfway through a white claw, perks up instantly. “now we’re talking. someone get the funnel.” like the two weren't arguing a day ago, crazy what alcohol does to you.

someone cheers. music blares. lights pulse.

sukuna doesn’t look at you — not yet. but he knows you’re watching now. he can feel it, that slow drag of your attention pulling back toward him like gravity. like instinct, because he’s being loud. reckless. stupid. because this is what he does best: burn bridges and light himself on fire just to feel warm.

someone brings the beer bong over and sukuna barely waits for it to fill before dropping to one knee, taking the nozzle in his mouth with that cocky little smirk that means he’s about to do something he knows he’ll regret. gojo claps him on the back. “you’re so fucking dumb, man.”

“jealous?” sukuna sneers, head tilting, eyes flicking over to you — finally.

and yeah. you’re watching. your expression is unreadable. somewhere between worry and frustration and that familiar ache he’s seen too many times in your eyes. good.

maybe now you’ll remember.

he downs the beer like it’s nothing. wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "another,” he says.

“dude,” geto mutters, shaking his head. “chill.” but sukuna’s not listening, he’s already halfway to the kitchen, already demanding shots, already making a fucking scene, and he doesn’t stop.

not until he sees you moving toward him. slow, uncertain. choso trailing after you, clearly annoyed. clearly ready to drag sukuna outside and beat his ass if he doesn’t knock it off.

but sukuna just grins wider, sloppier. his eyes lock onto yours like you’re the only person in the world that matters.

and in his fucked-up little head, you are.

“look who finally noticed me,” he drawls, voice syrupy and bitter all at once. “what, couldn’t hear me being a complete disaster over the sound of you flirting?”

you stop a few feet away from him. choso lingers close, protective, but quiet. “what are you doing?” you ask, soft. wounded.

it hits him in the chest like a punch.

he hates that tone.

he hates that he made you use it.

“partying,” he shrugs, gesturing around. “that’s what we do, right?” you stare at him. your lip trembles.

fuck.

fuck. this isn’t working.

he wanted your attention, not your disappointment, he wanted your eyes on him — not like this. you glance at the crowd — the people watching, whispering, smirking.

"come outside,” you murmur. “please.”

and for a second, he wants to. for a second, he thinks he might follow you anywhere. but instead, he laughs. harsh. cruel. drunk.

"why? so you can lecture me? tell me to get my shit together?”

your eyes glisten like they always do when you’re trying not to cry.

"i just want to make sure you're okay..." you shyly murmur. you look so small right now. not physically, no, you’ve always filled a room just by breathing, but emotionally. fragile in that heartbreaking way he hates himself for craving. like you’re bracing yourself for him to break you again.

and that’s the moment it hits him.

his high? gone. like a match snuffed out under cold rain.

he stares at you.

'fuck.'

he doesn’t know what he expected. maybe for you to scream at him, finally give him the reaction he’s been provoking all night like a sadistic asshole. or maybe to just turn your back, disappear into the crowd with some guy who’ll actually treat you right.

but this?

you’re just… sad.

sad and soft and waiting. hoping.

it guts him.

he runs a hand down his face and mutters something under his breath, like a half-formed curse or maybe your name—he’s not even sure anymore—and then sighs. “come on,” he says, voice low. rough. “let’s get outta here.”

you blink at him, confused. “what?”

“outside. fresh air. you look like you hate it here.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer. just slips through the crowd, trusting you’ll follow. and you do.

out back, it’s quieter. still messy. kids lighting joints, someone making out against a fence, music thumping faint in the distance. but it’s better. open.

he lights a cigarette, takes one drag, then flicks it away like it’s poison. because it kind of is. his throat feels tight. tighter than it has in weeks.

you cross your arms, biting your lip. “are you gonna say anything or—?”

“i’m sorry.”

it’s like a gunshot in the silence.

you freeze. blink. “…what?” he turns to you, finally really looking at you, and god, it fucking hurts.

you’re standing there in this little dress that hugs you in all the places he’s dreamed about touching with reverence instead of recklessness. hair mussed from the heat, lips parted, looking at him like you still see something good under all this rot.

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, slower. quieter. “for being a dick. for tonight. for every night.” you don’t say anything. not yet. just watch him, wide-eyed, while he runs both hands through his hair, pacing like he’s going to combust.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he mutters. “feelings. talking. whatever the fuck this is between us.”

“sukuna—”

“no, let me finish,” he snaps, then softens when he sees you flinch. “sorry. again. just… let me talk.”

you nod, and he breathes.

"you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel anything real. and that scares the shit outta me. i’m not good at this. i fuck up. i push people away because it’s easier to ruin shit than risk needing it.” he looks at you like he wants to fall apart but doesn’t know how.

“but you? you’re different. you look at me like i’m not some piece of shit frat guy with a lighter and a nicotine addiction and a god complex. and it makes me wanna be better. not just for you—fuck that, that’s too easy—but for me. because for the first time in my life, i care.”

you take a shaky breath. “then why do you keep hurting me?” his voice cracks. “because i’m a coward.” and that’s the truth of it. plain and ugly. he moves closer. slow. tentative.

“i didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “but i did. so fucking hard. and every time you smiled at me, i felt like i couldn’t breathe. and i told myself i didn’t care. i slept with other girls. i ignored your texts. i acted like you were nothing. but you weren’t. you aren’t. you’re everything.”

you look up at him, eyes shimmering. “then why—”

“because i didn’t think i deserved you.”

his hands hover near your arms, like he wants to touch you but is afraid he’ll taint you. “you’re so fucking good. you care. you love so deep it’s terrifying. and i’m… i’m not that guy. i drink too much, i sleep around, i lie to myself. but with you… i don’t wanna lie anymore.”

and then finally—finally—he touches you. hands gentle on your waist like you’re porcelain. like he’s holding something sacred.

“i love you,” he says, and it breaks something in his chest to say it out loud.

your lips part in a quiet gasp.

“i don’t know how to love right. but i know it’s you. it’s always been you.”

you stare at him, tears falling now. not sad—just overwhelmed. and when you whisper, “i love you too,” it’s like something inside him clicks into place.

he pulls you into him.

not like the rough, fast, dirty hookups from before. not like the careless nights or the sneaky touches at parties. this is different. this is soft. reverent.

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “i’m gonna fuck up,” he says. “i know it. but i’ll try. for you. i’ll try.” you nod, leaning into him.

“you don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper. “you just have to be real.” and for the first time in his life, he is.

he kisses you like you’re the last good thing in the world. slow and deep and aching. his hands trembling just a little as he holds you closer, because he knows what this means.

this isn’t just a kiss, this is a promise.

and when you finally pull back, breathless, foreheads pressed together under the stars and the hum of a party you’ve both forgotten, he exhales something that feels like peace.

~

this feels like peace, neither of you says it, but it’s obvious in the way you walk side by side through the humid night, your pinkie brushing his. in the way the music fades behind you. in the way he doesn’t light another cigarette, even though his fingers twitch for it. "you wanna crash at mine?” you ask quietly, like you’re afraid the magic might snap if you speak too loud.

sukuna shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “sure. your bed’s comfier anyway.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “you’ve never slept in it.” he smirks, boyish. “yeah, but i’ve imagined it. mostly with you naked.”

“gross,” you say, laughing despite yourself, cheeks warm. he catches that. stores it. your laugh. the tilt of your head. the way you look at him like you’re still trying to believe this version of him is real. your dorm is quiet when you slip in. your roommate’s gone for the weekend, and everything smells faintly like you, warm shampoo, vanilla lotion, the fruity candle you always forget to blow out.

he toes off his shoes, watches as you dig through your drawer for a t-shirt. you toss it at him. oversized. soft. “wear this.” “you want me in your clothes now?” he raises a brow. “kind of possessive of you.”

“shut up and change.” he obeys. mostly because you’re watching him with this amused little smile, biting your lip like you’re trying not to. he peels off his hoodie and shirt, and you don’t look away—not this time. you just stare. like you’ve got a right to, and maybe you do.

you crawl into bed first, and he follows, letting the blankets swallow you both whole. your body finds his like it always does—like instinct. his arm wraps around you, snug. grounding. for a while, you just lie there. tangled up. listening to the faint buzz of a streetlamp outside and your twin heartbeats slowing in sync. "so,” you murmur into the quiet, “you ever gonna tell me what your first impression of me was?” he exhales a half-laugh. “you mean besides thinking you were way too sweet to be within a ten-foot radius of someone like me?”

“yes.”

he stretches, arm still looped behind your back. “alright. first time i saw you, i thought, ‘she looks way too cute for a party like this.’” you blink. “that’s it?”

“that’s everything.”

you smile against his chest. “i thought you were a douchebag.”

“accurate.”

“but also hot.” he snorts. “can’t blame you.” you reach up to flick his earring. “modest, too.”

“deadly combo.”

he goes quiet then, thumb brushing the curve of your hip beneath the blankets. his body is warm. relaxed. but his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling like there’s still something heavy on his chest. “you okay?” you ask, soft.

he doesn’t answer right away. just pulls you closer, tucks your head under his chin. your breath ghosts over his collarbone. “yeah,” he says eventually. “just thinking.”

and he is.

his thoughts spiral and drift, but they always land back on you. on how you smell like sleep and sweetness. on how your leg’s thrown over his like it belongs there. on how your fingers trace lazy patterns against his side, like your body’s memorizing him in real-time. he looks down at you. your lashes are fluttering now. not quite asleep yet, but close.

you don’t even know what you do to him. how you make him want to stay in one place, when he’s always been the type to run. how you make him feel clean, even when he’s covered in smoke and guilt and sharp edges. how he’d burn down his whole world just to keep yours bright. he doesn’t know how to say it, not out loud. not yet.

but he’ll show you, in the way he lets you hold him, in the way he watches you sleep like you’re the moon and the ocean and the sky all at once, in the way he lets his walls fall, brick by brick, as he lies beside you in your too-small bed and thinks 'god, i fucking love you.'

he’s not sure when it happened. maybe it was that first party, when you looked at him like you knew better but stayed anyway. maybe it was every little moment since. the after-class coffees, the way you talk to choso, the time you kissed him in the rain and told him he was worth more than he believed.

but he knows this:

he’s yours now, in the way that matters. not in words. not in labels. not in frat boy bravado. but in the stillness. in the way his heartbeat slows when you touch him. in the way he doesn’t feel high tonight—just whole.

"you awake?” he murmurs.

you hum against him. “barely.” he presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like a secret. and maybe you don’t hear it. maybe you’re already dreaming.

but he means it.

god, he means it.

and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to wake up alone. he wants mornings with you. bad coffee and cold feet and sleepy smiles. he wants all of it. you and your stupid candle and your oversized t-shirts and your too-big heart. so he kisses your forehead again. lets your scent bury into his skin.

and as you finally drift off in his arms, sukuna closes his eyes and lets himself want something real.

something like this.

something like love.

~

extraaa

frat rats and others ig

yuki 🪩: chat what the fuck am i looking at

yuki 🪩: [photo attached]

yuki 🪩: LMAO THEYRE NOT EVEN NAKED WTH

maki 🥋: HUHHHHH

maki 🥋: omg they are so like... calm looking.

shoko 🩹: bro no way

shoko 🩹: sukuna looking content that's some voodoo shit

choso 🍃: i literally watched him almost rock some guys shit for talking to her last night now he's sleeping with a fucking smile on his face wth bruh give me a break

geto 🍷: free y/n bro

choso🍃: su man I'm glad it finally happened lowk

gojo 🧿: alright fuckers, i’m taking full credit here

gojo 🧿: this whole meltdown-to-makeup saga? that’s me pulling strings like a puppet master

gojo 🧿: if i hadn’t pissed him off just right, this whole tender bullshit never would of happened

shoko 🩹: you mean emotionally blackmailing him until he cracked? real noble, gojo

gojo 🧿: hey, desperate times call for desperate measures

gojo 🧿: plus, someone had to wake him up :(

maki 🥋: you’re the worst kind of manipulative and it’s honestly impressive

gojo 🧿: proud of my work here, thank you very much

gojo 🧿: i deserve an award for making sukuna less of a complete dickface

yuki 🪩:you're getting your ass beat when he wakes up and sees that bro

choso 🍃: lol watching him fail to keep his shit together all this time was tragic but so funny icl

gojo 🧿: nah but let’s not act like he didn’t look a little too happy to be clinging onto her in that pic

gojo 🧿: mf was in REM sleep dreaming about her saying “i’m proud of you”

choso 🍃: he’s gonna wake up and act like he didn’t say all that emotional shit too

choso 🍃: “idk what you’re talking about” ass boy

geto 🍷: someone record his gaslight attempt when she brings it up later

geto 🍷: “that wasn’t me babe, that was the tequila talking”

shoko 🩹: tequila didn’t make you cry into her neck and whisper “don’t leave” king

maki 🥋: he’s gonna delete himself from the chat when he sees this convo

gojo 🧿: and yet i’ll still be the villain somehow

gojo 🧿: just know none of this would’ve happened without my psychological warfare

yuki 🪩: congratulations on being the most chaotic matchmaker known to man

gojo 🧿: i’ll be taking referrals now

gojo 🧿: hit me up if your situationship needs emotional waterboarding

shoko 🩹: Jesus Christ

choso 🍃: y’all think he’s gonna be normal now or…?

geto 🍷: define normal

maki 🥋: if he stops growling every time someone breathes near her, i’ll take that as a win

yuki 🪩: god imagine him showing up to econ actually smiling. i’d drop the class

shoko 🩹: if he starts doing couple shit on campus i’m gonna barf

gojo 🧿: imagine them holding hands in the dining hall. i will LOSE it

gojo 🧿: i’ll flip the table

geto 🍷: y/n has the patience of a saint and the taste of a girl who needs therapy

choso 🍃: she’s in love let her be 😭

maki 🥋: yeah well she better be charging him hourly for emotional labor

gojo 🧿: alright placing bets now

gojo 🧿: how long before he fucks it up again? i say three weeks tops

yuki 🪩: shut the fuck up gojo

ooo finally done another, not as good as my choso fic but i still fw this oneee (subtle plug go read this shit it’s fire: sex w/ a stoner)

m.list.

your guy’s comments make me the happiest girl in the world i will respond to them all you are all my biggest supporters omg kiss me lololo

[cowgirlvi]

mdni. sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. strap-on usage. size kink. vaginal sex. squirting. rough sex.

jinx masterlist

word count: 1.9k

the first time jinx tries to ride your strap, she’s cocky—naively convinced that she’ll be a natural at it. but more than anything, she’s determined to put on a show for you, determined to turn you into a fucked-out mess for a change. she pictures herself bouncing in your lap, playing with her small tits as she grinds down against you, making your head spin with the pace she sets, riding your cock so hard that the friction against your clit would rival that of a vibrator.

despite only being in a relationship with jinx for a month now, she has taken your strap before—many, many times, actually—but always in the same way; laying there while you pleasured her, while you set the tempo, while you took care of her every need like a pampered princess.

and that’s the problem.

she began to feel useless—and, predictably, she got in her own head, wondered if you found her boring. how can it be fun for you to fuck her pussy every night and receive nothing in return?

so that’s when she decided, the next time the two of you had sex, she would get on top. she would take the initiative to make both of you feel good. she would be particularly skilled at riding cock.

now, in the present, she watches from the bed as you adjust the harness on your hips, teeth worrying her bottom lip. she’s already naked, already soaked, but suddenly, she’s unsure. should she sweetly ask to ride your cock? wait until round two? shove you down and take what she wants?

“you ready, baby?” you ask, crawling over her lithe body.

biting the bullet, jinx abruptly shoves your shoulders until you’re splayed on your back. she’s quick to throw one of her legs over your hips, her pussy sitting flush against your strap, soaking it with her juices already. you’ve only been together a month, but jinx has the wettest pussy you’ve ever seen.

“want to ride you,” she mumbles, her usual bravado cracking—shy in a way you’ve never seen from her before.

”are you sure that’s a good idea? you’ve never done that before.”

she stiffens, eyes narrowing, “i can take it.” 

sighing, you say, “just—maybe i should finger you some more? make sure you’re stretched enough?” 

“i said i’m ready,” and she’s already reaching for your strap, rubbing it against her soaked folds in long, deliberate strokes.

such an eager thing, the little minx. jinx is grinding against your cock with animalistic fervor, rolling her hips like a whore desperate to be fucked—which she is, you suppose. her slutty cunt is always in need of constant attention; always needing her hole to be stuffed full, her clit to be sucked on like a jolly rancher.

“aughh, unghh, fuck—“ she’s moaning noisily now, front teeth digging into her candy-red lips. but she’s determined, not going to let her own girlfriend dismiss her as some lazy, passive fucktoy.

so, jinx rises up on her knees and holds your strap beneath her, ready to impale herself on the length in its entirety. your cock looks monstrous in comparison to her tiny body.

”go slow,” you warn her and she scoffs.

the girthy shaft and bulbous head completely dwarf her small folds. she’s so wet that her pussy makes an obscene squelching noise when the head tries to pop inside her. however, the strap barely breaches her entrance before it falls against your stomach with a wet plap. her pussy is too small to fit your cock, and you’re wondering how you managed to stuff her full so many times before.

her brows are furrowed in concentration when she brings the head of your strap to her pussy again. she’s rocking and circling her hips, trying to coax her stubborn body into submission. again, your strap won’t go in. her pussy is fluttering and gripping at nothing, waiting to be filled. “shit, it’s too big,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “i can’t… it’s—fuck!”

one of your hands reaches up to palm jinx’s breast, the one with her blue, cloudy tattoos decorating the skin around her nipple. you rub her tit with your thumb in light strokes. “just relax, babe.” the hard peak of her nipple pebbles beneath your touch and jinx gasps. “let your body open up for me.”

she takes a shuddering breath, her owlish eyes squeezing shut as she focuses on the sensation of your thumb circling her nipple. slowly, she starts to relax, and at the same time she presses the head against her opening again. this time, the head slips inside her and she makes a noise of triumph.

from this angle—being impaled on your length all by herself—it feels impossibly bigger than it has in the past. despite this, jinx keeps rocking her hips gently, sucking more of your strap inside.

“hnng, fuck!” jinx pants. only half of your strap is inside her at this point and you wonder if that’s all she’ll be able to take.

her stomach and thighs clench with the exertion of holding herself up, so you move both your hands to her wide hips, stroking them soothingly where her hipbones protrude. 

she slides down further, only a quarter of your cock left. jinx whines whorishly while feeling herself stretch around your thick strap. her pink, gummy walls are clenching obscenely, her inner muscles fluttering around the stocky length. you wish you could actually feel her powerful contractions around you—her wetness, the warmth of her insides.

”oh fuck, oh shit—it’s so… so fucking big,” she whimpers. her lips are swollen and red from her biting them.

”can’t take it, baby?” you tease breathlessly, rubbing her hips. “your pussy looks fucking ruined.”

jinx shoots you a glare but it’s far from intimidating, not with her hazy, cockdrunk eyes.

stubbornly, she forces the rest of your strap inside her, her ass colliding against your thighs with a slap. and suddenly, jinx freezes in place. she’s trembling, that much is obvious, goosebump erupting all over her skin. she’s never felt so full before, so utterly stuffed and stretched and split open. the head of your strap is nestled deep inside her, kissing her cervix and making her toes curl against your bedsheets. jinx can feel every ridge and vein etched into the silicone; the texture feels deliciously abrasive against her sensitive walls.

jinx attempts to roll her hips once, before she freezes in place again. her nails are digging painfully into your breasts and you’ve never seen such a fucked-out look on her face before.

”mmffuck! aghh—holy shit, i—i can’t—it’s too much!”

what a sight she is, shaking and trembling and whining on your cock, so sensitive and stuffed full that she can’t even move. her brain is turning to mush, tongue sticking out dumbly while she pants. she’s gasping like a fish out of water, harsh and desperate.

“fuck, baby. you look fucked stupid and i haven’t even done anything yet,” you murmur, mesmerized.

”it’s so—so deep, aghh! so big, i feel so full,” jinx babbles mindlessly, her words tumbling out in a rush of pleasure and disbelief. you want to grip onto her small waist and piston your cock inside her, make her more dumb than she already is.

“i’m gonna help you move, sweetheart. gonna make you feel good,” you promise. you feel pussydrunk—high off the view of jinx stretched so wide around your strap. it’s completely obscene and it might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

you grip onto the plush fat of her hips and slowly lift jinx off your strap. she moans and babbles the entire time, feeling the silicone drag against her walls, until you slam her back down on your cock. her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her eyes roll back in her head, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open. her tongue lolls out again stupidly, drool dripping down her chin as she pants and whines, completely out of her mind with pleasure. the sight of her, so fucked out and dazed, sends a dark thrill through you, a primal surge of lust that makes you want to ruin her completely.

you lift her off your strap once more and then allow gravity to pull her down—repeating this over and over again—and you grind up against her when she’s buried to the hilt each time, getting impossibly deeper.

”so sexy, baby—ah fuck, fuck, you hot little bitch.”

your strap is pressing just right against your clit, making you squirm and unintentionally thrusting your hips, forcing the strap further inside your girlfriend. you smack her ass hard, the sound echoing throughout your bedroom, and jinx sobs.

you start to thrust harder, faster, gripping jinx’s hips tightly as you piston up into her. the bed creaks and groans beneath the two of you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal drive of your hips.

jinx face-plants into your chest. all she can do is lay against your pillowy breasts and take what you give her. the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by jinx’s high, breathy cries. your eyes burn with a feral intensity as you stare at her ass rippling over her shoulder.

”that’s it, princess. take it, take it.” and you rub jinx’s back lovingly and gently, despite the fact that you’re destroying her pussy right now.

you set a brutal, punishing pace, planting your feet against the bed so you can fuck up into her with abandon. the thick head of your strap slams against jinx’s cervix with each savage thrust and the wet, indecent sounds of jinx’s pussy being split open echos throughout the room.

“fuck me, ngh, fuck me, fuck me—ohhh!” the only thing jinx can focus on is the repetitive motion of your cock fucking deep inside her. she feels like a cocksleeve for you to use—she is a cocksleeve.

suddenly, her back arches like a cat, her chest pressed flush against your own as her body goes rigid, stiffening like a bowstring pulled taut before releasing. her pussy spasms and clenches around the thick length invading her body, along with a keening wail as her pussy squirts between your two bodies.

”mmmf—oh, shit—! please, aghhhff!” jinx squeals like a pig, her body shaking and convulsing through the force of her climax. she clings to you like a drowning woman, and her juices gush out around your strap with a powerful force, her body humping against yours while she rides out her orgasm—which applies immense pressure to your clit through your strap.

your own orgasm hits you like a freight train, the pleasure white-hot and all-consuming. there’s so much blood pumping in your ears that you can’t even hear the noises you’re making, but you assume they’re nothing short of animalistic. your throat is sore, you think you screamed but you’re not quite sure. the pleasure is so intense that it momentarily short-circuits all your senses. you’ve never come this hard before, never felt an orgasm this earth-shattering, and it makes you question the very fabrics of your reality. 

jinx’s pussy milks the toy for all it’s worth before she calms down and becomes boneless on top of you. all you can hear is static as your own orgasm subsides, your sweaty skin sticking to one another. you pepper kisses along jinx’s face, her neck, her collarbones, while your hearts are pounding in tandem. you murmur words of praise and adoration against her skin—despite your tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in your mouth—and jinx hums in response.

the thick, musky scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of the carnal act you’ve just engaged in.

(2/2/25)