#higuruma imagine

[holeforzenin]

RIDING HIGURUMA’S NOSE!!

Tw - Pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation? Also the reader is sitting on his face cowgirl position. I'm so sorry for any errors.

"Fuck! N-not so hard!" you cried out as he continued to suck on your clit, big strong arms gripping onto your thighs to keep you placed on his face. It's been like what, an hour? You swore you've never seen a man that loves eating pussy as much as Hiromi does and he's so fucking skilled at doing it too, it makes you see stars.

You don't even get the point of begging him to stop anymore, all you could do is sit there, moaning nonstop with tears leaking down your eyes from overstimulation as he feasts on your cunt, his growls vibrating against your slit when you try to wriggle out of his sturdy grip only for him to squeeze his arms around your thighs harder, you can literally see the veins and muscles on his arms budging out cause of his tight grip. A mixture of your juices and his drool running down his cheeks and chin as he eats you out sloppily.

He slowly pulls away from your cunt and lands a hard slap on your right-ass cheek before squeezing the soft flesh. "Ride my face baby, come on you can do it, cum f'me one more time and then I'll stop yeah?". He says lazily, he loves to be in control and ravish your messy cunt the way he pleases but he also enjoys seeing you attempting to get yourself off on his face. It's amusing to him.

You were tired. You didn't really wanna do anything, but you never know how much longer he's gonna take before stopping if you let him have it his way, so you decided to slowly grind your cunt on his tongue, groaning as you felt the vibrations of his mumble "that's my good girl" against you.

You continued moving back and forth on his face, desperately trying to cum so you can get this over with, till you accidentally felt yourself bumping against his nose, your body jolted in pleasure as you felt it against you for a split second, your reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Hiromi. It was so weird, not in a million years would you have thought that you'd feel pleasure from someone's nose? But I guess there's a first time for everything.

He was probably thinking the exact same thing you were as you felt his arms loosen around your thighs, you didn't waste a second as you moved back to get closer to his nose area, seating yourself at the bridge of his nose before your eyes rolled back as you felt his tongue attacking your clit, it was so fucking good, you took it as a sign to keep going as you moved your cunt back and forth on his nose, the tip of it digging into you as it drags against your creamy folds while his tongue laps your clit.

You felt your hole fluttering around nothing as you keep up your pace, riding the bump of his nose, you moved your hand to the back of his head to grip onto his hair so you can keep his head still to your liking as you felt him groaning against you while your gripping onto the strands. Your sweet moans filled the moan as you continue grinding down on his big nose, you squeaked unexpectedly, feeling his arms tightening around your thighs again, he's impatient. Strong arms keeping you intact, making you arch your back when you felt him pressing his nose against your entrance, the bridge of it digging into your cunt hole as he brings one of his hand up to your clit, rubbing fast sloppy circles on it as he ruts his nose into you, moving his head in all sorts of ways so he can hear your stupid little blabbers as he feeds you more pleasure.

Skilled tongue sucking on your poor clit as he watches your head falls back, thighs clenching against his hold. "Ohmygod! ohmygod! Fuckkk, gonna cum! M'gonna cum please don't stop feels so good" you cried out, your brain in shambles as you felt this weird sensation erupting in your stomach, before you could even process it, what feels like a gallon of clear liquid gushes out of you like a water hose and lands all over his pretty face and sheets, even despite that he still kept going, slurping and licking up your juices from your messy cunny as he sucks on it as if he was eating an orange.

After he was satisfied, he manhandles your body and picks you up, placing you on his lap while he moves his upper body up in the process, your pussy juice dripping off his face onto the bed as he got up, panting and trying to catch his breath as he sticks his tongue out to lick any reminding of your juices off his face. He takes a second to observe your shaking body from his lap, he wraps his arms around your smaller flame while whispering into your ear.

"Crazy to think that the first time you'd ever squirt is because of my nose huh?" he chuckles. "Such a messy little girl aren't ya princess?". He plants kisses on your neck to calm you down. Based on how much you know about higuruma, it's definitely gonna become a regular thing when it comes to you sitting on his face and your not complaining one bit.

[cumironi]

YOU ARE NOT DYING jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

sum. MIA for two whole days, your older boyfriend finds you have been sick the whole time but don’t worry, they are here to take care of you!

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, you are early twenty and they are late twenty, petnames, fluff, crack,

GOJO SATORU

he bursts through your apartment door like a whirlwind in a storm — keys jangling as they hit the floor, designer sunglasses still perched on his nose, even though it's nearly sundown. the moment the door swings open, his voice echoes through the quiet, too-quiet apartment.

“sweetheart? baby?” his voice is deceptively cheerful, light and sing-song, but the tension is there, tight in the undercurrent. he hasn’t heard from you in two days. no text. no call. nothing. and you never go that quiet, not even when you’re mad at him.

satoru’s long legs carry him through your apartment like he owns the place — which, to be fair, he kind of does, considering he pays your rent without your knowledge. he steps into the dimly lit living room and freezes.

you’re there, bundled up on the couch like a miserable, sniffling ghost. oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, one of his, naturally, and a pathetic mountain of tissues around you like a fortress. there’s a blanket halfway off your legs, a cold cup of tea on the table, and your phone sitting dead by your hand.

“...what the hell,” he breathes, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he takes it in, brows furrowing under snowy bangs. “are you seriously dying in silence? do you hate me?”

you groan softly, barely able to lift your head. “didn’t wanna bother you… you’re busy with work…”

“busy with work? babe, i thought you got kidnapped by some creepy guy who’s into sniffing socks or something—which, by the way, i would’ve lost my shit over.”

he’s already moving, dropping to his knees in front of the couch, hands large and warm as they cup your flushed face. you’re burning. “oh my god, you’re so hot,” he says, wide-eyed, like it’s not from the fever. “and not in the good, ride-me-until-my-legs-don’t-work way. like… medically concerning.”

you manage a weak laugh, and he beams like you just handed him the moon. satoru brushes your hair back with trembling fingers, his usual smugness cracking under genuine concern.

“you didn’t even call me,” he murmurs, voice dipping low. “two days, angel. two days. i almost broke into your classes like a psycho sugar daddy with a god complex.”

you sniffle, leaning into his palm. “didn’t wanna make you worry…”

“i always worry about you,” he says, exasperated. “that’s, like, half my personality. haven’t you noticed?”

and then, of course, he softens — because he’s a menace, but he’s your menace. satoru stands, scooping you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you squirm, mumbling protests, but your limbs are too heavy, and his arms are warm.

“shut up. we’re doing this,” he says, already carrying you to your bed. “you’re sleeping somewhere with actual blankets and no tissue graveyard. jesus, babe, this whole place smells like menthol and heartbreak.”

he sets you down carefully, tucking the blankets around you like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. he presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then lingers near your lips, hesitant.

“can i…? or am i gonna get the plague?”

you pout. “you’ll get sick.”

“worth it,” he says immediately, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss — just enough pressure to make your heart ache, his thumb brushing your cheek like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

when he pulls back, he’s grinning again, wicked this time. “besides, i bet i’d look hot with a fever. you’d have to nurse me back to health in, like, a slutty little nurse outfit. win-win, right?”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re my favorite stupid little college girl who forgets to eat when she’s sick.” his hands are already sliding under the covers, slipping around your waist, pulling you close. “so now i’m gonna hold you like a clingy teddy bear, make you drink water, and maybe talk about how good you’d look drooling all over my shirt.”

you snort. “what happened to concern?”

“baby, i am concerned. but i’m also very horny, emotionally overwhelmed, and tragically in love with you. deal with it.”

you let him spoon you from behind, his breath warm on your neck, his body a furnace. his fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach, lips brushing your shoulder.

“next time you’re sick,” he mumbles, “you better call me. i swear to god, i’ll tattoo my number on your forehead if that’s what it takes.”

you nod sleepily, and satoru kisses the shell of your ear.

“good girl.”

GETO SUGURU

he doesn’t knock.

he doesn’t need to — your spare key has been hanging on his keyring for months now, worn from use. suguru opens your door slowly, shoulders tense under his tailored black coat, hair pulled into a lazy low bun like he didn’t even bother styling it this morning. he’s been in meetings all day, working too much, sleeping too little — and now, he’s standing in your apartment, greeted by silence and dim, static air.

“baby?”

his voice is low, velvety, laced with concern that makes your stomach twist. it’s the first time you’ve heard him in two days. you were too sick, too dizzy, too caught up in your own haze of shivers and aching limbs to call him, even though you wanted to. god, you wanted to.

you hear his steps grow closer, steady and measured, then stop right in front of your bedroom door. it creaks open. his tall frame fills the doorway.

and that’s all it takes.

your throat tightens immediately, and like a switch flipped, you burst into tears. snotty, pathetic, breathless sobs that hit you harder than you expected. your voice cracks as you try to speak, but nothing coherent comes out — just a whimper, an ugly sniffle, and a tremble in your bottom lip.

“suguru…” you croak, eyes watery as you sit up on the bed.

his expression falters for half a second — just a flicker of panic under the cool surface. he moves toward you so fast it’s like instinct, dropping his bag to the floor and shrugging off his coat in one motion.

but you beat him to it.

you swing your legs over the edge of the bed with all the theatrical effort of a dying victorian bride, forcing your shaky body upright. it makes your vision spin, but you don’t care — you throw your arms open dramatically, like some sad, flu-stricken princess summoning her knight.

“hold me,” you sniffle, hiccupping through the tears. “i’m sick and miserable and ugly, and i think i’m dying.”

he blinks. then huffs a breath — a soft, low laugh, like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or scold you.

“you’re the most dramatic little brat i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, but he’s already on his knees in front of you, pulling you into his chest. his arms wrap around you fully, palms spread over your back as he tucks your face into the crook of his neck.

“i missed you,” you whimper into his skin, voice cracking. “i was too dizzy to text you and i tried to make soup but it just turned into sadness—”

“shh,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently. “breathe, baby. you’re okay now.”

you cling to him like a koala, fists bunching the back of his shirt. your body sags in his arms, and he holds you up without flinching, like he wants to carry your weight, all of it — your illness, your loneliness, your melodramatic sniffles.

“two days without you and i already look like a corpse,” you mumble. “my skin’s grey. i’m withering.”

he chuckles against your hair, then pulls back just enough to cup your flushed cheeks. “hm. dramatic. needy. sick. crying in my arms like a heartbroken soap opera wife.” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. “you know that’s kind of hot, right?”

you blink. “i’m literally disgusting right now.”

“you’re my favorite disgusting little creature,” he says, and kisses your forehead. “now lie back. i’m going to order real food, give you meds, and make you drink water even if i have to hold your nose shut.”

you sniffle again, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzle into his chest.

“you’re gonna spoil me,” you mumble.

he smiles, kissing your hair.

“i already do, sweetheart.”

his hand trails lower under the blanket, slipping to your waist, possessive and warm.

“and after you stop looking like a dying victorian girl,” he murmurs by your ear, voice dipping low, “i’m gonna spoil you in other ways.”

you groan into his chest, heat blooming in your cheeks. “gross.”

“mm. you love it.”

and he’s right. because even at your worst — sick, crying, clingy — suguru geto looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made his life worth slowing down for.

NANAMI KENTO

he should’ve come sooner.

the thought pounds in his head, rhythmic and steady like the ticking of his watch as he pushes into your apartment with a key he made you give him months ago — “for emergencies,” you said, laughing. but this feels like one. you hadn’t texted him back in two days, and that’s unlike you. you were always eager to reply, dramatic even in your “i miss you” messages. so when the silence stretched into a second night, nanami ended his meeting mid-sentence, picked up his coat, and walked out without an ounce of hesitation.

the moment he steps inside, he knows something’s wrong.

your apartment smells off — like the sour tang of sickness masked under old lavender candles. he closes the door quietly, gaze sharp as he sets down his briefcase and calls your name once, calmly.

no answer.

the bathroom light is on.

and then he hears it — the retching.

nanami’s blood runs cold. he moves fast, faster than you’d ever expect from the man who lectures you about walking too quickly indoors. the bathroom door is cracked open. inside, you’re slumped on the cold tile, hugging the toilet bowl, trembling and feverish. your hoodie is sticking to your back with sweat, your knees red from the floor.

you don’t hear him. not until his calm, familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“sweetheart.”

your head jerks up weakly. your voice comes out hoarse, cracking. “kento…?”

he doesn’t say anything at first — just takes a slow breath and kneels beside you, sleeves rolled up in one fluid motion. his tie dangles over your shoulder as he brushes your damp hair back gently, then reaches for the towel nearby to wipe your mouth. his hand doesn’t shake, but his jaw clenches. tight.

“how long has this been happening?” he asks softly, but there’s steel under it. restrained panic. the kind that only surfaces when something he cares about is suffering — and you are the only one who makes him lose control like this.

you sniffle, dazed. “since last night… thought it would pass…”

“and you didn’t call me.”

“you were working,” you mumble. “didn’t wanna stress you out.”

nanami lets out a breath. a sharp one. he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, his frown deepening. you’re burning up.

“you’re shaking,” he mutters. “you’re not staying in here another second.”

“but i threw up—”

“exactly why you’re not staying in here,” he says firmly.

and that’s when your vision blurs again, but this time with hot tears. you cover your face with your hands, voice cracking like glass. “i feel gross, kento. i smell disgusting. my mouth tastes like death. i wanted to clean up before you came and now you’re seeing me like this—”

he doesn’t let you spiral.

his hands, large and warm, wrap around your wrists and gently pull them from your face. he leans in, forehead to yours, voice calm but low.

“you think any of that matters to me?” he whispers. “you’re sick. and you’re mine. i don’t care if you smell like hell. you’re still the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

you sniff, swallowing another sob. “i look like a wet rat.”

he presses a kiss to your damp forehead. “then you’re my wet rat.”

and despite everything, you laugh — a weak, wet, pitiful sound, but it makes him smile.

then he lifts you. no warning. one smooth motion, as if you weigh nothing. your arms cling to his neck, dizzy and lightheaded as he carries you out of the bathroom and down the hall.

“where—?”

“bed? no,” he says, striding straight past it. “you’re burning up and soaked through.”

he stops in front of your closet and kicks it open gently. “clean clothes,” he mutters. “then i’m drawing you a bath.”

you blink. “aren’t you going to let me change myself?”

he looks at you, unimpressed. “do you really think i’m letting you stand on your own right now?”

you pout. “you’re bossy when i’m sick.”

“i’m bossy because you’re reckless and dramatic and refuse to call me when you need help,” he says, setting you down on the edge of your bed. his hands reach up, unzipping your hoodie with such care it makes your breath catch. “and if you ever do this again, i swear to god—”

you reach out weakly, tugging at his tie. “you’ll what?”

he leans in, gaze dark and heavy.

“i’ll handcuff you to my bed and monitor your temperature every hour until you learn your lesson.”

your eyes go wide. “…is that a threat or a promise?”

his lips curl into the barest smirk.

“both.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you were crying. again.

but not soft, delicate tears — oh no. it was messy, snotty, full-volume dramatic sobbing, the kind you’d only let out in the privacy of your kitchen, hunched over like some tragic figure in a bad medical drama.

the bottle of meds sat in front of you. sealed. stupid. evil.

and your fingers? useless. trembling. too weak to twist it open. your body had already betrayed you all day — shivering under five blankets, sweating through them an hour later, barely able to sit up without seeing stars. and this goddamn childproof bottle was the final straw.

“open,” you whispered hoarsely, turning it with your palms, your arms shaking.

“open, please… i’m not strong enough, oh my god. i’m a weak pathetic little victorian widow.”

you tried again. failed again.

your bottom lip quivered.

you dropped your head onto the counter with a dramatic thunk.

“this is it,” you wailed to no one. “this is how i die. taken out by a five-dollar bottle of generic tylenol.”

and that was, of course, the exact moment the front door opened with a heavy thud.

of course it was toji.

he was supposed to be out — working, training, maybe casually intimidating someone. but no. your hot mess of a dramatic arc just had to intersect with him at the peak of your suffering.

“you better not be on the floor again,” his voice called out dryly.

you gasped. “toji—!”

and in he walked, black shirt clinging to his chest, hair still slightly wet from the shower he probably took at the gym, eyebrow cocked in that way — the one that said he knew he was walking into bullshit.

he paused at the kitchen doorway.

you were curled in front of the counter, shaking like a leaf in your hoodie and fuzzy socks, cradling the bottle of meds in your hands like it was your last hope.

your eyes, glossy with fever and tears, locked on him like he was salvation.

“babe,” you croaked, dramatic hand on your heart. “i’m too weak. i need you.”

his face was unreadable.

then he sighed.

“you can’t open your meds bottle?”

“no,” you sobbed. “i tried. i begged. i even yelled at it. and it laughed at me, toji.”

he walked over slowly. “the bottle laughed at you?”

“with its silence.”

“you’re outta your damn mind.”

you whimpered as he took the bottle from your hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. he twisted it open with one hand. one hand.

your mouth dropped open in betrayal.

“don’t gloat,” you muttered.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you were thinking it. i can hear your thoughts. they’re all smug and condescending.”

toji plucked two pills out, popped them in your hand. “yeah? what else are my thoughts saying?”

“they’re saying, ‘wow, my girlfriend’s so weak and small and pitiful, i could crush her with one hand.’”

he snorted, pushing the water bottle toward you.

“i’d rather use the one hand to spank you next time you act like an idiot instead of calling me.”

your eyes widened. “i was preserving your peace!”

“and i’m preserving your life, you dramatic little shit.”

you downed the meds, still sniffling. “i want chicken soup and cuddles.”

“yeah? say please.”

you glared at him.

he leaned down, grabbed you by the back of the thighs, and lifted you up with zero warning, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

you squealed. “toji—!”

“you want cuddles? you get ‘em after soup. and no more dying alone in the kitchen, dumbass.”

you whined into his back, but your fingers were already gripping the hem of his shirt, safe and secure.

he set you on the couch, tucked you in aggressively, and went back to the kitchen to slam pots around. the bottle of meds still sat on the counter, now open. completely defeated.

you glared at it from your blanket cocoon.

“i hope you fall off the counter and roll under the fridge, you little bitch.”

“what was that?” toji called.

“nothing, babe! love you!”

“that’s what i thought.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

he knew something was off the second he walked through the door.

your apartment was dark. quiet. no sounds of you stomping around, no dramatic voice echoing from the bedroom about how he never refills the snacks or always leaves his rings on the counter like you’re his damn butler.

nothing.

just silence.

and sukuna?

he doesn’t do silence when it comes to you.

so his voice comes loud, sharp. “oi. where the fuck are you?”

no answer.

he’s already heading down the hall, jaw tight, fingers twitching like he’s ready to rip the universe in half if it’s taken you from him. he calls for you again—louder this time. still nothing. until—

a soft, pathetic sound.

gagging.

choking.

then… sniffling.

he throws open the bathroom door and freezes.

you’re on the cold tile, curled up dramatically beside the toilet like a tragic heroine in some bad romance movie. your hair is a mess, face flushed with fever, nose red, eyes glassy with tears. you’re shivering in one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked up like a child. and you’re talking to yourself.

rambling.

like you’re saying goodbye.

“tell… tell my mom i loved her,” you whisper hoarsely to no one. “and you can have my manga… just not the signed ones. bury me with those. and don’t let that bitch from the office come to my funeral—”

sukuna blinks. hard.

“what. the fuck,” he growls, stepping in. “are you doing?”

you gasp, like he’s a ghost. “sukuna? is that you? i can’t see, i’m so cold—”

he crouches beside you instantly, hands grabbing your face. your skin is clammy. lips dry. eyes dramatic as hell.

you’re not dying.

you’ve just been throwing up for hours and working yourself into a spiral.

“are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” he hisses, brushing your hair back, eyes scanning every inch of you. “you didn’t call. didn’t text. didn’t scream at me for buying the wrong brand of tea. i thought someone killed you.”

you sniffle, grabbing his wrist with trembling fingers. “i tried to crawl to the kitchen… to get water… but then i thought, what’s the point? i’m dying anyway—”

he looks like he’s two seconds from slamming his fist into the wall.

“you’ve got a stomach bug. not the plague. stop acting like you’re in a fuckin’ soap opera.”

“easy for you to say,” you croak. “you’re not the one rotting from the inside out.”

sukuna lets out a sound that’s half-growl, half-laugh, and scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. you cling to him instantly, arms locking around his neck like a koala.

“don’t cremate me,” you mumble into his throat. “i wanna be dramatic even in death. open casket. fake lashes. maybe some light fog and music—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your thigh. “shut up.”

you gasp, offended. “did you just spank me on my deathbed?!”

“you’re not dying,” he growls, carrying you to the bed. “but if you keep talking, i’ll kill you myself.”

you whimper pitifully in his arms. “then… will you at least keep my diary? the one hidden in the closet behind the shoe box? don’t read it—”

“i’ve already read it.”

“what?!”

he lays you down gently, brushing his thumb across your damp cheek.

“you wrote about me in it,” he says, voice low and dangerous now, “every page. even the ones where you were mad. you love me so much it’s pathetic.”

you sniff, cheeks heating up. “i’m allowed to be obsessed with you. it’s your fault.”

he leans down, face inches from yours. “and i’m gonna baby you so hard after this that you’re gonna wish you died, brat.”

“you promise?” you whisper.

his eyes flash with something possessive, raw, feral.

“yeah,” he says, dragging his thumb along your bottom lip, “but only after i get some fluids in you. and not the kind you’re thinking, you filthy little goblin.”

you smile weakly.

and sukuna — your unhinged, dangerous, older boyfriend — tucks you into bed, curses the germs under his breath, and spends the entire night at your side.

because dramatic or not… you’re his.

and he’s not letting you go.

SHIU KONG

he had a key.

of course he had a key. he demanded it after you once locked yourself out at 3 a.m. wearing nothing but a t-shirt and one sock, sobbing over forgotten dumplings. "never again," he’d muttered, shoving the key into his wallet with the same reverence he gave blackmail material.

he wasn’t expecting the door to be unlocked today.

or to hear… whimpering.

low, pitiful, echoing from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

“babe?” he calls out, already slipping off his shoes. his voice carries a lazy calm, the kind he always uses when he’s preparing for bullshit. “you better not be doing something stupid again.”

he turns the corner and freezes.

you’re on the floor.

literally on the floor, crawling toward the kitchen like a Victorian orphan in the final act. your blanket is trailing behind you like a cape, your hair a mess, eyes glassy with tears as you stretch your trembling hand toward the counter like it’s the promised land.

you pause, mid-drag, and look up at him with the most heartbroken face he’s ever seen.

“i dropped… my toast…”

shiu blinks.

you sniffle. “it fell jelly-side down.”

his lips twitch. “oh no.”

“and then i got dizzy.”

“mhm.”

“and i think the floor is sucking the life out of me, shiu.”

he’s walking toward you now, casually, like he’s not biting back a laugh. “you’re telling me… you belly-crawled like a war hero because you dropped toast?”

“i’m starving. i haven’t eaten in days.”

he bends down, squats beside you, one elbow resting on his knee as he watches you dramatically paw at the floor like you’re about to fade into the afterlife.

“you had broth.”

“broth isn’t food. it’s liquid regret.”

shiu snorts. actually snorts. “you’re outta your mind.”

but his voice is gentler now, and without warning, he slips an arm under your waist and another beneath your knees, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you yelp, clinging to his shirt.

“shiu! put me down! i was making progress!”

“toward what? an oscar?”

“toward the toaster!”

he carries you to the couch instead, ignoring your weak little kicks as he deposits you like a fragile treasure, tucks your blanket around you like he hasn’t seen you cry over expired yogurt before, then leans in close.

his voice drops, soft and dangerous.

“next time you wanna reenact your dramatic death, text me first, sweetheart.”

“i didn’t wanna bother you.”

“you’re my favorite kind of bother.”

you blink up at him, pout trembling.

“you’re such an asshole.”

he grins, brushes your hair back gently with a sigh. “but i’m your asshole.”

and then he disappears into the kitchen, mumbling something about how he’s going to make toast the size of your face and spoon-feed you if you try to crawl again.

he does.

he even cuts it into heart shapes.

he just won’t admit it.

HIROMI HIGURUMA

he knew something was off the second he called and you didn’t answer.

you always answered. even if it was just a groggy voice telling him you hated his ringtone and to never call you again. so when he’d finished his meeting, walked out of the courthouse with his tie loosened and a coffee he didn’t even want, and still hadn’t heard from you?

his stomach turned.

fifteen minutes later, he was at your apartment door, unlocking it with the key you gave him the night you first got sick and told him he was your emergency contact “because you look like you’d yell at doctors for me.”

he pushes the door open.

“...hello?”

silence.

and then—

soft sniffles. pen scratching paper. a dramatic sigh.

he follows the sound to the living room and—

freezes.

there you are. wrapped in a blanket like a sad little lump, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your head resting against the coffee table. a whole stack of napkins laid out in front of you like legal documents, each one written in your slightly-shaky, overly-loopy script.

he walks closer, blinking at the one closest to him.

“to my beloved hiromi: you can have my succulents, even though you always forget to water them. i forgive you. i love you. tell my cat i said bye.”

his brow twitches. “...what the hell is this?”

you jump, head snapping up like a child caught drawing on the walls. your eyes are watery and dramatic, red from crying, your nose a little stuffy and your cheeks flushed from fever. you clutch a pen like it’s a quill and you’re writing your last will before war.

“you came,” you whisper.

“yeah. what the hell is going on.”

you sniffle, voice soft and shaking. “i think i’m dying.”

he looks at the box of tissues, the half-empty bottle of cough syrup, and the room-temperature cup of tea on the table.

“you have a cold.”

“a terminal one.”

he sighs, long-suffering but fond, dropping the briefcase onto the floor with a soft thud.

“you sent me twelve napkin letters. in one of them you said i can have your pinterest password when you die.”

“you should know what i liked. to mourn properly.”

“you also left the air fryer to nanami.”

“he said he liked it once!”

he crouches down in front of you, long legs folding easily, eyes scanning your flushed face. he lifts a hand to press it gently to your forehead.

“jesus,” he mutters. “you’re burning up.”

you gaze at him with tear-filled devotion. “if i go, you have to be the one to eulogize me. make it sound like i was sexy and mysterious.”

“you’re congested and covered in napkins.”

“so was marilyn monroe probably.”

hiromi lets out a soft breath. then he leans forward, gathering you into his arms with a slow, practiced motion, your blanket and all, lifting you gently until you’re in his lap, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

you melt into him instantly, mumbling, “i left you my lip balm too. don’t let another girl use it.”

he hums. presses a kiss to your forehead.

“don’t worry, angel. you’re not dying.”

“you sound like a lawyer.”

“i am one. and i can legally promise you’re going to be fine.”

you grumble something about rewriting your will just in case, and he lets you. even picks up a fresh napkin for you and hands you your glitter pen with a quiet, indulgent smile.

“just let me make you some soup after,” he murmurs. “and then i’ll read every one of your dramatic goodbyes.”

“even the one where i left you my collection of embarrassing texts?”

“especially that one.”

he holds you tighter. his voice soft, but his touch firm. grounding. safe.

because for all your chaos, he wouldn’t be anywhere else.

[mahgyu]

Higuruma smut + N$FW audio

• minors do not interact!

──── When Higuruma has a particularly stressful day, he can only truly relax by having his cock buried in you, stimulating you to the maximum to hear those sweet whimpers of pleasure.

"Do you like that, baby?" Higuruma's voice is deep and husky as he thrusts into you, his skillful fingers playing with your clitoris with the intention of bringing you to orgasm. He smiles as you frantically nod your head, a loud moan escaping from your open mouth as you lie there, sprawled and fucked against the pillows.

"Uh? Do you like how my cock is stretching you?" He teases, and you know he's still smiling as he says it. Tilting his hips to hit your G-spot with each thrust, Higuruma can't help but kiss you with an open mouth as you sigh and whimper from the intense pleasure, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Oh, Hiromi, fuuuck " You already feel so dumb, babbling nonsense and moaning freely as you teeter on the edge. "Are you going to cum for me, baby? Come on, moan for me, let everyone know who treats this pussy so well..." He urges as your orgasm starts to hit you hard.

Your pussy is squeezing Higuruma's cock, your walls vibrating deliciously around him as he lets out a deep growl that makes his fingertips dig into the skin of your hips.

Your moans are loud and high-pitched, echoing through the room and drowning out the creaking of the bed. "That's it, sweetie, just like that" He smiles, hearing you curse and moan his name desperately as he ravenously kisses your mouth. "You can take a little more, can't you? You have no idea how much I need to fill you with my cum, sweetheart ".

⠀

Higuruma's version! Thank you again to everyone who was willing to help me with the audio issue <3

Do you have another character suggestion? Let me know who else you would like to see here.

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome 🫶🏻💕

[kurooh]

DOUBLE FANTASY ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring threesomes with gojo satoru + geto suguru, nanami kento + higuruma hiromi, shiu kong + fushiguro toji, tsukumo yuki + kamo choso.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, threesomes, oral [m&f rec], spit roasting, double penetration, some degradation, choking, rough sex, squirting, sharing a cigarette, spit, clit slaps. | 4.5K words of FILTH

xoxo, juno. comment & rb if you enjoyed <3 !

GOJO & GETO.

perhaps letting your two roommates take care of you after a messy breakup wasn’t a good idea—or is it? less than an hour ago, you’d come home sobbing, cheeks wet with tears and eyes puffy.

satoru and suguru had pulled you into a tight hug, internally thankful you’d broken things off with that asshole (they’d hated when he would come around) but also sympathetic towards you. it was a tough choice, which was then promptly celebrated over margaritas and shots on the couch. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were pressed flush against suguru’s strong chest, body sweltering with need hotter than a fire.

“s-sugu, i don’t think you can both fit inside.”

“not with that attitude, sweetheart,” suguru murmurs, hands settling on your hips as he places a small kiss to your cheek. “come now, anything’s possible if you believe in it.”

“bleh, you sound like confucius,” satoru fake gags dramatically, lining his cock up with his best friend’s. their sticky tips prod at your folds, and your heart races faster, rattling around in your ribcage so loudly you can hear it in your ears. although you’re a little nervous, the alcohol you’ve had helps to take the edge away; you impatiently wiggle your hips forward.

“i’m sorry . . ? do you even know who confucius is?” suguru asks incredulously, flicking his bangs to the side with a jerk of his head.

“i’ve seen you read enough of—”

“don’t do this right now,” you plead, voice whiny. “just fuck me already.”

“now, honey. you’ll have plenty of time to slut yourself out for us, don’t you worry.”

“nah, she’s right,” satoru quips, wrapping his hand around their cocks. suguru inhales sharply, unintentionally jerking his hips forward for more. “you ready for us, babe?”

you nod weakly, and the three of you moan in unison as satoru pushes their cocks inside you. it’s slow at first, but the stretch is one that you’ll remember for a lifetime—the burn of being split open on two cocks melts into something euphoric as each inch passes your entrance. satoru groans hungrily, his head falling back. snowy tufts of hair obscure his diamond blue eyes that he tightly squeezes shut, and a huff of breath leaves his lips.

suguru kisses your jaw, fingers trailing along the slopes of your body before finally sweeping over the delicate skin of your throat. you breath hitches when he whispers into your ear: “we’d always hear you begging to be choked harder. don’t you remember that, satoru?”

“hngh, yeah,” he swallows hard at the memory—he and his best friend always heard everything through those paper thin walls. they’d heard your dissatisfaction and vowed to satiate you someday. “and you’d always be going deeper, deeper!”

your cheeks burn with embarrassment. had your roommates really heard everything? how did they face you so easily in the morning after being kept awake each night?

“we’ll give you everything, sweetheart.”

suguru squeezes your throat experimentally, and the corners of his lips lift when you release a moan you’d been holding back for far too long. he and his best friend slowly start to move, rocking their hips into you and developing a smooth tempo.

“both of you are so fucking big,” you mewl, back bowing off of suguru’s chest. they’re filling you up and stretching you out and just as you think it can’t get any better, satoru’s nimble fingers wander to your clit. he curiously toys with it, eyes darkening lustfully once you react how he’d been hoping you would.

“perfect size just for you,” suguru coos, yanking you down by the throat. “satoru, spank her a little.”

he obliges, reading his best friend’s mind easily—a stinging slap lands on your clit, sending prickling shocks of pleasure through your body. the tips of their cocks kiss your cervix, pushing so deep you can’t seem to breathe. satoru gifts your swollen, sensitive clit with slap after slap; the force behind each one only increases until you’re crying freely.

but you’re not begging him to stop, you’re begging him for more.

“god, i always knew you were a fucking slut,” satoru chokes out, pausing to lick some of your slick off his palm. your stomach flips around at the simple action, something hot flashing through you when he closes his eyes momentarily and savors the taste. “finally . . got you to myself.”

then he looks at suguru, who rolls his eyes. “well, for the most part.”

“no need to sound so excited,” he deadpans, huffing beneath you. “as if you’d fuck any better than that damn ex boyfriend.”

satoru scoffs in disbelief, slapping your clit with renewed strength. his hips are still moving, still burying his cock and suguru’s inside you deeper. they’ve got you entirely stuffed—maybe this would be better than some turkey on thanksgiving. your clit throbs with each punishing slap, but your eyes still roll back each time. while they bicker, your oxygen deprived brain spins with arousal and tipsiness. you shudder, going still and barely even managing to warn them of what’s about to happen.

“fuck, i’m gonna—‘m cumming,” you sob, sounding fragile just before you’re about to break. flashes of heat chase their way through you, until they finally explode out of you, in the form of a soaking orgasm. out of patterned habit, satoru’s palm smacks your puffy clit, which only prolongs your intoxicating high further. the intense contractions inadvertently push their cocks a few inches out of you, and your cum splashes on their skin, eliciting pleased groans from them both.

“baby, did you just—”

“she did, satoru,” suguru confirms, biting back a moan.

“i don’t even—i don’t know what happened,” you pant, hissing when someone’s tip bumps against your twitching clit.

“‘s called squirting,” satoru supplies, entranced as he stares at your messy cunt. a mixture of slick and cum coats your inner thighs, and he can’t help but swipe a finger across your skin and then stick it into his mouth. he releases it with a pop, and eyes suguru knowingly.

his voice is now raspy, thick with desire. “let’s make it happen again, sweetheart. we can take turns, of course. but my face comes before satoru’s.”

NANAMI & HIGURUMA.

the smooth oak wood surface of higuruma’s desk is littered with papers hastily swept to the side, and the fabric of your skirt fans out over a few of them. pens and other stationary supplies are forgotten on the floor, along with your now wrinkled blouse.

“h-holy shit—‘romi, right there! just like that.”

“one can only hope that this’ll be enough luck to carry us through the trial,” higuruma grunts, nails digging crescent shaped indents into the fat of your ass. he’s gripping you tightly, chest heaving rapidly as he vigorously fucks his cock deeper.

“ah, hiromi,” nanami huffs, pushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead. they’d escaped their neatly gelled place on his head when the three of you had rushed into higuruma’s office to discuss the final procedures before your trial. “don’t be a downer . . . this is more than lucky. we’ll win, of course.”

you sob, clawing at higuruma’s shoulders. he’d discarded his suit jacket long ago, carefully folded it on one of his bookshelves so as not to ruin the cuffs and smoothness of the fabric. now, he’s rolled the sleeves of his white shirt all the way up to his elbows, and his loosened black tie swings in your face with each of his thrusts.

“wait, hiromi,” your clammy hand pushes against his stomach insistently, “s-slow down, it’s too much, i—”

higuruma looks toward nanami for instruction, and the latter simply pauses stroking his cock. he stands, pushing back the spinning chair he’d been sitting on, and steps toward the edge of the desk. a sheen of sweat covers your forehead and disrupts the smoothness of your makeup, but nanami doesn’t take much pity on you—instead, he lightly slaps your cheek.

“need me to show you too much, angel?” his voice is low and dark, words laced with a throaty rasp that has your pussy squeezing higuruma’s cock. nanami’s eyebrow raises as he pushes your thighs apart to take a look at the mess between them.

“seems to me like she wants you to,” higuruma nods toward your pussy, then loosens his tie and collar further. “after my turn, of course.”

nanami grunts in agreement, settling on the edge of the desk beside your head instead of the chair. the desk creaks weakly from the newly added weight, and for a moment the idea of it collapsing beneath the three of you crosses your mind. higuruma snaps his hips forward, unconsciously licking the sweat away from his upper lip when he starts up.

your hand lamely pushes against his stomach again, but he shakes his head and nanami reacts immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and slamming your hand down on the wood. whimpers leave your lips and the air is punched out of your lungs with each of higuruma’s strong thrusts; he’s so deep you can practically feel him in your chest.

“ken, i need—my clit,” you gasp, back bowing off the desk fruitlessly. your hips twist and jerk away from higuruma’s cock, for fear of being split open. “touch my clit, i need to cum—”

nanami slaps your cheek again, and your eyes roll back at the penalizing sting. “hiromi, you hear that? she wants to cum.” he mocks your words, then turns back to you, hazel eyes burning holes into your own. “and how do good girls ask to cum, baby? certainly not the way you just did.”

“‘m sorry,” you mewl, and higuruma slaps your clit and makes you shudder. “p-please, i wanna cum for you—i’ve been a good girl!”

“hm, hiromi? you think she’s been a good girl?”

you look up at higuruma pleadingly, tears gathered in your lashes and sparkling in the light. you’ve got that blissed out and dumb look on your face, completely at peace with being thrown around and shared between them.

“sluts take it,” he groans, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard. he yanks your body closer, further bullying his cock inside you. “‘nd you’ve been running from me—isn’t that right, babygirl?”

nanami clicks his tongue, and pinches one of your hardened nipples between his fingers. he looks down at you nicely, cheeks pink and hair mussed.

“maybe i’ll let you cum when it’s my turn,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips when you weakly moan his name as if he’ll give you permission. “for now, you’ll have to beg. now, go on and open wide, baby.”

the moment your lips part, nanami spits onto your tongue; he watches you expectantly and nodding in acceptance when you swallow, drunk on the taste of his peppermint gum.

“that’s right,” higuruma backs him up, looking down his nose at you expectantly. “speak now or forever hold your orgasm, sweetheart.”

TOJI & SHIU.

“so, princess, still up for lunch later?” shiu grunts around a chuckle, passing the lit cigarette to toji. the latter accepts it with a scoff, rolling his jade green eyes as he sticks it between his lips.

“yes,” you and toji answer at the same time, but your voice is muffled on shiu’s cock.

toji gifts your ass with a slap and exhales the smoke, handing the cigarette back to shiu with a glare. his once stagnant hips begin to move again, almost as if he’s rejuvenated from his little smoke break. shiu only laughs, cupping the crown of your head in order to ease his cock further down your throat.

“i’m surprised you’ve got the money for that, toji,” shiu teases, exhaling sharply when the tip of his cock bumps into your uvula and makes you gag. your throat constricts around his length and you let out a muffled whine in reaction to the stretch.

“you crazy or sum’n?” toji snaps, choosing to argue with his best friend while he’s balls deep inside you. his harsh thrusts make your pussy squelch, and shiu’s cum from earlier spills out onto the bedsheets below. “of course i’ve got the fuckin’ money for lunch, but you’re gonna be the one paying, dumbass.”

his fingers find your swollen clit and he pinches it, making you gasp around shiu’s cock. you choke, gagging so hard tears pool in your eyes—shiu strokes your head comfortingly as you pull off his cock, coughing hard.

“you okay, babygirl?” and he looks at toji disapprovingly, but he only continues to fuck you. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix lightly with each thrust, and when he feels like he’s not going deep enough, he lifts your hips to pull you back. “toji, that was mean.”

“mean . . ? shiu, my girl can fuckin’ handle it. ain’t that right, baby?” he looks to you for confirmation, quirking a brow while the scarred corner of his lip curves into a smirk.

this whole mess had started when you’d spent a night in with toji, watching movies and taking shots every now and then. you’d gotten drunk, swaying on your feet and giggling as you’d pointed to the tv screen dazedly.

“oh, toji, look! that guy looks like shiu!”

he could see the resemblance, and grunted, “damn, he does. ugly just like him too.”

“shiu isn’t ugly!” you jumped up drunkenly to defend his best friend’s appearance, waving your arms around dramatically. “he’s very good looking, actually.”

“oh, really? he doesn’t have any muscle, though.”

“toji, don’t be silly,” you laughed at your boyfriend, “‘course he does, it’s just under all those clothes of his. if he took ‘em off, you’d know what i mean!”

“so you got a crush on shiu?” toji asked in disbelief, his cheeks flaring a deeper pink as he took another vodka shot. “aw, i should let him know.”

one thing led to another, and shiu had come over for breakfast. then your little crush had gotten out, and a bet was placed—who could fuck you better? the condition for the loser was then set in place: whoever lost would buy lunch for the three of you without question.

“y-yeah, toji,” you mumble, forehead pressing into shiu’s pelvis weakly. he’d been the first to fuck you, and now it’s toji’s turn with your pussy—you’re sure you won’t walk smoothly ever again.

“can’t hear you,” toji taunts, lifting your hips and yanking you back onto his cock. the new angle forces him deeper, stretching your cunt out even further. “wanna repeat that for me, doll?”

“ngh, f-fuck,” you moan, eyes rolling back. his cock slams into that sweet, sensitive spot that’s deep inside you, and the tears that had been building in your eyes finally pour down your cheeks. the mascara and eye makeup you’d worn for the breakfast smears against shiu’s skin and makes messy tracks down your face. he curiously slips a finger beneath your chin to make you look up at him.

“aw, baby. i really can’t wait to hear who fucked you better . . . my back certainly wasn’t cracking as much as his is.”

“shut it, shiu,” toji groans, savoring the broken moans that freely leave your lips—gasping ah’s and whines that you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. “hand me the fuckin’ cig.”

shiu obliges, chuckling softly when he notices you pawing around his thighs in search of his cock. you whimper when you finally get his tip back in your mouth (with his guidance), slowly taking him in inch by inch. he groans, tossing his head back when he finally bumps into the back of your throat.

“m-mind if i fuck your mouth, doll face?” he asks, thighs twitching expectantly. a vein in toji’s forehead bulges at the way he steals his pet name for you.

you shake your head shyly, blinking slowly while toji fucks every single thought out of your head. he’s deliberately holding himself back so you’ll go dumb on his cock, unable to scream anything but his name. yes, this is how he’ll show shiu who can fuck—show him that you’re his girl, his doll face.

tendrils of smoke waft over your break before dissipating in the air as if they were never there. you shudder as toji’s fingers reach your clit, rubbing sloppy circles on the sensitive nub even though your hips rear away. you still haven’t recovered from the overstimulation shiu caused with both his tongue and fingers, but that’s okay. he’ll have you cumming on his cock regardless.

with a deep groan, shiu cups the back of your head to keep you steady, and he shoves his hips forward, his cock slamming far down your throat. you gag, but he’s merciless—doesn’t give you more than a second to breathe before he’s at it again, setting a brutal pace that matches toji’s.

“ugh, fuck—want ya to cum on this cock for me, doll,” he groans, starting to slap his fingers against your clit. your legs kick out in reaction, and you hump your hips back against his hand. toji’s fucked you so hard you can’t even feel shiu’s cum dripping out of you anymore; he’s seconds away from replacing it with his own thick load and having you hold it inside you during lunch.

you nod dumbly on shiu’s cock, starting to sob louder as your own orgasm hurtles toward you. the high is absolutely inescapable, and your watery eyes meet shiu’s when you tip your head up. to the best of his abilities, he’s sweetly talking you through it, his words jumbled although you manage to hear a few clearly.

“how ‘bout we all cum together?” he suggests, wiping a stray tear from your face with the pad of his thumb as if he wasn’t the one that caused it.

“whatever, just as long she does first,” toji warns, his husky voice carrying a tenderness that only you can hear. “got that, shiu?”

like a cheshire cat, he smiles in response, sticking the worn down cigarette between his lips. he takes a drag and thrusts as deeply as he can go before holding your head down at his pelvis. you can hear his quiet moan beneath the clapping of skin against skin and all the other noise; his cock shoots ribbons of white down your throat and he shudders when you swallow it all eagerly, looking up at him for more.

toji throbs against your cervix, and he grabs your asscheek in one of his hands to tug and slap at. “‘m gonna cum, shit . . . wouldn’t ever wanna cum outside of this pretty pussy.”

his fingers work your clit until you’re arching your back and crying out, gushing on toji’s cock with no end in sight. wetness sprays against his pelvis and abs, and he groans, fucking you through it.

“such a mess, doll,” he groans, slipping a hand around your throat and pulling you off shiu’s cock. he instead pins you against his muscular chest, looking over your shoulder through hooded eyes at shiu, who hasn’t gone soft yet. “fuckin’ love it, though.”

toji places a few wet kisses to your neck, moving close to your ear. “so, doll face? where’s lunch gonna be? shiu’s treat, of course.”

YUKI & CHOSO.

“c’mon, you don’t really plan to just sit and watch us, do you?” yuki pushes her blonde bangs away from her forehead with an enchanting smile playing on her lips. she playfully tilts her head to the side, eyeing choso and his seated form.

“well, i . . . you said you’d teach me,” he offers lamely, his reddened cheeks only darkening. he catches your eyes on him too and awkwardly crosses his legs, trying to hide the tent in his pants.

when you’d finally had enough of your boyfriend’s ineducable inexperience, you’d decided to bite the bullet and ask your best friend. yuki had been receptive from the start, her eyes gleaming while you’d explained the situation to a willing choso.

“oh, you won’t learn anything from over there,” she laughs, waving him over to the empty space beside her on the bed. “y’know, sex is pretty hands on.”

choso settles beside her, and the bedframe creaks as it accommodates the new weight. his fingers are trembling as they brush over the tender skin of your inner thighs, and his eyes widen when they come close to your dripping pussy. slick is smeared all over your skin and shining in the low light, utterly enticing to the both of them.

yuki spreads your legs further, and you draw in a sharp breath, lower lip slipping between your teeth.

“come closer,” she coos, pointing at your clit with a smirk. “that’s her clit . . . ‘s the secret to the female orgasm, choso. go on, give her a lick.”

without question, choso adjusts himself so he’s on his stomach, and he experimentally licks your clit. his silky tongue is flexed and nervous, dipping down further to taste the wetness trickling from your slit.

“f-fuck, choso,” you cry, insides lurching deliciously at the feeling. one look at yuki—her cheeks are colored pink, tongue unconsciously darting out occasionally to sweep over her lower lip—and another at choso, whose movements are gradually becoming more insistent, has a sweltering heat coiling deep in your stomach.

your hips jerk forward, pelvic bone nearly nailing him in the bridge of his nose, and choso’s head rears back in concern. “‘m sorry, are you—”

“our girl’s loving it,” yuki hisses, not even missing a beat as she cups the crown of his head, manicured nails digging into your boyfriend’s scalp as she forces his head back down. he doesn’t resist, letting out a muffled moan when his face lands directly in your pussy. slick smears across the lower half of his face and he feels the saliva pool on his tongue from how hungry he is.

choso’s nose bumps into your swollen clit, and a pitched whine tears from your throat. “need—i need more, please,” yuki settles onto her stomach beside choso, palm leaving his head. her fingers impatiently push past his chin, stroking lightly against your dripping pussy, and she quietly moans in delight.

you watch slack jawed as yuki pushes her fingers into her mouth, and her eyes squeeze shut. her hips grind against the bed, sheets rustling softly beneath her body. choso’s too caught up to notice, dark strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“cho—ah, shit—use your fingers, baby.”

your boyfriend obliges obediently, carefully pushing his fingers inside you and tugging back to let yuki take over with her mouth.

that heat inside you ignites into an inferno the second her mouth finds your clit. her lips lightly wrap around it and her tongue sweeps over the swollen bud; to tease you a little further, she lets her teeth occasionally nibble at it.

“this what you wanted?” choso pants, voice lilting curiously as his eyes rake over your body. he’s always been rather shameless when it comes to looking you over, but after this, he’ll finally be able to back it up with a hundred percent. the heave of your chest and parting of your bitten lips is enough of an answer, but he wants to hear it from you. his fingers curl inside you, pressing into a spot that scratches the unbearable itch in your brain perfectly.

“y-yes, cho!” and you’ve got stars in your eyes, feeling an unfamiliar pressure straining in your lower abdomen. “wanna—wanna cum on your face, please.”

“you heard her,” yuki quirks a brow, thumb working your clit in place of her tongue. she’s got a wildness in her eyes, with the lower half of her face sticky like choso’s. “let’s make our pretty girl cum together, hm?”

choso flushes all the way to his neck but nods, his two fingers pushing deeply over and over. a small sting accommodates the stretch, but is quickly forgotten when their faces push against one another’s in their rush for a taste. your slick is sweet like ambrosia, and they’re far too greedy to take turns with your cunt.

your clammy fingers push into yuki’s flowing tresses, while your other hand cups the crown of choso’s head and pushes him impossibly closer. her moans are softer than his as she finds your clit again, licking desperately, almost as if she’s begging you to cum.

meanwhile, choso places a hand above your pelvic bone, palm pressing into the soft skin—you’d mentioned that fingering wasn’t fingering without that small detail and he hasn’t forgotten it since—and it’s becoming difficult to breathe without panting. whiny moans fill the spaces in between your babbled words of bliss, and yuki knows that she won’t be able to get enough of you once this is over.

“ooh, fuck,” you sob, nearly choking on your words when your back uncontrollably arches off the bed. your fingers tighten in her hair and your nails scratch against choso’s scalp, making a mess of his once neatly tied buns. “yuki, ‘m so close, can’t hold it—”

she’d known what had been coming the moment you’d asked for choso’s fingers. she’s unable to stop herself from smiling against your clit, and choso’s tongue bumps into her own as he fights for a piece of you too. he’d initially been all for this so he could learn how to make you tick, what you really meant when you’d beg for his mouth.

his skin is hot as it pushes against hers, their cheeks puffing up a little as they fight for dominance over your clit. they’re shaking their heads all too much, and choso’s grunting while yuki does too, sending vibrations through your already sensitive clit. that pressure burns through your body, and your legs begin to tremble on either side of them as it grows more intense.

“hmph—cum for us, pretty girl.”

similarly, choso tugs away for a moment and lets out a huff, pressing down hard while his fingertips push into your sweet spot, “let us taste it, baby.”

their simple words do the trick, and with a gasp, your pussy begins to gush waterfalls right onto their faces. yuki eagerly slurps up the slick and cum from your cunt, with no regard for the way it’s still fluttering sensitively. choso barely gets a taste, only getting the tip of his tongue wet, and he pulls back with an annoyed scoff.

“yuki, that’s—”

“y-yuki!” you interrupt, voice breaking as you pathetically try to writhe away from her. with choso sitting back, she’s able to grab you by the hips and drag you close, insistently licking you through the dizzying high. “‘s too much, wait—choso!”

“yuki,” he scolds with a shake of his head, but makes no move to pull her away. honestly, if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to. “that’s no fair, i didn’t even get a taste. and she’s my girl.” choso’s words are pointed and a little whiny, and yuki just rolls her eyes.

“then come here ‘n try again. just look at her, she’s dying for more . . aren’t ya, pretty?”

[2cupids]

𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒 … 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘

warnings — fem reader, bōndage, crėampies, megumi is aged up (18+). mdni (17+).

your big, hunky boyfriend that occasionally indulges in your little fantasies even though he’s not particularly fond of them, but he does it to keep you happy.

he’ll let you tie him to the bed with your pretty pink ribbons with a very obvious scowl on his face as you giggle while you “restrain” him.

he thinks it’s silly honestly, but he would never tell you that. plus, these “restraints” you’re using are some he could easily break out of. did you forget what he does for work?

for now, he’ll let you have your fun, thinking that you’re in control. until he gets tired, that is.

tired of the way you tease his cock, not taking him all the way in your mouth. tired of watching your tits bounce as you ride him but not being able to touch them. tired of the way this little bit of “control” you have over him is getting to your head.

all it’ll take is one weak pull of his wrists and these little “restraints” of yours will be broken, and he’ll be in control again.

he’ll have you pinned underneath him in the blink of an eye, slamming his hips into yours and forcing his fat, girthy cock into you. he’ll show you who really has the power and control.

he won’t stop until stop your pussy is sore and raw and his sticky cum is leaking out onto the bedsheets from the multiple loads he’s released in you. by the time he’s done with you, the only thing you’ll remember how to do is repeat his name, over and over again like a chant.

but he’ll let his princess have her way, just like he always does. only for a little while though.

geto, gojo, higuruma, hakari, kusakabe, megumi, nanami, naoya, noritoshi, shiu, sukuna, tengen, toji.

[loves4ge]

sending them nudes in the middle of an argument !

incl. nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, toji fushiguro

mdni ❌😔

[lale-txt]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.

[ryiju-muunie]

Your boyfriend who loves to watch you writhe in pleasure when you're in the depths of sleep. He loves to dip into your wetness and pry your folds apart to dive deeper. Tongue searching for your core and penetrating you deeply.

Fuck, you look so cute when your mouth parts. When you whimper and let out a little snore, trying to turn. But your boyfriend's hands are on your thighs, keeping them anchored by his face as he laps.

Your boyfriend loves to turn you around, bury your face in your pillow and pry your perfect ass cheeks apart. He loves to bury his face deep in your slit from behind, spreading your legs and letting his tongue tease your pussy.

It's so wet and throbbing underneath his teeth, as they pull on your vulva and nibble on the sensitive area. And God, it's so hot how your boyfriend dips from your ass to your cunt, savoring your flavor.

His tongue lolls circles around your anus, fluttering kisses on your hole before sucking your honeypot from behind, relishing in your savory juice along his cheeks.

You're none the wiser and fuck your boyfriend loves it.

[pseudowho]

Fright Night! Multi-Fic

The local fair has a Halloween fright night! Actors and zombies and terror, oh my! You drag your boyfriend to it...how does that go for you?

Gojo, Geto, Toji, Higuruma and Ino

18+, NSFW/suggestive in parts

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Gojo: Goes in smiling. Obnoxious laughter the whole way, and it only worsens when you're screaming at every single actor. As you cringe away from a dead-eyed bride, Gojo tickles your ribs until you squirm.

"Awww, baby, you scared? You're scared, right?"

As if in answer to his question, and received with heaps of cackles, you screech when some hideous creature with no teeth and bloodstained rags lunges at you from the dark.

"Satoru-- hold my hand--"

"--ahhh, yeah, okay...c'mere."

He pulls you in, and you scuttle to keep up with his long-legged stride. Still, the horrors continue and so does his mockery.

His teasing is relentless. Your fear is gradually replaced by indignant prickling anger. You take your chance, when it comes.

"You go in first," you beg Satoru, outside a horrifying old room full of dolls, "please, Satoru, check it out first before I go--"

He huffs as if actually bothered, but his shit-eating grin gives him away as he ambles inside. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twi--"

You promptly shove the door closed with a bang! and yank a chair beneath the doorknob. You've heard rumours about this room; you are not disappointed. Satoru's voice sounds wary. The doorknob rattles just once, and you bite your lip with a smile.

"--hey...hey, babe, the...the dolls are moving."

Nervous laughter from the room. You try to hide the laughter in your voice.

"Oh yeah? You okay?"

"--OH, FU-- yeah, I'm fine. You know me, I'm the stronge--"

Satoru's voice cuts off with a profoundly girly screech, and the doorknob rattles violently while you twist with silent hilarity, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choke out.

"Ohhhh, nooo, Satoru, the door's stuck!"

More screeches, bangs and horrifying eerie noises, but you're too busy pressed forwards on your knees, laughing and laughing to the confused looks of passers-by.

"The dolls aren't dolls! THE DOLLS AREN'T DOLLS! BABE! LET ME OUT!"

A guy leans down to you, pointing at the door.

"Hey, uh...can we go in?"

You wipe tears of mirth from your eyes, bursting into laughter as you hear Satoru scream again.

"No...no, sorry buddy. This one's gonna be taken for a while, I think."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Geto: Total con-artist. Though he croons to you, cloudsoft and soothing through your horror, he's the puppet master. The horror engineer. The king of manipulation.

Every time another actor leaps out to set fear aflame in your veins, Suguru only pretends to be surprised; he isn't. He's already led you around this maze three times, anticipating the flow of the actors, and bleeding you for maximum terror.

He doesn't want to admit how his cock twitches against his thigh every time you break down into a whimpering mess; but, he can't deny that he's getting off on this.

"Shhhh, shhh shhh shhh," he soothes, one arm holding you to his side while his lips and nose ghost the shell of your ear, "shhh, baby, it's okay...it's all just pretend. I'm here. I've got you."

You look confused, your memory tangled by fear; "I...I could swear we've been this way already, Suguru--"

"Trust me. I know the way. These mazes are all samey. You're just getting mixed up, silly. Come on."

He has distracted you again, of course. He walks forwards, looking back to you with a smile. You frown, looking down at Suguru's two empty hands...and wondering whose hand you are holding.

The scream you scream, as Suguru seamlessly replaces himself with a white-eyed, rotten-fleshed actor, sends a dribble of pre-cum down his thigh.

He's just waiting until he can get you home, switch off all the lights, and continue the scare trail straight into bed.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Toji: Utterly unbothered, and smirks his way around. Some of the actors approach, take one look at him, and then turn tail to scare someone else. Anyone else.

But halfway round, he gets bored, and disappears. You're left, abandoned; alone. Toji wants to get in on the action.

You're surrounded by screams, and silence, and dry ice in the dark, and you turn on the spot, spinning, frantic, your heart pounding, your tongue dry, sweat dripping down the small of your back--

Until the sound of metal on metal. Something scraping along a wall. Footsteps heavier than your own heartbeat. And, the one small light source you have is blocked, as a monster of a man in a boiler suit, mask and axe fills the doorway.

The whimper that leaves you is audible; "...Toji?" As if you could be so lucky.

Silence. His heavy, laboured breathing. The footsteps begin towards you, slowly at first...before he runs.

You run, too, shrieking like a banshee, too loud for you to hear the occasional laugh beneath the monstrous man's roars. You find yourself chased down to a dead end, your back and palms flat against the wall, chest heaving, and he approaches slowly, watching you behind his mask.

The blade of the (very blunt) axe strokes down, down, down the centre line of your torso to stop just over your sex, and you whimper, mortified by the trickle of arousal that creeps through you.

"T-Toji--" You whisper to yourself, "T-Toji, where the fuck--please please please help me--oh my god ohmygod ohmygod--"

A shiver seems to go through the man, who leans down and whispers, in a voice so familiar that your jaw drops.

"Like bein' chased, huh? What about bein' caught? You like bein' caught?"

Judging by the way his boiler suit tents, Toji likes it, at least.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma: Has not got the mental wherewithal for this, today. Perhaps another day, but not today. And it infuriates him, when his colourful imagination and adrenaline threaten to overtake his inherent logic that this is all just make-believe.

"For fuck's sa-- pull yourself together, Hiromi," he groans as another horrifying creature-person scuttles past in a contortionist twist. You're carried on his back, squealing and kicking into him, while he huffs at you with beleaguered fondness.

Every time something makes him jump, a noise of bewildered shock bursts out, and he growls at himself, running his hand back through his hair and pressing his forehead against a nearby wall.

A few actors, however, take one look at him and treat him as part of the furniture. Hiromi frowns.

"Some of them think I look scared enough, apparently."

You mumbled into his neck. "Scary enough, I think you mean. Look--"

You gently turn his face to a flaking full length mirror. Hiromi drinks himself in; still in a dishevelled suit and tie, sweatstains, coffee drip on his white shirt, and dark circles that surely have to be make-up.

Suddenly, it clicks.

"Ahhh," Hiromi breathes putting you down to your screeching indignation; he doesn't notice as you press yourself to the wall, instead rubbing his face and clothes on a discarded 'bloody' rag.

By the time he's finished, stepping slowly over to you, chin tilted down and looking down at you with beetle-black eyes, you feel a shiver running through you. He's...frightening. Clearly some awful spectral businessman, covered in blood and dirt and horror.

"You...wow. Yeah, Hiromi, you look...great."

Hiromi shrugs you onto his back with a satisfied little chuckle, and the rest of your scare trail is relatively unhindered. Passers-by skirt round him with a wary gaze, and the sinister little smile on his face only adds to the effect.

You stroke one finger down his chest, sultry and whispering.

"Hey, Hiro...stay like this, later, for...activities."

"You are utterly twisted, my love. I absolutely can."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ino: Just as scared as you. Absolute chocolate teapot. You'd have done better taking a puppy with you, probably, because the actors approach Ino thinking he can take it, and he absolutely can't.

If Takuma could have jumped into your arms, a la Scooby Doo, he would have. Alas, he simply pulls his balaclava down in groaning terror. When other visitors then scream at him, too, thinking he's part of the crew, he raises his balaclava back up with a suppressed sob.

"Baby-- I can't take it-- I'm too weak-- my heart--"

"Takuma, I--" You shriek, too, when some ghastly woman in a bloodstained nightdress appears. She runs for you both, and you and Takuma sprint away, hand-in-hand, half-laughing, and half-crying.

By the time you round a corner, slamming the door to trap yourselves in a dark room, you and Ino hold each other, panting in the gloom. You feel a familiar hard press against your belly, and look up at Takuma with utter disbelief. He blushes, his lower lip drawing up and looking aside with a grumble.

"--are you excited, Takuma--"

"--aww, shit, babe, you know he don't make any sense--"

His words cut off with a strangled moan as you grip him through his pants, and, biting your lip, lower to your knees. Takuma's jaw drops, his cock twitching up as it's released. You whisper up at him in the dark.

"...emotional support blow-job?"

"F-fuck yeah, emotional support blow-job, I can be your hero after that--"

A few people come to investigate the ghostly little moans coming from your room, but Ino blocks the door with one trembling, jittering foot until the moans crescendo.

[tsukimefuku]

de-stressing the lawyer :: higuruma hiromi

summary: your husband hiromi is pretty stressed out with work, and you decide to help him out… by giving him head under his desk.

cw: smut, implied f!reader, blowjob, swallowing, pet names (“darling" and “my dear”).

wc: 1.1k

notes etc.: this is just filth, guys. It is thoroughly inspired by that one amazing four-panel comic from @g00miato that has lived in my head rent free ever since I saw it a while ago (tagging the artist with her consent, you can check out the comic here on this link).

Hiromi had a throbbing headache as he sat on his home office's desk. He had been cooped up in there for hours after work, having already peeled out his tie and suit jacket, trying to crack a case he didn't get anywhere with during office hours.

The evidence? Wasn't favorable at all. The procedure? Pristine, nothing to argue about that. His client was in a dire situation and Hiromi thought he might have to enter a plea bargain with the prosecution, something he loathed with every fiber of his being.

"Hey, Hiro... Any luck yet?" you asked, walking in holding a plate with a few sandwiches. He looked at you like he could throw himself out of the window at that very instant. "Yeesh."

"I'm stuck. I'm just utterly, and completely, stuck," he answered, disheartened and annoyed, with a prominent vein popping on his forehead — the tell-tale sign he was operating at peak stress capabilities.

You put the plate on the desk and sat on the edge to avoid ruffling up his papers.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Hiro?" you asked, with clear concern in your voice. He worked too much most of the time.

Hiromi spun on his chair to look at you for a second, grabbing one of the sandwiches.

"This is fine, love. Thank you."

Upon closer inspection, he really looked like he was three heartbeats short of a heart attack. 

"Hiromi, you need to relax..." you cooed, giving him a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Maybe try taking a break?"

"I can't. I can't leave this desk. I feel like I almost got it, but it keeps slipping away! Dammit," he complained with his mouth half full while covering his face with his hands.

You sighed, and walked behind him, starting to massage his shoulders. He felt like a boulder underneath your touch, and it took a while for him to actually begin relaxing, putting his food back on the plate and dangling his head back with his eyes closed.

"Is that good?"

Hiromi simply nodded, and you sighed, a little more relieved. However, his muscles were still very much stiff, and there was no way he'd be able to continue working like this.

That was when you had a wicked little idea.

“Hey, Hiro, I think you need a break.”

“My love, I can’t. I’ve almost-“

“Let me rephrase that — you will take a break right now,” you answered him, starting to pull on his chair enough to separate him from his desk, “because I had an idea. And you won’t have to leave your desk.”

Hiromi looked at you confused, but offered no resistance when you pulled him away from his papers. Swiftly, you walked in front of him and kneeled, sliding under his desk.

“What are you-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you put both hands on his thighs and rolled him back in your direction, sneaky fingers quickly unzipping his pants.

“I’m taking care of my dear, beloved husband,” you cooed with a mischievous smile on your face.

Hiromi looked down at you, shuddering the moment you pressed your hands on his clothed cock and started to massage it over his boxers, his pupils slowly growing larger and larger. Hiromi’s mouth fell open, his breathing growing heavier as he gazed at you.

You could feel his length hardening under your touch, and rested your face over his thigh while you kept softly stroking him. Hiromi’s hand made its way towards your face, his thumb brushing circles around your cheek. Your eyes met his, and you smiled at him, robbing him of a blush and some fluttering blinks.

For the first time today, Hiromi actually felt the pent up stress easing on him. His relaxation now had become more evident from the way your husband began slouching himself on his chair. His resolve to keep tinkering with his work evaporated for the time being, something only you got to do with Hiromi.

His work was first to anything, except when it came to you.

Feeling more and more satisfied with that, you finally downed his boxers, just to see his now throbbing, red cock slapping with a soft thud against his skin. From his mouth, the faintest whimper tumbled out, and oh did that rile you up just right.

Not wasting any time, you gave a few licks over his tip, tasting the salty pre cum just forming a tiny drop over his slit. That robbed Hiromi from some little moans and gasps, right before you finally downed his length inside your mouth, glazing it all over with wet, warm saliva. 

”You... t-take such good care-- of me... fuck“ Hiromi’s fingers tangled in your hair, lovingly massaging their way through, and it was you now who let out a tiny mewl, eliciting a broken moan from his lips.

You had your mouth as deep as you could without choking yourself, and bobbed your head up and down his shaft, as one of your hands pumped the rest of his length down to the base, pulling your other hand up to massage his tightening balls. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and at that moment, he let out a strained whimper rolling his eyes back, biting his lips.

”Such a good wife-- s-so good for me-- ohhh perfect... shit... ohhhh--”

His praises were definitely arousing, to say the least, and you clenched your thighs together, relieving — even if just a little — the pulsing need aching in your core while you had both of your hands full with him.

Hiromi got lost in the pleasure, and barely noticed his entire body relaxing, which led to his legs starting to push him away from you. Your hand that previously was around his balls instantly shot up, holding him by his buttoned shirt. The moment you pulled him in your direction, edging his cock even deeper in your tight, hot, slick mouth, he involuntarily bucked his hips, tip hitting the roof of your mouth.

You moaned with your lips around his shaft, and started to suck on it more intently. Hiromi’s head dangled back, his own desperate moans and whimpers coming muffled in between his teeth and bitten bottom lip. Both of his hands now stroked your hair, anxiously making a mess out of you, just as much you were making a mess out of him.

”I’m gonna c-cum... Can I... inside-- p-please-- m-my love, ohhhhh-- please... please”

To hear him beg desperately like that was definitely one of your favorite sounds in the world. 

You moaned back at him a muffled mm-hmm, and from his lips fell some louder whimpers, his fingers tensing around your head.

He came with a shiver shooting all throughout his entire body, warm spurts of his thick cum blossoming hot over your tongue, glazing your entire mouth and throat.

Your hand on his shirt tightened, crumpling it like paper, as you drank his essence in, swallowing down everything as your pumping over his length finally slowed down, his cock twitching under your touch to let out his final drops.

Letting go from his cock with an audible pop after your were finished, you looked up at him, and for a moment, you felt like you could cum from that sight alone. His flushed, loving, little fucked out face, smiling at you with those luster-filled ashy eyes. It was definitely a sight to behold. 

You rested your face over his thigh, longingly looking at him, and Hiromi’s hand cupped the side of your face.

“I love you, darling,” he cooed with a husky, low voice.

“I love you too, Hiro.”

Out of nowhere, though, his gaze slowly morphed, and his eyebrows shot up, as if Hiromi had remembered something.

“Hiro, is everything okay?”

“I think I just might have thought of a way to salvage this case.”

De-stressing really helped Hiromi with work, apparently, and you’d help him every time he needed to.

Gladly.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[sugarwarachan]

higuruma hiromi and breath play - mdni

(･ω･)つ andy’s notes: a quick little drabble about him because i’m actually frothing at the mouth over this man pls send help cws: smut, nfsw, breath play/choking

he loves his hand around your neck. it’s not something he does consciously at first. whenever you kiss, he hovers briefly over your throat before descending, thumb pressing gently under your jawline, the palm of his hand resting against the thrumming patter of your heart.

when you point it out to him, he blushes in a way you didn’t expect from a 36-year-old man. it’s cute, though, and you can’t help but tease him a little for it.

“higuruma hiromi with a choking kink, who’d have thought?”

you’d have thought—you’ve wanted those long fingers as a necklace since you fucking met him.

you grab his hand and wrap it around your throat. his eyes darken before he squeezes once, experimentally. you instantly shudder against him, the sides of your thighs relaxing against his legs.

“tap my forearm twice if it’s too much,” is all he says.

you nod, and he tightens his grip. he doesn’t know it yet, but the glazed-over look in your eyes is one he’ll come to love, one he’ll come to expect.

"more," you breathe out, hips rocking forward. he can feel your pussy throb against the heat of his thigh and it stokes a fire under his skin. he guides your hips as you rock back and forth, drinking in the keens bubbling out of your throat.

he swipes the pad of his thumb over the pout of your lips to collect the drool collecting there, a dark grin stealing over his features.

yes, he's very fond of his hand around your neck.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works. masterlist here. divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[holeforzenin]

Kento loves posting couple photos and selfies of the two of you together on Instagram because he wants the whole world to see just how beautiful his dear girl was, he posts them all the time and everyone likes and comments about how adorable the two of you look smiling together, even Gojo teases him about it in the comments.

To everyone you two were this shy, innocent well-put-together couple but what they didn't know was that the sweet darling blond had the hem of your pretty sundress all brunched up on his lap with his cock stuffed soo deep to the hilt inside your warm fluttery walls, where you had huffs of blond pubic hair grazing against your clit soo deliciously that had you grinding against him needily for friction.

In fact about 80% of the selfies you two post together he always has his cock nestled inside of you because he thinks it's such a perfect moment to take a photo with his pretty girl because you look soo perfect and sweet while you're keeping your loving husband's cock, snugged and warm.

He'd be planting soft gentle kisses on your neck trailing up to your ear before whispering "You look so cute right now my love, why don't we take a quick photo yeah?" and then you get all shy telling him just one photo as your cheeks start heating up. His cock twitches against your walls relentlessly as he taps "post" for everyone to see. It's like your dirty little secret that no one else knew but the two of you, They assume that the you two were this innocent and novice couple smiling together happily, not having a single clue what was happening just mere inches below the camera.

[cumironi]

SO, SHARPENING KNIVES, HUH? jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, toji, shiu, higuruma

summary. you are mad at your boyfriend because you dream of him with another girl, and at 2am, they find you in the kitchen, sharpening knives...

warning. established relationship! jjk men, non-sorcerer, 23 you & 31 them, fluff, crack, petname(s).

#GOJO SATORU

it’s 2:08 a.m.

the house is dark aside from the dim fridge light that leaks across the tiled kitchen floor. the soft metal-on-metal sound echoes faintly, a slow shink—shink—shink that drifts down the hallway like a warning bell in a horror movie. and that’s what pulls gojo from bed—not the chill air, not the absence of your warmth beside him—but that sound. the same sound that made his brain go, hm. sexy and concerning.

he drags himself down the hallway, shirtless and in some embarrassingly expensive pajama pants with little ducks on them, rubbing his eyes as he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

and there you are. sitting pretty at the counter in one of his oversized t-shirts and nothing else, your legs swinging idly off the stool as you sharpen a kitchen knife with deep concentration. the air is thick with unspoken rage.

gojo leans against the doorframe, yawns, and mumbles, “baby, if you’re planning on killing me, at least let me put on some cologne first. i wanna die smelling sexy.”

you don’t look at him. just run the knife across the whetstone again and mutter, “shut up, satoru.”

uh-oh. first name usage.

he blinks, wide awake now, and pads closer with a slow, cautious step like a man approaching a wild animal with a stick of beef jerky. “okay, okay, we’re using full names now. is this like… a sexy roleplay thing or am i about to be on an episode of dateline?”

you still don’t look up. your tone is flat. “i’m mad at you.”

he frowns, pushing his glasses up as he squints dramatically. “why? what’d i do?”

you pause for a second. the whetstone stills. then, honestly, almost angrily, “i don’t remember. but you pissed me off, and i know it.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. “okay. so. you’re mad. but you don’t know why.”

“but i feel mad.”

“so you're telling me my sweet, perfect, sexy college girl with the sharpest eyeliner and even sharper tongue is in the kitchen… at 2am… sharpening knives… because she thinks i did something?”

you glance up slowly, face calm, eyes a storm. “do you wanna find out if it’s real or not?”

he chokes on a laugh. “jesus christ, i’ve never been more turned on in my life.”

you roll your eyes, tossing the knife down onto the counter with a clang. “this isn’t funny, satoru.”

he immediately sobers up. walks over, places both hands on your thighs and spreads them gently so he can stand between them. he rests his forehead against yours, voice low now, soft. “okay. sorry, baby. if i did something—even if i didn’t—you’re allowed to be mad. i probably deserved it.”

you lean into him a little, which is a good sign. but you don’t hug him back when he wraps his arms around your waist.

he starts rocking you gently like a damn lullaby, humming something dumb—probably that tiktok sound of “it’s me, hi, i’m the problem, it’s me,” except he sings it in falsetto.

you snort against his neck despite yourself.

“there she is,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple. “come on. let’s go back to bed. or you can keep sharpening knives and i’ll lay on the floor dramatically and pretend you stabbed me for cheating on you in your dreams.”

“…it was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“ah-ha!” he gasps dramatically. “so i didn’t even do anything and i still almost died?”

you finally wrap your arms around his neck, sighing as you lean fully into him. “you were flirting with someone else in my dream. i woke up mad and it stayed.”

he grins, wicked and teasing. “was she hotter than you?”

you slap his back. hard. “satoru.”

he wheezes but keeps laughing, nose buried in your neck. “i love you so much it’s actually stupid. i love that you get mad at me for fake shit. it’s hot.”

“you’re insane.”

“and you’re the hottest nightmare girl i’ve ever met.” he kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then lower. “but like, seriously, if you’re gonna kill me, can you do it while sitting on my face?”

“get out of my kitchen.”

“fine, but i’m taking you with me.”

and he does—scoops you right off the stool, knives and all, and carries you back to bed like some deranged prince charming. you’re still a little mad. but you’re also warm in his arms, and when he presses a kiss to your forehead and calls you his little knife-wielding goddess, you’re not quite as mad as before.

GETO SUGURU

it’s 2:12 a.m.

the moonlight filters through the slats of the blinds, casting pale shadows across the kitchen where you sit at the counter, elbow propped, chin in hand, eyes narrowed at the knife you’re currently sharpening like it’s the damn source of all your rage. the blade catches the light with every pass against the whetstone—shink, shink, shink—a steady, menacing rhythm that echoes through the quiet apartment.

geto had been reading in his study—something thick, philosophical, probably written by a dead white man—when he noticed your absence the moment he came to the bedroom. and the sound. and the vibe.

he doesn’t bother turning on the light when he enters. doesn’t have to. he sees you in the kitchen like some pissed-off housewife from a mafia movie. the kind that poisons the soup when her husband comes home smelling like another woman.

“...should i be concerned, or is this one of your stress-relief hobbies again?” his voice is calm, amused, but low—like he’s testing the waters.

you don’t answer at first. just scrape the blade again. and again.

he steps in, barefoot and shirtless, hair down and tied low at the nape of his neck. his sweatpants hang low on his hips, a little slouched from sleep, and he stifles a yawn as he eyes you from across the island.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“you.”

his brow lifts. “mm. can’t say i’m surprised. what’d i do this time?”

“i don’t remember,” you mutter. “but i know you did something. i feel mad.”

he blinks. then slowly walks over, rests both hands flat on the counter, leans over just enough so you’re nose-to-nose. his voice is low, soothing, dangerous. “baby. you’re sharpening knives in my kitchen. you’re allowed to be mad at me, but can we at least talk about whether i deserve to be disemboweled or not?”

you don’t flinch. “the fact that i don’t remember doesn’t mean you didn’t do something. you have that guilty little face.”

“what guilty face?”

“that one.” you jab your finger toward his face like it insulted your ancestors. “the one you make when you’re trying to act innocent after being a whore.”

he blinks. then smirks, slow and indulgent. “okay, now i know you dreamt something wild again. lemme guess… i cheated on you with a librarian while you were giving a college presentation and your powerpoint crashed?”

you pause. jaw clenched. “…maybe.”

he hums, walks around the counter, and stands behind you. his arms circle around your waist from behind, hands brushing against your stomach beneath the oversized tee. “you poor thing. had to suffer through my dream whore behavior and a technical mishap? i should be punished.”

you huff. “you think this is funny?”

“no,” he murmurs against your shoulder, pressing a kiss there, “i think it’s adorable. my sweet girl gets so mad over dream-geto being a slut. how much do you love me, huh, if my imaginary crimes piss you off that bad?”

you try to pull away, but he’s already slipping his hands up to your thighs, rubbing slow circles, pulling you back against him. “and here i was, dreaming about waking you up gently with kisses and praise. but no, i wake up to my girlfriend about to reenact kill bill in our kitchen.”

“suguru—”

he cuts you off with a kiss, lips dragging along your jaw, then down to your neck, voice dropping low and rich. “want me to apologize? i will. i’m sorry, baby. i’m sorry for whatever my subconscious did in your dream. and i’m sorry you were stressed. and i’m sorry you were so alone in it.”

your fingers twitch, then relax around the knife handle. the whetstone sits idle. you sigh, soft now, tired.

“you looked at her like you used to look at me,” you mumble, quieter this time. “in the dream. that’s what hurt.”

his whole body stills. then—without hesitation—he turns you around on the stool, tugs your legs open, and sinks to his knees in front of you. his hands are firm around your waist, eyes locked with yours like you’re the only real thing in the world.

“you listen to me, baby,” he says, voice rough. “no one—no one—gets that look but you. no past, no fantasy, no dream. i look at you like that because i love you. because you’re mine. and even if i had to memorize a thousand faces, yours would always be the one i come back to.”

you blink down at him, the lump in your throat making it hard to answer.

he kisses the inside of your thigh. “still mad?”

“...a little.”

he smiles against your skin. “good. keep that knife out. i like my girls mean.”

“you’re disgusting.”

“yeah, and you love me.”

you sigh. set the knife down. and when he lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing, you let him carry you back to bed.

you fall asleep with your cheek against his chest and his hand gently playing with your hair, muttering every few minutes, “i didn’t even look at her in your dream. i bet she had bad eyebrows.”

“she did,” you whisper. “fucking awful.”

“good.”

NANAMI KENTO

it’s 2:23 a.m.

the air is still, the apartment too quiet, save for the gentle scrape of steel-on-stone echoing from the kitchen. nanami wakes the way he always does—immediately, sharply, like his body just knows something’s wrong. he blinks at the empty spot beside him in bed, still warm, still shaped like you. then he hears it: shhhk… shhhk… slow, methodical.

he sighs. runs a hand down his face.

this again.

he doesn’t even grab his glasses. just gets up, pulls on his robe with the resigned patience of a man already done with everyone’s bullshit, and follows the sound.

and there you are. in his button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up like a mob wife, hair a mess and mood worse. you’re at the kitchen counter, bent slightly forward, sharpening his most expensive cooking knife with a precision that’d make a grown man sweat. your brows are pinched together, your lips in a pout, muttering to yourself under your breath.

nanami watches you for a moment from the doorway, completely silent, and then—

“darling.”

you don’t look up. “don’t talk to me.”

his sigh is so deep, so father of three tired, that you nearly flinch. “am i allowed to ask why?”

you stop sharpening for a second. inhale. then, cold as the blade in your hand: “you pissed me off.”

he walks into the kitchen. calm. slow. quiet, like approaching a sleeping lion. he leans his hip against the counter, crosses his arms, and looks at you like you’re both a tragedy and the love of his life.

“...when?” he asks.

“i don’t know.”

“what did i do?”

“i don’t remember.”

he blinks once. then sighs again, reaches up, pinches the bridge of his nose. “so, let me get this straight—i am currently being silently punished… for an unknown offense… that happened at an unknown time… and may or may not have been real?”

you nod, calmly. “correct.”

“and the appropriate response to this was… weaponry?”

“it was either this or throwing your french press out the window. i made the merciful choice.”

he stares at you. deadpan. “you are the most terrifying woman i’ve ever loved.”

you say nothing. just go back to sharpening. shhhk. shhhk.

he closes his eyes. takes a breath.

then he steps closer, one hand sliding slowly around your waist, the other carefully easing the knife out of your hand like you’re a bomb about to go off.

“i’m sorry.”

you look at him then, eyes narrowed. “for what?”

“i don’t know. but you have a very sharp knife and my only other option was dying at two in the morning in boxer shorts.”

you purse your lips. then whisper, “you were mean to me. in my dream.”

“...oh for god’s sake.”

“you left me,” you mumble, voice quiet now, like it’s stupid but still hurts. “you just packed up and left. said i was too much for you.”

something in his chest twists.

his hand slides up to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw.

“i would never leave you.”

“even if i’m mean?”

“especially then.” his eyes are firm now, voice slow and steady, grounding you like always. “i will take every single mood swing, knife threat, and dramatic 2am dream tantrum. you want to sharpen things? i’ll sit here and read the manual to you. you want to yell at me for dream-nanami being a dick? i’ll write you a formal apology and sign it in blood.”

“you’re such a loser,” you whisper.

“a loser who loves you.” he presses his forehead to yours, tone dry. “and who desperately wants to go back to bed.”

you finally relax, leaning into his touch. “…can i still throw your french press out the window?”

he pulls back. “absolutely not.”

“what if i just threaten it?”

“you are unhinged.”

“you’re in love with me.”

he groans. then kisses you, slow and deliberate, just to shut you up.

when he carries you back to bed—bridal style, with a tired grumble under his breath about dramatic women and sleep deprivation—you curl up against his chest and mutter, “you better not leave me in another dream.”

he kisses the top of your head. “i’ll stay even when you try to stab me.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

it’s 2:38 a.m.

the fridge light is the only source of glow in the dark kitchen, casting this eerie blue hue over your face as you sit at the counter, hunched forward, eyes glassy and distant. there’s a cold can of soda next to you—untouched—and in your hands, the glint of a freshly sharpened blade.

you don’t even flinch when the hallway creaks.

toji appears like a shadow—bare chest, boxers low on his hips, hair a mess, tattoos still visible under the faint glow. he’s scratching his head like he’s just woken up from a nap he didn’t even remember falling into. and as soon as his eyes land on you, sharpening one of his knives with alarming focus, he pauses.

“…the fuck you doing?”

you don't look up. just grit out, “thinking.” shhhhkkk. shhhhkkk. blade scrapes the stone, your rhythm steady and pissed.

toji squints. “uh-huh. are we mad at someone?”

“we,” you hiss, “are mad at you.”

he exhales through his nose, tosses his head back. “jesus christ, again?”

you finally glance up at him, sharp and accusing. “don’t start with me.”

“no, no—i mean, can you at least tell me what the hell i did before you start sharpening my goddamn knives like we’re prepping for war?”

“you looked at her.”

his brow arches. “...her?”

“in my dream.” you slap the whetstone down and rise, eyes burning. “and you said, and i quote, ‘damn, she’s thicker than my girl.’”

a beat of silence.

toji blinks. “...you’re fucking with me.”

“do i look like i’m joking?”

he looks you up and down—your sleepy face, your oversized shirt (his shirt), bare legs, and the murder-ready glint in your eyes.

“…no.”

you slam the knife down dramatically, like you’re giving up murder for now, and fold your arms. “i don’t care if it was a dream. you betrayed me.”

toji snorts. rubs a hand down his face. “baby, i don’t even talk like that.”

“you did in the dream. and you said it with your whole chest.”

he steps closer, the floor creaking under his heavy steps. “okay, so let me get this straight: i got dream-jumped by dream-you, because dream-me looked at dream-ass?”

“correct.”

“and now you’re awake, pissed, and threatening to turn me into sashimi at 2am?”

“correct.”

he whistles low. “that’s hot.”

“toji—”

“no, i’m serious,” he cuts in, wrapping an arm around your waist, dragging you flush to him like you’re not seconds from violence. “you’re insane. dangerously unhinged. sharp object, grudge-fueled, nightmare-fueled rage? it’s doing it for me.”

“you’re so fucking annoying,” you mumble, trying to push him off.

he grins, dips his head into your neck. “mmm, yeah, but i’m your annoying bastard. and clearly the man of your dreams—”

you smack his shoulder. “you cheated on me in that dream!”

“and you’re still thinking about me. sounds like you’re obsessed, sweetheart.”

you growl. he laughs. full-on, chest-rumbling, god-i-love-this-woman laugh, then kisses the corner of your mouth and leans in close. “tell you what. next time i’m asleep, come in and slap me awake. remind me that my girl’s the thickest, baddest, prettiest thing in the multiverse.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

“nah,” he smirks. “i’m lucky you’re crazy.”

he plucks the knife from the counter, tosses it back in the drawer without looking, and picks you up like you weigh nothing—arm hooked under your thighs, carrying you back to bed while you hit his chest the entire time.

“and if you dream of me saying stupid shit again,” he adds casually, “make me pay for it when you wake me up. i’m not afraid of a little punishment.”

you scoff, curling against his chest despite yourself. “maybe i’ll smother you with a pillow next time.”

he grins, teeth sharp. “make it the fluffy one.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

it’s 2:56 a.m.

the silence in the house is oppressive, like even the walls are holding their breath. the only sound slicing through it is the rhythmic shiiing… shiiing… of steel grinding against whetstone.

and there you are. bathed in moonlight, crouched at the kitchen table like an ancient assassin. in nothing but one of sukuna’s black shirts that swallows you whole, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess. the way you’re hunched over the blade—sharp, smooth, focused—makes you look like a vengeful spirit.

and it’s clear you’re furious.

but you haven’t said a word.

from behind, a slow, amused chuckle cuts through the stillness like a blade.

“...and what kind of tantrum is this, little wife?”

you don’t look up. you just turn the knife slightly in your hand, catching the light on the edge. “don’t test me, sukuna.”

he pads into the room barefoot, shirtless, with nothing but loose black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. every tattoo on his chest flexes as he scratches lazily at his stomach and leans against the doorway, grinning like the devil himself.

“you gonna stab me in your sleep again? because i still have the scar from the last time you got dramatic.”

you finally look up—slow, lethal, eyes burning. “i should’ve gone deeper.”

his grin widens. “what did i do this time, hm? kill your plants? eat the last pudding? or was it another dream me?”

you stand abruptly, knife still in hand. “you were flirting. with some bimbo in a red dress. right in front of me. like i was invisible.”

“...dream-me again. got it.”

“you ignored me!” you snap. “you were smirking and leaning close and she was touching your arm and you laughed and—”

“and what?” he interrupts, voice suddenly darker, stepping forward. “you think i’d actually look at another woman when i’ve got you?”

“you did,” you growl, shoving the knife down on the counter, “in the dream, you did.”

he stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell his skin—warm, a little like smoke and spice. his hand comes up, grips your chin, forces you to look at him.

“then let me be clear,” he says lowly, voice like silk dragged across a blade. “i don't give a shit about anyone else. i look at you, think about you, want you. even when i’m asleep. you think some faceless red-dress fantasy’s gonna replace the girl who sharpens knives and threatens my life at 3 a.m.? don’t insult me.”

you blink. your pout falters just slightly. “you were smirking…”

he snorts, then suddenly grabs your waist and lifts you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing, standing between your thighs with a wicked smirk on his lips.

“you get like this every time you dream about me misbehaving,” he mutters, dragging his hands up your thighs, “but you never dream about me begging for your forgiveness. where’s that dream, sweetheart?”

you huff. “maybe because you never apologize.”

“i do it in my own way.” he leans in, lips brushing your ear. “usually by making you cry on this counter.”

your breath hitches. “you’re such a fucking menace.”

“and you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad,” he growls, kissing your jaw, your neck. “look at you, sharpening knives in the middle of the night. unhinged, dangerous, insane—my perfect little nightmare.”

you slap his chest, but your legs instinctively tighten around his waist. “i’m still mad.”

“good. stay mad.” he kisses you again, slow and messy this time. “dream me’s an asshole, but real me?” he smirks, licking into your mouth. “real me worships you.”

you try to stay angry. you do. but the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way he grins like he owns the world and you’re the crown on his head—it all makes your chest flutter and knees weak.

you grab his jaw, bite his lower lip, and mutter, “if i catch you looking at another dream bitch again, i’ll gut you in your sleep.”

his grin is all teeth. “now that’s love.”

SHIU KONG

it’s 2:17 a.m. and the kitchen is dead quiet—except for the low, menacing sound of metal scraping against stone.

you’re at the table in one of his oversized dress shirts, sleeves rolled up, legs bare, hunched over the blade like a mob wife who’s finally snapped. hair messy. eyes blank. pissed.

a sharpening stone. a chef’s knife. your exhale.

and suddenly—

a groggy voice from the hallway:

“…you better not be sharpening that because of me.”

you don’t even look up. just shhhhhk—shhhhhk.

“i don’t know. am i?” you ask, flat.

shiu appears in the doorway, shirtless, gray sweats low, tie still hanging around his neck like he passed out in it. he leans on the frame, rubbing one eye like this isn’t the fifth time he’s caught you looking like this.

“okay. what the hell did i do now?”

you finally pause the sharpening, slow, steady, and look up at him with narrowed eyes. “you smiled at her.”

he blinks. “...who?”

“don’t play stupid.” your voice is low, dangerous. “the girl with the brown hair. in the blue dress. at that stupid little business dinner you dragged me to in my dream.”

a beat.

shiu runs a hand down his face. “…this is a dream crime, isn’t it?”

“you said she had a nice laugh.”

“oh my god—”

“and then you leaned in when she was talking! and you smirked. smirked, shiu.” you slap the blade down dramatically. “you were so damn charming.”

he groans. hard. walks into the kitchen like he’s been personally wronged and dramatically yanks a chair out to sit across from you.

“okay, first of all,” he starts, pointing a finger at you, “i don't even like women who talk that much. if she laughed at one more finance joke, i’d probably have started drinking hand sanitizer.”

you squint. “then why’d you smile?”

“because dream-me is a fucking idiot apparently. just like real-me, for falling in love with the queen of vengeance.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “you’re so dramatic.”

“me? you’re sitting at the table sharpening knives like a disappointed italian grandmother.”

“i’m being proactive.”

“you’re being hot.” he shrugs. “deranged, unwell, a little scary—but hot.”

“you always say that when i’m mad.”

“and it’s always true. you should be furious more often.”

you stare at him, flat. “say something charming again. i dare you.”

he leans in, chin on his palm, lazy grin spreading across his lips. “i think you're sexiest when you're plotting my murder.”

you slam the blade back onto the table with a thud.

he exhales, then rises from the chair, walking around the table slowly until he’s behind you. his hands slide over your shoulders, down your arms, slow and unhurried.

“c’mon,” he murmurs into your ear, “you wanna really punish me? come back to bed. take it out on me there. i’ll even wear that stupid tie you like.”

you huff, arms crossed. “the one i used to choke you with last time?”

“that’s the one,” he smirks. “see? you remember.”

you don’t turn around—but your lip twitches. and he sees it.

“you’re impossible,” you mutter.

“and yours,” he whispers back, brushing a kiss against your temple. “now c’mon, before you cut off a finger trying to teach dream-me a lesson.”

he gently plucks the knife from your hand and tugs you to your feet.

“next time you smile at another woman,” you say, letting him drag you down the hall, “i’m putting glitter in all your dry-cleaning.”

he snorts. “joke’s on you. i’ll look fabulous.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

it’s 2:34 a.m.

your apartment is dead silent. no traffic, no buzzing electronics, just the occasional shhkt… shhkt… shhkt of metal being sharpened in steady, practiced strokes.

and there you are—kneeling at the coffee table, hair messy, lips pursed, one of hiroshi’s crisp white button-ups hanging off your frame. a serious, eerily focused look in your eye as you sharpen the knife like you’re prepping for trial by combat.

the overhead light’s off, but the dim kitchen lamp casts long shadows across the room, catching on the edge of the blade every time you tilt your wrist.

you don’t notice the door open to the bedroom.

and then,

a sleepy voice, cautious but gentle,

“…do i need to hire a lawyer?”

you don’t answer at first. the knife just makes another clean pass on the stone.

he steps into view slowly—disheveled, soft gray sweats slung low on his hips, hair sticking up on one side. he rubs the heel of his palm into his eye, squinting. “or am i about to be the defendant?”

you glance up. narrow your eyes. “you told her she looked elegant.”

he pauses mid-step.

“…who?”

“the woman at the opera. in the green dress. in my dream. don’t play dumb.”

there’s a long silence.

he takes a deep breath. “…okay. dream-me’s a bastard. i’ll give you that.”

“you smiled at her,” you snap. “you complimented her earrings. you said she had refined taste.”

he covers his mouth with a hand, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “i was polite, apparently. can i just say—dream-me is way braver than me. real-me knows better.”

you slam the knife down on the table with a sharp clatter. “you told her she smelled like vanilla and cedar.”

he stares.

“okay. what the hell kind of man am i in this dream?!”

you squint at him, full-blown offended. “that’s my perfume.”

his face softens immediately. “wait—are you upset because dream-me complimented her for smelling like you?”

you go silent.

then murmur, “it’s the principle.”

he exhales slowly and walks over, crouching down in front of you, taking the knife gently from your hand. “okay. i’ll talk to him. dream-me and i clearly need to have a serious conversation.”

you huff. “he’s arrogant.”

“mm.” he sets the knife aside and cups your cheek with his palm. “and he clearly doesn’t realize he’s already got everything he could ever want right here, sharpening a very real, very sharp knife at two in the morning while looking ridiculously pretty in my shirt.”

you glance away, cheeks warm. “you’re not gonna charm your way out of this.”

he smiles gently, thumb brushing your cheek. “i’m not trying to. i’m trying to survive the night.”

you roll your eyes, leaning your face into his palm just slightly. “…you said she reminded you of your mother.”

he chokes. “okay, no—i’m innocent on that one. your honor, i plead the fifth.”

you crack a small laugh, finally. he softens.

“you know i’d never look at anyone else, right?” he says, quiet now. “you’re… it for me. even if i’m half asleep, lost in a dream, at a trial, or just doing laundry. it’s always you. only you.”

“…you should’ve said that in the dream.”

he hums and leans forward, brushing his lips against your forehead. “next time, i will. and i’ll tell her to leave the opera, too. loud.”

you mumble, “good.”

“now come back to bed,” he murmurs, tugging you gently up by the waist, “before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

“no promises.”

he smiles against your hair, “yeah, i figured.”

[girlkisser13]

jjk characters college au headcanons

characters: choso kamo, hiromi higuruma, kento nanami, mei mei, ryomen sukuna, satoru gojo, shoko ieiri, suguru geto, takuma ino, toji fushiguro, utahime iori, yuki tsukumo, and yu haibara

CHOSO KAMO

major: psychology

• choso is that mysterious upperclassman people whisper about but don’t really know. he’s always seen alone or with a very small circle, never making unnecessary conversation.

• some people are intimidated by his serious expression, but in reality, he’s just deep in thought most of the time. those who do get to know him realize he’s incredibly kind and protective.

• he’s the kind of student who takes his studies seriously, not because he cares about grades but because he values knowledge. he has an old-school approach to studying— handwritten notes, library research, and a preference for quiet over digital distractions.

• he has a small, quiet off-campus apartment that feels more like a sanctuary than a student’s place. it’s tidy, minimalist, and filled with sentimental objects, like old books, photos, or little things that remind him of his brothers.

• his fridge is always stocked with homemade meals, and he prefers cooking over eating out.

• he spends a lot of time in quiet places— bookstores, parks, or the campus greenhouse. he enjoys activities that keep him grounded, like painting, journaling, or practicing meditation.

• he also has a strong interest in martial arts and trains regularly, though he doesn’t brag about it.

• he’s not one for parties or big social gatherings, but if his closest friends ask, he’ll go— mostly to keep an eye on them.

• he’s the guy who stands off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing but ready to step in if needed. he doesn’t make small talk, but when he speaks, it’s always something insightful or meaningful.

• professors respect him because he’s a serious student, though they wish he participated more. he listens intently in class but rarely raises his hand.

• when he does speak, his answers are so well-thought-out that the entire class goes silent. some professors think he’s intimidating; others recognize that he’s just reserved.

• he has a deep, soothing voice that makes people listen when he speaks.

HIROMI HIGURUMA

major: political science/pre-law

• hiromi is well-respected but not overly social. he’s the guy people go to for advice— whether it’s about legal studies or just life in general.

• some students fear him because of his serious demeanor, but once you actually talk to him, he’s incredibly fair and thoughtful. he’s got that "tough but kind" vibe that makes people trust him immediately.

• he’s always at the top of his class, but not because he wants recognition— he just genuinely believes in what he’s studying. he’s the guy who finishes exams early but sits there, double-checking his answers while everyone else struggles.

• he has a neat, quiet off-campus apartment that looks surprisingly cozy. his space is filled with law books, neatly organized files, and just enough personal touches— probably a few framed photos, a well-stocked liquor cabinet, and an expensive coffee maker.

• his place is never messy, but you can tell when he’s stressed because legal briefs start piling up on his desk

• when he’s not buried in legal cases, he enjoys classical music, fine whiskey, and quiet nights reading. he has a lowkey love for noir films and classic literature.

• he’s the type to stay up late working on a case brief but will still wake up at 6 am sharp the next morning.

• he has a habit of going to bars alone just to sit in a corner, sip his drink, and think about life. if he’s really stressed, he’ll take a long drive at night while listening to jazz or old rock.

• he’s not a party guy. you won’t find him at wild events, but if he does go, he’s the one quietly observing, sipping his drink, and making sharp but insightful comments about people’s behavior.

• he prefers small, intimate gatherings where discussions actually mean something. that said, if someone drags him to a party, he’ll tolerate it— but don’t expect him to dance or do anything ridiculous.

• professors adore him because he’s brilliant, respectful, and actually engages in meaningful discussions. he’s the student they trust to handle debates maturely and lead group discussions without turning them into chaos.

KENTO NANAMI

major: finance

• nanami is respected, not feared or idolized. everyone knows he’s insanely competent, but he doesn’t go out of his way to stand out.

• he’s the guy students ask for help with coursework, but he will not let you copy his work— he believes in earning your grades. professors trust him to lead group projects, and he’s the sole reason some people pass certain classes.

• he definitely tutors struggling students, but only if they’re serious about learning.

• he’s the type of student who has his entire academic career planned out to the letter. he takes meticulous notes, sits in the same spot every class, and actually reads the syllabus.

• his gpa is flawless, but it’s not because he enjoys studying— it’s just efficient to do well.

• he lives off-campus in a clean, well-organized apartment with modern furniture and precisely one personal touch— probably a nice coffee setup or a bookshelf stacked with actually good literature.

• his place is never messy, and he has a strict routine for cleaning. his fridge is full of actual food (no instant ramen here), and he cooks proper meals like a fully functional adult.

• nanami unwinds with quiet hobbies— reading or listening to jazz while drinking real coffee (not the burnt cafeteria sludge).

• he secretly enjoys baking but won’t admit it because it’s "not practical."

• he goes to the gym, but not for fun— just because it’s necessary. he also enjoys quality entertainment— classic films, well-written novels, and actual music, not the overplayed stuff on the radio.

• he’s not anti-social, but he does have a low tolerance for nonsense. he has a small, close-knit group of friends he actually trusts.

• he goes to parties maybe twice a year, and when he does, he immediately regrets it. he’s the guy standing in the corner with a drink, watching chaos unfold, and making scathing remarks under his breath.

• he refuses to drink cheap beer—if he’s drinking, it’s going to be good alcohol.

• professors adore him. he’s the student they wish all their other students were like. he submits assignments early, leads class discussions, and actually cares about learning.

• he’s probably the type to debate professors respectfully when he disagrees with something. if a professor is incompetent, though? he’ll silently judge them for eternity.

MEI MEI

major: business administration

• mei mei is famous on campus. she’s known for being gorgeous, brilliant, and ruthless when it comes to money.

• she never does anything for free— need tutoring? pay up. want a favor? what’s in it for her?

• she’s the type of student who doesn’t waste time with unnecessary coursework. she excels in every class but never overworks herself— she does the bare minimum required to get top grades and makes it look effortless.

• she’s the student who somehow always has the right answers but rarely ever looks like she’s paying attention.

• mei mei lives off-campus in a luxurious apartment that looks straight out of an interior design magazine. everything is sleek, modern, and expensive. she has zero clutter, an actual wine collection (despite still being in college), and a ridiculously comfortable bed.

• she’s never in a rush— her mornings are smooth and aesthetic, and she somehow always arrives places looking flawless.

• her entire mindset is "i have all the time in the world."

• she definitely has side hustles— investing in stocks, flipping designer items for profit, or even casually running a secret gambling ring on campus.

• she enjoys expensive hobbies like high-stakes poker, fine dining, and traveling for no reason. she also loves making money in the easiest way possible— if she can get paid for doing nothing, she will.

• mei mei is always invited to parties, but she only shows up if it benefits her. if she’s at an event, she’s chilling in vip, drinking top-shelf liquor, and watching other people make a mess of themselves.

• she doesn’t actively seek out friends, but people gravitate toward her. she prefers intelligent company— if you bore her, she’ll immediately lose interest.

• professors respect her, but she’s also deeply frustrating because she rarely puts in visible effort. she’s the student who negotiates grades, convinces professors to curve exams in her favor, and somehow always gets extensions without anyone questioning it.

• she never does emotional labor for free— if you’re venting to her, you owe her something later.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

major: history

• sukuna is infamous. everyone knows of him, but few actually know him. some fear him, some admire him, and some want him (even though they know it’s a bad idea).

• he’s the type of guy who walks into a room, and the entire atmosphere shifts. professors loathe him because he’s too smart for his own good, but they can’t technically fail him because he’s always right.

• he’s annoyingly brilliant— aces every class without trying, writes ruthless essays, and argues with professors just to prove them wrong. he rarely takes notes, yet he remembers everything, and if he ever does write something down, it’s probably just to mock the lecture.

• he could charm anyone if he tried, but he enjoys being feared instead.

• he has a sleek, expensive off-campus apartment that looks straight out of a luxury magazine— dark aesthetic, minimalist furniture, and not a single speck of dust. everything in his space is either expensive, dangerous, or both.

• his kitchen? barely used. his bedroom? looks like a villain’s lair. his couch? somehow the most comfortable thing you’ll ever sit on.

• he has expensive hobbies— high-stakes poker, fine whiskey tasting, maybe even fencing just to flex. he’s into classic literature but will never admit it.

• if he’s not reading, he’s either at the gym casually lifting twice his body weight or going on reckless, borderline illegal night drives.

• sukuna does not do small talk. if you’re not interesting, you don’t exist to him. he doesn’t have “friends” in the traditional sense— more like acquaintances he tolerates or people who amuse him.

• if he does like you, though, you’re protected— not because he’s sentimental, but because you’re his, and he doesn’t share.

• he never loses bets. if he does lose, he definitely cheated.

• every professor hates how effortlessly brilliant he is. he corrects them in lectures, ignores deadlines but still submits flawless work, and only participates in discussions to intellectually humiliate someone.

• some fear his presence in their class because they know he’ll challenge them.

• he always smells expensive— think deep, musky cologne with hints of spice.

SATORU GOJO

major: theoretical physics

• gojo is legendary. everyone knows him, whether because of his ridiculous antics, insane intelligence, or sheer charisma.

• he’s ridiculously smart but never takes class seriously. he’s the student who barely shows up, flirts with professors for fun, and still somehow gets top grades. his essays are either brilliant or completely off-topic because he got bored and started rambling.

• if he’s losing an argument, he’ll just switch to a completely different topic to confuse everyone.

• he has a high-end off-campus apartment because there’s no way he’s dealing with dorm life.

• his place is way too nice for a college student— minimalist but stylish, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fully stocked fridge (except he mostly orders takeout). he has a collection of expensive sunglasses, and his bed is obnoxiously big for no reason.

• he has an obscene amount of money for a college student, but no one knows why or how.

• he spends his free time causing chaos— pulling pranks, sweet-talking his way out of trouble, and randomly deciding to start new hobbies just to master them effortlessly.

• he’s really into arcade games, expensive desserts, and photography (but he only takes dramatic, artsy pictures of himself and his friends). he’s also weirdly into conspiracy theories— not because he believes them, but because he finds them entertaining.

• he will absolutely buy expensive desserts for his friends "just because."

• gojo is everywhere. he’s at every party, every event, and somehow in every social circle. he’s the type to befriend both the most popular people on campus and the quietest nerd in the library.

• at parties, he’s either dancing on a table, starting a drinking contest, or dramatically announcing his presence like a celebrity. he never gets blackout drunk— he’s always the one causing the chaos, not suffering from it.

• he never waits in lines— he just charms his way to the front.

• professors despise how naturally gifted he is because he never takes anything seriously. he’s the type to argue with them for fun, correct their mistakes, or write an entire essay about how their syllabus is boring. some admire his intellect, while others just want him to shut up for five minutes.

SHOKO IEIRI

major: biology/pre-med

• shoko is the chill but scary smart girl. she’s laid-back, sarcastic, and gives off an effortlessly cool vibe. people know of her but don’t approach unless necessary because she looks perpetually exhausted.

• she’s the go-to person for medical advice— half the student body has probably asked her for help with random injuries or hangovers.

• she’s terrifyingly good at diagnosing people just by looking at them.

• she has a small off-campus apartment that’s mostly clean but has a permanent "organized chaos" vibe—half-empty coffee cups, scattered medical textbooks, and a pile of scrubs that she swears she’s going to fold.

• she has a cat that just showed up at her apartment one day, and now they’re roommates.

• she barely spends time at home since she’s always at the library, the lab, or sleeping in random places on campus.

• if she does have time off, she’s either smoking outside a coffee shop, watching true crime documentaries, or napping.

• she has a morbid sense of humor and enjoys dissecting medical cases like it’s light reading. she also has a soft spot for stray animals and will 100% stop to pet any cat she sees.

• if you text her with a medical question at 3 am, she will answer it correctly but also judge you.

• she barely goes to parties, but when she does, she’s the one holding a drink in one hand and tending to someone’s drunken injury with the other.

• she’s friends with gojo and geto by default but pretends to be exhausted by their antics (even though she secretly enjoys them). she’s the friend who texts "bring water" at 2 am and then disappears for a week.

• she gives the best advice but in the most unserious way possible.

• professors love her intelligence but wish she’d apply herself more. she’s the student who disappears for weeks, then shows up and gets the highest score on the exam.

• she has a reputation for being blunt— if a professor says something dumb, she will call them out, but only if she’s in the mood.

SUGURU GETO

major: theology

• geto is an enigmatic intellectual— the type of person who speaks once in class and leaves everyone rethinking their entire worldview. he’s well-respected but keeps his social circle small.

• some students are lowkey intimidated by him, while others admire his wisdom and composure. he has a quiet but undeniable presence wherever he goes.

• he writes insanely well and can turn in a last-minute paper that sounds like a published thesis.

• he has a minimalist off-campus apartment that’s almost too clean, with shelves full of philosophy books and a neatly arranged tea set. He keeps his space serene, like a personal sanctuary.

• everything is in its place, but there’s a stillness to his apartment that makes people feel like they shouldn’t disturb it.

• he enjoys reading, meditation, and really long walks where he just thinks. he’s deeply interested in different cultures, philosophies, and spiritual practices, and he will have a long discussion with anyone willing to engage.

• he prefers tea over coffee but will graciously accept a high-quality espresso.

• he also enjoys traditional tea ceremonies, calligraphy, and subtly flexing his knowledge of obscure topics.

• he’s not a party person, but he’ll go if the right people invite him. he prefers deep conversations over mindless socializing, so if he’s at an event, he’s in a quiet corner having a profound discussion while sipping tea or whiskey.

• he has a habit of standing on balconies and looking unnecessarily dramatic while lost in thought.

• professors admire his intellect but sometimes feel like he’s too insightful. he’s the student who challenges the class material in a way that makes everyone feel deeply uncomfortable. 

• some professors genuinely enjoy his perspective, while others don’t know how to handle his quiet, piercing observations.

• he gives the best advice, but only if he actually thinks you need it.

• he’s a silent but deadly presence in debates— he’ll let others argue, then quietly dismantle their entire point with a single sentence

TAKUMA INO

major: communications

• ino is the underdog everyone loves. he’s friendly, loud, and always trying his best— sometimes too hard. he’s the type of guy who gets involved in everything— sports, clubs, random student events— but never actually commits long-term.

• people like him because he’s genuinely a good guy and is always down to help out (even if he has no idea what he’s doing).

• he’s the guy who tries really hard in class but isn’t necessarily top-tier academically. he takes decent notes, studies at the last minute, and somehow manages to scrape by.

• he’s always determined to do better but gets easily distracted by literally anything more interesting than his textbooks.

• he has a notebook full of terrible pickup lines.

• he definitely shares an on-campus apartment with at least one roommate, and their place is chaotic but functional. there’s always a broken chair, a fridge full of leftover takeout, and a gaming console permanently hooked up to the tv.

• his room? messy but livable— random clothes everywhere, half-drunk energy drinks on his desk, but somehow he knows where everything is.

• he’s obsessed with the gym and probably does some kind of martial arts on the side. if he’s not training, he’s either gaming, watching action movies, or failing miserably at cooking.

• he tries to meal prep but always ends up just eating ramen instead. he also gets way too invested in fantasy football or any kind of competitive game.

• he genuinely believes that protein shakes and energy drinks count as "a real meal."

• ino is the guy you call when you need a last-minute wingman. he’s at every party, every game night, and somehow gets along with everyone. 

• he loves being around people, even if they tease him for being a bit of a himbo. he’s the type to hype up his friends, carry drunk people home, and absolutely lose his mind over karaoke.

• he gets way too competitive over dumb things, like rock-paper-scissors.

• professors like him because he participates and actually tries, even if he’s not the best student. he’s the guy who raises his hand to answer a question but gets it slightly wrong— but everyone appreciates the effort.

• some professors pity him because he clearly stresses over exams but never fully prepares.

• if he loses a bet, he fully commits to whatever embarrassing thing he has to do.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

major: business

• toji is that guy— half the school doesn’t believe he’s actually a student, and the other half wants to be him or be with him. he’s the shady upperclassman people whisper about, the guy who never shows up to class but somehow gets credit.

• professors hate him, but there’s nothing they can do because he technically meets the minimum requirements. some suspect he makes money through illegal means— which… they’re not wrong.

• he never studies, barely shows up to class, and still somehow passes— either through luck, bribery, or ridiculous test-taking skills.

• toji refuses to deal with dorm life. he either rents a cheap apartment or crashes with someone when he’s between places. his living space is minimalist by necessity— a mattress on the floor, a mini fridge stocked with beer and takeout, and one chair that’s definitely stolen from campus.

• he doesn’t need a fancy place— he spends most of his time anywhere but home.

• toji always has a hustle— gambling, underground fights, fixing things (for a price), or finding things people lost (also for a price).

• he has a gambling addiction but refuses to admit it.

• if he’s not working the system, he’s at the gym, betting on something shady, or sleeping (because this man is chronically exhausted from his questionable lifestyle).

• he doesn’t have "friends"— he has connections. people know him, people owe him, and people fear him. if he does let someone close, it’s because they’re useful or entertaining. 

• he doesn’t go to parties— he runs them. if he does show up, it’s purely to make money, cause trouble, or steal someone’s date.

• professors hate him. he’s smart enough to pass but lazy enough to frustrate every professor who knows he could do better. he never shows up to office hours, barely participates, and has probably gotten into multiple arguments with faculty members.

• the only reason they haven’t kicked him out is because they can’t prove he’s doing anything wrong.

UTAHIME IORI

major: education

• utahime is the reliable upperclassman— the kind of person professors trust and underclassmen go to for advice. she’s well-liked but also has a zero tolerance policy for nonsense.

• she’s the one who tries to keep things orderly in chaotic situations (like when gojo inevitably does something dumb), but it doesn’t always work.

• she’s a hardworking and responsible student who actually studies ahead of time (unlike some of her chaotic friends). she takes meticulous notes, color-codes everything, and is probably the unofficial mom of every group project she’s in.

• she has perfect handwriting, and people always ask to borrow her notes.

• she has a cozy off-campus apartment with a warm aesthetic— think soft lighting, scented candles, and way too many blankets. her place is always tidy, and she’s the type to invite friends over for tea rather than go out to loud parties.

• she has a tea collection that could rival an actual café’s inventory.

• she definitely has a cute little balcony garden where she takes care of plants like they’re her children.

• she loves music and probably plays an instrument (piano or violin, most likely). in her free time, she enjoys reading, visiting cafés, and going to quiet nature spots to relax.

• she’s the type to stress-bake, meaning her friends always have access to homemade treats.

• she also stress-cleans when she’s overwhelmed— if you walk into her apartment and it smells like lemon-scented cleaner, she’s definitely frustrated.

• she’s not a party girl but will attend events only if she trusts the people there. if she does go to a party, she’s the responsible one making sure no one does anything too stupid.

• she’s the friend who remembers everyone’s birthdays and plans thoughtful surprises.

• professors love her because she’s responsible, respectful, and takes her studies seriously. she’s the kind of student who asks insightful questions and actually cares about what she’s learning. if a professor is unfair, though, she will call them out (politely but firmly).

YUKI TSUKUMO

major: anthropology

• yuki is that upperclassman— legendary, unpredictable, and impossible to pin down. she’s known for showing up to class once every two weeks but still acing everything.

• if there’s a student protest, she’s leading it. some people worship her, others think she’s too much, but everyone knows her name.

• she’s banned from certain campus events for stirring up too much chaos.

• she’s insanely smart but does not follow traditional academic rules. she’s the type to write a brilliant essay at the last second while sipping a drink at a bar.

• she has a loft-style off-campus apartment that looks like it belongs to an eccentric genius— random books scattered everywhere, half-finished projects lying around, and somehow, it all works.

• her fridge is mostly empty except for beer, instant ramen, and one healthy thing she forgot about weeks ago.

• she’s always traveling, hiking, or getting involved in some wild adventure. she’s the type to randomly disappear for a weekend trip without telling anyone.

• she loves motorcycles and probably works on one in her free time. if she’s not outside, she’s either deep-diving into conspiracy theories or passionately debating something over drinks.

• she will offer people rides on her motorcycle just to freak them out.

• yuki has zero social anxiety and can talk to anyone. she’s the type to crash a random group’s table at a café and somehow leave with three new friends.

• she’s always at the center of fun, whether it’s an underground party, a debate club event, or a spontaneous road trip. if you hang out with her, expect chaos.

• she always has the best stories, like "that one time i accidentally joined a secret rave in another country."

• most professors are deeply frustrated by her because she refuses to conform to their academic expectations. others recognize her genius and just let her do whatever she wants.

• she’s the student who writes an entire research paper challenging the class material and somehow gets an a.

• she’s impossible to beat in a debate— she thrives on proving people wrong.

• if she calls you at 2 am, it’s either for a life-changing conversation or because she’s about to drag you into something ridiculous.

YU HAIBARA

major: kinesiology

• haibara is the social butterfly of campus. he’s friends with everyone—from professors to the random guy who sits in the back of the lecture hall.

• he’s the type to remember baristas’ names, help people move their stuff, and always have an extra pen for classmates. people love him because he radiates warmth and positivity.

• he’s the kind of student who genuinely enjoys learning and makes class fun for everyone. he’s not a straight-a student, but he tries his best and makes up for it with enthusiasm.

• he’s the guy who shows up to class with a coffee, a big smile, and zero notes, yet still somehow manages to pass.

• he always has gum, snacks, or a spare charger on him.

• he shares a lively on-campus apartment with at least one roommate— his place always has something going on, whether it’s a game night, random people stopping by, or just music playing in the background.

• his room is messy in a controlled chaos way— laundry in a pile, books scattered, but he swears he knows where everything is.

• he’s super active and probably part of multiple clubs— sports teams, volunteer organizations, or even student government (not because he’s super political but because he likes people).

• he has zero sense of direction but refuses to admit it, so he always gets lost on campus.

• he’s the type to randomly drag his friends on outdoor adventures, like hiking or spontaneous road trips. he also definitely watches dumb reality tv and gets way too emotionally invested.

• haibara is the life of the party— he’ll drag you onto the dance floor, challenge someone to a friendly drinking game, and somehow make friends with everyone by the end of the night.

• he’s the guy who hypes you up at karaoke and makes sure no one feels left out. he sings horribly but will still belt out songs with full confidence.

• if you text him "i’m sad," he will show up at your door with snacks and bad jokes.

• professors love him because he’s genuinely engaged in class. even if he’s not the best student, he makes discussions fun and actually cares about learning.

• he’s the one who gets participation points just for making the class laugh. some professors wish he took things a little more seriously, but they can’t dislike him.

• he gives the best pep talks and hypes up his friends constantly.

[kurooh]

♡ ‧₊˚ higuruma’s got a big nose.

★ 18+, f! reader, squirting, facesitting; based off of this video of doja cat! noses are soooo.. every shape is unique <3

“sit down,” hiromi grins, waving you over with both his hands. “come on, baby.”

“alright, alright,” you huff, straddling his bare waist and slowly inching up to his face. “promise you won’t suffocate?”

“i’d be happy to go out like this,” he mutters, greedily pulling on your thighs and squeezing your soft skin impatiently.

you gasp when you take a seat, falling forward and planting your hands on the headboard. hiromi doesn’t waste any time, licking up your cunt like he’s been stranded without water for days. his silky tongue pushes through your folds and even dips inside you; his chuckle is muffled against you.

“h-hiromi,” you stutter, hips rolling onto his face like waves on the shore, “just like that, don’t fucking stop.”

hiromi savors your taste, eyes rolling back at the sounds of your gasps and your desperate movements. he’s giving you as much pleasure as he possibly can, and he wants nothing more than for you to take it all and then some.

“love this pussy, angel,” he says when you lift your hips for him to breathe, “so, so good.”

large hands firmly grip your thighs as he stops you from sitting back down; he adjusts the angle, pulling you down so that your sensitive clit’s bumping into his nose. just that one light touch has you shaking, chest heaving as your breath comes in puffs.

it’s always been easy for him to reduce you into a breathless, begging mess, either after he eats you out or fucks you until he can’t stand.

“use me,” he grunts, fingers digging into the skin of your asscheeks before he uses a hand to grace your ass with a slap to make his point. “use me, angel.”

“okay, hiromi,” you agree, cheeks burning. with a whimper that has him feeling feral, you start to bounce on his face, his tongue licking inside you while your clit presses into his nose.

hiromi’s groaning beneath you, his lower body bowing off the bed while his hips thrash. you on his face, you all over him, you — he almost feels like he could cum all over himself untouched.

“hiromi, hiromi, fuck..” you moan, shocks of pleasure shooting through your body as the knot in your tummy gets closer and closer to snapping. “ah, ah— ‘m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum!”

seconds before your orgasm, you toss your hips up and ride his nose, spreading your slick all over his skin. beneath you, hiromi’s shaking, loving every second of this — he squeezes you hard with one hand, smacks your bouncing ass with the other.

it happens too fast, before the both of you can register . . you’re sitting on his nose and crying out as you cum all over him. your pussy squirts all over his flushed lips and right into his open mouth; hiromi stops you from pulling away, groaning as he attaches his mouth to your cunt and sucks up every drop he can get.

“a-ah, hiromi—” you sob, swollen clit dragging against the bridge of his nose, “it’s too much, please, i can’t cum again..”

he briefly raises you from your seat on his face, his grip too tight for you to slip away. “you can, and you will, angel. just one more, can’t you do that for me?”

“but—” you’re torn between pushing your hips toward him for more or pulling away when he licks a lazy stripe up your quivering slit.

“come on, i promise.”

“okay, okay,” you huff, a sharp whine tearing from your throat when he yanks you down hastily. “hiromi! s-slowly, please..”

from between your thighs, he peers up at you with teary eyes. “alright. just— just ride my face.” the unspoken please is evident in his words.

he’s practically moaning louder than you are when you’re canting your hips forward, grinding your pussy all over him desperately. you’re too sensitive from cumming before, but his grip on you is one that he won’t ease up on, especially not if you try to move away. your whimpers as you try to push past the overstimulation cause a sweltering heat to rush through his body, straight to his cock.

on either side of hiromi’s head, your thighs tense, and from what he can see, he thinks you look beautiful like this, trembling above him.

“oh, ‘s coming,” you sob, tears falling down your cheeks as your movements become less coordinated. “hiro, i’m gonna cum again!”

your pussy slides on his nose, and with that, you’re falling apart once again. his tongue pushes through your folds and he grunts into your pussy, wanting nothing but more.

when you move back and collapse on him, head going into his chest, he affectionately strokes your sweaty back. “thank you, baby.”

“why are you thanking me?”

“it’s impossible not to. i swear it’s a blessing every time i eat you out,” hiromi smiles at your disbelieving giggle.

“in that case, thank you for having such a perfect nose.”

“perfect?” he’s never heard anyone use that word in reference to his nose.

“yes.”

“why?”

“i love your big nose. it fits you so well, and ‘s attractive as hell.”

“is that it?” hiromi asks with a shake of his head.

“well, i can sit on it too.”

he dissolves into laughter, chest rising against yours, and he playfully shoves you. a pink flush colors his cheeks, and he looks so handsome. between his legs, you watch as his cock grows hard.

“no way you got hard from that.”

“it’s not just that,” he rolls his eyes, “it’s that laugh of yours, and your compliments.”

“okay, lay back now.”

“i’m not even fully hard.”

“i don’t care, i’ll make it happen anyway.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Guilty

Summary: Your boyfriend, Hiromi, finds you guilty of getting off without him.

Characters: Higuruma Hiroami x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: mentions of masturbation, smut, p in v, cream pie, no protection

Count: 1.2K

A/N: I fell in love with Hiromi—I adore him. I’m only on volume twenty of JJK right now but I had to write a fic, so its probably out of character forgive me! 💚

“Well, well, well, looks like I caught you red-handed.” Hiromi’s voice rang in your ear, causing you to jump, throwing your cell phone across the room, “Oh Sunshine,” Hiromi walked across the room, fine-tailored black suit clinging to him. You watched in pure embarrassment as he picked the phone up, handing it to you as he placed kisses along the side of your neck,

Feeling his lips on your skin, you tilted your head back, looking into your boyfriend's dark brown eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything, " the phony moans of a smutty audiobook blasted from your phone. I’m innocent until proven guilty.” Despite the tired look in his eyes, Hiromi smirked as he grabbed the back of your computer chair, turning you to face him.

“Well then,” he slowly sank to his knees in front of the chair, “I don't believe I’ll need Judgeman to find out if you’re innocent.” He slowly unbuttoned the top of your dress pants, pulling them down to pool around your ankles. As he did, his fingers trailed lovingly over your beautiful skin. His touch was slow, sweet, and tentative.

But that quickly changed.

You inhaled sharply as he forced your legs apart to examine your pussy, fingers reaching out, toying with the flimsy pink lace that barely covered your folds. You knew what he saw, and knowing what he examined had your heart racing as his eyes lingered on your folds for a moment before those dark eyes ran up at you, “Oh, Sunshine, you aren't innocent at all.” He ran his thumb over your clothed clit, watching the end of the bullet vibrator inside of you shake. “You’re guilty.”

“Nngh! I-I am!”

“Look at you, you soaked through your panties. And that toy of yours is vibrating a lot.”

Hiromi ran his forefinger and middle finger over the cloth covering your throbbing wet cunt. The contact made me shiver; you were so close already, and feeling him press against your throbbing center almost had you seeing stars. He was right; you were guilty, wet as fuck, so turned on you’d soaked your paint, and every lingering touch felt so fucking good. Your boyfriend hooked his fingers under the cloth of flimsy, pulling it to the side and exposing your pretty pussy to him, causing him to growl.

“God, you look good.” He slid his hands under your ass, pulling you to the edge of the chair, “does that toy feel good?”

“Y-Yeah, but it’s not as good as you.”

“Is that so?” Hiromi licked his lips before he yanked the buzzing toy out of you; you cried out, gripping his hair with one hand as you brought the other to your mouth, biting your knuckles. ”tell me what you want.”

“I-I want you to fuck me.”

Suddenly, you were pulled out of your chair and placed lovingly on the ground. As Hiromi hoovered above you, he traced circles, hearts, and, holy fuck, even stars over your clit as his other hand worked as a belt. You bit down harder on your knuckles, moaning as you began bucking and rocking your hips against his crotch. Hiromi hummed, tossing his toe over his shoulder as he grabbed your legs, forcing them to rest over his hips.

Your Boyfriend began pushing slowly inside of your tight, wet walls. He stopped when he noticed your eyebrows twitching as needed. He could feel you; your wet wells were hugging his cock, and any move would send you over the edge in no time, so why would he go soft and sweet like normal? No, he knew you weren’t going to last long. So Hiromi did what any boyfriend would, and he fucked you hard.

You arched your back off the floor as a flood of whimpers and gasps trickled out from your mouth. Seeing you arch so prettily had Hiromi humming in approval as he slid two fingers down, toying with your clit as he pulled out, his massive tip snagging on the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. Your boyfriend grunted as he slid back inside of you, pumping his cock in and out of you in the most delectable way.

“Oh God!” you shouted as he angled his hips, allowing the head of his cock to brush against your g-spot. You sucked in a breath through your clenched jaw inhaling through the nose before your eyes rolled back.“Hiro fuck Sunshine!” Your hand pulled at his hair, holding him tight against your clit, “Rub on it faster, oh God make me cum, please!” He pumped his hips faster, rubbing your clit in the fast circles you loved, sending you over the edge. “Hiro!” You screamed, arching your back as you came on his cock.

Hiromi moaned, kissing you deeply as he fucked into your pussy with a force so powerful the floorboard creaked underneath you. The feeling of your lips moving frantically against his, the feeling of your tight wet cunt squeezing him, was all he needed to have his hips stilling.

“N-Nngh!!” he cried out into your mouth as he continued pumping himself into you, pushing his cum further inside of you with a shaky sigh. “M-mm~ mm.” Slowly Hiro pulled away from your mouth, his finger leaning on your sensitive clit as he watched you ride out the last waves of your orgasm through his lashes. The fucking man was a God when it came to fucking you.

He was so good at it that it should be illegal, which was sort of funny in its own way since he was a literal defense attorney. When your body laced against the floor, your hands lazily running down his back, your boyfriend growled, undoing his toe. “I want to do that again.” Hiro winked before slowly pulling out of you to start round two, but you tugged him by the hair before he could, drawing his attention toward your face.

“You listen here, Sir.” You sat up, pinning him to the ground so you were on top. “I think you’re just as guilty as I am for indulging in the occasional smutty content.” He cocked a brow at your broad accusation. Still, that bewilderment vanished as you ran your hands over his chest, sliding them underneath his shirt, ”It’s my turn to conduct my trial.” You ground your hips down, winning a pleased moan from him as his erection straining throbbed inside of you, “Haah~ looks like we have a concealed weapon here.”

“Oh, Sunshine, we sure do.” His hands gripped your hip, squeezing them as you lazily rocked back and forth. “And I know how to use it, too.” His words had you whining as you ground down harder on him, causing him to growl in pleasure.

“Well then, show me what you got, Hiro.”

“With pleasure.”

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