↳ summary: after two weeks apart, Gojo comes home to a surprise—your love, permanently inked into your skin.
→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x fem!reader
→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff
→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: tattoo mentioned. unprotected soft sex. nothing crazy tbh.
→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k+
Nerves you hadn’t anticipated began to bubble up, weaving their way through your chest and settling just beneath your skin. They were spurred on by the text sitting on your phone:
“10 minutes out. See you soon. I love you.”
Two weeks. Two long weeks without Gojo Satoru, two weeks in a bed that felt impossibly empty without him sprawling across it. Seeing him again after he’d been away was always exciting—but this time, there was an edge of nervousness that made your hands clammy and your mind spiral with doubts you knew weren’t real.
Your fingers hovered over the soft fabric of your shirt, pressing lightly against your ribs where the new addition to your body lay hidden. It had been an idea you’d toyed with for months, one fueled by Shoko’s persistent reassurances that Gojo would love it, that it was exactly the kind of thing he’d appreciate. Her encouragement had been the final push you needed, convincing you to do it while Gojo was away on one of his longer missions.
You’d planned everything down to the smallest detail, keeping it secret for weeks, and now, as the faint hum of his cursed energy swept through the apartment and the sound of his key turning in the door filled the air, you realized the moment was finally here.
Satoru was nothing if not consistent. The moment he stepped through the door, he dropped his bags unceremoniously by the entrance and came looking for you, the one reason he didn’t mind coming back from a mission, the one reason this place felt like home. You felt his presence before you saw him—a ripple of cursed energy that always seemed to announce his arrival—and then his arms were around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.
His lips found the side of your neck, brushing a soft kiss against the exposed skin just above the neckline of the sweatshirt you wore. His sweatshirt, really.
“Hey, you,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand moved to rest over his forearm. It was impossible not to smile when Satoru was involved. “Mission go okay?”
“Mhm,” he hummed, his lips trailing lazily up and down your neck, each touch slow and deliberate. “Missed you.”
Your fingers reached back instinctively, tangling in the soft strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. “Missed you too, Satoru,” you murmured, voice warm and steady. “Always.”
He smiled against your neck, his lips brushing just below your ear before pulling back. His hands slid to your hips, gently tugging you, silently asking for you to turn toward him. You didn’t hesitate, shifting to face him, and the second you did, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, steady, and all-consuming, reminding you exactly why every long mission, every restless night without him, every aching moment spent apart, was worth it.
It was worth it because Gojo loved you. He loved you in a way you once thought was impossible for someone like him, someone so untouchable, so larger than life. He loved you in a way you never thought possible for yourself, in a way that felt like it had been pulled from a story, something too good to be real.
But it was real. Gojo loved you deeply, with everything he was. He loved you with an intensity that could both quiet the noise of the world and fill it with endless laughter. It seeped into the cracks of your life, filling spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. He loved you loudly, in ways that made your heart race, but also quietly, in the moments when his care spoke louder than words.
Gojo loved with a kind of intensity that could make your head spin, unrelenting and unapologetic. He wasn’t subtle—subtlety wasn’t in his nature. He’d pull you into his arms without warning, spinning you around just to hear you laugh, or press endless kisses to your face while you half-heartedly swatted at him, knowing it would only encourage him.
He’d take every opportunity to be close to you, tangling himself around you on the couch during movie nights, even if it meant he barely watched the screen. Sometimes, he’d lean in far too close while you were in the middle of a task, resting his chin on your shoulder and grinning as he distracted you with some ridiculous joke or a kiss just behind your ear. Satoru loved loudly, with every part of him. It was in the way he intertwined your lives so completely that it was impossible to tell where his affection stopped and your happiness began. He never gave halfway—it was always all or nothing, and with you, it was always all. Being loved by Gojo meant being smothered in warmth, in laughter, in his ever-present need to remind you, in a thousand ways, that you were his whole world.
Gojo’s hands slipped under your sweatshirt, his touch warm and unhurried as his lips captured yours in a kiss that left no space for doubt or hesitation. His fingers brushed against your skin as he pushed the fabric higher, pausing just long enough for you to pull back and let him tug it over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.
His mouth found your neck again, hot and deliberate, his hands steady as he guided you onto his lap at the edge of the bed, your legs wrapping around him like it was second nature. His fingers ghosted over your skin, tracing up your sides, brushing over your back, and then gliding back down in a rhythm that made your breath catch. His lips moved lower, trailing over your collarbone, leaving gentle nips that sent a shiver down your spine.
“I… did something,” you murmured, your voice soft as your hand combed through his snowy hair. His lips stilled, and he pulled back, blue eyes locking onto yours, curious and patient.
“For me?” he asked, his voice tinged with playful disbelief, though his expression softened as he searched your face. Gojo could wait forever when it came to you—especially when you were perched on his lap, his hands steady on your thighs, your cheeks flushed in a way that made his heart stutter.
You nodded, taking a breath, but instead of standing up or moving away, you shifted slightly, your fingers drifting to your ribs. Gojo’s gaze followed, and his playful smirk faded the moment he saw it—the delicate ink etched into your skin, just beneath your breast.
Gojo shifted forward, his hand hovering hesitantly before his fingertips brushed the delicate addition to your skin. The touch was so light you almost didn’t feel it, but then he did it again, this time with a little more pressure, as if grounding himself in the reality of what he was seeing. His other arm curled securely around your waist, pulling you close as his eyes focused on the small, black script etched into your ribs.
Just two lowercase letters—that was all. A single lowercase g and a single lowercase s. Simple, yet it was so much more than that. It was for him, a tattoo for him, because of your love for him. Or maybe, really, because of his love for you. No one loved you like Gojo Satoru did. It was the kind of love that made you believe it couldn’t have been an accident. You were certain you’d loved him in lifetimes past, and you’d love him again in lifetimes to come, because no one could love like this without practice.
His breath caught, and for once, he was speechless. His hand reached out, tentative and reverent, as his fingertips brushed over the tattoo again, slower this time. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his wide-eyed wonder making your chest tighten.
“You…” he finally started, his voice soft and unsteady in a way you rarely heard. “You did this… for me?”
You nodded, the movement small and almost hesitant, your eyes searching his face for a reaction. His breath caught again, and his hand, still resting lightly on your waist, tightened just slightly, as if anchoring himself.
Gojo’s gaze dropped back to the tattoo, his fingertips brushing over the ink with a reverence that made your chest ache. He didn’t speak again for a long moment, his wide-eyed wonder making it clear that, for once, the words weren’t coming easily. Instead, he traced the delicate letters over and over, his touch warm and deliberate, like he was trying to etch the memory into himself as deeply as the ink was etched into your skin.
“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft.
Too because that’s what this told him so clearly, without a single word spoken. Too because you’d marked yourself with his initials, a permanent reminder that no one else could ever hold your heart, though he’d always known that to be true. Too because no one had ever loved him as effortlessly or as completely as you did, and Gojo was determined to make sure you knew how deeply he cherished the way you loved him.
Gojo’s eyes lingered on the tattoo, his fingers tracing the delicate letters like he was trying to memorize every curve and line. Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and deliberate, pouring all his unspoken gratitude into the connection.
You kissed him back, your hands cradling his face as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until your fingertips brushed his cheek that you noticed the dampness there. Slowly, you pulled back, your breath catching at the sight of a tear sliding down his face.
A tender smile tugged at your lips as you brought your thumb to his cheek, brushing the tear away gently. “Baby,” you whispered, the word filled with so much warmth it made his breath hitch.
He let out a soft, shaky laugh, leaning into your touch, his hand still firm on your waist. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, full of meaning. “So much.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead before his lips found yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper now, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted in his lap. When your hips rolled against his, a low groan escaped him, muffled against your mouth, his hand pressing you down, encouraging the movement.
Gojo didn’t just love you—he showed you in every touch, every kiss, and every quiet moment. It was overwhelming, consuming, and so uniquely him, leaving no room for doubt that you were his everything.
Gojo’s lips trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, unhurried and deliberate. He was never one to rush moments like this, savoring every touch, every kiss, every second he could have with you. His mouth moved lower, pressing soft kisses over your chest until he reached the tattoo. His fingers brushed against the ink as his lips hovered over it, and he mumbled something, his voice low and nearly inaudible.
You caught fragments—half-formed “I love you’s” that spilled out like they were too big to stay trapped in his chest. His lips pressed to the tattoo once, then again, and again, as if he was trying to make his love sink deeper into your skin, becoming another part of you.
“I need you, baby,” you murmured, your fingers threading through his soft hair as you gently pulled him back, reminding him that you were still in his lap, ready for more than just his kisses.
His lips curved into a smile against your skin before he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I need you too,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of want.
You fumbled with your clothes together, hands reluctant to leave each other’s skin even as you tried to shed the layers between you. When you finally managed, Gojo pulled you back into his lap immediately, his hands finding your hips as though they belonged there. His lips were back on your neck, his fingers gently kneading your skin as he whispered, “I love you,” against your shoulder, over and over, like a mantra.
His hands guided you as you placed yours on his shoulders, lifting yourself just enough to let him align with you. His breath caught as you slowly sank down, your hips meeting his in a motion so deliberate it made his eyes flutter shut. For a moment, he didn’t move, letting himself feel everything—the warmth of your skin, the way you fit so perfectly with him, and the overwhelming love that seemed to buzz in the air between you.
When his eyes opened again, they met yours, pupils blown and lips parted, every ounce of his love for you written across his face. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his hands tightening on your hips, grounding himself in you as you both began to move together.
Gojo’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you in a slow, deliberate rhythm on his lap. His touch was strong but teasing, pulling you forward, then pressing you back, encouraging you to move exactly the way he wanted. His mouth was relentless, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach.
His lips found yours first, the kiss deep and dizzying, stealing the breath from your lungs before he moved to your neck. His tongue and teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, pulling soft, broken moans from you that he drank up like they were his favorite sound. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction.
He kissed lower, his lips brushing across your collarbones, lingering there in a way that made your head tilt back, your hands tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. His groan vibrated against your skin, his hands starting to wander, no longer content to stay still.
His fingers skimmed over your thighs, kneading the soft flesh before sliding up your hips, pressing into your skin as if trying to leave a mark. They trailed to the small of your back, where his touch had you gasping and arching into him, then down your arms, brushing over your wrists and tangling with your hands in his hair.
“God, you feel so good,” he whispered, his tone rough and needy as his lips returned to yours, claiming you in another kiss that left no doubt about what he wanted.
All you could feel was him—his touch, his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours—and all he seemed to want was more of you. The way he whispered your name, the way his hands gripped and slid over your skin, told you he wasn’t going to stop until every inch of you was his tonight.
“I love you, Satoru,” you whispered, your voice catching as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that he undoubtedly felt.
His head dipped lower, his lips trailing over your skin until they found the tattoo that had already become his favorite part of you. He kissed it softly, reverently, like it was a sacred promise made just for him.
You didn’t have to say you loved him again—not in this lifetime. It was there, inked into your skin, a mark that said it all. It was a message for him and him alone, a declaration that your love was as endless as his, something he would carry with him forever.
His hands slid over your body, one brushing against the tattoo as if grounding himself in the reality of it, the other slipping between your bodies. His touch was slow but deliberate, fingers teasing until they coaxed a gasp from your lips. His lips returned to your neck, murmuring soft words about how beautiful you were, how perfect, how much he loved you.
“Satoru,” you moaned, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his movements sent you spiraling. You felt the tension building in his body, the way he was unraveling with you, and the realization only heightened your own release. His name tumbled from your lips like a prayer as he whispered yours against your skin, his voice low and breathless, grounding you both in this moment.
When it was over, you collapsed against him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as you caught your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice softer now, his lips brushing against your temple.
“I love you so much, Satoru,” you replied, your voice steady, filled with the weight of your emotions.
“I know,” he said, his tone serious but tender. It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. He understood the weight behind the two small letters forever etched into your skin. He knew this wasn’t a fleeting love or the kind you’d given to anyone before him.
Your love was his anchor, a safe harbor he could return to no matter what storms came his way. It was a promise, a forever mark that would hold him together when the world threatened to pull him apart.
And in return, Gojo Satoru loved you in every way he could—with his words, his touch, his whole being—but most of all, he loved the way you loved him.
That time when you were being all over Nanami and sitting on his lap as you went on about some stupid gossip, what you failed to notice was a subtle discomfort, underneath you. Like something hard.. well maybe that was his wallet or belt as you slightly changed your position causing a reaction from Nanami. You noticed it, when you stopped whatever you were saying and accidentally seemed to grind on his lap, the way he quickly looked away as a slight grunt left from him. Then it hit you, Oh.. he is hard.
"and? what happened then, sweetheart?" He urged you to continue the story like nothing was happening. You liked how he was hiding it pretty well. You threw your hands around his neck as you grinded forward on his lap, his lips turning into a thin line at your silence "hmm.. what was i saying again? Remind me?" Of course he couldn't spell it out if you are grinding onto him like that. "When— uh, your friend—" he struggled to respond as one of his hands came to rest on your hips now. "Yes, my friend?" You urged him to go on. "Hah.. goddamn it, baby" he said in a desperate plea.
"What was that?" You asked like you didn't know, completely unaware. "Darlin' im hard," he said pulling you close, his hardness nudging against your clothed core. "Is that right?" Before you could even finish, you were met with a impatient and passionate kiss.
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Toji Fushiguro
Summary: These bad boys when some random starts flirting with you
Masterlist
It’s not rare for Gojo to barely have any free time, but when he does, he spends it with you
On one of these days, he took you out on a date
It wasn’t much of a date though; as he kept disappearing, distracted by every souvenirs shop he passed by
Getting tired after a while, you took a sit at a table on a nearby cafe’s terrace
While examining the menu, planning on getting you and your boyfriend a drink, an unknown man occupied the sit in front of you
“Sorry but that seat is taken”
Keep reading
.ᐟ foreseeable future — pt. 3
k.bakugou smau
he’s your brother’s best friend (and your bf!!!!!!!! wow!!)
a/n: hashtag real shit hashtag i want that cookie bad hashtag here’s a requested last part eeeeeeeeeekkkk
m.list | part 1 | part 2
pervert kenma,,,,my gosh👩🍳🤌
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴇɴᴍᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ᴡᴄ: 767
ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴛʜɪʀꜱᴛ, ᴍᴅɴɪ 18+
ᴛᴡ: ᴘᴀɴᴛʏ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴄᴀʀ ꜱᴇx, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ, ᴠᴏʏᴇᴜʀɪꜱᴍ, ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛɪᴏɴɪꜱᴍ, ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ, ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇ "ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴ". ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ!
ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.
a/n: honestly.. not too proud ouf this one?? like i feel like i knew what i wanted to say but couldn't necessarily get my words out onto paper?? regardless i hope you enjoy!
ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴇʀᴠᴇʀᴛ! ᴍ.ʟɪꜱᴛ | ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍ.ʟɪꜱᴛ
pervert!kenma.. kenma, in general, makes my pussy quake... but pERVERT!KENMA??? let's talk about it.
pervert!kenma is really laid back, but when he wants something, he’s going to get it. point, blank, period.
we all know kenma is a streamer. he plays games for a living. what’s his second favorite thing other than streaming? having you sit pretty on your knees underneath his desk. he makes sure always to wear low-hanging sweats, that way, you can easily pull them down and have full access to his cock. he loves the feeling of your wet mouth keeping his cock nice and warm. he does this the entire time he’s streaming. whenever he reads a comment he dislikes or a particular level is upsetting him, he’ll make sure to release his anger by pounding your throat. he’ll display a “be back later!” banner on his stream and mute his microphone. he’ll move a hand away from his keyboard, it finding purchase in your hair and gripping at the roots of your locks. at this moment in time, you’re nothing but a toy, a stress reliever for kenma. his hand drags your head along his cock, curses, and groans flying past his lips each time you gag around him. he’s fully utilizing his 15 minutes. <3
pervert!kenma loves to hold special events on his stream… special events where you’re playing games for him. his fans and followers think he’s busy for the day and has his significant other substituting for him or even just letting you have fun on his account. but in reality, he’s only switched spots with you. you’re always so pretty and obedient for him, getting on your knees when told. why not return the favor? pervert!kenma has your legs slightly spread and his head wedged between your thighs. pink tinted lips wrap around your sensitive nub and suck. he’d be a liar if he said watching you struggle to play and talk with the viewers wasn’t entertaining. the quiver in your voice, how you’re trying to wriggle away from him, has him overflowing with animalistic lust.
“y/n are you okay? me? i-i’m fine!” you stutter out.
“why are you stuttering so much? is the game scary?”
“you can stop playing if you’re sick!”
“please take care of yourself!”
one by one, you read the comments aloud while kenma tends to your leaking pussy, slurping and gulping down your sweet, sweet juices.
pervert!kenma loves spoiling you and insists on buying you everything you could ever want, but of course, he buys you things he wants you to have. and it’s always the skimpiest little outfits. tight shirts that hug your breasts, tiny skirts that stop at the middle of your thigh, ones so tiny that if you bend down, everyone would have a complete view of your ass. pervert!kenma loves the gawks and random stares you get when prancing around in said outfits. he can practically read the filthy thoughts going through people's minds when they see you. it riles him up because while they’re thinking it, he’s the only one who can act on those impure thoughts.
this routine is the same, and it always ends with you face down, ass up in the back of kenma’s car. both of his hands grip onto your waist and guide you along his shaft, cum filled balls slapping and bouncing off your puffy pussy lips.
“ken ken, please~.”
“please, what? you look so pretty, kitten. do me favor?” he says before leaning down, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear, “shut up and let daddy fuck you. and don’t make a mess on my leather seats, i would hate to have to punish you.”
he literally makes you squirt uncontrollably on purpose, so he has a reason to punish you <3
days when pervert!kenma has to go into his office to handle in-person business, he always brings the necessities; himself, headphones, and a pair of your worn panties. when all of his meetings are concluded, he’ll prop his phone up and lean back in his chair. you're not met with a hi, hello, or even his face, no. you’re met with a swollen tip, one that's oozing precum, and your favorite pair of light pink panties wrapped around his shaft. his hips are thrusting sloppily up into his hand, imagining the cloth was your wet cunt. his eyes lock onto you, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips before mumbling, “be a good kitten, and show me your pussy, yeah? let daddy see you. ”
taglist: @shalnarkswhoree @ushijimasslut @kawaiikooki @fiona782 @yaqueerqueen @papitoshi @omiikeii @SATISFYINGLYBLUE @crapimahuman @shdwgarden @tirzamisu @booksweet @kisseswithkai @itsmeteiiteii @babydai @matssuncxmslxt @bakugobaki @tifhen @tithesandofferings @dadbodosamu @eternallyvenus @devilgirlcrybabiey @fsrintaro @mid-night-blossoms @cheryly @cinnamonwishes @hisvillainess
𖧹katsuki bakugou x fem reader
𖧹smut; katsuki makes you record him eating you out.
𖧹1.0k
𖧹mdni
“just like that” he says, red eyes glancing at the phone in your hand, the camera pulled up as you zoom in on the way his lips ghost over your cunt. “make sure you hold it still."
he's scheduled for a two week long mission out of the country and he needs something to tie him over.
you try— really try to keep the camera steady, but the first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds has you gasping, your entire body jolting as the camera tilts upward, catching only the crown of his spiky blonde hair. his tongue is hot, firm, and deliberate as it drags from your entrance to your clit, circling it just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy.
"fuck," you breathe, scrambling to fix the angle. you bring the phone down, focusing on his sharp jaw and the way it moves as he devours you, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck softly. you can barely suppress the moan that builds in your throat, your head pressing back into the pillow as your chest heaves.
katsuki doesn't let up, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub with maddening precision. the lewd sounds of his mouth- wet, sticky, and unrelenting-are captured perfectly by the microphone, the obscene audio only adding to your growing arousal.
you’re so lost in the pleasure that you forget what you’re supposed to be doing, letting the phone in your hand drop until nothing but darkness can be seen.
his mouth pulls away with an audible pop, and your hazy eyes snap open at the sudden loss of contact. his brow furrows, a sharp growl rumbling from his chest. "don't make me fucking repeat myself," he snaps, his voice gruff and commanding, but the fire in his gaze betrays just how much he's enjoying watching you squirm.
he reaches up, gripping your wrist with his calloused fingers to guide your hand—and the phone— back to where he wants it. "hold it steady, or i'll make you start all over."
you whimper softly at his words, the threat sending a shiver down your spine. his eyes flash with mischief as he watches you struggle to comply, your hand trembling with the effort to keep the camera on him.
"good," he mutters, dipping his head back down between your thighs. "now don't fuck it up again."
his tongue returns to your clit, flicking and swirling and sucking with a precision that has your thighs threatening to clamp tightly around his head. his blonde hair tickles your inner thighs and the phone shakes slightly.
"katsuki," you moan, your voice high-pitched and breathless. he growls in response, his eyes snapping up to meet yours through the lens of the phone. the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. you look away.
"look at me," he commands, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. his lips are glistening, his face slick with your arousal as he nips at your inner thigh. "i want you to see this. I want you to remember who makes you fall apart like this when I'm gone."
his possessiveness ignites something inside you, and you nod weakly, barely able to process his words as his tongue returns to its assault. he's ruthless now, his movements faster and more deliberate, his lips and tongue working in tandem to push you closer to the edge. the knot in your stomach tightens, your legs beginning to shake as pleasure consumes you.
he chuckles against your core, the vibrations only adding to the unbearable pleasure. the wet sounds of his mouth working your over are obscene, loud enough to be caught on the recording. you can barely focus on keeping your composure, let alone holding the phone steady.
"you close, baby?" he asks, his voice muffled as he sucks your clit into his mouth. "I can feel you shaking. come on, let it go. let me hear those pretty fucking sounds as you cum on my tongue."
his words are your undoing. your back arches off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your climax crashes over you. the phone trembles in your hand, your grip faltering as waves of pleasure roll through you. he doesn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap at you, dragging out your orgasm until you're left a trembling, gasping mess.
when he finally pulls away, his lips are curved into a smug grin, face coated in your arousal and he couldn't look happier. "good girl," he praises, his voice low and husky. he takes the phone from your weak grip, tapping the screen to review the footage with a satisfied hum. "this'll keep me entertained while I'm gone."
you collapse back onto the bed, utterly spent, chest heaving as you catch your breath. katsuki sets the phone on the nightstand, crawling up your body until his lips hover over yours. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before pulling back just enough to whisper against your mouth.
"don't think we're done yet," he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. "i've got a whole week to make up for. might as well record me fucking that tight little pussy next."
his words make your breath hitch, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you as he smirks, his hands already roaming your body in preparation for round two.
Your relationship with Sukuna was on its last legs. You tried to make things work, but he was as difficult as it could get, and mean. After a particularly terrible fight, the two of you made up, and you began to hope again. Later that night, his friends called, inviting him to the club. You told him you weren’t comfortable with it. He agreed to stay, even tucking you into bed.
But once you fell asleep, he snuck out.
Things went downhill from there.
Sukuna and his friends drank heavily, and soon he was caught up in the chaos—laughing, dancing, and losing control. While you slept, his friends began posting videos online: Sukuna receiving a lap dance, drunk and kissing another girl, clearly high and out of his mind.
When you woke up, you reached over to find his side of the bed cold and empty. You thought he had left early for work. But then your phone started blowing up with messages from friends and strangers alike. Your heart pounded as you unlocked it and opened Instagram, only to see the posts.
One after another, each post felt like a knife to your chest—Sukuna smiling lazily, his hands on another woman, his lips brushing hers. You could see the flashing lights, hear the blaring music, and feel the sting of betrayal in every picture and clip. Your fingers trembled, and your vision blurred with tears as you watched in disbelief.
The room felt like it was spinning. You tried to steady yourself, but the weight of it all was crushing. How could he do this to you, especially after you had been so open, so vulnerable about your feelings? After he had promised to stay?
You had told him, in the heat of making up, that this was his last chance. You were clear: if he messed up again, you were packing your things and going back to the States. He had looked you in the eyes and promised. And yet, he still went and did this.
Meanwhile, Sukuna was still sleeping, his head pounding and the room spinning. He didn’t remember a damned thing the night before. He remembered sneaking out, thinking he’d make it back before sunrise, slip back into bed, and act like nothing happened. You were just being too dramatic, he thought. You’d told him how you didn’t like his friends, that they hated you and were trying to break the two of you up. He’d laughed it off as paranoia. Crazy talk.
He vaguely remembered drinking a shot—just one—and after that, things got hazy. He didn’t believe for a second that his friends would spike his drink.
No, they’d never do that… right?
But now, as he blinked his eyes open, he realized something was very wrong. Next to him was a woman he didn’t recognize, definitely not you. The sunlight was streaming through the window, and panic shot through his body like a jolt of electricity. His heart raced as he sat up, the events of the night before still a foggy blur.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, his mind starting to piece together the fragments. You two had just made up—how could he have been so reckless?
Sukuna fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. The screen lit up, showing the time: 12:46. His heart sank even further. He really had messed up this time. The battery was about to die, a thin red line warning him he had little time left. He glanced around, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar room.
What confused him most was that he was still in his clothes from the night before. A small relief—at least he hadn’t slept with the woman next to him. But that didn’t matter much, did it? He was still in bed with another woman, a stranger, and that alone was enough to shatter whatever trust you had left in him.
His head throbbed with a dull, pounding pain, a mix of alcohol and regret. He desperately needed water, but his feet felt glued to the floor. As he forced himself to sit up, the room seemed to spin around him. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the fog of the hangover, but his mind remained a jumbled mess.
He checked his phone again, scrolling through the flood of messages, but your name wasn’t among them. No missed calls, no texts, no messages. Just silence.
It took you two hours to get yourself to function properly. When something traumatic happened, you had this tendency to just shut down. No crying, no shouting—just silence. You couldn’t even talk right now. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall, your mind numb. The pain was so immense that it felt like nothing at all, a hollow void where your heart should be.
Slowly, you got up, moving like you were underwater, every step heavy and disjointed. You made your way to the bedroom closet and grabbed a suitcase, your hands moving on autopilot. You began packing everything you owned in this place, methodically folding clothes, stacking books, gathering small, personal items that had once made this space feel like home. Now, every object felt like a weight dragging you down.
You didn’t remember much from those moments, only flashes of despair and confusion. Your mind was clouded, a fog of grief settling over you. All you knew was that you wanted to disappear, to somehow escape the unbearable ache in your chest.
How could this happen? Why? The questions repeated in your mind, over and over, like a broken record. Were you not enough? Was he cheating this whole time?
Your thoughts spiraled into a dark place, each one more suffocating than the last. The silence of the room pressed in around you, amplifying every doubt, every fear. You felt lost in a sea of uncertainty, desperately searching for something to hold onto, but finding nothing but emptiness.
You paused for a moment, standing still in the middle of the room, clutching a shirt to your chest. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything, but no sound came out. All that filled you was a deep, aching void that left you feeling more alone than ever before.
Just as you finished packing, the door opened, but you didn't flinch. Your fingers continued scrolling through your phone, searching for flight tickets. You didn’t care where it would take you—anywhere but here.
Sukuna stepped inside, his expression a mix of confusion and panic. You didn’t look up. Your face remained calm, almost eerily so, as if you were in a trance. You kept scrolling, your focus entirely on the screen, like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight with panic. But you said nothing.
Your face was expressionless, your eyes fixed on your phone. He moved closer, desperate now. “Please,” he continued, “can’t we just… talk?”
Finally, you paused, letting out a slow, controlled breath. But you didn’t look at him. Your silence was deafening, more unnerving than any yelling or screaming could have been.
He swallowed hard, sensing the change, feeling the weight of your silence pressing down on him. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he tried again. "I don’t even remember what happened. I think I was drugged or something..." His voice grew softer, almost pleading now.
You continued to tap the screen, the sound of your fingers the only noise in the room. You found a flight and pressed "book," moving methodically, as if this was just another task on a list. Your calmness was unnerving, like the quiet before a storm.
“Y/N… please,” Sukuna whispered, taking another step forward, but your detachment made him falter.
You finally glanced up at him, your expression unreadable, your voice steady and calm. “I'm leaving,” you said quietly, as if stating a simple fact.
He blinked, stunned by the flatness of your tone. There was no anger, no emotion—just a cold, stark finality. “But… we can work this out,” he stammered, “right?”
You looked back at your phone, as if he were no longer even there. You were done listening, done hoping, done believing. His words were just noise now, meaningless in the face of everything he had broken.
Sukuna was a big man, another reason you had fallen in love with him. Being with him had made you feel so safe, so happy. But when you reached for your suitcase, he finally broke.
He snatched it out of your hand. "No, no, you're not leaving me," he insisted, his voice frantic. "Look, please just listen. I know I lied to you and snuck out, but I swear I would never cheat on you."
You stood still, watching him, his large frame towering over you, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. But your heart felt like ice. You could see the panic in his eyes, hear the tremor in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.
His hands gripped the suitcase so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Please," he begged again, "just… don’t go."
For a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of the love you used to feel. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Let go,” your voice is calm and steady.
“No, look, I would do anything,” he blurted out, his voice rising with desperation. “Okay, I see now why you don’t like my friends. I’ll cut them out. I won’t ever talk to another girl again. Just… anything. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Please.”
He was a mess, still hungover, his head pounding, his hands trembling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep it together, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked so close to breaking down completely.
Why did he make this mistake? Why did he let himself slip up so badly? You had given him a chance, and he had blown it in mere hours. The realization seemed to dawn on him, his face twisting with guilt and regret. His shoulders sagged, and his voice broke. "I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his tone raw with fear.
But it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever he was offering now felt hollow, too little, too late. Your heart felt heavy, but your mind was made up.
"Let go," you repeated, firmer this time, your eyes locking onto his.
Sukuna's hand fell away from the suitcase as if it weighed a ton, his breath hitching. He wanted to fight, to argue, but the defeat in your eyes left him lost. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible, choking on his own words.
But all you did was nod, a small, almost imperceptible nod, and turn toward the door.
He stood there, his whole world crumbling, as you walked away.
“yer in love with this cock, ain’cha?” katsuki questioned, kissing the back of your spine as your ass presses against his base. “fuck, love this ass. can’t believe i got together with you fer’real.”
you couldnt even respond, the way his cock was practically bullying into your cervix. his hands slide up your sides, him kissing each stretch mark that went downwards of your ass.
“fuckin’ love you.” he whispers again, hips thrusting into your gummy spot that made you get teary eyed. “oh you clenched from that, nasty thing.”
your eyes rolled back, drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. “katsuuukiiii…” you moan his name long, him growing more primal than human.
“fuck, keep cummin’ on this dick baby.” he sighs, rolling his own eyes back dramatically. “you like watching us, dont you shitty hair?” he turns his head, looking at the red head.
kirishima, fisting his cock with a muzzle on his face. he stared intently, soft groans or moans slipping and hed spit on his cock. he nods, jaw hanging open as he pants from him growing close.
“yeah? you wanna see her cunt?” katsuki asks, holstering you up and putting you in a full nelson in front of kirishima. “yah’ see it now?”
he nods, his hand getting faster.
Twitter links pt2
Toji fushiguro :
He doesn’t mind home wrecking ೀ
This some type of shit he’d do ᧔࿔᧓
He’s lazy ⪩⪨
Into big girls ׂׂׂׂ ♡
Nanami:
He’s an ass man ✧
Lazy after hours ⋆。
The arms…✩
He want that cookie so bad ⋆*
Megumi fushiguro:
He’s nice with it ✾
After a hard mission ❀
He’s good with his hands 𑁍
He gets passionate ✽
Noritoshi Kamo:
Prepping him ༄
He’s a switch (argue with the wall) ༉
I’m bout to buss જ
He’s desperate ๑
"it was in 2020" oh so like a year or so ago. a couple years. im sorry 5? did you just say five? five years ago ?
♱ ‧₊˚. X MARKS THE SPOT ꒰ jjk men + nsfw twt visuals + accompanying drabbles ꒱ nsfw — mdni, f!reader, yuuji [oral + fingering (f!rec), squirting, hair pulling, begging, mindbreak], megumi [missionary, vanilla sex, dacryphilia], gojo [dry humping, teasing, premature ejaculation, petnames (doll, baby)], toji [gunplay, degradation, dirty talk, use of "whore"], sukuna [breeding, creampie, implied overstim, mindbreak]. part two coming with the rest of the jjk men soon. also, recs for twt accounts inclusive of all skin tones and sizes would be so appreciated ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆
yuuji itadori. he doesn't think he can go a day without eating you out; his slick-coated lips kissing and sucking on your clit while two of his fingers quirk against that one precious spot inside you that he knows will have you spilling all over his face in no time. he can't get enough of the way you tug on his pink locks, the heels of your feet digging into his shoulder blades. what he loves the most, though, is your voice. it's whiny and needy and so, so cute. he's not exactly sure what you're begging him for— but neither do you; the feeling of his hot mouth attacking your cunny and his fingers scissoring themselves against your walls is enough to have you speaking in tongues.
megumi fushiguro. he always fucks you like this— slowly, intimately, lovingly every time he returns home from a mission. breaths mingled, limbs intertwined and clouded eyes blurring the line between love and lust. he swallows the murmured "i love you's" that you leave on his lips, the weight of your words travelling straight to his cock. a hand runs through your hair as he catches the tears that fall onto the apples of your cheeks with his own, a familiar warmth flooding his chest from how loved you make him feel. he always fucks you like this— a sound reminder that at the end of the day, no matter what, he's always going to come back home to you.
toji fushiguro. he loves the thrill of fucking you with his gun. loves to hear the shakiness in your moans when he eases the barrel into your slick cunny— loves the way you cover your face from the embarrassment brought on from how much this turns you on, when you know it shouldn't. he laughs when the front side slides up against that one squishy spot inside you that has your thighs squeezing around his hand; he's sucking and kissing all over your neck, his baritone voice ringing through your ear, pushing you closer and closer to your high, "look at how you're gushin' all over my glock— does it turn you on that much? haha, you filthy fuckin' whore."
satoru gojo. he's a tease most of the time, but he won't deny how much it turns him on when you flip the switch on him. his jaw falls slack when you grind down on his hard dick while wearing those shorts of yours that he loves so much; every drag of your clothed cunny over his length making the fire in the pit of his stomach burn brighter. his laboured groans of "you're killin' me, doll," only make you grind down harder, coaxing moan after moan from him. he's quick to cum— making a mess as he spills his thick seed all over your ass; but he's back to being hard again as soon as he spots your slick leaking through the fabric of your shorts, "looks like it's my turn now, baby."
ryoumen sukuna. he fucks you with the sole purpose of filling your womb up to the brim with his cum. he despises the thought of having even a single minuscule droplet of his seed going to waste, but those thoughts leave his head as soon as he catches sight of it oozing out of your spoiled cunny. his cum is potent; thick, and creamy, and warm, and he feels himself getting hard again from admiring your fucked out state. he's quick to line up his dick a third, fourth, maybe even fifth time at your entrance, sliding into it with ease. insatiable, is what he is— fucking you full until his balls are emptied and you're reduced to nothing but a dumb, babbling mess beneath him.
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