#Drabble drabbles

[robiinurheart33]

Soap knows Ghost has a irrefutable reputation. Something that he didn’t have to fake, he is and always will be the Ghost. — (clicks for Palestine)

He’s violent, and bloody, and he’s always being watched with a thousand eyes. Around the base, in the cameras, by higher ups. It’s a precaution the undead have to deal with. It’s a precaution that’s strangely similar to a prisoner. The thought makes uneasiness curl in soap’s gut, making him scratch the nape of his neck in irritation, grimacing.

Ghost has always been just out of reach. Being a private, hearing rumours of a massive killing machine roaming around SAS, a distant thought of maybe rising high enough in the ranks to actually meet the guy. He wouldn’t live long enough for me to meet him. Some part of him snorts. But actually seeing him, a 6’2 wall of muscle and broodiness, soap knew then that he was irrevocably fucked.

Soap isn’t stupid. In fact, he can confidently say he’s a smart ass cookie. Which is why he knows he absolutely cannot risk Ghost getting compromised just for soap’s selfishness. Soap is glaringly aware of the eyes staring down at Ghost, and by default, at him. Soap is his Sargent. Soap is his friend. Soap is his…his.?

Soap scratches at the nape of his neck, picking at a scab and drawing blood.

[bakugoos]

🜼 ⋆ ex boyfriend satoru gojo

satoru gojo who broke up with you first, apparently because "he had too much on his mind" and couldn't handle a relationship at the moment.

satoru gojo who regretted it the very next day, waking up alone in bed instead of finding you beside him.

satoru gojo who tried to thug it out, telling himself he wasn't the type to care. he was a womanizer, he just messed around. so why did he find himself thinking about you so often?

satoru gojo who texted you while drunk one week after he broke up with you, saying "i miss u."

satoru gojo who found himself going absolutely crazy with anguish when you didn't reply for the next three days.

satoru gojo who showed up at your door at 3 am on a tuesday, begging you to take him back. saying he promised he'd never hurt you again, that your absence was killing him. that he missed your smell, playing with your hair, hugging you from behind while you made breakfast for him.

satoru gojo who thanked the gods when you finally took him back after three weeks of trying to convince you.

satoru gojo who found himself unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. buying you flowers randomly, trying his best to get out of work earlier just to spend more time with you, making dinner so you could rest, even making little diy gifts because he knew how much you loved them

satoru gojo who kept his promise and made you the happiest girl ever

written by @bakugoos do not plagiarize.

[ksuojelly]

''My daddy!" your daughter squeals, her tiny hands grabbing at Sukuna’s sleeve as she tugs with all her might, her little face scrunched in fierce determination.

"No, my daddy!" you shoot back with mock seriousness, yanking on his other arm with equal intensity.

Sukuna, seated on the couch with his arms stretched out like he's being crucified by love, with a rainbow unicorn bandage is stuck to his forehead. Why? No one knows. His crimson eyes remain glued to the TV screen but he’s not really watching anymore, quietly accepting his fate.

He doesn't say anything, though there’s the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

''My daddy gives me more kisses'' your daughter declares, raising the stakes with wide, victorious eyes.

You gasp. “Traitor!” you chime in playfully, gripping his other arm and pretending to pout. “I saw him first!”

"Unbelievable," he murmurs under his breath, eyes glancing between the two girls tugging on him like he's a prized teddy bear.

Your daughter tugs harder, giggling. “S' Mine Papa forever!”

You gasp in mock betrayal. “What?! I give him goodnight kisses! And make his tea!”

“I draw him pictures!”

“I keep him warm at night!”

Sukuna finally exhales and tilts his head back against the couch. “I should’ve stayed a curse.”

You and your daughter both throw yourselves against him in an instant, wrapping him in tiny arms and grown-up affection. He lets out a low, exaggerated groan but doesn’t move he just melts quietly into your combined warmth.

The room is filled with you and your daughters giggles high-pitched, unfiltered, contagious, Sukuna’s arms slide around the two of you, one large hand gently cradling your daughter’s back, the other resting over your waist.

Silently complaining like a grumpy old man, lips pressed in that familiar irritated line

And despite the complaining, he doesn’t push either of you away.

All rights reserved © 2025 ksuojelly. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[nanamisweetgirl]

🜼 ⋆ freak choso sucks on your tits while you wash his hair.

he doesn’t mean to do it like that.

you’re just sitting on his lap, trying to rinse the shampoo from his hair, but his hands slide up under your shirt like they belong there. like touching your tits is part of the routine now. and when he cups them. his big hands soft and warm against your skin. he hums low in his throat like it’s calming him down.

“these help,” he mumbles, dragging his thumbs over your nipples, slow like he’s petting them.

you twitch. hard.

“help what?” you whisper, breath catching.

“me. it helps me concentrate,” he says simply. like it makes perfect sense. like rubbing slow circles into your aching nipples is normal you for, like it’s therapeutic. meditative.

then he leans forward, still wet from the sink, and licks one, just one, soft and flat and your thighs tremble on either side of him.

“they taste clean,” he says, like he’s evaluating you.

and then he sucks. open mouth, full tongue, cheeks hollowing like he’s trying to drink something out of you. one hand still squeezes your other tit like a stress toy, absently stroking your nipple between his fingers.

you whimper, your hips rocking forward desperately looking for some friction.

he pulls off with a quiet pop, looks up at you and blinks.

“…do you want me to stop?”

“no,” you gasp. “just—don’t talk about it.”

he nods. then puts both your tits in his mouth again.

and keeps sucking.

like it’s just something he needs. like it’s how he self-soothes. like you’re the only thing that tastes right.

[nanamisgirly]

Am I, not a good dad? ྀི

“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.

And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.

The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.

You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.

“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.

But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.

It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.

He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.

“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.

The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.

Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.

So, he tries.

He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.

No response.

He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”

Nothing.

Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”

Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.

As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.

His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours. 

Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.

Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.

Not soft enough. Not warm enough. Not you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”                 

And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”

And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.

Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…”  you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.

“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”

You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.” 

“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”

Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your scent comforting him.

Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.

One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”

“Kento…”

“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”

Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”

He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest. 

Nanami is silently crying.

His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.

You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”

Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your scent comforting him­—just like his son does.

“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”

You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”

(request)

[novaimperia]

“he’s never made you cum? well, that just won’t do, bestie.”

that’s what satoru said when you told him your ex had been terrible in bed. 

being in his room, in just shorts and a shirt (his shirt), is normal for you two; you’ve been friends since you were in diapers, after all. you just got out of a bad breakup with a guy you didn’t really care all that much about and satoru was more than keen to hear the juicy gossip. he heard all about the gaslighting, the controlling behaviour, and the bad hygiene. but apparently, being a selfish lover was the worst thing the loser had ever done.

seemingly thinking that living an orgasmless life is the worst possible fate to face, he grabbed your ankle, pulled you under him, your back falling with a thump! on his bed, and grinned at you. “i have an idea. do you trust me?”

his bright idea?

making up for all orgasms you missed out. 

“s-satoru! no -ngh!- more. i can’t!”

flashing a mischievous smile through the wild cloud of pleasure glazing his eyes, he coos, “aw, tapping out already? didn’t realise i was friends with a quitter. come on, you got at least three more in you, don’t you? please, baby?”

you want to scream that you’ve already had five but all that comes out of you are lewd moans as you squirm on his sheets, sweat soaked, and shirt baring your tits to his groping hands. without waiting for a reply, he dives back in between your legs. 

“you taste so good – you been eating pineapples, or something?” wet lips wrap around your swollen clit and he makes a loud sluuuuuurrp! sound that echoes around the room. it’s too much, too fast. you can’t tell how long it’s been or even how much longer he plans on smothering himself between your thighs; you should have known satoru meant it literally when he said he's going to make up for lost time. “wanna taste yourself? you need to know how insane this pussy is.”

long, slender fingers smear your own wetness against your lips and he watches you suck on them. the bed begins to shake, banging against the wall ever so slightly. god, is he humping the bed?

“oh, yeah…such a good girl.” you earn a slap against your clit before he quite literally motorboats your poor cunt, blowing raspberries on the cream gushing out. “knew you’d taste good. i mean, you smell good. heh, did you know, i have a habit of sniffing your seat after you leave? it’s why i want you sitting on a pillow.”

delirious, you ask, “but i -ah fuck!- thought that was the j-japanese way?”

your back arches when his fingers curl up against your g-spot. “no, dum-my. that’s just the gojo way.”

“you’re a pervert!”

“i’m a pervert? baby,” he says, pouting against your puffy pussy, “you’re tightening up on my fingers. you're just as much of a pervert as i am. can’t we just agree that we’re both perverts? you like knowing that i’m filthy, don’t you? you like knowing that i jerk off to all the fit checks you send me. that i make copies of the nudes you have saved on your phone.”

“fuck!”

you cum all over his face for the sixth time that night.

through bleary eyes, you see his shiny, swollen lips curving up into a shit-eating grin. in his hand, he holds his pretty cock, which he teases to your quivering hole. then, right before he thrusts inside, he jerks his head to the phone on the bed. 

the fucker’s dialled your ex and you can’t even focus on the fact that he hasn’t hung up, because then your best friend is filling you up so deliciously, your legs tighten around his hips, locking at the ankles and keeping him lodged inside. 

he kisses your lips. the shutters go off. so does the flash.

“mmhm...satoru!”

“you really shouldn’t -ha- share your password with anyone, bestie. not even me.”

[sinkuna]

୨୧ ― The garage door slams shut with a muffled thud, sealing you both in the dark garage. The car is still warm from the drive home, engine ticking as the leather seats creak under Nanami’s weight. His tie hangs loose around his neck, silk fabric slithering between his fingers as he cages you against the backseat- his knee forcing your legs apart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quiet," he growls against your neck, calloused palm smacking your clit once, twice, the crack echoing off the tinted windows, "You've been begging for this all night." The sound of his pants zipper fills the small space, his cock springing free- heavy and angry red with a bead of precum drooling at the tip. "Squirming in your seat. Smirking at me as your heel grazes my thigh."

He doesn't prep you- doesn't need to. Your pussy has been dripping since the appetizers, and he knows, the bastard, smirking as he swipes his tip against your entrance, "Look at you," he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, coating himself, "So wet for me already. You missed my cock so much, hm?"

Fuck, yesyesyes you missed his cock, missed the stretch and burn and ache when he first plunges into you. A breathless, "Yes~♡ " falls from your lips, followed by a desperate moan as his fat cock rams into your soaked cunt without warning- filling you, stretching you out.

You do your best to choke back a scream. You know better, know to keep your voice down in case your girls and Yuji have fallen asleep- the last thing you need is to wake them. But Nanami is merciless, fucking you open, the squelch of your juices loud enough to drown out any other noise in the confined space, his hips snap up- slamming into you as he fucks you against the leather seats.

"I—fu—I've s'missed you, Kento~"

Nanami's eyes soften then, a small smile forming as his hand cradles your face. The pad of his thumb traces the outline of your lip before pushing in, his gaze darkening at the way your lips part for him so willingly.

His grip on your jaw turns bruising, the way his lips smash against yours- it's painful, but the sting is delicious, "You kept teasing me about wanting another kid," he grunts, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your heaving chest.

His wedding band catches the moonlight streaming through the garage window as he grips your throat, not hard enough to hurt- yet.

"Maybe I will put a third in you tonight. Watch you swell up again…" His voice drops, gravelly and low, "You'd look so beautiful like that, again."

You claw at the part of his chest that's exposed, the fabric wrinkled beyond salvation, and moan, "Y'already... nnf... can't handle two—hah!~"

He slams deeper- hand fisting in your hair cutting you off-  "Try me."

His Mercedes rattles as he flips you onto your knees, face mashed against the fogged window. His palm cracks against your ass, reddening the skin before he yanks your hips back, spearing you in one vicious stroke. Your tits crush against the seat, nipples rubbed raw by the upholstery as he drills into your g-spot.

Somewhere upstairs, he hears a floorboard squeak… The sound traveling easily through the thin wall that connects the garage to the house. Nanami freezes, cock twitching inside you. 

Then, unmistakable in the sudden silence, comes the patter of small feet and excited voices from within the house.

"Daddy and Mommy are home!"

"Shh! Remember what big bro Yuji said? We should be sleeping!"

Nanami’s eyes narrow, "S-shit." He rams home once more, burying his groan in the crook of your neck as he spills, hot and thick, painting your walls white as it floods your womb. His cum leaks down your trembling thighs as he collapses against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade with a defeated thud while muttering, "...they're awake-"

So much for having you to himself the rest of the night…

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Nine months later, Nanami Kento is changing diapers at 3 am, dark circles under his eyes but with a tender smile that lights up the pink nursery.

"Worth it."

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

[camheaven]

٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- fratboy!toji loved to fuck you in his jersey. he just loved the way it covered your whole body- and how pulling it back accentuated your curves. but it was starting to become a problem!

you started wearing it around your dorm, around his frat, to class with nothing but shorts on underneath- it was just too much for him! n he couldn’t just be walking around hard 24/7- that made him look like a fucking pervert.

so he had to do something about it. quickly. and for some reason the only thing he could think of was fucking you in all those places- just so you’d remember how crazy it made him.

he’d drape you over the kitchen counter at your dorm, pounding relentlessly into your soaked cunt- over and over again- just muttering stupid shit like “you gotta stop wearing that fuckin jersey.” n “if i fuck you stupid, maybe you’ll fuckin listen-“

or when he’d fuck you on the couch at his frat- legs over his shoulders, one hand tightly around your neck, the other gripped onto your waist over the jersey. “not’ gonna wear it again right?” he’d groan, snapping his hips into you. “gonna’ remember who fuckin’ owns it now, yeah?”

oh and of course- don’t forget the study rooms on campus, you’d be sitting right on his dick, flipping through pages as he fucked himself deeply into you.

he’d push your head down slightly, trying to get you to arch your back. “ya can’t wear this shit around school,” he’d muffled against your shoulder, biting down as his hand flew to cover your mouth because of how loud you were whimpering. “gotta listen to me princess.. or im gonna keep fucking you everywhere.”

but obviously this wasn’t helping- because the whole reason you started wearing that stupid jersey was so he would fuck you everywhere. mission accomplished??

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru cries internally when you fall asleep without kissing him goodnight.

he stares at the ceiling like he’s in a drama. blankly. hollowly. arms still wrapped around you while you’re already snuggled into his chest, dead asleep, breathing even and soft and beautiful. and sure, you did murmur a little “goodnight” right after collapsing onto him like a starfish. but where was the kiss? the ritual? the goodnight smooch he looks forward to like clockwork?

he turns his face into your hair, sighs. dramatic. desolate. devastated.

“i can’t believe this,” he whispers to himself like you’ve committed a grave betrayal. “not even a forehead one? not even a little peck?”

listen. he gets it. technically. he’s just rearranged your insides like he was trying to make a map of his name inside your body. you were probably exhausted—barely able to get the word “goodnight” out, slurring it into his sweat-damp collarbone, limbs gone boneless against him. still, that doesn’t mean he won’t lay there feeling unloved. forgotten. discarded like a piece of tissue paper after valentine’s.

he scooches down just a bit to pout at your face. you’re drooling. adorable. utterly at peace. he watches the way your lashes flutter faintly, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips from some dream. but still.

he pokes your cheek gently, like maybe you’ll stir, apologize, and plant one on him. nothing. not even a twitch. he debates waking you up. just a little. just for a kiss. he wouldn’t mind a sleepy, mumbled one. he’d even settle for the kind you do half-asleep where you miss and it lands on his chin or his eyebrow.

he stares. waits. contemplates writing a will.

but then you make a little noise in your sleep, sigh his name, curl even tighter into his chest with your fingers bunching in his shirt like he’s your comfort and peace all at once.

okay. fine. he guesses he’ll forgive you. just this once.

but he buries his face into your neck, presses a kiss there anyway, soft and lingering. dramatic, yes, but quiet in its sincerity. you don’t wake, but your body shifts ever so slightly like it knows—like you always know.

(still. he’s waking up early to dramatically pout about it over breakfast. he’ll bring it up while you’re pouring coffee like it’s a national emergency. just so you know.)

[zenmiren]

all the other women in your gardening club were so incredibly jealous of you.

it had started off when you were showing them a photo of some fresh strawberries that you grew. the photo was of around 16 perfect looking, freshly washed strawberries placed on top of a cloth inside a basket... and the basket was being held by your husband, satoru.

it was a simple photo, satoru had a cute face, not looking at the camera but instead, was looking down at the fresh fruit, impatiently waiting to eat them.

your fellow club members gawked and smiled widely at your photo.

"wowh! what a beauty!"

"how perfect!"

you smiled in pride as your club members complimented the photo of your stawberries, unaware that they were staring only at satoru and his annoyingly handsome face.

the next instance was when you had shown them photos of your perfect, weedless garden.

"wowh! what weed killer do you use?" one of the older women exclaimed in shock.

"ohh ahah!" you smiled "i don't use any weed killers, we have a dog in the house and i'm afraid he might sniff the toxins, so i pick out the small ones by myself, and i ask my husband to get the bigger ones for me"

"ah... you're so lucky, [name].. my husband is far too lazy to pick out the large weeds when i ask..."

"your husband listens to you, just like that? i wish my husband would do that.. if i ever asked, he'd complain and whine like a baby"

the last was when your car broke down and had to stay in maintenance for a few days. satoru dropped you off to your gardening club that saturday.

when you walked in, all the ladies' heads snapped over to see satoru.

".. he's even more handsome in person.."

"he's sooo dreamy.."

"look at his biceps..."

you turned around, going on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. satoru placed his hand on your waist, leaning in to pull you into his hungry mouth. you pulled away, much to his dismay, satoru tried to pepper more kisses on your face, but you quietly told him to stop, causing him to pout.

"... and he's so inlove with her too..."

"what a loving man.."

"... i hope [name] knows how lucky she is."

those other ladies whispered among themselves before you gave satoru another kiss farewell before turning around and greeting your club members. satoru lingered around the doorway for another minute, watching you with a gentle smile before forcing himself to turn around and leave.

that alone made the ladies expel any thoughts of seducing him to cheat on you... it was too late. He was too deeply in love, and much to their dismay, they understood clearly why he was so obsessed with you.

— likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

[reissancesstuff]

“WHO are you?”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

warnings: alcohol (reader is drunk), swearing.

featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, sukuna ryomen.

Gojo

You are absolutely, unapologetically, undeniably wasted.

You don’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had. All you know is that the room is spinning, your heels are in your hand, and you’re sitting outside the club on the curb with a pout that could kill a man.

“Satoru,” you mumble, squinting at your phone. “Why hasn’t he called me back? That bastard.”

You’re just about to text him for the eighth time (your phone is upside down, for the record) when a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“There you are,” the voice says, amused. “You’re lucky I’m sexy and patient.”

You blink up, shielding your eyes from the moonlight—or maybe it’s the streetlight, or maybe it's the glowing aura of the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. White-haired. Wearing a black coat and sunglasses, at night, like a menace.

You frown.

“Who,” you say seriously, “the fuck are you?”

He freezes.

You narrow your eyes further, wobbling to your feet and poking his chest.

“Back off, handsome stranger,” you declare. “I already have a boyfriend.”

He sputters. “Handsome? Wait—”

“He’s the love of my life,” you say proudly. “Six feet of nonsense. White hair. Smug face. He’s so annoying. But like, in a hot way.”

“…That’s literally just me,” he deadpans.

“Nooo,” you slur. “Satoru’s prettier.”

His jaw drops. “Excuse me?! I AM SATORU!”

You gasp. Loudly.

“Oh my god. You’re one of those crazy fans.”

“What???”

You stumble back, dramatically offended. “You wanna be him, don’t you? Is that why you dyed your hair? Is this cosplay?!”

Gojo stares at you, dumbfounded.

You wave your heel in the air like a sword. “Back off! I’m loyal!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Sweetheart—”

You cut him off, whispering, “Don’t call me that. Only Satoru calls me sweetheart.”

“…I am Satoru!”

A pause. Then, suddenly, you gasp again—like your brain has rebooted.

“Wait… You sound like him,” you say slowly, brows furrowing. “Say something only Satoru would say.”

He leans in, lips grazing your ear.

“I know how you like it when I kiss that one spot on your thigh.”

You shriek, smacking his chest. “Okay you’re him!!”

He laughs—loud, stupid, proud.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his coat as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

“You said I was hot,” he hums smugly. “I’m never letting that go.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, snuggling into him anyway. “Still prettier in my head.”

He kisses your forehead. “Good thing I’m also prettier in real life.”

---

By the time he gets you home, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

You wake up the next morning with a hangover, a glass of water on your nightstand, and a sticky note on your forehead.

"Handsome Stranger says hi. —Your boyfriend 💙"

You groan, burying your face in the pillow.

God, he’s never gonna let this go.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Geto

You’re drunk.

Like, embarrassingly drunk.

Like, sitting outside the izakaya barefoot with your shoes in your lap and a half-eaten skewer in your hand, slurring into your phone like it’s your long-lost best friend.

“Where the hell is Suguru?” you mumble. “I’m cold. And also beautiful. I deserve a ride.”

A shadow falls over you.

You look up—slowly, dramatically—and see a tall, broad figure standing above you, dark hair in a low bun, wearing all black like he’s auditioning to be a villain in a slow-burn romance anime.

“Get up,” he says. Calm. Deep. Familiar.

You squint. “Oh my god.”

He raises a brow. “Yes?”

“You’re hot,” you whisper.

He sighs. “Baby, it’s me.”

“No,” you say, pointing a threatening skewer at him. “My boyfriend is nicer. He’s sweet. And warm. And smells like sandalwood and chaos. You look like a mafia boss. You probably steal hearts and credit cards.”

Suguru stares at you like he’s questioning all his life choices.

You stand up—well, try to—and nearly fall into him. His arms catch you effortlessly, like it’s muscle memory.

You shove a finger in his chest. “I’m taken. My boyfriend will kill you.”

“Will he?” he asks, humoring you. “Violent type?”

“The worst,” you say proudly. “He once glared at a guy so hard his hairline receded.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“He is,” you nod seriously. “And he calls me ‘sweetheart’ when he wants something.”

Suguru exhales a laugh, something low and fond. “Okay. What if I prove I’m him?”

You blink at him, considering. “…Fine. Do it.”

He steps close, close enough that his chest brushes yours.

“Two weeks ago, you said if I didn’t let you adopt a cat, you’d put glitter in my shampoo.”

Your jaw drops. “How did you—?!”

“Three days ago, you cried because a dog in a TikTok wore boots.”

“And last night,” he leans in, brushing his lips by your ear, “you told me I’m your favorite ‘tall dark and dangerous’ man, but you’d leave me instantly for Keanu Reeves.”

You gasp. “Suguru?!”

“Yes.”

“OH MY GOD.” You slap his arm. “Why didn’t you say so earlier!?”

“I did.”

You cling to him, dramatic as ever. “I missed you. You smell good. Don’t ever leave me again.”

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the car, shaking his head with the softest smile.

“You’re gonna regret all of this in the morning,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I regret nothing,” you slur. Then squint up at him. “Wait. Did you really glare a guy’s hairline off?”

“…That one might’ve been a little exaggerated.”

“Still hot.”

---

The next morning, you wake up in Suguru’s hoodie, with water, painkillers, and a sticky note on your phone:

“Mafia Boss says thank you for your compliments. You’re under permanent protection now. —Your real boyfriend 💌”

You bury your face in the pillow.

He’s never letting this go.

And honestly? You’re kind of glad.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Nanami

You’re sitting on a curb, absolutely wasted.

There’s glitter on your eyelids, chicken nuggets in your purse, and a girl from the bar sobbing beside you because her ex posted a gym selfie.

You offer her a nugget.

“You deserve better,” you tell her. “You’re gorgeous. Your eyebrows are, like, symmetrical. I’d marry you.”

She sniffles, then stares behind you. “Uhh… is that your boyfriend?”

You turn.

And see a tall, broad man walking up, sleeves rolled, tie loose, face unreadable—like God sent a male model from a finance firm to collect wayward souls off the street.

You frown.

“You look expensive,” you say slowly. “Are you one of those… high-end butlers?”

He stops in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You blink. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend.”

Your jaw drops. “No you’re not. My boyfriend is… emotionally repressed. Wears beige. Has a sexy office job and a judgmental stare.”

Nanami sighs. “That’s me.”

You squint suspiciously. “Okay, if you’re really my boyfriend… what’s my weirdest habit?”

He looks down at you, voice flat. “You talk to plants. You name them. One is called Baby Groot. You cried when he lost a leaf.”

Your lips part. “Only he would know that…”

You wobble to your feet and nearly fall, catching yourself on his very firm chest. You clutch his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You are my sexy office man.”

“Let’s go home,” he mutters, guiding you gently toward his car.

You dig your heels into the ground. “Wait! Waitwaitwait—don’t kidnap me! I have a boyfriend!”

“You just admitted I am your boyfriend.”

“…Oh. Right.” You giggle. “Lucky me.”

He helps you into the passenger seat like you’re fragile cargo. Once seated, you stare at him as he buckles you in.

“You’re so handsome,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“And patient.”

“I have no choice.”

“You’re gonna marry me one day.”

His hands still for half a second.

Then: “I already plan to.”

You pass out smiling.

---

The next morning, you wake up in bed, dressed in your comfiest pajamas, with a glass of water, aspirin, and a note:

"In case you forget: yes, I am your boyfriend. No, I am not a butler. Please hydrate. —Kento"

You giggle into the pillow.

You’re definitely going to marry that man.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Toji

You are sitting on a barstool, double fisting two very illegally strong cocktails, laughing at absolutely nothing.

You're also very certain that a hot man is trying to kidnap you.

“Ma’am,” the man says, standing in front of you like an irritated wall of muscle. “It’s me.”

You look him up and down.

Black hair. Green eyes. Tall. Scary aura. Tight shirt. Very very hot.

But no. You're loyal.

You squint. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I picked you up from karaoke an hour ago.”

“Impossible,” you say dramatically. “My boyfriend would never show up to karaoke. He thinks fun is ‘a scam made by broke people.’”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he grunts.

You gasp. “You are hot though. Like, really hot. But listen—my boyfriend? He’s kinda mean, super strong, and terrifying. He could totally kill you.”

He stares.

You continue: “He’s also soooo good in bed. Real monster. Demon behavior. But he’s mine, so—”

Toji grabs your wrist. “Get your ass up.”

You gasp again. “You’re aggressive. Just like him. But he’d never touch me like that in public unless I pissed him off.”

“Oh?” he says, voice flat. “You mean like getting blackout drunk, threatening the DJ, and petting strangers' dogs without asking?”

You tilt your head. “So you do know me...”

“I live with you.”

You lean forward, squinting hard, then grab his face between your hands. “Say something only my boyfriend would say.”

He deadpans, “If you puke in my car again, I’m charging you five grand.”

Your mouth drops open. “Toji?!”

“Finally.”

You throw your arms around his neck. “Where have you been all night?!”

“Chasing your drunk ass down. Again.”

He tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking to his car.

“Wait,” you slur. “You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“But I’m your babygirl…”

He opens the car door. “You’re my goddamn headache.”

“Love you too!”

---

The next morning, you wake up with a hangover and a bruise on your hip that looks suspiciously like the edge of Toji’s shoulder.

You check your phone.

1 New Message from Toji

📸 [photo of you passed out face-first in his passenger seat, drooling]

Toji: Don’t drink again unless I’m there. Dumbass.

You smile.

Your murderous, scary, mean boyfriend is the best.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Sukuna

You’re absolutely, irreparably hammered.

How do you know?

Because there is a gorgeous man standing in front of you with piercings, tattoos, and arms you’d like to sit on — and instead of flirting with him, you’re loudly sobbing to your friend.

“He’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna kill the hot guy,” you sniff.

“Who?”

“That guy,” you point at the very man you’re talking about. “He’s hot but he’s not my boyfriend. But he’s gonna die. My boyfriend is crazy.”

The man in question — the hot one — drags a hand down his face. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

You nod solemnly. “Yes. And you should leave before he finds you.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

You blink. “Noooo, my boyfriend has tattoos—”

He lifts his shirt.

“—oh my god you have tattoos,” you whisper.

“And piercings.”

You stare at the twin bars through his eyebrow and the silver glint on his tongue as he smirks.

“My boyfriend has those too!” you giggle. “But also, he’s terrifying. He’d murder you in an alley for touching me.”

He steps closer. “You mean like this?”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you flush against him.

You freeze. “Bold of you, hot stranger.”

He leans in, voice low and dark in your ear. “You bit me last time I tried to wake you up from a drunk nap.”

You gasp. “Sukuna?!”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, sharp canines grazing your skin. “Now let’s get you in the damn car before I dump you in a gutter.”

You wrap your arms around him, eyes wide. “You’re so mean. I love you.”

“I know you do, dumbass.”

---

The next morning, you wake up to an ice pack on your head and a water bottle on your nightstand. Sukuna is sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone.

“…Did I threaten you again last night?” you mumble.

“You told me you’d report me to the FBI if I didn’t prove I was your boyfriend.”

“Oh god.”

“You also called me ‘Mr. Jail Tattoos’ and asked if I knew I was hot.”

“I hate myself.”

He glances at you with that lazy smirk. “You said, and I quote, ‘I wanna kiss you but my boyfriend’s gonna beat your ass.’”

You pull a pillow over your face. “Did you beat your own ass?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “But I did let you tackle me onto the bed. You drooled on my neck.”

“…Love you?”

He flicks your forehead. “Be less dumb next time.”

You grin. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Jail Tattoos.”

And he does, in fact, tackle you right back.

[ilovegojotewwwmuch]

Boyfriend Toji who was a bit confused when you stopped cuddling him.

You’d usually go to sleep with all of your limbs wrapped around him, if it was even possible since he was much larger than you. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he hated whatever this was. Why weren’t you on top of him? Why weren’t you snoring on his chest? To say he was confused was one way of putting it, in reality he was annoyed when he didn’t feel your weight on top of him.

“S’to hot” you’d say, reminding him you were now in the summer, and rolling over onto your own side of the bed, it was comfortable and firm, not sunken in as much as your boyfriends since theres only one of you sleeping on your side.

It was rare for you to sleep without physical contact with your boyfriend, you were needy even in your sleep, needing to be close to him in everything you do.

So “what the fuck is this?” He thought.

“So? Why’s that stopping you from sleeping on me.” He said with a grunt, half awake, annoyed, missing your presence even if it was burning hot in your shared apartment.

You only groan in annoyance and curl up a bit, if you were awake enough, you’d roll your eyes.

How could he not be hot like that?

With a swift motion, before you can even realize he’s grabbing you gently and placing you ontop of him before lazily reaching over and turning on the fan next to your bed.

“This better doll?, ‘cus I can’t sleep without ya”

A small grin formed across your lips, softly replying.

“Mhm.” As you got comfortable on his chest again, slowly drifting back to sleep, the cool breeze putting you at ease. You hated being hot. Toji knew that, but he wouldn’t sleep without you despite being able to handle the heat.

You both got your beauty sleep that night.

Au. this was my first ever freaking post , im tired and wanted to post

TAGS; #sfw #drabble #toji #Sfw!!!

[freaktoru]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . nanami kento doesn’t argue… except this time he does. and he fucks you while he does it.

18+ MDNI, nanami is kind of a meanie :(

nanami kento is a man of undeniable patience and unwavering calm. a think-first, speak-later kind of man—never quick to argue, and always one to listen attentively before offering his own thoughts.

but when you “accidentally” forget to tell him that you’re going out with your friends after work, and spend hours worrying him sick and not answering your phone? now that really pisses him off.

clearly, you had forgotten to follow one of the most important, fundamental rules the two of you had set for each other—always let the other know of your whereabouts. 

seems like nanami had to remind you somehow. and today, his method of choice was fucking it into you. 

“you just can’t” thrust. “do” thrust. “what” thrust. “i tell you” thrust. “huh?” he drives each word into you, his thick cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside—making sure you feel exactly how much he means it.

your face is buried in the sheets of your shared bed, tears staining the pristine white bedsheets. nanami has been at this for hours now, pounding into you—every thrust harder and more punishing than the last.

“ ‘m sorry k-kento please” you sob pathetically into the wet sheets, voice barely audible in your helpless position. a strong hand fists a handful of your hair, pulling your head up closer to his. 

kento leans over, his warm, ragged breath brushing the tip of your ear, staying buried deep in your quivering, tight walls. 

“what was that?” he whispers, keeping a strong—almost painful grip on your hair. 

“i’m s-sorryyy kento i forgot” 

“mmm sweetheart” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky, whisper “that just won’t do.” he finishes, deliberately moving his other hand from your waist up to your sensitive, hardened nipples. you let out a mewl of pleasure as he rolls one between his fingers—the sound quickly turning into a breathy whine when he pinches down.

“please” you barely choke out the plea between sharp sobs. 

“please what? use your words baby” he mutters, hands now kneading the soft flesh of your tits.

“i’m s-sorry” is the only thing you can manage to say—pathetic and ruined in your fucked out state.

kento frees you from his grasp, letting your head fall back down into the mattress. his bruising grip on your waist returns, and he slowly starts moving his hips again. 

“i don’t think you are” is all he says, before quickening his already harsh pace. kento fucks you like this—like he’s trying to make you understand—for the rest of the night.

and you do understand. you understand that you’ll never make nanami mad again.

[nanamisweetgirl]

🜼 ⋆ just nanami wrapping you in a headlock and fucking you like he earned it.

his hands are so big.

you feel it every time he grabs your hips: palms wide and flat, one anchoring your waist and the other pressing down between your shoulder blades, keeping you arched, ass up and back slapping against him with every filthy thrust. you’re already moaning for him. your face turned into the pillow, drool slipping past your lips, your body soft and shaky and open. you’ve been like this for a while now, splayed out, dripping, fucked dumb—because when nanami kento says “on your stomach,” you listen.

and right now? he’s buried so deep you swear he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

“keep that back arched,” he says, low and calm like he’s not absolutely wrecking you. “don’t you drop it, sweetheart. not until i say.”

your legs are shaking. you’re already too wet, too full, the fat head of his cock kissing that spot again and again while he rocks his hips into you, slow and mean. and he’s watching the whole thing—watching his cock disappear inside you, watching how sloppy and messy your pussy sounds every time he drags out and slams back in. he loves it. he eats that shit up. every noise, every twitch, every hiccup of breath like you’re already too far gone.

but you keep holding on—barely—because his voice is soft when he degrades you, and his pace is ruthless when he tells you you’re doing good. and it’s so much. so fucking much. you feel it building, climbing—right there, right there—your fingers fisting the sheets like they can hold you together and he knows. god, he knows.

“say it,” he grits, pace quickening now, pelvis slapping hard against the curve of your ass. “say what you need, baby. use your words.”

you try to hold it back. you try. but it’s crawling up your throat like instinct, thick and hot and helpless.

“d-daddy—”

that’s when he snaps.

he goes still for a second—deep inside you, cock twitching—and then he grabs you. his arm loops under your chin, hooks tight around your throat, and he drags your body back against his chest like you weigh nothing. you’re breathless, off-balance, your tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts as he bends you into a headlock, forearm squeezing gently against your neck, hand tangled in your hair like he’s holding you still just to ruin you better.

“that’s what you wanted?” he rasps, lips at your ear, teeth grazing. “you wanna act like a dumb little whore for daddy?”

you whimper—half a nod, half a moan—and it only makes him fuck you harder.

his pace is vicious now, slamming into you from behind, each thrust snapping your hips forward, your body jolting in his grip. he’s got you folded, held, claimed. one arm tight around your neck, the other fisted in your hair, your body trembling under the weight of his cock splitting you open over and over again.

and you’re soaked. squelching around him. every thrust punching little gasps out of you, your mouth open, eyes glazed, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room like music. you’re so close it hurts, pressure building deep in your gut, your pussy clenching down hard, and he feels it.

“fuuuck, that’s it. tight little cunt,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder, sweat sliding down his temple. “you gonna come for daddy now? huh?”

you sob when he says it. you can’t help it. it’s too much, his voice, his body, the way he won’t let you go, won’t give you a single inch. you can’t run from it, can’t do anything but take it while he fucks you stupid and keeps whispering filth into your ear like you’re his favorite toy.

“come on, baby,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder. “cream on this cock. show daddy how bad you needed it.”

and you do. violently. beautifully. clenching so hard it stalls his hips for a second before he fucks right through it, keeps going until he’s moaning too—hips jerking, hand flexing tighter around your throat as he spills inside you with a broken, breathless “fuck.”

he holds you like that after—panting, sweaty, his body shaking against yours, his grip loosening but never letting go. you’re limp in his arms, wrecked and twitching, pussy fluttering around his cock while he stays buried deep, still throbbing, still possessive.

“my good girl,” he murmurs, mouth at your jaw, voice ruined. “say it again.”

and you do.

[tojbnuy]

roommate!sukuna who is having a really hard time with you his new roommate. he thinks he should be offended at this rate. did you think he was gay? what other reasoning could there be for the way you act and dress infront of him. he knew for a fact that when you left the house this morning you had on a cardigan buttoned right to the top. and yet you walked into his room on your way in to show him your new nails and all that covered you was a tiny pair of shorts and a thin tank top with the lace of your bra peeking through.

“kuna looooook i got polka dots and a new shape, do you like them?”

how was he supposed to focus on your nails when your tits were practically in his face, pushed together due to the way you were positioned.

‘yeah brat they’re nice, and it’s cold put some clothes on.’

‘i’m not colddd’ you sing songed on your way out.

and this may not sound so bad, but there was also the time you had gotten your shirt mixed up with his in the wash. and when he had asked you if that was his shirt you were wearing you simply said Oops! and proceeded to take it off then and there infront of him. and only when he saw the bottom of your breasts did he realize you weren’t wearing a bra. he had managed to turn around in time and was perplexed at why you would strip infront of him with the biggest smile on your face. you weren’t even trying to be seductive you were just you. and he was beginning to be offended. why weren’t you attracted to him. he was insanely attracted to you. everytime you plopped down next to him on the couch for your movie nights in your tiny shorts or just plain underwear he’d have to cover his lap with a cushion at the immediate semi. everytime you mouthed off to him he had to convince himself not to put you over his knee. and when you napped in his bed instead of yours and sprawled your legs out as if you owned the place with one of your stupid plushies brought along with you and his pillow shoved between your thighs. that, he wasn’t so mad about however, sometimes it still smelt like you when he was touching himself at night with the thought of your soft body fresh in his mind.

you were frankly becoming a pain in the ass and he was ready to sort it out.

a/n: not proofread sorry. also starting my jjk men as roommates drabbles, feel free to send in suggestions! :) PART TWO OUT HERE