curseluvr

[curseluvr]

ONE LAST TIME (AGAIN)

You broke up, but they’re not done with you yet. When you sleep with your ex, they bring love, lust, and delusion to the table.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 3.8k

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, fingering, oral (f receiving), face sitting (suguru), riding (toji), crying, degradation, possessiveness, spitting, pet names, break up/make up sex, exes-to-lovers(?), lowkey emotional manipulation, toxic dynamics, creampie, light choking/breathplay, overstim, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, foot on head (sukuna lol), heian era sukuna smoking (toji), dubiously romantic, “what are we?” girl idk

SATORU

Satoru laughs, but the sound is void of humor. He fucks you deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you nice and open for him.

“Hope your next boyfriend can rearrange your guts like I do,” he pants. “Actually, no I don’t. I hope he cries after. I hope his dick’s pathetic.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, trying to hold onto whatever pride you have left.

He smirks, blue eyes flashing like a dare. “Make me.”

You try—God, you try—but your body is betraying you, shivering under every thrust, slick soaking down your thighs as he ruins you all over again.

“You said we’re over,” he growls in your ear, “but your pussy’s saying otherwise. And honestly? I’m inclined to believe her.”

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, mean circles. The kind that sends your legs trembling, your mouth falling open.

“Gonna cum already?” he teases, voice infuriatingly sweet. “That’s so cute. Did you miss me that much?”

You scratch at his back, biting your lip to keep from screaming. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, kissing your cheek. “And you’re still letting me fuck you raw. So what does that say about you, princess?”

It says you’re still his, no matter what you tell yourself. You hate how good it feels, and you hate that he knows it as well as you do. Satoru leans back just enough to spit in your mouth, unprompted and messy, eyes locking with yours as he does it.

“Swallow. ‘Atta girl.”

You do. Of course you do. And when your orgasm hits, Satoru leans back down and kisses you breathless, swallowing your moans. You can feel Satoru smile as your body jerks beneath him. 

It’s all teeth and tongue and hunger, like he needs to mark you from the inside out. A mix of your saliva surrounds both of your mouths.

“Tell me no one else gets to have you like this,” he whispers against your lips. “Tell me this is mine.”

You hesitate.

He fucks you harder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks again—lower, darker.

“Say it.”

“…It’s yours,” you admit, barely able to breathe it.

“There we go,” he grins. “So fucking pretty when you admit you’re mine.”

You fall apart again seconds later, cumming hard around him, clenching and gasping as your body gives out. And he keeps going. You push at his hips, weak and shaking, a pathetic attempt to give your body a break. 

“You know the safeword,” Satoru gives you time to speak up, but you don’t. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘til you forget why you left.”

“Ngh! Please, Toru—fuck,” you babble, completely fucked out, body going limp as he uses you. 

Satoru coos at the pitiful sight beneath him. His heart swells with pride, possession, and something dangerously close to devotion. Your fragile state, entrusted to him, even after everything. He wants to give you the whole world, but for now, he’ll start with his cum.  

“Gonna give you every drop,” he groans, holding you still as he pushes himself in as deeply as possible. 

When he finally cums, it’s with a long, guttural moan—hips twitching, his hand gripping your jaw to make you look him in the eyes as he fills you up.

He stays there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your chest still heaving beneath him.

Without a single ounce of shame, Satoru rolls off the bed and grabs the hoodie you’d come to return. He slips it back over his head, looks at you, ruined and blinking on the mattress, and smirks.

SUGURU

He'd left you a voicemail:

“Left your necklace. Might drop it off. Might keep it. Might wear it while jerking off to the sound of your voice.”

The second you walk into his place, Suguru raises an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch with the kind of smirk that makes you want to slap him (or ride him, but you wouldn’t admit that).

“What happened, baby?” he says smoothly. “Get tired of pretending you can stay away?”

You glare. “Do you have amnesia? You literally called me.”

“Mm. I might recall that.” He pats his lap. “Now come sit on my face and lie to me again.”

That was all it took for you to find yourself on top of your ex-boyfriend.

“Still tight,” Suguru murmurs against your inner thigh, stopping right in front of your pussy. 

He inhales deeply. “Still smell so sweet. ”

“Fuckin’ do something,” you demand, pushing your hips towards his face.

His teeth graze your clit before he dives in. 

You arch, panting. “Suguru—”

He doesn’t stop. He speeds up, and your words melt into moans.

Then he pulls his mouth away and spits on your clit, rubbing it in with his thumb as you squirm.

“I should block you just to humble you,” he says casually over the wet sounds. “But then who’d fuck you like this? Your poor pussy would be miserable without me.”

You slap his shoulder. He laughs, genuinely delighted.

“You want someone boring?” he goads, flipping you under him. “Someone soft? Respectful?”

He drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, taking delight in how soaked you are for him. He leans down until your noses almost touch, voice dipping into a whisper:

“Or do you want me—the one who knows how to split you open and make you thank me for it?”

Your hips try to move, but he holds them down. 

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out, looking him dead in the eye.

Suguru grins wickedly. “Fine.” 

And he pushes in with one long, slow thrust, groaning in your ear as your walls clench around him. You gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck—Suguru!”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses you hard, deep, possessive. “You missed me.”

He fucks you with a calm, brutal rhythm. There’s no rush, no hesitation. Just deep, hard, confident strokes that make you feel like you’re unraveling inch by inch.

“Still pretending this means nothing?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod weakly.

He laughs again, low and mean this time. “That’s okay. I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

You try to keep quiet, but the pleasure is blinding. He grabs your throat, gently tilting your chin up so your eyes stay locked with his.

“Are you ready to come back yet?” he asks, breath hot against your lips. “Or should I just keep making you cum instead?”

You whimper. He grins.

“I’ll take that as keep going.”

He fucks you harder, mouth latched to your throat, praising you through every twitch and cry and broken moan.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “Still mine. Still fucking mine.”

You cum around him a second time, legs shaking, vision white.

He follows shortly, groaning your name like a brand, gripping your hips as he fills you like a promise he has no intention of breaking.

Afterward, he doesn’t even pull out. He stays right there—cock twitching inside you, knuckles stroking your cheek like you’re already home.

“You can stay the night,” he says lightly, kissing your collarbone. “Or move your stuff back in. Your call.”

You roll your eyes.

Suguru’s smirk deepens. “Just trying to be a good ex-boyfriend.”

KENTO

“Tell me to stop,” Kento growls, breath ragged against your neck. “Say it, and I'll stop right now.”

You don’t say it. You pull him closer, digging your nails into his shoulder like you’ll die if he lets go.

He groans, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom. His tie comes off with a violent tug, the silk slipping to the floor. The dress shirt stays on, because he knows what it does to you. His slacks are half-undone when he bends you over the bed and pushes two fingers into your dripping core. 

His movements are deliberate and unforgiving, like he wants you to feel every twitch of his fingers. You gasp, hips jerking as he curls them inside you.

“Already soaking,” he mutters, breath hot against your spine. “You walked in here knowing exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You try to deny it, try to bite your lip and hold your ground, but the sound that escapes you betrays everything.

He adds a third finger, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and rough. “Say it so I don’t have to pretend this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”

You cry out his name, and Kento thinks it’s enough. That’s all it takes for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with the thick, aching length of his cock.

He pushes in from behind—no teasing, no mercy, just a stretch so deep it knocks the wind out of you.

“Fuck,” he pants, gripping your hips. “Feels like you were made for me, angel.”

You cry out, white-knuckled on the sheets, body already shaking as he rocks into you with ruthless precision. He leans over you, body draped along yours, one hand sliding up your chest to wrap around your throat. It’s not choking, but just enough to make your heart stutter as he makes eye contact with you.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” he growls, voice hoarse. “No one else could get close. Couldn’t even kiss someone else without wanting to tear my skin off.”

You whimper, shoving your hips back against him in desperation. “Me neither,” you whisper. “Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He curses under his breath like that admission breaks him. His hand moves to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you from the side—messy, wet, frantic—like he needs to taste you to breathe.

Then he flips you over and pins you flat to the bed, gaze burning. He hesitates just long enough to look at you, really look, and remember everything.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, before he fucks you like he wants to erase the space that ever existed between you. 

It’s rough, obsessive, borderline feral with how deep he hits. Kento’s hands won’t stop moving—stroking, gripping, holding you open like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. But never careless. Kento’s not clumsy in his desperation. He’s calculated. Precise. Like a man who’s gone mad with longing and still knows exactly how to break you down.

“You were always mine,” he snarls, thrusts growing sharper. “Even when you hated me. You belonged to me the second I laid eyes on you.”

Tears slip from your eyes, but not from pain. From the unbearable way he’s holding your hand, fingers interlaced, anchoring you while he fucks you senseless. From the way he kisses your temple like it’s a fucking farewell.

“Never hated you,” you gasp. “Love you too much.”

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, “even if I can’t have you.”

His confession does it for you. You fall apart on him, crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you. Kento fucks you through it, never slowing, until his own release breaks out of him with a low, guttural moan. Cum spills deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.

You're both trembling when it's over—sweaty, breathless, quiet. Then he lets out a long exhale and mutters against your skin, “Well. That was deeply irresponsible.”

TOJI

You came to get your stuff, all the pieces of yourself still lingered in the mess of his apartment after the breakup. But the second Toji opened the door, low sweatpants slung on those hips and half-lidded eyes raking over you like meat, you knew you’d lost the fight. Again.

You don’t remember how you got to the bed. Just the way he grabbed your throat and kissed you like he was pissed you ever left. Like he wanted to punish you for walking away.

Now you’re on top of him, straddling his hips, riding him with shaky thighs while his hands rest behind his head like this is routine. Like he’s letting you get it out of your system. His cock’s buried so deep inside of you that it aches. 

“We’re still done,” you spit through gritted teeth, taking him deeper with each bounce.

Toji laughs, low and dark, before delivering a loud smack to your ass.

“Then why are you dripping all over me? Try again, mamas.”

You glare, but your hands press to his chest for leverage as your pace quickens. His cock drags perfectly against your walls, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter, your resolve crack.

“Keep running your mouth,” you pant. “See where it gets you.”

“Gets me here, doesn’t it?” Toji mutters, gripping your hips now. “Every fucking time.”

He plants his feet flat on the bed and starts thrusting up into you, taking control even while you’re on top. The rhythm turns punishing, filling the room with vulgar noises of skin on skin and wet squelches. Toji fucks you real loud and nasty, the mattress shaking under you both. You collapse forward with a moan, forearms braced on his chest, head bowed as your body clenches around him.

“You break up with me every week,” he pants against your jaw. “Still come back to this dick like it’s rehab.”

Your lips part in a moan—half denial, half surrender—as his cock drives into you like he’s trying to reach your fucking soul. You try not to say his name.

“You like this?” he taunts. “This is all you needed, huh? Some sense fucked back into you?”

You tighten around him on instinct, and he grins—that filthy, cocky grin that used to piss you off so much you’d ride him just to shut him up.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. The pressure makes your head swim.

“I should’ve never let you leave,” he growls. “You’re mine.”

“Toji—fuck—”

“C’mon, mamas. Say it.”

You shatter on him, orgasm ripping through your core as you ride it out helplessly, body convulsing in his grip. He fucks you through it, filthy and relentless, until his thrusts turn erratic and his hips are twitching against yours.

“Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you tell him shamelessly. 

For once, Toji listens to you. He bites your shoulder as he lets go, breathlessly moaning into your skin. He stays like that for a second—still buried in you, breathing hard against your shoulder—before he pulls out with a slow drag and a satisfied groan.

Then he leans over, grabs the half-crushed cigarette off the nightstand, and lights it like nothing happened. Toji takes a drag, smirks at your limp body on the sheets, and exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Should I move back in now?”

You glare at him, chest still heaving, legs sticky and spread.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he mutters, straddling you. Your eyes drop to his cock—he’s already hard.

He shrugs, smiling with the cigarette in his mouth. “Still have a lot to say. Thought I’d let my dick finish the conversation.”

SUKUNA

Walking back into the throne room destroys the last of your dignity.

“Came crawling back again, eh?” Sukuna gloats, red eyes filled with amusement. “I’d say it’s cute, but it’s really just pathetic.” 

Your chin tilts up, masking shame with bite. “Not as pathetic as how easy you’ll give it to me.”

That earns a laugh, and the sound is cold. Cruel. Excited.

“Stupid girl,” he growls, already in front of you, gripping your hair and yanking you to your knees. “You belong to me. There is no leaving.”

His fingers press into your throat before he forces your mouth open and shoves his fingers in, eyes locked on yours.

He drags you to the floor like prey, strips you with no gentleness, and folds your body beneath him into a mean arch, like you were made to break. He doesn’t warm you up—doesn’t need to. You’re soaked already, shamefully so.

“Fucking knew you’d come back. You need me, don’t you?” he taunts, grinding into you, teasing the tip against your folds before slamming in hard enough to knock the air out of you.

Your gasp is lost beneath a strangled moan. He fills you like he owns every inch, as if he’s branding you from the inside.

“You always say you’re done,” he chuckles, voice thick with venom and heat, “then come crawling back with your needy little cunt dripping for me.”

You claw at the floor, unable to answer as he fucks you deep, merciless. Every stroke is brutal and precise. But that’s not enough for him.

With a sneer, he plants one foot on the back of your head, pressing your cheek to the floor as your cries shake the walls. “That’s it. Cry for me. Let them all hear who you belong to.”

Tears smear down your face, not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the humiliation, the filthy goodness of it all.

“S-Sukuna—”

“Shut up,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard it stings. “Just take it.”

He doesn’t let up—not until your thighs are shaking and you’re begging for mercy he’ll never give. Not until your body gives out and he holds your hips up anyway, forcing you to take everything he gives, even when you’re sobbing into the floor.

“You’ll never leave,” he pants against your neck, fucking you through your second orgasm. “Because no one else can fuck the brat out of you like your king can.”

You lose track of time, barely awake after your fifth orgasm. When he cums inside you, it’s with a growl and a bite to your shoulder—marking you as his.

You don’t move even after he’s done. You just lie there, used and full, heart thudding with something that feels too much like belonging.

He strokes your hair mockingly, almost like you’re a pet. 

“Sweet little thing,” Sukuna hums. “You can crawl back to your chambers. I’ll see you next time you feel like lying to yourself.”

CHOSO

You show up at his door, arms crossed, trying to act like this isn’t what it looks like.

“You gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me like a sad puppy?”

Choso blinks once. Twice. Then he grins.

“Oh, you wanna fuck.”

You feign offense. “I—”

“Don’t worry, baby. I do too,” he hums, tugging you inside and kicking the door shut with one smooth move.

“You broke up with me,” he says, mock hurt. “You don’t get to be mean and horny.”

“Oh, I can be both,” you challenge, and he groans into your neck like he’s obsessed.

Choso can’t even wait to get to bed. He turns you around and pushes you against the door, already dropping his sweats. The second he thrusts two fingers into you, the teasing stops—just for a moment. Because fuck, you’re so tight. And warm. Choso moans, deep and breathy, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I missed this. Missed you.”

You claw against the door, breath stuttering. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

“I’m gonna make you cry in five minutes,” he growls. “And then I’ll get sappy.”

He replaces his fingers with his cock and starts slowly. It’s sweet, almost romantic. But that doesn’t last.

Choso’s cocky, but he’s also needy. He starts grinding into you deeper, faster, desperate to feel you fall apart, hear you whimper his name in that way that always made him lose it.

“You still take me so good,” he pants. “You didn’t let anyone else fuck you, did you?”

You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it. “What if I did?”

He slams into you, cock twitching.

“You didn’t.”

“…I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he grunts into your ear. “Didn’t think so. You’re still mine.”

Choso drags you to the bedroom in a blink of an eye, throwing you onto the bed and entering you once more. You arch under him with a moan, and his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to mark his territory.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he mutters, reaching down to pinch your clit. “Gonna soak me like you always do. Be good and let me make you feel perfect again.” 

And you do. There are stars behind your eyes as your back arches off the bed, and Choso doesn’t stop once. Your legs are still trembling from the first round, chest heaving as you lie flat on your back. Choso hasn’t moved far—just leaned over, brushing kisses down your collarbone, hands trailing gently over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again.

You groan. “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty,” he says simply, nuzzling your jaw. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

You try to snort. “Naked?”

He laughs into your neck. “No. Relaxed.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s tugging at your lips anyway. You gasp softly when Choso licks at one of your nipples, pinching and tugging at the other one. 

This time when he pushes in, it’s not a rough snap of hips—it’s slow. Deliberate. Deep enough that you both sigh at the same time. You blink up at him, and he looks so soft in the moonlight. Heavy-lidded, sweat-slick, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he murmurs, rolling his hips into you with an almost lazy rhythm. “Of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, body already pulsing with heat again. “You gonna get sappy on me now?”

He smirks. “Only a little.”

He keeps it slow, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, but he’s gentle about it this time—more coaxing than claiming.

“Missed how you sound when it’s like this,” he says, voice low. 

You grin, tipping your hips up to meet his thrusts, breath hitching when he brushes deep inside you.

“Choso…”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “There it is.”

It’s easy to fall into this rhythm with Choso. Bodies rocking together in sync, breath ragged and warm. You cling to him when your high crests, face buried in his neck. You cum slower this time, legs wrapped around him, hips rolling with his like you’re moving in sync. You cling to him tighter when you cum, burying your face in his neck, and he groans right in your ear like he can feel how much you still want him.

When he cums, his voice cracks, but it’s quiet—intimate. Just a broken moan as he presses his forehead to yours and lets it all go. He stays inside you this time, body slumped over yours, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“So,” he says, breathing hard. “Still broken up?”

You stretch under him, muscles sore but satisfied. “You gonna let me go this time?”

Choso pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “You gonna ask me to?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t leave either. And then he collapses next to you with a smug little grin. 

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[curseluvr]

CUM FIRST, EAT LATER!

You’re always late to dinner, whether it’s taking too long to do your makeup or wanting to squeeze in a quickie first. Luckily, these men just can’t say no to you.

tldr: when your desperate need to get fucked comes right before fine dining.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 1.7k

content: fem!reader, est. relationships, unprotected sex, semi-public/car sex (toji), riding him, degradation & praise, spanking, hair pulling, face-licking (choso…), choking, overstim, creampies, drooling

SATORU

”Your slutty pussy’s gonna get us in trouble again,” Satoru sighs, flipping you onto your back with ease before fucking into you again.

Your dress is bunched up to your ribs, and your legs are wrapped around Satoru’s waist, heels still on.

“Mmh! Shut up,” you gasp, hands clawing at the sheets. “You’re the one always—fuck! —begging for a quickie.”

He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and grinds real deep and slow into you. His other hand is busy rubbing tight, merciless circles into your clit. “Not before having dinner with your parents.” 

Your head falls to the side, unable to even look straight anymore as Satoru pounds into you. The angle has your breath catching, the coil in your belly tightening so fast it’s humiliating. 

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, grabbing your face. “Wanna look my dirty girl in the eyes when I make her feel good.” 

When you don’t respond, too fucked out to form words, Satoru squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Gonna come all over my cock before dinner? You wanna sit in that restaurant full of my cum, don’tcha?” 

You’re drooling now, lipstick as fucked up as you. Satoru’s grin is feral, his blue eyes wild at the sight. 

“So sweet and polite while I’m using this messy little cunt,” he groans, thumbing your clit harder. “Gonna give you so much cum you’ll stain those Michelin-star seats.”

SUGURU

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless. Your eyes are teary, drooping, lips parted from the effort of just enduring it. He kisses you again anyway. Wet and possessive, lips dragging across yours like you’re his favorite indulgence.“You asked for this, you take it,” Suguru says with a hint of amusement as he thrusts into you.

He’s got you on your stomach, his chest pressed to your back, one large hand holding your wrists together. The other snakes under your body, gripping your throat—not tight, just enough to hold you still as his mouth hovers right beside your ear.

“Too much,” you whine, voice wrecked and airy. Your thighs are shaking and your poor cunt is raw from already cumming twice. “Only wanted—mmmh!— a quickie.”

“That’s funny, baby,” Suguru laughs, releasing your neck just to grab you by your jaw. His hair brushes along your cheek as he leans in, dizzying you with his scent. 

He plants a wet kiss on your lips. “You know it’s never quick with me.” 

Suguru’s pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets rougher, sharper, until your whole body jerks with each thrust.

“You said we had time,” you moan, voice warbling through clenched teeth.

“We did,” Suguru murmurs, kissing your temple now. “You’re the one who came twice in ten minutes.”

“You made me!”

He grins, unrepentant, loving that you’re ruined. “I know, sweetheart. And you’re still not done.”

The hand around your wrists moves to your ass, gripping the flesh before spreading you wider, drilling into you with a growl low in his throat. “Not ‘til I say.”

You try to look at the clock, blinking through the blur. Suguru doesn’t care. He kisses the side of your face, slow and sweet and devastatingly gentle in contrast to the way he’s fucking you into the mattress.

“Next time you ask for a quickie,” he purrs, “remember how this ends.”

KENTO

“You know I hate being late, darling,” Kento sighs as you unzip his dress pants. 

Your smile is sickeningly sweet. “But you hate saying no to me more.” 

He can only watch, defeated, as you take him into your mouth.

“Oh, baby. So fucking needy you want to ruin the reservation I made.”

“You really think five minutes is enough?” he continues, already breathless himself. “You’re going to make me show up late to a restaurant full of people who booked a month in advance—just because you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You pull back for just a second, spit-slick lips curling into a smirk. “Can’t help it. You know how I get.”

His hand tangles in your hair, gentle but commanding. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling.”

Then he presses your mouth back down, because despite the watch ticking behind him, despite the fact that he loathes being even a minute late—he can’t bring himself to stop you. 

By the time he bends you over the table, you’re breathless and soaking. The brand new dress he bought you just for tonight is wrinkled and hiked up around your waist.

The table creaks. Your thighs shake. Your phone buzzes with a text from the restaurant:

Reminder: Your table is ready. We will hold your reservation for 10 minutes.

Kento sees it and lets out a sigh—but he doesn’t stop. He pulls your hips toward him, addicted to the sound of his skin meeting yours.

“They can wait,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck while you squirm. “I have something far more important to finish.”

TOJI

“Better make it worth it, girl. I’ve been craving that lobster all night long,” Toji grunts against your neck, hands under your thighs as he bounces you on his lap in the backseat of the car. 

His suit jacket’s on the floor, shirt untucked, belt undone and hanging useless from a belt loop. You hadn’t even made it inside the restaurant before you dragged him back into the car.

He’s trying to make you cum quick.

You’re straddling him in that little black dress he told you not to wear unless you wanted trouble—and look at you now. Moaning, eyes glassy, lipstick smudged from sucking him off in the parking lot before whining for more.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait,” you pant, clenching around him as he drives up into you harder. “Said I looked good enough to eat.”

“And I meant that,” Toji grins, all teeth and grit. “But I also meant the lobster.”

His hand wraps around your ass, palm smacking it once—hard enough to make you jolt. He groans as you clench tighter in response.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You better cum fast, princess. If I miss my goddamn steak and lobster special ‘cause this pussy can’t get off quick enough—”

You shut him up with a moan, leaning forward to kiss his jaw, arms tight around his shoulders. “Then maybe you shouldn’t fuck me like you wanna miss it.”

He laughs—loud, low, filthy—and slams you down harder, the entire car creaking beneath you. Windows fogged. The smell of sex already thick in the air.

“Little brat,” he mutters, slapping your clit just to punish you. “You like ruining my plans, huh? Wanna be the reason I’m late to an expensive dinner?”

You look him dead in the eye. “Pull out then.”

“I’m hungry,” he grits out through his teeth, rutting into you deeper. “Not an animal.”

You toss your head back, laugh breathlessly, and grind down harder just to be spiteful.

“Coulda fooled me.”

SUKUNA

“Woman,” Sukuna grits out, jaw clenched, “if I don’t get my fucking steak in the next hour—”

“Be quick, then,” you say with a smirk, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Better be worth it,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous. “I’ve been looking forward to that ribeye all week.”

You roll your hips slowly, just to be bratty. “Then eat fast.”

That’s all it takes.

Sukuna growls behind you, hand wrapped around your throat from behind, pinning you against the mirror as he shoves your panties to the side. You gasp, barely able to breathe from the way he presses you flat to the cold glass.

“Say please,” Sukuna growls, already rubbing the thick head of his cock along your slick entrance.

“Please,” you moan, already melting and pushing your hips back.

“You’re so fucking easy,” he snarls, pushing in slow, cruel. “Acting like you can tell me what to do. Like I don’t own this pussy.”

You claw at the mirror as he starts fucking you rough and deep, your own ruined reflection taunting you with every thrust.

“My makeup,” you whimper helplessly.

He laughs. 

“You should’ve thought about that before walking around here with your ass out like a little slut,” he hisses, pulling your hair back so you can watch yourself come undone. “Go on. Watch how dumb you get just from my cock.”

Your thighs are shaking, mascara smudged from the way your eyes won’t stop tearing. You reach back for him, but Sukuna grabs both wrists in one hand and pins them to the mirror above your head.

“Nuh-uh,” he growls, biting at your shoulder. “You started this. Now take it like a good girl.”

You’re already cumming, and he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. The mirror fogs with every panting breath as he fucks you through it—brutal, relentless.

He smirks, smacking your ass. “You better fix that makeup quick when I’m done with you. I’m not taking you anywhere looking like that.”

CHOSO

He tried to say no and remind you that it was time to leave. Really, he did. But the moment you pulled up your dress and showed him how wet you were—nothing underneath, slick shining between your thighs—he knew he couldn’t ignore his duty to satisfy you as your lover.

“You’re gonna make us late,” he murmured, even as you climbed onto his lap.

“I’ll make it worth it,” you promised.

Now you’re riding him on the couch, purse thrown aside. He’s got his head tilted up, mouth latched onto your tits while you're bouncing on his cock like you can’t get enough. The only thing he loves more than you is sucking on your tits whenever you’re on top.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, sucking soft bruises into your chest. “Always so pretty for me.”

“Choso,” you whine, trying not to fall apart too fast. His hands grip your ass, helping you move, his touch always firm but worshipful.

And then, for no reason at all except that he’s fucking weird and in love with you—he licks up the side of your face. From jaw to cheekbone, slow and messy.

You freeze.

“Choso!” you gasp, smacking his arm. “My makeup!”

He blinks at you, wide-eyed and too honest. “You still look beautiful.”

You groan, burying your face in his neck—but your hips don’t stop. Neither does his dick. He wraps his arms around you tighter and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll fix it after. I promise.”

And he does. He holds your bag while you reapply your lipstick. Offers you his sleeve to blot the smudge. Choso tells you you're perfect even with mascara under your eyes and his cum dripping down your legs.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[curseluvr]

RULES

𖤝 minors do NOT interact

𖤝 requests are open but please allow me time to write

𖤝 i don't write smut about minors

𖤝 likes + reblogs are encouraged! interact with me <3

𖤝 all rights reserved © curseluvr. do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[curseluvr]

MEET THE CURSE USER!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

ria .ᐟ she/her .ᐟ 24

grad student, southeast asian 

♋︎ ☼ ♋︎ ☪︎ ♏︎ ↑ .ᐟ enfp .ᐟ

LIKES.ᐟ anime (duh), kpop (nct ♡ྀི ), f1, tennis, concerts, coffee + matcha, horror movies, morally grey characters

DISLIKES.ᐟ meat, cucumbers, cops #ACAB, being perceived, physical touch

DO NOT INTERACT.ᐟ minors, racists, M*GAs, homophobes, transphobes, xenophobes, anyone treating fandom discourse like a full time job

[curseluvr]

overtime desires got me twirling my hair and feeling like a bad bitch pls tell a part two is being considered where reader goes to suguru’s school😖🫵🏼🫶🏼

i honestly planned it as a one shot but bc of u sweet anonie i will def consider it!! thank u for reading mwah

[curseluvr]

OVERTIME DESIRES

Star basketball player Suguru Geto gets lucky on and off the court. The last thing you should do after the team you’re cheering for loses is to fuck the rival team’s star player. Losing never felt so good.

warnings: fem cheerleader!reader, basketball player!suguru, semi-public/locker room sex, hair pulling, breeding kink, praise, swearing, reader does the split on it

wc: 3.2k

One of the biggest games of the basketball season has your entire school on edge. Jujutsu University, your school’s number one rival, is visiting tonight. It’s your first year here after transferring from another school, and you can’t figure out why there’s so much chaos. With the student body riled up, your squad is even more tense. That’s why your captain is reiterating the rules directly out of the sacred Cheer Bible.

“Let’s begin,” she says, clearing her throat. “No posting thirst traps while in uniform. No hooking up with an athlete while they’re in season. If you break up, pretend he’s dead. And for today, absolutely no ogling the opposing team.” 

The silence that follows is heavy. 

“Did you hear that? I’ll say it again and again. I don’t care that the Jujutsu boys are … you know. Do. Not. Engage.” 

You turn to Yuki. “Is this necessary?” 

She doesn’t answer right away, just lifts her phone and shows you the Jujutsu roster someone posted on Twitter. Pictured on the screen is their captain and point guard, Satoru Gojo, grinning like he owns the planet. 

You blink. “I guess I understand the hype.”

“Please,” Yuki says, “You should see their shooting guard. He’s Gojo’s right hand man and every girl’s wet dream.”

Before she can swipe to his photo, your captain disbands the meeting. 

“Get to stretching. And remember ladies, keep it tight, keep it classy, and keep your drama out of the locker room!”

-

The pep band blares. The crowd roars. You’re adjusting your ponytail when the arena lights dim, signaling the arrival of the visiting team.

Jujutsu University enters like they’ve done this a hundred times—which they have. The entire student section rises to their feet to boo, and yet somehow, it sounds more like worship.

Gojo’s the first one in, of course. He blows a kiss to someone in the bleachers and points finger guns at your mascot like he’s flirting with a cartoon. You roll your eyes. 

And then he walks in, and you immediately know he’s the one Yuki was talking about. Suguru Geto. 

His jersey has a number 3 on the back, and his sharp eyes look like they’ve seen too much and care too little. He’s not showy like Gojo. He doesn’t need to be. He walks with the quiet confidence of someone who knows he can drop thirty points without cracking a smile. His hair is tied back in a low bun, ink trailing down one arm, and a black compression sleeve on the other.

The world doesn’t exactly stop—but it tilts. It’s not even lust at first, not really. It’s curiosity with teeth. Sharp, intrusive, and a little unhinged.

Yuki nudges you. “Told you.”

You say nothing, still staring as Suguru jogs to half court, gives Gojo a low five, and eyes the place like he’s ready to destroy it.  Just when your gaze flicks to his face again, he looks right at you.

Not long. Just long enough to make your stomach drop and your skin burn and your body suddenly very aware of itself in your uniform.

He doesn’t smile. Just tips his chin up a little, like he’s clocked you, and he’s made a note of something he likes. He turns away just as fast.

Yuki’s already smirking at you.

“Oh,” you say, trying to sound unimpressed. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yuki scoffs. “That man is the reason this entire campus is foaming at the mouth. Gojo might run his mouth, but Geto? He ruins people. Quietly.”

You shake your head and turn away, but it’s too late—you’re curious. And that curiosity only festers when game time comes and the gym turns electric.

-

When the second quarter ends, your squad breaks for water before the big halftime performance. The gym is loud—too loud. The score’s tight, and everyone knows the second half is going to get bloody. You wipe sweat from your brow, trying to focus on your breathing, on your formation for the next routine.

But your focus is shot. Suguru hasn’t looked at you again since that first glance. And somehow, that’s worse.

You’re standing just off-court near an exit, waiting for the rest of your squad to return, when a shadow passes into your peripheral vision.

And there he is.

Coming off the court alone, towel slung over his shoulder, jersey clinging to him in all the right places. You freeze, rooted to the floor like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you haven’t done anything but smile and wave your pom poms.

Suguru doesn’t say anything as he approaches. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t slow down. Just as he passes you, close enough that your arms almost brush, he tilts his head down and murmurs, voice low enough that no one else could hear:

“You shouldn’t stare so much. People might think you want something.”

Then he’s gone.

You don’t turn around. Your thighs are clenched, your pulse is racing, and there’s no doubt in your mind now—you do want something.

And if the look in his eyes said anything? He already knows.

-

The game is a blur of sweat, sneakers, and chants. You know enough about basketball to follow along, but even someone who’s never watched a game could tell that Suguru Geto was good. When he dunks on your captain, Suguru just walks away as his teammates stop your own team from chasing him down. 

The score is tied with three seconds left. Someone passes the ball to Suguru, and everything slows. There’s no rush, no panic. He plants his feet, looks at you, and shoots. He sinks the three and it’s chaos. 

The buzzer goes off as the crowd goes wild, and your squad disbands in every direction. Bodies brush too close in a storm of adrenaline and frustration. You should react, but all you can feel is the heat of his stare still burning on your skin, long after he’s turned away. It takes you a moment before you snap back into it. If you’re going to get what you want, now’s your only chance.

The Jujutsu team is already on their way out, but you spot Suguru looking over his shoulder at you. He tilts his head in the slightest, and you smile, more to yourself than for him.

-

The guest locker room is dimmer than yours, and quiet. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead. Your sneakers squeak against the tile as you step inside, heart hammering in your throat.

There he is. Sitting on a bench, legs spread wide, his jersey peeled off and tossed to the side. His skin glistens with sweat, chest rising and falling slow and deep. A single strand of hair clings to his temple. The rest falls loose around his shoulders, like he tugged the tie out without thinking.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He just drags his gaze up your body, slow and deliberate, and lets it settle on your eyes.

You feel it like a touch. Like being pinned in place.

“Lost?” he asks, voice low, lazy. You don’t know what you expected his voice to sound like, but it suits him.

You open your mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes shuts down every excuse you had rehearsed. It’s reckless. It’s probably against three different rules in the Cheer Bible.

“I figured you’d come.” 

“Are you always this cocky?”

“You followed me,” Suguru replies, mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Why?”

Your throat is dry. “You looked at me.”

He chuckles, quiet and wicked. “So I did.”

He leans forward, rising to his feet slowly. He walks toward you with a confidence that steals air from the room. Each step measured, heavy, controlled.

And when he stops just in front of you, his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger at your jaw, his thumb ghosting the corner of your mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks you.

“Like you don’t already know,” you retort, trying not to roll your eyes. 

“I want to hear it, pretty girl,” Suguru responds. 

Instead, you grab the front of his shorts and pull him into you like you’ve already made up your mind.

Your lips crash into his before either of you speaks again.

Suguru catches your waist instantly, pressing you back into the row of lockers with a low grunt, like he’s been holding back all night. His kiss is rough, unhurried, all control. His hands travel down your thighs, gripping them with purpose, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap your legs around him as your back hits the lockers.

“Knew you wanted it the second I stepped on that court,” he breathes against your mouth. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and tug just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to win,” you joke.

He laughs, deep and dark, then walks the two of you toward the bench behind him. He sits, spreading his legs wide, dragging you with him. You straddle him, your skirt already bunched up, breath shaky as he palms your ass through your spandex.

“You gonna ride me like your school pride depends on it?” he murmurs, voice gravel thick.

You press your forehead to his and whisper, “If you ask nicely.”

Suguru looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. “Didn’t I earn this?”

The only response you give him is your hips rolling against his hardening member. He groans under his breath, grip tightening on your hips as your body grinds against him. There's heat in every part of your body, tension stretched taut like a pulled rubber band about to snap.

"Keep that up," he warns, voice low, lips brushing your jaw, "and I won't be gentle."

You grind down again, slower this time, relishing the twitch of his muscles beneath you. “I don’t think you wanted me because I looked gentle.”

Suguru leans back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes dark, amused, hungry. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

“You looked at me first,” you remind him, breath brushing over his lips.

He tilts his head, runs his hands up the line of your waist, thumbs grazing under your top. “Yeah,” he admits, voice softer now. “I looked. Couldn’t help it.”

You kiss him again, less messy this time, and so much more deliberate. You want him to feel the intention behind it. Suguru cups the back of your neck just as his tongue enters your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize your taste. His hand finally slides under your top, large palm hot against your spine.

“You gonna keep teasing me,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or are you gonna show me what those legs can really do?”

“Tell me you want it.”

He exhales, and you can see his control thinning.

“I want it,” he says, gravel low. “I want you.”

You pull your skirt off with haste, tossing it behind you. The look on his face when you pull his cock out of his shorts and line yourself up is almost reverent. 

“No foreplay?” he asks cautiously.

“Been wet the whole game,” you confess. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Alright. Take a breath,” he murmurs, voice dark and low.

You do, and then he pushes in. Your mouth falls open instantly—your fingers clutching his broad shoulders as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. It’s thick, slow, impossible to ignore. Every inch drags against you like he’s trying to leave a permanent impression inside your body.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “You’re… you’re big—”

Suguru grins at that, eyes blown with lust. His hands tighten just slightly around your waist, dragging you down the rest of the way.

“You’re a cheerleader, ” he says, voice honey-smooth, taunting. “Aren’t you used to stretching by now?”

You whimper something incoherent against his neck, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink the last inch, fully taking him in.

Suguru groans at the feeling, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin. 

He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, allowing the full sensation to sink in. Then he pulls back just slightly—just enough to make you whine—and snaps his hips up once, slow and deep.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he whispers, dragging his mouth along your jaw.

You press a finger to his lips. “Don’t waste your breath,” you whisper, breathless yourself. “You’ll need it.”

You plant your feet wide on each side of the bench, sliding into the kind of practiced split your body knows by muscle memory. Suguru swears under his breath like a prayer.

A sound escapes him, low and guttural, as his grip on your thighs becomes a silent plea.

“Show-off,” he mutters, breath ragged as he grips your hips tighter, guiding your rhythm.

“Maybe,” you pant, “But you like it.”

“Yeah,” he growls, tugging on your hair at the scalp. “I do.”

You move together like you’ve done this before in another life—frantic and fluid. His hands slip beneath your top while your teeth graze his neck. Sweat builds, your thighs start to shake, and he leans back just slightly, admiring the sight of you—drenched in heat, split wide open on top of him, owning it.

With his hands firm at your hips, he guides you down onto him—slow, deliberate, watching every twitch of your face like it’s gospel. Each thrust steals the breath from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, moaning quietly against his ear.

Suguru’s jaw is clenched, eyes half-lidded. “Fuck… look at you.”

Your movements lose control as you chase your high, using him for your pleasure. When you start to unravel, he pulls you flush to him, burying his face in your neck. 

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.” 

When you clench around him, he muffles his groan against your skin. You're still catching your breath when his hands tighten again, anchoring you in place. His lips drag along your shoulder before he pulls back, breath hot against your skin.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

You blink at him, still dazed. “What?”

He stands, towering over you now, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

“You heard me.”

Your body obeys before your brain catches up. He helps you down, steadying you as your knees shake slightly. Then he turns you until your chest presses against the cool metal of the locker. The contrast between the chill of the surface and the heat of his body behind you makes you shiver. One of his hands flattens against your lower back. The other traces up your spine and slides into your hair, gently gathering it to the side.

“You feel that?” Suguru murmurs, pressing close, his voice a low rumble. “How bad I want you?”

You nod, lips parted, cheek resting against the locker.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“I feel it,” you whisper. “I feel everything.”

He hums, low and pleased. “Good.”

Suguru’s mouth grazes the curve of your neck as he enters you again, pulling the neediest moan from you. Your hands brace the lockers as his rhythm builds. His grip never falters. Every breathless sound you make only seems to push him further.

“Still think I’m cocky?” he murmurs.

You try to answer, but your voice catches. It’s too much—his control, the pressure, the way he knows exactly how to push you to the edge without letting you fall.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says, voice wicked.

Each motion leaves you shaking, boneless, lips parted against cold steel. And when your knees nearly give out beneath you, Suguru holds you steady, murmuring something you barely catch. 

“You with me?” Suguru asks again. 

All you can do is nod.

“I asked where you want me to cum,” he repeats.

You whimper, constricting around him absentmindedly. “Inside,” you plead.

“Fuck, pretty baby, are you sure?” 

All you can do is nod against the locker. “Need you to fill me up.” 

Suguru cums the way he plays basketball—silent, but explosively controlled. There’s no wasted breath, no dramatics, just a low grunt with a clenched jaw. You moan at the feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, mixing together with your overflowing wetness. His arms lock tight around your waist like he’s holding himself together with sheer force. His orgasm rolls through him like a wave, powerful and controlled, but you can feel it in every part of his body.

His chest heaves against your back, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder, almost like an apology for how hard he took you, for how badly he needed it. For a long moment, neither of you moves. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs brushing gently now, as if grounding himself in the aftermath. As the haze clears and your breathing slows, he presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then leans back with a lazy, satisfied grin.

You let out a breathy laugh and glance at him over your shoulder. Then, quietly, like he just remembered where you are, he chuckles.

“Your squad’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s only if they find out,” you tell him simply.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Worth it.”

Suguru grins, all lazy and beautiful, eyes dragging over your face like he wants to memorize the way you look wrecked and flushed.

Then he reaches for the towel in his duffel bag. It’s already a little damp from wiping sweat during the game, but he uses the clean corner anyway. You flinch at first, sensitive, but he moves slowly and with a gentle touch. He brushes your inner thigh with his knuckles as he works, and his voice drops low.

“Didn’t think you’d really follow me.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” you admit, catching your breath. “This never happened.”

He hums, then folds the towel and tosses it to the side. “Or it can happen again during my home game.”

You start to shift, but he tightens his hand on your waist. Suguru reaches up, eyes locked on yours, and removes the cheer bow from your hair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half amused, half dazed.

He twirls it around one finger before stuffing it in the pocket of his bag.

“Souvenir,” he says with a wink.

You gape at him. “You’re stealing my bow?”

“Borrowing,” he says. “You can come get it back.”

You give him a look. “That’s not how borrowing works.”

“It is with me.”

You shake your head, finally managing to stand, though your legs are a little shaky and you absolutely hate that he notices.

Suguru sits back on the bench, admiring the view as you fix your uniform and tighten your ponytail.

“Still staring?” you tease.

He licks his lips, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah. And?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder as you head toward the door. “You’re cocky for someone who barely won.”

“Mm,” he calls after you. “You didn’t seem too mad about it when you were bouncing on—”

“Bye, Suguru.”

He laughs, full and unbothered, as the door swings shut behind you.

Your heart is still racing. Your skin still tingles. And deep in your bag, your phone buzzes with new messages from your squad wondering where the hell you are. You’re definitely looking forward to next month, when your school will travel to play his. You know you’re not done with Suguru Geto. Not even close.

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[curseluvr]

WRONG TEXT, RIGHT PERSON

You thought sleeping with someone else might help you get over your friend with benefits. But when a reckless drunk text gets under his skin, Satoru shows up at your door, ready to remind you exactly who’s been on your mind.

warnings: fem!reader, light dom!gojo, fwb trope, phone sex to real sex pipeline, petty jealousy, choking, praise, biting, pussy slapping, creampie, swearing, mentions of alcohol, they’re down bad

wc: 2.2k

[12:41 am] you: yk i was on some guy’s dick last week and i was imagining it was yours

[1:05 am] satoru: swear?

[1:11 am] satoru: don’t play with me baby

[9:02 am] you: oh ignore that, wrong person lol i was drunk sry

[9:05 am] satoru: too late, i’m thinking about it now

And that’s why Satoru shows up at your door one hour later. You weren’t lying when you told him you were thinking of him during your last hookup. In fact, you had to picture the white-haired man just to finish. But you would never admit that to him, God forbid you feed into his huge ego. You couldn’t even admit you were sleeping with him to your friends. 

“Do you need something?” you ask, confused why he’s on your doorstep. 

His blue eyes rake over you. “So you were thinking about me while getting railed by some loser.”

You groan, already closing the door when he wedges his foot in. 

“I’ll break your foot,” you threaten, but both of you know it’s an empty promise. 

“And I could break your back just how you like it if you let me in,” Satoru says with his shit-eating grin.

“I told you it was a mistake.”

“Okay. And I told you not to play with me, but only one of us is lying.”

Your breath catches. He would know if you’re lying, no matter how hard you try. Satoru could see right through you, just like how he knows your body inside and out. 

It hadn’t always been this way. When you first met him through mutual friends, you immediately pegged him as the jester of the group. You rolled your eyes at his jokes and told him he was annoying, no matter how attractive he was. Satoru had teased you the way he teased every one of your friends, so much so that you didn’t take him seriously when he first tried to make a move on you. He would flirt, you would brush it off and laugh, and both of you would move on. You thought things would end there, until one random Sunday night. 

It started with a dumb conversation over text that turned into something riskier. Satoru called you after texting back and forth for an hour. You’d had a bad day, and for once, his voice—usually so obnoxious—felt like a lifeline. One joke turned into a compliment. It was subtle at first, just an one offhand comment in a flirtier tone. But then he said something that made you pause:

"Bet you sound even prettier when you're whining for me."

You laughed it off. Told him he was disgusting. He didn’t apologize.

"Come on," he said, voice low now, softer. "You ever just wanna let go a little? Just... try something with me."

You didn’t answer right away, conflicted about ruining the friendship. But you knew how his voice made your stomach twist, how you were warm even though you were alone. How safe he somehow made you feel—promising your friends wouldn’t find out if you didn’t want them to. And when you finally gave in and followed his voice, he didn’t laugh or gloat. Before you could change your mind Satoru’s raspy voice was in your ear telling you all the ways he could make you feel good.

He praised you in all the ways you needed. Told you how pretty you sounded. How good you were for him. How long he’d wanted to hear you like this. Satoru never once asked for pictures or rushed you. Just talked you through every wave, his voice low and steady, like he was right there with you. Like he could see you.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it was a one-time thing. But after that, you couldn’t unhear all the filthy things he promised. Couldn’t forget how easily he unraveled you with nothing but his words. The way he moaned your name and called you a good girl.

His words would echo through your thoughts at work, while folding laundry. Even while out with friends—someone would say something innocent and suddenly you were back there, thighs pressed together, hearing Satoru growl, "Bet you're dripping right now."

You wanted to forget. But Gojo Satoru left his fingerprints on your mind and he wasn’t going anywhere.

You both acted normal after that night. He still sent you memes at 2 a.m., still poked fun at your taste in music, still made dumb comments in the group chat that had you rolling your eyes.

But something had changed. Every time his name lit up your screen, your stomach flipped. You thought about how he’d sounded—breathless and low, like he was holding himself back just for you. You remembered what he said right before you came, how gently he told you to let go.

But Satoru? He acted like he was waiting. Like he knew it was only a matter of time. And he was right. It happened two weeks later on another late night with your friends. You’d both been drinking—not enough to be drunk, just enough to feel bold. He offered to walk you home. You told him he didn’t need to, but he did anyway.

The second the door closed behind you, the air changed. He didn’t make a move right away. Just leaned against the wall, watching you fumble with your keys like he hadn’t already mapped out what you looked like coming apart for him.

"You think about it too, right?" he asked.

You didn’t answer, didn’t need to. You kissed him first. Pulled him in like you’d been waiting to do it for years, and maybe you had. Satoru took his time like he had something to prove, like he wanted to make sure you’d never forget the difference between what you imagined and what it actually felt like to have him inside you. After that night, you couldn’t. Satoru made sure of that. 

That’s how you ended up here, trying to get over Satoru’s hold on you by getting under someone else. But it backfired, and now Satoru’s in your home, bending you over the arm of your sofa. His fingers are rubbing your pussy while he leans down and whispers in your ear.

“Tell me the truth, baby,” he demands. “If you do, I’ll fuck you the way you wished that guy had.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” you confess easily. 

If both of you were clothed or in public, you simply would’ve told him to fuck off. But your body listened to Satoru more than it did to you, and you would do anything to relieve the throbbing ache in your core. 

“Good girl,” Satoru coos, but his fingers don’t move the way you want them to. He circles your clit slowly, deliberately, like he’s thinking about being merciful but hasn’t decided yet.

Your hips twitch toward his hand, desperate for more, but he pulls away slightly, just enough to make you whimper.

"Tch. So needy now, huh?" he murmurs, dragging the pads of his fingers down your soaked folds but never dipping in. "How do you think I felt after you sent me that filthy little message? Think it’s funny to tease me?"

You open your mouth to argue, but he hushes you with a firm grip around your throat—not choking, just a warning.

"Nah, sweetheart." His lips brush your ear. "You really gave this pussy to someone else. That earns you a little lesson, don’t you think?"

He slaps your pussy lightly, and you jolt forward with a gasp. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You have no real reason to be sorry, considering you two weren’t dating. While nothing exclusive was ever established, neither of you mentioned seeing other people. Until now.

"Count if you wanna come tonight," Satoru commands.

“One,” you breathe, and his fingers slide through your slick, comforting your weeping entrance.

But they’re gone again before you can feel relief.

"Two," you whisper after the next one, thighs squeezing together.

Satoru chuckles darkly behind you. “So polite all of a sudden."

You get to five before he presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

"That’s enough." His tone softens—just a bit. "I don’t wanna ruin you just yet."

Satoru grabs your hips and yanks you back against him, and you feel the hard line of his cock through his sweats. Your mouth goes dry.

"You want it raw?" he asks, as if you two have ever used a condom.

You nod frantically. "Yes! Please, Toru."

"Beg prettier," he warns, rubbing his tip against your entrance but not pushing in. "Or I’ll just jerk off right here and make you watch."

Your dignity is long gone.

"Please, Satoru, fuck me. I need it, I swear I’ll be good—"

"You will be," he says with a chuckle.

And then he’s pushing inside you and the last of your composure shatters as he fills you in one slow, punishing thrust. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out, intoxicated with the feeling of him stretching out your cunt. 

Satoru’s not doing much better than you. “God, baby, fucking love this pussy,” he groans.

He bottoms out in one long thrust, the stretch burning just enough to make you cry out. But it’s his groan that unravels you—that low, desperate sound in your ear like he’s the one being ruined.

"You feel that?" Satoru breathes, voice shaking. "This pussy knows who it belongs to."

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still while he grinds his cock as deep as he can go, thick base stretching your pussy lips. It's like he’s trying to carve himself into your body, as if he’s mad you even tried to forget him.

"You think that guy could fuck you like this?" he scoffs, snapping his hips forward, making you choke on a moan. "You think he could make you scream like I do?"

You’re already shaking, drool slicking your bottom lip, eyes rolling back as he sets a brutal pace—fucking you into the arm of the couch like he’s trying to punish you and himself at the same time.

"No," you gasp. "Only you, Toru, I swear—"

He grabs your hair, yanking your head back so he can hear every moan and filthy little cry. "Say it again."

"Yours," you whimper. "I’m yours—fuck—"

He lets out a ragged laugh, more unhinged than cocky now. "That’s right, baby. Mine. Always been mine. Quit lying to yourself."

The wet sounds of your bodies crashing together echo through the room, shameless and obscene. He’s not holding back anymore—fucking you like he means to break you open, like he needs you to feel it every time you sit down tomorrow.

Your legs give out and he catches you by the waist, not slowing down, not letting up. He’s breathing harsh against your shoulder now, sweat dripping onto your back.

"Wanted to be gentle," Satoru pants. "But you—fuck—you make me crazy."

And you love it. You love that the one man who pretended not to care is fucking you like he’d die if he couldn’t. He bends down to trail kisses down your spine, and somewhere in the back of your fucked-out mind, you melt.

"Tell me why you sent that text," he says before biting into the crook of your neck. 

“Wanted you,” you admit between gasps. “Needed you again.”

Satoru bites down harder, and you can feel his smug expression against your skin. “Thought so. Baby wanted my cum again? You’ll take all of it.” 

You’re already close, body spasming under him, and the thought of him filling you up does you in. The way he says it like a threat—sends you spiraling. You cry out as your orgasm hits, clenching down around him so tight he curses and nearly folds over you.

He fucks you through it, brutal and hungry, ignoring your overstimulated cries. Then he groans—a deep, raw sound—and spills inside you with a final thrust that has you gasping all over again.

You both stay like that for a second—bent over the couch, his chest pressed to your back, your legs trembling, and your breath still trying to catch up with you. Satoru’s the first to move, pulling out with a hiss like he wasn’t ready to stop.

“Damn,” he mutters, dragging his hand through his snowy hair. “You sure that text wasn’t meant for someone else? ’Cause that sounded like a girl who missed me.”

You groan into the couch cushion. “You’re literally still inside me, and you’re talking shit. Get off, I can’t breathe.”

“You love it.”

He smacks your ass lightly before walking off like he owns the place. You stand up on wobbly legs, trying to gather whatever scraps of dignity are left on your living room floor. When he comes back, he tosses you a water bottle and helps you clean up before he flops onto your couch like he lives there.

“So,” Satoru says, like he didn’t just fuck you stupid two minutes ago, “what’s this guy’s name? The one you used to fantasize about me?”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, laughing.

“Don’t worry,” he says, propping it behind his head. “I forgive you. Next time just come straight to the source, yeah?”

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