grapesandraisins

[grapesandraisins]

✶⋆.˚Caught in the Web (Gojo.S)

Summary: Breaking news: Spider-Man has a neighbor problem. By “problem,” we mean YOU. The woman he can’t stop thinking about kissing against walls, rooftops, and kitchen counters….until he does. Oops.

Substance: MDNI!, neigbor!f reader, spiderman!gojo, nerd!gojo, pining, spiderman au, neighbors to lovers, whining, whimpering, semí-public (rooftop), blood mentioned, injuries, dryhumping, cre@mpie’s, making out, reader is suspicious of gojo, gojo is whipped, måsturbation (gojo), thigh-fücking, cosplay (reader), oral fixation (reader receiving), humor, sëx, witty comebacks, gojo will not leave you alone, flirting, fingering (reader receiving), big big DíCK, teasing, reader is just as whipped, happy-ending.

W/C: 13.7k

You’d gotten used to hearing footsteps in the hall late at night, the shuffle of someone coming home just as you were brushing your teeth or scrolling on your phone, and more often than not, those footsteps belonged to Satoru Gojo. 

He lived a few doors down, and you’d fallen into the kind of neighborly routine that never felt forced–small talk by the mailboxes, swapping complaints about the ancient elevator, bumping into each other in the lobby when one of you was juggling grocery bags.

He was the kind of neighbor you couldn’t quite get a read on, somehow both nerdy and charming, always in slightly rumpled clothes, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose whenever he laughed.

He wasn’t what you’d expected when you first met him. With hair so pale it almost glowed and a height that made the hallway lights hit differently when he walked under them, you figured he’d be cold, maybe standoffish. 

But he was the opposite–talkative, a little awkward, always smiling in a way that made you second-guess if it was just friendliness or something else entirely. You told yourself it didn’t matter. He was cute, sure, but he was a neighbor. The kind of guy you traded jokes about bad landlords with, not the kind you let ruin your sheets.

Tonight you found him leaning against the doorframe of his apartment, balancing a grocery bag in one hand as he fiddled with his keys. He looked up as you walked by, adjusting his glasses with a crooked grin.

“Caught you coming home late again,” he teased, his voice light, carrying that warm lilt you’d come to recognize. “You some kind of night owl, or do you just hate the sun?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, hugging your tote bag closer to your chest. “And you’re out here with groceries at ten o’clock because you love the nightlife?”

“Please,” he said, finally getting the door unlocked but not stepping inside yet. “This is survival. You ever tried to make pancakes at one in the morning and realized you’re out of milk? It’s tragic.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re jealous of my pancake game,” he countered smoothly, pushing his glasses up again with his thumb. “Don’t worry, I’ll invite you over one day. Blow your mind.”

“You say that like you can actually cook,” you shot back, smirking despite yourself.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” he said, his grin widening just slightly.

You should’ve kept walking, should’ve just waved and left it at that, but something about the way he lingered there–casual, waiting, like he wanted you to keep talking–made you pause in the hallway instead.

The building was quiet, the hum of the lights above the only sound besides the two of you. His eyes, a sharp and startling blue behind the lenses, held yours longer than they should have, and you felt a faint warmth creep up your neck that had nothing to do with the hallway’s poor ventilation.

“You’re weird, Gojo,” you said finally, trying to break the tension.

“Yeah,” he admitted easily, shifting the grocery bag to his other hand, “but I’m your weird neighbor. You’re stuck with me.”

And before you could think of a comeback, he winked.

The hallway smelled faintly of takeout and old carpet cleaner, that signature scent of a building whose landlord had given up somewhere around the Reagan era, but you didn’t mind. It was home, and your neighbor Gojo was leaning in his doorway with a grocery bag like he always had the worst timing, his grin too easy for someone holding what looked like five cartons of eggs and a gallon of milk in one hand.

“Seriously though,” you said as you shifted your tote higher on your shoulder, “what do you even make with that much food this late at night? You’re not feeding a whole frat in there, are you?”

His smile widened as he jiggled the keys in the lock. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Nosy Neighbor.” He got the door open finally, only for the corner of a cereal box to peek out of the bag, bright and childish. “Spoiler alert: pancakes aren’t the only thing I’m good at.”

“You mean you’re gonna eat half that cereal and pass out watching TV,” you teased, arching a brow.

He laughed, pushing his glasses up again when they slid down the bridge of his nose. “Guilty. You caught me. But hey, at least I’m honest.”

You smirked, shaking your head, and turned toward your own apartment door just a few steps down. But you didn’t make it inside before you heard the sudden racket from Gojo’s place.

At first it was just a cupboard slamming, then another, then another, like someone was playing whack-a-mole with his kitchen. You frowned, halfway tempted to knock and make sure he hadn’t collapsed in there, when the sound cut off abruptly. A beat later, Gojo appeared again in the hallway, empty-handed now, as if nothing had happened.

“Everything okay in there?” you asked, brows raised.

“Yeah,” he said casually, brushing a hand through his pale hair like it had been nothing. “Just, uh, reorganizing. Cabinets are tricky.”

You gave him a skeptical look, lips twitching. “Sounded like you were fighting them.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, “we came to an understanding.”

Before you could press him, his eyes flicked to the recliner sitting awkwardly in the hallway just in front of your door–the one you’d been meaning to drag inside but hadn’t managed yet. You’d bought it secondhand off a listing and barely managed to get it delivered, but the idea of actually hauling it through your door by yourself had left you putting it off for days.

Gojo didn’t even ask. He just stepped forward, bent, and hefted the entire thing up in his arms like it weighed nothing.

“Wait–what–” you stammered, eyes wide as you watched him carry it smoothly down the hall.

“You were just gonna leave it out here forever?” he asked over his shoulder, adjusting it easily with one arm before nudging your door open with his hip.

Your mouth fell open. “How the hell are you that strong?”

He smirked, setting the recliner down neatly just inside your living room, then straightened without even the hint of a grunt. “I, uh… lift,” he said, so unconvincingly casual you wanted to laugh.

“You lift?” you repeated, following him in and shutting the door behind you.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing around your apartment as if taking it in. “Groceries. Cereal boxes. You know, heavy stuff.”

You snorted, setting your tote down on the counter. “Uh-huh. Totally believable.”

He ignored your skepticism, wandering a few steps further into your space, eyes scanning the cluttered coffee table and the stack of books on the armchair. He looked too at home for a man who had just barged in with furniture, but you didn’t tell him to stop. You just watched as he shoved his hands in his pockets, still grinning faintly, his glasses slipping again.

“So,” you said after a moment, leaning against the counter, “how’s work going? Still running around for the Bugle?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, finally turning his head back toward you. “Fine. Same as always.”

“Do they even give you a day off?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Eh, not really. Crime doesn’t exactly stick to a nine-to-five schedule.”

The words made you blink, but you brushed it off, tilting your head. “So how do you even get those photos of Spider-Man? Every time I see his face in the paper, it’s one of yours. You must have some crazy connections.”

For a second, Gojo didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his gaze flicking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. It took you a beat to realize why. You’d changed into a thin camisole when you got home earlier, the fabric soft and flimsy, and you hadn’t bothered with a bra. The way you were leaning against the counter wasn’t doing much to hide that fact. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting away like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You smirked faintly, heat rushing up your chest, but didn’t move to cover yourself. “What?” you asked, pretending not to notice the way his ears had turned faintly pink.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat as he pushed his glasses up again. “I just, uh–” He blinked, buying himself a second, then smirked, though it was a little forced. “I just know what spots to go to. He’s a creature of habit.”

“Mm,” you said softly, pretending to accept it even as you noticed the way his gaze flicked down again, just for a second.

He was thinking something. You didn’t need to know what exactly to feel it, the weight of it pressing into the air between you. His smirk lingered, but his eyes were heavier now, sharper, like he was fighting himself not to say more.

Gojo had intended to make a graceful exit after dropping the recliner in your living room, maybe toss in one more teasing remark about pancakes and then disappear into his own apartment before you could notice the way his pulse had been hammering since you leaned against the counter in that thin camisole.

But you didn’t kick him out. You just stood there, arms folded lightly under your chest, the fabric clinging to your skin in a way that made his glasses suddenly feel too tight on his face.

From your side, you couldn’t tell how much restraint he was using. He looked relaxed–hands in his pockets, easy grin, casual posture–but Gojo’s thoughts weren’t casual in the slightest. Every time your nipples shifted against the outline of the fabric, every little bounce when you laughed or tilted your head, he felt his cock stir harder in his slacks. He’d been in dangerous situations before–dangling off skyscrapers, dodging bullets, webbing up guys twice his size–but standing in your apartment while you obliviously arched your back in a paper-thin top? That was the kind of danger he wasn’t sure he could survive.

He shifted his weight slightly, pretending to glance around your bookshelf just so he could adjust himself discreetly. His cock was pressing against the inside of his zipper now, thickening with every subtle inhale of your shampoo. He clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze upward when it wanted to linger lower, forcing himself to focus on anything else before he embarrassed himself in front of you.

“Still doesn’t explain how you manage to get the clearest photos of Spider-Man,” you said, quirking a brow. “Like, what, do you camp out on rooftops waiting for him to swing by?”

Gojo cleared his throat, forcing a smile that felt tighter than he wanted it to. “Something like that. I’m good with patterns. Guess I know his schedule.”

“Schedule,” you repeated, smirking faintly as you reached for a glass of water. “So what, you’ve got him clocked in like a nine-to-five? ‘Oh, there goes Spider-Man, late for his shift again.’”

He chuckled, shifting again, subtly tugging his shirt lower over his lap as you turned toward the sink. He thought he was in the clear–until you sighed dramatically and leaned your hip against the counter again, crossing your arms under your chest so that the camisole pulled tighter.

“Honestly,” you said, a playful twist in your tone, “I don’t get the hype. Spider-Man’s overrated.”

Gojo’s head snapped up so fast you nearly dropped your glass. “Excuse me?”

You blinked at him, lips twitching. “What? He’s messy. You see the photos you take of him–dude looks like a kid with ADHD and a Red Bull problem. Always leaving webs on buildings, climbing around like a freaky cat burglar. Half the time the news makes him sound like a menace anyway.”

Gojo turned fully then, his face animated in mock offense, though under the surface his blood ran hotter. “Menace? He saves lives. You know that, right? He’s out there busting his ass to keep the city from turning into a free-for-all.”

You laughed, tilting your head, enjoying the way he bristled. “Wow, someone’s passionate. What, are you in love with him or something?”

The question hit harder than you expected. Gojo blinked behind his glasses, throat tightening, heat crawling up the back of his neck as he shifted his stance again, desperate to hide the growing tent in his pants. His cock twitched at the thought of you saying the word “love” in the same breath as Spider-Man, the irony almost enough to undo him completely.

“In love?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice light, but the smile tugging at his lips was strained.

“You defend him like you’re his lawyer,” you teased, sipping your water. “What’s next? You got a Spider-Man poster hidden in your closet? Maybe a shrine? I should check your apartment for webs.”

He coughed, forcing a laugh that came out a little rougher than intended. “Cute. Real cute.” He turned back slightly under the guise of adjusting his belt, but really it was to shift himself again, the outline of his cock pressing harder against the fabric than he could manage to ignore. He could feel his palms sweating as his mind betrayed him, slipping into fantasies of bending you over the counter, tugging that flimsy camisole down, finally sucking your nipples the way he’d been imagining since you first walked in.

He dragged his focus back to your smirk, clearing his throat again. “I’m just saying, maybe you don’t give the guy enough credit. He’s out there risking his life while you’re in here shit-talking him like he’s a… what’d you call it? A freaky cat burglar?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer with that spark in your eyes that always made him feel like you were testing him. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush. Do I need to worry about competition from a guy in spandex?”

Gojo’s cock pulsed so hard he thought for sure you could see it now. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, biting back the urge to groan, and gave you a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Trust me,” he said slowly, gaze flicking down one last time before snapping back up to your face, “the only one you need to worry about is yourself.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The city looked different at night. Not just darker, but alive in a way most people never saw. From twelve stories up, the lights blurred into rivers of gold and red, traffic weaving like veins across the concrete, neon buzzing against the low hum of distant sirens. For Satoru Gojo, this wasn’t the hour to sleep. It was the hour to move.

He pulled the mask down over his face with practiced ease, the sharp lines of blue, black, and white snapping into place as the lenses adjusted, tinting the city with a faint glow. He shoved the window open without hesitation, the cool air rushing against his bare arms, and stepped onto the ledge. For a moment, he just stood there, balancing casually on the narrow strip of concrete like it was a sidewalk. Then he leapt.

The web shot out with a sharp thwip, catching the steel edge of a billboard. The line snapped taut, and he swung low, his body carving through the night air with practiced rhythm. It was a dance he could do in his sleep–legs tucked, torso twisting, hand releasing just long enough to fire another line, letting gravity pull him before the next catch. The rush never dulled. The wind whipped against his body, his heart hammering with that mix of thrill and responsibility that kept him out here, night after night.

The call had come from the police scanner he’d hacked weeks ago: an explosion in the warehouse district, reports of armed men in masks scattering through the alleys. Gojo didn’t bother with the details. He knew the type. Gang rats with more firepower than brains, desperate enough to make noise, careless enough to kill civilians without a second thought. He’d been waiting for this kind of break in the lull of small-time robberies.

The first thing he smelled when he swung into the district was smoke. Black and acrid, spilling out of the gutted warehouse like an open wound. Flames licked at the steel supports, casting jagged shadows down the empty streets. He landed on the roof of a van, crouched low, and scanned the scene. Three men in masks were sprinting down the alley, rifles slung, shouting to each other as they carried something bulky between them.

“Idiots,” he muttered, firing a web that yanked the nearest one straight off his feet. The man hit the ground with a yell, the crate tumbling from his arms. Gojo swung down, landing hard enough to dent the asphalt, and swept his leg in a clean arc that knocked another one off balance.

The third raised his rifle. Gojo’s web was faster. It glued the weapon to the wall, and the man’s hands stuck with it before he could fire.

“You boys don’t play well with others, huh?” Gojo taunted, yanking the first one upright by the front of his shirt. “What’s in the box? Please tell me it’s cookies.”

The man tried to headbutt him. Gojo slammed him back into the van hard enough to rattle the metal, his knuckles cracking against the guy’s jaw before webbing him to the hood for good measure.

The second one scrambled for a knife. Gojo grabbed a chunk of debris from the explosion–half a concrete brick–and hurled it just close enough to make the man flinch. Then he swept forward, webbing his legs together and yanking him face-first into the pavement.

The fight should have ended there. But more footsteps echoed down the alley, heavier this time, and a van screeched around the corner with its headlights off. Gunfire split the air, ripping through the brick where Gojo had been perched a moment before. He ducked low, vaulting over the nearest dumpster, webbing the driver’s side window before the shooter could line up again. The bullet grazed his arm as he twisted, hot pain tearing through his bicep, but he didn’t stop. He swung forward, ripped the gun from the man’s hand, and slammed the van door shut on his arm until he screamed.

By the time the smoke thinned, half the crew was glued to the asphalt, the others trussed up along the wall like grotesque marionettes. Gojo stood in the center of the wreckage, panting through the mask, the cut in his arm burning hotter with each pulse of his heartbeat. He wiped blood on the side of his suit and crouched to check the crate. Not cookies. Explosives. Enough to level another block. He hissed through his teeth, fired a quick signal web onto the lid for the police to track, and vaulted back into the night before the sirens grew close.

By the time he landed back on his own building, his arm was screaming. He crawled through the window into his apartment, ripping the mask off with his good hand, glasses forgotten on the nightstand where he’d left them. The adrenaline was wearing off now, replaced with raw, aching pain as he peeled the sleeve back to inspect the graze. Not deep, but messy. He hissed again as he disinfected it, the sound spilling into the quiet room like a groan.

He didn’t realize how loud he was being until the knock came.

“Gojo?”

Your voice.

He froze, the alcohol-soaked rag pressed to his skin.

The knock came again, sharper this time. “Can you–uh–keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

He blinked, realization dawning a second too late. To anyone else in the hall, his low groans and sharp hisses would sound like exactly one thing: sex. Loud, athletic sex. He bit down on the laugh bubbling in his throat and limped to the door, still clutching his arm.

When he opened it, you were standing there in your sleep shorts and that same thin camisole, brows furrowed, lips pursed like you’d been debating whether to knock again.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral, though your eyes flicked behind him like you half-expected to see some woman sprawled on his bed.

Gojo leaned casually against the frame despite the sting in his arm, forcing a grin. “Sorry, neighbor. Guess I got a little… carried away.”

You blinked, caught between suspicion and embarrassment. “With what, exactly?”

He smirked faintly, ignoring the blood seeping into the rag at his side. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Gojo leaned against the doorframe like nothing was wrong, like the blood wasn’t sticky and warm down his bicep, like the rag pressed to his arm wasn’t keeping him from dripping on the hardwood. He was good at this–at faking normal, at playing the dumb neighbor with the bad diet and the too-wide grin. Usually, you didn’t look close enough to see through it. But tonight, you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes narrowed immediately, scanning him from his face down to his bare torso. He hadn’t had the sense to throw on a shirt before opening the door, and now you were staring at the faint sheen of sweat on his pecs, the defined slope of his abs, and the arm he was trying so casually to keep angled away from you.

“Gojo,” you said slowly, your voice firm despite the way your gaze lingered, “what the fuck happened to you?”

He blinked behind the messy fringe of his white hair, his grin crooked. “What, this?” He waved the bloody rag as if it were nothing. “Just got into a fight.”

“A fight?” you echoed, your tone sharp. You reached forward without thinking, catching his wrist and tugging his arm gently toward you. He didn’t resist. Your fingers were warm on his skin, and his chest tightened for reasons that had nothing to do with the wound.

You tilted his arm under the hallway light, brows furrowing deeper at the angry scrape. “With who? You look like you got dragged across concrete.”

Gojo swallowed, searching for something harmless, something stupid enough that you’d laugh instead of pressing. “Uh,” he said finally, deadpan, “the raccoons in the alley.”

You blinked. “The what now?”

“Big ones,” he added, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. “Mean as hell. Real claws on ‘em.”

You stared at him like he’d lost it. “You mean Mister Muffins and his husband?”

For a second, Gojo just stared back, completely blindsided. Then the laugh broke out of him, low and loud and genuine, curling up from his chest until his shoulders shook. “You named them?”

“They’ve been living out there since last summer,” you said, still serious as you let go of his arm. “They’re practically our neighbors.”

Gojo grinned down at you, his chest still shaking faintly from the laugh. God, he wanted to kiss you. To grab your face and taste the amusement on your lips, to press you back against the doorframe and forget about the blood drying on his arm. But he swallowed it down, kept his hands at his sides, and rolled his eyes instead. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Mister Muffins and his husband. Guess they didn’t like me stealing their pizza.”

You hummed, skeptical but letting it drop, stepping back just slightly as his grin softened. The warmth in his chest was dangerous, pulling him toward you, and he knew if he let it go one step further, he’d forget the mask and suit lying crumpled on his floor just a few feet away.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. His glasses were gone, and without them, his eyes were sharper, brighter, like shards of the clearest blue sky. His hair was tousled, falling messily over his forehead, and his body… God. 

His pecs gleamed faintly with sweat, the defined ridges of his abs drawing your gaze lower before you snapped it back up, only to be caught by the flex of his biceps as he shifted the rag against his wound. You rubbed your thighs together unconsciously, trying to ignore the heat crawling higher between your legs, cursing yourself for standing here in a thin camisole with no bra, nipples hard against the flimsy fabric.

“You need to go to the hospital,” you said finally, your voice firmer than you felt.

“I don’t,” he said easily, brushing it off with a casual shrug that only made his muscles flex harder. “I know how to clean myself up.”

“That looks serious,” you argued, taking a step closer. “You can’t just patch something like that with a wet rag and a joke about raccoons, Gojo.”

“Relax,” he said, smirking faintly even as he leaned more weight on the doorframe. “I’ve had worse. Trust me.”

You glared at him, but the concern twisting in your chest wasn’t enough to push you past the thick, embarrassing wave of attraction making your thighs clench tighter. “At least let me help,” you insisted.

“Tempting,” he said smoothly, voice dropping a little lower, “but I’ve got it handled.”

And before you could argue again, he shifted back and pulled the door toward himself.

“Go back to bed, neighbor,” he said, his grin too soft for the words to sound smug. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

The door clicked shut in your face before you could think of another protest.

You stood there in the hallway, staring at the wood grain, pulse pounding, cheeks burning, your thighs pressed together harder as you tried to ignore the way your body was betraying you. On the other side, you could still hear him moving–too much noise for a man with “just” a scrape, but you didn’t push. You didn’t dare.

Not yet.

The lock clicked softly behind him as the door shut, sealing away the quiet hallway and the sight of you standing there in your thin camisole, your nipples pressing against the fabric, your lips parted like you had a dozen more protests ready to spill out. Gojo leaned back against the door, exhaling hard, the rag still clutched against his arm. For a long moment he just stood there, listening to the faint echo of your retreating footsteps, imagining the sway of your hips, the faint curve of your ass under those sleep shorts.

He dropped the rag finally, letting it fall to the hardwood with a wet slap, and dragged a hand down his face. His cock was already stiffening in his pants, the arousal that had been simmering ever since you leaned against the counter now impossible to ignore. Spidey senses–hell, tonight it felt like nothing but arousal senses. He could still smell you, the faint trace of your shampoo lingering in the air like a ghost. His body was strung too tight to resist anymore.

With a sharp huff, he shoved his sweats down just far enough, his cock springing free against his stomach, long, thick, the mushroomed tip flushed an angry red and already leaking. The sight of it made his breath catch–not because he hadn’t seen it before, but because the thought of you seeing it, of your fingers wrapped around it, had his stomach clenching in need. He curled his hand around the base and groaned low, his head falling back against the door.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word breaking on a moan as his fist slid up the thick shaft.

His strokes were slow at first, deliberate, the pad of his thumb dragging over the slit where precome already gathered. The wetness made the glide easier, slick, obscene, his hips twitching up into his grip as his cock throbbed harder. He squeezed, groaned again, and shut his eyes–and there you were.

Your tits in that flimsy camisole, nipples so hard he could see the outline through the fabric. The way your thighs pressed together, subtle but not subtle enough, when you told him to go to the hospital. The concern in your eyes as you grabbed his wrist, your touch softer than he deserved, your mouth tugging into that little frown that made his chest ache.

He stroked himself faster, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he imagined you looking up at him while on your knees, lips stretched around his cock, cheeks flushed from effort. He pictured your thighs spread across his lap, your tits bouncing in his hands as he fucked up into you, the same frown twisting into desperate pleasure as you whimpered his name.

His head rolled back, sweat beading along his temple as his chest rose faster. The sound of slick skin filled the room, obscene and raw, his hand working up and down his length, squeezing just below the head before dragging down again. He could almost hear you–the soft gasp when you realized how big he was, the breathless laugh when he teased you, the moan when he finally pushed inside.

“God, sweetheart,” he groaned, hips thrusting shallowly into his fist, “you’d feel so good around me.”

The image of your thighs wrapped around his waist slammed into his mind, your cunt clenching as he bottomed out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you begged him not to stop. His cock jerked in his grip, precome smearing down the thick vein as he fucked into his hand harder now, faster, chasing the edge of a release that had been gnawing at him since the moment you leaned over the counter earlier.

His abs tightened, his biceps flexing as his strokes grew rougher, breath coming in sharp pants that echoed through the quiet apartment. He imagined your tits bouncing against his chest, your thighs slick against his hips, your voice breaking as you cried out his name – and that was it. His head slammed back against the door with a ragged groan, his cock pulsing as hot ropes of cum spilled over his hand and stomach, thick and messy, his body shuddering with the force of it.

He stayed there, chest heaving, hand still lazily stroking through the aftershocks as his cock twitched against his palm. Cum smeared warm across his skin, sticky on his abs, and the thought of you licking it off made his cock twitch again despite the release.

When his breath finally steadied, he dragged his hand up to his face, smirking faintly even through the haze. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, imagining the way you’d looked at him tonight, concerned and flushed, completely unaware of how close he was to snapping.

And on the other side of the wall, he had no idea you were lying in bed, thighs pressed tight together, thinking of him in almost the exact same way.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The city always looked different at night when you weren’t seeing it from behind your apartment window. The neon signs bled against the slick pavement, every puddle on the street reflecting a smear of light like paint dragged too far across a canvas. You hadn’t meant to stay out this late– a work thing that ran longer than expected, a drink with a friend that turned into two–but now it was just you, the click of your heels on uneven concrete, and the distant hum of traffic echoing up from the main avenue.

You tugged the hem of your short black dress down as the breeze caught it, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you thought back to earlier in the evening, when Gojo had leaned in your doorway with that easy grin, glasses slightly crooked, acting like the whole world revolved around his jokes. 

You shouldn’t have been thinking about him, not while walking alone at midnight through streets that weren’t exactly friendly, but your mind kept drifting to the way his chest looked without his shirt, the way his arm had flexed when you grabbed his wrist. You rubbed your thighs together unconsciously as you walked, shaking your head to clear it.

You were halfway down the block when you heard it–footsteps behind you. At first you ignored it, telling yourself it was just another late-night straggler heading in the same direction. But then there was a laugh. Low. Male. And before you could quicken your pace, a voice called out.

“Hey, sweetheart. You lost?”

You turned just enough to see two men falling into step behind you, their grins too wide, their eyes too hungry. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, fingers sliding into the pocket where your keys were tucked between your knuckles.

“No, thanks,” you said curtly, facing forward again.

They didn’t take the hint. Their footsteps sped up until they were flanking you, one to the left, one to the right. The taller one leaned closer, his breath sour. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t falter. “Touch me, and I swear to God–”

The one on your right smirked, his hand brushing against your bare thigh. “What, you’ll stab me with those heels?”

You had the keys in your palm already, ready to jam them into his wrist if he tried again, when a sharp thwip split the air. The man’s arm was yanked backward so fast he stumbled, a thick white strand of web pinning his hand to the brick wall.

“What the–”

Another web shot past you, catching the second guy’s jacket and slamming him against a lamppost. They both cursed, thrashing, but it was no use–the webs hardened in seconds, holding them tight.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat, as a figure dropped from the building above with effortless grace.

Spider-Man.

His suit was nothing like the red-and-blue plastered on the city’s billboards. This one was sharper, darker: matte black panels broken by streaks of deep cobalt blue, white lines cutting across the chest in a sleek, angular design. The spider emblem was painted in silver, its legs stretching long down his ribs. His mask was a seamless fit, lenses glowing faintly as they narrowed toward the men he’d just strung up.

“Wow,” he said cheerfully, straightening from his crouch. “Can’t even let a lady walk home without drooling on her shoes? You guys are giving chivalry a really bad name.”

One of the men snarled, jerking against the web. “The fuck are you–”

“Sticky,” Spider-Man interrupted, cocking his head. “Kinda like duct tape, but cooler. You’ll be fine. Unless you sneeze. Then it’s gross.”

You stood there in stunned silence as he dusted off his gloved hands, then sauntered over like this was all part of his nightly routine.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.

You blinked once, unimpressed despite your racing pulse. “I was handling it.”

He let out a laugh that crackled through his mask speaker. “Oh yeah? With what, that little set of house keys? Adorable.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You done?”

“Saving your life?” He pretended to think. “Yeah, I guess.”

You turned to leave, brushing past him with a shake of your head. “Great. Thanks. Bye.”

But before you could take two steps, he moved, a line of web shooting out to block the narrow alley ahead, his tall frame stepping in front of you. He leaned casually against the brick, head tilted, arms crossed.

“No thank you?” he teased. “Not even a little one?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Oh my God. You did your job. Congratulations. Do you want a cookie?”

He chuckled, lenses narrowing as he leaned a little closer. “Depends. You baking?”

You stared at him flatly, unimpressed. “You sound like you’re in love with yourself.”

“Someone has to be,” he shot back smoothly.

You huffed, stepping sideways to try to slip past, but his arm shot out, barring your path again. “C’mon,” he said, his tone still playful but softer now, more curious. “Just one thank you. You’ll make my night.”

You looked him up and down, from the glowing eyes of his mask to the sleek, muscle-hugging suit, then back up to meet his gaze. “Fine,” you said dryly. “Thank you for tying up two drunk idiots and interrupting my evening walk.”

He hummed like it was good enough, though you swore you could feel the smirk beneath the mask. “See? Was that so hard?”

You rolled your eyes, heels clicking as you moved past him when he finally dropped his arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he called after you, his tone warm and teasing, “but you’ll remember me.”

And damn it, you already knew he was right.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You hadn’t planned on staying in Gojo’s apartment that morning. You’d only stopped by to drop off the package the landlord had left at the wrong door, but somehow, twenty minutes later, you were still sitting at the edge of his counter while he moved around the small kitchen, glasses perched on his nose, hair still damp from the shower. He’d thrown on a white button-down that was currently hanging open over a black undershirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the muscle in his forearms, and you were trying very hard not to stare.

Gojo, of course, noticed anyway. He always did. He leaned casually against the fridge, sipping his coffee, his eyes sparkling faintly behind the lenses as you recounted the insane night you’d had.

“…and then he just shows up,” you were saying, gesturing with your hands for emphasis. “Out of nowhere. Webs those guys up like they’re nothing. Doesn’t even break a sweat. And then–” you rolled your eyes dramatically–“he wants me to thank him. Like I owe him or something.”

Gojo hummed softly, biting back the grin tugging at his mouth as he set the mug down. On the surface, he was every inch the attentive neighbor, nodding along, but inside his chest, his heart was thudding. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so soon–though he should have, knowing you.

He wanted to laugh, to tell you right then that the man in the suit had gone home with your face burned into his mind so vividly he’d had to jerk off against his door to the thought of your tits under that flimsy camisole. But instead, he pushed his glasses up and said lightly, “Sounds like he saved your ass.”

“Please,” you scoffed, crossing your legs. “I could’ve handled it.”

Gojo tilted his head, letting his eyes linger on the smooth stretch of your thigh before forcing them back up. “With what, those heels? Don’t get me wrong, you’d probably make a decent mark with ‘em, but…” He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt having a little backup.”

You gave him a look, sharp and unimpressed, which only made him want to smirk harder. “You sound like you like him,” you teased. “What, are you secretly a Spider-Man fanboy?”

The comment nearly made him choke on his coffee. He swallowed, masking it with a faint laugh. “Me? Nah. I just think the guy gets a bad rap.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, turning back to the package you’d brought as if to signal the conversation was over. But then you added, far too casually, “He does have a nice body, though. You can see everything in that suit.”

Gojo froze.

You didn’t notice at first, still fiddling with the box, your tone completely nonchalant. “I mean, I get it now. All that swinging around, climbing buildings like a cat–of course he’s built. And the suit? Zero imagination left to the eye. Couldn’t help but notice the… bulge.”

His cock stirred immediately. Heat shot straight through him, so sharp it made his throat tighten. He forced his expression neutral, though his grip on the edge of the counter had whitened his knuckles.

“Damn,” he said finally, his voice lower than he intended. He coughed once, masking it. “You really don’t like the guy, huh?”

You looked up, smirking faintly at his tone. “Didn’t say that. Just said he’s overrated. Doesn’t mean I didn’t notice he fills out that spandex.”

Gojo shifted subtly, turning back toward the counter to pour himself more coffee, mostly so you wouldn’t see the way his cock was already pressing against his slacks. He hummed, feigning casual. “So you were checking him out.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, swinging your leg idly. “Anyone would notice. Suit like that? It’s practically obscene.”

He almost groaned, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Inside his head, his thoughts weren’t neighborly at all. He was picturing you staring at his cock through the suit, lips parted, thighs rubbing together. He imagined pulling the mask up just enough to kiss you, your tits pressed against the chest of his suit, your nails dragging down his shoulders as you realized how right you’d been about the bulge.

Out loud, he only said, “Guess you’re more observant than you let on.”

You smirked, sipping from the mug he’d slid across the counter for you. “Guess so.”

Gojo watched the way your lips wrapped around the rim, and he nearly had to excuse himself to the bathroom right then.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

It started as a once-in-a-while thing, Spider-Man appearing in your path on your late-night walks, leaning against a lamppost or crouched on a fire escape like he’d been waiting. At first you told yourself it was coincidence. The city was big, but maybe your paths just crossed. Then it was every night. You’d step out of the corner store, the plastic bag in your hand still warm with groceries, and there he’d be, mask gleaming faintly under the lights, waving like you were old friends.

By the third night in a row, you crossed your arms and told him flatly, “You stalking me?”

“Stalking?” he gasped, hand over his chest like you’d wounded him. “I prefer the term dedicated escort service. I only charge in smiles.”

“Overpriced,” you muttered, walking past him.

“Brutal,” he said, falling into step beside you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “But worth it.”

And that’s how it continued. Every night. Him showing up, you pretending not to be impressed, him cracking jokes while you tried not to stare at the way his suit clung to every line of muscle.

Tonight was no different–except it was.

You’d dressed in a short black skater skirt that swished with every step, thigh-high socks hugging tight against your thighs, and a cropped turtleneck that left a strip of your stomach bare. No bra. You hadn’t expected to run into him–not really–but the way his head snapped toward you when you rounded the corner told you he noticed every detail.

“New outfit?” he said casually, though Gojo behind the mask was already fighting the twitch in his cock. The way the fabric outlined your breasts, the way the socks cut into your soft thighs–it was killing him.

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, brushing past.

“Too late.” His voice carried a grin, but his body was already tense. He followed close, closer than usual, and you could feel the heat of him even through the fabric of his suit.

When you reached the quieter part of the block, he stopped suddenly.

“Come on,” he said, and before you could argue, his arms were around your waist.

“Wait–what the–”

The thwip of his web was the only warning before your feet left the ground. You clutched at his shoulders instinctively as he swung you upward, the city dropping away beneath you, wind whipping your hair back as you gasped. He landed smoothly on a rooftop, setting you down gently but keeping one arm snug around your waist as you staggered.

“See?” he said, his voice smug. “Better than a cab.”

You blinked, still catching your breath, but quickly covered it with a scoff. “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome,” he countered, still close enough that his chest brushed your back when he leaned forward.

You stepped away, arms crossed, looking out at the skyline. The view was breathtaking–golden lights spilling across the city, the river glimmering like a vein of silver–but you weren’t about to admit that to him.

Instead, you muttered, “How do you even breathe in that mask? Looks suffocating.”

Behind you, Gojo’s cock twitched so hard it hurt. You looked so fucking cute, standing there unimpressed in your little skirt, thighs pressed together like you didn’t realize how much that tiny shift made his brain short-circuit.

“I manage,” he said lightly, though his voice was rougher now.

You turned halfway, catching the subtle way he shifted his stance. “Do you save ‘damsels in distress’ just so you can fuck them after?”

The question was sharp, mocking, but your tone sent a shiver through him. He huffed a laugh, though his cock was already swelling thick and hard, straining against the spandex.

“That’s not true,” he said, too quickly.

You raised a brow, smirking faintly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He wanted to protest, but then you shifted closer, brushing against him without even realizing it, the swell of your ass grazing the hard outline of his cock. His breath caught behind the mask. You felt it–the heat, the pressure–and your thighs squeezed tighter, a faint tremor betraying you as you shifted again, deliberately this time.

Gojo nearly groaned, his gloved hands curling into fists at his sides. He couldn’t help it when one slid forward, brushing against your hip, and you startled but didn’t move away. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and guided it higher, pressing his palm against the front of your cropped top.

“Over the clothes, Spidey,” you whispered, your breath shaky despite your bravado. “Just this once.”

His cock throbbed, precum already dampening the inside of his suit, but he nodded, his voice cracking slightly. “Yeah… yeah.” He almost said your name–the syllables caught behind his teeth–but he bit it back just in time.

His hand cupped your breast through the thin fabric, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over the hard peak of your nipple. You gasped softly, arching faintly into the touch, and his cock jerked again against your ass.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of you even with the fabric between you.

You pressed your thighs tighter, your body trembling as you leaned back against him, your breath catching when his other hand slid down to rest on your hip, holding you steady as you rocked slightly against him.

The heat was unbearable, his cock firm against your ass as you rubbed back, your skirt riding higher with each subtle grind. He let out a shaky groan, his head dropping to your shoulder, and you bit your lip, your hand curling around his wrist to press him harder against your breast.

“Spidey,” you whispered, the word breaking into a gasp as his thumb flicked over your nipple again.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned you gently, lowering you onto the rooftop until he was sprawled beneath you, your thighs straddling his hips. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your soaked panties through the spandex, and you ground down instinctively, moaning softly at the friction.

He gripped your waist, guiding your movements as you rocked against him, the sound of your thighs sliding and the faint squeak of fabric mixing with your uneven breaths.

You leaned forward, fingers brushing the edge of his mask, trying to tug it up, but his hand caught yours. “Not that,” he said hoarsely, panic lacing the arousal in his voice.

You smirked faintly, leaning closer anyway, your lips brushing against the fabric over his mouth. “Fine,” you whispered. “This’ll do.”

And you kissed him–through the mask, hot and desperate, your hips grinding harder against his cock as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until the rooftop felt like it might swallow you both whole.

It was maddening, the slick heat of your panties growing wetter with each grind as you swallowed soft, helpless moans against his masked mouth. Gojo’s mind was unraveling beneath the mask. Every whimper you made went straight to his cock, every shift of your hips had him biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from begging. 

He’d meant to keep it innocent–just teasing, just banter–but the way you looked on top of him, thighs spread, skirt riding higher to bare the tops of your thighs… he was gone.

One of his gloved hands slid down from your waist, fingers brushing the edge of your panties through your skirt. He didn’t even wait for permission this time–you were already grinding so desperately it was answer enough. His palm cupped you firmly, the heat of your cunt soaking through the fabric as he pressed slow, steady circles against your clit.

You gasped, arching into his touch, your nails dragging over his chest through the suit. “Fuck–”

“Shit,” he groaned, his cock twitching violently beneath you. “You’re so wet. I can feel it through the gloves.” His voice was rough, cracking in your ear, but his tone still carried that cocky edge. “I swear, I’m never washing this hand.”

You let out a breathless laugh between moans, smirking faintly even as you ground down harder against him. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Hot, though,” he countered immediately, rubbing harder against your clit, the friction making your thighs shake as you bit your lip to hold back another moan.

Your hands slid up his chest, tracing the hard ridges of muscle beneath the suit, down over his abs, and then back up to grip his shoulders. He groaned again, his hips bucking up to meet yours as he muttered, “God, you’re killing me.”

The rooftop was filled with the wet sound of your panties sliding against his suit, your gasps mingling with his rough groans as his cock throbbed, leaking inside the spandex. He was so close–too close–twitching with every grind, his mind spinning with filthy images of tearing that skirt off and burying himself inside you.

“Spidey–” you moaned softly, breathless, your body trembling as his thumb pressed harder against your clit.

He bit back a groan, the words almost slipping–your name on his tongue, his mask nearly lifted–when it hit him. That sharp, electric jolt down his spine.

His Spider-sense.

Gojo froze, the sound of your ragged breaths still in his ears as his body tensed. He knew the feeling too well: danger, close, immediate. His cock throbbed angrily at the interruption, but adrenaline surged hotter, overriding even the need pulsing in his lap.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, sitting up so fast you fell backward off his lap, your thighs spreading instinctively as you hit the rooftop with a soft gasp.

“Are you kidding me?” you snapped, glaring up at him, your chest heaving. “What the hell, you asshole?”

He was already on his feet, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet with restless energy, scanning the skyline. ADHD energy mixed with the rush of instinct, his body practically vibrating as he muttered, “Shit, I’m sorry–”

“Sorry?” you shot back, pushing your skirt down with a flush. “You don’t just–ugh!”

He glanced back at you, his chest tight at the sight of your legs still open, thighs trembling, your lips flushed and swollen. He wanted nothing more than to drop back down and finish what he’d started. But the distant boom of an explosion cut through the night, orange light flashing against the buildings several blocks away.

His jaw clenched behind the mask. He crouched low in front of you, hands on your waist, and before you could shove him off, you were in his arms again, the world spinning as he leapt to the ground below with one clean swing.

He set you down gently, his voice hurried and hoarse as he backed away. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear–”

“Asshole!” you yelled after him, breathless and flushed, as another thwip launched him back into the night.

Gojo’s cock ached as he swung toward the fire, the memory of your heat grinding against him still burning in his nerves. He muttered under his breath, voice rough inside the mask, “God, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

And you stood on the sidewalk below, thighs pressed tight together, still trembling from the way his gloved hand had touched you, cursing yourself for wanting him to come back already.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The storm had rolled in fast. The city’s usual hum was drowned in the crash of rain against the streets, the wind whistling between buildings with enough force to rattle your window frames. You hadn’t seen Gojo since the morning before–a quick exchange at his door, his glasses fogged from the shower steam, his grin lazy as he told you not to work too hard. Then nothing. No sound through the thin walls. No telltale slam of his cabinets. Just silence.

By the time night fell, the storm was in full swing. You tugged on your thin nightgown–the one that barely brushed mid-thigh–and shoved your feet into slippers, grabbing the trash bag before it started to stink up the whole kitchen. The hallway was empty, the air faintly damp from the rain sneaking through the old building.

You shoved the bag into the bin behind the complex, hugging your arms against the chill, and tilted your head at the sound of something above. Not thunder. Not rain. A thud.

Your gaze snapped up, hair plastered against your cheek as the downpour blurred your vision. And there–on the fire escape leading up the side of the building–a figure. Crawling. In the storm.

Your breath caught, heart thudding as the figure moved toward a familiar window. Gojo’s window.

And the suit–black, blue, white–clung tight to every muscle as the man climbed inside.

Spider-Man.

“What the actual fuck,” you hissed, your shock boiling into rage before you could think.

Without hesitation, you bolted back into the building, your bare legs slick from the rain, your nightgown clinging to your body as you pounded up the stairs. Your slippers slapped against the steps, your breath coming fast, fury drowning out the thunder.

By the time you reached Gojo’s door, your pulse was roaring in your ears. You slid in front of it, nearly tripping, and slammed your fist against the wood.

“I know you’re in there!” you shouted, breathless, your hair dripping onto your shoulders. “Don’t you dare ignore me!”

Inside, Gojo cursed under his breath.

He was soaked through, the rain making the spandex cling uncomfortably tight, his muscles burning from the night’s patrol. He’d only just crawled through the window, mask dragged halfway down, sticking to his skin and refusing to come off fully with the water plastering it to his face. His pale hair was plastered to his forehead, dripping into his eyes, and his chest heaved as he tried to pull the fabric off.

Then he heard you.

He froze, eyes darting to the door as your pounding rattled the hinges. “Shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Not now.”

The door slammed open before he could bolt the lock.

You stepped in, soaked nightgown clinging to every curve, eyes blazing as you slammed the door behind you. Your chest rose fast, your breaths ragged from the sprint up the stairs. And then you saw him.

White hair plastered to his forehead. The mask dragged past his nose, still covering his eyes. Suit clinging to his chest and arms, droplets of rain dripping down the sharp lines of muscle.

You stopped dead, your whole body going cold despite the storm.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” you said, your voice low, sharp, deadly serious.

He froze, mask halfway off, lips parted, caught like a kid in headlights.

“Satoru!?”

Gojo swallowed hard, chest still rising fast, every excuse he’d ever crafted evaporating from his mind as your voice cut through the thunder.

“Uh,” he said finally, voice cracking under the weight of the silence. “Surprise?”

You stared at him, fury and disbelief swirling in your chest so fast you could hardly breathe. Your fists clenched at your sides as you took a step closer, the storm hammering against the windows behind you.

“Surprise?” you repeated, your tone rising with every syllable. “That’s what you’ve got? Surprise!?”

He dragged a hand through his soaked hair, grimacing as the mask clung to his cheek. “In my defense,” he muttered, “you weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “No shit.”

He looked at you then–really looked. Your nightgown clung translucent to your thighs, your hair dripping against your flushed skin, your eyes lit with fire. And despite the mess, despite the panic, his cock twitched against the cling of the spandex.

Gojo’s throat bobbed as he forced a grin, though it was weaker than usual. “So… guess you’re not a Spider-Man fan after all, huh?”

You glared at him, heat rushing up your neck even as your thighs pressed unconsciously together.

“Don’t you dare try to joke your way out of this,” you snapped, your voice trembling with adrenaline.

And behind the mask, Gojo’s mind was a mess of panic, desire, and the quiet, sinking realization that there was no taking this back.

The rain was still pouring when you stepped closer, your bare feet soaking against his floorboards, the thin fabric of your nightgown clinging wetly to your skin. Your pulse was wild in your chest, your anger and adrenaline and the raw shock of what you’d just walked into mixing until your hands were already on him before you realized what you were doing.

��Are you hurt?” you demanded, palms sliding over his soaked chest, down his arms, searching for cuts, bruises, anything. Your fingers skimmed the hard lines of muscle beneath the clinging spandex, water dripping between your knuckles as you shoved at him to turn his body.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Gojo muttered, his grin cocky even as he winced when your thumb brushed a tender spot on his ribs. “You trying to cop a feel, or is this the world’s angriest check-up?”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands sliding up to his face, gripping his jaw. His mask was still dragged halfway down, covering his eyes, but you could see his smirk curving beneath it. Your chest heaved as you shook your head. “You left me high and dry yesterday. Do you even–do you even know how humiliating that was?”

He flinched at that, the grin faltering for the first time. “I–yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re such a prick,” you hissed, your nails curling against his cheek. “Showing up every night, getting under my skin, and then just–”

He cut you off before the words could spiral further. His gloved hands came up, framing your face with a gentleness that didn’t match the pounding storm outside, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was hot, deep, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his soaked chest pressed hard against yours. You tried to protest, tried to push him back, but your hands betrayed you, clutching at his cheeks, pulling him down as his mouth devoured yours.

You gasped into the kiss, your fingers sliding up into his damp hair, tugging at the white strands as he groaned against your lips. The sound was filthy, desperate, his body thrumming with pent-up hunger as he pressed you backward until your spine hit the wall.

His mouth trailed down your jaw, hot kisses dragging to the base of your throat, and then further, teeth grazing your collarbone as he shoved your nightgown up and over your head. You gasped as the soaked fabric hit the floor, leaving you bare in the storm’s cold air, your nipples tightening instantly in the chill.

Gojo groaned like he was seeing the sun for the first time, lips closing greedily over one hardened peak. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, tongue flicking, teeth nipping just enough to make you arch. “Dreamed about this.”

Your hands clutched at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair as he lavished your breasts with open-mouthed kisses, groaning softly with every taste. He palmed your ass with one large hand, squeezing firmly, grinding his cock against your hips as his other hand shoved between your thighs to feel the heat of your soaked panties.

“Over the clothes,” you gasped, echoing the rooftop, your thighs trembling as he rubbed hard against your clit through the thin fabric.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, groaning again as your body arched into his touch. “God, you’re soaked, baby. You’re gonna ruin this suit.”

“You already ruined it,” you hissed back, moaning as his teeth tugged at your nipple.

“Not ruined enough,” he growled, rutting harder against your hip, the outline of his cock thick and throbbing through the spandex.

The storm cracked outside, thunder shaking the windows, and you nearly cried out as he lifted you suddenly, slamming your back gently against the wall as he held you up effortlessly, your thighs wrapping around his waist. His mouth claimed yours again, desperate and sloppy, as he dry-humped you hard, each thrust rubbing his cock against your soaked panties, the friction maddening.

You gasped against his lips, trying to breathe. “You–you really save damsels in distress just to fuck them, don’t you?”

He pulled back enough to smirk against your mouth, breath hot. “If that’s the job description, I’ll take the overtime.”

You rolled your eyes even as you moaned when his fingers pressed harder against your clit. “You��re disgusting.”

“Yeah,” he groaned, biting your nipple again, “but you love it.”

Your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist as his gloved hand rubbed rough circles against your clit, your wetness soaking through the fabric. You were trembling, your voice breaking as you gasped, “Satoru–”

He kissed you hard again, whispering against your lips, “Say it again.”

“Satoru,” you moaned, hips grinding desperately.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his cock jerking as precum leaked inside the suit.

Without another word, he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you gently onto the bed. The storm raged outside, lightning flashing against the walls, but his attention was only on you. He crawled over you slowly, deliberately, his mask finally tugged off with one hand.

You froze, breath caught.

Satoru.

His face was more beautiful than you’d ever let yourself imagine. Sharp cheekbones, jawline strong and wet with rain, mouth flushed from kissing you raw. But it was his eyes–that impossibly bright, crystalline blue, now bare without his glasses–that made your breath stutter. They were electric, alive, drinking you in like he’d been starved.

You didn’t get a chance to speak. His mouth was back on you, kissing down your neck, biting lightly at your collarbone, trailing lower. He licked and nipped at the curve of your breasts, groaning like a man possessed, before dragging his tongue down your stomach. You whimpered, your thighs pressing together, but he pried them apart, kissing along the soft skin until his mouth was at your hips.

He tore your panties down your legs in one quick motion, groaning when the scent of your arousal hit him. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been dreaming about this pussy.”

He pressed his face between your thighs, groaning loudly as his tongue licked a slow stripe over your folds. You gasped, your hands flying into his hair, tugging hard as his mouth latched onto your clit. He moaned like he’d been starved, rutting his hips against the mattress beneath him as he ate you out, tongue sliding deep inside, nose pressed against your clit.

“God–” you moaned, thighs trembling as his gloved fingers gripped your hips, holding you down. “Satoru–”

He groaned into your cunt, rutting harder against the bed, his cock straining as he inhaled the slick heat of you. His hands slid down, pushing your thighs up, locking them against his head until you were practically suffocating him.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, pulling back only long enough to slide a gloved finger against your entrance. “Gonna finger you open, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my hand.”

You whimpered as his finger slid inside, thick and deliberate, curling just right. He added another, stretching you slowly, his tongue circling your clit as your back arched. The storm roared outside, thunder shaking the glass–until a sharp thwip sounded, and the window slammed shut, his web sealing it tight.

“Need to hear you,” he muttered against your clit. “Can’t miss a single sound.”

You moaned louder, your hips rocking helplessly into his mouth as his fingers pumped deep, curling against your sweet spot while his tongue worked your clit mercilessly. Your hands clutched his hair, pulling him deeper, and he groaned against you, rutting harder into the mattress, lost in the taste of you.

“Satoru–” you gasped, thighs squeezing around his head, your body trembling violently as the pressure built.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your cunt. “Come for me. Wanna drown in it.”

The wave hit you sharp and blinding, your orgasm tearing through you with a cry as your thighs shook around his head, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. He groaned like he was coming with you, his cock rutting desperately into the mattress as he licked you through every spasm, every aftershock, refusing to let you go.

When you finally collapsed back against the sheets, panting, your hands still tangled in his hair, he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His mouth was wet with you, his eyes burning with hunger, and his grin was wicked.

“Not bad for a prick, huh?”

He was still panting against your thigh, lips wet with your release, when he shifted back, fumbling with the edge of his suit. You propped yourself up on your elbows, sweat dampening your flushed chest, your breath uneven as you watched him struggle.

“Fucking–” he muttered, yanking at the fabric. “Piece of shit–sticks like a goddamn–” He growled, tugging harder, the wet spandex clinging stubbornly to his chest and arms. His abs flexed beautifully as he twisted, muscles rippling with every frustrated movement, and you bit your lower lip without meaning to, heat curling in your stomach again as his cock twitched visibly beneath the suit.

“You good over there, hero?” you teased softly, smirking despite your breathlessness.

“Shut up,” he hissed, jerking at the zipper that refused to budge. “I swear this thing’s cursed. Who the hell thought full-body spandex was a good idea?”

You laughed, low and teasing, until his growl deepened and he yanked so hard the seam popped. “Fucking–dammit!” He cursed louder, finally collapsing half-off the bed with a grunt as he fought the top half down.

Your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it, the sound bright in the storm-muted room. But it didn’t last long.

Because when he finally shoved the wet fabric down his hips and his cock sprang free, long and flushed and heavy against his abs, you forgot how to breathe.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide, lips parting as heat licked sharp through your veins. “It’s always the nerds.”

Gojo’s grin was feral as he shoved the ruined suit down the rest of the way, kicking it off impatiently. “Yeah? Still laughing?”

You swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively as you shook your head faintly. “Not even a little.”

“Didn’t think so,” he muttered, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking once, slow, his head tipping back with a low groan. Precum glistened at the tip, sliding down the thick vein as he pumped lazily, his eyes hooded as they fixed on you.

Your thighs clenched tighter, your breath shallow as you watched his hand glide up and down, his cock twitching in his grip. He climbed back onto the bed, his body looming over yours as he captured your mouth in another searing kiss, your moan spilling against his tongue as the blunt head of his cock brushed your soaked entrance.

He groaned your name, broken and needy, his lips trembling against yours. “God, baby–”

You gasped as he pushed in, the stretch sharp and overwhelming, your back arching off the bed as his cock slid deeper, inch by inch. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the fullness robbed you of words.

“Fuck–” he whined, the sound raw, his hips trembling as he sank fully inside, buried to the hilt. “You’re so–so tight, I can’t–”

You cried out, your legs bending instinctively as he sat back on his knees, bracing his hands on the tops of your thighs. He pulled back slowly, then slammed forward again, the wet slap of his hips echoing through the room as you arched and moaned.

“God, yes,” he groaned, his head tipping back, his cock driving deep inside you. “So good–so fucking good–”

Your thighs quivered as he pounded into you, the stretch burning, perfect, your walls fluttering helplessly around his thick cock. He was whining now, shameless, his voice breaking as he thrust harder, faster, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise.

When he leaned forward again, your knees bent up toward your stomach, his thrusts went deeper, sharper, your breath catching with every snap of his hips. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against your shins as he pounded harder, his lips dragging against your neck.

“Fuck–I can’t stop–” he groaned, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed hard against your throat. “You don’t know–don’t know how many times I–fuck–fucked my fist thinking about you in those little tops. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

You gasped, nails raking down his back. “You–you perv–”

He laughed breathlessly against your skin, the sound breaking into a moan as your cunt clenched tight around him. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you love it. Don’t even try to lie, baby.”

Your body betrayed you, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, your moans spilling shamelessly as his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you.

“God, you feel–so good,” he whined, his thrusts growing erratic as his body trembled. “So fucking perfect–I’m not gonna last–”

You gasped, the tension coiling tight in your belly as his pace quickened, his cock slamming deeper with every thrust, the sound of your wetness filling the room.

“Come with me,” he begged against your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he pounded harder. “Please, baby–want to feel you–fuck–want to feel you break on me.”

Your orgasm tore through you with a cry, your body arching violently, your walls clenching tight around his cock as you shook beneath him. He groaned loud, desperate, his hips slamming forward one last time as he spilled inside you, hot and messy, filling you until it leaked around his cock.

He collapsed against you, chest heaving, his lips brushing your ear as he muttered, breathless and grinning, “Guess that’s not the only thing white that shoots outta me.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, still trembling. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed against your neck, his still cock twitching inside you even as he kissed your jaw, grinning like the menace he was.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

It didn’t take long for “neighbors” to stop being the right word.

Every time Gojo saw you now, he couldn’t resist. In the hallway, he’d press you against the wall, kissing you so hard your knees went weak before you could even fumble for your keys. On rooftops, after swinging you breathless above the city, he’d land with you straddling his lap, your thighs squeezing against his hips as his mouth devoured yours, his cock straining inside the suit until he had to pull away before he ruined it. Even in his apartment, when you came over under the flimsiest excuse, he’d corner you in the kitchen, lifting you onto the counter just to kiss you until you forgot why you’d come in the first place.

It wasn’t casual anymore. It wasn’t just banter. Every time, it was hungrier, filthier, his lips tasting of desperation as if every kiss was the last he’d ever get. And every time, you let him. You wanted him. You needed him.

So by the time Halloween rolled around, you decided to test him.  It was a perfect mimicry of his – the same sleek black, blue, and white design, the same silver spider emblem across the chest. Only yours was paper-thin, clinging to every curve, the high cut of the legs revealing the swell of your thighs, the zipper undone just enough to frame the valley of your breasts.

The second his door swung open, you knew you’d nailed it.

Satoru stood there barefoot in pajama pants and a loose tee, his glasses perched low on his nose. He was mid-yawn, hair sticking out in messy tufts, looking every inch the lazy neighbor you’d always pretended he was. But then his gaze landed on you, and the yawn died in his throat.

His jaw went slack. His glasses slid further down the bridge of his nose as his eyes widened, and you saw it–that split-second flash of hunger that told you he wasn’t seeing just a Halloween costume.

You tugged the flimsy hood back, letting your damp hair spill out as you smirked faintly. The black, blue, and white spandex clung skin-tight to every curve, the silver spider stretched taut across your chest, the thin material leaving little to the imagination. The zipper dipped just enough between your breasts to make your nipples push faintly against the suit.

“Trick or treat,” you said softly, trying for smug, but your voice came out a little breathless.

Gojo didn’t answer. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, slamming the door behind you so hard the frame rattled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. He crowded you against the counter, eyes raking over your body in the clinging fabric, and his cock was already swelling against his pajama pants. “You–fuck. You’re in my suit.”

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse stuttered. “Relax. It’s Halloween. Last-minute costume.”

“Uh-huh.” His grin was feral now, wicked and knowing, his hand already tugging his pajama pants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang heavy and flushed against his stomach, the blunt head glistening as precum smeared over the soft fabric of your suit when he pressed forward. “Last minute, huh? Then why’s it so… fucking accurate?”

“Coincidence,” you muttered, bracing your hands on the counter as he slid between your thighs, his cock gliding over the thin spandex covering you. The heat of him seared through the fabric, the pressure of his thickness undeniable, and your breath hitched despite yourself.

Gojo groaned, his head tipping forward to rest briefly against your shoulder as he thrust again, rutting slow and heavy between your thighs. “God–this suit’s so thin I can feel everything. You’re not wearing a damn thing under it, are you?”

You bit back a whimper, pressing your thighs tighter together as his cock dragged with delicious friction over your covered cunt. “Maybe I like the breeze,” you whispered.

He groaned loudly, grinding harder, his cock smearing precum into the flimsy fabric. “You’re fucking soaked,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. He rocked his hips again, faster now, every thrust sliding his cock perfectly between the squeeze of your thighs, the heat of your pussy beneath the suit. “Gonna ruin this suit before the night’s over.”

You gasped, bracing yourself against the counter as your legs trembled. “You’re–unbelievable.”

“You’re a fan,” he groaned in your ear, biting lightly at your neck as he rutted harder, his cock twitching violently with each pass. “Don’t even try to deny it. You came here dressed as me, sweetheart. That’s obsession.”

You rolled your eyes even as a soft moan broke free. “You’re delusional.”

“Delusional and about to make a mess all over your thighs,” he shot back, his breath hot as his hips snapped faster, rutting between your covered legs like a man possessed. His cock slid against the damp patch spreading between your thighs, his precum soaking through until the spandex clung wetter, tighter.

“God, you feel–so good,” he groaned, his hand sliding to your hip to hold you still as his cock fucked harder between your thighs. “So soft–even through this fucking suit–fuck, I can’t stop.”

Your breath stuttered, your thighs squeezing tighter as the friction built, your body trembling as he groaned in your ear.

“Tell me you’re not a fan,” he muttered, his cock jerking against you as his pace grew ragged. “Say it. Say you don’t think about me when you wear this.”

You gasped, head tipping back against his shoulder, and whispered, “You’re insane.”

“And you’re dripping through this fucking suit,” he countered, rutting harder, groaning when your thighs clenched helplessly tighter around him.

The room was filled with the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding through the soaked fabric, his breath hot against your ear as you moaned softly despite yourself. He smirked, teeth grazing your jaw as he thrust faster.

“Yeah,” he panted, “you’re a fan.”

Gojo’s cock was still sliding between your thighs through the damp fabric when his restraint finally snapped. His groans were ragged, his hips snapping harder against you, but the suit was too thin, too teasing. He needed you–bare, wet, wrapped tight around him.

His gloved hands slid up your ass, squeezing hard before dipping between your thighs. You gasped when his fingers pressed against the slick heat beneath the spandex, his breath hot in your ear as he growled, “Fuck this.”

The sound of fabric tearing split the air, sharp and obscene, as his fingers ripped through the seam between your thighs. The flimsy material gave way easily, splitting wide to reveal the wet heat he’d been rutting against.

“Toru–” you gasped, your hands clutching the counter, your back arching as his cock brushed bare against your folds.

“Couldn’t wait another second,” he groaned, lining himself up and thrusting inside with one hard, desperate push. You cried out, your back bowing as the stretch filled you, his cock sliding deep, thick, splitting you open as your body clenched around him.

“God,” he panted, his hair sticking damp to his forehead, the nape of his neck tingling as his whole body trembled. “So tight–fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”

His hand slid up your body, gripping your jaw to tilt your face back. You gasped as his mouth claimed yours from behind, his kiss deep and messy, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hips slammed forward. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass filled the kitchen, wet and sinful, mixing with your moans as he fucked you harder.

“I’m so–fuck–I’m so in love with you,” he groaned against your lips, his words broken by the force of his thrusts. His other hand slid up to squeeze your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple through the stretched suit as you whimpered against his mouth.

“Ah, hnngh Toru–” you moaned, your body trembling with every deep stroke.

He growled low, kissing you harder, rutting into you like he couldn’t get close enough. “You drive me insane–every little thing you wear, I can’t stop–fuck–I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The noise was obscene, the wet slap of his hips, your slick dripping down your thighs, his grunts and your breathless moans echoing in the storm-muted apartment. Your knees buckled, but his arm wrapped firm around your waist, holding you steady as he pounded deeper, each thrust rougher, needier, his cock twitching violently inside you.

“Shit–” he gasped, teeth grazing your neck as he kissed down hard, leaving marks against your skin. “I’m not gonna last–”

You gasped his name, your nails clawing at the counter as your walls fluttered around him, the pressure coiling tight in your belly. His hips snapped faster, desperate, his cock slamming deep as his hand clutched your breast tighter.

The orgasm hit you hard, your body arching violently as you cried out, your pussy clenching down around him. Gojo groaned loud in your ear, his hips jerking as he pressed deep, his cock pulsing hot inside you as he spilled, pressing his seed as far as he could with each ragged thrust.

He nearly tore the whole suit off you in the frenzy, his fingers clawing at the spandex, but stopped himself, panting, before tugging you around. His lips found yours again, swollen and desperate, kissing you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t let you breathe without him.

When he finally pulled back, both of you panting, sweat and rain dampening your skin, you glared weakly. “That was a fifty-five-dollar suit.”

Gojo smirked, still catching his breath, brushing his thumb along your swollen lower lip. “I’ll make you a new one. One that doesn’t tear.”

You scoffed, still trembling, cum dripping down your thighs. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing you again with a grin. “We’ll cosplay. Take some cute couple photos.” His grin widened, wicked and smug. “Next Bugle headline: Spider-Man Has a Spider-Woman?”

You smacked his shoulder, still panting. “You’re ridiculous.”

He only laughed, kissing you again, his cock still twitching inside you.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆

Daily Bugle – Special Halloween Edition “SPIDER-MAN: HERO OF THE CITY… OR JUST WHIPPED?”

The grainy-but-clear front-page photo said it all.

Spider-Man, clad in his sleek black, blue, and white suit, hung upside down from a thick strand of webbing, his mask tugged down just past his lips. His body was taut, muscles visible even through the spandex, his arm bent to steady himself as he dangled with the effortless balance only he could manage.

Below him, standing firmly on the slick pavement of the city street, was you–in a sapphire-blue dress that clung to every curve like it had been painted on. The plunging neckline drew the eye, but it was the way you cupped Spider-Man’s face, tilting him toward you for a kiss, that had every reader double-taking.

Your lips met his with shocking tenderness for such a scandalous scene, the city lights glowing off the sheen of rain on your dress. His hand gripped your waist through the webbing’s swing, his cocky posture only half-masking the intensity of the kiss.

The caption beneath the photo read:

'Caught in the web of romance? Spider-Man spotted locking lips with mystery woman in midnight sapphire. Sources say the hero’s heart might finally be as captured as the criminals he webs up.'

And in smaller print at the bottom, a snide add-on from Masamichi himself:

'Is Spider-Man putting his love life before saving lives? Find out on page 3.'

A/N: okay who the hell REPORTED this post :( also need tonycries to notice me lmfao

Do not plagiarize my work. Do not translate or reupload on any other sites. Reblog. Follow. Like. Support your local writers. Check out my other work.

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Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

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How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

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How to write a mute character.

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How to portray someone with dyslexia.

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Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

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“How arw you paying for photoshop” im not LMAO

[grapesandraisins]

honestly fav new author

masterlist

series.

symptoms & causes — professor gojo x med student reader

series | ongoing | wc 205.4 k | angst & more angst

↳ he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

remedies & reasons — professor geto x law student reader

series | ongoing | wc 59 k | fluff, slice-of-life & angst

↳ this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken (spin-off of symptoms and causes).

suguru's memories — backstory to symptoms and causes

series | completed | wc 49.3 k | angst, character study

↳ long before they became the world's best neurosurgeons, before medical journals and rivalries, before everything became so complicated—it was just two boys meeting at a hidden spot. a meticulous bug collector who felt invisible to everyone else and a white-haired genius who couldn't make friends who felt invisible to everyone else (based on symptoms and causes).

games & matches — satoru gojo x suguru's daughter reader

series | completed | wc 37 k | smut, fun & little angst

↳ after a night of partying and drinking, you run into none other than satoru gojo — your dad's infuriatingly hot best friend who you haven't seen in years. blame it on the alcohol, but you start flirting with him. and he flirts back. so, can it really be that wrong to want to fuck your dad's best friend? after all, what happens in the kitchen at 3AM stays in the kitchen, right?

stories.

calling you home — pilot!satoru gojo x air traffic controller!reader

one-shot | wc 16.5 k | mutual pining, workplace romance

↳ captain satoru gojo is the most infuriating pilot you've ever had the displeasure of guiding through tokyo's airspace. for months, he's turned every radio call into an opportunity to flirt, compliment your voice, and generally make your work life insufferable. you've never seen his face, but you're convinced he's exactly the kind of arrogant pilot you never want to deal with outside work. if only your heart would stop racing when you hear his voice.

the stranger on line 4 — ceo!satoru gojo x artist!reader

one-shot | wc 16.4 k | strangers to lovers, fluff

↳ for 713 days, you've been sketching strangers on your morning commute, giving away portraits to brighten their day. when a missed train puts you on an unfamiliar route, you draw a white-haired man who's impossible to ignore. you think you'll never see him again—until he plasters half of tokyo with posters trying to find you.

three little words — gojo x gn!reader

one-shot | wc 7.4 k | childhood friends to lovers

↳ for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

last december morning — gojo x sorcerer!reader

one-shot | wc 5.4 k | angst, hurt/no comfort

↳ on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.

how to fake date a doctor — doctor!gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 9 k | fake dating, friends to lovers

↳ for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

remember me in summer — one night stand!gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 9.5 k | summer romance, beach house

↳ six months ago, you left satoru gojo's apartment before sunrise, thinking you'd never see him again. now, trapped in a beach house for a weekend with mutual friends, you're forced to face the man who doesn't seem to remember that night—or does he? between shared walls, heated touches, and games of pretend, you're starting to think maybe one night wasn't enough after all. but in a house full of friends, some things are better left in the past… right?

love & other variables — tutor!satoru gojo x cheerleader!reader

one-shot | wc 9.2 k | sweet fluff, opposites attract

↳ you're the star cheerleader who can't solve an equation to save your life. he's the brilliant physics student who can't figure out how to talk to girls. but when he becomes your last hope to save your failing math grade, you discover there's more to him than theorems and thick glasses. between tutoring and cheerleading, you find yourself falling for the nerd who gets flustered at a simple hello but kisses like he's studied the subject for years. turns out love might be the most complex variable either of you has ever tried to solve.

the man across the street — neighbour!satoru gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 14 k | slow burn, cozy vibes, fluff

↳ when you inherited your grandparents' victorian home, you thought the biggest challenge would be the renovations. what you weren't prepared for was satoru gojo—your insufferably perfect neighbour with his perfect smiles and unexpected talent for home repairs. but maybe, just maybe, he's exactly the kind of renovation partner you need. because four seasons might not be enough to fix a century-old house, but it might be just enough time to fall in love—moment by moment, season by season.

thoughts of you — professor geto x med student reader

one-shot | wc 1.2 k | porn without plot

↳ alone at night, suguru finds his thoughts wandering to the one person he can't have — his best friend's girlfriend. he knew he shouldn't do it, but still, he can't help himself as his hand drifts down to palm himself (based on symptoms and causes).

not so haunted house — professor gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 4.6 k | porn with little plot

↳ satoru's on a mission to get you into the halloween spirit, and he won't take no for an answer. he's taken you to the town's spooky festival, and plying you with every sugary treat and pumpkin spiced sugary drink he can find. but you draw the line with the haunted house. but knowing satoru, he'll find a way to make it happen (based on symptoms and causes).

anatomy lessons — professor gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 2.3 k | slice-of-life, suggestive

↳ you knew satoru was a good teacher, even with his… unconventional methods. he'd do anything to ensure you aced your exams. but why was he always so distracting when he helped you study? especially when his lessons involved drawing on his bare skin and his heavy gaze on your lips (based on symptoms and causes).

backseat mistakes — gojo x fem!reader

one-shot | wc 6.3 k | porn without plot

↳ satoru gojo and you have been driving each other crazy all night with your constant teasing. just your luck, the only seat left in the car heading back home is right on his lap. with every bump and turn on the road home, you can't help grinding against him and with his moans in your ear, it's only a matter of time before something more happens right?

drabbles.

seven minutes of misunderstanding — gojo x fem!reader

↳ of all the ridiculous situations you've found yourself in, being trapped in a closet with satoru gojo has to top the list. especially when you're convinced he's dating his best friend.

words you couldn't hear — gojo x gn!reader

↳ satoru's been hopelessly in love with you for years, but can only confess when you can't hear him. but someday—maybe someday soon—he'll tell you for real.

say it again — gojo x fem!reader

↳ you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

traces of yesterday's scars — gojo x fem!reader

↳ they say the strongest sorcerer can't be broken. but as your fingers trace the scar that once split him in two, you find that even satoru gojo has his sensitive spots.

beneath the mistletoe — gojo x gn!reader

↳ having a crush on your brother's best friend is bad enough. having that best friend look better at every family dinner is just cruel. but worst of all? he's noticed your not-so-subtle staring.

a neighborly concern — gojo x gn!reader

↳ when a snowstorm knocks out your power, your insufferably attractive neighbor shows up at your door to "check on you." if only he wasn't so distracting in that damn checkered shirt.

between missions — gojo x fem!reader

↳ when duty keeps pulling you apart, sometimes you have to steal moments where you can find them—even if it means compromising a surveillance mission when your boyfriend decides to surprise you.

love at first bite — vampire!gojo x fem!reader

↳ satoru gojo was an old vampire. like, really old. he's seen it all in his centuries of unlife. but then you walk into the club, suddenly he's like a newborn vamp all over again, ready to risk it all for a sip of that sweet, sweet blood.

be my prom date — gojo x fem!reader

↳ what happens when the notorious playboy satoru gojo is determined to win your heart and asks you to got to prom with him?

bad ideas and other drinks — gojo x fem!reader

↳ satoru gojo's reputation precedes him, so like any girl with half a brain, you steer clear. but what if he has other plans?

headcanons.

#satoru . #suguru // halloween writing . #jjk halloween

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[grapesandraisins]

Bartender!Ghost x Waitress!Reader Masterlist

Ghost Masterlist

Summary: You need some extra cash for rent, and you're sick of sitting at home, staring at a computer all day. You hear pub a few blocks away from your flat is looking for a server. Can't be hard, right? Well... the serving part isn't hard. But the brooding bartender that suddenly enters your life is - in more ways than one.

Warnings: cursing, misogynistic/degrading behavior towards reader (not from tf141), NSFW, humiliation, pining, masturbation, jealousy, slow burn

Check out this amazing art by blobbysblog!!!

Storyline:

pilot

interview

day one

simon's jealousy starts

hurricane shot

customer yells at you

simon gets hit on

you meet BarOwner!Price

you ask simon to take the mean customers

mitch says something he shouldn't

simon makes you cry

you both apologize after you avoid him for two days

you suggest a promotional drink for Halloween

price gets you a stepstool

price makes simon work for what he wants

you spill drinks on your shirt

simon lets some stress out

simon finds you crying in the walk-in

you and simon kiss in the stairwell

Headcannons:

the vision

pub dynamics

flirting pt 1

"DOOR!!"

flirting pt 2

when customers leave you their numbers

kyle and johnny

plans for the au

replacing simon's tools with pink ones

[grapesandraisins]

satoru gojo fic recs - pt. 1

[anime fic rec m.list]

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs so pls reblog if you like any of them, and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

a song of past romance - ( @fushitoru ) smut but make it demure, flUFF, greek mythology au, suitor/king!gojo, princess!reader, whimpering gojo agenda (weloveit). PLEASEEEE THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST GOJO PERIOD PIECES OUT THERE. it will have you giggling and kicking your feet TRUST

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! - ( @fushitoru ) fluff, bf!gojo, established relationship. not him being devastated bc of a tiktok filter, lmao we love gojo with his theatrics

the horniest - ( @arminsumi ) gojo smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

too much - ( @risuola ) ANGSTTTYYYY, fluff too, reader and gojo are in a situationship kinda thing where they live together and love each other but nothing has been said yet, they get into an argument bc gojo has a big mouth and says a lot of hurtful things, they´re both just so exhausted

i know you still think about the times we had - ( @saetoru ) angst, fluff, rich bf!gojo, his father makes you break up with him, it´s so angsty omg, they get into this HUGE argument bc gojo´s dad is a controlling mf

sanctuary - ( @arminsumi ) fluff, lowkey angst, weak!reader, bully!gojo, nah he´s just in love but doesn´t know how to say it

flicker of flame - ( @tteokdoroki ) fluff, nervous soon to be dad!gojo, pregnant!reader, he´s going to be the best dad ever

mirror´s pov - ( @teddybeartoji ) smut, "satoru likes jerking off in front of a mirror" YUP, a whole POV of him beating his meat to the thought of you BEAUTIFULLY written, very detailed

the weakeast - ( @screampied ) gojo ANNngst, character death mention. yall already know when it comes to angst i´m that girl, i know i good, well written angst when i see it

accidental nude - ( @satoruhour ) gojo smut, AAND HE SENDS A WHOLE VIDEO!!

gojo tried to give himself a haircut - ( @enkvyu ) this is fuNNY ksksks, I love the banter

trying to break up with yandere!gojo - ( @peachsayshi ) yan!gojo. yep, we´re talkin about lovesick toxic obsessed type of gojo, LDKJSDFJDJFHL

dad!gojo series - ( @kingkaisen ) this whole entire series is AMAZINGGGG, pls go read it omg

accidental nude - ( @satoruhour ) gojo smut, AAND HE SENDS A WHOLE VIDEO!!

gojo tried to give himself a haircut - ( @enkvyu ) this is fuNNY ksksks, I love the banter

[grapesandraisins]

Reblog to give a trans woman a delicious Cuban sandwich

[grapesandraisins]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 How To Be A Good Girl

˚₊‧꒰ა jjk men & women ﾉ subby.ᐟf. reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

oh you're such a darling, especially in the bedroom. so eager to please & for bliss that you listen so obediently. how do they react to your submission?

starring ᝰ.ᐟ✧ g. satoru, g. suguru, r. sukuna, i. shoko, t. yuki

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni, fingering, oral ꒰ f.receiving ꒱, penetrative sex, rough sex, teasing, humping, overstim, dumbification, praise, degradation, overstim, orgasm denial, cockwarming, thigh riding, body worship, scissoring, throne sex, meantoru, meansugu, pussy whippedsho, reverentkuna, meanyuki 𓂃 wc ⌇ 2.4k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ writing for toru makes me feral, requested. art cred ⌇ ru_ka_night, kinoko927513 (twt)

˖ 𑣲 Feral devotion ᝰ.ᐟ✧ G. Satoru

oh satoru loveeessss his little submissive sweetheart. what he loves especially? teasing the hell out of you. you're so eager to please and listen to him. laying on your back and already peeling your shirt over your tits for him, since you know he loves it so much.

"oh sweetheart," he'd croon, peppering kisses around a stiff peak while his hand trailed lower. "so eager for me huh? not a single thought in that pretty lil' head other than getting fucked stupid by toru huh?" while his thumb nudged into the crook of your slit against your panties, stroking featherlight.

his heart burst every time you whined. so adorable. so his. satoru always made you beg for it. you were always so eager, why not take advantage of it?

"can't hear you, sweet girl." he murmured above you, thumb circling your perky tit. his heavy cock weighed against your slick, barely hanging-on panties. hot and throbbing into your neediness as he glided over the swollen, slick outline of your pussy.

he cupped your face, cradled the back of your head with a lilted, "c'mon, wanna hear that pretty voice begging for cock."

"please," you hiccuped.

"aww, please?" he pouted.

cruel blue loomed over you, slithered like his grin as he bucked a little firmer. "oh, please baby? please?"

"please— toru! please, wan' . . . want your dick, please."

he could never deny you for too long. not when you batted those damp lashes and big eyes at him. so remember— it's your fault.

your fault when he's got you folded with strong palms squeezing on the fat of your thighs. legs dangled. body trembling, jaw slack and eyes rolled back with every wet, hot, shlap! echoed.

it's your fault that his cock bullied you. fucking deep into every gummy spot until tears poured down your flushed face and drool leaked from swollen lips. it's your fault that you're gushing, slicking your thighs and splashing it back on him.

"yeah sweetheart?" he's still above you, fucked-out laughter and cruel grins galore. bending you further until he was flushed into your bouncing tits and weighing your trembling thighs. "still want more? yeah? my pretty girl's just a stupid slut huh?"

oh he was always so sooo mean once he got you under him. he lived for the cute, clumsy nods, the teary eyes, your hands struggling to hold onto his biceps or down his shoulder blades.

"toru," so sweetly, you croak. "toru— toru 'm cummin'." and that's when your legs are tossed over his shoulders. that's when his hands cradled your ass and squeezed tight, that's when he's pounding your pussy like he hated it. crooning above you still.

"yeaahh that's it, cream me baby. lay it on me pretty girl." how sweetly he kissed you, lovingly, as if he's not stuffing you to the brim and fucking your sweetspot until you squirt. crying and messy and clinging onto his hair for dear life.

"torruuuu," you whimpered. he shallowed. milking you for all you're worth with feral bucks and huffed.

"my good girl. my pretty lil' baby." as he peppered your face with tender kisses.

˖ 𑣲 Master gaslighter ᝰ.ᐟ✧ G. Suguru

he can't help but be mean to his perfect girl. suguru's a rough lover. he enjoyed tossing you around, manhandling you, bringing pretty tears to your eyes. but with you batting those same, big, gorgeous eyes at him— he almost felt a bit bad.

keyword: almost.

you were just too good for him, just too compliant, and he loved every second of it; but it made him want to be a bit mean to you. see how far he could push you. break you down and build you back up.

maybe that's why you're almost always in his lap. cockwarming? riding? two big factors in your sex life.

the first is for bullying. he knew you wanted nothing more than to listen to him— so surely you could do just that while he was ball's deep, throbbing into a sweetspot and finishing up some paperwork, right?

suguru's veins and tip throbbed into every perfect crevice. weeding out any logic or conscious. the stretch he gaped you poor pussy with drove your mind to heat and need. and when he'd 'accidentally' lean over to grab something, he'd brush just right over that devastating bundle of nerves.

"sugu," you whined, squirming. only to whimper when a rough hand squished your thigh.

"what did I say, princess?" his voice dropped, you shivered, stilled. then pouted.

"sugu," you attempted, softer. "please? really need it . . ."

"then you can wait, can't you?" he gruffed in your ear. "thought you were a good girl?" he chastised, paired with a sharp spank to your ass. the bastard bit back a grin while you whimpered and nodded.

don't worry, he'll start fucking you messy with the most sugar-coated degradation soon enough. two fingers swirling your clit while his other hand snatched your jaw.

"some good girl. can't even sit fuckin' still while I'm finishing up urgent work. so selfish." as he fucked you into rough bounces, barely holding on, seeing stars as he pounds out yet another creamy orgasm.

intense degradation comes with the second option: riding. now, that was for pure cruelty.

because suguru knew he was too big for you. he knew you struggled to ride him. still, he'd lean back, acting sooo tired from a long day while your hips stuttered on him.

"is that the best you've got, princess?" his disappointed sigh sent shivers. you clung to his shoulders and tried to find a steady rhythm. sinking and stroking, pathetically bucking and squeezing helplessly.

"please," you sniffled, thighs trembling from several unaccomplished orgasms and sheer embarrassment. "please, please help, sugu, I can't." with those big teary eyes that put puppies to shame.

suguru would only sigh deeper, limp his head back and cup your ass with both hands. the roll of his eyes brought more tears to yours.

"just gotta do everything for you, don't I baby?" as his hips easily thrust up. bouncing you into a rapid rhythm while bringing you down. spraying your slick and fucking your poor pussy into desperate, slutty squeezes. "suuuchhh a pitiful slut, can't even get herself off huh?"

you squeaked when he starts ramming on a sweetspot, pelvis nudging your clit and grinding it so agonisingly sweet.

"m-mhhm! mhhm!"

"say it," he huffed. "what are you?"

"s-sugu's pit - pitiful slut." you whined.

he smiled, knocking you down onto him with arms wrapped tight and hips slapping ripples across your plush ass. "that's it. there's my good girl."

˖ 𑣲 Addicted to your pleasure ᝰ.ᐟ✧ I. Shoko

she always had an obsession for your pleasure, it's only amplified with how complacent and needy you are for her. it made her job all the more easier. she wished to pleasure and worship, not brat tame. her job was stressful enough. with you? she just wanted to unwind.

you're like the perfect little present waiting for her back home. she tasted you on her late-night cigarette, her true addiction of soft thighs and pretty eyes. she felt your softness on her palms as she washed them for yet another surgery.

how she adored laying you back onto the bed. kissing you so tiredly, sweetly, then mouthing down your neck, squeezing along your breasts. your sounds. that, was her true addiction.

"missed you so much, sho." you're too sweet for her black coffee heart. too soft for her hands stained in blood as they stroked on your needy cunt through nightgown.

"missed you too, doll," she breathed into your neck. "so much. wanna make my girl feel so good."

and she did. shoko was a pleasure seeker. your pleasure? she dug for it like treasure troves. with her lips that scoured every inch of your skin. with her hands that searched for the comfort only your body could give her.

your shudders were the key. she was getting close. soon, she'd be slotted between your legs. cunts flushed and wet against each other and she rocked down into you with memorised rhythm. just the way you liked it. the same way that had your eyes squeezing and lips trembling.

"shoko . . . oh god." there's that whine. x marked the spot. she squished on the thigh held in her hand and weighed her hips down further. rocking with a purpose. searching for your clit and moaning when it caught on hers.

"mmm, that feel good doll?" she fanned your ear with her whisper, then kissed it. she nestled into your pussy, angled just right, and bit her lip when your throbs fluttered into her.

your noises were what she needed. what fuelled her hips into an almost cruel rock as she pinned you down. sucking on your tits till they glistened and swelled, grinding her clit on yours until your moans joined and she swallowed them with her tongue.

"sooo perfect, so perfect for me. pretty girl— fuck," she shuddered when your moans pitched. your hands buried into her brunette strands while she shakily smoothed over yours.

she crooked down to suck on your tit again as she firmed her thrusts. your sloppy pussies met, wet and needy. the kind of friction that had you both gushing into each other.

"such a pretty girl, with the prettiest pussy." she chased your high, chased your moans, ground and humped until you spilled slick, messed her up and called her name to the heavens.

addicted, that's what she was. you were always so pliant, and she couldn't help but fall into you every time. hooked on your pleasure and pretty eyes. strung on those soft thighs.

˖ 𑣲 Reverently obsessed ᝰ.ᐟ✧ R. Sukuna

so obedient and submissive for your king? as you should be. there's something so enthralling about having a lover who wants nothing more than to worship you. your praise is your devotion, and sukuna cannot be any more pleased with your selfless surrender to him.

it's something in the way you fall into him. vulnerable and so entirely his. how eager you are to obey his every command. oh, it put him on an all-time high. you looked at him as he deserved to be beheld. listened to his every command. delighted in it, even.

but while he was your king, sukuna worshipped you for this trait more than anything.

your obedience was a turn-on, and you were his idol. splayed out in his lap with your clothing strewn. your lips on his, down his neck, shivering into his hands. just the way he liked it.

you sat on your throne, his lap, while he lazed on his. he'd guide you, as any good king would. pressing your desperate heat into his crotch and bucking enough to echo your moans through the hall.

"such a precious girl," he'd drawl into your ear. four hands lathering your skin in the treasures of his devotion. two cupped your breast, the other pair cradled your ass.

you took both his cocks like it was your sworn duty. open, ready, needing him. your head hung back and eyes teary, lips parted. your songs of sin pleasing his ears as he rocked you into him. hard, and slow, and with equal parts reverence and roughness.

"touch yourself, sweet thing." were one face of his orders. sukuna adored commanding you around while he made your pleasure his duty. fucking your quivered slit open while you spilled all over his throne. "touch yourself. give me a show."

and you listened. of course you did. sweet, submissive you with your clumsy fingers circling your clit. your tits jutting out into his face, because you knew he loved sucking on them.

he does. face buried in your breasts as he quickened his pace. eager to paint his throne white and stain it with your juices.

"there we go. touch yourself. fuck yourself on your king." he'd lean back only to take in the sight. you were beautiful, a perfect canvas of sin as you struggled but still tried to appease.

"touch me," it sounded like a beg more than a command. you took it as absolute law. your hands looped behind his neck, bunching on pink strands as you angled your hips. coming down on him with whines and pitched moans.

"cumming - I'm cumming," you cried.

"cum for me. mess your king's cock." you obliged. blissfully, beautifully. in every way he loved you for.

˖ 𑣲 Teaser, pleaser ᝰ.ᐟ✧ T. Yuki

you're her precious angel and she's ready to give you everything your heart desires with a single bat of your pretty lashes.

how could she possibly deny a pretty lil' thing like you? she caved the second your hands ventured into her hair. the moment she heard your quiet little pleas. you always begged so prettily. she was none the better.

she adored how obediently you humped on her thighs. all she did was give a faux sigh, a little, "you can do better than that, can't you sweetie?" and you're fumbling to grind faster, whimper the softest apologies.

maybe she's a little mean. but only because you're so adorable. laid out, wet, for her. just her.

you cried so prettily around her mouth. bucked pathetically into her kisses laved over your trembled slit. oh, she nearly lost it when you'd part your lips and gawked down at her with those trembling, pleading eyes.

"hmm? I'm all ears baby."

"please, yuki?"

that's all she needed. her tongue obeyed. sure, you were the submissive, but her body conceded all the same. circling your clit like it was her damned right. sucking on it while she fucked you full of two fingers. to the knuckle, crooked into a sweetspot whenever you whimpered enough.

"eyes on me. want you to watch me eat this pussy out." she parted with slick strings strewn to her lip. you obeyed, shyly, but just as eager.

her grin flushed you further. her wink made your knees weak. "there's my favourite girl. hands in my hair too baby. take your pleasure."

she's at it again. tongue dragging sin over your slit, sucking on your folds, fucking you on the pink muscle. she groaned into your fluttered slit. drowned in your gushing pussy.

soon your thighs were bundled into her strong arms. pinned, helpless to the mess of her spit and voracious mouth. she couldn't decide between sucking on your clit or devouring your pussy. so she alternated between both.

"my girl. yeah, my perfect fuckin' girl." she slurred into you. nudging her head into your hands fisting her hair. "keep those gorgeous eyes on me. fuck. want you to look while you cum on my tongue."

she fucked you through it. cradled you thighs and worshipped your pussy while her tongue spelled nothing but sin. and when you're coming down? shivering from her sloppy kisses lathered up your slit?

she grinned, crooned even. "not done yet. can be a good girl and give me another, huh?"

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[grapesandraisins]

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot" in their ask box

[grapesandraisins]

All these people on this website are so cool and diverse I love being here but I wish I could meet you all in person

There should be a tumblr convention

[grapesandraisins]

☆DOWNLOAD(FREE)☆

Functional Refrigerator

Swatches 10

Do not edit/reupload/convert.

Photo in the game

[grapesandraisins]

decentralize and clean up your life!!!

use overdrive, libby, hoopla, cloudlibrary, and kanopy instead of amazon and audible.

use firefox instead of chrome or opera (both are made with chromium, which blocks functionality for ad-blockers. firefox isn't based on chromium).

use mega or proton drive instead of google drive.

get rid of bloatware

use libreoffice instead of microsoft office suite

use vetted sites on r/FREEMEDIAHECKYEAH for free movies, books, games, etc.

use trakt or letterboxd instead of imdb.

use storygraph instead of goodreads.

use darkpatterns to find mobile game with no ads or microtransactions

use ground news to read unbiased news and find blind spots in news stories.

use mediahuman or cobalt to download music, or support your favorite artists directly through bandcamp

make youtube bearable by using mtube, newpipe, or the unhook extension on chrome, firefox, or microsoft edge

use search for a cause or ecosia to support the environment instead of google

use thriftbooks to buy new or used books (they also have manga, textbooks, home goods, CDs, DVDs, and blurays)

use flashpoint to play archived online flash games

find books, movies, games, etc. on the internet archive! for starters, here's a bunch of David Attenborough documentaries and all of the Animorphs books

burn your music onto cds

use pdf24 (available online or as a desktop app) instead of adobe

use unroll.me to clean your email inboxes

use thunderbird, mailfence, countermail, edison mail, tuta, or proton mail instead of gmail

remove bloatware on windows PC, macOS, and iOS X

remove bloatware on samsung X

use pixelfed instead of instagram or meta

use NCH suite for free software like a file converter, image editor, video editors, pdf editor, etc.

feel free to add more alternatives, resources or advice in the reblogs or replies, and i'll add them to the main post <3

last updated: march 18th 2025

[grapesandraisins]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[grapesandraisins]

BAD BOY DOWN!

s. on one of your usual days at work as an art seller for a luxury agency, a cocky and devilishly handsome sukuna meets your acquaintance, sparking a feeling you just can't ignore and neither can he.

w.c. 11.7k

w. fem! reader, mafia!sukuna! x reader , strangers to lovers! fluff!, smut! barely there angst! ermmm mentions of murder and crime? errr he eats your ass a little hehe because of how down bad he is

a/n: im feral for the thought of mafia sukuna. hope ya'll enjoy, as always it's not well enough proofread but ill do it as I reread it and catch the off stuff. hehe I really liked this and might want to write more instances of him. (also creds to the artist of this art of him! I did not make it or own it!)

"do you need help ma'am?"

there's a hobbling elderly lady struggling to walk across the street, what with the slightly heavy bag of vegetables she's trying to haul with her and her cane in her other hand.

she looks slightly ashamed that someone's offering help, probably the reminder that she's a bit dependent on others now. but when she looks up to make eye contact with you, wide young eyes in worry that only a grandchild could carry, her gaze softens and she bashfully hands you her brown paper bag.

she giggles a little when you carry it on your hip and have one careful hand out in case she needs extra physical help on the walk across.

when you finally cross the street, she motions for you to give the bag back, textured small hands opening and closing in your direction. you lean back a little with the bag in your arms, not thinking it a problem to accompany her further, you didn't have to go work for at least forty more minutes.

"I live right here." she smiles, hoarse voice happy when she lightly juts her head to the doors to an apartment building right next to you.

"oh," you sigh and hand the bag to her, slightly embarrassed that you kept her groceries from her, "I can still open the door for-"

"the doorman can do that." she fwips her hand

then she stares at you, her crows feet pronounced as she grins at you.

"pretty pretty girl." she says warmly, reaching a hand up to softly pat your cheek.

you're at work later after helping that lady cross the street, warm feeling bubbling in your body at the compliment and caress she gave you.

you sell and manage art for an exclusive agency/musuem. and today you so happen to have a large silent auctioning event for some pieces from the heian era. not your preferred range, but hey there's a lot of people here now that are willing to pay a lot for some of them.

it's also a great networking event for artists of the agency too, wandering around and hoping someone as rich as the Medici's can keep them as a little pet.

you've done your more than fair share of repeating the same monologue and facts over the pieces to some clients when you wander and head over to one of the art pieces on the wall. it wasn't part of the auction, but it was your favorite here at the museum, perfectly distanced enough from the crowd so that you wouldn't have to really interact with anyone before you went back to working.

you wish you could afford it

the paycheck plus commission from working at a prestigious place like this was hefty, but not that much for a luxury like that.

it's none of that abstract emotion crap.

yes you know everything could be art, but hey you have preferences.

it reminded you a lot of Monet, so pretty and elegant. it was even more disheartening when it had two sister pieces from the same line by the artist too. the only three from that artist that had such a magical heart to it.

"this not part of the auction is it?" a gruff voice speaks

now, you don't like judging people based on their looks. you're a very liberal person. some artists and uptight rich people that shop here wear and decorate themselves in the most peculiar way, but you're slightly taken aback at this man.

he has these lined tattoos on his face.

face tattoos. and you're NOT judging, but it's just not a casual thing to see. you don't mind tattoos, but nobody really tattoos their face unless it's for cultural reason, they're involved in the wrong circles, or just kinda dumb.

he looks far from dumb though.

he's very handsome actually.

"n-no," you answer quickly once you realize you've taken a little too long to answer him. nonetheless, you quickly regain your posture and stick your hands behind your back, he's a customer either way, you have to do your job.

you enter customer service mode and reach a hand to motion towards the pieces for auction, "but the heian pieces we have are right over there, I can tell you-"

"I already placed my offers earlier," he does a slight tch with his mouth, a personality tick of his probably, and he stands still where he is, still looking at the painting in front of you.

"that's good to hear," you gulp, caught off guard by how dense his presence is, "we have a similar collection coming in-"

"you really like this one?" he completely ignores you and juts his chin towards the painting, looking at your for a few seconds before looking back at the painting.

and those few seconds were so blissful.

his eyes are really pretty, they're an intense red, but you felt enraptured being held in his gaze.

"I do." you breathe, nervously shifting so that you can look at him and the painting at the same time.

"I was in a gang when I was younger," he says curtly, so freely aired to you

your jaw drops a little and you're confused as to why he would-

he peers over at you a little from his spot towering over you, an eyebrow slightly raised at you in a sort of knowing.

"the tattoos, they're from before."

"oh! I wasn't! no! it's not-"

"you go out makin friends with face tattoo guys?"

and again he has you speechless, mouth opening and closing to say something

"you'd be stupid if you did." he does that small tch again, looking over at the painting again, "shit's not normal."

"I don't." you regain some confidence, bashing yourself in the head wondering where the yapster in you went.

"good." he gruffs

"how much this worth anyway?" he seems a little unimpressed by it when he points his jaw towards it

"150,000." you chirp, gazing at the painting again with appreciation.

when you look at him, he looks slightly confused and disgusted by the price. and you know its just because he really doesn't like it a lot, its a girly painting and he's well...

he's got a sharp undercut, dirty pink hair spiked back. there's black studs on his ears, the obvious face tattoos and probably more beneath the dark black suit he's wearing, which is nicely tailored because you can make out his beefy lean build through it.

but you figure he's probably spending the same if not more on those heian artifacts if he's here.

"everyone has different taste," you shrug, "I'm not really a fan of the heian stuff."

he hangs his head when he looks down at you, almost a bit sassy?

"I know. never seen a pretty face look so empty talking about a thousand year old tapestry."

when did he see you explaining the pieces? how'd you miss him in the crowd? oh no, you internally groan, if he could tell then so could everybody else-

"nobody cares that much," he says, fully turned to you now, tilting his head when he sees just how panicked you look, almost as if he can tell what's on your mind, "the riffraff here only care about playing their ballbusting competition between each other."

"and you're here because?" feeling your heartbeat stabilize at his weird reassurance

"I like it and I can afford it"

another tch.

you're starting to really like that habit of his

wait, how can he afford it? what does he work in? as far as you know getting a high paying job with visible face tattoos is well, kinda close to impossible unless you're some rap artists or in the mafia...

one of your eyebrows is softly quirked up and you're about to open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

"you let everyone read your face this well?" he cocks his head to the side, observing you with amusement as he opens his mouth just a little, his sharp tooth biting down on the tip of his tongue in what you think is a weakening type of smirk, "waste management and a couple of bars is what I do, angel face."

you can't even act like this is a regular interaction with how not regular he's speaking to you, your usual work attitude towards guests washing away with him.

you pucker your lips a smidge and your eyebrows furrow in a playful curiosity as you side eye him a little, "do you interrupt everyone this often?"

he lets out a singular laugh, bearing his fanged smile at you when it dissipates, "only the ones easy to mess with."

your jaw drops a little, for the nth time

the audacity!

"I'm at work and you're saying all these things that aren't a regular interaction for me here!"

"and what were you working on all the way over here?" he retorts leaning down into your space

you fight the urge to roll your eyes and take a deep breath, steadily digging your heel into the hard floor as a way to stabilize yourself.

"taking a small break."

"aw don't look so mad at me," he tuts so endearingly, " 's cute but I don't want to stress that little heart of yours."

you feel yourself growing soft at the words, stomach feeling fluttery and like a fairy threw up in it.

but no no. you can't flirt with a client. much less one with face tattoos. it's just. it's not viable. this isn't a movie and your mom would sooooo kill you for even considering it. and even if he has clean money, he looks like bad news, like he'd just want you as a plaything.

"I appreciate the flattery mister..."

"sukuna." he smiles so handsomely

"mister sukuna, but this is a work event and I really can't be-"

he stands tall all of a sudden and puts his hands in his pockets, motioning with his head towards the painting, "put that on my account."

"HUH?"

he gives his back to you and starts to walk away, "you heard me angel face."

later, after everyone’s left, you’re left to look at the auction paperwork leftover with your boss

"mister sukuna requested that all of the heian artifacts be sent to his estate..." your boss worriedly reads to you from his paperwork, "and for the peony in night painting be sent your address."

"what?!"

you dash to his side to read the document with him.

there was your name and the request for it to go wherever you lived. when did he even get your name?

"you didn't know?" he looks at you, wide eyed.

"no!" you quickly answer, heart beginning to race, overthinking brain running wild that people will think you seduced him or did something else to have such an expensive piece sent to your home, "I didn't do anything! I swear! We just talked about the painting and he asked me how much it was, said he was going to buy it and then he left!"

"well whatever you did was good enough for him to gift you such a piece," he pushes his glasses back up, tired eyes skimming over the rest of the document to make sure everything else was in place. your boss then picks up another paper from his desk and pushes it towards you, "doesn't matter anymore, sign off on these and put your address."

you're on the phone with your best friend satoru after the painting gets moved into your apartment by the delivery workers of your agency later that week.

"okay and why aren't you hopping on his dick????" he asks crudely, unphased as you can hear him trim his finger nails through the phone

"he's like, not presentable satoru," you breathe, stressed as you brush your hair back, "he had a bunch of tattoos on his face and had that whole playboy thing going on."

satoru hums in response, too focused on what he's doing

"this is too much money spent on me by a stranger, I feel guilty, what if he thinks this is going to get me to sleep with him? what do I do?"

"okay chilllllllll," he drags on, "tattoos aside, was he hot?"

you stay quiet, knowing where this was going.

"oh ho hooooo you think he's hot. what's wrong with letting him get a taste then?"

"because I'm not like that." you say firmly, patience being tested by the white haired fiend.

"you're sooooo boring," he sighs before taking your side, "the guy can't force you to sleep with him, he already signed it away to you. and it'd be pretty distasteful to harass you at your place of work for some pussy."

in the process of biting the skin at the edges of your nails off you look at the new painting hanging on your wall.

"okay, you're right."

"besides what kinda face tattoos were they? was he on some lil xann shit?"

"no," you exhale, recalling his face, "they were like these sharp lines outlining his cheeks."

"he in the mafia or something?"

"no he said he does waste management and owns a couple of bars."

"don't know why you're so opposed to riding that then, you sound way too dreamy talking about him."

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU WHY!"

and so what if mister sukuna's become a little fantasy of yours as the days go by? being with him isn't feasible, but that doesn't mean you can't be flattered by his advances towards you.

you're just a girl after all.

he hasn't come back, something you shouldn't really allow yourself to be bummed out about, but you still feel hopeful everyday before work.

stop, it's not going to happen.

it's what you tell yourself as you walk into a fancy nightclub kinda bar with your coworkers one friday. one of them sold a 500k dollar vase from the victorian era and said drinks were on them tonight. free drinks were free drinks and you really wanted to see if this bar would make lychee martinis.

although not vip, even the normal tables were expensive looking. there wasn't that horrible packed stench of vape smoke and sweat. this place smelled lingering cigarette smoke and expensive cologne, something like guerlain.

you've entrusted your bag to one of your coworkers by the time you've headed off to the bar real quick to make your order.

they don't make lychee martinis

but at least they had espresso martinis

so you're sipping on one within a few minutes, seated comfortably on the luxury couch to your table as you look around the club/bar.

it's so pretty and classy.

there's chandeliers that somehow don't clash tackily with the slight colorful low lighting pulsing with the music. the floors are clean and the seats are made out of soft leather. even the people here are dressed accordingly. no girls were wearing sneakers here, so magical.

and when you look straight ahead, there's some sort of vip room aside from those at the balcony. must be a fortune to expense. one of the curtains shuffles and you can only make out a little bit of the inside.

its dimly lit by red chandeliers and the couches are-

the double doors open as a group of men walk out. and as they move out, a face goes immediately detected by you.

seated at the end of the room, smack right across from you, is sukuna.

who immediately detects you.

his face had been so stern the split second before he spotted you. and now it was smirking at you, mischievous glint fading away when the doors finally closed.

argh, you forgot he owned a couple of bars!

you don't know if you feel nervous or excited he saw you.

well, you do.

both.

but the overlapping combination had you picking up an adrenaline rush, your flight instinct screaming at you. but you were among coworkers and couldn't act on it like a second grader running away from their crush.

so you chug the rest of your drink and flee to the bar, hoping you get lost among the crowd if he was going to go up to you.

"an espresso martini please!" you pipe up, drumming your fingers on the bar countertop nervously before unlocking your phone and sending a distress text to satoru

you SATORU SATORU SATORU SATORU SATORU PAINTING GUY HES AT THE CLUB MY COWORKERS AND I ARE AT I THINK HES THE OWERNER AND HE SAW ME EING GKJE IM GOING TO KILL MYSEF

satoru jeez im here oh no ahahahahahahaaha good luccccckkkkkk remember to wrap it before you tap it kiddo ;)

"trying to hide?" a low voice teases in your ear

you basically jump at the intrusion, fumbling with your phone and catching it before it falls.

sukuna's there when you hesitantly turn

it's so hard not to faint out of sheer infatuation with his presence.

he's closer to you than when you met at work. his cologne infiltrating your senses and his hard chest right smack in front your face.

"not funny." you breathe, putting a hand over your heart and giving him a soft glare

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he smiles down at you condescendingly, leaning closer to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger before letting go of it

why is he so hot?

"you like your gift?" he jeers

you deadpan a little and tilt your head at him, peering up at him through stern eyes, "if that was an invitation or incentive for me to sleep with you or do anything remotely-"

"can't I spoil a pretty face?"

sukuna leans on the countertop and sets his arm down so his hand can hold his face as he looks at you. he's still taller than you like this and its so frustrating for your nether regions.

"well," your eyes flee away from his, looking at a specific point to the side from pure nerves, "although I really appreciate the gift, I had already made it clear that I wasn't interested."

"you're breakin my heart angel." he pouts at you in such a fake manner before standing up straight and reaching a hand out to you, "not even interested in a dance?"

you close your hand in a careful fist to your chest when you look down at his own, thinking about the offer.

"the least you could do for that pretty present of yours." sukuna smiles, knowing you wouldn't be able to say no to him out of guilt.

you press your lips together and look at him with awkward 'really?' eyes before hesitantly putting your hand in his.

the difference between your hand and his was enough to send you into a coma.

sukuna's twirled you into his embrace at the center of the dance floor when he begins to tease you.

"if you don't like me why's your hand sweating balls?" his canines gleam under the lights

you bashfully look to the side to avoid his gaze, instead coming to find that your coworkers have spotted you dancing with the handsome figure that is sukuna. many of them, mostly the women are drunkenly giving you excited thumbs up and big smiles, fangirling for you.

"I just have sweaty hands." you quickly peek at him before going back to looking anywhere else but him.

"and you can't look me in the fuckin face because?"

the vulgarity makes you squash your nervousness and whip your head around to face him.

"I'm looking you in the face." your eyebrows are knit and your mouth is a little tight pressed, your bottom lip starting to defiantly jut out in a pout.

he smirks down at you and it's not as evil as the other times he's done it.

"what?" you say defensively when it carries on a little too long, almost feeling insecure when you start to worriedly look for what he's not saying in his eyes

"stop letting me press your buttons," sukuna teases, "I told you its bad for your blood pressure."

you feel like that's not all he wanted to say, but you move on and try to remain calm while you hold his gaze and mention something else.

"how did you know my name? back when you signed off for the painting to be sent to me."

sukuna shrugs

but then he laughs when you glare at him and answers you

"heard you introduce yourself to some sleazeballs asking about the yamato paintings."

that was wayyyyy before you gave that monologue on the tapestry he had also seen you talking about.

"how long were you watching me?" you give him a quizzical investigative face.

"why're you asking?" he leans down next to your ear, "trynna flatter yourself knowing how long you had my attention?"

"you're impossible." you puff, feeling your face heat up at the question and the proximity

"now that's where you're wrong," sukuna tuts, swirling you around so swiftly and quite literally sweeping you off your feet

"how?"

the hand that he has on your waist drops and moves up to softly hold the underside of your neck and reaching all the way to your cheek, his thumb fondly gliding over it.

"what's impossible about a guy spending 150k on you angel face?"

fuck, you're actually melting like this

but no no no no you're still trying to be stern with him

"what are you trying to get at?" you softly glare, face slightly mushed in his large hand

his eyes look dense and full of something warm when he peers down at your lips, your nose, your eyes, everything.

but he ignores your question

"did the bar have what you wanted?"

taken aback, you wait to see if that's actually what he said and when you realize he did, that's when you answer.

"no."

"what shit were you lookin for?" he says, visibly curious and looking for your input

"a lychee martini..." you're a little confused

he hums in recognition before letting his thumb make a quick swipe on your bottom lip and letting go of you completely after, only holding on to the tips of your fingers.

you feel a little empty? when he lets go

"I have to finish some paperwork beautiful," sukuna plays a little with your index and middle finger, letting them go when he continues to say, "don't stay too late."

"or you'll have to get a ride back home in my car." he almost bites, teasing you basically for your fear of proximity with him

and then he leaves, large v-shaped back breaking through the sea of people and going back into his lounge room.

and the next morning well...

"satoru...you won't believe this," you start through the phone the moment your friend picks up, pacing through your apartment in your nightrobe as you eye the two newly installed sister pieces on your apartments walls.

"you're at his place and his place looks like you're in american psycho?"

"ugh no," you groan, starting to nervously twirl your hair in your hand,"he sent me those other two painting from the same line as the first one he bought me."

"no way."

"yes way."

"he wants youuuuu bad."

"argh stop." you flop onto your bed, letting yourself ricochet in it

"this guy is like wrapped around your finger and he's rich. I'm kinda offended you haven't even entertained it at least give me some bedtime stories."

"but what if he's just throwing money at me like im some expensive call girl????" you run your hand down your cheek and mouth in peril

"um, he could get one for like 40k, the guy's practically spent half a million to make you happy."

you huff, still worried as you stare at the paintings from the open door in your room

"and who cares about the tattoos at this point. if I were a girl id dream about a hot sexy tattooed bad boy throwing cash at me and eating my ass."

"ugh satoru, when have I ever talked about him eating my ass."

"oh he's going to try to when he's whipped like that."

and you put some thought into sukuna later that night when you're taking a bubble bath.

it's actually kinda plausible to see something serious with him...

your perspective shifts when you imagine the end game you've always wanted and he fits into it. you can see that handsome inked face holding one of your babies.

to be honest, it turns you on.

and how you deal with that...you know how

it's the following monday, two days laterish, when you've gotten back from work and sit there staring at the number you're about to dial.

it's sukuna's number.

and even though you feel really weird/guilty about taking a quick picture of it behind your boss' back from his files to have gotten it, you push the feeling down.

"hello?" a mean gruff voice picks up

"mister sukuna?" you peep, adding your name in case he didn't recognize the voice

his tone suddenly changes when he hears you speak

"now where'd you get this number bad girl?"

you want to bash your head into your table because how can you hear his smile through the phone?! and how is it making you nervous like this?!

"from my boss's file for you at work, but please don't tell him-"

"you get the gifts I sent you?"

straight to the point like always, so you might as well get to it

"yes, I called because I wanted to say thank you."

the paintings do really look beautiful in your apartment

"I really appreciate them and the fact that you went out of your way to get them for me."

"You're welcome angel, wanted something to remind you of me."

you giggle a little at his flirting

"oh? did I say something funny?"

"no," you breathe through a grin, "I just felt flattered."

"now you're flattered huh? all I had to do was buy you the set? this part of your little plan?" he jeers

its all obvious teasing, but you still want to clear the air

"no, I just..."

and you can't put it into words that 'hey I thought about it and I'm actually into you and wouldn't mind more of your flirting' without getting embarrassed

"just tired of playing hard to get like you're scared of me huh?"

"ye-yeah," you nervously sigh, clicking your heels on the floor, "something like that."

"don't be scared pretty face," sukuna reassures you, an air of self assurance still there, like you're sure it'll always be, but nonetheless still soft enough to calm you, "I don't bite."

"unless you want me to."

you scrunch your nose, laughing a bit through it, "why did I know you were going to say that?"

"doesn't sound like you were saying no."

"stop thinking about that." you tut, embarrassed that he's touching such a topic

"as long as you do."

caught off guard, you go quiet, mind quickly racing to when you were servicing yourself to the thought of him the other day in your bath

"just teasing you sweetheart," he laughs, adding, "I'll ask you for permission next time I want to think about that. how's that sound?"

"okay." you almost stutter

"and how does picking you up at your apartment tomorrow for dinner sound?"

if you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounds unsure of your answer there even though he sounded so secure before.

"that sounds good too."

"alright. I'll pick you up at seven. I have to go now and do some business angel face."

"that's fine too."

"and send me your address. okay?"

"okay."

"bye angel."

"bye"

the moment you get home from work the next day, you are bussing it to the restroom to start getting ready.

now, you didn't plan on getting fucked. you were going to resist the ministrations of that man, especially if you didn't want to overthink the next day and somehow convince yourself all he wanted was sex from you and he ended up getting it. but you wanted to feel sexy and confident with him. because these last two times you had seen him were child's play. yes you were always polished, but this was making yourself perfect, layering everything together.

hell, you even shaved down there. you weren't going to have sex, you weren't! butttttt if his hand wanted to do give you a little...

stop stop! that's a thought for another time if this date ends up being good.

anyways...

so, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you're very proud of yourself. you even give yourself a hmph of approval.

this is gonna shut him up

you're pristine.

sukuna waiting for you outside angel

you inhale deeply when you see the text.

maybe, just maybe you were still nervous. and you couldn't exactly take a couple thirty minutes to run laps around your apartment right now to exert the energy of embarrassment.

but you put on your brave face and find yourself shakily opening the double doors to your apartment complex a few minutes later.

sukuna's already leaning against his very expensive looking car and you try not to look so bashful when you approach him because he hears the moment you open the door and smirks so devilishly handsome upon looking at you.

"all this for for me hm?" he bares a fangy smile at you as he gathers both of your hands in his.

you're about to faint, his mouth does the indent thing at the edges like the guy who plays finnick in the hunger games when he smiles.

your back shivers, but you hide it.

"why can't it be just for me?" you retort, turning your head to give him a playful side eye, "I like to dress up."

"then share a little bit with me sweet angel." he playfully pleads, making these obvious fake eyes of desperation while swiveling his head in 'agony' into your couples hands

but the way he nuzzles into your hands for just a split second is so tender that you're fighting the urge to backflip across the entire city.

"what restaurant are we going to anyways?" you scrunch your nose happily at his previous playfulness

sukuna starts to maneuver you towards his car, opening the door, and buckling you in while he answers, "it's a surprise."

then he shuts the door and winks at you while walking to his side, relishing in the way you cross your arms and squint at him from inside the vehicle.

"that's cheesy," you say when he sits in the driver seat

"good thing we're on a date then sweet thing." he smirks while starting the car, suddenly and quickly pinching your cheek before backing out of the parking space.

and the thing is there's not one not hot thing about him.

you wish you could record the way he drives so you could watch it later at home by yourself to fangirl to while playing hot music over it.

he drives so well with one hand and its no surprise considering how massive it is and overtakes the wheel. and its the ringed hand that's the one driving. two large silver rings, one on his thumb and the other on his middle finger. the veins scattered around them make you want to clench your thighs too. if he's this veiny on his hands, then he must-

"take a picture, it'll last longer." he laughs, cocky smirk decorating the just as cocky glint in his eyes when he peers over at you for a split second.

"just keep driving." you huff, cheeks hot while you cross your arms to yourself and turn yourself towards the opposite direction, gazing out the window as you beat yourself up for staring at him for too long.

"here."

you look over and sukuna's holding his phone out for you, eyes still on the road when he says, "take a picture of that pretty face for me."

"huh?"

pit-pat pit-pat goes your heart

"what's so confusing about wanting to see your face on my phone?"

hesitantly, you take his phone, "but that's a little awkward to do in front of you...and-"

"do that little shy smile." he winks at you and cocks his head as if to already say thank you

feeling like you're unable to say no because what he wants you to do is actually really harmless and super sweet, you click on the camera button of his phone.

and against every bone in your body getting second hand embarrassment, you raise the phone in both of your hands, and do that 'little shy smile' he asked for, which does come naturally because you're feeling soooo shy right now.

you press on the middle center

then suddenly sukuna's squishing your cheeks between his hand

flash!

and he snatches his phone back, tucking it back in his pocket while he keeps driving, eyes forward but still drenched in mischief along with his evil grin

"hey!"

"got a complaint?"

"what was that?!"

"thanks for the picture beautiful."

"ugh that better not be my contact picture!"

"good thing this phone's mine ain't it?"

letting out a strong huff, you sink into your corner of the car, resting your elbow on the car door and placing your cheek flush against your hand.

to say the surprise was a surprise is an understatement. a surprise would have been a really expensive restaurant you'd never be able to afford. but this?

this is the entire rooftop lounge of a skyscraper all to yourself with sukuna.

and the sky's barely turning orange, the sunset near.

he knows what he's doing oh my god you want to jump him so bad and climb himwkefnejfegerg

"you like it?" he's leaned down and swerved his upper body a little to face you, haughty smile giving away that he knows you're impressed.

"yes..." you exhale, impressed, marveling at the whole thing. your brain doesn't even think twice to follow sukuna when he gently takes your hand and puts a light hand on the small of your back to lead you to the dining table.

and you're still too busy taking in every detail when he pulls out a chair for you and helps you sit down.

"is this one of those custom menus with the private chef and everything?" your jaw is a little dropped and you're nerding out over this whole extravaganza

sukuna just stares at you for a few seconds, signature confident grin only tightlipped and gingerly upturned at the end.

"you gonna sound this surprised every time I take you out?"

nobody's ever done anything like this before.

sure nobody's ever bought you half a million in art pieces before either.

but this was in a way, his own form of art. the attention to detail with what time he was coming to pick you up so you could catch the sunrise. making it private and just intimate for the two of you...

you delicately fwip the menu to your chest and smile at him like a little girl who's just been told she can whatever she wants from the store.

"thank you, mister-"

"thank you ryomen." he corrects you, the corner of his mouth fully upturning

"thank you, ryo," you beam, "words aren't enough to explain how grateful I am for this."

and maybe its the shortening of his name, but????

his eyebrows raise a little, as if he's rarely surprised, and a warm color matching the sunset blossoms slightly on his cheeks

"oh." your mouth forms an o shape and your eyes widen a little, "are you blushing?"

but just as fast as it appeared, sukuna furrows his brows to regain his cool facade and starts clearing his throat

"take a look at the wine options."

turns out, just as handsome as his face is, so is his ability to converse and listen.

for every moment you forgot what you were yapping about, he was quick to remind you what is was. the smallest details you mentioned, he was asking questions about when you finished talking.

"can I have more win-"

"ah no," a tch comes from sukuna when he talks to the waiter, "I had a special drink for her with the dessert. can you just bring it now?"

"yes sir." he bows and heads off

two thoughts:

one: you started to notice that sukuna made that tick whenever he was in a serious mode or regarding people that werent??? you??? possibly??? it was hot if that was even more the case.

and two: what special drink?

"what special drink are you-"

"here you go madam."

as quickly as sukuna sent off for it, was as quickly as it came.

there's a lychee martini in front of you

your eyes can't help but widen in awe at him, "you remembered?"

"you think there's anything I won't?" he quirks a brow at you, offended even you might say

a breeze comes and you shiver when you respond to him through a grin, "no, I'll make sure to know that now."

he observed the way your body rattles because no sooner is he standing up and picking up his coat from his chair to drape over you. as he's leaning down to do this, you bite the bullet and do what you've been dying to do since you got over your fears about him.

after placing a hand on his forearm to keep him in place, you pick your head up and place a soft kiss on his lips as a thank you, letting your lips mold onto his for a fleeting moment before letting go of his arm and the kiss.

his eyes are closed when you pull back, and he's inhaling and exhaling calmly. he tightlips his mouth too, almost as if savoring and memorizing what just happened.

"you're a tease, angel" he gruffs before heading back to his seat.

a few weeks later, sukuna's cooking for you for your date. he's an excellent cook and plenty of successful dates with him have allowed for you to finally accept an invitation to his very expensive penthouse.

you've kissed plenty of times by now and been on the precipice of heavy make out sessions.

the precipice

so you're soooooo eager to sit with him on his couch after a glass of wine with your very tasty dinner and very good conversation

you've purposely worn a skirt too. not that you want to have sex (well you do) but just to tease him for when you know you'll inevitably be on his lap.

"what're you doing angel?" he asks when you take his whiskey glass from his hand and place it on the coffee table in front of you.

"I wanna kiss," you breathe, already straddling him and putting your arms over his shoulders.

sukuna quickly places his hands on your waist and leers at you with a mischievous smile, "what's taking you so long then sweetheart?"

you giggle before swooping in for his mouth.

it's probably the fact that you're both finally under the shield of privacy, but sukuna pushes you flush against him, holding onto you tightly. and you cling onto him just the same

he kisses so sensually and wet, you're on cloud 9. fuck you wonder if this is how messy he'd be with your pussy.

you whine when sukuna dips his tongue into your mouth, flicking at yours as an invitation to play. he's evil at this, you find out when you try to flick at his tongue and end up with him sucking on it with his teeth. you can feel him laugh in throat when you moan and squeal at how much it hurts but turns you on all the more.

just the act of asserting his dominance over you during the kiss has you growing needy and small under him. because you've already started to mindlessly grind and bounce on his lap, scratch that, his very prominent boner.

"shit." he growls when he looks down at your panties being the only barrier you have against his crotch.

"feel me, please." you pant, placing one of his hands on your ass, the other on one of your tits.

sukuna's eyes grow dark when he watches you do this, immediately squeezing hard to watch for your reaction.

he seems to be in a daze when he sees your eyebrows furrow and your eyes form an o to let a moan out. immediately dipping his head into your neck, lapping so languidly at a spot on your jugular.

it's all too much, so hot, you need more, you want to do more

your mind is so hazy

sukuna stops you right when he feels you begin to fiddle with the top button of your shirt.

his breathing is labored so much as a testament to how much restraint he's showing.

"let's remember what you said before angel face." he huffs out, struggling to speak at the feeling of your pussy pulsing on top of his bulge.

that's right

you told him you appreciated a grand gesture to make things official and only then would you allow yourself to sleep with someone.

you groan, closing your eyes and smushing yourself against his chest.

"just hurry up," you whine, grinding a little on him in desperation to which his response is to pinch your butt.

"don't be a brat baby."

you're pretty sure sukuna's going to do his grand gesture and make you 'officially his' in Paris. (even though you both know he's wrapped around your finger and you're too crazy about him)

why, you ask?

because you just got to paris in a private jet with him.

it's like a fifty shades of grey movie, you fear (not)

he has you go on a shopping spree at galaries lafayette with him as your audience for any try-ons. he's bought you so many things, some just because you stared at it for too long, others because he thought you'd look pretty in them.

he then has you dress up in any of the many choices for dinner at a michelin star restaurant, which was spectacular and not one of those avant garde graham cracker for dinner dishes.

and you can't help but be so giddy when you get to your ultra special room at the ritz and find it covered in pink rose petals. the balcony was open with a table covered in gifts you hadn't seen him get for you. another smaller cart next to it had an assortment of chocolates and small sweets, and a large metal can with two champagne bottle poking out of it.

and sukuna being him, he timed it so that the Eiffel Tower was sparkling when you got there.

"you still trynna hurry me up now?" he looks down at you with a knowing cocky brow quirked up.

you shriek, jumping up into his arms and giggling through the many kisses you begin to place on his face. sukuna lifts you up into his arms like it's nothing, inviting your kiss attack until he somehow brings you to lay across lap on the bed.

"patience isn't fucking easy with a brat like you angel."

slap!

you squeal again and feel sukuna hike your skirt all the way up.

but what you don't anticipate is for him to rip your lace thong apart with both of his hands.

gasping, you turn around worried, "I had that thong ready for weeks!"

"shut up."

another slap

"don't talk about shit when we both know I'll get you the same pair again."

you like how foul mouthed he is now, and you haven't even gotten to the good part

exposed to the air, you feel yourself getting drenched more than you already were in anticipation earlier.

sukuna notices, a low grumble resonating from his chest when he pries your ass and thighs open. you can't see, but you can feel your slick covering you all over like some vulgar cobwebs at the separation.

he squeezes hard as a warning when you wiggle your ass out for him, desperate for some relief.

"I want you, please, ryo," you beg, turning around to bat your lashes at him

"fuck, baby, let me fingerfuck you first." he growls, not even looking at you, still deeply concentrated on your wet pussy.

with his right hand, he slides three fingers back and forth across your folds, spreading your slick, getting you even messier. and when you're moaning softly in relief, melting into his touch, he just slides all of those three fingers in. squelches ricochet in the room and you're far from embarrassed now, trying to fuck yourself back on his hand.

then he brings in a fourth finger, and you're squealing. your brain can only process the repetitive delicious intrusion of fingers into your sticky hole.

"I-" you begin, numb on the only words you can think, "I-i lov-"

your now official boyfriend muffles you with his hand, continuing to destroy your pussy with his other hand and leaning close to your face to smile so evilly at the way you're jolting and furrowing your brows with every thrust.

"ah-ah not now." sukuna roughly grabs your face, squishing your cheeks to forcibly make you look at him.

"you're only allowed to say that when this tight pretty hole's finally wrapped around my dick. are you listening pretty baby?"

"mhm" you nod eagerly, eyes rolling back when his thumb joins the party and starts rubbing against your clit roughly

before he lets go of you, sukuna presses his mouth against yours and gives you the most rated r kiss ever, letting his spit drip and mix with your slobbering mess from the heaving you've been doing.

it doesn't take long before you feel that knot start to tighten up, body starting to twitch against your will, which causes your boyfriend to pound you harder with his hand.

"ryo," you squeal, subconsciously trying to escape his grasp, "I-im gonna-oh my god oh my god, I can't I can't I can't."

you're basically screaming when one of ministrations pushes so hard against your gspot that you're making a mess on his hand and arm automatically, hell you think you've squirted all over his clothes too.

“atta girl atta girl.” he groans, still messily fucking your pussy and sloshing your juices around

you're still in the aftermath of your orgasm, shaking when sukuna manhandles you onto the bed and fixes you so that you're face down ass up.

the only recovery time you even get is the moment it takes for him toss away his coat away and hurriedly unbutton his shirt off. if you're not mistaken he gave up and tore it off by the time he got to the middle.

before he pushes your face back into the bed, you make out that he does have more tattoos. the moment is brief but you see lines wrapped around his arms and others dragging down to his abs all the way from his shoulders.

and satoru, to your very big surprise, is right when, with no shame, sukuna licks a long fat stripe all the way from your clit to your asshole.

shocked, your eyes widen, but you can't help how you become putty in his hands at the way he so sloppily interchanges between your pussy and your other much lewd hole.

pants keep heaving from your mouth, short circuiting on the way he was just spitting on your asshole and then started to suck on your clit while finger fucking your pussy again.

squealing and banging your fist on the bed as exertion, sukuna doesn't really care, because he's no sooner just decided that the proximity he has with your pussy isn't enough. now he's wrapped his arms around your thighs and diving his face into your pussy, sharp nose stimulating your lips while he mouths and slobbers all over your little clit.

"ryo!" you squeal, trying to pull away because it's too much and resorting to contorting yourself around in order to pull at sukuna's hair

his reaction? he growls from the euphoria of your nails digging into his scalp while he gets to makeout with your pussy.

too hot, you think

you feel the twitching start again in your body, the mushy sloppy feeling on your clit becoming just enough for you to start getting there again

and get there you do, quickly, because sukuna spits on your clit and immediately starts sucking on it harshly, the perfect mix for you to start coming undone again.

not as severe as coming from your g-spot, you make a small spurting mess compared to when sukuna had you keening on his fingers.

you're fucked out already and he hasn't even put his dick in yet.

“fuckin come here and taste yourself.” sukuna growls, dragging you towards him by the ankle until his hand makes his way to the back of your neck, tilting your head to look up at him.

he goes in to basically fuck your mouth with his own. crudely separating briefly between kisses to push accumulated saliva between your lips, relishing in the way you’re practically begging for it and being so pliant for him. all the meanwhile he pushes yours dress down and off of you, even smoothly unclasping your bra.

"get on your back, nice and pretty on the pillows angel."

sukuna's stood up at the edge of the bed, undoing his pants roughly and quickly

and eagerly you scramble to the head of the bed, turning around and laying down, only picking your body up a little by leaning up on your forearms to watch him.

you rub your thighs together at the sight of him.

there's a thick line wrapped around both of his thighs. and you almost would've been entranced by it if it were't for the massive length between them.

sukuna's thick, long, and veiny. his tip looks angry, leaking globs of precum. his happy trail is mouthwatering with the way it leads to his trimmed bush. and-

oh! it twitched a little

"you stare enough?" sukuna exhales through a haughty smirk, getting on top of you in the bed, which subsequently means he opens your legs so he can settle between them.

you watch in lustful agony when his dick bobs against your pussy and grazes it, which only lasts a second because your boyfriend obstructs your view by initiating a makeout session with you. but where your previous kisses during this encounter had been been vulgar and inappropriate, this one was deep and sensual.

unable to do anything but be at the receiving end of his work on your mouth, you feel as if you can't get any closer to sukuna, wrapping yourself around him as if that'll subdue your need.

like he's able to sense it, he softly lets his hands wander, finding your calves and guiding them up, up, up until his hands are under your thighs and you're pressed open so lewdly. a tiny whine escapes you when you feel his entire length slap against your folds, sliding between them and making your heat pulse even more in anticipation.

when he separates from the kiss, one of your hands is pressed against his chest, being held by him by the wrist gently, while the other is wrapped over his shoulder, that hands of yours mindlessly scratching at his undercut.

"look at me," he grumbles, crimson eyes boring into your own when you make eye contact with him.

"you want this?" he lewdly slaps his cock against your puffy lips.

with a shiver, you nod your head earnestly, "please."

sukuna's chest rumbles with something dark at the sight of you so innocently desperate for him.

shortly after, with one hand, he positions his tip at your entrance and then uses that same hand to hold onto the side of your face fondly when he starts to push in.

he stares intensely at you, analyzing every contortion of your face at the way he starts to fuck himself into you.

it feels like the air's been knocked out of you with every thrust he uses to ease into your pussy.

"ah ryo," you let out a combination of a squeal and a pant, head lolling to side

"keep fuckin looking at me," he says so meanly, love tapping your cheek to turn you back to him.

chest heaving, you keep your half lidded eyes on him, too conscious of the way he's just bottomed out and beginning to slide out. the way he drags out of you is so delicious.

but it's even better when he pushes all the way into you, his fat tip working past the ridges of your insides, pushing against the way it tries to hug him rightly.

although the pace is slow, sukuna presses hard and evilly against you with each thrust, making sure to kiss your cervix with his tip. it's not anything too hardcore and you know that you're perfectly capable of cumming from just this at the way you start to lose yourself.

you love it

you love him

and you can say it now.

"r-ryo," you moan through furrowed brows.

"mm" he hums, still focused on you.

you gulp, body strung out, "I love you."

nothing's changed, he's still boring into your soul, which inherently makes you insecure because he hasn't said it back.

"ryo," you begin to whine, exasperated and flustered that you just declared your love to him and he hasn't, "I said that I-"

"yeah I heard you," he says, pushing your legs further back, "I fuckin love you too angel."

"have for a while," he mutters, his pace is ruthless all of a sudden and he rolls his eyes in ecstasy before leaning down and harshly sucking on one of your nipples.

you can't take what he's giving you without screaming, essentially.

he's big everywhere and he's completely overtaken you.

thoughts can't even process in your head, only able to process the copious amounts of pleasure he's giving you and babble out whatever's on the tip of your tongue in the the moment.

"it's so-so much ryo," you moan, "ah-ah 's so fucking big, your cock's so fucking big."

"yeah and you're fucking taking it all baby." he angles his hips to start hitting up at your g-spot, "tight little pussy's sucking me back in like a good girl."

"hngh IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou." is all that squeals out of you in response

and if you weren't getting destroyed before, you definitely were now.

drool spills from the side of your cheek in the absence of your words as sukuna's just dragging you onto his cock mercilessly like a fleshlight. which apparently is what starts to bring you to your third orgasm of the night.

so mustering all the strength you can, you pull your boyfriend against you by wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I want you to cum with me so fuckin bad ryo," you whine, forehead pressed against his, "please please please please cum with me, I want it so bad, I wanna milk you, pleasepleaseplease."

he growls, "fuck."

"don't talk like that baby," his eyes close for a moment as if he's trying to calm himself down, but he keeps the same rhythm

"please," you plead again, forcibly pulsing against him when you fear that your orgasm is already around the corner, "it's all I want, I'll be so good, I'm so good for you, pleasepleaseplease."

sukuna's breathing labors heavily as he listens, but ultimately ignores you as he grips you harshly and bullies his dick against your walls.

all until you just

release

your pussy pulses and clamps around him sporadically, juices spurting all over sukuna's abs, thighs, everywhere.

which he ends up not being immune to

"shit!"

considering the way he starts cumming so much inside of you, mean thrusts twitching inside of your ruined hole. every spurts spilling from his tip has you wishing for more and more.

he falls on top of you after, hugging you to him and nuzzling into your neck tiredly. one of your hands is swiping across the expanse of his back slowly in exhaustion.

"fuckin tease," he nips at your shoulder, obviously bothered you made him cum so quickly.

when you wake up the next morning, you're so very sore and you want to nuzzle into sukuna for the serotonin burst as medicine.

but he's not there.

your upper body sticks up as you look for him

oh, he's on the phone in the balcony

he's got some black sweats on, hanging deliciously off his hips and paying homage to this v-line.

you want to jump on him as soon as he gets off the phone.

he hasn't noticed you're awake, turning his back to you as he continuous talking. which you take advantage of, quickly rummaging through one of the shopping bags at the side of the bed from yesterday and finding one of the sexy slip gowns he bought for you.

sukuna's dragging a stressed hand through his hair when you open the glass door a little. he still hasn't heard you.

'tch'

"the fuck you mean that patch-work fuck raided the warehouse?"

he sounds so angry

'tch' and then an exasperated sigh

"no don't fucking do shit. can't even leave you shit faces alone for a second before shit falls through."

"wait until I get there. put twenty men at the other warehouse, urame's in charge of them."

"and keep the motherfucker you found alive. I'll deal with that fuck face when I get back."

"yeah well if he's one of those shit sniffers, he's not leaving alive. don't scare him yet, let him think we'll keep him off the hook. yeah okay, don't fuck up again."

not

leaving

alive?

sukuna turns a little to the side after ending the call and you can see him pinching the bridge of his nose from stress, eyes closed.

until they're not, and he spots you from the corner of his eyes, face dropping, panic setting in, both of you for very different reasons.

"angel face, how much did you hear?"

your throat feels dry

are you even mad? fuck fuck fuck fuck you're so stupid. every single emotion is being thrown at you. mad because he lied to you, so much so that he got you in bed with him. you shouldn't have given him a chance. but you're so sad, so heartbroken. you really really love him, so much you can't breathe right now at the thought of leaving him. but is he even a good person? was he one of those mafia men who abused girls like you? you can't you can't-

"sweetheart sweetheart," he's rushing to you, voice beginning to plea as he cups your hands into his, keeping them close to his chest and crouching a little to your height, "it's not what you think."

you're struggling to breathe, scared of who you're with

"what's," you start weakly, in shock almost, "what's not what I think about you saying a guy can't leave alive."

it pains him, you can see it in his eyes when he presses his lips together and tries to think of something to say

"are you actually in the mafia?!" you spit out, confused, "this entire time you had this sketchy vibe and said it was just your stupid waste management and bars?"

"I do own those baby." he sighs, wincing a little

the back of your mind notes that your previous thought about him being an abusive mafia man is a farce, he seems so...defeated that you know now. he's not threatening you.

"what exactly do you do." you say through gritted teeth, stressed at the situation and still trying to decide which of your instincts you should follow.

sukuna, hands still clasped with yours, gets on his knees and brings his forehead against your fingers, "doll, let's just go inside and I'll explain to you. I'm not as horrible as you're starting to think I am."

it's a little true considering he wiped a previous thought off your mind earlier, but still

this is dangerous

this is bad

but you nod your head, still angry, telling my the knit of your brows, "fine."

sukuna eyes you carefully as he gently closes the glass door to the balcony, you're already seated at the center of the bed, arms crossed over each other as you glare at him.

he wants to shoot his foot for the sole fact that he's made you so mad at him and that even that's not enough for him to not want to kiss that angry pout off your face, no matter how upset it is.

"so," you start, "how many people have you killed?"

its so venomous that sukuna closes his eyes in defeat.

"princess, that doesn't matter." sukuna sighs as he sits at the edge of the bed, facing you.

"what do you mean it doesn't matter how many people you've killed?! wouldn't it matter if I had a kill count of-"

"all you need to know is that it's not over thirty," he exhales and licks his lips, "and that every single one of them were some of the most shitty evil scum there is."

"and who do you work for?" you grumble

sukuna avoids your eyes when he answers, "people work for me."

you're still looking at him so sternly.

sukuna says your name and reaches his hand out towards you, planting it on the sheets right in front of you as an act of begging for your mercy

"I do bad things," he begins, eyes begging when they look upon you, "but I don't do them to good people."

but you're still numb because

"I can't-" your eyes water and your bottom lip wobbles, "I'm involved now! I-i want to be with you and marry you and everything! and you're stuck in this!"

sukuna's eyes widen at your burst

you feel a panic attack incoming as you keep speaking, your heartbeat escalating by a million and body starting to shake.

"you're a criminal! and you've probably got so many charges waiting on you! this isn't good! it's illegal and I don't want to go through seeing you in jail! I dont want to go to jail if I get caught in the mixup!"

and all sukuna does upon seeing your reaction then is lean forward, encroached on the bed as he grasps your feet fondly, placing tender yearning kisses on them.

"I'm not going to jail my love."

he places another kiss on your ankle

"and you aren't either."

"how do you know that?" you ask, still angry teared

"there's a system, there's people, I know too much."

ugh, you're still so mad at him,

so overwhelmed

you gently push him off, making a sound of frustration, and stomp over to the bathroom.

unable to completely shut him out, you leave the door slightly ajar as you take a bubble bath to soothe your body, both mentally and physically from last night.

there two soft rasps on the door before the door swings open a little and sukuna enters a bit awkwardly, slightly braced for you to suddenly kick him out.

his shoulders drop and relax when he sees that you just stare at him as he walks in, getting closer and closer to you.

"do you want me to order lunch in?" he sits at the edge of the tub cautiously, watching for any distress from you

serious and mildly stressed still, you couldn't deny how much your stomach was starting to hurt out of hunger.

"what's there for lunch..."

"anything you want."

you're looking up at sukuna sternly at the same time he's decided to move back a piece of stray bubbly hair from your bun away from your face

"well I don't know what kind of food there is here..." you huff a little, not denying his touch

"there's this uh," he thinks for a second, swirling your hair around his finger gently, swallowing before continuing, "the place with truffle pizza we watched on the tv nearby."

it's so confilcting to still feel so mad at him even when he's being so charming like this, he remembers everything you like.

"that a yes?"

"yeah." you look to the side feeling flustered at how tender he is with you

"I love you." he says, hand caressing your cheek and his face near yours so he can convey his sentiment wholeheartedly with his eyes.

you stare at him for a second

this is all such a whirlind for your mind, but

"I love you too."

it's not as lovey dovey as he just said it, nor as calm, but you mean it, even if you're irritated.

tentatively, he places a gentle, sensual kiss on your lips.

which you instinctively reciprocate, tilting your head up for more.

your boyfriend isn't kissing you as roughly as he was last night. these kisses were full of yearning and the plenty apologies you'd get tired of hearing if he were saying them into your ear again and again.

you moan softly into them, your breath starting to labor from need.

the hand that sukuna had on cheek starts to caress your knee gently. maybe he intended for the following or maybe he didn't but he understands you and your body when you spread your legs open under all the bubbles.

you sigh in relief when he starts fondling your folds under the water. and you can feel sukuna kiss you only a smidge harder at your reaction.

he slides two fingers in softly, hooking them thrush against your gspot instead of pummeling you like the night before.

you stop kissing--you're unable to kiss back when he starts to repeatedly press against the spot, hard, again and again.

"ah-ah," you pant, nails digging into his neck while he places loving kisses on yours

you cum hard, scratching hard down sukuna's neck, but he doesn't say anything, watching you in desperation as you come undone.

you're holding onto the edge of the tub for your life when sukuna drags his fingers out. you're still shaking terribly from the aftermath.

exhausted and gulping, you watch as he licks off his fingers what wasn't washed away by the bath before placing both of his hands on the underside of your arms.

"you wanna get out?"

"mhm." you nod shakily

you're still a bit serious throughout the next couple of days. not as pissed off as the first day, but you find it hard to wear down all your worries so quickly.

yet you manage to enjoy the little things sukuna had planned out and taken you to do.

so even though you're a little grumpy, you're not as grumpy as when you first found out, clinging onto him without a word as you both fly back home on his private jet and then on the car ride to his place.

"when we get there," sukuna begins to eye you tentatively, holding onto your hand harder while the other mans the steering wheel, "I'm going have to leave to deal with some things, but I'll be back for dinner."

knowing what you know, you carefully ask, "you mean deal with that guy?"

"yes," he exhales awkwardly, "the people he works with...they're not safe. I wouldn't be able to sleep if he was walking the same streets as you."

"well..." you start, looking at the road nervously

"just be safe. please?"

it's the first time you've shown any sort of conciliation with what he does and sukuna knows it, eyes widening and exchanging between you and the oncoming cars.

"yeah, I will sweet face," he kisses your hand, calmed features suddenly furrowing and tensing when he spots something he doesn't like.

'tch'

sukuna pulls over in a familiar area, parking perfectly before he starts to get out of the car. "it's nothing bad," he says, a little exasperated, "you can stay in the car, just let me help real quick."

and he dashes out of the car, jogging towards-

he's helping that elderly lady you helped so many weeks ago. except she has more bags on her this time and sukuna's stolen all them from her to help her cross the street.

now that you think about it, you're parked in front of the same apartment complex she lived in.

quickly, you get out of the car too, meeting them halfway, marveling at the both of them in confusion.

she smiles when she sees you, happy eyes looking between you and sukuna.

"h-hi." you try to greet her, still confused

but she's looking between you and sukuna like she knows something, more so him, like they have an inside secret between them.

head popping out from the many bags engulfing him, you see your boyfriend shake his head at her in a panic, eyes widening and trying to express the well known symbol for 'don't say anything don't say anything.'

you're really confused now and you're about to ask a question when the old lady bonks sukuna's head with a store magazine and it illicits an answer out of him for you

"this is my grandmother." he huffs, grumpily looking down at her from the corner of his eye

"what?" you're quick to try and polish yourself in front of her, leaping foward to shake her hand with both of yours, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know. It's so nice to meet you, I'm ryomen's girlfriend!"

she laughs a little, and it kinda reminds you of mama odie's mischievous laugh from princess and the frog.

"I know," she giggles a little before walking towards her apartment complex, motioning for the both of you to follow her inside.

so you follow and

"babe, is that a gun sticking out her purse?!"

[grapesandraisins]

Your people

Tags: trueform!Sukuna x fem!reader, virgin!reader, plussized!reader, reader has a vagina, Sukuna has two dicks, softer!Sukuna, Sukuna’s a chubby chaser, exhibitionism, praise kink, not proofread, nsfw, mdni

Synopsis: Sukuna makes you his queen, and he takes you for the first time in front of all his people.

An: This is based off a hentai I saw once. I do not remember the name 😭 Also, I apologize I gave up on this fic and it quickly derailed to mindless smut.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can do it…” You stumble over your words as you look towards the glass door that leads to your expansive balcony. All of Sukuna’s… and your subjects will be able to be seen from the balcony. You’ll be on full display.

Sukuna cocks an eyebrow at you as he witnesses you getting cold feet. It was to be expected. You’re fully human with morals and a conscience intact. Curses rarely ever had those two things. Besides, you weren’t use to the customs of the court.

“You don’t wish to be claimed by me in front of my people?” He asks, leaning against the door to block your vision of the outside. It was tradition for the king to take his wife in front of all of his subjects to mark her as his territory. While Sukuna didn't abide by most traditions, he was quite fond of this one.

This also held double meaning for curses. A virgin queen being taken by their king in front of them was said to bring prosperity and power amongst all of them. The sight of innocence being tainted by the true apex of evil was empowering for all to witness.

“It’s.. I..” Your words keep failing you. Sukuna, giving you a fair shot, had warned you about this custom. He had been courting you for a while now, but he always declined taking things any further than dry humping. When you flat out begged for him, he finally told you his reasoning for keeping your virginity intact.

It’s just a one time deal. It’s basically consummating your marriage to him… in front of 500 curses… No big deal, right?

"I want to keep my dress on." You compromise. Maybe the experience would be less humiliating if you weren't fully naked and vulnerable.

Sukuna's eyes wander your form twice over as if he's carefully calculating if he could sacrifice the pleasure of seeing your tits bounce with each thrust.

"You wish for me to hike your skirt up and pull your panties down like you're some quick fuck?" He tsks, rolling his eyes. "You are my wife. I'm going to take great pride in undressing you."

"For 500 curses to see,” you mutter as you avoided his gaze.

"They're going to see me naked as well." Sukuna shrugs like it's just another day for him.

“It’s different for you. I don’t know if you have the ability to feel shame,” you retort.

“You feel shameful about your body?” He asks as he cocks an eyebrow up. “No.. no, that just won’t do. My queen will not be shameful. Come here.”

You swallow thickly before slowly rising up from where you were sitting. Your feet barely pick up off the floor as you scoot yourself closer to him.

Sukuna clicks his tongue with disapproval before he wraps a firm but gentle hand around your arm. “Trust your husband and your king on this,” he whispers into your ear before he walks you out onto the balcony.

Your heart beat pulses wildly as you look out to the crowd of curses that gathered around the estate to watch you and Sukuna solidify your marriage.

Claps erupt from the crowd. Those who are able to cheer begin to do so.

Sukuna’s hands rub up and down your arms encouragingly. “They’re here to watch you, my flower.”

He then slices his hand through the air, and the crowd goes silent. “Kneel before your new queen.” His voice demands lowly.

The swarm of curses immediately bow their heads down, touching their foreheads to the dirt beneath their feet. Not one dared to defy Sukuna.

Nerves swarm your stomach. You can’t believe that you’re actually about to go through with this. Why did you have to fall in love with the king of curses?

Sukuna stands behind you, and his lower set of hands are placed on your hips while his upper set is still rubbing your shoulders and arms. He tilts his head down towards the crook of your neck.

“Let yourself feel me, flower.” His voice rumbles in your ear before his lips gently drag against the crook of your neck, causing you to shiver. He then presses slow open-mouthed kisses along your neck towards your collarbone to your shoulder.

You slowly allow your eyes to flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. No one dared to utter a word while Sukuna held his court’s attention. The only soft sounds to be heard were the sounds of his lips pressing against your skin.

His upper set of hands slowly untied the corset to your dress, and he used his thumbs on his lower set of hands to massage your hips and back. “Doing so good for me, petal. Do you want more?”

You sheepishly nod in response with a small hum of approval. You do want more, even if there was a crowd of curses before you.

“Mmm, that’s my queen,” he hums against your skin, nipping at your neck as his hands work faster to get the dress off you. To say he’s excited would be an understatement. It’s taken every bit of self control in Sukuna to not plow you into oblivion every time your sweet lips meet his.

The white fabric rustles as it falls to the ground. Per Sukuna’s request, you’re completely bare underneath. You bite your lip, leaning your head back towards his shoulder as you feel the shame seeping in.

“They do not see you, petal. Their eyes are on the ground,” he reassures you lowly. “This is for me right now. Do you understand?”

Your body shifts slightly, still feeling shy about your current predicament.

“Face me.” He steps back away from you, letting his hands fall to his sides as he expects for you to turn towards him, which you do… slowly.

Sukuna grunts lowly. The sight of your full breasts and plump hips greet him. Your plush tummy that acts as protection for your sacred womb makes his dicks harden in response. His eyes trail over the stretch marks that spread along your thighs and stomach. He feels his breath grow shallow. How do you not see the way your body appeals to him?

“The moon and the stars quake in the presence of your beauty. You are most precious to me, petal. You do not need to worry about anyone’s opinion on you other than your own. If anyone has anything to say, they can bring their concerns to me, and they’ll be dealt with swiftly.”

You feel tears sting in the back of your eyes. Despite marrying the incarnate of evil, Sukuna has been kinder to you than any human on this planet, even if he is rough around the edges.

“I love you, ‘kuna. I’m sorry to burden you with my own self conscious behaviors.”

“Why are you apologizing to me? You haven’t wronged me. Don’t apologize.” His hands reach up and gently cup your cheeks. “Let me have you wholly. I’ve been very patient, and now, I wish to claim my queen.”

Your hands find his chest as you slide your palms down his silk robes. The robes do absolutely nothing to hide the two monstrous cocks beneath them. You glance down and bite your lip gently from the sight. How you’re going to fit both of them inside you…? You’re unsure.

“I’m ready,” you softly respond with a small nod.

“Ready for what? Be specific.”

“I’m ready for you to take me, ‘kuna. I want you to claim me in front of your people and let them know that I’m entirely yours and no one else’s.”

One of his lower hands roughly swats against your round ass, causing you to jump forward slightly and gasp. The fat on your ass ripples from the harsh blow. One of his other hands reaches up and grabs your chin roughly, tilting your face to look up at him. “Good girl.”

His lips enraptures yours, and one of his lower hands slips between your thighs. When his fingers are met with slick, he groans into your mouth.

Your hands roam his chest through his robes as he slowly begins to rub his thick fingers against your slick folds. At this point, it's just you two. Your mind hasn't even thought about how your body looks or if the curses are gazing up at you.

Wanting to have skin-to-skin contact, you work to slip his robe off of his wide shoulders, exposing his scarred body for the world to see. Your fingertips gently dance across each and every discolored marking on his skin.

"You're testing my patience, petal." His voice is nearly a growl in warning, and he swiftly plunges two fingers into your tight wet entrance. The wet sound almost came across as a 'pop' while your cunt worked to accommodate his fingers.

"O-oh! shit..." you pant, burying your face into Sukuna's collarbone.

"I know, petal, I know. I have to prep you." The obscene sounds of his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wet channel filled the air. "Fuck. You're doing so good for me."

"S'kuna..." you whine, grabbing onto his arms for stability. Your knees nearly buckle as he stuffs in a third finger.

"'s gonna be a tight stretch, petal. You can take it though. You're gonna take whatever I give you, isn't that right?"

Your eyes are damn near rolling into the back of your head from how good his fingers feel. You finally get to soothe the dull empty ache that's been impossible to ignore since you and Sukuna became serious.

"Oh my god," spills from your lips as soon as he curls his fingers, pressing against that one spot that causes flurries to dance across your vision.

"I am your god, and you're going to worship me with that pretty little cunt of yours." He suddenly withdrew his fingers, drawing a whine out from your lips.

"I was close..." you whimpered as he spun you back around to face the curses who were still kneeling before you two. His hand shoved you against the railing, guiding your hips to arch back towards him.

"Don't worry, petal. You'll be close again before you know it." His hand wraps around one of his cocks, carefully fisting it as he looked at how pretty you were on display for him.

"Rise, and witness your king claim his queen," Sukuna ordered his people. His tip slowly nudges between your folds, gathering your slick onto his head.

You're too needy to even pay any mind to the curses. Your eyes were half-lidded, clouding your vision. You instinctively pushed your hips out more for your husband.

"Look at you," he lowly purred as he leaned over your back, pressing kisses against your ear and neck. His cockhead slowly nudged its way between your silken walls. His lower hands gripped your hips tightly. "Fuck... biiig stretch, petal."

"O-oh! Oh fuck-!" Your hands gripped the metal railing tightly. The intrusion was way more intense than you could've imagined. Involuntarily, tears sprung into your eyes.

"Such a fucking good girl~ Shit. You've been holding out on me, huh? Fuckin' cunt is tighter than I expected."

You choke out a gasp as he has to forcibly shove his hips forward to even make any progress. Your snug grip nearly has him locked in place while your soaking wet cunt tries to swallow him in.

"Su-kuna.." you whine between hiccups.

The curses are all watching in awe as Sukuna stretches you out with only one of his cocks. The other is smushed between your pillowy thighs, glazing them in a sheen of pre-cum. It feels like the crowd holds their breath until they spot it.

The light dribble that runs down one thigh... the subtle red ring around one of Sukuna's cocks. You feel a soft 'pop' inside you as Sukuna pushes past the tight ring of muscle.

"Ohh, there it is. You're all mine now, flower." He continues to slide in until he's fully sheathed. It nearly feels like he's trying to bully his way straight to your womb as his tip rubs against your cervix.

Your entire body is tingling, and you feel your legs already begin to tremble. This is what you get for marrying a monster.

It feels like his natural musk floods your nose, and you feel him everywhere possible.

Sukuna grunts as he tries to pump his hips. Key word: tries. It feels like his cock is being sealed by your warm gummy walls. "Ngh... you like that so much you don't wanna let me go, huh?" he taunts as he has to begin jerking his hips back and forth to get any sort of friction.

His lower cock is so heavy between your thighs. His thick shaft rubs against you, spreading your clear fluids everywhere. The sounds of sticky wet plaps are impossible to ignore.

"So good-! Fuck, you're so d-deep!" you pitifully cry while one of his upper hands grabs a handful over your hair, jerking your head up to look at your people.

Instead of the disgusted glares you expected to see, you're only met with gazes of wonder and amazement. They're truly enamored by you and your body, watching the most natural yet primitive action in the world.

"I can't believe I waited this long to feel you wrapped around me, flower. You feel like fucking heaven," he growls into your ear as his hips finally settle on a punishing pace. Your body is nearly knocked forward over the ledge with each brutal thrust.

Your cunt flutters around him as you feel a knot settle into your stomach. "I... Oh god, I'm gonna- I'm close, S'kuna..."

"I told you so." he grunts as his cock continues to bully its way against your cervix. He's leaking copious amounts of hot pre-cum inside you, lubricating you adequately so he can slide in and out. "Let go, petal. Soak my cock."

Your eyes squeeze shut as you hold your breath. Sukuna's red ochre eyes watch as your face twists in pleasure. "Breathe," he demands.

As soon as you push out a breath, you feel your orgasm break. Your cunt spasms uncontrollably around his girthy shaft as you babble about how good his dick feels inside you.

"God-fucking-dammit," he manages to strangle out. His thrusts grow rougher as his pelvic bone slaps against your ass rapidly, chasing after his own orgasm. "You ready, petal? Here it comes..."

He hunches over your back before his teeth dig into the flesh of your shoulder. You writhe in his tight grip as his cock floods you with his seed. You lean your head back against his shoulder as you're reduced to a mewling mess.

The curses surrounding the estate begin to cheer and clap loudly. Most of these curses have been alive for several hundred years, but they hadn't seen a claiming ritual yet. It was a joyous occasion for them.

Sukuna slowly relaxes his grip as his hips slowly rock against you, fucking you through your orgasm as well as his own.

"That was a lot," you murmur in a slurred tone, thoroughly fucked-out after your first time.

"You want some praise now?" Sukuna's gravely voice rumbles from behind you. He's gently coating your skin in sweet, soft kisses. "You've only done half the work, you know..."

You're about to bite back some remark, thinking he was referring to how he was the one doing most of the moving. However, your words die in your throat as he slowly drags his cock out from the warmth of your entrance.

He then reaches down, and he guides his second cock inside, plugging you up once again. One of his other hand then cups your breast, lightly pinching your nipple as he chuckles from the sounds of your whining.

"W-wait! I'm already sore.." you whine as you try to scramble away from his second monstrous cock. His tip was dark red, and you could feel him throbbing inside you already from neglect.

Your cunt was already accepting him in even if your words were misleading. Your body craved him, all of him.

"Don't be lazy, petal. I'm no where near done with you yet."

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby

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when people put "trigger warning" on their content without specifying what the trigger warning is for

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