Fresh Out The Slammer [sukuna X Reader]cw: Singular Mention Of Saw/c: 1.1ka/n: All Characters Mentioned

fresh out the slammer [sukuna x reader] cw: singular mention of sa w/c: 1.1k a/n: all characters mentioned are 22, shoko is your best friend.

"you're not meant to be here."

the man who stands at your doorstep scoffs. your 6 foot 3, pink-haired ex takes up the entirety of the doorway, and you have to force down the urge to jump him.

you tilt your head when he doesn't answer. "ryomen, you need to leave. right now."

a single eyebrows arches. "i know damn well you ain't talkin’ to me like that."

rolling your eyes, you know he won’t do anything you say. so, opening your front door wider, sukuna steps inside, his left hand scratching the back of his neck.

“see, being nice isn’t that hard,” he teases, glancing at you over his shoulder. sighing, you close the door, eyeing him wearily as he lingers in the hallway.

“new key hook?” sukuna smiles, pointing at the wall.

you shake your head in disbelief. “why’re you here?”

sukuna raises his eyebrows, spinning to face you. but you realise your mistake too late.

with the door at your back and nowhere to go, you’re cornered by your ex-boyfriend. yet, he seems to know exactly what he’s doing, with his tongue poking his cheek as he approaches.

“where were you on sunday?”

your breath hitches in your throat when he runs a finger along your collarbone, but you won’t let him get you that easy.

“nowhere,” you insist, staring him down. he always said you were brave for doing that — you were the only one to ever do so.

“funny,” the corner of his mouth turns upward. “i heard something different.”

you give him no reaction. besides, what’s it to him?

“ok, and?”

“ooo,” he laughs deeply, his head tilting. “so it’s true.”

“ryomen—“

“come on baby, you know that’s not my name to you.”

“ryomen,” you press, putting your hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “you need to leave.”

the faux pout he gives you makes you want to slap him, but you can’t bring yourself to do something so heinous to him.

“fine,” you concede. “yeah, i went on a hinge date, so what?”

“so what?” sukuna mutters bitterly. “it’s not ‘so what’ when he tries to force himself on you, baby.”

your face heats at the mention of it. “sukuna—“

“and you didn’t think to tell me?” he presses his hand on the door behind you, his body dangerously close to yours.

“i was scared,” you whisper, gaze on his chest to avoid his eyes. you notice his body visibly relax, his head hanging closer to yours to hear. “i knew you would do something about it, and i didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“you don’t need to worry about me,” sukuna asserts, his finger under your chin to lift your face towards his. “it’s already been taken care of, and i’m still here.”

your eyes widen slightly, head moving to look at his right hand on the door. spread on the brown wood is his hand, larger as always, the pale skin on his knuckles red and purple and bloody and you’re shocked you didn’t see it before.

reaching up, you grab sukuna’s hand to cradle it in your own. “you’re joking.”

“you’re not a joke to me, sweetheart.”

sighing, you side step him, holding his injured hand in your own. he follows mindlessly behind you, checking out his left hand that is just as bloody as the other.

entering the bathroom, you don’t need to tell him where to sit before you dig the first aid kit out of the cupboard beneath the sink. you hadn’t had to use it in a while.

“kuna,” you murmur, observing his hands. he doesn’t reply. instead, he watches you, like he always does.

faces level, you set everything onto the counter. standing between his thighs makes your body feel numb. and when one of his hands covers your hip, you focus on the other.

sukuna doesn’t flinch when you clean his knuckles with alcohol, and doesn’t object when you smooth frozen band-aids over the particularly bad cuts.

“thanks, baby,” sukuna says, not checking to see if you cleaned them correctly—you always do.

“don’t mention it,” you dismiss flippantly, putting the red soaked cloth in the sink and the aid pack back in the cupboard.

the silence is comfortable but charged with something you don’t want to acknowledge. the muted chatter from the tv in the living room penetrates the bathroom wall, and you come back to your senses.

“does shoko know?”

“she told me.”

you sigh, if she couldn’t get her hands on your hinge date, she’d tell someone who could—and he did.

“he had a bruise where you punched him,” sukuna quips. “but i may have made it worse.”

you twist your lips sheepishly. “yeah, well, i wasn’t letting him get away that easy.”

“that’s my girl.”

the comment makes your stomach flutter pathetically.

“you wanna stay over?” you blurt, face warm.

sukuna knows better than to tease you right now, so he nods, and stands from the closed toilet seat.

you swiftly leave the bathroom, pacing down the hallway to curl up on the couch. sukuna walks in idly, taking in the space he’s spent so much time in. one thing catches his eye, and then he’s poking fun at you.

“nice picture.”

your eyes dart to where he’s looking on the bookshelf, and god forbid, it’s a photo of the two of you at tokyo tower. but, you’re not embarrassed.

“yeah, i look hot.”

sukuna chuckles, sitting next to you and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “you look hot all the time, shut up.”

drawing in a breath, you can’t contain yourself anymore. you circle your arm around his neck, fingers threading through his pink locks. sukuna turns his head toward you, lips inches apart.

“feet off the table.”

“don’t tell me what to do.”

you snicker, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“fresh out the slammer,” you joke. “and you come here.”

“of course,” sukuna looks confused. “where else would i go?”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop your emotions from showing.

“i don’t know,” you glance down at when his fingers play with the drawstring of your sweatpants. “a new girl?”

“please,” sukuna scoffs. “like anyone else would put up with my shit.”

you give him a deadpan look.

sukuna rolls his eyes. “you’re my pretty baby, i’ll always come home to you or whatever,” he says lazily.

you run your thumb over his cheekbone. "kuna.”

he raises his eyebrows in question, but he knows what you’re asking.

“i need something from you," you mumble, tracing his lips with your eyes.

"oh yeah?" he smirks, voice low. "and what's that?"

you shrug, licking your lips. “nothing.”

sukuna rolls his eyes and lifts your hips up and over him, your knees bracketing his thighs. you squeal softly, forgetting just how strong he is.

sukuna shifts his hips underneath you. “you’re so—”

“kiss me.”

you don’t have to tell him twice.

sonder — gojo satoru.

"you answered."

"you called."

your body curls into itself, hugging your thighs to your stomach as a soft static echoes on the other line. you can hear satoru breathing, it's labored, he sounds tired. satoru never gets so exhausted.

"name—"

"why did you call me?" you whisper into the phone, shifting under your blankets. off to your left on the bedside table is a half empty bottle of wine and leftover kikufuku from yesterday that you tried to eat, but couldn't, mind numb with worries for him. "i can't save you."

there's an uneasy pit in the bottom of your stomach, and if you close your eyes, maybe, just maybe, you can imagine satoru's spooning you from behind, lanky legs thrown over yours and hugging you close.

"will you stay on the phone with me at least?" he asks, and you can imagine the lopsided smile tugging on his lip, the way his blue eyes mimic crystalline ocean waves on a hot summer day. he's content, or at least halfway. a part of him hopes you'll hang up on him, spare yourself the trouble.

but you both know you won't. you've always stuck by him, haven't you?

"okay." you mumble, and despite sinking into the softness of your mattress, your heart rate picks up, and you can't help but fidget. "satoru—" does it hurt? are you lonely? please don't die alone.

he lays still, and a part of him thinks this is a little funny. here, his feelings laid bare for all to see, not just you. he's the strongest, isn't he? what's there for the strongest to ever regret?

"don't ask me." he breathes, and it's almost a plead. don't think of me in that way. don't worry about me. i'm still your satoru. "please, don't."

you sit up in bed, and bring a shaky hand to your forehead, then your cheek, inhaling sharply. your heart slows just a little. a soft realization passes over you, and you think, is this how it ends? so anti-climactic? a quiet goodbye over hushed static?

"what are you thinking?"

satoru asks, and you know he already knows what's crossed your mind. and in fear of leaving you faster than he desires, he holds back his laugh, his body can't take the weight of his heart in his throat like it used to.

"just thinking how nice it'll be..." you sigh, almost longingly, grasping at a dream. he commits the sound to memory. a palm presses against your chest, the constant thrumming of your heart steadying you, a heart that isn't even yours — hasn't been yours for a long while. "when you come home to me again."

this time he grins.

"yeah?" he whispers, and his eyes flutter closed. this, this is what he wanted. the dramatics of it all can wait. in a world full of chaos, in a veil filled with nothing but his own bustling thoughts — you made everything quiet for him. "you'll be waiting by the door f'me?"

"with kikufuku in my arms." you smile, squeezing your own eyes shut, and you think some things, the nothings, are so beautiful too. a world full of nothings with satoru, doing a whole bunch of nothings that will eventually lead up to nothing. everyday, like that with him, you wouldn't be opposed at all. "we'll watch that movie you wanted to."

"tsk– the one with the tragic hero?" the irony isn't lost on him. and if anything, he's sure if there's a god, he'd hate the two of you, because all you both ever seem to do is meet fate halfway with defiance, laughing at destiny. "you mockin' me right now?"

this time you laugh. and something wounded tight in his chest flutters away, he's weightless.

"i love you."

"you're insulting me, baby." he sighs, and you can hear the strength of his voice going down a few knotches, like a warrior sheathing his blade and setting his armor down for polishing.

you fought well, 'toru.

"we don't say it like that, never." and he's still so childish — demanding all from you, all that you can't give. already given. what he already has.

we don't say i love you like it's a goodbye.

"love you 'toru," it comes out softer, less strained, and is followed by a soft hum of approval from him. "love you more, cutie."

there's a soft beat of silence. he should hang up now, before he starts gagging on his own blood. but he'll bear it a little while longer.

"baby?"

"i'm still here, satoru."

"wanna do me a favor?" he asks, and you know that tone, it's mischievous, teasing. this man, is it possible to love him more than you already do? "tell me about it some more, please."

"more about what?"

his breaths go ragged for a quick moment, and he's imagining you here, laying beside him just as you are too. "what we'll do when i come home."

you think, if satoru goes with your heart still in his hands, you wouldn't mind.

"yeah? i can do that — where were we?"

"the movie. after the movie..."

i'd hold you so close, so close and keep you there. then do nothing. everyday, a whole bunch of nothings.

"would you stay and do nothing with me, satoru?"

"it's never nothing when it's with you."

notes ; this is my way of coping with 236. i've been crying for hours. give him back gege :((

3:04am — gojo satoru.

“Satoru…?”

“Go back to bed, baby.” He’s standing at the balcony, elbows propped against the rail. His muscled back is facing you, gray sweatpants hung low on his hips.

You push the sheets off your body, ignoring him. You glance over at the clock on the bedside table, 3:04am. Shivering a little, you get off the bed, bare feet on tiled floors.

“It’s late—” Satoru starts, and if possible, you can feel his six eyes on you. Maybe it’s just the cold. He’s beautiful, you think. Just standing there and gazing out at the fluorescent city lights, hair tousled and back hunched, half naked.

You walk towards him, dressed in his t-shirt, placing a hand on the edge of the open balcony door. “I’m already awake.” You reason, and he raises to stand at his full height, palms grasping the railing, a few veins in his forearm visible in the moonlight.

He doesn’t sleep— hasn’t slept since Shibuya, never a full night, not even with you. Like everything else in his life, he’s good at masking it, but you’ve known Satoru Gojo long enough to know when he’s just about to fall apart at the seams.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, still refusing to look at you, perhaps afraid of what you’ll see. A waft of cold air from the cityscape rushes in, a leaf blowing high above the railing.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

The leaf bounces off in mid air, just before it touches him, getting stuck between one of the gaps in the metal railing.

Infinity.

“Oh, Satoru…” you mumble beneath your breath, he’s guarded, refusing to let anyone into that veil once he feels any remote sense of weakness.

You ease off the sliding door and take a few more steps further and outstretch an arm in contemplation. “Yes or no?” You ask, and before the words finish leaving your lips, your fingertips meet no barrier, palm already pressed to the middle of his spine.

“You don’t have to ask.” He whispers, leaning over the railing, elbows out. Your arms encircle his waist, chest meeting his back – he’s cold – and you flatten your palms against his abdomen, falling silent. “You never have to—”

“Except when it’s no.” You murmur, and you feel his muscles twitch under your fingers. Another gust of wind blows, the leaf escapes the metal and floats towards where your arms hold Satoru close. “If you have to—” Satoru starts, “—keep asking. I’ll answer it anytime you need.”

The leaf bounces off just inches away from you, and your eyes lock on it. Your mouth falls agape.

“But it's always going to be yes.” He says, and you hold him a little tighter, as he places a hand atop of yours.

notes ; obsessed w the idea of being inside satoru's infinity. god i can't breatheee i need him + also this is based on a snippet from a book called all for the game by nora sakavic (i was wayy too young to be reading that when i did 😭)

Some frog wizard magic ✨

SCENE INSPIRED BY CHAPTER 21 OF COANDA EFFECT BY @bunnieshoneys ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

I LOV THE SOO MUCH ITS MY BRAINROT RIGHT NOWWW AAAAAAAAAAAA TY FOR THIS

content contains pro athlete!rin, he eats it like a champ, implied overstim, wet n messy <3

rin itoshi looks so cool, so calm and collected on the outside, that even after all these years, you still can't wrap your head around how different he gets when the two of you are alone. no one can believe that he's such a doting, loving boyfriend, and you like knowing that rin saves all the sweetest parts of himself just for you.

one thing about rin, though, is that his ego doesn't leave much room for discussion.

it's why he doesn't listen to you when you tug at his thick locks of hair, legs practically shaking, your thighs closing around his head as you whimper out a "rin, i-i can't take anymore!" you've already given him two orgasms, both of them being wrung out from you with just his tongue.

rin is prone to entering a state of hyper focus; you would think this level of concentration is reserved just for the field, but if anything, he has a tendency to go to the extreme when it comes to pleasuring you. he craves your release like he's trying to score a hat trick during a high-intensity game. and right now, to the pain and pleasure of your overly sensitive pussy, rin is in that same dedicated state right now.

he's sloppy when he gets like this. his greed gives him a hunger that can never be satiated, so all you can do is continue to tug at his hair, trying to ignore the warmth of your lower belly, the tightness of the muscles of your legs. rin's fingers dig indentations into your hips as you involuntarily thrust up your hips, bringing your cunt even closer to his starving mouth.

the ministrations of his tongue are unrelenting, and when his body demands that he actually get some oxygen into his lungs instead of trying to drown himself in your sweet pussy and sticky arousal, he slowly and reluctantly leaves his position from between your thighs. you're an absolute mess, but so is your rin. his lips are shiny with your juices, chin dripping with your arousal, cum, and strings of spit 'n drool. his cheeks are flushed a light pink, his hair is an absolute mess, and he's panting just the slightest.

right when you're about to tell him how much you love him and how it's time you two get cleaned up, especially since he has an early morning practice tomorrow, he's diving back in.

"just ten more minutes." he whines into your pussy, before he continues his relentless assault on your cunt. all you can do is throw your head back and moan out his name, not bothering to point out that he said the same thing fifteen minutes ago.