✎ LOVE ENTRIES — An Anthology | Gojo Satoru

You know how tighnari goes into heat right? Can you imagine if male reader is actually teasing him saying, 'oh my~ dude can't even stop being horny lmao!' or 'aww what a cute fox being horny, can imagine you begging on the ground!' and just making fun of his heat jokingly

And then he got enough of it, so when his heat came. He just pushes male reader to the ground and shows him who's the one is going to turn into a mess

Anyway this is like 8. In the morning and weirdly enough, I am curious to see mad and Dom tighnari

tighnari nsfw drabble 11

cw: amab!reader, bratty reader, tighnari’s in heat

nsfw content below, dni if uncomfortable

aren’t you mischievous, poking fun at a clearly suffering man! he’s humiliated by your incessant teasing, burying his face into his hands. you glide your hands over his tail, his ears, and you’re even so cruel enough to lightly tug at them. he tries to swat your hands away with an uncharacteristically strained smile. he can’t stand this. what man could? but patience is a virtue, and he’s sure to take his revenge once the perfect moment arrives.

yet as you’re laid underneath him with your clothes almost ripped to shreds by his near inhuman claws, you can’t help but tease him. you coo at how cute he looks when he’s irritated, how he must be so desperate to fuck you. well fuck you he did, making sure to dig his nails a little deeper into your hips.

“you’re a lot more bearable to listen to like this.” tighnari scowled, his ears flattened against his head. “my ears are sensitive, i’ve told you many times.” he wants to be gentle to you, he knows he should. he salivates just looking at your weeping cock, and it takes everything for him to not stop fucking you and to suck you dry instead. but every man has his limits, and he will not make exceptions.

how many years late am i? far enough tbh… i hope to get back on track with writing!! i am a little rusty to say the least, not to mention i’m not totally familiar with tighnari. i apologize if this is REALLY ooc!!!

WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know

you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”

“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.

more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”

“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”

“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.” 

you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.” 

“that’s how this friendship already works.” 

you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it. 

“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.” 

megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.” 

“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.” 

“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.” 

“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.” 

“i don’t like the beach.” 

“then you don’t have to go on the beach.” 

“you’re responsible for me if i burn.” 

“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.” 

“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”

“but i want a bunny, megumi.” 

“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.” 

you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.” 

you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.” 

“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.” 

“why not? we already have yuuji.” 

“exactly, we already have yuuji.” 

“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.” 

“done. children?” 

“you want children?”

megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.” 

and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around. 

“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”

“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”

“what about days i don’t cook?”

“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”

“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.” 

“no.” 

you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.” 

“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”

he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind. 

“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle. 

“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?” 

he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.

you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.” 

and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.” 

“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.” 

“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.” 

“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?” 

“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.” 

you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid. 

“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.” 

“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.” 

you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!” 

tomura tries to sneak out of your apartment one morning before you wake up, because he has to get all the way back to his apartment before his dad shows up to take him to a 9AM yoga class.

god forbid he be forced to explain:

a) why he slept over at an apartment that was not his own to his father (toshinori would be calling wedding venues and asking his assistant to look into your ring size before they'd even made it to the yoga studio)

nor b) the fact that he was going to a fucking yoga class at 9 o'clock in god damn the morning with his dad, to you.

he slips out of your bed soundlessly, moving as carefully as possible not to wake you. it pains him to do it. really, it does. your sheets are warm, and soft, and smell like you. and you're still there resting so peacefully, tucked under them, breathing soundly with your face burrowed into the collar of his hoodie that you'd worn to bed the night before. you look so pretty like this, tomura had spent at least half an hour just staring at you while he was laying next to you in your treacherously comfortable bed, and would have happily spent another hour more doing it.

there are very few forces on earth that could tear tomura out of bed like this, but the mortifying prospect of having to explain to his over-enthusiastic father that he has a girlfriend is certainly one of them.

he creeps out of your room and into the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and using the lotion that you keep next to the sink that makes his skin feel so nice. you started buying a bigger bottle lately, now that the two of you are both using it, and you never mentioned it but tomura still noticed when the little tube was replaced by a larger version of the same product. next he reaches for the toothbrush that he's started keeping next to yours, double checking the hour on his phone to make sure he wasn't running out of time.

he contemplates stealing one last peek at you in bed before he leaves, but he knows that if he doesn't leave now he won't have time to change his clothes before his dad shows up outside his place, so he heads straight to your front door once he's done in the washroom.

you're standing in his path before he can get to it.

you've got a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but he can still see the soft skin of your thighs where the hem of his hoodie hangs peeking out from underneath the edges of it. there's a little frown tugging the corners of your mouth down.

tomura freezes in his tracks.

"going somewhere?" you ask him, your voice quiet and a little bit hoarse from sleep.

oh, fuck.

"morning," he mumbles, a bit nervously, as you pin him in your stare.

"it is," you reply, as though agreeing with him. "early, even. so why are you sneaking out of my apartment like a burglar?"

tomura rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "i, uh, gotta be somewhere."

"you have to be somewhere?" you repeat, a bit incredulously—like the words don't quite compute. you don't seem mad at all, just thoroughly bewildered by the whole strange situation. "tomu, we went three rounds last night and you're awake before two PM on a weekend. are you okay?"

"'course i'm okay," he rushes to get out, tripping over his words.

"did I like... do something? or is there someone el—"

"are you kidding?" tomura's voice cracks and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he reaches out and grabs the edge of the blanket you have wrapped around you, his fingers twisting into it desperately. he knows you can't possibly—can't reasonably—think that he's seeing anybody else when the fact that he even landed someone like you is an honest to god miracle. the kind of underdog success story they make multi-part docuseries on.

tomura groans, shuffling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder as he snakes his arms underneath the blanket around your frame to hold you close.

"you're being weird, tomu," you say quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag lightly against his scalp in that way that makes him want to shiver.

"fuck, I know, I know,"—he buries his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing in shakily—"'m not being sketchy or anything."

"you are," you remark lightly. "it's not that I don't trust you, I'm just confused."

tomura mumbles something, but the words are lost to the skin of your throat.

"what was that?" you ask.

tomura steels his nerve and takes one last long breath buried against your warmth. he pulls away and faces you.

"I have to go to a yoga class with my dad."

he loses his nerve about halfway through his admission, his eyes flickering away from yours to a point on the wall just above your front door, as a violent heat surges through his cheeks.

"a yoga class?"

he knows it sounds ridiculous. it is ridiculous. it may have been more believable to tell you he was going to hook up with someone el—

"why didn't you just say that?" your laughter cuts through his spiralling thoughts like a morning alarm.

his gaze snaps back to you, only to find you smiling softly.

"you... you're not...?" tomura isn't even sure what he's going to say. mad? surprised? convinced he's lying?

"i mean, i've noticed you've been looking kind of toned lately, but honestly i thought it's because we've been fucking so much," you scrunch your nose up a little. "yoga makes sense on both counts, though."

you turn and look across your apartment to the clock hanging on the wall.

"what time's your class?" you ask him, suddenly worried that this impromptu interrogation may have made him late. "i didn't mean to—"

tomura grabs either side of the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and tugs you forward, pressing his mouth to yours while your lips are still parted in speech.

(he doesn't make it to class that morning after all.)

When you you you when you when when wheeeeen when when you wHEEEEEN

HALP

"I am malicious because I am miserable !"

hq recs || more to come!

r. suna

on sight || sandwhitches debt || eggyrocks talk too much || honeekyuu [mdni] from the start || mayariviolet white demin overalls || zumicho love notes || causenessus

k. sakusa

hope you know || eggyrocks smudged lipstick || jadeoru [mdni] hush || yogurtkags try again || causenessus drunk || itsmiyamore

s. kita

dancing to you || afyrian smile || bokutoko falling behind || angelkiyo routine || bokutoko

h. iwaizumi

the maneater || eggyrocks rot || eggyrocks hey cupid! || mollyrolls poker face || aozui

i. matsukawa

stop the clock || mollyrolls

e. semi

if not for you || yogurtkags wouldn't it be nice? || mollyrolls

o. miya

my bisque beau || afyrian space between thoughts || hyunteru

s. hinata

all shades of blue || mollyrolls get back || eggyrocks

thinking about the groan that comes out of mattsun’s mouth when you climb into his lap, bury your fingers in the soft strands of hair at the back of his head and pull until his lips part and his eyes go dark.

sex with seijoh 4 where they leave matsukawa for last because of the monstrosity that sits between his legs, the other three boys are nice enough to prep and stretch you out before he finally takes you. they do their absolute best, whether it be making you cum on their fingers, tongue or cock but all it does is reduce you to a violent quivering mess—your body convulsing as your sopping cunt greedily swallows matsukawa’s tip, and he thinks it’s the hottest fucking sight ever. the way you take short, rapid breaths to steady yourself and hide the ecstasy consuming your whole being but the shaking of your thighs painfully gives it away. iwaizumi, hanamaki, and oikawa watches with a carnal glint in their lustful eyes as your face contorts in pure bliss. matsukawa has an arm rested behind his head, the other resting on your bare hip, a lazy smile plastered upon his handsome face as if you weren’t fighting for your sanity before him.

he bites his lip as your nails painfully dig into his naked chest, your own face mirroring his expression as you sink into him further—eyes threatening to roll back, pleasure pulling you further and further into the void called insanity. your body sways with every heavy breath taken, teetering on the boundaries of pain and pleasure. the man beneath you runs a free hand over your sweat-covered body, a way to somehow soothe you but deep down it was to keep him in check as well—his patience wearing thin at the way your velvety walls eagerly sucked him in. matsukawa felt so fucking good inside you, stretching you out like no man ever could, and kissing spots inside you that you didn’t know even existed. the funniest thing? he hasn’t even bottomed out yet.

sitting in bed, thinking about suna “i’m not reading all that” rintaro.

like the second he’s added into his volleyball groupchat, kita’s writing some long and detailed paragraphs about their new training regimen to practice for their next match.

suna “i’m not reading all that” rintaro taps on the notification and just stares for a good 10 seconds before leaving his message on seen and switching his phone off to go nap somewhere.

then the next day rolls around and he’s completely clueless about the new routine and frankly slightly worried about the long earful of a lecture kita’s going to give him.

but when you send him 3 detailed and double-spaced paragraphs ranting about what put you in a bad mood, suna “i’m not reading all that” rintaro is suddenly suna “fastest reader in the world” rintaro.

suna “fastest reader in the world” rintaro is immediately replying at the speed of light with his own paragraphs about how baffled he is that all those things happened to you.

and then atsumu does the same thing and suna “fastest reader in the world” rintaro is back to suna “i’m not reading all that” rintaro, reacting to his 8 paragraphs with a thumbs up.

if u tell me someone already thought of this istg. anyways, i love this middle blocker sm i need him to be WHIPPED and giving special treatment 😣 not edited cz its 3:02 am rn..

@xyaehir 2024. This is my content. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! <3

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ the dim light of the room flickered, shadows dancing along the walls as megumi’s body pressed you into the bed with a force that was raw and searing, his every movement deliberate, sharp, and soaked in frustration. he was grinding deep, his cock buried to the hilt, your slick walls gripping him like a vice, milking him with an obscene tightness that had him teetering on the edge of losing control.

“god—damn it,” he hissed, his voice laced with a mixture of irritation and desperation as he paused mid-thrust, head hanging low with his jet-black bangs plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead. his glossy lips curled in something between a snarl and a groan as your walls fluttered around him again, sucking him deeper in reflex. “i fucking can’t with you—you disgust me. s-so pathetic."

your answer was a high-pitched, breathless moan that spilled out before you could stop it, the sound breaking free from your throat like you didn’t care how sensitive he already was. it made his cock twitch violently inside you, and his patience, already razor-thin, snapped.

“shut up,” he growled, leaning forward to clamp a hand over your mouth. his palm was rough, firm, pressing down just enough to muffle your sounds but not stop your ragged breaths. “i mean it—shut the fuck up. if you keep making those fucking noises—" his sentence broke off into a sharp groan, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as his hips started to move again, almost against his will. "—you’re gonna make me cum. is that what you want? for me to bust early like some idiot just because you can’t stop moaning like a slut?”

you couldn’t help it; his frustration sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through your body, making your back arch into him, your cunt clenching involuntarily around his cock again. the way you wrapped around him, the wet, obscene squelch of every thrust, the way your body seemed designed to wring him dry—it was driving him fucking insane. he didn’t even realize his free hand had moved to lock around your throat, pulling you into a loose, rough headlock. it wasn’t tight, but it was possessive, controlling, the flex of his arm telling you exactly who had the upper hand even as he muttered curses under his breath about how you were ruining him.

“you don’t get it, do you?” he said through gritted teeth, his words rasping against your ear as his thrusts picked up again, harder, angrier. his balls slapped against you, heavy, full, and growing tighter with every second. his voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge to it that sent shivers rippling through your overheated body. “every fucking time you moan—every fucking time—i can feel it. you think i don’t notice how my cock twitches when you do that? how close you get me? you’re—fuck—you’re so wet, it’s disgusting.”

he buried himself even deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars, his words paired with the relentless pace pushing you closer to the brink. but when another helpless moan escaped your throat, muffled beneath his hand, his control snapped completely.

“god, shut up,” he barked, his voice shaking with barely restrained need as his arm tightened just enough to send a thrill racing through you. his cock throbbed inside you, every vein pulsing, his balls drawing up tight against his body as he tried to stave off the inevitable. “i can’t if you keep making those noises—i swear to fucking god, you’re going to make me—fuck—”

but you couldn’t stop yourself, and neither could he.