Failing For You - Gojo x Reader

Chapter 2

His hands loosen enough for me to crawl onto my knees, press the front of my body into the bed, and push my ass into the air. I hear an appreciative growl from him a second before he slaps my ass, hard. I muffle my gasp by biting my arm.

What did I say about not leaving marks?

And then he's in me again.

He likes having sex like this, with him above me, looking down at my ass, my face shoved into a pillow. He likes to put one of those big hands on my lower back possessively.

I hate how much I like it too.

God, I love it.

My eyes flutter closed and I just let my body feel every inch of him. I almost wish I was facing him so that I could touch his tattoos and run my fingers through his silly pink hair, but the second I do anything that seems even remotely affectionate instead of just sexual, he always makes some comment like "Someone regrets breaking up with me" "Why are you touching me like I'm your boyfriend?" "I can feel how much you miss me".

He's never hit me with the "Please take me back", but I know he wants me back. I mean, he currently lives with four full-grown men in a frat house type establishment. 

It's important to note that none of them are in college. 

They're just a group of somewhat broke, dysfunctional adults who smoke weed all day.

I mean, sure, I love a good blunt too, but they are simply out of control.

When we were together, he lived with me, I cooked for him, I cared about everything he said and did. I juggled school, a job, caring for my druggie brother each time he showed up on my doorstep, but I still made time for Sukuna each and every day. I loved him. No matter how much he says he needs to get back home (and ends up insulting me with his comments), I know he'd rather stay with me. Because he still loves me. 

It's not the other way around. 

I feel his hand tighten on my hip and hear a curse under his breath as he pulls out and finishes on my back. His weight shifts behind me as he gets up to grab something to wipe me off. I curse myself for getting so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even orgasm. 

I turn around when he's done, finally looking at him. 

He's so treacherously hot that it's almost painful. The way his broad, tattooed chest is still heaving from the sex is so satisfying. His pink hair is mused from sleep and my fingers are still itching to dig into it. 

"Feel good?" He asks, standing back up after cleaning me up. I stare at his naked body unashamedly. 

"It was alright," I shrug.

He turns back to me, dark eyebrow raised. "What, you didn't come?"

I roll onto my stomach again to face him, tucking my hands under my chin, and shake my head. I watch him pull on the black pair of boxers he discarded on the floor last night. His narrows his eyes at my reaction and he pauses with his jeans halfway up his legs. 

I raise my eyebrows at him.

Sukuna buttons his jeans as he comes over to stand in front of me. I have to look up to meet his eyes. There's something mischievous brewing in them, but I have no idea what that means. He reaches a hand out and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip and then cups my cheek. The feeling is so gentle and sweet and unlike Sukuna that I just about purr, leaning into his touch. 

"I'll make it up to you tonight," he says before patting my cheek once and turning to throw on his white wifebeater that shows off his dark ink in the most aggravatingly addictive way. I swear, this man sets feminism back about a hundred years.