Your best friend is totally not in love with you. Or a pervert who has his go-to gooner videos bookmarked on the laptop he lets you use.
Pairing: Down Bad!Choso x Childhood BSF!Reader
Content Warnings: MDNI 18+, virginity loss, praise, awkward pervert choso, lots of kissing, giggly sex, he goes pussydrunk at the end
WC: 2.8k
A/N: also for my baby’s ( @j3llyc4kes' ) birf HEHE <33 happy belated my lovee
Contrary to popular expectation, Choso Kamo is not an inexperienced virgin loser.
He's just a virgin.
Which by some measure would mean he’s inexperienced – if he didn’t jerk it at every given moment to the extensive filth he has downloaded to all devices.
Okay. So maybe he’s a loser, too.
But he can’t help it!
It’s not his fault the only girl he’s ever talked to is you. His childhood best friend – the girl he’s known since diapers and block parties on the cul de sac down the street. The girl he can’t view as anything else, because sure, you have a pretty laugh and a pretty smile and reeeeal pretty tits, but you’re also.. y’know, you.
Not that that’s a bad thing!
In fact, you’re really sweet. An angel. The kind of person that could say something completely random and somehow not be misinterpreted or misconstrued because you’re just that lovely. Which is definitely what everyone at your uni thinks – not just him, of course. Not that he thinks about you. Not that he thinks you’re lovely. Or anything.
You do have pretty tits.
Speaking of you (and your pretty tits), you’re currently splayed out on his bed whining because you forgot your computer and you need to submit this very important report by tonight. What it’s about, he couldn't tell you. His brain stopped listening after the third whisper of his name, and something lower down roused up instead.
“Can I use your computer, Cho? Pleeease?”
“Y– yeah,” he stammers, voice cracking to an ungodly degree.
He tries to save himself with a cough. Miserably fails. Stands up and fumbles around his desk until he gets ahold of his laptop and offers it stiffly, avoiding eye contact like it’ll save him from melting into the ground.
You turn it on and input his password – the same one it’s always been since you were kids, because he told you like it was some sort of secret for the two of you to share, and never bothered to change it after.
And.. yup!
As if today couldn’t get any more embarrassing, there it is.
His “stash”, so to speak, sitting all nice and pretty on the tab the screen opens to.
“Uh,” you blink, eyes trailing over the files with mild confusion, “What’s ‘Special Folder #3’?”
Something inside Choso dies.
Actually, no – it’s him. He dies. His soul leaves his body and evaporates toward the ceiling and watches as you move the cursor closer to the tab that holds the worst, most depraved corners of his brain (dick?) in 1080p60 HD.
“Don’t–!”
He makes a last ditch launch for the device.
Too late.
Click.
Silence.
The sound that follows might actually haunt him forever – a sharp, pornographic moan, echoing throughout the room. Followed by the low whir of his laptop fans trying desperately to process a full-screen titjob porno.
You freeze. He freezes. The whole room seems to freeze, and Choso’s blood runs cold, like he’s been caught in the act. Which, in a way, he has. Because you’re in his bed. Watching. And it’s his laptop. His porn.
“..oh.”
You pause, gaze darting from the screen to him.
He looks like he’s about to start sobbing. Or confess to a murder. Or both.
“Cho–”
“I– it’s not.. that’s– it’s–”
He sounds like an inflatable tube in the middle of summer with a hole poked through the plastic.
“Special folder number three?”
“Please don’t–”
“You.. name all of them, huh?”
“Could you please pause the video–”
You bite your lip, trying to hold back a laugh. But the way his face is turning red – whole face, beetroot red – is killing you.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you coo, and he short-circuits.
Because you just called him cute.
And you’re smiling.
And you’re sitting pretty like an angel in his sheets with your legs tucked under you, wearing that top and those shorts, looking at him like he’s more than just the inexperienced virgin loser he likes to say he isn’t.
“Don’t say that,” he whispers, throat tight.
“Why not?”
“Because I–”
He cuts himself off with a press of his lips.
He’s so fucked.
If he admits to what’s sitting in his chest (and in his sweats), he’s fucked.
If he doesn’t, he’s fucked.
He’s just.. fucked. Royally fucked.
You’ll never look at him the same way again.
You tilt your head, all soft and curious, and lean forward, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his pathetically horny soul not to look down your shirt.
“Because what, Cho?”
“Because I’ll–”
“Get hard?”
You grin, shutting his computer lightly. Setting it on the bedside table
He chokes.
“Wha– I–”
You shrug. “It’s not like I didn’t notice, y’know..”
You say it so casually – motioning with your hand in a general gesture – and Choso thinks maybe he is dead. Maybe he died when you clicked that tab and the angels made a mistake and put him in heaven, because all of a sudden you’re curling your fingers around his arm, pulling him just an inch closer, pressing your tits against his skin. And god, you’re soft. Plush lips parting with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.
Something in his bones tells him to lean in and kiss you. Something in his stupidity makes him do it. And he reels back the moment your lips brush his, panicked.
“Shit! Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– well, I did. It’s just, I shouldn’t have, uh. Fuck.”
You just stare up at him. Then laugh, like you’re not disgusted, like you don’t want him to die for thinking about you like this.
“Choso,” you whisper. “You think I’d be sitting on your bed dressed like this all afternoon if I didn’t want you to kiss me?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries to formulate a sentence and ends up with nothing.
And then you roll your eyes and lean forward, pressing your lips to his once more. Light, then deeper, until it’s messy and desperate and he’s kissing you back like a man starved, tongue plunging in and swirling with yours. His hands hover, uncertain, before finally settling gentle on your waist, and god, you’re sweet. Your taste and your kiss and everything about you – even sweeter than he thought you’d be, somehow.
You pull back slightly, just enough to nip at his lower lip, drawing a sharp inhale from his throat.
“See?” you murmur against his mouth, voice all sultry and saccharine, “not so bad, right?”
He nods, quick and jerky, fingers flexing against your skin as he swallows down a nervous whine. “Yeah. I mean, no, uh.. it’s good.”
“That’s good,” you hum back, smile sweet. Sliding one hand up to trace the line of his jaw, thumb pressing light against the side of his neck. “Just feel it. I’ve got you.”
You kiss him again, slower, guiding him with the press of your lips and a shift of bodies, until you’re straddling his thigh, rolling your hips ever so subtly. And he’s hard – painfully so – cock straining against the thin fabric of his sweats and twitching with every little move you make.
Choso breaks the kiss with a gasp, head thrown back. Breathing heavy.
“I.. fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he heaves, looking back down at you. Hands trembling as they slide beneath your top, calloused fingers brushing the swell of your breasts.
“That’s okay,” you hum, arching into his touch. “We can go slow. Tell me what you want.”
Your fingers trail down his side, tapping gently at the waistband of his sweats. And like second nature, he gets up. Discards his clothes. Cock slapping against his stomach, curved and throbbing, tip flushed a pretty pinkish hue and leaking pre.
“You,” he breathes, slipping back into the bed just to wrap his arms around your body. “You. All of you. I want you.”
His confession hangs tender in the air – need and fear and adoration tangled up and hoarse in his throat.
"Okay."
You push him back gently, until he’s leaning against the headboard and you’re in his lap, his length pressing against your clothed cunt. And he doesn’t put up a fight. Just stares up at you, transfixed, as you peel off your top and let it drop to the floor. Nipples hardening under the cool air and the burn of his gaze.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. Eyes flitting across your body, like he doesn’t know where to look. Or if he’s even allowed to.
“Touch me," you whisper. Taking his hands and guiding them to your chest. His big palms spread tentative against the underside of your breast, thumbs circling your nipples with hesitant strokes – and you sigh into it, rocking your hips down to grind against him. Giggling when a choked sound escapes his throat and he bucks up out of instinct.
“Like that?” he asks, voice strained. Thumbs pressing firmer, rolling your nipples around. Shifting to pinch lightly. The sensation sends tingles down your spine, shooting straight to your cunt.
“Yeah, just like that."
You lean down to capture his mouth again – kiss hungrier, teeth grazing, tongues sliding all wet and desperate as your hand slips between your body and his, palming his aching cock.
“Please,” he pants, breaking away to trail messy kisses down your neck, sucking a light mark at your collarbone. Uncoordinated in a sort of endearing way, unraveling right before your eyes.
His breath hitches as your fingers wrap around his length, barely meeting, stroking slow and firm from the base up to his leaky tip. And he ruts desperately into the feeling, like he can’t control himself. “F–uck,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut. “Feels.. fuck.”
“You like it?” you smile, squeezing gently just to tease. Watching as his face contorts in pleasure. You lean back to kick off your bottoms, too, pretending not to notice the way his eyes follow your panties, all slick with arousal.
His breath hitches when he sees your cunt. Murmurs a “you’re wet” beneath his breath, like it’s some sort of astounding discovery, sliding a finger along your soaked folds. Circling your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. When you gasp and grind down, he follows your rhythm – rubbing steady circles. A finger dipping inside so hesitantly it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. Edging you with the promise of pleasure.
“It's for you,” you hum, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. “All for you, Cho.”
He blinks, eyes half lidded, before smiling up at you, sheepish. Finger delving deeper, mapping out your insides with the softest touch. Not skilled, completely intimate – watching your every reaction, adjusting based on the slightest sound. “You’re so pretty, baby.”
You shiver at the warmth behind those words. Stroking him faster, matching the pace he starts to set, room filling with the sounds of your shared breaths and the wet slide of skin. Tension building, coiling tight in your stomach, before you pull back to meet his gaze. Both of you flushed, hearts beating the same slow rhythm.
He gnaws his bottom lip for a moment, embarrassed, before speaking up. Breaking the intimacy of the moment with a weak whisper of your name.
“Can we.. make love?”
You blink. Then your lips curve into the prettiest smile he’s ever seen as you nod.
And the second you do, his hands come around your waist. Flipping you gently so your back is to the bed and he’s between your legs, hand around his cock. Head nudging gently between your folds, slicking itself with your wetness before pressing against your entrance.
Choso pauses, and for a moment, you wonder if this is some kinky thing he’s watched on the many files he has downloaded. Some sort of cruel edging he’s into. But his voice comes out with an unconfident waver, and you know there’s no way he’d be that mean.
“I, uh.. this is the right hole, right?”
You burst out laughing.
Literally.
Body trembling with amusement as his tip slips clumsily between your folds, slick and pre smearing together into a sopping mess.
Choso goes red in the face, lowering his head until his hair covers his eyes as he concentrates on where your bodies connect. Pushing in once you nod through tears of amusement.
You cut your own giggles off with a whine as he sinks in, inch by inch, all slow and careful and stretching you out with a burning kind of pleasure. He groans loud and long, almost in response, fingers digging into the sheets as he fights not to thrust in too abruptly.
“It’s tight,” he whispers, hoarse, “warm. Holy shiiit– my perfect pussy. Sorry. Perfect baby–”
He cups your cheek and kisses your forehead, leaning forward all awkward, like he’s afraid of pressing too hard even while bottomed out. And you laugh again. Sound reverberating through your body until he’s bucking into you with a whine.
“Am I doing okay?” he asks, tentative. Grinding his hips down and trying not to smile all cheesy when you meet him with a slow roll of your own.
You hum an affirmative, eyelids fluttering when his thrusts grow bolder at your encouragement – deeper, reacting to you. Pulling all the way out and then right back in, tip grinding against a spot that has your toes curling.
“Harder,” you breathe, nails digging into his shoulder. And he listens, like he always does. Slamming up into you with a grunt of your name, the bed creaking under the force. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and he leans forward with a lovesick grin, sucking one nipple into his mouth. Tongue laving spit over your skin as he fucks into you steadily.
When you start to slip into your high, pussy fluttering around his cock and pulling him in deeper, he tucks his head into the crook of your neck and smiles against your skin.
“So good to me,” he whispers, voice adopting an almost worshipful, delirious tone, “pretty girl. You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about this, jerking off all day, thinking ‘bout you– shiiit, you gonna cum?–”
His thumb slips down to rub at your clit, all messy and uncoordinated. And somehow, it works – your orgasm crashing over you in waves, a cry of his name swallowed by the sweetest kiss you’ve ever been granted. Walls fluttering helplessly around his pulsing length.
Choso follows seconds later, pulling out with a guttural groan. Cock drooling cum across the sheets – a laundry issue he’ll think about later, because all he can focus on right now is how good he feels, how pretty you look cumming just for him.
You collapse together in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, breaths in sync as the high fades into a pleasant buzz. His arm drapes over your side in some sort of possessive, more-than-friends instinct, and you let him pull you close with a soft sigh.
And then post-nut clarity hits like a bitch.
Choso’s bottom lip trembles. Ears running hot as he drops his head, pressing a shaky kiss to your shoulder. Like some sort of massive teddy bear trying to hide in your warmth.
You snort and thread your fingers through his hair.
“Hey,” you murmur. “It’s just me.”
And fuck, you’re right. That's the issue.
It’s you.
The girl who he used to share juice boxes and bike rides and inside jokes with. The girl who gave him spare pencils in middle school and study guides in high school and his first everything, now, in uni. The girl who’s known every version of him – even the inexperienced virgin loser one.
Oh.
He’s just an inexperienced loser now.
Maybe he’ll keep the term, like a bucket list of things to work on.
“I like you,” he blurts out. “I really, really like you. A lot. God, you’re so pretty. Sorry.”
He’s not sure what he’s sorry about.
The fact that his confession ended up being an afterthought? Or maybe that he made love to you and didn’t know if he was inserting himself into the right hole? Or maybe the shame started before then, all the way back to when he first accidentally subjected you to his depravity via the porn folder on his laptop?
He shuts his eyes tight.
And then you laugh, pulling away so you can see his face. Kissing his eyelids in the softest, most tender way, like you can tell he’s overthinking again.
You probably can.
You know him well.
“I like you too, Cho,” you coo.
Ah.
He whines in response, arms wrapping around you to pull you close, cuddling you against his chest. And you lean into his touch with a content hum, cheek over his pounding heart.
Fuck, he adores you.
“Also.. maybe password-protect your porn next time.”
The living room is dim with early light, blinds only half drawn. Sukuna stirs awake on the couch, long frame stretched out like a lazy cat lounging, tattoos stark against his bare chest. His eyes crack open—red and heavy with sleep.
And there you are. Moving through his apartment like you belong there. Which you do. That thin white cotton vest clings to you, delicate little bow at the neckline, hem barely brushing your belly button. Panties to match—white, soft, bow centered right where he wants you.
His cock twitches instantly, pressing thick against the sweatpants riding low on his hips. He groans low, voice gravel-rough from sleep.
“C’mere,” Sukuna murmurs from where he lounges, voice rough from sleep.
"You're awake," you murmur, making your way through the plush rug and potted plants you keep buying him to brighten the place up.
“Yeah,” Sukuna mutters. "Up." His hands slide to your hips as you climb onto his lap, slow and careful, straddling his waist. His palms are hot and wide, gripping your hips, guiding you down until your softness is pressed flush against him.
"Sleep okay?" you ask softly, looking down at him, all long hair and soft cotton panties.
"Mm was alrigh'," Sukuna mutters, tilting his head back against the couch, watching your face as he lazily rocks you over his cock. The drag is thick even through the fabric—your cotton panties against the hard swell under his sweats.
You bite your lip, breath hitching at the slow friction. He hums, pleased, deep in his chest.
“Feel that?” Sukuna voice rumbles low, half-taunt, half-admire. “Look what you do to me just walking around like that.”
"Feel it," you whisper back, voice breathy. Each roll of his hips makes your body jolt, grinding your clothed pussy right over the bulge. His cock swells heavier under you, leaking enough that you feel the damp spot through both layers of thin fabric.
He tugs lazily at the band of your panties, thumb sliding under, brushing the bow. He grins sharp when he feels how thin they are. “Cute,” he mutters, pleased, letting the elastic snap back against your skin. “Gonna ruin ‘em.”
And then he drags you down harder, rolling his hips up with more insistence, his clothed cock pressing right against your cunt, wetting your panties through as he leaks and grows.
"Kuna—" you whimper softly, clutching at his shoulders for balance, and his grin widens, all teeth and hunger.
“You like that, baby?” he hums, rocking you in his lap, voice lazy and rough. “My cock under your cute little panties?”
"Mm, yeah," you breathe and Sukuna shifts beneath you, one arm sliding behind his head, body sprawling wider on the couch like he owns both it and you. His other hand stays firm on your hip, holding you steady as he thumbs the thin cotton aside, baring your cunt. The sudden brush of cool air makes your breath hitch.
“Mm,” he hums, smirk lazy, eyes dark as they roam over you. “There’s that pretty pussy.” His fingers trace once over your slick slit, a teasing drag that makes you shiver.
Sukuna takes his cock out from his sweats, thick and throbbing, cockhead already slick and leaking. He guides you slow, the thick head of his cock pushing against your entrance, spreading you open until you’re sinking down, inch by inch. The stretch burns sweet, dragging a whimper out of your throat as your thighs tremble.
“That’s it,” Sukuna rasps, eyes fixed where your cunt swallows him, his chest rising and falling slow. “Take me nice and slow.”
When you finally bottom out, seated fully on him, he exhales sharp through his teeth, head tipping back into the couch. “Fuck.” His smirk curls again, eyes dragging back up to your flushed face, your trembling lip. “Look at that—already stuffed full.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t help you—just lounges, one arm tucked behind his head, watching you squirm on his cock. His hand on your hip gives a squeeze. “Go on, sweetheart. Ride it.”
You swallow, thighs burning already, lifting yourself shaky before sinking back down. The drag makes your toes curl, your body clench. Sukuna groans low, eyes locked on the bounce of your tits beneath the thin vest, the way your pussy grips him so tight it’s almost obscene. His hand slides under your vest, grabbing one of your tits, thumb dragging over a nipple until you’re gasping.
“That’s it,” he mutters, voice dark velvet. “Bounce on me. Show me how bad you want it.”
Each little lift and drop sends wet sounds filling the quiet room, your slick coating his cock, dripping down his base, pace uneven but earnest. "Hngh—Oh—" you gasp as you roll your hips down slowly, knees pressed into the couch, hands spreading over his stomach to steady yourself.
Sukuna just watches, hungry and satisfied all at once. Lazy, sprawling, but his cock throbs inside you with every bounce of your ass. His smirk deepens when he feels you tighten, when your rhythm stutters.
“Close already, baby?” he drawls, voice a low taunt. “Cute little thing—ready to cum on my cock, aren't you?"
"Kuna—" you whimper, cheeks hot and Sukuna's hands slide over your soft thighs, watching as you sink up and down on his cock, bouncing desperately, biting down on your bottom lip.
"Go on, make a mess," Sukuna grins, head nestled back against his bicep, his other hand on your thigh squeezing gently.
"Kuna—Fuck—" you gasp, head rolled back and he hums, eyes dragging over your body as you bounce on his cock in the late afternoon sun. "Gonna—"
The stretch, the drag, his eyes on you—it all tips you over. You cry out, body jolting as your orgasm tears through you, cunt spasming tight around him. Sukuna groans sharp, head dropping back, teeth gritted as your pussy milks him, warm and messy, his own orgasm crashing through him.
"That's it baby," Sukuna breathes, low and ragged as his eyes drag down to where you've soaked his cock, his cum dribbling out of you and down his shaft. "Look at that, pretty little mess," Sukuna mutters, thumb dragging some cum over your clit just to hear you cry out brokenly, rubbing over the swollen nub.
You whine softly and slump over into his chest and Sukuna just hums, hand sliding under your vest to rub over your spine. "That's my pretty girl," he murmurs, pressing a rarely soft kiss to your hair.
Yuji fucking you and clueless Choso walks in.........
(There will be a part 2!)
The apartment was warm, dim and filled with disgusting sounds of sloppy thrusts and pathetic little sobs. Yuji had you face-down on the couch, knees spread on the cushions, ass tilted up so high it had your cheek smushed into the spit-soaked pillow below. His fingers gripped your waist tight enough to bruise, holding you down in place as he slammed in deep—cock punching into your messy hole over and over, every thrust lewd and wet and it had your pussy drooling all over his balls.
It was almost feral with how messy and loud it all was.
“Yuji—! Yuji, slow—f-fuck, it’s too—!” you gasped, fingers curling into the cushion.
“You can take it,” he groaned behind you, voice ragged as he snapped into you. “Godddd babe, your slutty little pussy’s squeezing me so tight—you’re so greedy, you miss this dick that bad?”
You whined, the words making your face burn even hotter. Yuji was always so sweet in public—always the golden boy everyone knew and was fond of, kissing your forehead and holding your hand. But the second he got you alone? He was nasty for it. Addicted. Always mouthing at your ass, fingering you while you were brushing your teeth, humping your thighs in the shower just because they were soft.
So you didn’t hear the front door creak open.
Didn’t hear the quiet footfalls.
Didn’t notice Choso standing there until Yuji shifted your hips and you caught sight of him in the hallway.
Choso was just… there. Standing. Blinking. Face blank and completely unphased, like he walked in on you two playing cards.
Yuji didn’t even realize at first. He was too busy rutting in deep, tugging your hips back against his pelvis while staring at your ass jiggling lewdly with every motion.
You squealed, trying to push back against Yuji’s stomach. “Yuji! Yuji, Choso—!”
“Huh?” Yuji blinked, panting. He turned his head—and froze. “Oh fuck—”
“Are you guys…wrestling?” Choso asked, head tilting. His tone wasn’t sarcastic. He was deadass serious. “Why is she crying?”
You were in fact, sniffling—face wet, eyes glassy, tongue poking from your lips as you trembled from how good Yuji had been fucking you. Yuji was still inside you, too stunned to pull out.
Yuji sputtered as his eyes widened. “No! Choso, I—bro, you can’t just walk in—!”
Choso took a step forward.
You both screamed in sync.
“Choso, get OUT—!” Yuji was trying to fumble for a throw pillow to cover your bare ass.
Choso frowned. “You’re hurting her?”
Yuji looked like he was going to combust. “No—! I mean, yes—but in a good way!”
Choso squinted like he didn’t believe what Yuji said. His eyes drifted down between your thighs—still dripping, Yuji’s cock still buried inside you—and he hummed. “Oh. this is sex”.
“YES, this is sex, what do you think this is?” Yuji practically shouted.
You let out a broken moan and shoved your face into the pillow. “Yuji, pull out please, oh my gosh—he’s looking”
Yuji yelped and finally slipped out of you with a wet pop! sound that made Choso’s eyes widen.
“Why is it so noisy?” Choso asked with confusion written all over his face.
Yuji buried his face in his hands.
You were a mess—leaking, shaking, still flushed and aching for more and Choso was standing there like a confused cat in a room full of cucumbers.
“…Can I try next time?” Choso asked thoughtfully. “She looked like she liked it”.
“GET OUT!!”
But still obviously, Choso didn’t budge—Not even when Yuji scrambled to tug his hoodie down over your hips. Not even when you tried to hide your face behind your hands, whining like a kicked puppy. He just stood there in the hallway, arms at his sides, a little head tilt like a confused NPC trying to trigger dialogue.
“I’m not leaving,” he finally said, slowly blinking. “I have questions”.
“Oh my gosh,” Yuji groaned, forehead thudding against your back.
You tried to wriggle away but Yuji’s hand reflexively held your hip still, like his body forgot he wasn’t supposed to be fucking you anymore. You were both flushed and sweaty, still panting, the room sticky with sex—and Choso was barely reacting.
“…What kind of questions?” Yuji asked warily, as if bracing for a bomb.
Choso took a step closer.
You and Yuji both flinched.
“How come her hole was all… frothy?”
You made a sound. Yuji slapped a hand over your mouth before it turned into a shriek.
“She—uh—got wet,” Yuji said quickly, face crimson. “She gets really wet sometimes”.
Choso blinked. “That’s not pee?”
Yuji looked physically ill. “No?! No, what—dude, what the fuck—why would—”
Choso nodded slowly, absorbing the information like it was part of a lecture. “So when you said she was ‘squeezing’ you… you meant inside her vagina”.
“YES”.
“She doesn’t look very strong”.
“…It’s muscle, bro. She—babe, stop laughing, you’re not helping!”
You were wheezing into the pillow, your whole body trembling from the effort of staying quiet.
Choso leaned a little closer, eyes scanning between your legs, then to your ass, then back to your messy thighs. “And she likes it like this? Bent over? Getting her ass clapped?”
“Don’t say it like that!” Yuji practically cringed. “Don’t say ‘ass clapped’ like you read it off Reddit!”
You whined. Your thighs rubbed together instinctively. You were still soaked—your body didn’t care how embarrassed you were, especially with Yuji’s voice in that broken boyish register, trying to defend your honor while you were leaking down your legs.
Choso noticed.
“Why is it still dripping?” he asked, pointing. “You stopped, but it’s still leaking”.
Yuji actually gagged.
“Get out, Choso. Please. I’ll explain everything later. Just—just give us five minutes”.
Choso looked at you. At your glassy eyes. Your ruined thighs. The way you still arched into Yuji’s touch without meaning to.
“…Can I watch next time?”
You squealed. Yuji lunged for the nearest object to throw and beaned him with a couch cushion.
Choso didn’t even flinch. He just stood there and caught the pillow, then dropped it like it was contaminated.
“I’m serious,” he said.
Yuji stared at him, stunned and red-faced and slack-jawed.
“I’ll think about it,” you mumbled with a flustered face.
Yuji turned to you like you just agreed to start a cult.
˖ ࣪૮₍ TALK JUJUTSU BETWEEN MY LEGS 𓂃 ⭒ jjk characters x f reader
⤿ ꒰ what's it like when they use their jujutsu in the bedroom? :: smut :: size diff :: cervix fucking :: penetrative sex :: fingering :: oral :: overstim :: tentacles :: temperature play :: orgy :: cockwarming ꒱
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ satoru who watches your belly bulge like his life depends on it.
little do you know that feral blue glow is actually six eyes. memorising every twitch of your gummy walls, how they sperate, how they strain around his girth and milk on every vein. especially how his wet tip smooches your cervix again and again. most important? he knows exactly when you're gonna cum, so he makes sure to start pounding harder and abuse your clit a lil with a small limitless vortex.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ of course suguru has some tentacle curse tucked away in his arsenal.
and of course he uses it on you at every chance he can possibly get. loves seeing you wrapped up and helpless. two thick tentacles holding your thighs open, another two restraining your arms, another pair cupping your tits with thinner extensions playing with your nipples. what he loves the most? the tentacle pumping in and out of your mouth and the one pounding into you below. his favourite has to be the one that's obsessed with your clit, though.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ shoko and her reverse curse technique means she can keep you going for houursss.
aww, you're tired? overstimmed? can't take her wet cunt gliding on yours any longer? don't worry! she gives you a quick charge up only to break you down again with three more orgasms. all so she can cup your face and croon while your clits smooch and grind together. at least she's not being mean and stealing your orgasms away with her technique huh? don't tempt her though.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ mhhm. yes. hand mouth and finger combo with sukuna.
two thick fingers pumping away at your cunt while the tongue on his palm makes your clit weep and throb. the real kicker though is when the pads of his fingers start heating up as he curls them into that spot that sends your back arching. to top it all off he'll have that greedy, swirling tongue heat up too. so not only are you getting dual stimmed but also: some fiery temperature play.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ fucking a blood manipulator could mean many things. choso
uses his sneaky little technique to rush your blood to your cunt and clit more than naturally. making you aroused quicker, longer and by proxy far more sensitive. perfect for his eager tongue or his worshipping fingers as he fucks you again and again. all while you're crying because it doesn't matter what he does, you're just soooo needy you feel like you're in heat.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 7:3? deadly ratio when nanami's ball's deep and holding your head down into the pillow.
it should be illegal how precisely and how hard he's fucking into that one, little weak spot that has your eyes rolling back and mouth hung dumb. he finds it with ease each and every time. poor you, your boyfriend doesn't have to do much to find your sweet spot, or abuse it with more than just the powerful rocks of his hips clapping against your ass.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ now it may be cruel, but the best way to tame a brat in enari's humble opinion?
increase their gravity of course. especially when you're cockwarming him while he's busy and you're being so insistent. all it takes is a few tweaks and you're heavy, hot and whining. cunt throbbing around his thick cock with an almost unbearable weight on your hips. unable to do anything but feel every inch, every throb, and know you can't even bounce on it.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ why have one lisse when you could have multiple?
she's always so eager to your indulgence so of course she splits herself once or twice just to see your eyes all stupid and your mouth drooling. one duplicate between your thighs and tonguing on your clit eagerly. another sat behind you so that she can play with your tits and kiss your neck. all while the third nudges the first a bit so that she can shove to fingers into your cunt and finger you until you're whining.
college was supposed to be a fresh start. instead, one housing 'clerical error' later, you’re dragging your suitcase back out of the dorms and having a meltdown on a bench in the middle of campus. enter ieiri shoko: cigarette in one hand, solution in the other. her idea of a solution? moving in with the loud, insufferably smug friend she knows all too well.
contents. modern au, forced proximity, roommates (sort of against your will), slow burn (like really slow), shoko is tired but still helps, you, suffering (affectionately), banter as a love language.
rommate!satoru x reader
dividers by @saradika-graphics
m.list
The dorm room is small, but it feels like possibility.
Your suitcase sits cracked open on the floor, clothes spilling out, and your shoes are already lined up neatly against the wall.
There’s a faint smell of industrial cleaner lingering in the air, the kind that screams 'college housing' which was sterile, temporary, but weirdly exciting.
You’re humming to yourself as you work, folding shirts into the dresser drawers. The fabric catches faintly on the cheap wood, but you don’t care. Every piece of clothing you put away feels like a flag planted, like this is my space now.
The bed creaks under your weight as you tuck in a fitted sheet, smoothing it out with the flat of your palm. It’s lumpy, thin, but you grin anyway. The thought of collapsing onto it after long nights of studying or gossiping with classmates makes your chest warm.
You pull out the tiny plant you insisted on bringing from home; a pothos, stubborn and green and place it by the window. The sunlight hits its leaves in stripes through the blinds, and for a moment, you feel like everything is lining up just right.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s yours.
You grab your stack of books next, setting them carefully on the shelf. A mix of required reading and comfort novels, their spines line up neatly, almost like they’re posing for a family portrait. You pause to admire it, then adjust one that’s leaning too far to the left.
Perfect.
The room is still quiet, still waiting to be lived in. But your jacket’s on the chair, your toothbrush is in the bathroom, your playlist hums softly from your phone speaker. It’s already starting to feel like a version of home.
You exhale, slow, steady. Relief spreads through your chest. Okay. You’re here. You made it.
Then... two knocks at the door.
Quick, sharp. Like someone impatient.
You freeze for half a second, then smile. Maybe it’s your RA doing the welcome rounds. Maybe your roommate, finally showing up.
You smooth your shirt, brush imaginary dust off your jeans, and open the door.
The smile drops.
Standing there is your RA, clipboard clutched to his chest, eyes darting nervously. And behind him... another girl. She’s dragging a suitcase, her expression a strange mix of irritation and triumph, like she’s been fighting for this moment all morning.
“Uh… hey,” the RA says. His tone is already apologetic. “So, um. Funny story…”
Your stomach twists. “What?”
He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “There’s been… a clerical error. Turns out this room was, uh… double-assigned.”
The words slam into you like bricks. “Double-assigned?”
The girl behind him adjusts her grip on the handle of her suitcase, glancing at you like she’s not thrilled to be here either... but not nearly as devastated as you.
“She...” the RA gestures to her “...got her deposit in first. So, technically, this is… her room.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Your brain scrambles for words, excuses, loopholes. There has to be a mistake. You’ve already unpacked. You’re already here.
“I’ve...” you start, voice catching. You clear your throat, try again. “I’ve already moved in. I...I set everything up. I thought...”
“I’m really sorry,” the RA says quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “Housing is completely full right now. They’re trying to sort things out, but… for now, you’ll need to, um… repack.”
The room tilts. Your chest feels tight, hot.
The girl shifts awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with watching your life collapse. “Sorry,” she mutters. It doesn’t help.
Your hands feel numb as you turn back into the room. Every folded shirt, every neatly stacked book suddenly feels like a betrayal. You start grabbing things... clothes stuffed back into your suitcase, the fitted sheet yanked off in a tangle. The plant by the window, carefully picked up and shoved back into its box, leaves trembling.
It feels like erasing yourself. Like you were never here.
Your throat burns, but you bite down on the sound trying to crawl up. Not here. Not in front of strangers.
The RA mumbles something about 'waitlists' and 'updates,' but it all blurs into static. You can’t focus on anything but the sick rush in your stomach as you pack your life back into the suitcase you just unpacked.
The girl hovers by the door, waiting. You catch her eyes once, quickly, and look away.
By the time you zip the suitcase shut, your chest feels like it’s caving in. The weight of the bag feels heavier than before as you drag it out, past the RA, past the girl, out into the hallway that already smells like someone else’s cooking.
You keep your head down, suitcase wheels rattling behind you.
Out on the quad, the sun is too bright. It makes the tears threatening to spill feel even more obvious, so you duck to the side, parking yourself on a bench near the path.
You thought you were starting fresh. Instead, you’re already the girl without a room.
The suitcase handle presses cold against your palm as you grip it too tight. The world keeps moving, students laughing, music thumping from open windows, roommates hanging posters together, but you’re stuck, watching it all through a haze.
You blink hard, but the tears slip free anyway. You press your hands to your face, shoulders shaking despite yourself.
The thought of standing in that dorm lobby again, suitcase in hand, explaining your situation while people stare, it makes your stomach churn.
Your mind spirals.
Where do you even go? Call your parents? Find a motel? Beg housing to shove you in a storage closet?
So you sit there, on the edge of campus life, crumbling quietly into your palms.
And you don’t notice the shadow until a voice cuts through your thoughts.
“Wow,” it says, flat and unimpressed. “You look like someone just kicked pulled ground from underneath you.”
You jerk your head up, swiping your palms against your damp cheeks too late. She’s already seen.
A girl stands a few feet away, cigarette balanced lazily between two fingers. Dark hair, coat thrown over casual clothes like she just wandered out of a classroom. Her eyes are half-lidded, like nothing in the world could impress her, but somehow she’s looking at you anyway.
“Sorry...” your voice comes out cracked, pathetic. You clear your throat, trying to reel in the mess. “I didn’t mean to... I’ll move, you can have the bench.”
She raises an eyebrow, exhales smoke in the opposite direction, and sits right beside you. “Didn’t ask.”
You blink, startled. She doesn’t look at you, just taps her ash neatly into the gravel and leans back, perfectly comfortable.
“Ieiri, right?” you manage. “Shoko?”
“You’re...” you start cautiously, brain scrambling for her name. You’ve seen her before, haven’t you? Then it clicks. Orientation week. That boring seminar where everyone stared blankly at outdated slides until this girl muttered, loud enough for half the row to hear, ‘Did he borrow this presentation from 1984?’ You’d laughed way too hard for someone trying to make a good impression.
“Mm.” She takes another drag, confirming without fanfare.
You fumble for words. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”
“I don’t.” She glances at you sideways, finally, with a faint smirk. “Just passing by. Lucky you.”
“Lucky,” you repeat, sniffling, because your life currently feels anything but.
Shoko tilts her head, studying your swollen eyes, the suitcase parked at your feet. “Dorm drama?”
Your throat wobbles. You hate how fast the truth spills out. “They...they kicked me out. Said there was some mistake. The room was double-assigned, and the other girl paid first, so…” Your voice cracks. “I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
She hums, unimpressed. “Classic housing screw-up.”
You let out a choked laugh, watery and small. “Yeah. Classic.”
She flicks ash, tone flat but not unkind. “You cry a lot?”
The question blindsides you. “What?!”
“I mean...” she shrugs lazily “...you’ll want thicker skin if you’re gonna survive here. Professors don’t care, housing doesn’t care, half the student body is feral. If you cry every time life screws you, you’re doomed.”
Your cheeks burn. “I’m not... I don’t cry all the time. This is just...” You wave helplessly at the suitcase, at the quad, at the wreckage of your first day. “It’s a lot, okay?”
“Mm.” She takes another drag, exhales slow. “Fair.”
The silence stretches. You rub your sleeve against your face, trying to erase the evidence of your breakdown. Students keep passing by, laughing, shouting, carrying whiteboards and string lights and beanbags into the dorms. It feels like the whole campus is moving on without you.
Shoko crushes her cigarette against the bench, then drops the butt neatly into an empty water bottle she pulls from her pocket. She’s cleaner than she looks.
“Well,” she says finally, standing. “You’re in luck. I know a guy.”
Your head jerks up. “A… guy?”
“Mm. Spare room. Off-campus. You’ll be fine.”
You stare at her like she’s insane. “Wait...you’re telling me to move in with some random guy?!”
“Better than the streets,” she deadpans.
You choke. “The streets? That’s my alternative?”
“Unless you’ve got a hotel budget.” She eyes your battered suitcase. “Do you?”
Your silence answers for you.
Shoko shrugs. “Thought so. C’mon.”
She starts walking, lab coat fluttering behind her, as if this is already settled.
You sit frozen for half a second. This is insane. You don’t even know her. You definitely don’t know this mystery guy. What if he’s a creep? What if he’s gross? What if...
“Oi,” she calls over her shoulder. “You coming or what?”
You grip the handle of your suitcase, heart pounding, and stumble after her.
The walk across campus feels surreal.
Shoko doesn’t talk much, which leaves you stewing in your thoughts. She lights another cigarette halfway, flicking the ash carelessly as she walks. Her pace is casual, like she’s done this route a million times.
You drag your suitcase behind you, the wheels clattering over every crack in the pavement.
Finally, you blurt: “So… this guy. He’s not, like...dangerous, right?”
Shoko smirks faintly, smoke curling from her lips. “Not dangerous.”
The way she says it doesn’t exactly reassure you.
“Not dangerous,” you repeat slowly. “That’s not the same as safe.”
She chuckles under her breath. “He’s loud. Annoying. Eats like a toddler. But he won’t kill you.”
“Comforting,” you mutter.
Shoko shoots you a sidelong glance. “Relax. He’s an idiot, but he’s not evil. And he’s got space. That’s all you need right now.”
You bite your lip, uncertainty gnawing at you. “Why are you even helping me? We barely know each other.”
That earns you another shrug. “You laughed at my orientation joke. Do you know how rare that is? Everyone else stared like I’d kicked their dog.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
“See?” she says, smirk widening a fraction. “You’ll survive.”
The apartment smells faintly like takeout and laundry detergent, an oddly comforting mix compared to the sterile halls of the dorms. You drag your suitcase just inside the doorway, the wheels catching on the uneven strip of carpet.
“Don’t just stand there,” Shoko says, slipping out of her shoes like she’s done this a hundred times. “Come in.”
You hesitate, then glance at the boy still holding the door open. His grin hasn’t faltered. If anything, it’s gotten wider now that he sees you dithering.
“New tenant?” he asks, tilting his head like he’s inspecting a new toy.
“Temporary roommate,” Shoko corrects, breezing past him.
His grin stretches. “Roommate? With me? Oh, Shoko, you shouldn’t have. I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but...”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she cuts in flatly.
You want to disappear into the floor. This is insane. Absolutely insane.
Inside, the living room is dominated by a big TV blasting some fighting game. On the couch, another boy lounges, controller in hand. Dark hair tied loosely, expression calm, voice smooth as he delivers a killing blow on-screen.
“Game over,” he murmurs without looking up.
“Hey...hey, no fair!” the white-haired boy...Gojo, you realize...lunges toward the couch, grabbing for his own controller. “I was distracted!”
“That’s not my fault,” the dark-haired one replies evenly, barely sparing him a glance. Then his eyes flick to you, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “New face.”
Great. Now both of them are staring.
Shoko plops down on the arm of the couch like it’s hers. “She needs a place. You’ve got space. Problem solved.”
Gojo drops his controller dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “Excuse me?! This...this is a bachelor pad. A sacred sanctuary of masculinity. You can’t just waltz in here and dump a stranger on me!”
“You’re dramatic,” Shoko says.
“Dramatic?!” He points at you like you’re Exhibit A. “Do you know how fragile the ecosystem of a bachelor pad is? One outsider and boom...ruined forever.”
The dark-haired boy snorts. “You live on cup noodles and anime reruns. There’s nothing sacred here.”
“Et tu, Suguru?” Gojo gasps. “I thought you of all people would understand.”
Shoko waves a hand. “She’s staying. End of story.”
“No way.” Gojo crosses his arms like a stubborn child. “What if she hogs the bathroom mirror? Or rearranges my manga? Or...” he leans forward, lowering his sunglasses for emphasis “...what if she eats my cereal?”
You open your mouth, flustered. “I...I wouldn’t...”
He gasps louder. “Hear that? Already planning it.”
You shut your mouth, cheeks burning. Why does he feel like the human embodiment of chaos?
Shoko, unbothered, digs through her coat pocket. “You don’t really have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
She smirks, pulling something out. “Kyoto.”
The word makes him freeze. His grin falters for the first time. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” She tosses the object casually...a folded photo, maybe?...into her lap.
His jaw drops. “That was one time. ONE TIME.”
“Mm.” She inspects her nails. “One time too many.”
Suguru chuckles quietly, clearly entertained.
You glance between them, utterly lost. “What… what’s Kyoto?”
“Nothing!” Gojo yelps, waving his arms. “Absolutely nothing. Lies and slander!”
“Blackmail material,” Shoko clarifies, deadpan.
You stare. He sputters. Suguru laughs.
“This is bullying,” Gojo declares. “I demand justice. Reparations. Custody of the TV.”
Shoko slides off the couch arm, stands, and pats your shoulder like she’s passing off responsibility. “Congratulations. You’re his roommate.”
And just like that, she grabs her lighter, tucks her cigarette pack into her coat pocket, and heads for the door.
“Wait...what?!” you squeak, spinning toward her. “You’re just leaving me here?”
“You’ll be fine,” she says, tone final. “He’s annoying, not dangerous.”
“That’s not comforting!” you call after her, but the door’s already clicking shut.
Silence follows, thick except for the faint menu music looping on the TV.
Gojo stares at you, arms crossed. “Well, stranger. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Suguru stretches, yawning, utterly unfazed. “God have mercy on your soul.”
You drag your suitcase deeper into the apartment, because what else can you do? The carpet muffles the wheels this time, but the weight feels heavier than ever.
Gojo flops onto the couch next to Suguru, sunglasses pushed up into his hair now, revealing eyes the brightest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. They sparkle with mischief as he grins at you.
“House rules,” he announces, holding up a finger. “One: don’t touch my cereal.”
“I don’t want your cereal,” you mumble.
“Two!” He holds up another finger. “Don’t talk during anime. Sacred ritual.”
You blink. “…Noted?”
“Three.” His grin widens. “Always laugh at my jokes. Even if they’re bad.”
“That’s ridiculous,” you protest.
Suguru shakes his head, amused. “Don’t bother. He’ll keep adding rules until you give up.”
“Four,” Gojo continues undeterred. “Never...ever...sit in my gaming spot on the couch. That’s a war crime.”
You rub your temples, exhausted already. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“An adventure,” Gojo says smugly.
Suguru chuckles. “More like a headache.”
You sigh, dragging your suitcase toward the hallway Shoko disappeared into earlier. “Where’s the spare room?”
Gojo flops backward, spreading his arms wide like he owns the world. “End of the hall. But remember rule five...don’t steal my pillows.”
You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “I should’ve picked the streets.”
hair tousled in a half-bun, your boyfriend is stationed at the stove, performing his wifely duties. considering how he spent half the night fucking you, suguru looks so put-together you want to scream.
“princess… careful,” his voice lilts, gentle, while his eyes flick briefly from the skillet to your unsteady gait. “don’t want to hurt yourself again.”
“if you don’t want that spatula shoved up your—”
“i made pancakes, your favourite.” flashing a blithe smile as he slides a plate onto the table: golden-brown discs stacked neatly, the edges laced crisp and middles pillowy, syrup pooling into viscous amber whorls. culinary pornography, frankly. seeing them makes your stomach rumble—but the real ache thrumming between your legs drowns out appetite.
he really does know the most direct route to your heart.
you sink into a chair with a wince, glaring at him through your lashes. suguru follows, chin perched on his palm, watching you with open adoration. your cunt clenches in anticipatory agony, walls tightening at the invisible smouldering heat of his gaze when you know he’s the reason you swear you can still feel the phantom stretch of his cock inside you.
“i know.” his sigh carries a contrite note, though the faint curve of his lips hint otherwise. “i’m sorry, i’ll be gentler next time.”
your fork pauses midair. “gentler?”
you didn’t think it possible for his eyes to darken further, but they do—bottomless, hungry, as though he’s stripping you apart in real time. then suguru leans forward, smiling.
Synopsis. Five times the elders of the Sukuna household are sure their fearsome clan leader is impotent, and the one times he makes them realize - Ryomen Sukuna is feraI. For you.
Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, clan leader!Sukuna, 5 + 1 things, arranged marriages, Itadori family shenanigans, wingmanning, the elders, helping Sukuna get laid, Sukuna is down BAD, true form, second mouth, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, cervíx kíssing, pússydrúnk Sukuna, dp, DÚMBlFlCATION, tummy buIges, he’s big, rough s, riding, manhandIing, p talking, bréeding, creampíes, cúmplay, getting together, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 11.8k
A/N. Missed their chaos omg-
“Buckle up, boys. This might be the most important event of our lives.” Itadori Jin has never taken his role as older brother so seriously.
Locked in a team huddle with his father, the elders, and a very reluctant, recently-married Ryomen Sukuna. “Dad- you’re on the romantic music. Council- you’re on the rose petals. I’ll be outside on the phone with the fire department, the exorcist, the-”
“It’s my wedding night?”
“Exactly.”
With a final clap of determination, the group shoves their clan leader towards the bed chambers. Ignoring his grumbles of- “But the ladies love me.”
“Ryo, you’ve been single your entire life.”
“…” Okay, perhaps Jin was right. It’d been a traditional arranged wedding, yours being the only proposal that the infamously cold Sukuna had even looked at, let alone agreed to.
But he clasps the polished doorknob, “I’ll give ya an heir.” Opening. “Just you watch, I’ll give ya four heirs, maybe five, maybe six—oh.”
Until he saw his pretty wife.
Even more gorgeous than you’d been during those brief formal interviews, between clans and council members who nudged each other at the fact that he had finally chosen a bride.
You’d swapped out your wedding robes for an actual robe that was much…riskier. Stuck to your skin, glistening in the faint candlelight. You were semi-sprawled comfortably across the bed, having patiently waited for their ‘team meeting’ to have finished.
And Sukuna would’ve yelled at any of them for gaping stupidly from the doorway, he should have - if he wasn’t gaping stupidly himself, that is. Lips parted, crimson eyes bulging.
This was the clan leader rumored by some to be a monster, and rumored by others to fight like a monster: now fully frozen at the sight of you.
It takes about seven different council members and Itadori Wasuke poking Sukuna’s muscular back with his wooden cane to make him move. “Ryo-” Jin hisses in slight concern, fingers starting to itch towards his phone, namely in the sequence of the emergency number he’d memorized for tonight. “Ryo move- you- oaf-”
Respect for the head of the household be damned, they were deadset on bullying him inside the romantically-decorated room. Finally making him move one foot. Two.
As soon as he staggers through the entrance, the towering mahogany doors then slam shut behind him. Somewhat snapping Sukuna out of his little reverie - somewhat. He shakes his head free of that vision of you, gaze dropping to the floor- anywhere but where you were sitting, so beautiful and unbothered.
An heir.
Right, an heir. What was that nonsense about six heirs? Right now, he felt he’d be lucky to get to not faint.
“I uh-” You lean closer with a smile when he starts to sputter out, and the act itself nearly makes him take a step back. Heart rushing to the surface of his tattooed skin, “Ah, I mean-”
He gulps. And almost as if they were sensing the tension inside the bedroom, the group outside abruptly starts up the distant saxophone of a George Michael. It filters through the slight gaps of the doorway and into the thick silence inside.
You were looking at him with a raised brow, clearly waiting for him to speak first with his interesting reaction.
Which is exactly what Ryomen Sukuna does - exactly why he clears his throat gravely. All seven feet of his figure straightening, toned chest puffing out. Jin had told him to smile before he smoldered, and right now Sukuna does neither. Only asking in grim seriousness-
“So are you uh…open-minded?”
“What?”
“What?”
BANG!
He’d removed himself from the honeymoon suite before you could even blink.
And as you sat up on the bed in genuine confusion, the clan leader outside - your husband - was crouched against the now-closed bedroom doors. Knees to his pecs, all four palms coming up to cover his face- though, they do nothing to hide the scorching red flushed at the tips of his ears.
The elders can only gawk; they’d known Sukuna since birth, and never had he acted in this manner. Never had he been so flustered, blushed so bright that it looked like he was steaming from his very skin. Flinching at the touch of his brother, he groans once the older one starts punting him with questions.
Jin squawks, “Is your wife okay- are you okay?”
“Yes- no.”
“Do I need to call the fire department?”
“No.”
“The exorcist-”
“No no no- fuck! She was just so…” Sukuna finally manages to string together more than one coherent syllable, running his hefty fingers down his features, like he wanted to scrub the embarrassment off of him. And the tail end of his response rings out as nothing but a whisper. So small, so shy. “…beautiful.”
He looks up at the circle surrounding him like he was pleading, “So, so beautiful.” Baritone dropping into an even lower volume, he scratches the back of his head like a child recounting a crush. “And she- she smiled at me, heh. What’d I do to end up with a wife like her?”
The elders and family members look at each other.
Silence.
At least, as much silence as you could get in the Itadori Estate. Because, before long, Wasuke clutches his aged heart and gasps, “No!” Only once every pair of eyes has turned to look at him- “My son has no game.”
The emergency services were called that night.
Though, it’s more for a health check on his father’s heart than for anything gone wrong with your honeymoon. And Jin thinks that’s pointedly to do with the fact that you don’t have a wedding night - at least, not in the sense of the word.
After he’d offered Sukuna a general health check-up too (he’d vehemently denied) and a heart check-up in particular (he’d considered) you’d finally ended up walking out of the bedroom. Barely getting through one word of their overlapping explanations before you’d held up a hand.
“It…actually might be better if I don’t know.” You’d sagely remarked, and quite smartly. Before turning to your new husband, who’d all but cowered at your gaze, “But you need to get some sleep, mister. Don’t think I don’t know about how cranky you get otherwise.”
“Hell yeah, ma’am. So true, ma’am.”
And Sukuna had sauntered back into the marital suite of his own accord, for a night of sleep. Nothing but sleep - though, Jin thinks he caught Sukuna fist pumping in celebration when you insisted he didn’t have to sleep on the couch.
There seemed to be no hope for an heir that night. Or, ever, at this rate.
And the trusty council of elders that were present would later retell the story in the morning after, with varying degrees of humor - some cackling about the fearsome head’s one weakness, others grieving the lack of heirs that the Itadori clan shall now have.
But most had been left with quite a different impression. They eyed each other during breakfast, when you’d come down with no marks, no signs of lost sleep. Surely, there was no other explanation - Ryomen Sukuna was impotent.
He might not be the sweetest clan leader, or the most empathetic, or clearly the most savvy with the ladies, but he was their leader nonetheless.
And they had to do everything in their power to help.
.
.
.
“-and then the ol’ man starts playing fuckin- I mean, freaking ‘Careless Whisper’ and then I make a fool of myself-”
“Mhm.”
“-but she was oh-so-sweet about it. Which makes no sense, how can one be beautiful and sweet? I mean, look at me- I’m a right bastard-”
“Mhm.”
“-not that I’m complaining. And then when we shared the bed, heh, she told me ‘goodnight.’ Can you believe that? Goodnight? Obviously, she’s into me.”
“Mhm.” Five-year-old Itadori Yuji looks up from where he’d been playing with blocks on the archery dojo, “Uncle Kuna, can we go play hide-and-seek now?”
But the older man lets go the taut, tough string of his bow- hitting the bullseye of his target dead-on. “You’re right! She’s totally into me- heh, ten points for Sukuna.” It was already nearing sundown, and he’d been cooped up in the Estate’s dojo for hours after the fiasco that was his wedding night a few days ago.
Nothing else had occurred between the two of you since. For which he was equally as grateful as he was disappointed - obviously you didn’t want to spook him. And obviously he wanted you.
But it wasn’t his fault he’d been trained in the arts of commandeering rather than communication.
Which is how he found himself with that lil’ nephew of his as a therapist, shooting away arrows with the specialized bow designed for Sukuna’s four beefy arms, and fourfold strength. As if that would help ease the tension.
The clan leader opens his mouth again and it’s enough to make Itadori throw himself back onto the polished wooden floor. Starting off- “And did I tell you that when she told me ‘goodnight’ it was in a tone of like-”
“Ahem.”
If there was anything that could make big, bad Sukuna quieten down, then it certainly wasn’t his advisors, or his older brother, or anything else but you.
And all you had to do was clear your throat once to signal your intrusion, having wandered your way through the massively sprawling Estate. You’d somehow led yourself straight to him.
You bow politely, “I hope I’m not disrupting.”
“C-course not.” To your surprise, your husband speaks first. “We were just-”
“Talking about you-” You giggle as Itadori instantly runs to cling onto your arms. Excitedly squealing at a mile a minute, “Uncle Kuna says that- that he has a huuuuge crush on you and-”
“No!” Sukuna interjects in panic- that traitor.
“And- and he liked the way you say ‘goodnight’ and-”
“Itadori Yuji, I will pay you to stop talking.”
You’re watching the situation like a tennis match, and Yuji does stop - for about three seconds, that is. Until his voice drops into a conspiratorially low whisper, hands cupping his mouth- “Did you know he also called an exorcist-”
“What the f- I did not?” Husky bass damn near cracking, he rips the little boy away from you. “Scram, gremlin.”
Pushing at his back to make the toddler waddle away and give the two of you some space, Sukuna hastens to straighten up and puff his chest out. Making sure that the loose fabrics of his training yukata would slip aside to flash you with a sliver of his toned pecs, glistened with a thin layer of sweat.
And when - only when - he catches your eyes dipping downwards, he clears his throat—smooth, Ryomen Sukuna. You’ve made people disappear, you can do smooth- “H-hi.”
His vocals crack.
Nearly passing out from the shame - but you don’t seem to mind. “Hi to you, too. I see you’re working hard?”
“Yeah- I mean no.” As you raise a brow, “Who needs ta work hard when you’re just good?”
“Is that so?” It’s a blatant brag, but one that didn’t go unsubstantiated. Your eyes drift to the side to where targets had been lined along the distant wall, each of them punctured right through the middle with a sharp arrow. “Oh, that’s impressive. I don’t think I could ever-”
“Would ya like to try?”
You’re nearly as shocked as Sukuna at the words that escape his mouth, before he can mull and chew over them first. But that swiftly melts into a look of eagerness once you nod- being handed his hefty bow.
“It’s heavier than normal.” Before you know it, he’s sidled up behind you. Leaned down so close that his warm breath blankets your neck- pointed chin hitting somewhere by your temple, tense core pushed up against you.
So close. Easily, two of Sukuna’s hands help you hold the weight of his massive bow, and another two fall down to your waist to guide you. “Easy there, mama.”
“Th-thank you-” You’re find yourself stammering from the pure intimacy. And it was just so unfair how pliable he found you - heart racing, mind spinning at the thought - angling you bodily to face the targets. “So I just pull and release, then?”
“Mhm. You pull reeeal hard.” Deep, throaty. You’re noticing just how warm his hands were when they’re on yours, helping you pull, pull, pull back on the feathery edge. “Breathe in reeeeal slow.” You do, and you feel him match yours. “Position it.”
His honed strength helps you find the target, and his hands- oh, but his hands were nearly making you lose sight of the bullseye. “Aaand-” Two of his rough palms draaaagging down your sides for stability for him to tower over you, and then two more gently rubbing over your hands for reassurance as you- “-shoot.”
Schwing–!
It lands dead-center in the bullseye.
He grins, “Hell yeah.”
“Yes!” You’re hissing, bow still in your arms as you leap into Sukuna’s. It was a brief embrace, just the quickest few seconds - but your husband nearly melts.
With your face tucked into the crook of his neck- his eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets, four massive palms hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. In a flash, you’re reaching ‘round your body to let him rest them on your back, and he gasps, “O-oh-”
“Oh?” With a slight chuckle, you pull back, and he nearly whines in agony. But this was the Ryomen Sukuna, of course he can hold it back…to merely a slight grunt of pain. “Thank you for teaching me.”
“Thank you for being my wife-”
“Pardon?”
“Nevermind- I uh-” All four palms come up to cover his face in utter horror- it had been going so well if it wasn’t for the clan leader’s big mouth. Everyday was seemingly an unfortunate reminder that he was related to the blabbermouths that were Jin, Yuji, and…
Speaking of, where was Yuji?
Little did he know that a certain pink-haired toddler was holding a certain group of elders hostage behind the screens that led to the dojo’s entrance. Their bodies, formerly leaned over the doorway to spy on the couple, were now crouched on the floor.
Disappointed- how could their revered clan leader not take the bait? Impotency strikes again.
But, right now, the masterminds were slightly more occupied with something else. Fingers to mouths, voices in whispers- begging the little boy standing in front of them to remain quiet.
But Yuji only smiles, standing proudly in front of them. He whispers, “Do you wanna play hide and seek?”
The council of the greatest minds in the household look at each other, “Uh…no?” Unsure of what else to say to the boy.
Before their ears are pierced by the most noisy child-like shriek of Sukuna’s name—“Uncle Kunaaaaa—it’s the exorcists!”
An arrow shoots their way. And by the way it strikes precisely into the wooden panels between the elders’ heads, precisely where it didn’t harm anything but their motivations, their egos, and perhaps slightly their heart conditions - they’re guessing it was their loving clan leader that shot it.
.
.
.
Sukuna always did hate stuffy clan meetings.
The ones where documents were piled into columns taller than himself, council men and women spoke over each other to try and earn his attention, and he had to act for hours like he actually tolerated the guest invited that day. All in the name of ah- politics, or whatever.
And today was much the same - except for one shocking, sudden surprise. You.
You, seated directly opposite him on the large round table now that you were officially part of the clan. You, perfectly positioned for him to take in every pretty inch of you. You, who he’d give anything just to have beside him and chatting his ear off, or helping with his papers.
And, honestly, with a view like that he wouldn’t even complain about being forced to discuss- what was it again-
“The socioeconomic impacts of clan bonding activities and how they-” Choso - who’d recently started attending for education on the clan - drones in such tired monotone, shrugging at their two-toned guest, Zenin Naoya, without looking up from where he was doodling on some contract. “-could really benefit from those.”
“Tch- don’t talk like I didn’t know that, brat.” Sukuna narrows his eyes down at his eldest nephew.
Only to get a withering eyebrow raise in return, “Well, did you?”
“Yes…” No-
And almost as if he could read the pure lie on his uncle’s face, the middle-schooler has the audacity to put his pencil down and grin. More interested in the happenings of the meeting than he had been in four hours now. “Oh really? Well then, dear uncle of mine, would you care to explain to your nephew who comes up with these bonding activities?”
“The fuck do I look like? Stupid? It’s…Jin.” It was a guess, no one else would do something like that. He turns his face away from Choso and towards you. Politely laughing at something that the person next to you had said-
“And why is it important?”
He grumbles, this damn kid. Absent-mindedly- because oh, how was he expected to focus when your lips move to talk so prettily. As if in slow motion, like in those sappy movies Jin loved. “Uh, socio-something or the other-”
“And what do we hope to get out of today?”
“Erm-” Furrowing his brows, laser-focused on wracking his brain when- you turn his way. All you have to do is look at him for Sukuna to blurt- “Six kids, a summer house, and pets of her choice.”
In stunned silence, Choso only gravely draws a tally count.
You: 3
Sukuna: -478
“Oi- I’m at least in the double digits-”
“I think you have bigger things to worry about.” He muters, jabbing a pencil in your direction. “Your wife’s about to get stolen.”
And oh.
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t take kindly to snapping his head over and recognizing that slight glint in Naoya’s eyes; the way his mouth curled up meanly, body leaning just a tad closer to yours whenever you pulled back. Not kindly at all.
Worst of all, he’d just been hit with the realization that it was that rat bastard who’d been making you laugh while he’d been stuck with duties.
Simply on opposite ends of the room, and yet, it feels like an eternity until the hulking clan leader rises from his seat. Feet pounding their way over to where you were, your eyes raise instantly-
“Oh, there you are.” You start to smile - only for it to falter, coldly, at the shadowed expression on Sukuna’s face. He looked like he’d just seen a raging ghost, and his expression was downturned as such.
You couldn’t pinpoint whether it had been the stress or the fact that the future heir to the Zenin clan couldn’t take a hint. But you’re trying to soothe him, “You looked quite busy-”
“I was, ah-” He was always weak to anything you said, “-bonding…activities…socioeconomics.”
Sarcastically, “How riveting.”
“No need to worry, I kept her company, though.” An annoying, grating voice bursts through your bubble. And before you can do anything to stop him, Naoya has his arm thrown ‘round the back of your seat. Around the room, one by one, the elders were starting to turn in their own chairs. Discussions dropping to whisper- “And my father always does commend my networking skills, clan leader Sukuna.”
And you think Sukuna might burst. You think he might just rip into him-
But, no. Instead, he breaks out into a smile, “Ah, young master Zenin, huh? Didn’t notice ya there.” A smile that was just slightly jarring, slightly…dangerous. “I see you have met my wife. Quite charming, isn’t she?”
“Yes yes, quite beautiful.” Naoya waves off with a chuckle, elbowing the taller man where he could reach. Huffing, “Though, I must say, it’s quite smart to let the wife inside a clan meeting. Gives you something to look at, at least.”
You seethe, brows furrowing, “Pardon-” But your husband already has a hand signalling you to seat yourself back down comfortably. A commotion was starting to stir by now, and if anyone was going to make a mess of clan politics and reap the consequences, it would be him.
He could and would take the fall for you.
“Young master Naoya.” He declares in a booming voice, “The Itadori clan has decided that we would so ah- love to indulge you in a practical example of our very own bonding activities.”
As you tilt your head in slight confusion - this certainly wasn’t part of the meeting agenda, and the council seemed to notice it, too, Naoya hums. “Oh?”
“Right now. You’re welcome.”
“What? Now? But-”
As the lanky man scrambles in his seat, Sukuna grasps the very back and topples Naoya right out of it. “No no, let me.” And all it takes is one hand to lift their guest straight into midair and march him out of the room.
The door slams shut behind the duo.
And you didn’t need to hear the yelps, or the punches, or the begs for mercy to know exactly what your husband had in mind as a ‘bonding activity.’
It seemed the member of the Zenin clan would be leaving here bruised for his words, and it seemed that the elders were strangely…excited at the notion? Buzzing impatiently, tittering to each other.
It only increases twofold as Sukuna re-enters the meeting hall - knuckles suspiciously bruised, and notably without a pompous heir behind him - and you find yourself fighting back a smile. Muttering some half-hearted lecture about treating guests well, which he seems to lap every word of, you end it off by reaching upwards and kissing the side of Sukuna’s cheek.
Fleeting and innocent.
But the elders gasp-
“Oh my god- oh my god, it’s happening—”
“My money’s on a girl child being the firstborn-”
“-maybe he’s only half-impotent-”
Keen eardrums catching the whispers and congratulations, you only have the time to catch the tips of his cheekbones smearing bright red - before the clan leader stumbles back out of the meeting room.
“Oh, I think I jinxed it-”
Choso, meanwhile, crinkles his nose and reaches for his eraser and pencil once more.
Sukuna: -477
“Gnarly.”
.
.
.
“Uncle Kuna—-!” It was inevitable that every single person inside of Yuji’s cute lil’ kindergarten would end up knowing when his father wouldn’t be able to pick him up, and his uncle would arrive instead.
For one, it was all he would talk about the day beforehand. And two, they’d all hear his shrill squeal- except, most students and teachers used to this little ritual were probably shocked at the scream that followed after. “Mama—!”
And you were just as caught off-guard.
Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin fistbump one another. All those lessons, not gone to waste!
“Ah- Yuji?” You’re fighting the way your voice wobbles in surprise, and it felt like a tiny cannonball had been shot at you with the way he runs straight to you. “What did you say, baby?”
Somewhat confused, two large eyes peak up at you. And his voice is tiny, “Mama?”
Ruffling the curly pink locks of Yuji’s hair, you just-so-happen to glance at the boy’s uncle. Your husband. Who was currently steaming from his ears and flushed bright crimson, veins bulging at his forehead, mouth opening and closing stupidly. “I- you- who-”
He was speechless.
Barely even breathing- honestly, you’re hit with the slight urge to reach forwards and feel for Sukuna’s pulse before a calm voice breaks through. “Ah! I see Yuji’s favorite uncle is here today.” A soft, bowl-cut man claps his hands as he walks up. Your eyes drop down to his nametag and read ‘Haibara.’ “And you must be-”
“My wife-” Sukuna spits out, before another word can leave Haibara’s mouth. “My wife, Jin could never pull anyone like-”
“Excuse my husband.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With yourself properly introduced - this time with names - you find yourself laughing along to one of Haibara’s anecdotes of Yuji, something to do with a dare and attempting to eat a terribly finger-shaped stick. He smiles breezily at you and hums, “He’s a good kid, and seems to be very fond of you. You should come visit more often.”
“Well, I hope to.” Grinning right back, you squeeze Yuji’s squirming body as Sukuna takes off his tiny back-pack. And you can’t help but think that it all felt so…domestic.
Evidently, the cozy atmosphere had been obvious. Haibara ponders out loud, “Forgive me for asking, but do the two of you plan on having children soon? You seem like you’d be wonderful parents.”
Oh, you look at Sukuna. And Sukuna doesn’t meet your eyes, though, with his face turned straight ahead- what you could see was the way the tips of his ears were slowly starting to redden.
It seems like ages, it seems like he was waiting for your answer just as Haibara innocently was. And your mouth opens-
“Mister Haibawa, Yuji’s uncle can’t be a parent, he’s already an exorcist.” What the f—the trio of adults snapped their heads down to see that a black-haired boy - another Zenin, confound it - had just tugged on his teacher’s sweater. Butting into the conversation- Sukuna thinks he could recall this boy’s name, something Gummy? Megumi?
“Oh?” Then it wasn’t an orange-haired girl on his other side, “My mommy says he’s unemployed.”
“That, too.”
Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin facepalm. All those lessons, gone to waste!
“Well I don’t think he can be a parent because he looks stupid.” This time, one burly boy with a buzzcut enters the scene. And he was sparing no punches, both metaphorically and literally - he knocks out a good few backhands against Sukuna’s core.
“That, too.”
“He doesn’t look stupid, Todo.” His nephew whines at him- that’s his boy!
Sukuna could almost shed a tear, oh, how proud he was. So proud, in fact, that he’s hoisting the babbling boy over his shoulders without a second thought.
Maybe Jin hadn’t completely failed as a father, after all. Maybe the boy wasn’t a hopeless case and had actually come to appreciate the strong, kind parental figure that was his uncle- “He just looks sorta stupid when he thinks he’ll embarrass himself in front of his wife. Because he does that a lot. That’s all.”
“Like the time with the exorcist.” Megumi nods, sagely.
“Like the time with the exorcist.” Yuji agrees, smacking the top of Sukuna’s head.
“There- there was no time with the exorcist.” The clan leader tries to clarify to an extremely confused Haibara.
And the girl - Nobara, according to the nametag on her glittery back-pack - points up at him, accusing. “I like his hair. He also can’t be a parent because he wears wigs.”
Sukuna growls, “You’re just jealous, bob-cut-”
You furrow your brows, “Do you wear wigs?”
“No.”
Yuji giggles, “Will you wear wigs?”
“No-”
“When will you wear wigs?”
“Never!” Honestly, children these days. He damn near pounces on Haibara, who’d asked that last question.
Megumi - honestly what was this kid’s problem - seems to pipe up for the sake of piping up, “And he steals candy from babies.”
“That was one time-”
“Hey hey-” Without warning, Todo was tugging on Sukuna’s trousers to gain his attention. Snickering as the older man looks down with the most weary face in existence, “You wanna learn how to actually impress fine shyt?”
“What is…fine sh-”
“That’s enough for today. I think.” Their teacher claps his hands, “And Todo Aoi what have I told you about using certain words? Don’t think I won’t have a talk with your guardian again, young man.” Flustered, he throws an apologetic look your way before corralling his tiny students inside. “Now- inside!”
You can finally breathe a sigh of relief - finally, finally.
Though, you don’t know what bewilders you more - the fact that they listen, or the fact that Todo was the only one that didn’t. And it was all because of the fact that he had Ryomen Sukuna kneeled down to match his height, mouth snarling, but head nodding intently to whatever Todo was whispering in his ear. You look at Haibara, and he shrugs just as helplessly.
“Umm…mister Haibara?” Another one. The pink-haired man’s soul damn near leaves his body as another teeny, toddling monster starts pulling on the teacher’s sweater.
Likely expecting an encore of the chaos just prior, his smile stretches thin. “Yes, Toge?” And you, too, start praying that it wasn’t any more love advice, or choice words about Sukuna’s character.
Pale hair cut into severe bangs, the boy mumbles in a small voice, “There’s some old men in the bushes.”
Ryomen Sukuna has never run up to a bush to kick it so fast.
And, later, with Jin left explaining to the teachers and the elders still walking off their bruises, he found himself walking down a softly sunlit road with you. Yuji now fast asleep on his shoulders, and you by his side.
It was a perfect day. Made only more perfect by the gentle tugging of your husband’s fingers towards yours, in midair. In all his years, it’s perhaps the scariest thing he’s done. They hesitate, and then they reach - the slow curves of his digits gliding down your wrist, before interlocking with yours. Warm. Firm. And yet, softer than his palms have ever felt.
He thinks he catches you smiling, and Sukuna thinks Todo’s advice might not have been so bad after all.
And from a nearby bush, Itadori Jin pumps his fist in success. Impotency or not, not a complete waste, then.
.
.
.
One night a week later, the elders decide, push should come to shove.
Literally; cold towels were thrust into your hands before you’d been shoved through the damp wooden gates of the Itadori household’s bathroom. It was the largest one, special in the way a large portion of the room was occupied by a steaming hot spring.
And from your position at the very edge of the humid chamber, you could see the toned shoulders of Ryomen Sukuna. Back turned to the door, just the upper half of his body was peaking out of the water. Glistened with dampness, deltoids flexed as he leans his elbows back against the floor.
You’re semi-glancing behind you at the members of the council that had all but thrown you inside- something about ‘marital bonding.’ Which was really just a way for them to take care of their head’s little ah…rumored problem.
To them, it was perfect - your gorgeous wife comes up to you in a hot spring and…helps. What more could he want? After all, there’s nothing wrong with impotency - there was just something wrong with their clan leader.
You’re game either way.
And you gently knock against the wall to denote your entrance, before walking up to where Sukuna was gawking from now. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Helping.” You reply simply, wringing the towels before folding them over his heated forehead. “Do you wish for me to leave-”
“N-no!”
It comes out faster than he’d have liked, more hitched than he would have liked. Honestly, the sentence barely even leaves your lips before Sukuna sits up straighter. Letting sploshes of scalding water drip down his abs, he leans further back against your touch. “I mean- stay.”
“Mhm, I heard you had a long day.”
“The worst, mama.” And part of his response is half-grunted with the way you’ve now situated yourself properly behind him. With your lap now a bed for his damp head, fingers weaving through those coral pink locks. “Had to refurbish the dojo, then take care of the problem with that damn Zenin brat…then donate to Yuji’s…kindergarten, then…promote a few elders… and one I had to…” Heavier and heavier, he was sinking into you with each nimble movement of your fingertips. “-fuck.”
“You fucked an elder before you fucked me?” You raise a brow in humor.
“Huh- no!” He’s growling, steam curling from the water. And as you’d briefly halted your ministrations to tease him, he guides your hands back to move. “I would never…eugh. Shit, can’t even imagine doing somethin’ like that with anyone but you.”
Suddenly, it’s silent. Except for the slow curdle of the water, and the soft grunts that Sukuna was oh-so-desperately trying to bite back.
Fuck, he was so handsome.
Such naturally chiselled muscles, and dark circular tattoos on just about every joint he had.
You massage his burning temples, slipping down into the longish length of his hair. “Oh, is that so? And do you imagine it often with me, clan leader Sukuna?”
“Stop being such a fuckin’ tease.” Hissing, Sukuna’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he practically begs. And he looked so pretty when he was begging; brows upturned, mouth unintentionally pouty. “How can I help myself?”
“And am I doing anything to stop that?”
“Yes-” Forgoing the massage, Sukuna now stops your right hand. Holding it tightly as he turns his head and presses a kiss to the tender inside of your wrist, hot with water and his blush. “Just existing is enough.”
“Sukuna…”
Your mouth parts, and it’s like a string being drawn- your lips are on his. It’s messy, with the way he’d angled himself from upside down, tilted up just to sliiide the plushness of his mouth across yours. It’s light, like he was holding himself back.
And you knew what he was capable of.
Which was likely what made you reach for the back of his head, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. Gasping, your mouth just barely parts for his hungry maw to clasp ‘round your sugary tongue. Sucking—before-
Before a button clicks, and suddenly the bathroom walls are trembling with lyrics singing ‘I just had sex—’
You could’ve caught whiplash with how fast you’re both staring at the entrance: meeting with the sight of the several elders, Wasuke, and a ridiculously large boombox. Piled onto an embarrassing heap on the floor, they’d seemingly fallen over- likely from their spying over one corner of the door.
‘And it felt so good—’
“Wrong one dammit- this is what Wasuke was on music.” You’re catching one of them murmur. Just about the only thing they have time for before scurrying away - leaving the boombox very, very behind. And you don’t have to look behind you to know that Ryomen Sukuna was likely seething enough to make the spring water itself bubble.
Sukuna growls, “Fucking George Michael.”
“Actually I think that’s Akon.”
Sukuna slams his open palm against the edge of the pool, and you have to open up your palms to stop yourself from being splashed. He murmurs, more to himself, “All because I didn’t wanna fuckin’ scare you- not that they’d-”
“Wait, why’d you think you’d scare me?” You ask in confusion.
To which he looks at you in genuine bewilderment, as if that wasn’t even worthy to be a question. “You’re beautiful.” He states, like there were no truer words.
Before gesturing at himself- those naturally rosy locks, the four arms, the faint slash across his abs where they said his second mouth was to be. Cursed with strength, cursed with power, cursed with looks that defined him as something more than human. “Look at me- just fuckin’ look at me. And that’s not all- how shall I be expected to live a normal marriage when I’ve been cursed from birth? I only ask for forgiveness that I’d been selfish with my choice of you, my wife-”
“Well, I don’t forgive you.”
It’s silence, and he looks torn between hanging his head in understanding, and taking your words head on.
“Because I think you’re beautiful, too.” You say it honestly. “My beautiful husband.”
And, for not the last time that night, the big, bad cursed Sukuna blushes.
‘Felt so good~’
.
.
.
“Sh-shit—” Your back arches lewdly, allll the way back until your naked, puffy core could reach as much of Sukuna’s mouth as possible. “Think I like it better when you’re like- ngh, this.”
Just a few minutes and one rapid trip to your bedroom later found you with your previous clothes in a heap across Sukuna’s bedroom floor. Your thighs shakin’, hips bucking wildly as you straddled his mouth—no, not his first.
You were riding his second mouth.
The wildly monstrous one slashed across the middle of his stomach, large and hungry. He’d gaped it open immediately once you’d clamored up his washboard abs, letting the curled tip of his second tongue slide deftly between your inner thighs.
Playfully flickering in patterns straight up to the target of your cunt-
“Haaah, so you’ve decided you like- mmm, this mouth more than me?” One of his four hands teasingly dips downwards to grace your pussy with a solid spank.
So loud, so wet that it makes his cursed mouth lick its lips in greed. “Really not gonna talk t’me now then? Not even through these lips?” Another one. And it’s letting off the rawest slurp that muffles your own squeal- “Though, I think she disagrees, huh, baby?”
Through gritted teeth, you somehow manage to force out, “Shut up-”
“Alright alriiiight.” Sukuna trails off, seemingly back to focusing on the ministrations of his tongue.
Your eyes are dangerously on the verge of criss-crossing as he glissades it up every bead of slick escaping you. Laid flat n’ draaaaagging across every inch of skin he could reach, the flexible tip of his tastebuds were just barely touching your treacly folds when-
Spank!
Even harder this time. And your mind whirls stupidly at the stinging sensation that just felt so good- “N-ngh, fuck–”
You were bending so cutely on top of him, and Sukuna can’t help but lean his hulking figure further down the king-sized mattress. “Atta girl.” Bucking up so that you’re fully seated on top of his second mouth now, slick dribbling all down his obliques, his cursed tongue glued to your clit.
Sticking between your folds, his pinkish tastebuds rover ‘round and ‘round that fat nub where you were most sensitive. Just barely gurgling out, “And here I th-thought you were shy-”
“And here I thought you were dumbified, hmpf.” With a roll of his eyes, your husband chuckles. “Guess not yet.”
It was as much a warning as he would give you - and it wasn’t a warning at all.
Before the fat girth of his finger is rudely pryin’ apart your pussylips and shoving the first few inches inside. Until you’re being spearheaded by him, he’s trying to scope every inch of you. He’s trying to snake his muscle in until he’s probed into every nook n’ cranny.
“F-fuuuuuck—” Sukuna groans out, watching through half-lidded peripherals at the way your tight hole was trying to suck him up. So thick, he can count every throb of your walls around him, one-two-three-four- “Are we sure yer not dumbified- hah, already? Look how fucking wet ya are, mama.”
“N-ngh, Kuna—”
Your whines are botched with pants, after each time his finger is swabbing its way inside. Fitting in two- moving in the slightest half-ruts just to fit inside- again. And again and again.
Each passing second had him probin’ into a new corner of your pussy - and yet, it still wasn’t enough for the clan leader. Which is why Sukuna finds his tongue slithering back and forth your folds, pushing them apart until he was given a front row seat to your depravity. “See? A damn- fuck- waterpark. Are ya always like this or m’I just special, huh?”
“You’re not gonna be special if you- mmpf, talk so- ngh, much-” The stretch is so incredible that you’re forced to bite down on the gummy insides of your cheek. A necessity if you didn’t want to wake the entire house up tonight.
But Sukuna had other plans.
Rose brows raising in slight surprise, “Ohhhh? That good, huh?” The edges of his sleazy grin twitch once he’s tuggin’ on your dripping wet entrance even further, pumping in the expanse of a third lengthy finger. “M’just gonna take that as a sign m’special~”
“Kuna-”
Oh, you were just so pretty huffin’ and puffin’ atop him like this. It’s enough to make his second mouth slobber with greed, edging dangerously towards the circle of your stuffed hole. “Alright alriiight. Brace yourself, baby.”
“Brace m- wha- oh.”
Before you know it, his fat fingerpads are pushed oh-so-deeply inside. So deep that you think he’s filling out every drivelling orifice, pumping furiously.
Sukuna fucks you with his fingers like he’s trying to make you remember. Like he’s trying to hook into all of your sweetest spots, the ridges of his joints brush up slightly against your g-spot. You mewl, “It’s so- oh, I’ve never felt so full-”
“Yeahhhh- those fingers of yours can’t do this, huh? Poor thing.” Fauxly cooing, he’s rovering you so open. Your husband’s fingers were so big that he didn’t even have to try to leave you trembling- to leave you whimpering as he pulls out in a quick split-second.
Wordlessly despite your disappointed cries, you crack your teary eyelids open to find that Sukuna was slipping off the silver metal wedding ring off of one of his left hands. And pushing it down onto his slick-glazed right hand- before thoroughly thrusting. “S’gonna be a stretch- gonna be a biiig stretch. You can take it, mama.”
“C-can I?” Your thighs twitch stupidly at the frigid feeling of his ring scraping your soft insides.
This way, you could pinpoint the exact way he was moving inside of you: in and out in and out, curling to hit your g-spot.
And Sukuna can tell the exact moment his stirrin’ fingers target your most sensitive spot- because you’re panting, you’re bucking. You’re throwing your head back once he plunges his slick-glazed fingers out to do it all over again and again, until his knuckles hit your pussylips raw. “Hell yeah, ya can. How’re you gonna, mmm, take all of me if you can’t even- oh, take these, hm?”
You’re pouting, “I-I can…”
“What’s that?”
In an effort to prove it to him, you bounce your hips right back into his sloppy cadence. “I can-” And it only makes your cunt squelch even louder the closer you are to his slippery tongue.
“You can?”
“Y-”
His hips jerk upwards roughly, grazing that ridged texture of his tastebuds from the very bottom of your pussy, up, up, up to the tip of your slope. And it’s loud. “You can?” Your heart races, it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t talking to you - he was talking to your other pair of lips. “Then take it- take- ngh.”
Harder and harder. His probin’ mess was reaching a fever point and you’re rubbing yourself pathetically on the prolonged muscle of his tongue.
And the more ravenous his cursed mouth became - edging his globular tip nearer n’ nearer to your stretched-out hole - the more ruined he was becoming. Bucking himself up animalistically, two hands of his control the grindin’ of your hips- manhandling you down just enough so that the wetness of your cunt just barely touches his rock-hard cocks.
“F-fuck!” You’re whining at the feeling of two thick mushroomy tips touching your skin.
And Sukuna doesn’t touch himself- no matter how many hands he has. Having you on top of him like this would be a sure-fire way to cream himself in his pants before he even started. His pretty lips wobbling, eyes scrunching closer the harder his aching erections throbbed.
He was so sexy. And you can’t stop yourself from staring- something he notices even when he’s in this state. “Wh-what?” Flinching at the sheer intensity, “The fuck are ya looking at, huh?”
“I’m just th-thinking…” And you have to stop yourself from moaning as he pulls out his plump fingers in punishment. They were glistening, dripping with so much of your juicy sap that Sukuna sucks clean in front of you.
Before slipping back in—“That I’d- oh- love to make you, mmm, shut up.”
Rolling his crimson eyes, “Oh, you’d love to make me shut up, huh?” And he was so smug. So sure of himself…until the leader catches onto the way you’d been rutting against his second mouth. Riding. And, slowly, those hazy peripherals of his widen- “Fuck…don’t tell me-”
You only nod.
“-you seriously wanna be fucked by my cursed mouth?”
Nodding drunkenly again-
“O-oh.” His head falls back into the satin pillows as you’re slipping it in, the slimy tendril of his tongue finally scouring into where he’d wanted to for so long now.
It feels incredible.
Finally hooking ‘round your tight entrance to push in, in, in—he’s just so big that once Sukuna’s unfurling his greedy tongue, it feels damn near never-ending. And you felt so tight pulsing around him, squeezing him inside once, twice, thrice. “Ya- ya really are gonna be the death of me- fuck!”
You start to ride him and it makes the big, bad Ryomen Sukuna mooooan, twitching his way inside of you. Since you were already softened up by his fingers, it was easy work for him to pull out and immediately replace himself with those rude tastebuds of his.
Straightened out so he can probe around your walls, the length of his cursed tongue was pumping n’ pumping.
You’d never felt anything like this before. And you swear you see the mouth on his belly chuckle darkly as he fucks you like he would with his cocks. Salivating. Sploshing your poor insides until you have him memorized.
Sukuna’s tongue swerves along your walls until he brushes the very back of your cervix, softly mushing it in. Again. And again. And again—“Fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re gurgling out, wet wads of saliva dribbling down each side of your lips. “Who’s the one dumbified now?”
“Wh-what- ngh-” His eardrums were popped from the pure pressure, barely able to make out your words.
And through the constant rams of his tongue, you manage to string together- “I-I said, who’s the- oh, dumbified one n- oh!”
“You.” In that very moment, he has his bumpy tastebuds glued to your g-spot, his hips arching right off the tense bedsprings, core tensed. Sukuna slashes his cursed mouth into your favorite area and grooooans, “Still you.”
He squeezes your perked clit with the tips of his rude fingers, still with the ring on one of them. And the backs of your eyes explode with white-hot pleasure at the dual pleasure - his tongue fucking you ferally, his digits teasing your clit. “Yes it is- hngh, because it’s gonna make me…”
Cum.
You were so close, you could feel it in each swab of his tongue. Gaped open even wider for the most maximum movements, each thrash is angled just right against your g-spot.
Just right to stretch out your glistening walls until they’re taking the shape of him. And he hums, “Yeahhhhh— all over.” Your clingy slick is drenching his abs by now, like a waterfall that he’s scooping up with a fourth hand.
One on your clit, two on your hips to move you pliably up n’ down his length, and his final one getting absolutely soaked. Sukuna brings them up to his primary mouth to suck off the layers of candied slick, smearing it all over his lips like some delicacy. “Yeah, allll over now, mama. Make a hah- mess of me.”
Your jaw unfastens as you watch him clean himself off, every single drop. “Oh my…hngh.”
“What? Mmm, jealous?” Ruder, harder. It was just so sloppy how his mouth rovered all over your cunt, slippin’ and slidin’ back and forth at a constant pace. “Maybe if you were, hah, patient, you could’ve gotten that.”
“As if I’d want that…” You’re huffing, stubborn.
“My wife, you’re just- about- to cum- on me.” The space between each word is slashed with a push of his rovering fat tip, and a thorough squeeze on your clit.
To which you’re shooting back- “And you were about to cum- ngh, untouched.”
And you think he’ll tease you back. You think he’ll bully you until you’re driven mad - but Ryomen Sukuna was moaning in agreement.
Speeding up the pace of his velvety tongue, he’s slithering it with a deep bash against your g-spot. Grunting, “Can you blame me?” Harder. Something at the back of his throat cracks. He begs, “Such a pretty, oh, fuckin’ wife like you and- and I’m expected to stay calm?”
Hiccuping, “I- I don’t- Kuna, I’m not gonna last-”
Faster. “M’expected not to get pussydrunk? Expected to not fucking- lose it. F-fuck-” Sloppier.
And you don’t get to hear what the tail end of his sentence might have been. Because with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re breaking apart—cumming.
Lids cracking with tears, lips wobbling out whines.
His name, over and over again. Your cute noises are so loud that he has half the mind to wonder whether those damn elders will hear, “Cum—ing-” You announce, belatedly. Body shaking with each peak of your high, “Feels so- so good, oh.”
“Does it, now?” He babbles away, drunk on your honeyed pussy. The sheer primal clench of your walls almost made it hard for him to fuck you through your wave of bliss. “Good- good, atta girl, cream all down my t-tongue now.”
The curvaceous tip of his tongue was constantly pricking your g-spot, and it only drags out your orgasm even further. Until you were nothing but a sobbing mess, “Am- oh, I am.”
“Mhmmm— go ahead.” Your thighs twitch, head dropping backwards as the last few dredges of your high are pounded away. “Go ahead- take it. Take it all out on me.” With a few twinges of electricity that zap down your spine, you can finally manage to crack open your eyes.
But you notice that just as you’ve reached your high, Sukuna did, too.
Or, at least, he was trying oh-so-desperately not to.
As your pace lazes, his two hands on your waist glide down to his plump, aching erections. Both sets of thumbs rover on top of his leaking orifices, squeezing just so he won’t leak out in cum. Stopping himself from cumming untouched.
And that makes you huff, “Kuna…” Your newfound nickname for him makes him flush, and you instantly swat away his hands. “Want it now.”
“Cheh-” Those hazy, blood-red eyes of his narrow, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the tight snap of his underwear being pulled. “What a spoiled lil’ wife…”
But that wouldn’t stop him from indulging you, of course.
Sukuna breathes in heavy puffs, and you barely even have the time to catch yours before he’s immediately clawing onto the right side of your ass cheek with one hand.
Usin’ that sinful leverage to manhandle you straight down onto one of his plush tips, the thick circumference of his shaft throbs against your hole and you moan. Head snapping down- “Fuck.”
Oh, fuck.
He was so…big.
And that was being humble- you’d come to learn that not only was Sukuna gifted with extra height and limbs, he was gifted with extra size too.
Two fat, veiny lengths laid between two meaty thighs, they were colored the prettiest tan flush on their tips. Dribbling down heaps of precum that puddled between the two of you. By now, the curly pink hairs at the bottom of his bases were already drenched, and his ballsack was so tight with need.
Sukuna was so hard that every throb was visible. So big that it made your thighs squeeze together.
Mentally, you’re calculating just how it might be possible for him to fit inside you. Before his rough tone cuts off your thoughts, “Ah ah- we can count together, mama. Say it w’me now-”
“Wha- one!” Almost laughable, he’s then bullying in just the thickened front of one cock. They were stacked vertically, and as you get pierced by the lower one, his upper one was rubbin’ primally on your front.
Sukuna’s mean fingers draw an invisible line from up your treacly slit, measuring. “Mmm- s’more like two inches.”
“Two-” You blabber, “Then how much more-”
“Guess we’ll just have to find out, heh~”
And he meant it.
Before long, Sukuna was fucking up into you furiously. Ferally. Thrust after half-thrusts just to fit his incredible size inside, “Tha’s about four…mmm, more three.” He’s drunk on your pussy, counting away how many solid, sopping inches managed to be squeezed in each time. In a split-second, your poor pussy’s being spanked. “You too, baby.”
“It’s just so- ngh—” Your head throws back for the nth time tonight, singing in synchronization with the creaks of the bed.
It’s like he was jackhammerin’ you, mazing your slick-filled insides with the globe of his cockhead. Sukuna was so long that it was easy to massage your every sweet spot- again and again. “Whaaaat? Can’t take it? Fuck, wee’re only about-” On your tummy, he measures out how far he’d slid inside by now. “S-six inches, still. About halfway?”
Your eyes bulge—halfway?
It’s a shock so large that the rest of your body loosens up, weakened. Just perfect for him to grab onto your hips, your thighs, one hand on your neck to jostle your cute body up n’ down his cock.
“S’it too much for my, mmm, good wife?” Mercilessly, he’s spitting between your ajar mouth. “Took my tongue but you can’t even take one of my cocks- aw, c’mon now, mama.”
“I-I-”
“I-I-I- whaaaat?” Octaves higher. Your husband leans in until his heated breath burns the shell of your ear, whispering, “Gonna hafta speak up, y’know? Unless ya want me to- fuck- it out- of you-”
And you always did surprise him. Because where the head of the Itadori clan expected to be met with a few sobs, a few pleas, you’re only straddling his toned hips tighter.
Swervin’ your hips down in a dizzying figure-eight to help him stuff your cunt full of him. And even though it still wasn’t enough to bottom out completely, you look up at him through teary lashes. “I want both, Kuna.”
Sukuna’s pink lashes flutter, his breath catches. “Wh-what?” And he stutters. Oh, you’d made him stutter - just as nervous and awestruck as he was on your wedding night.
“Both.” You can only repeat the word.
Because at that very second– before your response has even graced his very ears, he’s rutting up into you like an animal. Like a dog in heat, Sukuna’s crushing your front to his abs and his cocks to your cunt.
Pap!
“Fuck…” He hisses at the sting of flesh slamming on flesh, “Eleven. What was that?”
And you’re being dumbified by the sheer stretch, not only had he started kissin’ your puckered pussylips with his second cock - he was starting to press inside. No hesitation, no waiting around for you to get used to the stretch. Sukuna was hungry.
You somehow choke through wads of your own spit, “More- both- oh fuck!”
“What? S-say it again-” He’s like a broken record at this point, and so were his plunging cocks. Deeper n’ deeper. Your drivelling entrance was now stretched out so widely over the circumferences of his bases, sobbing just as much as you were.
“Bo-”
“Twelve- again.”
It was a damn wonder that he could still spit out coherent words. Stammering. Heaving.
The hand of Sukuna’s that’d been caressing your front was now slithering down to cup both his shafts. Guiding them upwards to press in—“Gonna have ya take it a-all until here-” You snap your head down to see what he was talking about - only to catch a lil’ you’d missed in your observations of his size before.
Those two ring tattoos at the base ends of his cocks.
The sight itself is so lecherous that it has you moaning- “Oh, yes- both.”
“Yeah? So sit pretty and take it, baby.” They were glistening with your sultry sap, nearly kissing your folds by now. “Allll the way until m’tattoos- got it, girl? Alllll the way until…” Stupidly, you’re nodding. And he can only breathe through clenched teeth, “Fuh-fuck! Thirteen.”
Thirteen.
Thirteen entire inches - each.
You’d finally reached the tattoos. And they were stuffed pretty n’ puffily inside you. Throb-throb-throbbing away against your every tiny orifice, Sukuna didn’t even have to try to mold your gooey cunt to him.
As you open your mouth to demand him to move, he plunges in two of his thick fingers. Messily dragging himself towards the back of your throat, “Tch- such a dangerous fuckin’ mouth. M’gonna hafta fuck that outta ya.”
You’re whimpering, your jaw dangling agape perfectly for him to spit inside. And then his second mouth—targetting your pussy with a thick glue of spittle.
At least he was nice enough to give you an actual semi-warning this time.
Because before long, two hands are clawing at your sides. Pinning you down so that his two shafts can prick your cervix neatly, bottomed out and yet still trying to go deeper.
When he finds that futile, Sukuna bodily bounces you up n’ down his upright erections. “Oh my god- o-oh my god.” One of his angular shafts was bashing in your sponged cervix, and the other was just below n’ cutely rubbing on your g-spot. “Fuck it just feels so- good!”
“Aaaaatta girl, enjoy it.” With a hand on your throat, he bends you back into an arch.
The pressure is almost too much - so much. You find your body naturally torn between running away and yearning for more, more, more. Though, luckily, the clan leader’s there to help you make that decision. “Nuh uh, no runnin’, baby. Put your back into it- taaaake it, you see how much she likes it?”
“Can- can hear-”
“Mhm—”
And truly, your overfilling pussy was so loud. Every splatter of precum inside you made the most primal squelches- and the volume?
The sheer sploshes of his gooey translucent sap was enough to bloat your pussy. But now with two plump, vein-covered cocks of his probin’ your innards, he was fucking a tummy bulge into you. You gasp at the feeling, “I d-didn’t even know that was- hck! possible-”
“Heh, course it is—And y’know how to make that cute lil’ tummy bulge of yours even bigger?” Sukuna beckons you closer, like he’s about to tell you a secret.
Even though, really, he’s manhandling you like a ragdoll. Reeling you in until his scorched hot lips were grazing your own, murmuring. “I just…hafta…fuck a baby into you, my wife.”
Almost on cue - like a little preparation - both of his strawberry-red divots stream out a few beads of precum. Splattered against your walls, they drip n’ cream down the sides of your pussy and make you see stars. “I would like that- oh, I would- I would like that.”
“Mmm— and what about you?”
Evidently, your needy cunt’s in agreement, too. Because the wettest noises suddenly let off from between your legs- and only later do you realize that it wasn’t just because of how damp your pussy was. No, it was because of his second mouth.
Tonguing down the shimmery sheen of slick upon each of your thighs, he licks up every drop of juice you were leaking. Flicking the curly end of his tongue at your clit-
“Ah ah- focus on me.” Sukuna snaps you out of your high with a light spank on your slope, and a literal click of his fingers.
“B-but how can I when it feels so goood—”
“So goooood, huh?” He drags it out purposefully, pressing his thumping veins against the roof of your channel.
Sukuna knew the effect he had on you. He knew how to target your favorite spot in strikes so precise that it left your toes curling, vision flashing with white. “Tell me-” Right now, he had one hand smearing apart your folds to better let his tongue slip between them. Another two hands clung onto your waist to help you move, and the fourth and final was grabbing your face. Pushing your cheeks together pathetically, “Can’t focus? Awww, my poor wife. Are that- oh, useless at focusing on anything that isn’t my two c-cocks right now?”
“N-ngh, Kuna—” Cute. How cute. Your dilated pupils were swirlin’ in circles inside the whites of your eyes, comically pounded stupid after each stroke upon stroke.
“S’that the case, huh? Is that why my mouthy girl is so- oh, fuck- quiet now?” He’s almost snickering- it’s so ruthless.
Heavy hips pressuring up into you. He was pounding you in rough thrusts, all the way from the mazing curve of his cockheads to those tickling tufts of pink at his very bottom. And Sukuna has the audacity to spit—“Fuck, mama. Do you even know your name right now?”
Your brain was too hazy, merely sparking with twitches of pleasure. You’re left blubbering nonsensically for a few seconds, until his tongue slaps your buttony clit. Startling you into answering, “I-I…”
“Heh, do you even know mine?”
“K-Kuna—” You might not remember your own name by now, but screaming Sukuna’s over n’ over had permanently branded his into your mind.
And so you look up at your husband’s handsome, leering features for any recognition. Only to find him tutting, “Now now, how disa- oh, disappointing. I thought you’d most importantly know who I am, at least.”
“Then…clan leader?”
“Nuh uh.”
Pouting, “B-but ”
“B-b-b-but-” He’s mocking, buttery tongue now rubbin’ your nub raw. You felt overstimulated enough to press your chin between his puffy pecs, like cushions. Sheening out drool all over his skin- “Say my title before you cum, baby.” You listen with bated breath, “M’your husband. And m’always gonna be your husband.”
“M-my husband?” Your mouth drops - and you’re unsure whether it’s because of his words, or the sudden increase of his tempo. Hot and hard.
His twin, rock-hard crowns plummet all the way until you swear you can feel him poke your lungs. Throbbing at a thunderous staccato, he breathes—“Gonna be your husband that fucks you like th-thiiiis—” Punctuated by a few sloppy drags of his vein-decorated lengths, “Gonna be your husband that eats you out like m’starved.” A few hearts that he’s drawin’ on your clit with his extra prolonged tongue.
“Fuck- fuck I’m gonna—”
As your sobs break off, his roughened hand dips from your throat to the slick n’ precum dripping down your thighs. And you faintly notice the way he’s using the moisture to write out his own name—
Ryomen Sukuna.
Signed off with a little heart on your skin, “And m’gonna be your husband that…” And a second heart right above where your womb was, where he was jackhammering into your womb like no other. Flooding it with copious knots of cum like he was practising for something else soon.
Sukuna leans down sweetly so that his lips trace your earlobe, whispering. “-breeds this pretty pussy alllll full.” Tapping the front of your pussy, like he was just imagining it.
And that does it for you. That does it.
Before long your head falls into the crook of his neck with a dull thud, so utterly dumbified on your sudden orgasm that you can only blabber. “Kuna- Kuna—!”
Your thighs were shaking, cunt fluttering with each spasm of pleasure.
And if Sukuna was going to fuck you through your high, he was going to fuck you through your high. Every probe of his rovering cocks increased your bliss tenfold, exact hits to your g-spot.
Sobbing, “Please-” You can only hold onto his flexed, tattooed deltoids for dear life. Clawing down his skin due to the constant stimulation, you bow your spine backwards and meet his ferocious thrusts. Riding out the euphoria- spark after spark that made your toes curl.
Grunting, he just felt so used right now. And he loved it. “Yes yes yes- let this entire house know. Let that whole council ngh- hear how good of a husband I am to you.”
It lasts until you’re gurgling on your own whines, zaps of electricity still shooting from your cunt. “Let them-” And Sukuna dares to smush your tear-wettened cheeks together to coo, “Fuck, what’s that–? What’s that pretty mouth hafta- hngh, say t’me?”
And you somehow manage out, “I-inside.” A shaky hand of yours snakes down to part your pussylips wider, helping his roverin’ tongue. “My husband…”
Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes widen, his kiss-bitten lips part.
You could almost hear the deep, trembling gasp that he’s inhaling. Letting out only five words—“I l-love you, my wife.”
You aren’t granted the time to formulate a response- before his thick, battered cockheads start spilling out. Flooding your cunt in mere seconds, you’re just dripping down your thighs in thick clumps of his seed.
And his cursed mouth is more than happy to indulge in all the miry ribbons of sap, lickin’ all upwards until a thin, ivory gloss coats its lips. Sukuna looks down and groans, “Oh fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-”
His flush was scorching, face scrunched in pleasure. You’re purring, “You’re so pretty, baby—”
“Ah, m’so glad I married ya.” He can’t stop the lil’ confession that leaves his mouth. Heart too full- your cunt too full. And if you saw one of the strongest, most vicious clan leaders in existence smile through a fiery blush n’ his pussydrunk tears, then you mercifully don’t comment.
“M’glad I married you too, Kuna—”
And you’d felt nothing like this before. Having his gluey cum splosh around inside of you, both of his lengths were shoved in so deeply that they were constantly coating your cervix in white. Your womb.
Your deepest orifices that leak out as Sukuna plants a hand on your tummy and presses, watching with bated breath as his seed gushes out of you like a waterfall. “Fuck- didn’t think it would be like th-this, ngh.” He was hypnotized, making an even bigger mess of you. “Didn’t think that it would be s-so…” Addictive.
He doesn’t finish his sentence. For now.
Red eyes teary, Adam’s apple gulping. You’d completely sucked him dry by the time that Sukuna was pulling out of you. The matching mushroom tips of his shafts twitching, reddened and sensitive.
He hisses as they bob in the air for a few seconds, before-
“Kuna- oh, fuck.”
Before you were flipped over and pressed deep into the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders, your knees near your tits—and his mouth over your overstimulated cunt.
Letting you cream all down his chin, Sukuna has to swat away his cursed mouth just to get a taste of you himself. And the moment his plush lips touch your glazed folds- you’re trying to run away. Failing.
“Now now, my wife.” Being draaaaagged back down by all four of his big, beefy arms. Sukuna pecks exactly six open-mouthed kisses on your sloppy hole, his lengthy pinkish tongue coming out to sluuurp—“I remember something about…six heirs?”
Oh.
.
.
.
“Y’know, there’s really nothing wrong with impotency.”
Wasuke grunts, a few elders nod. “Agreed.”
“But maybe he’s taken a vow of celibacy-”
“Maybe his dicks fell off.”
“Choso Kamo!” It was never too early in the morning for Itadori Jin to squawk at his sons, especially when they were in the middle of what was undoubtedly an exceptionally important subject of conversation - the two of you.
He wags his butter knife like a weapon, “We do not say those words in front of Yuji, and especially not in front of our toast.” Before reality sets in and he drags a hand down his face, “But yes…that is possible…”
Wasuke deems it to be the perfect time to chime in, “Bah! I don’t care if they fell off or if they multiplied- I just want grandkids.”
“Father, might I remind you that it was you who decided to interrupt their little moment last night?” A vein pops out beside Jin’s temple, and in his periphery can see the other guilty elders shift in their seats.
The old man does, too, but still in denial. “Slander! That is propaganda that I will not be falling for-”
“Father, we have multiple eye witnesses. I am an eye witness.”
“And what were you doing spying with us?”
“…”
As Itadori Wasuke rests his case, the winding table falls into perhaps the first quiet of the morning. Somewhat tense. Somewhat anticipating. That is, until an oblivious Yuji nearly upturns his bowl of cereal to chime in—“Exorcist-”
“What? Choso, did you let him watch your-” Jin starts- and then stops. Because then he’s seeing exactly what his youngest son was looking at - you and Sukuna.
Well, more like you in Sukuna’s arms. It seemed that you were having some trouble waddling down the Estate’s multiple flights of stairs, painstakingly taking it one at a time to enter the dining room. And he has half the mind to nearly ask what’s wrong, perhaps even get up and help you himself- until he sees it.
Oh, it was hard to miss.
He sees it, and so does everyone else within a five mile radius: the bite marks, the bruises, the slight weariness in both your eyes from lack of sleep. It almost looked as if you two had been thrown to the wolves.
And his younger brother often did forgo a shirt for breakfast, but now he’d haphazardly thrown on a yukata. One that showed off such feral scratches disappearing down his back, his neck, fuck- maybe even his thighs?
Jin drops his butter knife, Choso exits the table, and Wasuke…was he even breathing? Hell, Jin was sure that a few of the surrounding elders had honest-to-heavens fainted right then and there.
Nearly everyone knew what happened.
Except for a beaming Itadori who was the first to gain your dual attentions, squealing out a “G’morning–!” that you both reciprocate in hushed, hoarse voices. Fuck, he even swears he heard Sukuna’s gruff baritone crack.
No one comments, of course, for the dark glint in their clan leader’s eyes promised sure death if they did. Though, Jin does roll his eyes at a few of the whispering council members—
“What a glorious, wonderful day it is. I truly do believe in miracles-”
“My bets are on a girl- but a boy would also be-”
“Akon worked?”
He doesn’t think he can judge, though. Not when he’s immediately pulling out his phone to text Yuji’s teacher, Haibara, about the salacious new updates. Ah, can you blame him? You two would make the prettiest lil’ babies.
Finally, you and Sukuna finally take your seats at the clan table. Grinning. And by the looks on your faces, Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t impotent. Not at all.
wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you
pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)
summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.
when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.
content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better
I'm expecting to write around 20 chapters for this fic!
episode 1: going through it
episode 2: under your spell
episode 3: anyone out there?
episode 4: expectations are too high
episode 5: crush
episode 6: I just don't know right now
episode 7 (coming soon!)
Taglist open! Let me know on this post if you want to be added <3
Okay, but like....needy!choso who blows up your phone all day, double- sometimes triple-texting cause you sent him one mirror selfie of you in a towel when you got out of the shower right before going to work. This man is so down bad for you that just looking at a kinda blurry pic of you partially naked has him throbbing. Before he can stop himself, he's already stroking his length until he's moaning and pressing his mouth into his arm to bite down cause whenever he touches himself and thinks of you, he cums so hard and
Needy!choso who insists he can't fall asleep unless he's on the phone with you, or even better, next to you. Who, when he lays down on your chest to sleep, already has his hands wandering cause he just needs it, and won't you let him because he's missed you all day??? And yes, of course he knows you're tired, but would you mind terribly if you fell asleep with him inside of you and
Needy!choso who always steals your hoodie, but whines if you don't wear his because what do you mean you won't wear his? don't you find it really comfy? And when you finally give in, he wants you to take off your pants too cause you just look so cute that way and
Needy!choso who hates it when someone makes you laugh really hard. He won't pout (barely), but he will sulk a bit because it wasn't even that funny anyway, baby, and besides, they don't even know that you have a spot behind you're knee that's ticklish that makes you laugh way harder and
Needy!choso who buries his face in your neck, your hair, your tummy, because he likes the way you smell. And you smell the best when he fucks you. he doesn't know why, but fuck, he needs it, don't you get it? No? That's okay, cause he gets it enough for the both of you, and he isn't going to be satisfied with just one round- no, he needs at least three or four otherwise he'll be left antsy and twitchy for days, and you wouldn't do that to him, would you? and
Needy!choso who always cums inside or on your pussy because that's where it belongs, baby. And then he'll either fuck it back into you or rub his still throbbing cock through it so you can lick it off him, or he can clean you up with his mouth because that's his favorite taste in the whole wide world and he knows you may never understand, but it's just something he can't seem to live without.
❝Two abandoned children—one feared for his cursed power, the other gifted with the ability to make life bloom—run away and build a quiet life by the river.
As they grow, so does their love, tender and unspoken, until the world tears it apart.
Sukuna as emperor, forging a world where no child suffers as they did. A thousand years later, his beloved is reborn—made of earth, memory, and love—and the world begins to heal again.
This is the story of a cursed boy, a blooming girl, and a love strong enough to outlast time.❞
cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety. death. graphic scenes
chapter one || bruises
chapter two || the river
chapter three || where the water waits
chapter four || the life we made
chapter five || the devil by the river
chapter six || a kingdom of strays & firelight
chapter seven || emperor of japan
chapter eight || the earth remembers her name
chapter nine || mother earth
chapter ten || I am the soil
chapter eleven || where morning finds us
chapter twelve || the man who loved god
chapter thirteen || the songs of the stone
chapter fourteen || her gardens
It’s like. When I was told to “just be yourself” as a kid I thought it was a passive thing. Like oh easy I just have to sit here and be myself. but the reason so many people think that “being yourself” is bullshit advice is because you actually have to make active choices to do this and it WILL make your life way more fun. You have to wear t-shirts of bands that were popular ten years ago because you like them. You have to do your hair in a way that you find cute or comfortable even if it’s “so nineties”. If your friend says a food you enjoy is gross to them, you can’t be afraid to admit you casually disagree. You have to do hobbies that you’re interested in even if you’re bad at them and you cant feel like you have to get good at something before you tell people it’s an activity you do. You have to read manga and comic books in public and get piercings your relatives think are unattractive. You don’t have to tell people you dislike that you dislike them, but you don’t have to give them your time and attention either. You have to rewatch that kids show you’re nostalgic for even if you’re in your 30s. You have to change your name if you hate it, even if only a few close friends can know. You have to get fun girly drinks at the bar. You have to order hot chocolate when you don’t like coffee and black coffee when you don’t like sweet things. I am still bad at practicing this but it is the only way to make it all tolerable.
First you have to realize that "yourself" is a construct built by the decisions you make. Then it becomes clear that being yourself is a deliberate and intentional practice, not a passive state of existence.
→ f!reader, est. relationship, comfort/fluff, slightly suggestive but sfw
fingers concentrated at his scalp, you massage him to oblivion. growth oil drips from them, thumb circling pristine, concentrated tugs at the root of his dark locks. you're focused, smiling when your husband purrs himself to sleep from your touch.
he's sat between your knees like a boy, hair dripping with the residue of water you both bathed in minutes before. over the side of the tub, he rocks his head against the inside of your thigh -- trying, and failing to ward off his exhaustion.
using your oiled fingers, you finger-comb the length, parting it as straight as possible down the middle to split it into two. the moment is quiet -- sacred and too personal to speak against.
suguru wants to tell you that he loves you -- that your fingers feel like home on his scalp, but he abstains. all the encouragement you need is in the satisfied hums he dishes out when you reach the base of his head.
the tub drips behind you, you tilt your head as you begin braiding down his left, starting just right behind that hairline. suguru's never seen a braiding style like yours -- the way you push each strand under instead of over, but loves the way it turns out every time. in the morning when he unravels your work in the mirror, he'll fixate on the slight crimp in his hair before his genetics straighten them out with gravity.
you finish the first one quickly, tying it off with a band you secured between your teeth before starting the next. suguru's head lolls to the opposite side, nose brushing the soft inside of your thigh. it tickles when he turns ever so slightly, pursing his lips to kiss you right there.
you shiver. "thank you for my kiss." you're not sure why you always feel the need to thank him after he kisses you, but it's a routine not lost on you or him. it's a quiet way to show gratitude -- to pull his attention back when something else has stolen it away.
"you're welcome." he settles back down, sighing back into that warm, safe spot he carved out against your thighs. he falls in and out of sleep as you braid the next section, chewing your bottom lip to keep focus.
when you're complete, matching plaits falling down his shoulder-blades, you wake him up by lifting his chin into a sleepy kiss. he stirs after a second, and against your lips, he cracks the smallest smile.
and, of course, he can't help but say, "thank you."
“shut up,” he growled against your throat, breath hot and ragged, body trembling just a little where it pressed into yours, hips stuttering in their rhythm like your moan had actually hurt him.
you blinked up at him, wide-eyed, breath muffled behind his palm, your back arching anyway because fuck, he was deep—deeper than you’d ever had—and the way he stayed locked in place, chest to chest, forehead damn near pressed to yours like he was trying not to lose it—
that voice again, low, wrecked: “quit whining. just… stop.”
and your heart dropped a little. just a pinch.
because every time he said that—shut up, don’t moan, stop making noise—it cracked something warm inside you. like he didn’t want to hear you. like your pleasure was annoying him.
you whimpered behind his hand. soft. just enough for him to feel it.
he groaned.
and it was the kind of groan you knew wasn’t angry.
he pulled back. just enough to look at you—sweat sliding down his temples, jaw clenched, lips parted.
his eyes were wild. unfocused.
“you—fuck—you keep doing that, i’m gonna fucking cum,” he snapped, voice barely a whisper, furious, like it was your fault, like the heat boiling in his gut was something he couldn’t stand feeling.
your brows lifted. he saw the flicker of realization in your face.
he froze. caught.
you licked your lips. “you don’t like the way i sound?”
“i love the way you sound,” he snarled before he could stop himself. “that’s the problem.”
and then he slammed into you harder.
“every time you moan, i—i can’t fucking—nghh—”
you grinned. sharp. breathless. a little wicked. “you cum quick when i make noise, megumi?”
“shut the fuck up,” he hissed again, but this time his hand was shaking as he covered your mouth again—
because now you were doing it on purpose.
making all the little gasps and whimpers you knew would get to him.
he was panting now.
fucking into you hard, losing rhythm, slamming into that perfect spot with all the grace of a man trying not to explode.
“keep it up,” he growled. “i’ll finish in you before you even get off.”
cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating
Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.
Author’s Notes: This is a repost from my old account! It's the first Choso fic I've ever written and I enjoyed it so much that I wrote a Part 2 and a Part 3 (coming soon)! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.
The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime.
You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him.
He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”
You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”
He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”
“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.
Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”
You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.
“Thank you so much!”
As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment.
It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”
“Will do. Have a good night.”
Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.
You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.
~~~
Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him.
“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets.
It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him.
“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”
Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.
“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”
Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.
At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?
Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely.
This isn’t his. It’s yours.
Which means…
By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.
She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.
Oh fuck.
~~~
It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.
Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.
Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next.
“Fuck!”
An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…
You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.
Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.
Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”
He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”
You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”
He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it.
It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”
You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”
“You don’t have to say that – ”
“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”
This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”
“I’m not lying!” you urge him.
He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”
With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand.
When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”
He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”
You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”
He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”
“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!”
He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.
You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”
“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”
You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”
~~~
Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants.
“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.
He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows.
You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”
He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –
“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more?
“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.
He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating.
“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.
“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”
You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself.
“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.
More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue.
You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”
Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.
“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.
“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.
“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”
Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!”
It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real.
He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”
At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”
This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.
Choso is your stereotypical loser. Not the hot, chiseled guy with glasses whose “niche” interests are Radiohead or something basic. Choso is a fucking loser. He's the type of guy who runs Discord servers, falls for rage bait on Reddit, and whose Twitter bookmarks are full of porn.
By some grand miracle, he was able to bag a girlfriend. An online girlfriend that is. The two of you met when you joined the same Discord server. He was already a regular in the server when you first joined, while you were too scared to even say 'hi' in #main. You joined an active voice call, hoping that would force you out of your bubble. That's when you saw him. His hair was untaimed, his eye bags were dark and heavy as if he had been up for hours, acne and acne scars littered his face. He was the only one with his camera on. His anime t-shirt engulfed his frame; he looked thin, but you were almost positive he was hiding muscles. He squints his eyes, looking at his computer. He slowly says your username, trying his absolute best to pronounce it right. "Hey, how's it going? You're new to the server?" Hearing his voice made your heart beat rapidly. You needed this man so diabolically bad. But you're still you, so you get nervous and leave the call instantly. After beating yourself up, you decide to DM him. The worst thing he can say is no. You hold your breath and send the message, walking away from your device as soon as you did, unable to sit with your anticipation.
sent ~ “ur cute (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)”
Since then, the two of you became close, and eventually started dating, edating that is. It’s been 2 years since being friends and 7 months since dating. Choso has yet to see your face, but that doesn’t bother him though. You could be a greasy, ugly, middle-aged man, and he’d still want to be your boyfriend. No one has ever spoken to him or cared about him the way you do. He loves you. If you never wanted to show him what you look like, he’d marry the computer if he had to.
One day, the two of you were on call, per usual. His camera is on, busy playing some game on his Nintendo. “Choso?” You say nervously. He looks up into the camera of his computer monitor. “We’ve been dating for a while,” He looks confused, afraid you're breaking up with him. “We have… I’d like to keep it that way.” He says skeptically. “Right, doesn’t it bother you that you don’t know what I look like?” He cocks a brow, still skeptical of the sudden change in tone. “I mean, not really, if it’s what makes you comfortable, I don’t mind. You like me, so that’s all that matters.”You thought his answer was so cute. Kicking your feet and trying to hold in a squeal.
“Would you like to see what I look like…” You ask carefully. “If you get comfortable enough to do so, of course.” He returns to his game. Figuring this is one of your “would you love me if I turned into a worm” type of scenarios. “Choso.” You call him directly. “Yes, honey?”
“Would you like me to reveal what I look like right now?”
His eyes widen, and he starts choking on air. “Now? Like right now?” “mhm.” “Like now now?” “Like I’ll turn my camera on now.”
He clears his throat. He tries to not let his excitement show, but his face blushes red. "Only if you're comfortable." He says, looking into his computer monitor seriously. "I swear I am. Just promise you won't leave me after." He laughs at your words, as if he would ever. "I promise, sweets. I have no right to be picky." You take a deep breath and click your camera button.
"holy shit."
Your beautiful. Like absolutely beautiful. He didnt believe this was real. He pinched his arm to check that he wasnt dreaming.
"You're joking." That's all he's able to mindlessly blabber out. Your eyes widen in shock. Was he disappointed? "I'm sorry? If I'm not your type, I understand," He shakes his head rapidly. You got it all wrong. He isn't disappointed, he's astonished. How can someone this beautiful even exist, let alone date him? "You're really pretty." He sounds like an idiot, his brain not working properly. "Are you pranking me?" He asks. You furrow your brows. "No! Why would I do that?" He stupidly smiles at you, glad to see the emotions he could only hear. "Because you're beyond beautiful, absolutely perfect. You're funny, kind, intriguing, and now beautiful? It's too good to be true."
You cover your face, shy at his words. "Hey, uncover that pretty face. Don't hide it from me again." You squeal into your hand. "Shut up." Your words muffled. "Cmon, beautiful. I miss that face already." You knew he would only stop teasing you when you uncovered your face. You rip your hands away from your face, giving an annoyed glare straight into the camera. "Perfect." You smile widely. You may not understand what he see's but you're grateful that he likes what he sees. "I was worried you wouldn't find me attractive..." You say lowly, but Choso only chuckles in astonishment. "There's no one on this planet who wouldn't find you attractive. You really didn't have to worry about anything."
“Well, I find you really cute too…” You say, looking away from your camera, your face feeling hot from embarrassment. His face goes bright red. He might be your boyfriend, but at the end of the day, he’s still a degenerate young man who has barely interacted with a woman before you. The prettiest woman he’s ever seen is calling him cute? Oh, he’s going crazy. He moves his computer camera upwards so only his upper body is visible. Making sure is rock hard bulge isn’t visible.
“You’re gross.” You give him a fake side eye. “We were having a cute moment.” His face gets even redder. “You can’t blame me?!” He says defensively, “I just found out I’m dating the prettiest girl in the world, so excuse me for my body reacting naturally.” He puts a hand on his chest as if he were genuinely offended. “Flirting doesn’t make you any less of a pervert.” He rolls his eyes playfully, “Only for you.”
“So Cho, when would you want to meet up?”
He chokes on his saliva in shock. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He looks at his computer to be greeted with your cute face. He felt a familiar throbbing in his pants, but one different than before. He looks down at his pants, and his eyes widen. “Shit. Um, yeah, we can meet, I’m soon.” He says in a panic. “Hm? Everything okay?” You ask, genuinely concerned. “Yeah, I just- fuck- spilt water.” You start laughing hysterically, “There’s no way you just came-“ He cuts you off before you can say the embarrassing truth. “Shut up, please. I’ll talk to you later, ok? We can meet soon, I promise.”
It was cute even in the current situation. Your relationship may not be perfect by normal standards, but it was perfect for the two of you.
not proofread :/
my summer assignment is due tmrw but this is more important ig...
Good morning, dear,
Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).
Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.
Love, always,
Your Kento
Hello Kento,
I hope you are well.
Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.
Best wishes,
Your Wife
Hello to you too, sweetheart,
I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot.
What must I do, my love?
I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.
Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you.
Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?
And after all of that…
You walked past me.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’
That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover.
Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished.
But to leave without kissing me goodbye?
That, my love, was unconscionable.
A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together.
Yours, unwaveringly,
Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon
P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home.
P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room
Kento,
You infuriatingly adorable man.
All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst.
Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.
You have aggrieved me.
Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.
The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.
And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.
Lukewarm wishes,
Your Wife
P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish
P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.
My dearest,
I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.
Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure.
Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too— then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form.
Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth.
Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch.
As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart.
Your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully.
With all my love,
Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband
P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home.
P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silk, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.
Kento.
I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say...
The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm.
Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop.
Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and...
Moving on.
I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me.
But fine. F I N E.
You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;)
Love,
Your Wife
(Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.)
P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.
Dear YN and Nanami Kento,
I hope you are both well.
Do forgive me for intruding me but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.
I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.
Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay.’ I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees.
Do better.
Best wishes,
Ijichi Kiyotaka
P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?
Dear Kento,
Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me?
Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.
And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say.
Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and to catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.
Love,
Your wife
Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague,
You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room.
Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon.
You're welcome.
Worst wishes (to Ijichi),
Nanami Kento
And nothing but love (to my wife),
Ken
Ken,
You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk?
Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two.
Lust,
Your Wife
Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom,
This is what happens in the office?
Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy)
Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls
Stay sexy,
The Strongest
P.S. Can I watch? I’m kidding…unless?
