Alexander S. @alexgatorr - Tumblr Blog

|| ALEX || TWENTY-TWO || OVERTHINKER, UNDERACHIVER || JJK & MHA ||

⟢ click here to read my rules !! ⟢ click here to learn a little bit about me !! ⟢ click here for my masterlist !!

⟢ most recent works: talk to me nice (R.S.) // kiss it better, baby (R.S.) // i know what's wrong with it, ain't got no gas in it! (T.F.)

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ

⟢ sex with me so amazing...

mean concubine f!reader x heian era!ryomen sukuna CW: MDNI, threats of violence, mentions of past sexual encounter, suggestive, putting smut warning for good measure summary: you stayed true to your word, after sukuna helped you with your... sudden illness, you went right back to ignoring his existence, until your hopes of a good day are shadowed by him... literally.

click here to read part one: talk to me nice click here to read part two: kiss it better, baby currently reading part three...

You're a woman of your word.

You said it would never happen again. Obviously, you meant it. Why wouldn't you? You aren't simple, a single night with Ryomen Sukuna is not enough to change your morals or your mind. You didn't suddenly find his horrific personality appealing, even if you discovered that you found him physically attractive.

Your grandmother always said that even ripe fruit can hide worms inside. Ryomen Sukuna is simply ripe fruit—firm, tempting—and filled with disgusting worms that will wriggle on your tongue once you take a bite. And you are not stupid enough to take a bite.

Days passed, then a week, then two. You went back to your daily life with ease, only now with a new distrust in tea. The other three concubines tried to apologize a dozen different ways, even bowing so low their perfect foreheads reddened from the tatami mats.

Tears were shed, pleading at your feet for forgiveness. Though, even a blind fool would be able to see through their theatrical displays. Their apologies weren't for you, but for the two pairs of crimson eyes always stalking, greedily drinking in their fear and waiting hungrily for your reaction. You had no intention on feeding any of them—not the other concubines and certainly not Sukuna—leading to countless dismissals, all with an eyeroll as you stepped around their pathetic displays.

Not that any of it mattered today. Today is a good day, a perfect, beautiful day. Sukuna has gone out on some sort of conquest, leaving the halls brighter without his presence, and giving you room to breathe and roam.

Your first stop? The treasure room, a cavernous hall filled with offerings that Sukuna always tosses aside, having no use for mortal possessions. Which is fine, amazing even, another man's trash has always been another man's treasure. And you've had your eye on a chest of fabrics for days, a gift from a northern province, and yet another thing that Sukuna turned his nose up at.

He wouldn't miss it. He wouldn't even know it was gone. At least, that's what you told yourself as you crept through the estate, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible to the wandering servants. It wasn't long before your eagerness got the best of you—your slow creep quickening to a light jog, then bursting into a dash, breathless giggles trailing behind you.

Oh, you have plans. Plans. A new robe, fitted perfectly to your measurements, the most beautiful embroidery on the wide sleeves. You've spent nights dreaming about it, days with ink and parchment planning it, and last night as Sukuna left, you even stole needle and thread.

You burst into the treasure room, exhilarated, not even stopping to admire the other riches. No, you're a woman on a mission, and that mission ends with that wooden chest. It's, thankfully, easy to locate since it's the newest edition to the 'trash heap.' With a grunt, you start the journey of pushing it all the way back to your chambers, this time completely ignoring the odd stares you get.

You're almost there, biceps burning, sweat dampening your forehead—but you're almost there. Just the thought of spending your perfect, beautiful day hunched over your first project in months has you doubling your efforts, grunting with the strain.

You're so absorbed, so determined, that you completely miss the sudden shadow that falls over you—and the massive man it comes from.

"You've grown rather bold, petal. Stealing from your King."

It's humiliating how your body freezes, undeniably caught. Spine snapping straight, shoulders hiking to your ears, swiftly turning on your heel to face him—all while trying in vain to block the chest with your body.

Ryomen Sukuna stands there, upper arms crossed over his broad chest, the lower two hanging loosely. He's dressed down in only cloth pants—leaving him bare above the waist, the maw on his stomach stretched in a twisted grin, portraying the amusement that's clear from his face.

Your brow furrows, trying to mimic his stance—forcing your shoulders to relax, chin held high, your arms crossing over the swell of your breasts. "I'm not stealing anything. I... found it."

That earns you a raised brow, unimpressed by your lie. "Hm."

He takes a step forward, you take a step back, your calves hitting the chest and halting your retreat. "Why are you still here? I was under the impression you were going to be away from the estate for a while, on a hunt or conquest."

He cocks his head slightly, and you cringe at how his eyes drag over you for a long moment, before he rumbles out. "You avoid me for a fortnight, then wait for my absence in order to steal from me?" He clicks his tongue, taking another step forward. "I thought you had learned your lesson, petal."

You scoff, irritation flaring. "Stop calling me that ridiculous name."

A smirk tugs on his lips, his voice a rumbling coo filled with mockery. "No. It's only fitting, seeing as it took a pathetic flower for you learn manners, even if your submission was... clearly short lived." Another step, the warmth of his body seeps through your attire, his lower arms dropping grip your thighs, while the upper uncross from his chest in order to cage you against the chest, large palms flat against the wood.

He looks down at you. "Perhaps you need another lesson, hm? Seems your cunt listens better than your ears."

Your eyes widen, and you instinctly bring your hands up to push at his chest, trying to stop him from coming any closer as you snap, face flushed. "My ears listen just fine!"

"Hm? Then, tell me, petal..." he leans in closer, his nose dragging down the side of your throat, murmuring. "Why are acting like a little thief? Have you learned nothing? If you want something, you beg for it."

That's the final straw. You draw your hand back, then with all the strength you can muster, you crack your palm across his face, teeth bared as you snarl. "You do not speak to me that way, Ryomen Sukuna. I am not Lena, Mae, or Namoi. I do not beg."

For a moment, there is only the ragged sound of your breathing, and the sting of the impact burning your palm. Sukuna is silent, terrifyingly so. His large head turned slightly to the side, tanned skin sporting the red outline of your slap, tongue pushed into his cheek.

Any sane person would apologize, fall to their knees and beg at his feet. But, you're a woman of your word, and you do not beg. Besides, you see no need to humilate yourself—in this moment, you know that no amount of prayer, or pleas, will save your life if Sukuna decides it's over.

So, obviously, you turn on your heel, plant your hands on the chest and start pushing it again, crossing the small distance to your chambers in record time. You don't bother to look back, if he's going to kill you, you'd rather not look at his face while he does it. All you do is finish pushing it, then reach a hand backwards and slam your door shut, closing yourself in your chambers with a long breath.

What you don't see is how Sukuna is grinning—wide and wicked—amusement and arousal thrumming through his veins. Only you, his mean concubine, would raise a hand to him.

And only you, his precious petal, can walk away with your life afterwards.

He groans, his upper hand slapping over his eyes, then a booming laugh leaves his chest before he can stop it.

Tomorrow, he'll punish you. But today? Today... he'll let you craft your little project... as he's curious what other things your hands can do.

A/N: here is part three!!! i don't exactly know what i'm doing with this "mini-series," i honestly haven't made a single plan for it and am making it up as i go!!! as always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated as i flesh out my writing style and try to lock in an actual plot lol. thank you for reading!!

cawmeraman

Typing out a smut scene while shaking my head to show that I'd never sexualize this type of situation outside of fiction

TOJI FUSHIGURO'S MASTERLIST:

mechanic f!reader x toji fushiguro

⟢ i know what's wrong with it, ain't got no gas in it! (short and fun)

more to come...

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ .ᐟ.ᐟ

SATORU GOJO'S MASTERLIST:

mean plus-sized f!reader x pathetic frat!gojo

⟢ don't save him, he don't wanna be saved (smut)

more to come...

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ .ᐟ.ᐟ

RYOMEN SUKUNA'S MASTERLIST:

mean concubine!reader x heian era!ryomen sukuna

⟢ talk to me nice (crack + suggestive/smut)

⟢ kiss it better, baby (smut)

⟢ sex with me so amazing... (suggestive)

more to come...

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ .ᐟ.ᐟ

JJK MASTERLIST:

⟢ satoru gojo

⟢ ryomen sukuna

⟢ toji fushiguro

⟢ more to come...

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ᴊᴊᴋ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ .ᐟ.ᐟ

i wanted to introduce myself:

hello! i'm alex or alexander, my pronouns are he/him. i'm in my early twenties, turning twenty-three next month. i am mixed; africian-american and mexican. i am also, shocker, trans! i am at the very, very beginning of my transition—very exciting and very scary.

i love writing and have been reading fanfiction for years and years, starting with my first ever fandom: Supernatural.

i write f!readers, primarily with plus-sized bodies in mind, because i want to expand the content that's out there. i plan on writing more and more diverse content—plus-size, POC, and male readers.

i'll always have neutral content, too. i just want to be as inclusive as possible, so a vast majority of people can ready my silly little fics and feel seen.

i always appreciate feedback. i want to better my writing, so i love hearing what is enjoyable and what falls flat. please feel free to reach out to me—either by commenting or messaging your thoughts and requests!

thank you to everyone who takes time to read my silly little stories! buh-bye!

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ .ᐟ.ᐟ

Rules: ⟢ don't like, don't read. my content isn't for everyone and that's okay. ⟢ if you are a minor, please do not read or engage with my content. ⟢ hate speech will not be tolerated.

Do Not Interact: ⟢ my account is a place for creativity and entertainment, not a place to spew bigotry or hate. if you support trump or ICE, this account is not a safe place for you. take your hatred elsewhere.

⟢ my stories are not political, but i am—and i will not be quiet about the injustice in the world. black lives matter. trans rights are human rights. love is love. nobody is illegal on stolen land. nobody is free until everybody is free.

#— ɴᴀᴠɪ .ᐟ.ᐟ #— ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ .ᐟ.ᐟ

hunglazed

"no grave can hold me down; i'll crawl home to her." 🪦

liv-aroo

Megumi’s Type~ ✨

adhdnojutsu

Meme redraw: Nobara wishing Yuji & Megumi could get a room

Just 1 layer & 1 brush for the kids btw, not to brag but yeah I'm definitely bragging lol

⟢ i know what's wrong with it, ain't got no gas in it!

mechanic f!reader x toji fushiguro CW: no serious warnings, just something short fun summary: it's ninety degrees and you're tired of watching the hot guy next door fuck up his car.

Three hours.

That's how long you've spent peeking through your window, head cocked to the side, watching the muscular, definitely sunburnt, back of your neighbor. Broad, drenched in sweat, skin past tan and now bright red, bent over the engine of what looks like the most beat up, duct taped together, rust bucket Honda civic you've ever seen. The poor thing looks like it's never seen a better day.

And, lord, he's tormenting it. Big, manly hands just rummaging under the hood, yanking on things that shouldn't be yanked on. With a sharp wince, you watch as he rips out a spark plug, stares at it, then tosses it over his shoulder like it's worthless.

He's committing crimes. Car crimes. And your poor, poor mechanic heart cannot take it anymore. With a huff, you push away from the window, curtains falling shut as you slip on crocs and head outside to confront the large man—and the atrocious heat.

It's sweltering, the air thick and humid. It's a miracle that he hasn't passed out—barely thirty seconds outside and you're already feeling a bit lightheaded.

In an attempt to be polite, friendly, you stay on your doorstep and call out to him first, "yo! You need help over there, man?"

His head raises slowly, then swivels—left, right—skimming over you without second thought. Then he brings a meaty hand to scratch his temple and goes back to butchering his car.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips, shoulders slumping. It's not really shocking that he overlooked you—despite being a mechanic for years, most men would rather ask the most inexperienced, stupid, new hire to work on their vehicle, as long as it's a man and not you.

Just as you're about to turn around and go sit in your nice, airconditioned home—you catch him unscrewing something, then he reaches down by his feet and picks up vegetable oil. Actual vegetable oil meant for cooking. Not for cars, even ones as busted as his.

"What the fuck are you doing, dude?" You're across the yellowed yard in seconds, slipping between his firm body and the hood of the car, your hands around his wrist to keep him from filling his car with vegetable oil.

He freezes, eyes widening only for a second before dropping down to look at you, annoyed. "Workin' on my car, thought you would've caught that with all the stalkin' you've been doin'."

You scoff, still holding his wrist. "You aren't workin' on anything. You're about to fucking ruin your engine, dude. Vegetable oil? Really?"

"It's oil, ain't it?"

It's such a shame. He'd be so stupid hot, if he wasn't, well, stupid.

You stare at him in total disbelief. "For cooking, dumbass. Not for your goddamn engine." You snatch the plastic bottle from his hand, clutching it to your chest. Then, now that the immediate crisis has passed, you snap, "and I wasn't 'stalking' you."

The man leans back, thick arms crossing over an even thicker chest. He doesn't look convinced in the slightest. "Yeah? What would you call all that peekin' you were doin', then?"

You mimic his stance, replying flatly, "not 'stalking,' that's for damn sure. It was like watching a slow-moving car crash, I couldn't look away. Though—" you glance over your shoulder, finally getting a good look at the damage he's done, before looking back at him, "—might be better to crash this one. Put the poor thing out of its misery."

His thick brow furrows. "It ain't that bad. You're bein' dramatic."

"Oh? It isn't that bad?" You finally move, walking around him to point at the sparkplug on the ground. "Tell me, big guy, why is this out here and not, y'know, in your goddamn engine?"

That makes him pause, a large hand scratching at his unfairly toned stomach. Then he shrugs, grunting, "didn't need it."

You throw your hands in the air. "Didn't need it?! Your car won't start without it, dude!"

He grunts again, eyes flickering from the plug on the ground, then back to your incrediously expression. "How do you know?"

"How—" You take a deep breath, turning away from him and looking up at the sky, counting backwards from ten to gain the strength to deal with this man. Then, after you know you won't cuss him out, you turn back around. "Let's start over. Hi, I'm your neighbor. I'm also a mechanic down at Willy's Wheels. And you are?"

"You're a mechanic? Really? You don't... look like a mechanic," he gestures vaugely at your entire being, as if that makes any sense. "Fuck it, whatever. Names Toji."

But, honestly, after that bold insult, you no longer care. He could be fucking Beyonce, the Pope, any-fucking-body. You wouldn't help him even if he begged. You waste no time bending down and snatching up the spark plug, holding it in a tight fist as you stalk back to your house, shouting for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.

"Have fun getting to work with no sparkplug, jackass! Should've let you fuck up your engine!" With that, you flip him off over your shoulder, then storm inside and slam your front door behind you, breathing hard from the heat and rage.

What a goddamn shame. So fucking hot, but so fucking dumb.

A/N: this was really fun to write. i also don't know anything about cars, so i totally winged it all. my brother really just another me. anyhoo, hope y'all enjoyed. i'll probably do a second part. as always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. thanks for reading, y'all.

⟢ kiss it better, baby

mean concubine f!reader x heian era!ryomen sukuna CW: MDNI, threats of violence, accidental drugging with an aphrodisiac, improper use of sukuna's other mouths, smut summary: you should've kept your mouth shut. now, you're going to either die horny or have to ask sukuna for help. and honestly? dying doesn't seem that bad.

click here for part one: talk to me nice currently reading part two... click here for part three: sex with me so amazing...

"Seriously? None of you had, I don't know, dreams? Things you wanted to accomplish?"

Mae shakes her head, an annoyed crease between her brows. "Like we said the last ten times you asked—no. We're happy with our lives here."

You groan, flopping backwards onto the plush rug, staring up at the high ceiling with a grimace. "How? How can you three be satisfied with... this? Laying on your back for such a cruel man?" You roll, propping yourself up on your elbow, chin in your hand. "Legs in the air? While he grunts like a feral animal in your ear? Gross. Don't you imagine having sex with men you actually like? Kind men? Sweet men? Men that aren't... him?"

This time it's Lena who speaks up with a sigh, a huffing, exasperated sound. She's seated neatly in a plush chair, spine straight, legs crossed. Very womanly. "We like Lord Sukuna. And his... endowments."

Your nose scrunches as you look over at her. "You truly overlook everything that he has done, everything that he is, because his penis is large?"

The three concubines gasp, cheeks flaring. Noami fumbles with her words for a moment, mouth opening and closing at your audacity, before she spits out, "we said no such thing—!"

"You implied it!"

Mae drags her hands down her face, voice tight with embarrassment, "we did not imply anything! You just have no decorum!"

Lena, who finally stops choking on her tongue, stands up—her movements stiff and jerky in her sudden anger. "I do my best not to question Lord Sukuna's decisions..." She looks down at you, disdain clear on her perfect face. "But I do not understand why he keeps such a brutish woman around. You lack grace, you lack manners, you lack respect. Once your novelty wears off, he will see that you are nothing but a problem."

The room goes silent, your eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Sure, you knew that Mae, Lena, and Namoi weren't fond of you. But, over the past months—especially with the harsh winter that kept you four trapped together—you had foolishly thought, that at the very least, you could consider them acquaintances. They had finally begun inviting you into their chambers, involving you in their conversations, even sharing meals together.

You push yourself off the rug, face hot and flushed, tears burning your eyes, your lips wobbling as you bite out, "I might be brutish, but at least I have standards. I'd much rather lack grace, manners, and respect—than be any man's personal breeding bitch."

Another round of gasp's echo through the room at your vulgarity, but you don't bother sticking around for whatever retorts they might have—you've been insulted enough for one afternoon, and you aren't masochistic enough to want to hear how else you fail as a woman.

With your chin held as high as you can, you turn and leave their chambers, hurrying to your own private chambers—while Lena, Mae, and Naomi share one large bedroom, you've always had your own. Massive, decorated with heavy curtains, gold embellishments, a large, circular bed piled high with quilts and pillows, and a closet, deep and wide enough to hold rows and rows of robes; both informal and formal.

You crash into your bed, burying your face into one of the many quilts, finally letting out a pathetic sniffle. You don't allow yourself to cry—not really—just sniffles, occasionally a hiccup, a few tears dampening the fabric. You don't sob or wail. There's no cursing or throwing things.

Just a pathetic lump in the middle of a too-big bed, sniffling into quilts, shoulders shuddering with every shaky breath.

Time is irrelevant for a while—hours passing, the day continuing on without you. It's well into the evening when you hear knuckles rapping against your door, then the gentle slide of it opening. You don't bother to look up, speaking muffled into the quilt, "what?"

An awkward shuffle, murmured voices, before the sound of sandals stepping closer. "We... wanted to apologize. For Lena's outburst. It was... undignified."

Mae. You finally look up to see her standing at the end of your bed, Naomi in the doorway looking anxious. In Mae's hand is a teacup, steam rising, caring floral notes in the air.

"We made you tea," she holds the cup out, a bit sloshes over the edge, "in hopes that you'll forgive us."

You sit up, eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to poison me?"

Noami squeaks, "No, of course not—!"

Mae silences her with a sharp look over her shoulder, then pushes the cup towards you once more. "No, we are not trying to poison you. We are trying to make amends."

A slow nod, you carefully take the teacup and saucer. "If this does kill me, I'll come back as a curse and eat your hearts." With that, you take your first sip, trying to ignore how they both watch you with wide, eager eyes.

The tea is horrid. Tasting of wet grass, dirt, mud. You spit it back into the cup after one, small swallow. "What was that?"

Mae and Naomi exchange looks, then Naomi pipes up. "It's not that bad, maybe you should take another sip. You might like it more the second time."

Mae nods. "I didn't like it either when I first tried it, but the second sip is much better."

You don't trust them. Either of them. Their smiles are too tight, too thin. You shove the teacup back at Mae, then stand up. "One sip was more than enough."

You bump her shoulder as you walk past, aiming to head to the kitchen to get water, maybe bread, anything to get the horrible taste out of your mouth—when suddenly, warmth like no other starts to spread along your skin. Starting with a tingle in your fingertips and toes, then crawling up your arms and legs, coiling deep in your belly, igniting up your spine, your neck.

Your knees buckle, hitting the rug with a dull thud—you expect pain to bloom, instead a whimper pushes past your lips as molten desire pools low in your stomach. With wide, watery eyes, you look up at the two women, wanting to scream, but all that comes out is a whine, "what did you do to me?"

But both of them are shocked silent, pale and trembling. Too long of a moment passes before Mae speaks, hissing at Naomi, "what did you do?! I told you to grab the flower with pink petals and a long stem. What the hell did you grab?"

Naomi looks ready to cry, her lips trembling. "I thought... I thought... I mean... it looked pink. A blush! Rosy!"

Mae turns and slaps her, a sharp crack echoing in the room. "You had one job! One! We wanted to kill her not... whatever the hell this is!"

Naomi sputters, "well, she might still die! Look at her! She's all red! It might still work!"

You try to stand once more, but you're throbbing. Skin too tight, too hot. With shaky hands, you start to undo your robes, needing relief. Mae and Namoi watch as you strip bare, realization dawning on their faces.

Naomi whispers, horrified. "Oh my... the white flower... that's for..."

With a shared look between them, both women suddenly leave. You open your mouth to shout after them, but nothing coherent comes out, just another needy whine. On your hands and knees, you crawl back towards the bed, heaving yourself up with all the strength you can muster, and flopping in the most embarrassing position—your chest pressed to the mattress, hips propped in the air.

Even bare, the heat doesn't stop spreading—your nipples stiff, tight peaks that drag along the mattress when you try to lay flat. Pleasure zips down your arched spine, a pathetic whimper pushing past your lips as your pussy starts to gush. Slick coating your puffy lips, clit throbbing in time with your heart. Even in your debauched state, you have a grasp on what the hell was in that tea.

An aphrodisiac. Just your luck, you wouldn't die like a normal person—choking on poison—you'd die naked, exposed, dripping between your thighs.

You brace yourself then shift, just slightly, to make room to reach your hand back, sliding over the hang of your soft stomach, and slithering between your thick thighs. A sharp gasp is punched out of you as the pad of your fingers just brush through your wetness—sticky, the curls between your legs soaked with it—then skim against your clit.

Barely a touch has a cry leaving your lips, your pussy clenching hard around nothing, a painfully sudden orgasm leaving your hand and sheets drenched and you sobbing into the mattress.

It's not enough.

Once you catch your breath, you drag your fingers back over your clit, hissing at how sensitive you already are. With another sob, you press the pads of two fingers over the bud—trying so hard to be gentle as you start rubbing slow, slow circles.

With your other hand, you stretch, grabbing pillow to bite down on—trying to stay quiet, muffled, as your pussy drools down your wrist. It doesn't take long before just rubbing your puffy clit isn't enough—your first orgasm was sudden, painful—but trying to reach your second feels almost impossible.

You speed up, tighter, faster circles. Still, even as pleasure whites out your vision, has you choking on spit and moans, you just can't cum. Every time your peak is close, you feel your stomach tense, your thighs shake—right there, right there, so close—!

But you never fall. You never cum.

Leaving you sobbing into the pillow, ugly and ragged. You feel so empty, your puffy pussy clenching desperately around nothing. You pull your fingers away from your abused clit, crying harder at the brief loss, before shoving your middle finger as deep as it can go.

With how sopping your cunt is, it slides in easy. In, out, in, out—still not enough.

Another finger.

Still not enough.

You need more. Deeper, thicker. To be stretched and full.

"You are unwell."

A shiver runs down your spine at the familiar voice behind you—deep and rough. You let out an embarrassed sob that breaks into a mewl, your fingers still pumping in and out of your wet hole, unable to stop despite the sudden audience.

Heavy footsteps near, then Sukuna speaks again. "Who did this to you, hm?"

You sob, "get out!"

He chuckles, dark and amused, seemingly unbothered by your state. "Someone has tried to poison my favorite pet. Tell me who."

His voice alone is enough to make you drool, doubling your efforts even as you scream again, your voice cracking into a moan, "leave!"

"Names."

Distantly, you know this isn't about you. It's about his possession over you. Someone tried to harm—to kill—what belongs to him. Usually that sentiment would piss you off, but with two fingers shoved in your cunt, all it does is make you whine.

With a choked moan, you rush out, "Lena, Mae, Naomi! Now get out!"

A beat passes, then you hear his heavy footsteps walk away, robes dragging on the ground before your door slides open and shut. If you weren't so needy, you'd be grateful that he actually listened for once and left.

Unfortunately, you are needy, and his absence stings like rejection. Just his voice had you so close—knowing he was there, watching—almost made you finally cum.

You need him back. Fuck, you need him. You'll hate yourself afterwards, you'll hate him even more.

You need him. His fingers. His cock. Him, him, him.

Pride tossed aside, you yell, "Sukuna!"

And for a heartbreaking moment, you think he won't come back. Just the thought of him really leaving you makes your hand slow, pain overcoming the pleasure as it falls limply to the mattress, fat tears soaking your pillow even more.

Then you hear his footsteps again, your pussy fluttering. The door slides open, then closed. He grunts and you moan.

"Please," you whimper, wiggling your hips.

He clicks his tongue. "Use your words, brat."

All self-respect leaves you at once. All fight, all ego, pride, insults—all gone. You don't even recognize yourself as you beg, "I need you, Ryo. Please. Please, I need your cock. I need your cock so bad. It hurts."

You hear his heavy robes hit the floor in a pile, feel the warmth radiating from his massive body as he nears.

"Fuck. Look at you, finally saying 'please,'" He sneers. "You remember your manners when you need something, don't you, brat?"

You hate how dumb you feel, just nodding blindly, pushing your hips back towards him.

Amusement is clear in his voice, "dumb already? I haven't even touched you, yet."

Just as your about to beg him again, the pain becoming unbearable, you feel two of his large hands grip the fat of your hips, then two more push your back into a mean arch.

"There you go," he purrs. That's when you feel it, breath panting against your pussy, making your shiver. Even in your clouded state, you know Sukuna's face is somewhere above you. So, who's breathing down there?

You wiggle, trying to catch a glimpse, but Sukuna moves one giant hand to pin your head to the pillows, keeping you in place. Just as your about to call this whole thing off, to let yourself die—a fat, wide tongue licks a stripe over your cunt, making you squeal and try to leap up the bed.

You aren't given time to recover, or to ask, or breathe. The tongue laps at you hungrily, messy, smearing spit and your slick all over your thighs. Sukuna groans, his two lower hands yanking your hips back towards him—and the tongue that's set on devouring you.

"Don't run," he growls, landing a sharp smack on your ass. "You asked for my help, you begged, so take what your King gives you."

A choked cry leaves your lips as the tip of the tongue prods your fluttering hole, then tries to wiggle inside—too much, too big.

"S'too much! Won't fit! W'fit!"

Sukuna chuckles, holding you in place. "It will."

Your protests die as the tongue pushes inside, stretching you open, fucking you with the tip. Your hands scramble for purchase, gripping handfuls of pillows and quilts, caught between trying to hold on and climb away.

Finally, finally, you feel the delicious tightening in your lower stomach. Your thighs quaking, back arching deep, babbling into your pillow, "m'close! Close! G'na cum! Wan' cum! Please? Please? Ryo!"

He grunts, "gonna cum already? Fine. You can cum, but only if you scream my name. Go ahead. Cum for me, pet."

You nod eagerly, your hips pushing back against the tongue, grinding hard as you chase your orgasm. With a cry, you cum—screaming his name, "Ryomen!"

When your brain is functioning properly, you'll find it embarrassing how much of mess you made—drenching him, the sheets, your thighs.

For a moment, the pain is gone, and you slump forward. Boneless, relieved. Sukuna's hands almost gentle as he watches your collapse, just enough for you to finally turn your head to look at him, your eyes widening despite your exhaustion as you take him in.

You knew Ryomen Sukuna had four arms, four eyes. These were facts, and extra appendages that you've seen with your own two eyes. What you didn't know was that Ryomen Sukuna has a mouth on his stomach, and right below, two penises.

The mouth grins at you, covered in your own slick, and with a painful amount of embarrassment, you connect the dots on whose tongue was lapping at you.

Then your eyes drift lower, landing on his two cocks—both thick, large, and weeping. Now you understand what Lena meant by 'endowments.' You pull yourself weakly away, stuttering out, "no way. You're not fucking me with those... things! I'll die! My organs will rupture!"

Sukuna actually laughs at that, loud and booming. He steps closer, you crawl further away. "You will be fine."

"No, I won't! You'll... you'll... you'll break me! No way!"

The bed dips as he crawls onto it, one large hand wrapping around your ankle and tugging you closer with a yelp. "You can take them," he rumbles out, smoothing his hand up higher. "Look at her, she's so ready. I'll slide right in."

Your brow creases. "Are you... are you talking to my vagina right now?"

He lowers his head, biting above your knee. "Mhm. She's the only one that listens to me."

It feels like you've entered another timeline. Ryomen Sukuna is in your bed, after using the maw on his stomach to give you the best orgasm you've ever had, now he's almost tamed as he lounges on your bed, his broad body settled somewhat between your legs.

You shake your head. "Nope. Keep your... cocks away from her."

He shifts, propping your legs over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Fine, fine. But your illness is not over. One orgasm won't be enough."

That makes you freeze, "what? Seriously? But I feel fine now."

He snorts, "you feel fine now because you just had an orgasm. Once that wears off, you'll be begging for me again." He looks up at you from between your legs, crimson eyes dark. It's a sight that shouldn't make your used pussy throb, but it does.

He hums, always so observant, "see? She still wants me. Now, be good. Or I'll leave you here to suffer and die."

You sigh, accepting your fate, and leaning back onto your pillows. "Fine. Fine. But this never happens again. And I mean it; your weird twin cocks don't go anywhere near her."

"Hm. We'll see."

You open your mouth to protest, but a sharp, painful twist in your stomach cuts you off. Sukuna hums again, murmuring, "you'll be begging for my 'twin cocks' soon enough, woman."

It's going to be a long night.

A/N: not sure what happened... i was trying to keep it short, but then i kept typing, and now here we are. i hope this lives up to people's expectations as a semi-part two!! i'm still learning my writing style and trying to write sukuna the best i can!!! feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!! i don't have a formal tag list, but i know a couple asked to be tagged, i didn't forget about y'all! anyway, again, i hope everyone enjoys and i hope it lives up to people's expectations! thank you so much reading!

⟢ talk to me nice

mean concubine f!reader x heian era!ryomen sukuna CW: MDNI, threats of violence, sexual thoughts, suggestive, vague smut summary: a game of cat and mouse between ryomen sukuna and you, his mean concubine.

currently reading part one... click here for part two: kiss it better, baby click here for part three: sex with me so amazing...

"No."

Uraume sighs, a sharp, frustrated sound. "You cannot just ignore his summons."

"I can and I will. I am busy, he can summon a different concubine," you spit the word out, your disgust clear. "Mae has been complaining he doesn't summon her enough, perhaps you should bring her to his chambers instead."

You lounge back in the grass, robes loosened to show the soft expanse of your skin to the warm sun—the swell of your breasts, dips of your collarbones, bare feet, calves, and thick thighs—your head tilted back to properly bask in the glow.

It's a perfect afternoon—spring settling in as winter finally ends—and after being trapped in the estate for months as snow piled, you'd rather die than be forced back inside to pleasure a man who isn't worthy of you or your time—let alone your body.

You are one of four concubines that belong to Ryomen Sukuna, the feared King of Curses. Though, unlike the three other women, you've never been to Lord Sukuna's chambers. Nor have you laid on your back for him. Months and months of being trapped, of being diminished to his property by others, of bitterness building like sediment in your veins—you had hopes, you had dreams.

You wanted to be a seamstress, to touch silks and fabrics from places that your eyes would never see, to give shape and body with your needle and thread. And yet, here you lounge, in robes that you did not make, in a garden that is not yours, being summoned like a dog for a man's pleasure?

You'd rather die.

And denying Ryomen Sukuna so boldly? That usually would result in bloodshed, in death. Yet... it never does with you. He does not force you—he never would—but he does not kill you either. If anything, this push and pull seems to have sparked a sort of game between you both. You deny, deny, deny. His summons, his advances, his commands. You insult him—to his face, behind his back—without hesitation or a single stutter.

And he lets you—his mean concubine that hates his guts. He summons you, knowing that you'll tell Uraume no, knowing that you'll curse his name the whole day just for his audacity. Oh how beautiful you look when you're angry, your lips—so soft, so plump—spewing such vulgarity. Round face hot with rage, cheeks puffed out, brows scrunched and tight. Your hands—smaller than his, fingers plump—curled into useless fists.

Ryomen Sukuna had grown bored before you—before your arrival, he hadn't bothered with his other concubines in months—finding no appeal in them. Tiny, twig-like things—feeble, weak, too quick to bend to him, too eager to please him. He only kept the three women around because, to be blunt, he forgot about them.

Like mice, they stayed to the walls, silent—out of sight, out of mind—how boring.

Then you arrived—strong, built not to bend, not to break—your chin held high as you addressed him, your eyes never leaving his, your voice never wavering. You offered yourself up in order for your village to be spared from his wrath, though even as you spoke, he could feel the resentment in the room—this was a duty you did not ask for, a life that you did not want—he spared your village only to watch how your lips twisted in a snarl. And just like that his boredom vanished and his libido flared to life.

Uraume sighs again, a familiar sound from them lately. "He did not summon Mae, he summoned you."

You wave a dismissive hand. "And I already told you, no. If he wants company, he should bother his other pets. Mae would be honored to spread her legs for him, as her monthly is arriving soon—she's fertile, maybe she'll be the one to have his monstruous heir."

"Why must you make my job so difficult, hm?"

You tilt your head to look at Uraume, sighing. "Fine. If he desires my company so bad, then I summon him. To the gardens."

"You cannot—"

You shrug, your head tilting back towards the sun, eyes falling shut once more. "I can and I did. His legs are perfectly functional, Uruame. If he desires my company so badly, he will use them."

Uraume nods—a sharp, jerky motion—then turns on one heel and stalks back towards the estate. A snickers slips past your lips as you fully sink back into the grass, your robe opening further to show the sideways spillage of your heavy breasts, the hem tugging further up your thick thighs with the movement. Distantly, you know you should cover up, adjust your robe back into it's modest state—but the sun feels too good, too warm.

"To summon a King in his own domain, I should gut you for your audacity, woman."

A smirk tugs at your lips at Sukuna's gruff voice—he complains, threatens—but he came anyway. "And yet, my sharp tongue has brought you here." You open your eyes, looking up at him through your lashes. "Mae has been complaining that you do not play with her anymore. You attentions seem to be... elsewhere. If you have desires, I suggest you summon her—or Lena, or Naomi. They are always eager to be under their King."

He scoffs, his upper arms crossing over his broad chest. "If I had wanted their company, I would've commanded it. I summoned you, yet you ignore me for the sun and—" his nose scrunches, his lower hand gesturing at the grass, "—wet grass. My patience has run thin with your defiance."

You roll your eyes, "then kill me, Ryomen. I would rather die than let a man treat me like a dog. You wish for my company? Then you ask for it, not Uraume. You wish for my obedience, then earn my submission. You may be a curse, a monster to others—but you are nothing but a man to me."

Anger flares Sukuna's nostrils, his lower hands curling into fists—but even as he grows tired of your mouth, his cocks only twitch awake—his own body betraying him. He should punish you, cut your tongue out as he's threatened many times before—but you look sinful in the glow of the sun, your robe a mere suggestion at this point rather than actual coverage, your face tilted towards his and so very unimpressed by him.

So mean. You don't soften, don't cower or trip over yourself for him, you didn't even bother to use his title.

Such a fucking brat.

He chuckles, dark, amused. "I am much more than a man, brat."

A snort, you look him up and down. "Fine, a deformed man. Is that better?"

"Watch your—"

"My tongue, I know. Your threats mean nothing without action, Ryomen. You still answered my summons, I still have my tongue."

His cocks, thick, heavy, twitch once more. Desire rolling deep in his gut, a hot stone that threatens to boil him from the inside out. For a King whose greed knows no bounds, whose hands are used to taking, he does not want to take you.

He wants your hate, your desire, almost as much as he craves your submission. His mean, mean concubine.

All beauty and defiance, laid out so pretty for him. His cocks—now aching between his thick legs—weep at the tips at the sight of you. In all his years, he's never been so fucking needy before. Constantly hard, constantly aching, his balls heavy with his pent up desires that all surround you. No other woman compares, and he bites back a groan when you shift, causing the robe to slip open more, showing the crease in your soft stomach.

He's so hard it hurts. And you're fucking cruel.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?"

This time he does growl. "You're teasing me."

"I am not. I am sunbathing."

"Close your robes."

You shake your head. "No. I like them open."

Another growl. "Close. Them."

"No."

He wants to rip his hair out, he wants to rip your robe off. He wants to spread your thick thighs wide, bury his face between them, lap at you until you're mewling. He wants them over his shoulders as he splits you open with his cock—just one at first, until you're begging for the other. He knows you could take them, take him.

With a sudden jerk, he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving you grinning in the grass—your robe still open, and his cocks crying for attention. A loud laugh bursts from you ten minutes later when you hear Mae moaning, the slam of a bed frame against the wall, and Sukuna's frustrated grunting.

So mean to your King.

A/N: i'm not if this one is good or not tbh, i'm still learning how to write sukuna's character, so any feedback is greatly appreciated!! i'm thinking of doing a masterlist of my mean!reader fics, but idk. i hope you all enjoy, thanks for reading!

⟢ don't save him, he don't wanna be saved

mean f!reader x pathetic frat!gojo CW: MDNI, male masturbation, degrading language, sexual thoughts summary: satoru gojo discovers he really, really likes when pretty women are men to him.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who was more myth than man.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who never worked a day in his life, yet somehow had a resume the length of his forearm—not because he was good at excel—he was just convinced that frat legend, current beer pong champion, creator of 'Gojo's Hangover Cure', and fluent in pussy was all he needed to run any company. Who needs a degree when his dick is nine inches and he can shotgun a beer?

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who after yet another successful night of partying, wakes up to a pounding headache and an email from his advisor that if he doesn't get his GPA up immediately, he'll be expelled.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who blows it off at first, used to getting emails like this from his advisor. He's no stranger to academic suspension or a threat of expulsion. All he has to do is lock in for a couple weeks, get his GPA up just enough to pass, then he can focus on more important things—like keeping his title of Beer Pong Champion.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who quickly learns that he can't bullshit his way through astrophysics, and that he should've picked an easier major. If he saw his scrawny, nerdy freshman self right now, he'd beat the shit out of him. With a bat.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who finally emails his advisor back after getting another D- on his latest quiz, and gets directed to your listing—your name, number, email, prices, and next available opening.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who emails you immediately and is shocked at how responsive you are, even a little impressed when you're firm on your prices after his half-assed attempt to haggle you down to fifty dollars. Within minutes he's scheduled for tomorrow at noon and a hundred dollars broker.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who unironically gets lost on his way to the library because he's never on this side of campus, and ends up late by ten minutes. He's already planned his apology—one of his classic moves; boyish grin, a 'sheepish' shrug, then enough flirting to smooth everything over. Or, at least avoid your strict late fee.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who spins around like an idiot looking for you, only to choke on his spit when the most beautiful woman he's ever seen glares and snaps her fingers to get his attention, pointing at the chair across from herself. He stumbles over, almost as if pulled by an invisible string, and clumsily drops himself into the empty seat like a puppy learning how to sit.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who feels his dick twitch alive in his jeans when you glare at him, sharp and unimpressed. He barely listens as you berate him for being late and wasting your time, he's too focused on how your plush lips form each word, opening and closing as you insult him. It sends a new thrill down his spine, especially when your cute fingers snap at him again to get his attention, and he has to stop from metaphorically wagging his tail.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who will absolutely fail his next quiz because he can't focus on stupid equations when every time he gets a problem wrong, you sigh, an exasperated sound followed by your chair scrapping closer so you can insult him more efficiently without disturbing everyone else. Every time you call him a 'fucking idiot' or snap your fingers to make him pay attention, he bites back a whimper.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who almost whines when you start to pack up your stuff, signaling the end of his session. Did he learn anything? Yes, but not about calculus, just that he really, really likes when pretty women are mean to him. He doesn't even complain when you demand your late fee on top of your established rate—he's so hard, if you asked him for a million dollars, he'd pull out his trust fund.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who doesn't even make it back to his dorm, dipping into the nearest bathroom to jerk off. He barely remembers to lock the door, already fumbling with his belt and zipper, his cock painfully hard and begging for relief.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who after only an hour, is fucking his fist to the thought of you. He doesn't even remember your name, just the way you looked, the way you smelled, the way you sounded every time you asked if he was 'fucking stupid?' He imagines your hands—smaller than his, softer—wrapped around his weeping cock. How'd you be so mean to him, probably grip him too tight, stroke him too slow, and edge him until he finally fucking learned something.

He pants, his chest heaving as he tries to mimic his fantasy. Pre-cum beads at his angry, flushed tip. He squeezes his eyes shut, a strangled moan slipping out from behind his clenched teeth as he pictures you again—so fucking beautiful, even when you rolled your pretty eyes at him, long lashes fluttering with the movement. He thinks about how every time you'd snatch his pencil from him to make a correction, your tits would sway, heavy and full and so fucking perfect.

He whimpers—whimpers—as his orgasm builds, his mind still conjuring you up. How your thighs filled out the seat, how bad he wanted them wrapped around his head. How fucking good you smelled, like strawberries, sugar, and sin. How much he wanted you to berate him while he was balls deep in your pussy, calling him a loser, pathetic, a dumb, dumb puppy.

He cums with a cry into his free hand, cum sputtering out in streaks on the tile, making a mess of his hand and school property. He slumps against the wall, his pale cheeks flushed, his dignity gone as post-nut clarity sets in. He winces at the mess he made as he tucks his spent dick back into his boxers, then starts to grab paper towels to clean up the floor and what's left of his self-respect.

⟢ Frat!Gojo, who gets back to his dorm and immediately schedules another tutoring session, only to get rock hard again when he reads your replying text; 'fine, but it's $200 now since you're rich and stupid. btw if you're gonna stare at my tits like a loser, at least be less obvious about it. you looked pathetic.'

A/N: i haven't posted on tumblr in years and i'm nervous, don't be mean to me or i'll cry

pp3lon

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