a library of sins

She/her || 19

[juliette-cai-enthusiast]

This is how I feel whenever I’m reading a new Chloe Gong book

Chloe Gong, stepping up to the microphone: I have written a man

The Secret Shanghai fandom, waiting with bated breath:

Chloe Gong: And he is pathetic

The Secret Shanghai fandom: *raucous cheers*

[hijkio]

Zuko

[gaytoeyume]

Car jacking gone wrong (or right) !

[folktail]

Edmund and Peter: What strange creatures brothers are

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) / Succession / Shakespeare, The Tempest / Natalie Diaz, A Brother Named Gethsemane / Succession / Taylor Swift, The Best Day / Nathaniel Orion, "Hevel" / Diana Khoi Nguyen, Ghost Of / @zannolin, brother's keeper / unknown / edmund and edgar stagger home by @two-bees-poetry / Halsey, Graveyard / Prince Caspian (2008) / Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot / unknown / The Mountain Goats, Song for Sasha Banks / The Hollies, He ain't heavy, he's my brother

my other pevensie sibling dynamics weaves can be found here

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sister are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sister are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[reignpage]

Free Trial

Summary: in which Gojo wants to try out the rope his adult toy designer friend created... on himself

Warnings: smut, no p in v, bondage, femdom, reader is the adult toy designer friend in question, breast play, dry humping, masochist!gojo, cumming in pants, set in canon universe, just a short little idea (kinda wanna make it into a series with him just trying out all sorts of sex toys lol. nobody say part 2 or make a request, I will end you), Gojo art by @_3aem on Twitter, not proofread Word Count: 2.9k

“Where does this even go?” Satoru wondered.

Looking up from your desk, where your newest idea was being sketched out, you answered, “It’s a sounding rod; it enters the urethra and stimulates the nerve endings there. That’s actually a part of my Vibrations Series, hence the bulge at the end — that’s where the battery goes.”

He whistled. You couldn’t tell if it was because he was impressed or terrified of the concept. Maybe both.

Satoru was your longtime friend. One of those ones you met in high school and brought into adulthood, in spite of all odds. You were a shy, keep-to-yourself kind of girl. You wanted to be alone, to get through the rest of high school without incident. He hadn’t cared. He latched himself on and never let go, and you were thankful every day.

Some more rifling through a box rang out in your relatively quiet bedroom.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asked.

You turned your head and hummed. “That’s just a rope, Satoru.”

He hooked a thumb under his blindfold to reveal a dazzling eye. It sparkled with mischief. “You’re the world’s most creative sex toy creator. I find it hard to believe this is ‘just a rope.’”

That was factually inaccurate — you were not the most creative anything. You were merely a mildly successful sex toy designer at a popular, well-established company. But Satoru never listened when you tried to correct him on that matter.

Returning to your sketches, you replied, “It’s made from a synthetic material that’s meant to adjust to the skin’s temperature. It warms up and is supposed to feel close to burning, without, y’know, burning. The legal team vetoed it, though. They said it was too dangerous and could catch on fire. Liabilities and all that. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.”

“Boooo,” Satoru said, sitting down on your bed behind you. “Suits always ruin the fun.”

You snorted in agreement.

A moment of silence passed, and you thought perhaps he had gotten bored, that he had gone on his phone and was sending memes to his poor students, who were off doing his missions for him. He soon opened his mouth again, however, and said something that had your hand, which was clasping your pencil, stilling:

“Wanna try it out?”

“…what?”

Satoru nudged your chair around with one of his long legs. You spun to face him. Blindfoldless suddenly, he had his legs spread and the long, blue rope dangling between his pale hands. “Let’s try it out. I always get sad when I look at your failed inventions. There’s usually never anything wrong with them, just legal stuff that gets in the way of fun and creativity. I feel for you, little inventor.”

Bullshit, you wanted to say. Instead, you fixed him a look and said, “No, Satoru. We can’t do this again. We promised.”

He groaned with an eye roll. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so serious. I’m curious, and you always get inspired after we try things out. It’s a mutually beneficial situation.”

“Don’t act like you’re doing this for me. You just want to get off, don’t try to manipulate me. I’m not in the mood to be tied up by a reminder of my failures, thanks.”

That should have been the end of that, you thought as you stood to take the rope away.

He snatched it from your hand before you could take it. You frowned. Satoru grinned. “Who said you were the one getting tied up?”

You blinked.

Satoru wanted to be tied up?

The thought of the blue rope digging into his fair, flawless skin, with redness blooming where the rope touched, had your knees weak. Would it be so bad to see him all tied up and at your mercy, you wondered. Were you even into that? Was he?

Cautiously, you reminded him, “You could break out of the restraints at any time you wanted, though.”

One of his hands crept around your thigh, tugging you forward and encouraging you to step between his legs. His hand was warm. He peered up at you with a smile. “I won’t. Not unless you tell me to.”

“...you’ll listen to me?”

“Yep,” he says, pressing a hand to his heart. “Scout’s honour.”

A shaky exhale leaves you.

Just like that, he knew he had you.

“Fine.”

And that’s how you end up straddling his hips with him leaning back against your headboard, arms tied behind his back, and blue rope running across his bare torso. He’s just in his boxers — you didn’t want to cross the line…again. Or rather, you didn’t want to cross the line too far. 

The rope frames him, tracing the natural planes of his body: the broadness of his shoulders, the unsubtle definition of his chest, the slutty dip at his waist. His skin appears almost luminous against the deep colour. Where the rope pressed in, it leaves a gorgeous flush, a blooming warmth that made the contrast all the more striking — dark blue against divinely-carved marble. 

His head rests back, just slightly tilted, exposing the long line of his throat. There’s no blindfold now. His eyes watched you from beneath half-lowered lashes, amusement curling lazily at the edges.

Waiting.

Satoru has never looked more delicate and powerful at the same time.

“You’re totally thinking I’m the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, right?” he asks though it doesn’t sound like a question at all. His brows dance. 

Naturally, you want to scoff and say something humbling, but truthfully, he’s not too far off.

Still, you don’t want to contribute to his huge ego, so you casually say, “Eh, you’re alright.”

You’ve tried out the rope on mannequins before so you’re somewhat experienced in the knots and rules, like making sure you leave it loose enough for two fingers to slip under and not knotting it so complicatedly that you can’t easily unravel it in case of emergencies. 

But it’s different when you do it on an actual person. His skin is soft and plush, unlike hard plastic. It’s warm and smooth, and reacts at your touch. Veins pop. Muscles flex. Breaths come out low and sudden. 

For the most part, Satoru was quiet. So were you. He allowed you to bend his arms however you pleased. It was a balanced exchange with how much he was staring at you. It made you self-conscious. Perhaps you should have worn something cuter when he came, you thought. Maybe brushed your hair and tidied up. In your defence, however, how were you supposed to know a simple visit to catch up after a long day of working was going to turn into lines blurring?

“Would it kill you to give me a compliment or two?” he grumbles petulantly. 

Swallowing a tense ball, you run your fingers down his chest, bumping up and down the thick rope. He shudders. “You look good, Toru. Blue’s totally your colour.”

One corner of his lips curls up. “Well, duh.”

“Is it too tight?” you ask, brows furrowed. You aren’t in this position very often at all, and you want to be sure you’re not breaking humanity’s only hope against curses. “Does it hurt?”

Satoru tries to stretch his limbs out, to no avail. He shrugs as best he can. “Been in tighter situations.”

“And do you like it?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he replies.

A glance down at his crotch reveals a hardness too familiar and at the same time too foreign. And is that a wet spot?

“Seems like you like it too much,” you say absentmindedly. “Is being tied up actually turning you on?”

When he finally processes the weight of your gaze settling on his hard cock, his hips jolt up ever so slightly. The rope creaks with the flexing of his thick biceps. A challenge glints in his eyes. “You’re leaving a snail trail on my thigh with all the humping you’re doing,” he points out blankly. “If we wanna address my boner, we’ll have to address your clit pulsing in morse code, ‘suck me, Toru! suck me ngh!””

Cheeks flushed, you smack his chest. “Ugh, shut up.”

You were humping his thigh without realising it. Now that he’s made you aware, you can’t stop noticing how your wetness has soaked through your panties and shorts. Every shift and shuffle has the faintest squeelchhh reaching your ears. He must hear it too because he can’t stop smiling.

Fuck, you’re too worked up at the sight of his pretty skin contrasting with the rough rope. 

Breathlessly, you ask, “How does it feel, Toru?”

Long lashes flutter as he reflects for a second. “It’s good… The rope’s definitely warmer than I expected. I didn’t think I was into temperature play, but it’s better than I thought it would be. You did good, babe.”

“Yeah?”

Without really thinking about it, you shuffle forward. His face is buried in between your clothed breasts for the briefest moment before you sit back down on his lap. More specifically, right on his cock. 

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath. He throbs. “W-what’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as you begin grinding on his boner. The pulsing in your clit has you unable to think. All you know is that every time you feel his cock pushing against the small bundle of nerves through all the layers you cream even more. 

He groans, arms starting to fight his restraints. 

“Don’t,” you say. “You promised.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew you were going to be riding me like your pillow.”

“Ugh, that was one time, and I told you that in confidence,” you complain. “Stop bringing it up.”

He makes a tortured noise. “Then stop rubbing your pussy on my dick.”

Slowly, you remove your shirt. His eyes fall on your tits immediately. He stops resisting. 

“Do you actually want me to stop, Satoru?” you whisper, all shy. 

“Fuck no,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks downright mesmerised. Entranced. Positively bewitched. “Rub your pussy on me forever, baby. My hands, my thighs, dick, face, everywhere.”

Tempting…

A giggle escapes you. “You look like you’ve wandered into a sweet shop. Stop drooling.”

“I will as soon as you pop a nip into my mouth,” he retorts. Satoru darts forward, chasing a breast. You pull away all while you press a hand to his shoulder to keep him back. 

“Uh uh uh. You seem to be forgetting you’re not in control here anymore, Satoru Gojo. You’re all tied up and I’m on top. I hold all the cards, and you just have to sit back and do as I say.”

His cock throbs again under you. You moan, head thrown back. Satoru groans, “Oh, fuck. I love when you get all bossy.” He reaches forward despite your words and flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple. You clench around nothing. “Our friends don’t understand why you quit being a sorcerer to have a normal 9 to 5, but I get it. This suits you. They don’t see this part of you. Only I do, right?”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you guide his face to a breast and finally let him suckle on a nipple. The pleasure is instant. He sucks with no need for further instruction. So desperate. So eager. His satisfied moans vibrate through the sensitive bud, running through your veins, and pooling in your panties. The way he suckles, flicks his tongue, rolls it between his teeth — it’s obvious he’s doing this for his pleasure more than yours, and it’s getting you more hot and bothered than if he had been trying to make you feel good.

“You’re the only one who wants to get it, Toru,” you mutter. “You’re the most curious out of everyone because you know you get something out of it.”

Who can count how many times he’s taken one of your creations for himself? 

You’ve never asked questions about what exactly he does with the vibrators, the splitting bars, the freebie aphrodisiacs, or the costumes you win at company parties. Sometimes, you think he wants you to. But he never offers up the information himself.

Satoru’s words come out muffled because he doesn’t want to let go of your breast: “who doesn’t like orgasms and free things?”

Scoffing, you tell him, “You’re rich; everything’s basically free for you. And you can get orgasms from anywhere and anyone.”

He releases your tit with a pop! 

A long string of spit stretches until it breaks. Satoru nonchalantly mutters, “I only want orgasms from you.”

Then he latches onto the other one, sucking so hard your chest arches forward with the intensity of it. It’s almost as if he’s searching for milk, as if he thinks the reason you’re not leaking into his mouth is because he’s not trying hard enough. 

Meanwhile, your hips haven’t stopped gyrating on his cock. Chest to chest, you feel the rope rubbing your skin. The heat of the rope and his body keep you warm. Tingles from within erupt wherever you touch. It’s exhilarating and addictive all at once. 

You dig your nails where there’s no rope. He’s taken his Infinity down, or maybe he’s extended it to include you. It hardly matters. You’ve always been able to touch him.

“Satoru,” you moan, arms wrapping around his back. 

“I know,” he rasps. “Me too.”

Your hips work together. Faster and faster. With no rhythm. No rhyme. Just chasing bliss. 

His lips move from your tits, which he’s left slippery and sore. He kisses your neck, licking a drop of sweat from the curve that meets your shoulder. Satoru can’t touch you. He can’t break out of the rope— No, he can. He won’t. 

You both know he can easily rip the ropes to shreds. It wouldn’t even take anything from him. It’d be the easiest thing he could do, but he’d never want to disappoint you. 

“Dig your nails in,” he pleads, eyes rolling back. “Wanna feel it, wanna feel you.”

You only hesitate the most miniscule of seconds. Then, you’re digging your nails into his perfect skin, dragging it up his chiseled back. It feels wrong, like damaging David, even if Michaelangelo himself asked. But when his back arches and he hisses and his hips rut up into you at the same time, you can’t imagine this is anything but right.

The bed creaks. The headboard bangs against the wall. Pillows slip off the edge. The covers have disappeared. There’s only you and him and the ropes and the mixed juices you’re rubbing on each other.

Together, your bodies spasm with the force of your orgasms.

“Fuck!”

The air between you grows humid with your heavy breathing. Your hard nipples scrape his chest, his abs pressing to your belly, his cock and your clit pulsing in time with each other. 

Satoru calls your name out, eyes flashing. Objects around the room vibrate. They rattle. The walls creak, and in the haze of your bliss you almost see cracks forming along the surface, but a blink of the eyes washes all of that away. 

A loud snap! echoes.

The rope falls dully to the bed, completely loose, and totally damaged. Satoru’s broken free. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. His hands don’t grab onto you. He doesn’t flip you over and takes what he wants. He merely slumps onto you, panting into your neck, and clasping his hands together behind his back so tightly you’re scared he’ll break his own bones. 

Red lines criss cross around his torso. When your fingers graze the sensitive skin, he ruts up into you with a lewd moan. 

“Oh fuck, that was good,” Satoru eventually breathes out. 

“And never happening again,” you say, thoroughly disappointed in yourself. Again. Why do you keep falling for his games? Why do you keep cumming at his whim? Why do you want to do it again so soon? 

The allure of seeing a good looking man in something you designed was too much for you to resist. Now that post nut clarity is clearing your mind, you can only kick yourself mentally.

Pulling away, you throw your shirt back on, smacking the hands that reach for your tits away. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind the wetness on his own boxers. He’s always been more unbothered by the whole ‘doing things we shouldn’t scheme.

Satoru throws himself onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling and testing the marks on his wrists. He marvels at them. He’s not used to being marked up. With a happy little whistle, he pats his belly and replies, “Uhuh.”

“No,” you enunciate. “No ‘uhuh.’ It’s not going to happen ever again. You’re banned from touching any of my designs again.”

“Okay,” he says, looking at you with a faux innocent look. “You can touch your designs. I’ll just touch you. Good thinking!”

You give him a deadpan face.

And unfortunately when he winks at you, you know you’re both thinking the same thing:

It’s going to happen again.

[sadisticslut666]

Zuko knows how to eat pussy

cw: explicit, squirting, riding Zuko’s face.

“Zuko—fuck—” you gasp, grabbing the headboard for balance as his tongue immediately drags a thick, wet stripe through your folds. He’s so fucking pussy drunk, eyes fluttering shut as his nose presses right against your clit while his tongue pushes inside you, fucking in and out in messy strokes.

You look down between your legs and the sight nearly ruins you—Zuko’s face shiny with your slick, cheeks flushed dark, hair a complete wreck from how hard you’re gripping it. His golden eyes crack open just enough to lock onto yours and he moans louder when he catches you staring.

“Ride my face,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak before diving right back in, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes through your folds. “C’mon, princess—use me. Ride me.”

Your hips start rolling on their own, grinding down against his tongue as he sucks and licks. “Zuko—right there—fuck—” You whine as you start riding him harder, smothering him with your soaked pussy.

His hands slide up to grip your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down even tighter against his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles right against your clit, the words vibrating through you. He sucks the swollen bud between his lips, flicking his tongue fast and sloppy while you rock against his face. “Taste so fucking good… keep going, just like that.”

You’re practically bouncing on his tongue now, hips rolling in sloppy circles while he laps at you. You’re riding his face with zero shame now, “Zuko—I’m—fuck, I’m close—” you whimper, one hand fisting tighter in his hair while the other braces against the headboard.

Your juices are everywhere, coating his cheeks, his tongue, while his hands spread your ass wider, one thick finger teasing your tight little hole. Your thighs clamp around his head as you grind down one last time, gushing all over his tongue and chin.

“Fuck, princess,” he rasps when you finally slump forward, giving your slit one last soft kiss. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but it doesn’t do much. “C’mere I wanna watch you ride my cock.”

You stare down at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. Your fingers are still tangled in his messy hair before lowering yourself onto his hard thick girth and begin to bounce.

There was one thing you did want to know though…and that was, “So Zuko, where’d you learn how to eat pussy like that?”

Yeah, there was no way he was gonna be able to talk himself outta this one.

a/n: I don’t have any explanation for my ferality

[to00fu]

project hail mary but gojo (i havent watched it)

[kissunarin]

fratboy!sukuna asking for kisses and hugs

+18. mdni. fem!reader. college au. fluff, smut. based on this post.

a/n. thank u so much for 2k followers! here's a little gift, I hope y'all like it <33

he does it so often it’s muscle memory at this point.

you could be on your way out of his room for your lecture—car keys in hand, already halfway to the hallway—when his voice cuts across his room where he is seated in front of his pc. he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“give me a kiss before you go.”

not can i get.

not come here.

just like you forgot something essential. like walking out without your phone. or without kissing him…right now.

you sigh, already turning around.

he doesn’t even look up from his screen until you’re right there, tilting your face up, and then he leans in—quick, satisfied—like there, that’s better. now you can leave.

he smirks, gaze turning back to his game. “i’ll pick you up later to grab lunch.”

you roll your eyes despite the thrumming of your heart as you walk out of his room. 

you’re on the couch of his family home, legs tucked under you while you scroll on your phone, the tv playing something you’re not watching.

he drops beside you with a heavy thud, the entire cushion dipping toward him so you naturally slide into his side with one arm immediately hooking around your shoulders, dragging you into his side.

“c’mere, gorgeous,” he mutters, already pulling you against his chest. “give me a hug.”

“you’re literally already hugging me.”

“yeah,” he says, squeezing tighter anyway. “but you need to put your arms around me too.”

you giggle, hands sliding across his back as he sinks on the couch with you, going limp against you, letting out a long, grounded exhale like you’re a human weighted blanket.

you’re in the frat kitchen when he’s passing through on his way to grab a drink as you cook ramen for movie night, his movements lazy and loose-limbed. he pauses, opening the cap of his drink as he looks at you, eyes stopping on your cherry tainted lips. then holds eye contact.

“…kiss.”

you scoff, arching a brow. “that wasn’t even a sentence, ‘kuna.”

he waits, shrugging one shoulder as if to say the words are irrelevant because the outcome is inevitable because you end up leaning over the counter to peck his mouth.

“good,” he nods, the corners of his lips tugging up, like you just completed a task correctly, and keeps walking.

you watch him dumbfounded, not knowing whether you want to kiss him again or smack him across the face.

you’ve barely made it out of his room after a heated makeout session—your lips swollen, brain still foggy and very much late for your morning lecture—when he catches your wrist before you can escape.

he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking completely unbothered by the chaos of your schedule.

“hey,” he rasps, tugging your arm just enough to throw you off balance and back toward him

“what?”

“kiss.”

he says it with a flat, monotone delivery, but his gaze drops to your mouth, heavy and dark and you know that what he is thinking is anything but flat.

“you just—”

“kiss.”

and you do it again, because apparently that’s your life now.

you barge into his room, door wide open as you hold a paper above your head, the biggest grin on your face. sukuna doesn’t even blink at the thudding of his door against the wall. 

“i did it! i passed the last interview for my internship!” you exclaimed, excitement and happiness dripping from your voice. 

sukuna is already on his feet, arms open as he kisses you briefly, nose brushing as you bounce on your toes, unable to contain your joy.

“congratulations, baby. i knew you would kill it,” he says like it was obvious, a grin on his own on his face as his hands settle on your waist. “give me a hug.”

and you hug him, tight and full of enthusiasm while you ramble his ear off about the place you will be making your internship, how it would look on your resume and so on.

he just hums, face already nuzzling your hair, pressing a tiny peck on your hairline, arms holding you tight against him. 

you’re both in his room, supposedly studying together but you are the only one actually trying to do work.

sukuna is…present. yeah. that’s about it.

you’re halfway through reading a paragraph when his foot nudges yours under the desk but you ultimately decide to ignore it. he nudges again, harder this time.

you keep reading, starting again because he distracted you from reading your notes when the chair beside you creaks as he shifts.

“…give me a hug.” his voice says that he is demanding rather than asking but you are too busy with the words in front of you to care.

you don’t look up, highlighting a sentence on your notebook. “i’m studying.”

“so am i.”

“you’re on your phone.”

“i’m studying you.”

you finally glance over, unimpressed, blinking slowly at the sight in front of you.

he’s already got one arm lifted expectantly, eyebrows raised like well?

you stare at him for three whole seconds before scooting your chair over so he can wrap himself around you from the side.

he hums satisfied, using your shoulder as a chin rest while he goes back to scrolling his phone and you just sigh, eyes going back to your notes, unconsciously leaning your head against his because you are just as needy of affection as him.

thirty seconds later—

“…kiss.”

you know there is no way back from this habit when he does it mid argument.

you’re mad. like—actually mad. so mad that sukuna actually shuts his smart mouth as he looks at you —arms crossed, pacing his room while he sits on the edge of the bed as you rant about something he definitely did.

“and another thing—”

“kiss.”

you freeze mid step, fingers twitching against your arms.

“…what?”

“kiss,” he says again, like it’s going to fix the fact that he forgot your anniversary dinner or ate the last of your snacks or whatever crime he committed this time. whatever.

“i’m literally yelling at you right now.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “and?”

“i’m mad at you, sukuna!”

he shrugs because what has that to do with him having a kiss? “…still. kiss.”

you stare at him in disbelief when he pats his thigh once, like he’s calling over a cat.

you hate that it works. you hate that you march over anyway. you hate that the second your lips touch his he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

and you hate even more that when you pull back, he looks smug.

“there,” he mumbles, pecking your lips once for good measure. “you feel better.”

“i don’t.”

“…hug?”

and definitely his favorite time to ask for a kiss is this. 

his tongue is lapping at your folds, thoroughly gathering your sweet juices and spreading them along your slick pussy, suckling at your clit when he feels your thighs tremble around his head. 

he looks at you from under his eyelashes, fingers playing with your nipples as your twitch below him. he knows you are near. 

“kuna—please! i’m close.” you moan sweetly, head thrown back as you push him back to you, grinding against his face and he smirks, loving seeing you this needy. 

he complies, pressing his tongue flat and starting to messily make out with your pussy, slurping, sucking and completely smitten with every sound you make.

when you come, he cleans you up until you are practically dry, kissing your thighs.

he looms over you, bracing his weight on his forearms, trapping you between his chest and the mattress and he looks down at you with that insufferable, heavy-lidded smirk, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip, dragging a bit of your own moisture across your skin.

“give me a kiss, baby,” he rumbles, his voice dropping into that low, scratchy register that vibrates straight through your chest. “taste yourself on me.”

“you’re obsessed with telling me what to do,” you whisper, though you’re already tilting your head back, your heart doing that familiar, frantic thrum against your ribs.

“yeah,” he mutters, leaning down until his nose brushes against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “and you’re compliant. now, kiss.”

and just like always, you find yourself reaching up, pulling his head down to close the gap, tasting the salt and the sweetness of yourself on his tongue as he hums into the kiss, sounding thoroughly, smugly satisfied.

there is nothing better than this.

[kcokaine]

foreplay

[syllysmot]

My ride is HEREEEE

[cupidstrace]

MDNI 18+ 〃 Ryomen “beefin’ with my chick while I’m in jail” Sukuna.

A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away

Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.

Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).

He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.

Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.

To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.

You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.

Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.

Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.

He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.

Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.

𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸

Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.

There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.

“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”

Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.

“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”

“Maybe.”

The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.

“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”

A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!

You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”

He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.

Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds. 

He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.

He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.

He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?

He’s excited. Very. In many ways.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.

Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.

God, he’s missed you.

“You’re staring.”

“..you’re breathing.”

“Yes, that tends to happen.”

His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.

He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.

Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.

He likes you a lot.

The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.

Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.

His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.

He can’t be bothered to care.

He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.

Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.

“Hold still, woman.”

“I am holding still, you dolt–”

There’s a sharp crack!

All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.

Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.

Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.

“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”

“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”

He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”

Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.

Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.

Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.

It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.

The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.

Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.

Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.

His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.

“..say you love me.”

Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.

“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”

His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.

Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.

You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.

“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”

Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.

Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –

“..missed this pussy.”

He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.

But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.

Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.

When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.

Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.

He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.

––––

Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–

.

Where the hell are you?

Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.

Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.

DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.

“Hi,” you sniff.

His eye twitches.

“Woman.”

“Yes?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.

Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.

He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.

“You told me you were seeing someone.”

You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”

“Maybe means yes.”

“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”

“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”

“Our apartment.”

“Same difference.”

You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.

Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.

What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.

It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.

And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?

You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.

“There is no guy,” you snort.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You know where the apartment is.”

“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”

You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.

It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.

“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”

He glares down at you. You smile back.

And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.

“You big baby.”

Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.

Still, the itch never leaves.

Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.

“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”

You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.

Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.

Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.

Scratch that – his girl would, first.

@kamiflix, @epicderpface, @emxoxo05, @megumour, @cassideezlife, @besidesjustmyamour, @chocalycake, @mimuju, @satorupi, @venusins, @xonyoka, @kamoswrld, @angelscriptures, @madamechrissy, @eremika104, @sukurena, @blkkizzat, @ghost-hoe, @azrielblue, @fallen-angelxoxo, @lemonjuicie, @getorade, @emxoxo05

[kmrbii]

₊˚ ✦ masterlist welcome to naboo! where will you go next?

★ ⸝⸝ GOJO SATORU ✧ destined ✦ good friends always share (feat. suguru) ✧ suguru hates sharing a wall with you and satoru ✦ do not disturb! (feat. suguru) ✧ gojo satoru loves… ✦ "tutoring session" with nerd!jo ✧ letters to my beloved ✦ meow meow meow ✧ spiderman!gojo gets hard seeing you trapped in his webs ✧ overstimulating gojo by removing his blindfold

★ ⸝⸝ GETO SUGURU ✧ good friends always share (feat. gojo) ✦ do not disturb! (feat. gojo) ✧ photobooth with suguru!

★ ⸝⸝ RYOMEN SUKUNA ✧ taking care of a sick sukuna ✦ paying frat!kuna back for your manicure

★ ⸝⸝ NANAMI KENTO ✧ nanami uses his cursed technique on you!

★ ⸝⸝ HIGURUMA HIROMI ✧ higuruma fucks the prosecutor after losing the case

★ ⸝⸝ KAMO CHOSO ✧ best friend’s brother choso

★ ⸝⸝ MULTI CHARACTERS ✧ jjk men & their love languages ✦ cupid's chokehold; dates the jjk men would take you on ✧ what happens backstage, stays backstage (series)

[leonkennedihhhh]

Gojo x hockey... hockeyjo? 🤔

Saw a hockey AU here & it was so good I had to bring hockey!gojo to life

[heeracha]

im back… see heeseung? how hard is it to come back?

[clarakyunisageek]

it would be a lot more entertaining seeing all my old fav enha writers coming back from their graves all at once if it were not for this circumstances

[thatsallitchief]

The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe