Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!JJK men, college AU, pIot, TA!Nanami, Iessons, slight exhíbitionísm, chokíng, spítting, running from it, scientific Ianguage, manhandIing, matíng presses, rough s, first times (theirs), academic rivaI!Geto, Peter Parker!Ino, REACTIONS, p talking, p sIapping, JACOB’S LÁDDER PlERCING, góoner!Gojo, surprise in Choso’s, needy JJK men, glasses, DÚMBlFICATlON, overstím, sIight bréeding, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, Iaw professor!Higuruma, getting together, someone save Yaga, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN MERCYYYYYY-
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Better man.
“—and not only did he cheat on me-” You’re whispering to the black-haired man, glare flashing behind his rectangular glasses. Fixated on none other than the faux-blond on the dance floor. “-but he has the audacity to go around telling everyone that I’m the reason we broke up.”
He snorts unkindly- though not directed at you.
Crossing his arms, broad chest straining against the flannel. “The box-dye has clearly seeped into his cerebral cortex- perhaps even the P-FIT Network.”
You’re nodding in agreement - it wasn’t quite in your plans to unload all your relationship drama to the nearest hot stranger at the party tonight. But you’d seen Toji around—who hasn’t? He was the brightest and best in the Veterinary Science department. Always on top of class, always the example your professor used, always with his head ducked into his textbooks.
Though now he held his head high. Pushing his glasses up, “Statistically and personally- I’d be much better for you than him.”
Oh.
You’re jerking your head up to meet his eyes, clearing not expecting of the man you knew not to be a social butterfly. And he’s looking away from you just as quickly—“I-I mean-” There was the socially awkward mess you’d forcefully introduced yourself to tonight. “Forget I said anything- there must have been a miscalculation on my part, I didn’t…”
Though you can’t help but notice that Toji’s ears were…bright red. Redder than even his flannel jacket.
Oh.
You knew he wasn’t the type to flirt around.
You knew he wasn’t the type to even get approached- though not for a lack of anything, Toji Fushiguro was hot. To say the least.
Shaggy black bangs that covered part of his glasses. Large hands made to carry numerous books (and perhaps something else…should you let your mind wander).
He towered above most of the campus, with shoulders for daaaaays—no matter how much he hunched them, Toji couldn’t hide just how sculpted they were. And not to mention, the way his biceps would flex any time he raised his hand to answer a question (which was…for every question) made it such a treat to sit behind him during Professor Yaga’s lectures. Beauty and brains?
Somehow, it seems that half the campus had decided that that was a deadly combination, and they could only admire from so close before they suffered from heart palpitations. And the other half had decided that perhaps such a combination really was fatal- and were much too intimidated to try and talk to the man.
And so he waded through the throngs of people, unknowing or perhaps uncaring of their silent admiration.
Not that his quietly intense demeanor gave off many welcoming vibes, either way.
Toji Fushiguro had one love, and one love only: his books.
Ultimately, it meant that the three seats upon the left and right of Toji were consistently empty for whichever class he sat in.
And you felt for him - you really did. So you tried to sit next to him in whichever classes you shared, though you were yet to have the man make any attempts at friendship.
And neither had you.
So you’d been content.
Until tonight, that is.
When you’re finding yourself dragging this tall, buff nerd into the frathouse bathroom - it was your luck that there wasn’t a line. Because you don’t think either one of you could wait. Pushing him inside-
Right before the door slams shut and you’re finding the roles fucking reversed.
And you’re finding yourself manhandled in the direction of the sink - front shoved against the porcelain surface, Toji’s weight pinning you down from behind. Panting. Ravenous. He steadies himself with a hand on your hips.
His other hand reaching in front of you and stuffin’ into your panties. His raging erection pressing against your ass cheeks.
Toji’s calloused finger swipe up your glossy slit and he moans- “A-are you this fuckin’ wet for me—?” Voice breathy as though he couldn’t believe it himself.
And you can only nod. “Who else would it be for, Toji?”
“Well…” He doesn’t answer - he can’t. Because at that very moment, Toji Fushiguro is given the privilege to feel just how sinfully your cunt can clench ‘round his thick fingertips—and his brain goes into overdrive wondering just how cutely you’d squeeze his aching cock.
Before long, he’s hooking a hand underneath your left knee and guiding it up onto the sink. Letting you perch there- “Now—easy f’me, girl.” Toji’s rasps ruffle the sequins on your dress- one that you’re finding hitched up from your lower half. In fact—he’s baring you all the way until your panties. Moving them aside with a finger just the barest inch-
Enough for the bespectacled man to catch side of your glistening wet pussy and groan-
“Neither of us are making it out of this alive.”
And it doesn’t take long before you’re feeling Toji’s long, luuuscious shaft start to sandwich between your pussylips. Honed tip. Bawling divot. They were just so puckered and sensitive- even the barest lines of his veins leaving you gasping. “Fuck-”
“Easy there-” That familiar tone of his echoes, sounding even more out-of-breath inside this bathroom. Toji hooks his chin into the crook of your neck, “Easy—” His swollen, reddened tip starts circling your entrance- and your head spins at how he probes into you. “Easy there- now- breathe-”
“What do you…oh, fuck.” Mewls shattering in your throat- you feel the sheer streeeeetch of Toji’s incredible length.
Just so thick. Just so heated.
You knew that it was always the quiet ones…but fuck.
It felt as though he was melting your walls around him - feeling every throb he was letting out at the top of your head. Your teeth were on edge, and your body was torn between wanting to take him even deeper and bouncing away into safety. For your mere sanity—could he even fit?
“O-of course, I can.” Toji’s guttural answer comes - and it’s only then that you’re truly realizing that you’d said that out loud. Fuck- had you been so dumbified by his mere size? That you were now babbling away as Toji sunk inside—
And he’s ruthless in his swipes- hard, technical. “It’s gonna fit.” It felt as though Toji Fushiguro had already studied every single inch of you, and he was now hurtlin’ away his rock-hard tip straight into where you needed him the most. “It will fit.”
He sounded so sure of himself - as easy as passing every finals exam with flying colors.
Toji pushes his glasses up his nosebridge and angles his cock even more viciously. He rubs that bawling divot of his against the roof of your cunt- messing around some of those tender sweet spots that you’d always kept hidden. And then glide-glide-gliiiiding down to purposefully massaging every nook n’ cranny of your walls against those prominent veins of his-
“Fuck—” In absolutely no time- he’s managed to locate your pulsing g-spot. As though drawn in by a magnet, Toji’s then following the shivers of your body to target that exact spot. Ramming and ramming his heavy cockhead between your pussylips. “H-how are you even-”
“Hmmm?” Nearly purring, Toji grazes his cheek down the column of your throat. “Speak up, doll.”
“How-”
“Actually…” You could hear the smile in his tone. “-raise your hand to speak.”
You gape. And that rebellious streak within you makes you open your mouth with a protest- but soon enough Toji’s darting his tip away from your g-spot to start thumpin’ at your cervix.
Lengthy glides that end up swabbing your sweetest spots, before thrashing straight to your womb.
It was as if he was teaching you exactly what you’d be missing if it weren’t for him and fuck- if that wasn’t a compelling argument…
Belatedly, you raise your hand. “How are you even this good, Toji?”
And that makes him raise a dark brow- “This good?” He asks - mostly to himself - and the utter botched breath in his tone makes shivers sprint down your spine. Toji watches his plump tip disappear in and out of your cunt a few times- before suddenly he’s letting out a startled laugh. “This good?”
Before you can do anything about it, Toji lifts his hand off of your waist and ends up smushing your cheeks together. There was nothing gentle about it - Toji was mean. Toji was trying to leave marks.
So that everyone who sees the two of you walk out of the bathroom together can look at your pretty face and know that that was him. That pretty set of lips- both ones.
He’s holding your face up to the sink mirror, his eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface. You’re realizing with a jolt that Toji’s eyes were the most intense shade of emerald green - and they were currently narrowing down at you—“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”
“Wh-what?” You’re managing to sputter out.
His grip slightly tightens- and his cock starts hitting you twofold. “See it?” Those handsome features of his are just irresistible, making it so difficult for you to tear your eyes away from him. “Feel it?” And his other hand loosens from your clit to glide down your tummy - where you felt utterly bloated with all his bulging, massive inches. Throbbing. “Feel it?”
And you can only nod and nod-
“Who’s fucking you right now, girl?”
“Y-you—”
And in that very moment, his fat cock bottoms out with a lecherous slurp!
“That’s what I thought.” Toji sounds so content with himself- slightly slurring at the ends of his sentence. “And what’s my name?”
“Toji-” You’re gasping out. Your cries were echoing so loud inside the bathroom that you’re sure some of the bystanders outside were hearing - but you didn’t care. Not when Toji was reeling his sloppy hips back and stutterin’ a few direct hits to your bruised g-spot—“Toji Fushiguro—!”
“And who said a nerd can’t fuck?”
He snickers to himself.
Right before he’s starting to fuck into you like a damn animal- spotting every ounce of space inside you with his dribbling pre. The length of his cock was nearly a blur between your legs, and Toji was just drunk on the thought of having you.
On the thought of wanting to have you for so long now-
“I studied, y’know?” Toji whispers against the shell of your ear, words clammy. “I studied every inch of the human anatomy-” He presses a kiss—then a bite. “I studied eeeeevery nook and cranny-” Swirlin’ his rude cockhead around just in time, “Every nerve in the clitorourethrovaginal complex and every crevice-”
“F-fuuuuck-”
“Every statistic for the Gräfenberg spot, and every spot where it couldn’t be-” He pinches your clit. He’s thrashin’ his hips against yours so hard that it sends your heels flying off of the cool tile. “Every stretch of your rugae and every little clench-”
As if on cue, you’re clenching around him. Embracing him with your puckered pussylips until Toji himself sees white- “Toji, it feels so-”
“Good.” He’s furiously pushing his glasses up, not daring to miss a single second or squeeze of your cunt. “Because I know this pussy in and out—” The nerdy man lands a few more sloppy strokes, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to hold back a whimper. Locking eyes with you through the mirror- “And who’s fucking you?”
“You, Toji—” Your eyes scrunch shut as you’re crashing into a sudden high- taking your entire body by surprise. Those white-hot bolts of pleasure start up where he was plunging into you, before building up through the rest of your body.
Your toes curl. You’re seeing white.
So strong that it leaves you nearly numb.
Nearly stupid- unable to do anything but grip onto the sink and bounce your hips back down. Right as Toji was fucking you through peak after peak- “Toji—fuck, Toji-”
And your ears are still ringing by the time the bathroom door clicks open.
Too late, you’re sloppily swivelling around to face the faux-blond man standing at the doorway. Not that you had anything against people that dyed their hair - but you did have something against Naoya Zenin.
Your jaw drops, “You-”
His furious eyes dart between you and Toji. “You two-”
“Take a hike, fucker.” Toji’s gruff tone echoes from behind, and you’re noticing that he doesn’t slow down for a single second as he talks to Naoya. In fact, the bespectacled man plants a sudden spank on the side of your ass and speeds up—“You’ll see enough of her soon at family functions- as my girlfriend, of course.”
Fuming, Naoya doesn’t speak a word before the door slams shut.
And it takes the tremble inside the bathroom for you to speak- “Wait…family functions? Do you know him or something?”
And Toji looks at you squarely. “We’re related.”
Oh.
“And don’t think that I was b-bluffing about the girlfriend part.”
Oh.
He stutters at that?
.
.
.
After a considerable few years of teaching, Masamichi Yaga has learned not to be surprised.
It was inevitable, of course—the same old campus, the same old syllables, the same old faces that inevitably get replaced by those rather similar. All bored and slightly hungover.
Though that’s not to say that Yaga doesn’t love teaching or his students - in fact, he can empathize with those that aren’t exactly the keenest on learning Veterinary Science at 8AM. He empathizes - really - and he does his best to keep the process as pain-free as possible until they’ve earned their credits for the semester.
And then again, that’s also not to say that there aren’t a few students who always…stand out. Not in terms of looks or aesthetic, but rather in the work they do.
In the questions they answer- and the questions they ask.
In the hours they put in.
In the textbooks they keep as close as their hearts.
And who better to illustrate this point than Toji Fushiguro? Though it was such a shame that he wasn’t the social types - these stand-out students often didn’t tend to be - in fact, there was only ever one student that dared sit next to him—ah! There you were.
Yaga admits he takes no small pleasure in watching this small interaction everyday.
Namely how Toji would duck his head and pretend he didn’t see you- except…except today, Toji wasn’t ducking his head at all. Not at all.
Instead, the black-haired man looks straight at you and whispers something in your ear.
Something that…that - judging by the gaping expression on your face, and the smug one on his - was a sentence not meant for Yaga’s ears. Something dirty.
And oh goodness…
He doesn’t know what happened since last class, but if he has to watch the two of you flirt everyday from hereon after then…
He might just have to request a course change.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lesson #1
“So like—” It doesn’t surprise Nanami Kento - TA to Professor Yaga’s History class, the star student in the entire department, the man infamous for having even his dorm walls covered in academic accolades and awards - when you lean over his desk.
Palms planted almost on his side. The neckline of your loose satin blouse dipping.
Dipping.
Enough to give him a gooood look at what was underneath- he catches just the slightest glimpse of baby pink before he has enough sense to look away. Lingerie? You’d worn fucking lingerie to come get tutored by him?
But alright—say that was understandable. Say that Nanami has enough experience as a TA by now to know that certain students might attempt to gain favors through…non-academic means.
Perhaps one could chalk that up to human sensibilities (or lack thereof) - Nanami Kento was never that type of man. In fact, most of the department would harp on ballads about what a romantic the blond-haired TA is- much to his obliviousness.
However, what actually stuns him is the way you’re tucking a finger into your blouse’s neckline- and how you have the audacity to actually tug down on it.
You’re humming, “What do I have to do to get an A in this class?”
Nanami balks. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
He knows your type- more accurately, he knows you. He knows you’re the type of student surrounded by others, always invited to the most exclusive parties, always with a phone blowing up, always at the center of attention—always in his line of sight. Though that’s because he knows you’re not above cheating to pass this class…of course. That’s the only reason.
Short skirt. Seemingly getting shorter everyday- sat front and center whenever he assisted with class.
Legs slightly ajar.
It made him lose track of his thoughts whenever he happened to glance your way. Happened to.
To Nanami Kento, history is what he lives and breathes- but to you, he knows it’s nothing but a credit you need to get your degree. And though he wouldn’t necessarily fault anyone for that, he can’t deny that it’d sent a thrill up his spine once you’d cornered him yesterday asking for tutoring.
He’d said yes faster than he would’ve liked.
And thus, here he was.
Nanami Kento tries to keep his composure by reminding himself of your absolutely abysmal naming of Japanese shoguns from the 14th century, but just when he thinks he’s getting a grip on himself—
He darts a look down your blouse and his voice cracks.
You smile as though you’ve got him already - you’ve seen the way he looks at you during lectures.
“I-I think that would be highly inappropriate-” Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up frantically.
To which you’re only leaning closer- “Oh? What would be inappropriate? I was asking about what extra assignments I could take to make up for my last test score…”
You cock your head in the picture of perfect innocence.
But he knows your games- he fucking knows it. And almost as much as his ears were burning, his cock does the same between his legs, too. “Perhaps re-taking that test- and the last five.” Nanami grits out. “And perhaps a long reading list—”
“You say that as if you’re disappointed.” Smiling - a snare.
“You say that as if you didn’t plan to re-take any tests at all.” Nanami counters. Somehow, his perfectly slicked-back hair was mussed up - he doesn’t know how, but he always did seem to lose his cool when it came to you. Every part of him.
“What can I say?” You’re shrugging, “I love a hot fuckin’ nerd.”
Nanami gulps. Tightening his tie- before he thinks better of it and all but rips it off of his neck.
Perfectly pressed pants. Perfectly buttoned-up shirt. Sleeves sometimes pushed up to his elbows. Golden cufflinks. Tie.
Everyone who has seen Nanami Kento striding about campus, has commented on his formal clothes in one way or the other - but mostly about how there was not a single crease in them, not even at the end of the day. And it really was true. You’re feeling them pressed up against your front right now—
With Nanami taking only a few split-seconds to tug you from the other side of the table - easily, as you were all but on top of it by now. He’s grabbing ahold of your wrist and easily manhandling you to his side.
Splaying you back out on the table. Back against the cool surface.
His muscular core weighing you down- and fuck, your mouth waters as you feel all the chiselled abs he was hiding away beneath his button-ups.
The calm, collected nerd had somehow snapped-
Nanami’s intense brown eyes peek up at you as he nears- and you can only nod.
It’s the only confirmation you need before that infamously handsome tie of his ends up ‘round your wrists—tied together. You’re delighting at just how rough he was being with you thereafter- flipping up your slutty skirt, barely pushing aside your panties.
Nanami’s all the way through taking out his heated, ravaging cock - so thick - and tappin’ his blushin’ red tip between your pussylips—before he takes a look at your heaving just and gapes.
“Oh.”
And before you know it, your blouse is being ripped straight down- buttons flying to the floor.
“Sh-shit-” You’re gasping at the shockwave of cool air that greets you. Your body arches up into his touch as Nanami leans down and draaaags his face across your tits, lapping his tongue all over the swell of your breasts and smelling you. So sweet. “Shit- just fuck me already, Kento-”
And the first thing you’re registering is the sound—thwack!
Before you’re registering the actual understanding that Nanami Gentleman Kento had just rovered his right hand down and spanked your puckered pussylips.
Hard.
You’re so sensitive that the action sends you seeing stars, and you buck up into his touch-
Thwack!
“The first lesson we’re going to learn tonight-” He twiddles his thumb between your folds, smearin’ them open and taking a nice look at your cute hole. Wet. No matter how much self control the man might have, he can’t stop himself from leaning down and spitting—
A gentle wad of spit that falls vertically between your legs.
The TA hums at the splatter, running his thumb purposefully down your clit. “-patience.”
You begin to whine. “Now that’s just unfair-”
Thwack!
He looks up at you with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “What was that, darling?”
“N-nothing…” You’re forced to admit. And it takes every shred of willpower in you to stop from humping up into his touch so needily—and Nanami doesn’t utter a word as you take control over yourself. He merely leans back and enjoys the show.
Let you be the one to dictate how far he teaches tonight. He’s a patient man.
“Good.” Nanami announces once you’re finally stock-still, having contained your desperation. It was cute how you think you could mask those tiny squirms of your hips, but he lets it go as your first lesson…“Second lesson-”
You’re shivering at the thought.
And he spits between your pussylips once more.
“If you aren’t wet enough to fucking drench me- then I fear you won’t get me, my love.”
“P-please—” And you really were wet enough to drench him- you’re perking your hips up slightly so that he can see. Leaving a sheen of gleaming sap down the front of Nanami’s crotch, “I am I am-”
“Then…” His lips quirk up meanly. He’s sandwiching his ruddied cockhead between your pussylips and fucking- just between your pussylips. “Show your working.”
Show your working?
Show your working?!
It seems you have no choice but to spreeeead apart your legs even further- letting your gooey cunt gush out a few sploshes of slick. Nanami cocks his head down and takes you in, “Hm…good, good.”
And you’ve never felt more shy in your life. “A-and the third lesson, Kento?”
He fits his pointed cockhead between your ready folds.
“Good girls take it all.”
Did that mean—
Soon enough, you’re throwing your head back- voicebox shattering with a spiel of moans. Mewls. Whines. Any and every noise that possibly couldn’t describe the sheer raw sensation of Nanami’s hot, giiiirthy cock entering your cunt.
He was stretching you out so wide.
Wider than you ever thought possible.
He’s placing a hand down on your front and press-press-preeeeessing down on your stomach as his cock sinks in- fat cockhead opening up your channel. Fucking you like an utter madman. It didn’t matter how composed his reputation stated him to be- because right now Nanami had his blond bangs falling across his forehead, his jaw clenched at the sensations, and his glasses nearly slipping off his face as he tuuuugs you down his cock.
His reddened divot weeping into even the tiniest of nooks and crannies inside you, his cock so large that it could almost be felt from the outside—
“Feel me right in there?” Nanami’s deep baritone echoes out into the room, echoing against all four corners. Five thick fingers of his splay out across your core- “Right there-”
You shiver as he locates the exact spot where he was easing in - another few inches pushed inside. His swollen tip was swirling about your insides and push-push-puuuushing inside, past those restraints and that tight muscle of your hole. “Yes.”
“Feel me openin’ that pussy of yours up?” He grumbles out in a gravelly tone. And it makes the hair on your body stand at attention to realize that this was him speaking like this. This was him pushing his glasses further up his perspired nose, this was him pounding his heated cock into you in short, jerky thrusts. “Feel me teaching her the shape of my hah- cock? Feel me teaching her to take me—”
“Y-yes—” To be quite honest, it felt as though you could feel him in your very throat. “But are you really…”
“Hm?”
And you’re trailing off simply because you’re so awestruck - Nanami’s cock was looooong and bloated. Decorated in a few veins down his sides—they were red and irritated. Thick. Throbbing so much that you swear you could count them from where you were spread apart on his table-
His cock is enough to render you so honest. “Are you sure it even can fit in?”
And that makes Nanami pause.
“Can it fit?” He breathes out - his voice taking on an airy tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s startling enough to make you look right into his eyes, and the inkling of something…dark in them is enough for you to jolt. “Can it fit?”
And before you can repeat - before you can even ask him what’s wrong…Nanami reaches up to grab the tied restraints around your wrists.
And don’t mistake him- he isn’t about to set you free.
He’s using that tie as leverage to haul your body down—“You’re asking if it can fit?” Your blond-haired TA grunts out hoarsely, breaths coming out ragged. He hisses when you clench your sopping wet walls around him- “Good girls take it all.”
“Y-yes, fuck-”
“And you’re my good girl, right?” Staring passionately into your eyes whilst he hits every hidden spot inside you in long, lecherous strikes.
His sheer expression - the way you had the Nanami Kento - so ruffled is so compelling that you can’t help but nod your head. “Of course.” And your legs are tightening evermore against his toned waist, interrupted only by Nanami himself.
He uses one hand to throw both of your legs over his shoulders- one each. And before you know it, the big, buff nerd is bending down to fold you in half.
His fat cock reaching the end of your pussy.
“Fourth lesson-” And you’re barely even hearing it above the constant thrashes and thuds at your cervix, the stars you’re seeing. “-repeat all those back to me…”
And just then, the round edge of his tip was grazing right across your g-spot.
“-or you don’t get to cum.”
.
.
.
“How odd…” Professor Yaga’s bushy brows furrow above his shades - it might not be quite professional for a professor to wear such a thing to campus, but to be fair, students showed up in their pajamas half the time. Besides, they helped mask his expressions rather well.
Like right now.
Though Nanami Kento - his ever-loyal TA - could sense that what was upon Professor Yaga’s face was nothing but pure, unabashed surprise. He says your name—“I don’t remember her getting A++’s a single time this semester- and now you’re telling me it’s all that she’s been getting?” The professor squints at his screen, in the middle of doing his customary check-ins before a lecture.
Nanami coughs, “I-I’ve been tutoring her lately…”
Professor Yaga looks to Nanami in surprise - he knew that his blond-haired student would much rather hug a porcupine than a person. Let alone spend his precious hours tutoring one. “Is…is that so?”
Nanami nods silently.
The older man clears his throat - if there was anyone capable enough to bring your History grades up to such an extent, then it could only be Nanami Kento. At this rate, you might be giving his star student a run for his money- “And how has that been?”
“Well it’s been quite- ah, illuminating, sir.”
Professor Yaga raises a brow in question- but before he can ask anything further—the students start trickling in.
Class has started.
To everyone including Professor Yaga, Nanami Kento- and you.
Winking blatantly at his TA as you waltz up to your chair, skirt shorter than ever, hips swaying…
The professor just barely manages to catch the way Nanami’s eyes…follow you.
And it dawns upon him.
The slight wobble in your saunter.
The strange bruises peeking out above Nanami’s collar.
The traitorous blush upon his face.
Professor Yaga has never searched up course change forms faster.
♡ GETO SUGURU - “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
And that…is precisely what makes you pause.
It’s what makes you s-sputter. It’s what makes you shoot a glare at perhaps the most infuriating man you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting- and that’s saying a lot.
Though, he always did manage to surprise you—ever since Professor Yaga’s Philosophy Class 101, you’d been haunted by the thorn that was Geto Suguru.
You recall that first meeting like it was yesterday.
The nervous shuffling of seats. Professor Yaga was notorious for hand-picking only the best of the best for his classes, and you remember the glee that’d shot up your spine at the email of confirmation. You’d been picked. Similarly, adrenaline wafted off the other students in waves around you, burning its sour aftertaste into the atmosphere. Though at that moment, nothing had been sweeter.
Especially once the professor had finally - finally - asked a broad question about the theory of knowledge—
And your hand had shot up.
Right along with the boy’s beside you.
Long black hair. Longer limbs.
Draped across the chair so carelessly, his grey turtleneck hugged him in a way that made your eyes dart away.
Gold-rimmed glasses.
He had the most feline smirk across his face as his eyes met yours- smug. He raised his hand higher.
And from that day onwards, you knew that Geto Suguru was your sworn enemy.
Rival, more like.
Throughout the semester, you’d answer one of Professor Yaga’s questions, and Geto would be sure to disagree. You’d top the grades in class, and Geto would break your streak on the next one. You’d try not to bash his head in, and Geto would only urge you to more.
He infuriated you. If not by whatever sharp quip comes to his tongue - seemingly always in competition with yours - then by whatever sly wink or smirk he’d throw your way. He was shameless.
And you were sure Professor Yaga wasn’t paid enough for this.
So being paired together for the biggest project of the semester certainly hadn’t been on your radar. No matter how much predictivism you’d been taught.
And it was by sheer miracle that you two hadn’t strangled each other already-
“M-make you?” You ask. Geto adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair, arms crossing.
“Make me.” He repeats, and you’re sure by now that you weren’t mishearing things. “You’ve spent this whole semester running that mouth- I’m starting to wonder whether that’s all it does.”
The slight arch of his brow makes you bristle. “You fucker-”
“No need to lower yourself to insults, gorgeous, I’m just stating the facts. Diogenes always did seek an honest man.” He hums, all faux innocence. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application. Besides…” Geto shrugs those broad shoulders of his, snug in yet another too-expensive turtleneck. Cashmere, you bet. He looks straight at you as he speaks—“-there’s nothing little about me, either.”
And then you pause.
And then you’re standing in the middle of Geto Suguru’s bedroom- because of course the bastard had suggested his dorm room for your project meeting.
“Prove it then.”
His pink lips part. “What?”
“Prove it.” You repeat. “Philosophy isn’t just about theorizing, it’s about application.”
“Maybe I will. Socrates said to be is to do.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe I—” And of course, you have to be the one to make the first move. You have to be the one to drag Geto Suguru in by his stupid turtleneck, pressing your lips to his. Stupidly sweet.
He’s lapping at you like a man in the depths of hunger, licking his tongue between your gloss-covered lips and moaning- “Fuck.” He rasps out through honed canines. “Fuck.” Dragging himself off of the floor where your poster boards were spread out-
“Sit.” And without a single warning, you’re pressing the heel of your foot between Geto’s meaty thighs. You’re locating where his rock-hard cock is and puuuuuush-
“N-ngh…” He shivers. He blushes at the broken noise that escapes him. “Tha’s all you got?”
You raise a brow and crush his thickening length harder.
Geto bucks- but he pulls himself together. “Still all you got?”
And so you’re narrowing your eyes n’ grabbing onto him- tearing through Geto Suguru’s stupid, pretentious layers like you’ve always wanted to.
Tugging off his neat pants. Pulling on his tight Aristotle-patterned boxers.
Spitting straight between his lips once he opens his mouth-
And Geto’s bulbous red tip twitches at the sensation of your wet dollop of saliva. He nods with a blush as you’re lowering your naked cunt down on him—“Yes.” Breathing out. Feeling a little dizzy at the sudden warmth of your swollen pussylips, swallowing him up- “Yes- fuuuuck-”
Before he knows it, your hand is around him. “Shut up.”
“Fuck, that’s makin’ me even harder-” As if to prove his point, his flared tip throbs inside of you.
“I said shut up.” Those pretty fingers of yours claim his pale neck- digging the curves of your nails into his skin. It makes him gulp. “If someone walks in or if the dorm RA catches us, then my reputation will be affected-”
“You mean my reputation- fuh-fuck.” He can barely even get the sentence out before you’re tightening your grip. Perkin’ your pretty hips up juuuust a little before gulping down his thick length.
Inch after inch.
Fat and pulsing inside of you with need.
He was so veiny that each tiny slip n’ slide caressed Geto’s prominent veins against your sweet insides. And he’s throwing his head back at the sensation as though he’s seeing the pearly gates themselves.
Letting out such a guttural groan- “Oh fuck.” Choked-up at the back of his throat. Those milky thighs of his shake as he reaches them upwards to chase your wettened cunt, bashin’ in the roundness of his cockhead. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck-”
“What was that about running one’s mouth?” You scoff. “Seems like you’re all talk- what? Can’t even handle a little pussy?”
“Maybe I just can’t handle your pussy.” He bites back. With yet another soft sound leaving him once your fingers dig against his throat.
“I doubt you’ve ever seen a real pussy in your life.” And when he opens his mouth, you’re quick to interrupt. “Don’t lie.”
Geto’s mouth shuts again. Having you be so stern with him like this…fuck. It makes some strangely carnal part of himself that he didn’t even know he had awakened- and the black-haired man merely ruts up into you a few times. A line of drool dragging down the side of his lips the more n’ more he’s feeling your soft clenches. Just one hard cleeeench.
He was gone for.
His cadence grows stuttered. His glasses slip down his face. And he finally nods in admittance—a virgin. And, listen, you didn’t have anything against virgins- but the fact that he could talk so big and yet get driven so wild by a mere drag of your sloppy walls down his cock- and still not admit to it?
“Pathetic.”
The dribblin’ and irritated crown of his shaft grows even bigger inside of you. Geto’s head plummets forwards, and he’s whispering something inaudible.
“What was that?” You raise a brow- an expression that he raises his eyes to meet and jolts. As if electrocuted.
“I-I said I didn’t hear you.” He counters. Bucking into you like an animal. “Pythagoras said-”
And you don’t hesitate to emphasize every single syllable. “Pa-the-tic.”
“What was that?”
“I said you’re path—oh.”
Rutting into you even harder—fuck. It didn’t even matter that his massive, inexperienced cock wasn’t fitting all the way- because Geto was digging his rounded crown around your most delicate insides.
He somehow locates your g-spot in a few swipes, brows furrowed as though he’d memorized this particular spot through years of reading (he has, all for this very moment…)
Such a delicious curve that you feel in your very throat, tastebuds sizzlin’ with a lacquer of saliva the moment his cockhead strikes your sweet spot. Your favorite. And more than your low profanities, the way you’re tilting your head down and glaring at him makes Geto Suguru splosh out in more lewd slick. “Watch it, Suguru.”
“Mmm—” He shivers. Hands coming up ‘round your back and tugging you further against his toned front- you never realized that the nerd you sat next to was so ripped. “S-say that again.”
And you swear now you’re beginning to grow a little concerned- he surely couldn’t be that pussydrunk, could he? “I said watch it-”
“No-” Geto cuts you off. “In that tone.”
That tone? And it dawns upon you slow and sensual—like the toyin’ rubs that he was granting on your g-spot now. Though you were the one most in control, letting his swollen cock stir up your insides at a thorough pace - now all the way from the tufts of black at his base to his puckered, drooling tip. “Suguru…” And your hand locks around his neck even tighter- and just as you’d suspected, he’s drenchin’ out even more syrupy sap that leaks out of your hole. Gets fucked back in. “You fucking like being degraded, don’t you?”
A blush rises to his face. His glare targets you even through his foggy glasses, “Th-that’s prepost-”
“You like me yelling at you.” And this time, it’s not a question. You already know—and you’re grinding your hips down onto his toned v-line at a frenzied pace, wrenching those words away from his husky throat before they can even formulate. “You like me calling you pathetic.” This time reaching up and tugging on a stray lock of his hair- “You like me fucking you like a little bitch.”
And his rude, reddened cock - ever the culprit - fills out your insides so much it’s as if you were fit to burst. He empties out his wadded webs inside you-
“Isn’t that true?” You coo down at him. Poor Geto Suguru, spit-glossed lips and quivering at the feeling of your pussy- “You’ve always wanted to be fucked by me like this, huh?”
And he nods.
He fucking nods.
Eyes glazed. Brows furrowed.
Hips shivering every time they rammed into yours.
And that’s right before one of his tremblin’ hands reaches up to grab your own dominant set - lifting them off of his sweaty scalp. For a second there, you think that perhaps Geto is particularly cagey over his pretty hair- but then he’s opening up your palm and smacking the side of his even prettier face with your hand.
Not hard enough to harm. Not soft enough to not leave a print of your digits across his blushing cheeks.
You’re surging up with questions when-
“Ahhh…” He exhales, eyes fluttering shut at the sting. Once Geto opens them again, you’re noticing that they look clearer than ever now. “That’s better.” He pushes up his drifted glasses.
Rapidly and ravenously, he’s back in control with his sloppy cadence. Globular edge of his cockhead swervin’ apart your folds to tickle your g-spot—then reaching all the way towards the back of your womb-
Again and again.
“D-don’t think m’never gonna catch up, gorgeous.” Geto gnaws down on his lower lip as if to hold back a moan. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the start of semester- you didn’t think m’just gonna let you win, huh? Plato said that the first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself.”
“Don’t act like you weren’t just—oh.” You’re out of breath from his sheer thrashes, the ridges of his veins massaging spots you didn’t even know you had. “-weren’t just putty in my hands.”
“Ah- and about hands…” Like he’d just remembered- like he’d been so gone on the feeling of your sopping wet walls that he didn’t even realize what had just transpired, Geto shoots a look down at your hand. Still in his grip. Still prickling with the slap from earlier.
He bites his lip and blushes.
“Slap me again.”
You fucking knew it.
.
.
.
The next time you’re attending Professor Yaga’s class, you have a lot of explaining to do - first of all about why you’d sent him an urgent email in the middle of the night, requesting an extension for the project.
And second of all, why you and Geto Suguru walked into the next class holding hands.
“So that’s what happened.” He doesn’t even need to hear your excuses to know. From here he can already see the bite marks on your neck, the limp in your walk, the way that Geto looked much too happy with himself.
The older man pushes up his shades and sighs-
“Professor-”
“I really don’t get paid enough for this.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - XXXreads.
“I r-really can’t thank you enough for helping me.” Choso’s sweet, sweet voice flutters out at you—almost inaudible past the mountain of books in his hands. They were as tall as him when set down on the floor, and being held up they nearly grazed the arch of the doorway. “Really. I didn’t know how many trips I’d have to take otherwise.”
You giggle, “Don’t worry about it, Choso.”
“No but- really.” And somehow - perhaps through years of practice, perhaps because of those muscles you always suspected he hid underneath soft fluffy sweaters - Choso’s letting go of his towering pile to push his glasses up. “N-no one really offered…no one talks to me anyways but-”
He looks at you in slight panic, as though fearful he’s scared you off.
“But really, thank you.”
And you feel your heart clench for the poor boy—it was true, after all. No one in class ever quite spoke to the nerdy Choso Kamo, always with his face close against the pages, always with his hand raised in the air.
He lived more in the world of books than he did with people.
Which was no surprise- not when the people in most of your lectures weren’t exactly the nicest. Despite it being university, it seems people still did pick on him for being a little…bookish. Tittering to themselves as he passed. Throwing scrunched up paper balls at his head. Speaking to him just for the laughs.
And that’s where you came in- there was absolutely nothing wrong with being bookish, or studious, or smart.
In fact, out of everyone in Professor Yaga’s English Lit lectures, you think that Choso was the best one there. The most…handsome, too. But that was neither here nor there!
And so you did your best to divert their attention, to prevent your classmates from taking out their slouched midterm grades and bad hangovers on the nerdy boy. Which included spotting his form (or at least the little you could make out of him) in the corridor, struggling to balance countless books, and stopping to help him.
And you’re nodding at the librarian as you enter- slipping in Choso’s multiple borrowed books through the book drop slot. Soon enough, you’re finding yourself free of all the weight of his books and Choso—holding onto merely one.
“What’s that one, Choso?” You ask in curiosity.
His voice cracks. Holding the book against his chest, Choso’s handsome face tints red as he looks at you. “Th-this one? Nothing-”
And as you attempt to take a peek at it, he swerves away slightly. Hm…
Pushing his glasses up his clammy face, “N-nothing at all. This is just one that I have to…to return personally.”
“Personally?” You squint. “Like put on the shelf yourself? I’ve never heard of that.”
“Yes—” With a final squeak, he’s darting into the depths of the library as though his feet were on fire. As though, perhaps, you yourself were fire - and he hunches away from you slightly when you’re following him.
All the way past the science section.
“A-and thank you so much for your help- again. I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer.” He pants.
All the way past the literary fiction section.
“Really- I wouldn’t want to bother you. I promise you can leave.”
All the way into a darkened corner of the library that you don’t think you’ve ever been in before- where the tables were sparse and the students were even more sparse. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in sight there.
“Please.”
And Choso ducks into a barren corner of an aisle.
One that you look up at—
And right there on the shelf marker atop the shelf. Right there in laminated plastic. Right there in printed script that could not be erased.
Erotica.
He’d borrowed an erotica book.
And judging by Choso’s familiarity with the section, this wasn’t the first time. Nor would it be the last.
In just a few seconds- you’re walking up to him. And knowing that he was cornered, Choso Kamo can do nothing but bow his head in shame when you reach out for the book—something by some author named Tony with a glitzy, glossy x-rated cover. You’re glancing at the brief summary on the back.
You catch a few key words.
Nerd.
Bullied.
Class.
The hot girl who’s the only one to treat him with kindess—and the one to take his virginity.
.
.
.
“Fuck.” And Choso Kamo’s tone comes out hurried- it comes out harrowed. It comes out hushed—nothing but a low, trembling tone against the shell of your ears. It shakes, just like the rest of his half-naked body as he tucks his fat tip between your pussylips.
Pants pulled down just enough to free his raging erection.
His plump, reddish crown swipes down your crevice and straight inside your hole. Jerking his hips sloppily back and forth a few times-
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” Choso’s voice cracks in your eardrums, entire body feverish as he glues himself to your behind. Your front against the ridged bookshelf, his toned body against yours.
“Shhhhh, baby.”
He nods, “Shhhh.”
The towering man fucks you like an utter animal- hips pinned to yours and making the wooden furniture underneath creak. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize his own strength, his own girth - how could he? When he hasn’t had the experience to before…
And just the act of putting it in is enough to leave Choso a stuttering, strangled mess. A single tear tracks down his cheek, “Fuh-fuck, it feels even b-better than in the books, baby-”
“Thought about me a lot while reading, hm?” Turning your face around- you meet his flushed one with a grin.
“Well…”
You clench and his breath hitches- “Did you touch yourself to those thinking about me?”
It’s a tone that’s making him shiver - the tips of Choso’s ears burn bright red, and his lips wobble cutely. He nods—he fucking nods away drunkenly before he’s registering it. The look of glee on your face is enough to make the nerdy man choke. “D-don’t tease me, baby.” He quietly whispers out, hand dragging down the side of your upright body. He’s managing to slip his slender fingertips between your legs n’ massage those treacly pussylips of yours—just like his books had taught him. “Though you- I mean- the character in the books did, too.”
“Oh?” One of your brows raises interest. “And what else did this character do, baby?”
Choso whines, his flushed cockhead emptying out the most adorable lines of slick into your deepest depths. He pulls out a little just to watch those ribbons of sap cling onto your cunt- “F-fuck back into me…”
“Hm?”
“The character- I mean.” He gasps out. And a line of sweat glides down the side of his temple as he starts ruttin’ into you even harder, the round edge of his cock opening up spots you didn’t even know you had—Choso was fucking massive. “Would fuck back into me- the nerd.”
And so you’re gripping onto the firm wooden planks of the book shelf, using it as leverage to raise your hips. Up and down. Up and down. “Shit—” Your walls glide down his swollen cock, the patterns of his veins just so prominent. “And what else, baby?”
He’s whimpering at the sound of that pretty pet name on your tongue- so much so that Choso leans over to suck on your tongue. “And then- and then-”
“This is how you kiss, Cho…” You angle your head to kiss him back - so sloppy. Who’d have thought that the lovely, quiet nerd in your lectures was just so…
“And then she’d start t-to clench.” He admits, oglin’ down with big brown eyes at the glistening circle of your cunt. “I don’t really know what that means, baby, or what you have to do to cl—fuck.”
And you’re hearing the exact moment it hits him- the exact moment that the cute hug of your walls leaves him a broken man. Choso shudders upwards as though he’s just been jolted by electricity, and he probes his red, round tip against your spongy cervix- bottoming-out. Barely even starting to pull away from your sultry womb as he fucks inwards.
Held hostage by your cunt—he pants. He shakes. “And then-” Spittle dribbling down the sides of his lips, they twitch with delight. “Just like that—j-just like that…harder.”
And so you do. Fluttering your lashes, “Like this?”
“Harder.”
“Like this-”
“Hard-” Cutting his own words off, the nerdy man reaches his quiverin’ fingers from your slit—and before you know it, he’s pinching your puffy pussylips together. Tight. Ruthless. Making you see stars behind your shuttered lids at the sheer pressure- “Like this. And then in the end she’d beg-”
“Beg for what, Cho?” You ask.
“She’d beg…” The raw draaaags of his flared mushroom tip leave your knees weak. And Choso has to keep a hand constantly looped around your right thigh to keep you from collapsing. Perking your ass up against his ramming v-line, he utters—“You’d beg for my cum…”
Your mouth drops into a pretty circle. “Oh.”
And almost instantly, he seems to regret the filthy words spewing out of his mouth. “B-but that’s just a fantasy and-”
“Well…” This time, you’re the one interrupting him. And it’s done so with the realization that- hey, he was fucking you raw anyways. “Why don’t you go ahead then?”
And he doesn’t even need to hear that entire sentence- he doesn’t even need to hear the middle of it. He merely slaps a hand on top of your gaped maw - effectively shutting you up in such a mean way - and rams his slam-reddened hips against yours. Choso all but fucking collapses his muscular body against your back as he scours his tip into your deepest spot.
The circumference of his girth ending off at your womb.
Before you’re feeling the slow, sensual trickle of his cum filling you up from the inside. It starts off with a few shy dribbles- before soon, the bespectacled man has to gnaw his canines down on your neck to stop himself from making too much noise.
Chasing your hips as you don’t know whether to fuck back or lean against the library- shoving and smearin’ his leaky tip into every orifice. Every nook. Every cranny.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his slick glaaaaaazing you from the inside, frothing out near your entrance. “Sh-shit there’s so much, Cho.” You murmur out. “You’ve never cum inside anything but your fist, huh? Shit- been savin’ this all up, hm?”
Biting back a groan as your words make his seed shoot just a few more spurts—“Yes.” To your absolute surprise. “Been saving it up for you, baby.”
And a shiver runs down your spine.
Both at Choso’s words-
And at the sudden knocking upon one of the bookshelves- almost as though someone was making their entrance known upon a front door.
Both of you whip your heads up in a panic - with Choso still not moving away from your cunt. All honeyed and driiiipping with his ivory sap.
And the sight before you two makes the nerdy man wrap his arms around you possessively.
Because standing there—tall, tattooed, dark hair that reached his shoulders. A bright blue jersey with the infamous emblem of Delta Jujutsu Pi - it was none other than Chisato Kamo.
His twin brother.
A man that shared the same face as the one fucking you, but just about none of his interests.
Well, none of his interests other than you that is…and perhaps that’s why in a few minutes the older brother of the two is being pushed aside so that Chisato can ram his rugged, red tip into you rudely. Scoffing at the way your pussy quivered and clenched around him—
“Cheh…shut up, girlie.” He plasters a palm over your mouth, just as Choso had done so earlier. “Honestly, are ya even my brother? Look at her poor hole- she isn’t fucked even half as good as she should’ve been-”
Choso pipes up from where he’d been banished away from your pussy. “If you just gave me her again-”
“To cum in two pumps again?”
“She said I could- she’s mine.”
“She’s mine.”
.
.
.
“I’m not even going to ask.” Professor Yaga rubs at his throbbing temples—it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to see his star student, Choso Kamo, walk into the lecture hall with his head bowed low. Unspeaking even with him.
It wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary to see you clinging onto aforementioned Choso Kamo, talking his ear off about your day. And Choso would let you.
What was absolutely astounding was the way in which the aforementioned Choso Kamo’s younger brother - Chisato Kamo, member of Delta Jujutsu Pi, attended more ragers than study sessions, never attended this English Literature class a day in his entire life - was following behind…
Sauntering in as if he owned the place.
He throws an arm around you- and Choso immediately jerks up to smack it off of you.
He sees the two brothers glare at one another.
And Yaga decides that he definitely wasn’t paid enough to intervene with that…
He sighs and starts off attendance, and for the first time has the privilege of hearing. “Mister Chisato Kamo?”
“Here.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2-IN-1
“Isn’t she just…”
“Out of your league?”
“-gorgeous.”
Uraume can’t help but roll their eyes- well, mentally. They knew that their (unfortunate) best friend’s (unfortunate) resolve wasn’t nearly as strong to withstand such a thing, and so they have to settle for letting out a long sigh.
Bringing that red Solo cup to their lips, they hum. “Then why don’t you go there and talk to her-”
“Talk to her- ya must be fuckin’ joking.” Sukuna scoffs, staring down at his white-haired friend. Uraume had been attached to his side ever since their freshmen year rush for Jujutsu Delta Pi, and they’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through his wrestling lows and his professional contract. Through his best moments and…whatever this was.
His embarrassingly big crush on you. Ever since he’d seen you at one of his wrestling games, cheering him on- Uraume has heard far too much about you from him ever since.
He sighs at the sight of you dancing in the middle of the dance floor.
Before narrowing his eyes down at Uraume’s cup. “Seriously…has your fruity lil’ punch - and I know you don’t drink anything hard - been spiked with something? Talk to her- cheh, just imagine-”
“Ryomen Sukuna.” Cut off by the stern, supremely exhausted voice of his best friend. “If you don’t ask her to dance right now—” The smaller person looks up from their far shorter height, dead-set into Sukuna’s crimson eyes. “-then I’m telling the entire party about what a nerd you are.” A pause. “And showing them your Grimmjow figurine collection.”
“On it-”
And it was a dance- just a dance, right?
It’s not like Sukuna was going to ask you to marry him or- or to come up to his (geeky) bedroom or anything. It’s not like one dance would have him embarrassing himself. It’s not like one dance would have you finding out his true identity as a…nerd.
Right?
He was a Health Science major, for crying out loud!
Uraume drinks a shot of straight vodka.
.
.
.
“Fuck, I need ya.” Sukuna breathes out against your throat—one hand tilting your neck to the side for more access, the other gripped onto your hips. He kisses you maddeningly.
Blindly, the two of you had made your way through the throng of meshed, musical madness and climbed those fraternity stairs up to Sukuna’s bedroom. Where he had your back pressed against- his mouth attacking you wildly—he groans. Licking a stripe up your sweet skin, “I need ya so badly—”
“All talk.” You tut. And before he can stop you - before his rational mind can get the better of him - you let your hand slip to the door handle.
Flinging it open and letting the two of you stumble inside. Door slamming shut.
You’re making it all the way to splay out on Sukuna’s massive king-sized bed before you turn on the lights and-
“Woah.” And your jaw drops at the vision before you. Surrounding you. Someplace you’d never thought to be…Ryomen Sukuna’s bedroom- anime posters, figurines, books upon books upon books, academic trophies as well as wrestling ones.
And he panics- “This is-”
“You’re a-”
“A little fuckin’-”
“Nerd.”
“Nerdy.”
The both of you pause—before the clear urgency and embarrassment on Ryomen Sukuna’s face makes you smile. He looks away with a huff-
“Do you have glasses?”
Reluctantly - still staring off intensely into a poster of Ouran High School Host Club - he nods.
“Can you wear them while you fuck me?”
He looks back down with heated eyes.
And so he does.
Sukuna keeps his thin-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses on as he tears through your glittery dress. Sukuna keeps his glasses on as he tugs down his ripped jeans n’ swipes his thickened tip between your pussylips. Sukuna keeps his glasses on still as he fucks you in long, sloooooppy strokes through and through your multiple orgasms.
Once just from fingerin’ over your clit - with his fraternity ring still on. Once more just from eating you out. Two more times just from fucking deeeeep into the sponged softness of your cervix- feeling him fill you out like never before was maddening.
Just about tunneling you through your fifth- meanwhile he hasn’t even cum for the first time yet.
He leans his sweaty head down in a mating press - close enough that the thundering slams of his hips send little flecks of slick flying up to his glasses. Roverin’ reddened cockhead plunging between your pussylips and hitting dead-set on the back of your cunt—splattering both your slick and his own upwards.
Coating the frame and all the way down to the lens, Sukuna snickers as he fucks you even harder—“Better know that yer gonna pay for dirtying these glasses-” He pants between clenched canines. “Yer not getting off that easy, girlie.”
“A-and it’s my fault?” You’re squealing out in indignation. “I’m not the one that—fuck.”
“Fuck?” Sukuna hums. Expression turning into one of mocking thoughtfulness, “Why, yes, according to my calculations I am fucking you.” With that said, he’s dragging his veined cock all over your walls and pulling out—just to tap the swollen curve of his cockhead on top of your cut. Splashin’ away your slick, “Quite the astute observation, brat.”
Gurgling out between the force of his thrusts, “Th-thank you?”
“I was talking to this pussy.”
Your maw drops at his sheer audacity. “Y-you’re not even that kind of nerd-”
He cocks his head, soft pink curls following him. “And what fuckin’ kind of nerd am I, hm?”
“You’re not even the…” In punishment, his length drills into you even harder - as if he was trying to pound those insolent words back into your throat. Making you feel the lump of his girth there where your voicebox crackled- “-the scientific kind.”
Sukuna shoots a glance at the numerous academic accolades atop his shelves. “Right…”
“Because if you were then you’d have found my g-spot already!”
Right now you were blundering out whatever it was that you could say- which wasn’t much at all. Sukuna’s ravenous cock had left your mind nothing but mush, pounding and pounding and it felt as though your cunt was molded to his exact shade and size by now—making you arch up into him. He glides a hand underneath your spine to help you.
It was true, however.
Ryomen Sukuna had made you reach your sultry orgasm five times without even caressing your g-spot. And you weren’t sure whether it was inexperience, or ignorance, or whether he just didn’t care for it but-
But he lets out a deep, dark burst of laughter at your sentence.
The last thing he does before reelin’ his thickened cock back and hitting your womb in a hard slam- “Not the scientific kind?” Sukuna’s repeating to himself, through a slight chuckle. And there was something ragged in his tone that made you shiver—“Not the scientific kind?”
And if his first repetition sounded as though he was in disbelief, that last one sounded as though his brain just refused to fucking register this shit - couldn’t possibly. It’s almost enough to make you take back your statement, but thank goodness that you don’t.
Because within the next split-seconds, Sukuna has his middle finger pushing up his glasses- his eyes locking down above your front. His gaze then calculates the distance between where your swollen pussylips were gobbling him up, and where he could feel his rounded tip scrape your spongy depths. Your womb.
It takes him only mere moments- “The Gräfenberg spot is said to be on the anterior wall…” Accordingly, he stirs his erection deep inside of you. “About 1-3 inches deep as per average statistics…”
And you’re suddenly feeling his bawling divot trace that exact distance down your walls. Up and down. Up and dooooown—“Sh-shit, Kuna-”
“Directly behind the pubic bone- the inferior pubic ramus could…”
“Shit, Kuna- almost-”
“Considered part of the clitorourethrovaginal complex so-” And before you know it, his finger swipes down your pretty clit. Your body trembles, expectedly, and Sukuna’s bespectacled eyes follow that shiver riiiight up your cunt.
“P-please-” You cry out.
And he’s cracking a small snicker. “Tell me if the trials are successful, my lil’ lab helper.”
“Trials?” Climbing up onto your elbows in confusion—what trials? And you’re regretting the action almost as soon as it happens, because just then Sukuna lurches his hips back n’ gives a thorough smooch near your g-spot.
Near it.
“Trial one…” That little lilt in his pitch lets you know that he’s waiting for your answer.
“F-failed.” Blubbering.
He pushes his glasses upwards and tries again- harder this time. “Trial two-”
“Failed-”
Even harder.
Mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - he’s sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there. Round and ravenous.
“And trial number…” Sukuna trails off. Dragging his swollen cock back aaaaaall the way until his tip was just chastely pecking your pussylips, and you could feel every single throb - and then dooooown until those scuffs of pink scrape your pussy. A carnal itch. “-three?”
“F—fuck.” You can’t answer.
Because with that final thrust, Sukuna’s swipin’ down your g-spot perfectly. Making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice- right before you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.
Stars behind your lids. Toes curling until it hurts.
You can’t stop your hips from thrashing upon the squeaky mattress—and Sukuna can’t stop from shovelling his throbbing inches just a little deeper. He grips onto your hips from one side. He locates the exact spot that made you shatter, and digs his rotund tip into even even further - not pulling away even if you were sobbing at the sheer overstimulation.
Just slow, staccato-ed pushes inside.
It made a small primitive part of Sukuna break to pull away- he just wanted to keep on kissin’ your cervix. And he grunts at the back of his throat, the nerd’s own high washing over him in waves.
Silky droplets of cum that end up pouring deeeeep into the back of your pussy—it’s such a goopy mess there. Splashin’ around every time that Sukuna fucked his hips inside, collecting where he kept on pressing at a constant pace - like a button - on your g-spot.
Being fucked through peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust that aaaaaall end up targeting your g-spot. He was proving to you that he knew where it was, that he was that type of scientific nerd.
And the corners of his lips twitch in delight, “I take that as a success?” Though he wasn’t asking you - not at all - he leans his head down to peer at your pussy. Lens coating in spraying droplets of sap, “Why thank you for the help, my best assistant.”
“Y-you’re so…” Your legs tremble weakly.
And Sukuna pushes those tortoiseshell glasses up his nosebridge- you’re noticing just now that they have small horns in the corners. How fitting.
He didn’t even bother wiping away the thick layers of your slick. Stuck onto him like a medal - the best, the shiniest out of all those upon the shelves.
“Now, have you ever heard about the A-spot?”
.
.
.
“Mister Ryomen Sukuna.” The man’s stern voice calls out - it was 8AM but Professor Yaga could make a sloth jump onto a racetrack with his tone. Not that it does that much to the star of the wrestling team, the notorious pink-haired member of Delta Jitsu Pi, and Yaga’s very own star student of Health Science.
Sukuna merely looks at him boredly. Lounging an arm around the back of your seat- right beside him.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was (secretly) topping all the exams, then Yaga wouldn’t even put up with all this.
“Please pay attention to the lecture.” Professor Yaga straightens out his papers, “If you have any personal conversation to be had, then please take it out of my classroom.”
“Aye aye, teach.” Sukuna sleazes out a grin. “I was just helping my girl here with the lesson, y’know.”
A chuckle spreads throughout class, little did they know that they were laughing at the smartest student between all of them - perhaps even between the whole year.
“Then I suppose you don’t mind giving the entire class a briefing-” The professor starts boredly, before he catches the smug look on Sukuna’s face- and Yaga has to look behind himself. The PowerPoint slide he didn’t realize he was on—fuck, it makes him swear internally.
Erogenous zones: The Gräfenberg spot.
“I would be more than happy to give the class a briefing, teach.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - Got webs?
With great power came great…responsibility. Sure.
That was what Tony had briefed Ino Takuma on—meeting the Avengers and getting to speak with Iron Woman? Absolutely awesome. Meeting the Avengers and saving the world? No biggie. Fighting crime and putting his life on the line everyday? Pssssht-
Getting fucked by you?
Shit, he was about to cream his pants.
Ino Takuma was fucking terrified.
Not because of you, of course, because you were just as beautiful as all his dreams and even more so—but rather he was caught up in the fact that this…well, wasn’t a dream. Exactly that.
It’d all come not too long after he’d confessed to you that he was Spider-Man. Taking you on a romantic dinner at some fancy restaurant he’d had to beg his uncle to make a reservation for, followed by a moonlit walk downtown- and a little breaking into campus to watch the stars from the rooftop. It was perfect.
And the way you’d taken him being Spider-Man? Perfect.
You were so sweet and loving- punching him in the shoulder (deserved) before taking him into your arms (Ino doesn’t know if he’d ever be deserving of being in the arms of an angel…but…he sure wasn’t complaining).
And afterwards, he’d taken you into his arms and used his webs to swing you all the way back to his apartment. It really was perfect.
And now he can’t lie, he’d taken you back to his apartment - landing neatly on his lil’ balcony ledge - without any ulterior motives. He promises! Ino Takuma is as pure as snow!
Ignore the fact that snow contains atmospheric pollutants and vehicle emissions…but other than that he swears he’s pure! He’d merely wanted to show you his vast Lego collection, perhaps his camera and all those pictures he’d taken recently (maybe not the ones he’d taken of you from afar, however…), and a few more of his nerdy Spider-Man gadgets!
So he swears that the little peck he’d placed upon you was innocent. And when that peck turned into something more…he swears that was innocent, too.
And when that turned into sprawling him out on his chemistry bedsheets, straddling his erect cock n’ sliding your soft pussy down it—fuck, he doesn’t know what’s innocent or not. Right now your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was trying not to pass out.
Pretty brown eyes scrunching closed at the cleeeench of your soft, sensual pussy- you were so sweet around him that it felt as if you were about to melt. Velvety and slippery.
The winding zig-zags of his veins rubbin’ against your sides.
You’re letting off a sudden squelch! as you swallow up yet another inch of him - and Ino has to bite down on his lips to keep himself from whimpering. Fucking whimpering—“E-easy there, sweetness.” He’s grabbing onto either side of your waist, with the brilliant idea to control those sloppy bounces of yours- but instead he’s ending up merely…holding onto you for dear life.
His limbs were weak n’ boneless.
His body was putty in your hands.
He was arching his hips ooooooff of the rickety single-bed- and he doesn’t have to even think before doing it. Body moving on pure instinct. Bulging tip yearning to hit your cervix—“Keep going like this n’ m’gonna cum already…”
“Awww, you poor boy.” You’re tittering- and shit, he knows it might be a little lecherously amusing to you. But does it really warrant enough for you to lean over and push his thick-framed glasses up his nosebridge? He swears he sees heaven itself. “Spider-Man can fight crime- but can’t handle a pussy?”
“I can’t handle your pussy.” Ino bites back, a blush upon his cheeks. “N-not that I ever have before…”
“Then maybe I should be deemed the strongest in the neighborhood, huh?” You hum.
“Y-you wish…” He’s bucking up into you at a frenzied pace- not even full thrusts. Mere, milking half-thrusts that have his precum pouring out in bucketloads—his balls were so heavy that they almost hurt.
“Oh yeah?” And you could feel the twitchin’ of his scouring tip with each one of your sentences - your syllables. Ino was growing only harder and harder at your egging on- “You’re stronger than me, baby?”
He stammers, “W-well…”
“Think you can take me down like you take down all those bad guys, baby?” Cooing- and that tone. Fuck, that tone…it left his flared, reddened tip scraping your insides at an even faster pace. “Think Spider-Man’s gonna win again?”
Ino shivers as you lean down to press your naked chest against his toned one, “Yes…I can—” And then you’re gripping at once of his biceps for balance, “I can-”
All for you to press a pretty peck on the side of his face- and then drag your tongue across where the attractive man was tearing up at the mere feeling of your pussy. So soft and hot. Sucking him up until he was seeing stars- “Then prove it, Taku—”
And it all happens in a split-second.
You don’t even realize it.
One second, you’re staring down at your boyfriend - with his chestnut hair splayed out upon the pillow like a halo, with a faint blush breezing across every inch of him (yes, every inch), with his entire body shaking n’ shivering underneath you. He seemed just so delicate.
Gone on your pussy.
Except…except for that little fire in his eyes that clued you in on something dark.
And the next second- you’re the one staring up at the ceiling. And right into Ino Takuma’s glazed, glittering peripherals.
He was stimulated on your pussy until tears.
There was something stoic in him, however, as he reaches his right hand up somewhere above you. And you hear it before you see it- the splat! of something wet and clingy sticking onto your wrists. They’re both pushed against the headboard by the sheer force of…whatever that was.
And only when you go to pull away do you realize—oh fuck.
You were stuck.
You’re jerking your head up to glimpse at the pattern of white webs that restrain either hand against the sides of your headboard. Trapped.
And you’re peering up at Ino with a sheepish smile- “Baby?”
He pushes up his thick glasses, “Don’t ‘baby’ me—” And his ruddied tip finds its way between your pussylips in a split-second, jerkin’ in and out at a dizzying rate. Until his furious length was nearly nothing but a blur between your legs. “You wanted this- fuck, you’re gonna get it.”
“Yes-” You’re being manhandled back and forth- unable to do anything. Unable to even hold onto Ino’s locks of sweaty hair for balance, “Yes, yes, yes—please.”
“And you’re gonna fucking- hah, take as much as you’re given.” Ino emphasizes his point by slowing down, giving you loooong and luxurious licks of his puckered crown. “Only as much as you’re given- any complaint for more n’ I’m webbing that pretty mouth up, sweetness.”
“Oh, anything for you.” Fluttering your lashes up at him. It was just so cute how that made Ino immediately break out into a smile, “But what if I want you to cum inside m-”
“God- fuck.” And his wrist twitches as though he’s just about to make good on his promise. “Don’t even fucking…”
That aching cock of his just can’t stop pumping in and out, in and out, in and ouuuuuut.
And before he even knows it, he’s plunging straight into his high- deep and hot inside of you. “Thermodynamics—” And you’re almost sure you didn’t hear him right - spit-slicked lips repeating away as he pumped his hot wads into you - “Polarization functions.” His sweat-matted head dips into the crook of your neck, and he’s pinpointing each single orifice inside you with a dollop of his seed. “Orbitals- fuck, I love orbitals.”
Pouring and pouring out so much of his voluminous cum that it practically overflows.
“W-wait, why are you reciting formulae now, Taku?” You’re breathing out with the last inkling of your rationality, “You’ve already cum-”
“To stop me from losing my fucking mind, pretty.”
And he sounded damn serious.
Damn ruined.
Eyes wide. Voice pitched.
There’s nothing more for him to do but ruggedly hit his cock into every one of your delicate spots now- feeling those tender bundles of nerves with his tip. He slide-slide-sliiiiides down those particular areas—fucking and fucking and fucking you until you’re bursting into your wave of bliss.
“And don’t think we’re done yet, sweetness- maybe next we could get some use out of my camera…”
You’re not making it out of this alive.
Because it turns out that not only does Ino gain superpowers as Spider-Man, but he’s also earning extra…stamina. And he lasts until dawn breaks, he lasts until his fucking bed breaks- you have to tap out before you think he might just break you, too.
Wobbling your way downstairs- you can only clamor onto the walls and furniture for help. “I’m banning you from sex for a month-”
“A month?” Ino gasps, “I only just had my first time-”
“Two months.”
“Sweetness, just let me help you walk-”
You grumble, “Forever.”
And as Ino howls about how utterly unfair it was- and how you had actually been the one to start him up on his superpowers—you’re stumbling across…a figure in the kitchen. Hunched over the island. Coffee in hand.
It’s just then that you remember that Ino Takuma didn’t live alone- no. He lived with his uncle who was supposed to be away on a professor’s retreat tonight.
But it seems…
“Taku-” You elbow your ranting boyfriend, who still hadn’t looked up from his hands. He continues. “Taku-”
“I can handle a villain, but I can’t handle a damn se-”
“Taku.”
It’s only then that Ino looks up from his tear-stained (honestly, he’s so dramatic for the hell of it) palms and sees his uncle. Masamichi Yaga looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel.
Honestly, in all the semesters that you’ve seen the deadpan professor- you don’t think you remember a time when he didn’t look as though his students were bringing him to the precipice of an aneurysm.
“H-hello, sir.” You’re the first one to speak, after far too long a silence from your boyfriend - guess Spider-Man has two weaknesses, huh? Yaga nods graciously at you in response, before fixating his eyes on his nephew once more.
“Uncle Yaga—” Ino jolts with yet another elbow at his side. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
Yaga’s ‘World’s #1 Uncle’ cup chips in his hand.
♡ GOJO SATORU - Goonology.
“—and in this one he’s Frankenstein with a huuuuuge dick- heh.” Gojo titters as he pushes his glasses up, having slid down his face in excitement. He gestures to another file on-screen, “And in this one, they’re clan leaders that have to fuck for an heir. And in this one, he’s a rose toy that turns into a real man and she reeeeally likes that. And in this one, it’s an omegaverse- do you know what an omegaverse is? So basically it’s like those alpha wolf memes but with-”
“Uh-huh.” Nodding absent-mindedly - honestly, you’ve been doing it for so long by this point that it’s likely become a permanent fixture of your demeanour.
Perhaps you’ll go nodding away for the rest of your life.
Perhaps you’ll only nod when you think of Gojo Satoru, and the absolutely massive (concerning) hentai collection he was showing you. Files upon files all meticulously organized and named, with a spreadsheet to follow rating them on the basis of goon-ability.
You’re not sure how you got here, to be honest.
You’d become friends with the nerdy boy at the start of Professor Yaga’s physics course, assuming him to be one of your fellow intellectuals. And what you’d found out was that…Gojo Satoru is an intellectual (there was no denying that, he was the brightest amongst the department with a suspected job offer from JAXA straight out of university—even Yaga himself couldn’t deny it no matter how much the white-haired boy got on his nerves), but that he was also the ultimate…gooner.
The realization didn’t come instantly, of course.
It’d started off with long study nights and mornings spent early in the library, poring over thick physics books with Gojo. Then that acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. Which resulted in nights dragging Gojo to bars and parties, and helping the nerdy boy cut loose.
And then an even deeper friendship—
After which a few too many Jägerbombs (one, actually, he was a lightweight) ended up with Gojo confessing to you that he was a virgin. You’d guessed as much, to be quite honest.
But then he’d confessed to you that he’d never even had his first kiss before- hell, he’d never even held hands with an in-real-life woman before. And it’s that last comment that got you—what the hell did he mean by an ‘in-real-life’ woman?
And Gojo Satoru had been more than happy to confess to you that although he might’ve never had contact with a woman in real life - you yourself were a miracle, and the first friend he’d had in…forever - he’d gotten into far too many bases in his virtual world.
His video games. His manga. His body pillows. His hentai.
Anything and everything that had your jaw dropped in this cozy bar the two of you were at. Eventually, you’d both ended up getting kicked out once Gojo had (far too loudly) talked to you about his collection of personalized ahegao hoodies. And ‘would you like any recs?’
What the fuck…?
You’d gone home to sleep it off that night- but you couldn’t help yourself. Call it morbid curiosity, call it some part of you being a masochist—but you just had to call Gojo up the next day and tell him-
Yes, I would like some…recs. To know what he was into, if anything.
Totally nothing to do with the fact that you were maybe-kinda-sorta nursing a massive crush on the pretty, perfect (other than…perhaps this) white-haired nerd. His blue eyes. His shyness. Those dimples at the edge of his smile. Oh…and perhaps you had to know whether he was actually crazy or not, alright?!
And thus, here you were.
Doing your very best to ignore the body pillow that was splayed out upon his bed, with an original character of his own that looked suspiciously like…
“Me?” You’re blurting out without meaning to.
And Gojo glances over at you in response- fixing those cutely thick glasses of his. “Yes?”
“Why do they all…” Come to think of it…you’re taking a closer look at his glaring computer screen. And the expression of glee upon Gojo’s face at your sudden interest quickly morphs into one of absolute horror at the analytical look in your eyes.
He darts forward to cover his screen. “Wait-”
“They all look like me.” Snatching the computer mouse from his hand, you’re scrolling through the numerous MP4 files. Rows upon rows. Thumbnail upon thumbnail. Each one gave you a brief flash of an animated woman that looked like you, coupled up and being absolutely pummeled by a man with…blue eyes. Rows upon rows. “Satoru…”
And you’re looking at him in silence. He’s silent back.
“Do you like-”
“Yes.” Adrenaline runs through your body.
And now he looked a bit more like the shy, bookish man that he usually was. Fiddling with the hem of his Digimon t-shirt, that aroused blush upon his face getting replaced by something a bit more innocent.
And by looking at his slender, pretty hands- you’re accidentally sneaking a look at the bulge in his pants. “And do you…” At his questioning gaze, you gesture at his crotch.
“Y-yes.” He admits.
Your eyes widen, “Even—” Looking at the body pillow on the bed.
He huffs and tugs down the hemline of his t-shirt to cover his erection. “Yes.”
And as the silence grows longer, Gojo fidgets more upon his squeaky chair. Restless. Ravenous but…he couldn’t quite browse through his collection with you in here, could he?
Before finally you say-
“And what about the real one?”
.
.
.
“Oh fuck—ngh~” Gojo’s gaze was wide and dilated- the blackness of his pupils almost entirely engulfing his irises. There was a slight glowing glaze on top of his eyes, as though he was drunk - and the way he’s babblin’ away certainly didn’t help his case. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”
The very crown of his tip was tremblin’ nearly as much as his tone was- and the nerdy man pushes his hips up into yours like an animal.
Claiming the tiniest of orifices inside you as though he’s running out of time.
Splashing around his glittery white cum- because of course he’d ended up cumming just as soon as he’d put it in.
Stirring around his thiiiick cock until a ring of white forms at your entrance. “Oh fuck, it fuh-feels—” Cute pink lips tremoring. He’s fluttering those long lashes up at you, from where you were straddling his cushioned chair. “It feels so- ngh- much better than it looked in the hentai, sweetheart.”
“Oh yeah?” You titter to yourself. And it’s an action that makes the nerdy man pout, “That good?”
“Yes—” Gojo’s mouth drops, as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that you were asking him this - as though he genuinely couldn’t believe that such a question like this existed. And with his back arching off of the chair slightly, he ruts up into you- again and again. With no rhythm nor rhyme other than the urge to absolutely pound-pound-pound his hot, needy cock into your perfect pussy. “Yes- why the fuck wouldn’t it feel good? Do you know how fucking good you feel?”
And then you clench and it’s enough to send him throwing his back through tears-
“It should be fucking illegal for your pussy to feel this good.”
He sounded dead-serious - and you almost found it cute just how pussydrunk Gojo had gotten after only a few vicious strokes. “I dunno…you had ah- omegaverse and all in your hentai, Toru.”
“My hentai had omegaverse, but I have you…” He’s blubbering out. And it would’ve been the most romantic things he’s said…perhaps, had it not been for what he says next. “And y-you even feel better than my PocketPussy3000…”
Arching one of your brows, “I don’t think I want to know what that is—oh, fuck.”
He gives a sudden swipe, dragging that metallic sensation across every one of your hidden sweet spots.
Oh, how could you have forgotten to mention?
Gojo Satoru - nerd galore, the most inexperienced man you’ve ever met - has a fucking Jacob’s Ladder piercing. A line of ruthless metal barbells that pierced his lengthy shaft, that stuck out lewdly - creating a texture that made your eyes absolutely roooooll to the back of your skull.
Their delicate orbs were rubbin’ coldly against your walls, were molding his interesting shape against your channel. And you find yourself speeding up your bounces just to feel his sensual piercings.
Just to feel the rub-a-dub of them pushing apart your snug cunt- clinging onto any tiny crevice.
Gojo’s giving an inexperienced slam against the back of your womb and you cry out—“Shit, how can it feel so good-” Holding onto his broad shoulders to keep yourself from falling off of his lap, “You’re really a virgin, aren’t you?”
He pushes his glasses up smugly. “That, I am.” Feeling more confident now, he’s grabbing onto either side of your hips- if this was one of his hentai, then he’d probably use his alpha powers to induce you into heat. Then probably pound you with his cum until you’re bloated…that last one, he could still do. He gives you a few rough thrusts, “And because I’ve got the power of gooning and hentai on my side-”
“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far-”
“Why not?” There was that smug bastard you knew and loved in class- so sure he was right. Gojo cocks his head defiantly to the side, sure he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock, more like.
But just then you’re clenchin’ your fluttering cunt around his cock—making the overconfident nerd stutter, making him blush, making him jerk his hips up into yours and splat! out another wad of cum. Adding onto the puddled mess upon your cervix, slick and heavy with syrup. “What was that, Toru?”
You’re keeping him absolutely hostage.
And it felt so good for you, too, with the nooks and ridges of his Jacob’s Ladder driving you absolutely wiiiiiild. Especially the orbs at the end of his barbells that slipped easily into your walls.
Again.
And again.
And again-
He’s staring up at you through his lashes, words sputtering. “I-I meant-”
“Hm?” Yet another clench- a mere clench. And that round, reddened tip of Gojo’s ends up swervin’ straight against the door to your womb—the nerd’s mouth waters as he thinks of all the possibilities…
“I just meant that m’thankful, sweetheart.” Gojo’s crooning up at you. He loops his arms around your papping! waist and brings you deeper against his toned chest, probin’ your spots even deeper. “I’m so thankful to get to- hck! fuck a pussy like this- so, so thankful…”
“Mhmmm?”
“There’s a reason I cried a little when I first put it in, y’know? A loser like me could never have even imagined- fuck.” Answering, he keeps on drilling his hips up into you - sloppily. Semi-thrusts that leave your entire body on edge from how fast n’ frenzied they were becoming. “And no hentai nor manga nor bodypillow in the world could ever compare to you—”
“Fuck-” You whisper. It was only making his mazing tip, his massaging piercings, do their magic even harder inside your slippery channel.
And Gojo whispers - mostly to himself. “I got those just because they looked like you, anyways…”
But you’re hearing him perfectly.
And it takes only a few more swerves n’ grinds of your hips to draaaaag yet another orgasm out of Gojo Satoru—you’ve lost count which one it was for the night. But it’s enough that your walls feel slightly inflated with the sheer volume of seed pumped into you, the clingy wads n’ webs stuffing you so full.
Part of it sprays between your legs and glues the backs of your thighs to his waistline.
And you’re only tightening them ‘round him deeper- ready to ride him maddeningly through another burst of euphoria.
But the surprise comes when Gojo pushes his foggy glasses up in determination - it comes when he peeks down at your pussy through his sweaty bangs. Pinkish tongue sticking between his teeth, the nerdy man locates your neglected clit in a few seconds and starts rollin’ over it with his thumb like a machine.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do - but he knew from those sultry mewls leaving you that it felt good. And so he’s alternating between slow hearts n’ rapid stripes drawn down your puffy nub.
Every drag of his digit sending sparks to your brain. Overheated.
“Shit-” You’re somehow managing to choke out. And it takes only one-two-three more twists n’ turns of his wrist to get you to start trembling. “Shit, shit—Toru. That feels so-”
To get you to cum.
And so you do-except…you weren’t just cumming.
You were squirting—glittering, hot splashes of sap escaping between your pussylips. They splatter all over Gojo’s slender waist, drenching him all the way down to his chair- and he doesn’t care.
Fuck, he’s having the girl of his dreams soak his cock with her pussy—and you think he’d care about something like that?
Barely paying attention to his own orgasm, Gojo balances you on top of him n’ drags you through your high. Such strong, sudden zaps of bliss going from his roverin’ tip and straight up to your muddled mind—just a few hungry hammers, and you’re already babbling with pleasure. The knobs of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging your sweetest spots, only elongating that wave of euphoria even further.
It shatters through your body until you’re a mess.
You’re dripping between your legs- and from your eyes. Sobbing into Gojo’s shoulder, “Sa-Satoru, that feels so good—fuck, that felt so good.” Perking your hips up n’ down his swollen shaft—even the area ‘round his pelvis was reddening with impact. “You did good, baby.”
“I d-did?” Gojo asks.
And you can only nod. “You have to delete that insane collection of yours, though.”
“W-well of course, I will…” He smugly pushes his glasses further up his nosebridge- and the sudden improved vision lets him see the dark patch you’d squirted all over his favorite Digimon t-shirt.
And Gojo can’t help himself from tugging up that hemline and fucking sniffing your sweet, sweet juices-
“Now how about I introduce you to my PocketPussy3000…that I named after you?”
.
.
.
Professor Yaga is just about reconsidering his resignation plans- it’s been a while without any…incident involving his students pushing him to the verge of an aneurysm, he hasn’t had any problems with grading, he hasn’t had any problems with the other staff.
Overall, life has been good.
The problem comes when Gojo Satoru comes to class looking as though he’d come to the very same conclusion.
That morning, he decides that the bespectacled man - his star student in Physics class - looks blissed out…too blissed out. His skin was glowing. His eyes seemed sparklier than ever. He was practically hovering into class.
And Yaga’s eternal conundrum is put to rest when you walk in right after, looking (perhaps not as dramatic) equally happy.
Ah…he connects the dots. And he catches the way the two of you look at each other as though you wished the rest of the class didn’t exist-
Yaga shudders. He reconsiders reconsidering his resignation plans.
He splits the two of you up during seating.
Gojo’s loud cries sound like music to his ears.
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mr. Mr.
“Fuck…” Higuruma Hiromi finds his head pressed against the polished mahogany of his desk yet again, breathing out his woes into it as though it could hear him.
It always was his most avid listener, these days.
He ignores the newest paper that’d landed on his desk - Higuruma wasn’t above taking cases that interested him anymore. But then again, most cases required attention—and that was exactly what he was lacking right now. These days.
And who else was to blame for such a transgression by Tokyo’s best law professor but you?
You. You. You. You.
Ever since you’d walked into his lecture hall at the start of semester- your pencil skirt sharp, your mouth even sharper. Higuruma would be lying if he said he wasn’t drawn in by the sheer breadth of your knowledge—even to a man like him who lived and breathed law itself.
He was stunned.
And you were stunning.
Both in your beauty and your brains- and everything else in-between that Higuruma Hiromi just couldn’t stop fucking thinking about-
It was driving him crazy.
He thinks he might be going crazy.
He can’t spend a single class without his eyes drifting towards you—as though drawn in by magnets, even though he didn’t really have a point to emphasize nor any question to ask. He can’t grade your papers without fearing that he might just subconsciously slip in an extra point or two - not because you need it, but because he’s a weak man. He’s a weak, weak man.
And Higuruma always ends up loaning off your papers to some other attorney friend of his - it always does make him breathe easier when he finds out that you’re always given top marks regardless.
Even the clock has found itself inutile ever since your entrance into his life—no longer is it a device to display time, but rather a countdown for when he might see you next.
The next class. The next orchestrated bump in the hallways.
The next time he sees your beautiful, beautiful smile.
If Higuruma isn’t in class with you, he’s spending his time counting down the hours until he does. And that’s what he was doing at this very moment—that’s what he was attempting to stop right now.
“I must have gone mad.” He runs a hand through his thick, black hair - usually parted to perfection, but it usually seems to unravel whenever he thinks of you. As does every other part of him. And Higuruma whispers his confession into the late hours- with no one in the vicinity right now.
Class had just ended, and he was still reeling from the vision of you in that short, short skirt. So short…
Higuruma’s breath hitches at the mere memory of it, like a dying man. He’s always been the type of man to prioritize his career - and that means he’s never quite…felt anything like this before. He’s never quite looked out of his books long enough to take interest. Perhaps he’s been in a maddened haze—“That must be it.” He declares, “I really must have gone mad-”
He stands abruptly. Slightly teetering.
“Because I can’t—” You were a university student. You were a decade his junior. You were the beautiful face he got to see everyday- and yet, he wasn’t supposed to notice just how beautiful you were. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t be done. I really can’t-”
“Professor?”
“My law student of all things-”
“Professor?”
“And yet- fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone so desperately-”
“Professor.”
Higuruma feels his blood grow cold. Without a speck of sense in him, still, he’s whirling around to face you - he’d recognize your voice above thousands.
You were standing at the edge of the doorway, tip-toeing slightly inside as though unsure whether you should interrupt. One of your hands rest at your chest to feel your beating heart—and the other one slowly but surely closes the lecture hall door behind you.
“I came here to get a bag I’d left behind…” You’re starting off- and to Higuruma this doesn’t feel real. He’s falling into his chair—“But maybe I’ve left something a little more ah- important.”
And that smile of yours definitely doesn’t feel real.
“I-I beg of you to reconsider.” He starts off, nervously fiddling with his glasses frames.
“Motion denied.” You smile, stepping closer. And the way you’re looking at him—fuck, he feels his cock start to throb already.
“I’m much older than you, my angel.” Higuruma attempts to reason - but the thing is, he isn’t sure whether he’s attempting to reason with you or himself. Because you certainly had an air of finality about you- “And I’m your professor.” He gulps. He has his books in his office- so, so many books. And yet, none that would help him find the words for right now. “Not to mention, there are so many other eligible bachelors who would be a better f-”
“Dismissal with prejudice.” You hum. Examining the older professor before you—dark circles, beautifully tragic, such a bookish air about him. “Anything else?”
He pushes his stern glasses up his nosebridge. “No…sentence accepted, Your Honor.”
.
.
.
And it’s not too long before you’re finding yourself spread flat across Higuruma’s desk - all polished, poised, formal. Not a speck of dirt or document out of line—except for the fact that you had your back against it and was currently being fucked dizzy on Higuruma’s fat, throbbing cock.
Throwing both legs on top of his shoulders. Pinning you down with a hand at your throat.
He was giving you all that you were going to get- and all that you were getting were looooong swipes of his bulging tip. In and out. In and out.
Plummeting between your pussylips n’ tickling the deepest spots in the back of your pussy. The deepest—Higuruma makes you taste his rotund circumference at your throat, before he’s dragging his sloppy cock back out and repeating it all over again.
Reddened tip to the tiny curls at the base of his cock- and luckily for you, this was everything you’d been wanting since the second you walked through those hall doors.
Ever since you’d seen your hot, nerdy law professor.
Higuruma pushes his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose, and you’re gulping at just how handsome he looks. A thin line of sweat tricklin’ down the side of his temple- “Shit-” He’s hissing between clenched teeth, voice higher as though he still couldn’t believe that this was real life. “Shit, you’re taking me so well.”
“A-anything for you—” You’re gasping out. His thrusts are hard enough that you swear you could feel him empty out his pre all the way in the back of your throat- and you swear you could taste it, too. That salted caramel flavor that clogged up your tastebuds—
“For me, huh?” Higuruma’s handsome nose crinkles, and he slams a set of his fingers down upon your clit. “Teacher’s pet.”
You’re whining at the stars that makes you see. “You have no idea.” It was only in the slight reprieves between his thrusts - when he’d pull back from your cervix and relieve the pressure on your womb - that you could manage to even speak. “You have no idea how fuck- how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.”
“That long, huh?” His dark eyes widen.
“So long.” And you’re not even sure why you’re being so honest - but you suspect it has something to do with just how stupid he’s making you with his textured length. Those zig-zagging veins and ridges upon his swollen cock—fuck. “You have no idea how many nights I spent- ngh, poring over textbooks. Just to memorize things n’ impress you.”
His achingly-hard cock grows even plumper inside of you. “You d-did that for me?”
“I wanted you to be proud of me—” You’re almost sheepishly admitting to him. You dare to hide your face behind your hands- but Higuruma stops you then and there to take in your full expression. “-sir.”
And that almost makes the stoic man…pause.
It almost makes his lungs heave out.
It almost makes his glasses slide completely off of his nose-
Something in him just snaps - perhaps his sanity, his restraint, his hips slamming into yours until your very mind jolts. Fuck…
And Higuruma has to stare at you - whilst his cock still shovels in at a rapid pace - for a few seconds just to register. He has to throw his head back—“Fuck. Substantive and procedural law, right and duties- liabilities.” Such an odd slew of words and concepts from your syllabus leave him, growing even more feverish the more fervent hush hips become. “Theory of legal positivism—”
“What are you…” You don’t even have the words to describe it.
But Higuruma looks down at you with such dark, depraved eyes - a slight glaze atop them that made you realize he was completely and utterly pussydrunk. “That’s to distract myself, angel.”
“Oh—fuck.”
And before you know it, he’s scooping your lower half even further into his body and bending deeper down. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. Higuruma folds you until the cheeks of your ass aren’t even touching the polished wood of his desk, and his cock reaches in so deep that it makes your pupils cross-
“And that’s to remind you that big girls never hafta bow down- not to anyone.” A line of drool travels slowly down the side of his mouth - he kisses you. “So how about it—”
“You want me to call you-”
“I’ll be calling you-” He starts off. “-something very fitting, Your Honor.”
You shiver.
And he basks in his own glee - what else for his star student?
Higuruma’s poundin’ away at the gooey back of your pussy- all the way until it feels as though he wants to fuck you through his damn office desk.
And you’re sure by now that a print in the shape of your two bodies has formulated on top of the varnished mahogany—and knowing Higuruma, he’d likely just admire it all day. And as if he was trying to make this dream a reality, his bludgeoning pace increases until that gluttonous cock of his was nothing more than a dark pinkish blur between your pussylips.
Thrashing and swiping.
Locating your sweetest spots.
Higuruma draws a particularly good stripe down your puckered g-spot and you moan- “Please- m’so close, s—”
“What was that?” He cuts through. Stern.
You didn’t think you’d get anything past him, did you? There was a reason he was so damn famed in the courts of Tokyo.
Higuruma’s sharp eyes glint. Through slower, sensual draaaaags of his cock he asks- “What- was- that—”
“Nothing-”
“I believe there may be inaccuracies in that statement.” He hums. Thickened shaft plummeting once more to your womb—thud-thud-thudding. “Try again.”
“You must’ve heard me-”
“Hearsay.”
“I called you-” Ultimately, you’re left to cry out. Nothing left but to have Higuruma’s hazy peripherals staring intensely down at you, and his cock twitchin’ as he pumps you through your orgasm. “…sir.”
And he reels back in delight at having won.
Your body trembling. Your eyes welling up with tears.
It was such a startling wave of bliss- one that almost made it hard for his fattened cock to fuck deep into you - not with your walls clinging onto him like that. And he has to fight to keep himself from cumming right now, just wanting to let you bask in the simmering pleasure first.
Just rammin’ a bruise of his cockhead against your cervix. Again. And again.
Though his steamrollin’ cock fucks you through peak after peak, Higuruma’s smile stays as mean and merciless as ever. Tutting, “Someone deserves some punishment, sugar.”
You’re still shivering from the force of your euphoria- “R-request for a fast trial?”
Wordlessly, Higuruma then reaches somewhere behind you—and you don’t have to turn your head to know what it is. Because soon enough, he’s bringing his shiny gavel to your line of vision- and dragging the honed tip of it straight between your legs.
“My conditions are that you cum with just this-”
“And my punishment if I can’t?” You breathe.
That perfectly poised wooden tip is just starting to inch inside and graaaaaze down your tight walls.
Higuruma gruffs, “Then I sentence you to ride my face until you squirt.”
He smiles.
.
.
.
“Hiromi—” Masamichi Yaga’s drawling tone echoes down the empty corridor- it’s been just a few hours since he’d last been in the Law Department. Not one of his usual haunts (and he was almost glad for it, law students just seemed so much more…intense), he felt awkward waddling down the barren place.
It was long after classes had ended, though it was a sure shot that Higuruma would be in his office.
If not for the little…task he’d sent his friend—then because of his workaholic nature. Yaga was sure that his friend would have that little letter typed out for him by now, Yaga was sure that by tomorrow he could walk up to the Dean and let them know that he was resigning. Officially.
And with such a formal letter to boot- his pension was going to be luxury!
He was sure of it…
So tell him why he’s wandering right up to Higuruma’s door and hearing the strangest…groaning noises from inside. Worried that perhaps his friend might have gotten into some trouble with his health, Yaga’s hands twist upon the door handle- one that would’ve been less easy to open than a safe.
It was firmly locked.
“What the…” His brows raise well above his shades, and Yaga can’t help himself- he really can’t. He was acting under the presumption that his close friend might have been hurt—alright! The older man leans down to the keyhole on the door and…peers inwards.
He knew that Higuruma was never the type to keep a key in a door- he preferred deadbolts and such. But oh, how Yaga was wishing it was the opposite as he snatches a glimpse.
And what he sees is his best friend- not suffering from any health complications or injuries as he could see. Instead, Higuruma seemed as healthy as ever as he arched you deeper into his front and fucked you - you - in a way that made Yaga blush.
He’s shooting upright as if burned.
Speedwalking down the corridor—fuck the letter, fuck the Law Department, fuck everyone around him.
Yaga was never resigning.
A/N. Got a little…carried away with this one whoops-
Deep in an overgrown valley, far from human stupidity and sorcerer politics, you kept a tiny shrine. Just moss-coated stone, swaying lilies on the lake, and enough silence to drown an entire war. Peace. Blessed, beautiful peace.
Or…it was peace.
Until certain men started treating your sanctuary like it was some kind of cursed Airbnb.
Which is exactly why you opened your eyes the night someone bled on your doorstep.
You didn’t even bother rising at first, you just sensed it—an intruder crouched at the red torii, aura fractured, heartbeat too calm for someone dying. Only one idiot you knew perfectly matched that contradiction.
“Dabura Karaba,” you sighed, still lying sideways on your tatami. “If you die on my floor, I’ll throw you into the lake myself.”
A low voice answered, raspy with pain: “…Good evening to you too.”
You finally sat up, sliding the shoji open with a flick of your finger. Moonlight spilled over him—blood streaked down his side, his expression painfully neutral, as if apologizing for inconveniencing your night.
He bowed slightly. The bow you hated, because it always meant he was hurt. “May I…come in?”
“Only because you ask nicely,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him in by force anyway. Warm blood hit your wrist. “What happened?”
He blinked, slow. “I was ambushed.”
“By?”
“Someone loud. And annoying.” A beat. “…Your favorite type, apparently.”
You shot him a flat look. His lips barely twitched.
You patched him up with the same ease you would arrange flowers. He watched you with that annoyingly calm gaze the whole time, silent but overflowing with unspoken thanks.
When you wiped the last smear of blood from his jaw, he murmured, “I knew you were hiding out here. I wasn’t sure you’d let me in again.”
You shrugged. “I like quiet, not solitude. And you don’t disturb anything.”
A breath of something warm passed between you.
Which, naturally, was the exact moment the air cracked open outside.
Footsteps. Heavy, arrogant, familiar. Then a scoff.
“Oh, wonderful.” you muttered. “The universe sends me a migraine.”
Dabura closed his eyes knowingly. “You really should put up a boundary.”
“I did. He bites through them.”
The door slid open without permission.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a storm that learned how to smirk. Muscles cut from violence, eyes gleaming with that feral delight he only got when inconveniencing you personally.
“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes landing on Dabura slumped by your knee. “I leave you alone for a century and you start collecting strays.”
Your jaw clenched. “Get off my property.”
Sukuna stepped inside anyway, the tatami whining under his weight. His gaze dropped to Dabura’s bandaged ribs. “Oh? You’re bleeding on her floor? How brave.” He clicked his tongue. “She hates that.”
“I cleaned it,” Dabura said calmly, not bothering to look up.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly. Then laughed. “Shit, you’re so boring. How does she tolerate you?”
You stood up, palm flat on Sukuna’s chest, pushing him back even though your strength barely mattered. “Why are you here?”
He leaned into your touch shamelessly. “To pay a visit.”
“No.”
“To bother you.”
“No.”
His grin sharpened. “…To fuck you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Dabura exhaled through his nose, which for him was the equivalent of a dramatic eye-roll.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked down. “You again. Why are you always here when I want her alone?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Why are you always here when she doesn’t?”
You choked back a laugh. Sukuna did not. “Listen carefully, little stone statue,” Sukuna said, stepping closer. “She and I have unfinished business.”
“She and I,” Dabura replied, just as soft, “have a peaceful house. You’re the disturbance.”
Sukuna froze. His jaw ticked. “No one calls me that.”
“I just did.”
The silence was electric. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Both of you shut up.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “He’s getting bolder. Is it because you let him stay here? Hm?” He leaned close to your ear, voice low and wicked. “Or because you let him sleep in that little room near yours?”
Your pulse spiked. Dabura’s eyes sharpened, barely—like a blade unsheathed an inch.
“You’re injured,” he said to Sukuna. “Your right shoulder.”
Sukuna glared at him. “Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m not. I’m stating facts so she doesn’t waste time on you.”
“Oh, look at that,” you muttered, “my two worst decisions talking.”
Sukuna stepped closer, crowding you. “I don’t mind sharing your shrine,” he murmured. “But I won’t be polite about it.”
“You’ve never been polite in your life.”
Dabura rose to his feet despite the pain. “You’re disturbing her peace,” he said.
“And?”
“And she lets me stay because I don’t.” Dabura added.
Sukuna bared his teeth. “Are you implying she prefers you?”
“I’m implying,” Dabura replied, “that she doesn’t prefer noise.”
You burst out laughing before you could stop yourself.
Sukuna snapped his attention to you. “Oh? You’re laughing at him now?”
“No,” you said, wiping your eyes, “I’m laughing because the two of you are ancient terrors of the world and somehow behave like jealous teenagers.”
Sukuna blinked. Dabura looked away, a faint flush coloring his ears.
You stepped between them, hands on both chests—one calm, one heaving with irritation. “Listen carefully,” you said. “I took Dabura in because he needed shelter.”
Your fingers slid up Sukuna’s collarbone. “And you..I tolerate because you’re too stubborn to die.”
Sukuna grinned. Dabura sighed. You continued: “If either of you wants to cause trouble in my shrine, at least do it quietly.”
Sukuna leaned in, breath brushing your lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “I can be very, very quiet when I want to.”
Behind you, Dabura’s dry voice cut in, “That’s a lie.”
You snorted again.
Sukuna’s glare sharpened. “Say that again.”
Dabura looked at him, “You’re loud.”
“LOUD—?!”
You shoved your palm over Sukuna’s mouth. “Enough,” you hissed.
He licked your hand. You jerked it back. “Disgusting.”
“Delicious,” he corrected.
Dabura muttered, “This is exhausting.”
You finally exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Both of you,” you said, “sit down.”
Sukuna smirked. Dabura obeyed immediately.
And you realized—you might actually be in hell.
But tonight?
Tonight the quiet shrine in the middle of nowhere was full of tension, heat, wounded gods, and the exact kind of trouble you secretly lived for.
And peace, unfortunately, would have to wait.
“Come with me,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over Dabura’s wrist. “I’ll clean it fully, sweetheart.”
The word slipped out naturally, warm, familiar, the way you always said it when he looked more hurt than he admitted.
Dabura didn’t even blink. He just nodded, eyes softening like he’d been waiting for you to take charge.
Behind you, from the kitchen, came the unmistakable crunch of bone. You didn’t bother turning. “Sukuna, that was wrapped for a reason.”
A low grunt. “He shouldn’t taste this good if you didn’t want me to eat him.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you muttered, tugging Dabura gently toward the inner room.
“…I’m not—” Another crunch. “Okay, maybe I am.”
Dabura followed quietly, steps steady despite his wounds. He didn’t complain, didn’t posture. He never did. That’s what you liked about him—he let you handle him without ego.
You sat him down on the wooden floor beside your futon, kneeling between his knees as you peeled away the last blood-soaked wrap.
He winced, not dramatically, just a subtle tightening of the jaw.
You looked up at him. “Tell me if it stings.”
“It will,” he said, deadpan. “You never dab anything. You scrub.”
You snorted. “Maybe I enjoy hearing you hiss a little.”
His eyes flicked down to yours. “I know,” he said softly.
Something warm pulled in your chest. Another crunch echoed from the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake,” Sukuna growled. “You’re petting him now? Really?”
“I am treating a wound,” you called back.
“Looks like petting.”
Dabura blinked once, then murmured in the same calm tone he always used when insulting Sukuna, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
A wooden spoon clattered against your counter as Sukuna choked on outrage. “I am not jealous—”
“Shh,” you interrupted, pressing a fresh cloth to Dabura’s side. He sucked in a sharp breath and your hand immediately steadied. “Sorry, babe.” Your thumb brushed slow, soothing circles into his skin. “Almost done.”
He watched you like you were something holy. Something safe.
“It’s fine,” Dabura whispered. “Your hands never hurt.”
Behind you came a disgruntled scoff. “Oh, Come on—”
You held up one finger without looking back. “I swear to the heavens, Sukuna—make one more noise and I’ll kick you into the lake to cool off.”
Silence.
Dabura’s breath eased. He lowered his head slightly, just enough that his forehead hovered inches from yours—asking without asking.
You leaned in and let your foreheads touch, feeling the grounding calm of him seep into you.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I always feel better when you’re the one caring for me.”
Your chest tightened. “Good,” you said softly. “Because you’re staying here until you recover.”
He nodded once. Obedient, trusting, comfortable.
From the kitchen, Sukuna muttered under his breath, “I hate both of you.”
You smiled. Dabura didn’t. But his hand slid over yours, slow and warm and deliberate.
He sat down near the kitchen threshold, water dripping from his hair and tracing the deep lines of markings across his bare chest. The horns framed his face like something born out of old myth—dangerous, regal, and very obviously not intimidated by the King of Curses leaning against your counter.
Sukuna eyed him up and down with an expression halfway between amusement and disgust.
“Horns,” he scoffed. “Really? You like horns now?”
Dabura didn’t even bother lifting his head. “Wow.”
Flat. Perfectly deadpan. An answer meant to irritate Sukuna purely by refusing to react.
You stepped behind Dabura and wrapped a towel over his wet hair, ruffling it with deliberate affection, like handling an oversized, battle-scarred dog who only lets you manhandle him.
“Yeah,” you said lazily, glancing back at Sukuna. “I can hold onto them when I ride him.”
Dabura’s breath hitched but only faintly. His mouth almost twitched upward, that near-smile he never showed anyone except you. He leaned subtly into your hands as you towel-dried his hair, head lowering so you didn’t have to reach.
His hand rose without hesitation, settling warm and confident on your thigh. You didn’t stop him.
Sukuna, however, snapped to attention like someone just spit on his throne. “Tch.”
A sharp, disgusted sound—masking something else entirely.
You rubbed Dabura’s hair one last time, intentionally rough, pushing it back from his forehead just to tease him. He lowered his gaze, lashes half-mast, and squeezed your thigh once—a quiet, controlled acknowledgement of you.
Sukuna’s aura spiked so sharply the air thickened. “You dare to touch her in front of me?” he growled, stepping away from the counter.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t even look at him.
He kept his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing once along your skin like a claim he didn’t need to voice.
You finally turned toward Sukuna, face blank. “…Are you stupid?”
Sukuna’s eyes widened—just a fraction. You had seen that look before: the moment his pride took a direct hit.
A slow, threatening smile curled on his mouth. “Say that again.”
“No,” you said. “You heard me the first time.”
Dabura’s voice slid into the tension, low and quiet, “She is not yours.”
Sukuna snapped his attention back to him instantly. “Then what makes you think she’s yours?”
Dabura finally looked up. Eyes sharp as a blade kept in perfect condition. “…She put her hands on me,” he said, tone even. “You can imitate power, Sukuna. You can’t imitate being chosen.”
Sukuna’s smile vanished.
Your shrine fell silent. You placed your hand over Dabura’s, still on your thigh, and squeezed once.
Sukuna’s breath stuttered. Just enough for you to notice. “Touch her again,” Sukuna murmured, voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “and I’ll remove your arm.”
Dabura didn’t blink. “I believe she would remove yours first.”
You smirked.
Because both of them were right. And neither of them could handle it.
You stood up from beside Dabura, his hand sliding from your thigh as you moved. Sukuna’s eyes followed you like a predator tracking movement, jaw ticking, shoulders tense.
You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him. Then you poked his chest. Hard. “Let’s review,” you said calmly.
“One: you kicked my door in.” Poke. Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched.
“Two: you annoyed me.” Another poke.
His aura flared hot, warning, instinctive but you didn’t stop.
“Three: you mocked the horns I like.” Poke. His lip curled.
“And four,” you stepped even closer, head tilted, “you ate my leftover sorcerer.”
Sukuna sneered. “He was stale.”
“That is NOT the point.”
Sukuna leaned down, eyes narrowing, voice low and sharp as broken bone. “You’re awfully brave today.”
Behind you, Dabura shifted slightly, not threateningly, not impulsively, just ready. Unbothered, observing.
The still water to Sukuna’s wildfire.
You ignored Sukuna’s attempt at intimidation completely.
“So,” you said, poking his chest one last time, “What are you doing here?”
His grin faltered. Not much. Just enough that you caught it. He hated being asked that. Hated needing a reason. Hated that you demanded one.
His fingers curled at his sides. “…Visiting,” he growled.
“Wrong answer.”
A pause. His eyes darkened.
“Checking on you,” he snapped, then immediately scowled as if furious with himself for saying it out loud.
Dabura exhaled through his nose—barely audible, but absolutely judgmental.
Sukuna glared past you at him. “What was that?”
Dabura, perfectly calm, “Nothing.”
You turned your head slightly. “That sounded like something.”
“It wasn’t,” Dabura said flatly.
Which only irritated Sukuna more, because Dabura didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bow his head, didn’t show an ounce of fear.
Sukuna returned his attention to you, shoulders tight, expression somewhere between frustration, jealousy, and refusal.
He stepped closer, chest brushing your fingertip. “You want a reason?” he asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. “Fine.”
His eyes lingered on your lips. Then your throat. Then the hand you’d just laid on Dabura minutes earlier.
“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’ve been letting someone else get too close.”
Dabura’s gaze sharpened. Yours did too. Sukuna continued, teeth bared in a half-snarl, half-confession he didn’t want to make, “And it pisses me off.”
“Does it?” you smirked, chin tilting up.
His grin widened into something wicked. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping low, “it does.”
“Mhm.”
You dragged your gaze slowly over his features, purposefully unimpressed.
“Too bad you’re not the only big guy with good features.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. Dabura has horns.”
Sukuna’s face contorted. “Yes! He has horns, woman.”
You clicked your tongue. “Yeah. Horns. A third eye. Funny markings. Don’t act like you don’t have four eyes, four arms, and funny markings too.”
Sukuna opened his mouth—then paused. Because you were right. Painfully right.
You stepped even closer, voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “I have a type.”
Behind you, Dabura spoke, tone flat, perfectly timed, as if dissecting the situation with cold logic: “She likes monsters.”
Sukuna snapped toward him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dabura blinked slowly. “I noticed.”
Your smirk deepened.
Sukuna dragged his gaze back to you, jaw flexing, teeth grinding together as he tried to process being compared to someone else.
“You’re choosing him because he has accessories?” Sukuna demanded, gesturing vaguely at Dabura’s horns like they were a personal insult. “This is ridiculous. I’m the stronger one. The more dangerous one. The more—”
You interrupted, tapping his chest twice. “Sukuna. Sweetheart. Strength was never the deciding factor.”
Dabura murmured under his breath: “She likes calm.”
Sukuna snapped, “Be quiet.”
You raised a brow at Sukuna. “…You hear how loud you are right now?”
He froze. Because yes—he was loud. Again. And Dabura wasn’t even sweating.
He sat there shirtless, wet hair dripping, horns gleaming, quietly existing, and somehow that alone was undermining the King of Curses.
You stepped back from Sukuna just enough to look him in the eyes. “You fit my type.” You gestured to Dabura without looking. “So does he.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened into something primal, territorial, and deeply offended. “So I’m competing with that?” he spat.
Dabura tilted his head. “You approached her. Not me.”
Sukuna growled, “I’ll tear your horns off.”
You sighed. “You can eat yourselves alive,” you said, brushing past Sukuna’s shoulder like he wasn’t the most feared curse to ever exist. “I’m going to sleep.”
Silence cracked through the shrine.
Neither man moved.
You didn’t look back—just slid your door open and disappeared into your room, leaving them both standing in your kitchen like two disasters you refused to babysit another second.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Outside? War.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly, like someone had just stolen the punchline he prepared. “She did not just—”
Dabura rose to his feet, water still dripping from his hair, towel sliding off one broad shoulder. “Yes. She did.”
Sukuna turned on him immediately. “Did I ask you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you speaking?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Because you won’t stop.”
Sukuna scoffed, stepping closer, aura snarling around him. “You think I’m going to let her walk away after that?”
“You’re not letting her do anything,” Dabura said flatly. “She chose to leave.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched. He glanced toward your closed door—once, fast, like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
But he didn’t move. Because if he followed you now, after you dismissed him?
That would mean he was obeying you. Instead he growled, “She thinks she can just go to sleep while we’re—”
“Yes,” Dabura said. “Because she’s tired.”
Sukuna whipped around, rage tightening his expression. “Tired of what?”
Dabura blinked slowly, that quiet patience that always made Sukuna look more unhinged by comparison. “Of you.”
Sukuna’s hand twitched—ready to summon claws, tear something, destroy anything that wasn’t you. And still—He didn’t go after you. He didn’t dare. So instead he spat, “Fine. Let her sleep.”
Sukuna glared. After a long moment, he snarled: “She better not be sleeping on you.”
Dabura didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to.
The quiet confidence in his posture said everything.
Sukuna stalked out into your garden like a banished storm, the earth cracking faintly under his steps, the koi scattering as if they knew better than to swim near him when he was sulking.
Good. Let him cool down outside.
Inside your room, the silence felt like warm silk. A soft knock tapped on your doorframe. “…May I come in?”
You didn’t have to sense him. His calm aura was unmistakable.
“Yeah,” you sighed, shifting the blanket up for him. “But don’t bleed on my sheets.”
Dabura stepped in with that effortless, quiet strength of his. He moved with a grace that made the entire shrine feel smaller.
“And don’t poke my eye out either,” you added.
He huffed something that might actually qualify as a laugh.
“I would never.”
You rolled your eyes but lifted the blanket anyway. He slid onto the futon beside you, careful, fitting his body around yours like he’d memorized the shape of sleeping next to you.
He wasn’t warm like Sukuna, who radiated heat like a furnace.
Dabura ran cooler—comfortable and solid.
You melted into him instantly. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you subtly closer. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then you leaned up to kiss his jaw, feeling it tense under your lips.
You felt more than heard the quiet vibration in his chest. Not a purr. Just contentment restrained by dignity.
Outside, a rock cracked under Sukuna’s heel. Dabura’s lips brushed your hair. “He’s so annoyed,” Dabura whispered, amusement feathering his tone.
“Yes he is,” you whispered back, snickering into his collarbone.
A pause. Then, softer: “It’s amusing,” Dabura murmured. “Seeing him so emotional.”
“It is.” You grinned into his skin. “But he’s hot when he’s mad.”
Dabura exhaled silently—the closest he ever got to laughing aloud. “That too,” he whispered.
You both shook with silent laughter and outside in the garden, Sukuna snapped a stalk of bamboo clean in half.
You buried your face more against Dabura’s throat.
He held you tighter, fingers stroking the back of your shoulder with slow, steady movements, completely unbothered by the King of Curses pacing angrily outside your sanctuary like a jealous beast.
The door slammed open so hard the frame protested.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a calamity, jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck, the air around him vibrating with the kind of rage only wounded pride could summon.
“Move over,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous. “I am not doing this.”
You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.
Instead you snickered and buried your face deeper into Dabura’s neck, teeth grazing his skin in a playful bite meant solely to make the situation worse.
It worked.
Dabura inhaled quietly, muscles shifting under you, the faintest curl of a smile threatening his normally stoic mouth.
Sukuna looked like he might spontaneously combust. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarled, stepping fully into the room.
Dabura lifted his head just slightly, eyes half-lidded, voice soft but not submissive in the slightest. “She wishes to sleep.”
Sukuna barked a laugh. “Oh, she wishes to—? Listen to me, you horned ornament—”
You cut him off by tightening your hold on Dabura’s shoulders and biting him again. Dabura exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
Sukuna’s eye twitched so violently it could’ve counted as a separate attack technique. “Are you taunting me?” he demanded.
You finally lifted your head from Dabura’s neck, giving Sukuna the laziest smirk you could muster.
“I would never,” you lied.
Sukuna took one long step toward the bed, aura crackling.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just tightened his arm around you slightly, subtle but unmistakably protective.
Sukuna’s voice dropped even lower. “Move over,” he repeated, each syllable vibrating with restrained violence. “I’m not watching you cling to him like that.”
You raised a brow. “You watching is a you problem.”
“It’s everyone’s problem,” Sukuna shot back.
Dabura murmured, quiet as a blade sliding into its sheath: “You are welcome to sit. Not to demand.”
Sukuna’s glare could have shattered stone. But Dabura stayed calm, steady, warm at your back—everything Sukuna wasn’t in this moment.
You stretched out luxuriously against Dabura, just to drive the point home.
Sukuna growled. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’m getting in that bed.”
You blinked. Dabura blinked. Sukuna kicked off his sandals and climbed in on the opposite side of you with the worst attitude known to mankind.
He glared at you. Then at Dabura. Then at the blanket you refused to share. “Move,” Sukuna demanded.
“No,” you and Dabura said simultaneously.
Sukuna clenched his jaw so hard it cracked. And somehow—somehow—that was still not the worst part.
The worst part was that he stayed.
You kissed Dabura’s cheek, a soft brush of lips that barely registered on his skin but burned in Sukuna’s peripheral vision.
Then you stretched out onto your back like a queen entertaining herself with dangerous pets, sighing dramatically.
“Whimsical and fun,” you mocked aloud, voice syrupy with fake wonder.
Sukuna glared.
You turned your head toward him, fingers lazily sliding over his chest—over ink, muscle and heat.
“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” you purred, eyes half-lidded. “Please just never leave my bed again.”
Sukuna looked like he was physically restraining himself from shoving you down and proving a point. Instead, he muttered: “Tch.”
You rolled to your side to face him fully.
Behind you, Dabura shifted closer with silent precision, his bare chest brushing your back, one arm slipping around your lower waist like he’d claimed it before you even asked.
The weight of him behind you, cooler than Sukuna, but solid, grounding, ever-present—felt deliberate. Like he was reminding you he was still here.
Sukuna’s voice broke through, low and lethal: “If he touches my dick, I bite your head off.”
You smirked. “Mine? Why mine?” you asked sweetly, tracing the edge of his jaw with one finger, then dragging it slowly down the markings on his neck. “I’d love to watch you touch each other.”
Sukuna growled. A real sound, deep in his chest. “No.”
You leaned closer, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw, voice a whisper of heat against his skin. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.”
Behind you, Dabura’s hand flexed. Then slowly, very slowly—tightened on your waist.
“Oh?” You turned your head just slightly, back still pressed to his chest. “You’d like that too, huh?”
Dabura huffed something close to a laugh, more breath than voice but his hand did begin to slide lower across your stomach.
You felt every inch of it.
Sukuna watched it happen with fury burning in every line of his face. “I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Dabura’s palm skimmed lower, just under your navel now. A pause. A test. You tilted your hips slightly back into him—permission without a word.
He breathed out slowly behind you.
Sukuna was fuming—silent now, jaw locked, one hand flexing on the sheets like he was seconds from tearing through both of you just to reassert his place in the room.
You smiled against Sukuna’s neck. “Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”
“Fucking better not,” he growled, eyes locked on Dabura’s hand.
Dabura, behind you, only chuckled low in your ear.
His hand moved slowly over your stomach, his palm cold, fingertips tracing lines with perfect control. He touched like he thought ahead, like he already knew how your body would react.
No fumbling. No nerves. Just quiet, measured possession.
Your breath hitched once. That was all it took to encourage him further. His hand trailed lower. Not greedy. Not impatient. Just claiming.
And while he explored, your own hand drifted over Sukuna’s chest—because he was there, glaring silently, shirtless and carved like a curse weapon, muscles flexing with tension.
He didn’t say anything at first. Let you touch him. Let your fingers map the ridges of his chest, his neck, the ink that wrapped down his arms.
You admired all of him—the impossible height, the mass of four arms coiled like restrained violence, the marks that pulsed with cursed energy beneath your palm.
The sheer size of him. The pressure of being near him.
And, of course, his problems hidden under that hakama, both of which you were fully aware of, fully familiar with, and fully imagining at the same time Dabura’s hand slid lower.
Sukuna didn’t even look at you. Not at first. He just turned his back, throwing the blanket slightly off as he rolled to face the wall like a sulking titan. Like some massive, furious, scolded child who didn’t want you to see how affected he really was.
You grinned.
Then you let go of Dabura’s wrist and leaned over, pressing yourself to Sukuna’s back. Your leg curved around his thigh. Your arm slid over his waist and your hand cupped his crotch.
You squeezed. Just once. Firm and slow. He jerked slightly, jaw clenching, muscles twitching. “You know, Sukuna…” you purred in his ear, lips ghosting the edge of his neck, “Dabura has a split tongue.”
Silence. Tense. Hot. Then your tone dipped into a taunt:
“Wouldn’t you like that?”
Behind you, Dabura exhaled faintly—still touching you, still calm, still present.
Sukuna’s hands gripped the bedding like he might rip straight through the floor. His voice, when it came, was low and violent: “Get your hand off me.”
You smiled into his skin. “Why? You’re hard.”
His back tensed more. All four arms flexed once.
“And you’re jealous,” you whispered.
“I am not jealous,” he growled.
You dragged your hand again—slow, with just enough pressure to feel him twitch. He was already halfway there. And you knew it. “You’d let him suck you off,” you whispered, biting his shoulder lightly. “If I told you to.”
“No,” Sukuna snarled—but it cracked. Just a little.
Dabura, behind you, murmured with maddening calm: “If she told you to, you would.”
You choked on a laugh.
Sukuna shot up in bed, turning his head toward you both with a snarl but he didn’t shove you off. Didn’t push Dabura away.
He just sat there—muscles trembling, cocks straining under your palm, and refusing to admit how badly he wanted all of it.
The heat in the room was thick now. Not just from bodies, but from the raw imbalance of power—the way you lay on your side, both hands wrapped around Sukuna’s twin cocks, stroking slow, uneven, teasing.
The way Dabura’s chest pressed flush against your back, both of his arms coiled around your middle, hands exploring your skin like he was reading scripture he already memorized.
Sukuna was shaking. Not from weakness.
From rage. From the humiliation of this, being pleasured by you while watched by another man. Not just watched—spoken to. Directed. Analyzed.
He was on his side, facing you, panting through his teeth like every second of this was killing him.
Dabura’s voice, low and soft behind you, brushed your ear like silk-laced poison. “Go slower,” he murmured, guiding your wrists with light pressure.
“Not too tight—he likes control, but he breaks when it’s taken from him.”
You exhaled a breathless laugh, licking your bottom lip.
Sukuna’s teeth were bared. “You think I’ll let this—”
“You already are,” Dabura cut in smoothly.
Your grip around Sukuna’s cocks shifted—just the way Dabura instructed. He twitched in your hands.
“See?” Dabura whispered. “He hates this.”
You smiled. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”
Sukuna snarled, jaw flexing hard enough to crack. Dabura kissed the back of your shoulder. His voice dipped lower, filthy but still calm. Almost clinical.
“Stroke the bottom one slower,” he whispered, fingers sliding over your navel now, dipping lower. “He’s more sensitive there. It drives him mad.”
You obeyed.
Sukuna groaned—a raw, furious sound like something scraped from the pit of his throat.
He wanted to throw you down, dominate you, erase Dabura’s presence entirely.
But your hands stayed wrapped around him. And Dabura’s voice stayed in your ear. “He’s close already,” Dabura murmured. “All that pride, and nothing to show for it.”
Sukuna was trembling now. “Shut the fuck up—”
Dabura didn’t stop. “Poor thing,” he whispered over your skin, fingers now between your thighs, barely touching. “You want me to help?”
Sukuna glared at him with murder in his eyes.
And Dabura—calm, dangerous, fully hard now against your ass, held that stare over your shoulder and asked:
“You want me to hold her open for you?”
A beat.
“Would that help?” His tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Would that make it easier, Ryomen Sukuna?”
Sukuna snapped. Not forward. Back. He grabbed your wrist, yanked your hands off his cocks with a growl that shook the walls. His claws dug into the sheets, teeth gritted so hard they ached.
“Touch me again,” he snarled, eyes glowing, “and I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget his name.”
Dabura chuckled behind you. “Come up, lovely,” he said softly.
There was no force in it—just certainty.
He pushed himself up and settled back against the headboard, posture relaxed, confident, entirely in control. When he pulled you over his lap, it felt natural, inevitable. Your back pressed to his chest, his legs spreading slightly to make room.
For Sukuna. Just in case.
Dabura adjusted you with deliberate care, guiding your thighs over his own, grounding you there like you belonged. One hand slid under your thigh, steady and warm; the other stayed possessive and slow, reminding you exactly where you were.
You exhaled, breath hitching despite yourself. Dabura didn’t rush. He never did.
“My offer stands,” he said calmly, eyes lifting to Sukuna over your shoulder.
Sukuna hadn’t moved. He was rigid, coiled, eyes burning as he watched Dabura arrange you like something precious and dangerous at the same time. Every line of his body screamed restraint—rage sharpened by want.
Dabura’s thumb traced a slow, maddening line, voice dipping just enough to be cruel. “You want to sulk,” he continued evenly, “or you want your ego back?”
Silence stretched. Sukuna’s jaw flexed. His teeth ground together. “You think this is about my ego?” he snarled.
Dabura hummed thoughtfully, fingers never stopping. “No,” he said. “I think it’s about control.”
Your head tipped back slightly against Dabura’s shoulder. You smiled. “And you hate losing it,” you murmured toward Sukuna.
That did it.
Sukuna came closer, presence flooding the room again, heat rolling off him in waves. He loomed there, furious and magnificent, eyes flicking between Dabura’s hand, your expression, the way you sat so comfortably claimed.
“You’re enjoying this,” he growled at you.
“Immensely,” you replied.
Dabura’s arm tightened subtly around you, protective and provocative all at once.
“She invited you,” he said to Sukuna, tone almost kind. “I’m simply…accommodating.”
Sukuna laughed once. “You don’t accommodate,” he said. “You provoke.”
Dabura finally smiled. “Only when it works.”
Dabura’s arm around your waist held you steady as he slid two fingers into you, firm but slow—like a man unbothered by anything, not even the furious legend standing three feet away. His palm curved perfectly between your thighs, guiding the movement like a ritual.
Your breath hitched. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth parting, lashes fluttering.
And the whole time? You never broke eye contact with Sukuna.
Face locked in a mixture of rage, need, and disbelief that you were letting someone else do this while he watched.
You didn’t flinch. You just reached out and grabbed him.
One of them.
His breath caught. His whole body jerked once like something sharp had struck through his spine.
“Get between my legs,” you said flatly.
A command. Not a request. For a moment, he didn’t move—too many thoughts crashing through the warped temple of his pride.
Then, slowly, furiously, he leaned forward and of course, the first thing this stupid man did was threaten. His eyes, glowing and violent, locked onto Dabura like he might tear out his throat for breathing the same air as you.
Dabura didn’t even blink.
He just pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, keeping his grip firm on your waist—then reached over with the most casual shit-eating grin you’d ever seen, and slid those same fingers straight into Sukuna’s mouth.
“Taste what you miss.”
Silence. Sukuna froze. His jaw flexed. He glared at Dabura like he might kill him in nine ways and still bring him back for a tenth. He didn’t suck. Didn’t bite. Just glared and gave you the filthiest, most betrayed side-eye with all four eyes.
You choked on a laugh.
“Oh? No?” Dabura said, voice mock-polite. His fingers glistened in the low light. “What a shame.”
He licked them clean. Slowly. Still holding direct eye contact with Sukuna.
Sukuna twitched like he might detonate.
Your hand squeezed his cock once. “Poor thing,” you murmured. “Outnumbered again.”
Sukuna’s hands slammed into the mattress on either side of your legs, caging you in, eyes locked on Dabura as if trying to set him on fire by will alone. “You think I’ll let you play with me like this?” he growled.
“No,” you purred.
Dabura’s hands slid to your thighs. He opened your legs wider for him.
The movement was deliberate enough that Sukuna felt it like a challenge. Like an invitation he didn’t want—but absolutely couldn’t refuse.
Sukuna looked up at you with the most offended, betrayed expression you’d ever seen on an ancient curse. All four eyes burning with accusation.
A silent, how dare you.
And still—He knelt between your legs. “I will kill you both,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked, already losing.
He adjusted you again, tilting you just enough, just cruelly enough, to make Sukuna’s breath hitch. One hand firm at your hip, the other guiding without asking.
“Stay with the top one,” Dabura said softly, sweet as poison.
Sukuna growled, lining himself up, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. “I will destroy this bed,” he snarled at you. “And you.” Then his gaze snapped to Dabura. “And you will regret this.”
Dabura smiled. “That’s fine.”
Then he pushed you forward. Just enough.
Your breath broke into a moan before you could stop it. Sukuna answered with a rough groan of his own, teeth bared, body going taut beneath your hands like he was hanging on by instinct alone.
Dabura’s grip tightened—satisfied. Not jealous. Watching. For now.
“You’re unbearable,” Sukuna hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome,” Dabura murmured.
You were caught between them, pulse racing, fully aware that this was a mistake, a war crime, and the best decision you’d made in centuries.
It felt criminally good.
Sukuna had you fully caged between his four arms, hips slamming into you with brutal rhythm, bracing himself with one set of hands gripping the headboard—splintering it by degrees—and the other slipping possessively to your thighs.
He shoved Dabura’s hands aside like he was reclaiming you inch by inch.
Dabura didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.
He just wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, holding you there—like he had no intention of letting go, no matter how hard Sukuna fucked you forward into him.
You felt every inch of both of them.
Sukuna’s rhythm was punishing.
And Dabura—he breathed quietly, every inhale brushing warm against your ear, every exhale timed perfectly with the way your body ground back against the obvious hardness pinned under you. He didn’t move. Just let it happen.
Sukuna’s bottom cock, caught between you and Dabura’s lap, slid helplessly between your bodies—completely useless in the position.
It twitched once, trapped, frustrated, hot as hell and utterly denied.
Dabura felt it. Of course he did.
You moaned, head dropping back into his shoulder, breath ragged. Sukuna growled, low and violent, his fingers bruising your thighs now. “Fuck—you’re the one making it worse,” he snarled at Dabura. “She’s rubbing on me because of you.”
Dabura let out a soft, maddening sound—half a laugh, half something filthier. “Not my fault you’re built inefficiently,” he murmured.
“You want me to tear that smirk off your face?”
“You’d have to pull out first,” Dabura said smoothly. “And we both know you won’t.”
You gasped at that—whether from Sukuna’s thrust, or the vicious tension between them, you didn’t even know.
Sukuna slammed in deeper, teeth gritted, jaw clenched like he was hanging on to his sanity by seconds.
Dabura held you tighter. His mouth brushed your neck. “You’re so good like this,” he whispered, just for you. “Soft and wrecked. You should see yourself.”
You whimpered.
Sukuna snapped. One hand left the headboard and grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to look forward—at him. “You look at me when you fall apart,” he snarled. “Not him.”
Dabura smirked, lips pressed against your shoulder, utterly unbothered. “That’s not what she was doing a minute ago.”
“Keep talking,” Sukuna growled, rhythm brutal again. “I’ll make you watch her come all over me.”
Dabura’s fingers brushed lower. “Maybe I’ll make her do it first.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “Let me take care of you too.”
He said it with that same calm authority he used for killing—low and deadly sweet—like the idea of pleasuring Sukuna wasn’t terrifying, but mildly amusing.
Sukuna snarled under his breath, still buried inside you, all four arms bracing or gripping or trembling from the sheer violence of his own restraint.
But Dabura didn’t wait for permission. He never needed it.
One of his hands slid down between your thighs, right where Sukuna was thrusting into you and found your clit with surgical precision. The pressure was slow, perfect, maddening.
You twitched in his lap. Sukuna groaned through gritted teeth.
Dabura’s cock, not human in the slightest—long, ridged, alien in its movement—shifted beneath you and slid lower. Around. Forward.
It coiled around Sukuna’s lower cock, slick and smooth and deliberate, wrapping and twisting in perfect rhythm with your movement.
Sukuna shuddered.
He looked down in disbelief as Dabura jerked him off—without touching him, just using his own strange, pulsing body. The way his cock slid against Sukuna’s length was obscene—slow, teasing, designed to drive him insane.
“You—” Sukuna gasped.
Dabura kissed your neck like it was nothing. “You’re doing good,” he whispered—to Sukuna.
Smug. Deadly. Completely in control.
“Keep that pace,” Dabura murmured, his fingers circling your clit with slow, brutal confidence. “Just like that. She’s so close, can’t you feel it?”
Sukuna growled but his hips stuttered. Because he could.
Dabura’s cock twisted tighter. You whimpered. “She clenches when you angle left,” Dabura added, voice lower. “There. You feel that?”
Sukuna bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll come first.”
You cried out, torn between them, devoured between violence and control. Sukuna slammed deeper, groaning, head dropping forward. And Dabura just whispered, “Make her finish, Sukuna.”
Your body arched.
“Right on your cock. Come on.” He added.
Sukuna growled through his teeth—“Fucking hell—”
Dabura’s grip tightened. Their rhythm matched.
Your breath shattered. You cried out, shaking, as Sukuna followed you into it, choking on a moan, his jaw locked and entire body wracked with the kind of climax he’d never admit broke him a little.
Dabura sighed like he’d just cleaned up someone else’s mess.
Dabura slid back just enough to free himself from the chaos, calm even as Sukuna’s release streaked across him—warm, messy proof of what he’d just orchestrated.
He didn’t rush. He never rushed.
He lined himself up with quiet precision as Sukuna finally pulled away from you, breath ragged, eyes burning, both of them still shaking from what they’d just been dragged through.
“Won’t be long, lovely,” Dabura breathed, voice low and intimate, fingers adjusting you with deliberate care.
You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast. “You close already?” you whispered.
“I am.”
That honesty hit harder than any growl.
You shifted forward instinctively, legs straddling him as you leaned away from his chest, body arching toward Sukuna instead. The movement drew a sharp breath from both of them.
Sukuna caught you instantly.
One hand closed around your throat, just enough to hold you there, to remind you who was watching. His grin was feral, satisfied, wicked.
Both of his cocks still slick, still dripping, still twitching with residual heat. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face. “Can’t even stand on your own.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your hips from behind, grounding you, steady and unhurried. “She’s perfect,” he said calmly. “Let her be.”
Sukuna’s thumb tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. “You going to break for him,” he said, almost amused. “Or for me?”
You smiled through it. “Both,” you whispered.
Dabura exhaled behind you, low and satisfied. And Sukuna laughed.
Dabura’s grip was bruising your hips now as you moved—grinding in that rhythm he couldn’t handle much longer. His composure was cracking, but even now he held it together. Barely.
You were straddling him in reverse, thighs burning, hands gripping his legs for balance, body arched forward into—
Sukuna.
Who still had one hand around your throat, holding you upright like a trophy between monsters. He leaned in and kissed you, rough and claiming, swallowing every moan you let slip for Dabura beneath you.
And you were moaning now. Because the shape of Dabura’s cock, those patterns, those shifting, inhuman ridges—were stroking all the wrong places perfectly. Too deep. Too good. Too much.
You whined into Sukuna’s mouth.
Dabura groaned behind you, low and wrecked. His hands gripped harder, holding your rhythm like his life depended on it.
Your walls tightened again. Too close—again.
Sukuna pulled back from your mouth, breath hot, eyes wild, cocks still twitching between your bodies like he hadn’t even begun to calm down.
He looked down at you, then back at Dabura—grinning like a beast. “Mhm…give him that,” Sukuna chuckled, deep and dangerous. “Come on. He earned that.”
Dabura’s breath hitched. One last thrust up into you. His jaw clenched. His fingers dug in as he broke. Spilling into you as his whole body shuddered beneath you.
You cried out for him, head falling forward—right into Sukuna’s chest, mouth open, shaking with your own release. Again.
Sukuna laughed against your ear, low and feral. “You look so good when someone else ruins you,” he murmured. “Almost makes me jealous.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your sides, still trembling, still holding you like you were his.
You were panting now—spent, ruined, caught between chaos and stillness.
Dabura tilted his head back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths. His eyes were half-lidded, damp hair clinging to his temples, one hand still resting on the side of your ass like it belonged there.
You had no bones left.
You slumped forward, face-first into Sukuna’s chest, arms loosely wrapping around his waist with the grace of a body tossed from a cliff.
Your cheek pressed against his skin, hot, sweaty, still humming with cursed energy and he caught you automatically. Two of his arms circled you tight, the other two just hanging there, as if not sure what to do after nearly killing a bed with raw power and ego.
“For the record,” Sukuna muttered, voice still rough, “I still can’t stand you, asshole.”
Dabura huffed a dry laugh, lazily rubbing his palm over your lower back. “I made you cum really good, huh.”
His smirk could’ve shattered kingdoms. Sukuna rolled his eyes hard enough you felt it in his chest. You just laughed, dead, wheezing, face still pressed into him. It made Sukuna grin like the bastard he was.
You were covered, sore, dripping, and pinned between the two most annoying forces in existence.
And unfortunately…it wasn’t that bad. But here you were.
Cradled by a curse with four arms and an ego problem. Spoon-fed comfort by a horned nightmare with a split tongue and zero shame.
You weren’t sure if this counted as divine punishment or the best decision you’d ever made.
Probably both.
You’d figure it out later. For now? You were tired. Held.
And, unfortunately…They were both staying the night.
Fuck.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
Run, Bunny...Run! (Sukuna x Toji x Reader) Part 4 of 4 (The End)
Genre: Smut.
Warnings. 18+, female reader, some mentions of violence, fingering, oral sex, shower sex, feral beasts (Rawr!) MDNI!
Word Count: 10,193
Synopsis -
The final part of an ask.
You're a bunny hybrid, who runs from one hands of a predator, right into the jaws of another. Only problem is, they don't want to hurt you...they want to keep you.
Thanks again to @tojisabyss for the brilliant idea!
I believe header art belongs to @enden-k
Part 1 (here), Part 2 (here), Part 3 (here)
Masterlist
You’ve been restless since breakfast, skin too tight, legs twitching, a buzzing undercurrent of discomfort that makes sitting still feel impossible. Your heat isn’t full-blown, not yet, but it’s simmering, coiling low in your belly, turning every brush of fabric against your thighs into a maddening tease.
Toji is sprawled on the couch again, one arm slung over the backrest, the other lazily flipping through an old car magazine he found under the coffee table. Sukuna sits at the far end, long legs stretched out, crimson eyes half-lidded as he watches some grainy action flick on the ancient TV, clearly more interested in the explosions than the plot.
You can’t stay still.
You drift closer to Toji first, tail twitching against your back in quick, agitated wiggles. He doesn’t look up right away, just lets out a low, amused huff when your small hands reach for one of his dark ears.
“Oi” he mutters, voice thick with lazy warning, but he doesn’t pull away.
You tug gently,then not so gently, rubbing the velvety fur between your fingers, tracing the sensitive edge where it meets his scalp. His ear flicks under your touch, a low rumble starts in his chest, more pleased than annoyed.
You lean in closer, wrapping both arms around his thick neck from behind, cheek pressed to the warm skin just below his jaw. Your breasts brush his shoulder blades through the thin fabric of your borrowed shirt, and you can’t help the soft, needy sound that escapes when you feel how solid and hot he is against you. It’s maddening.
“Hey, brat” Toji growls, but his free hand comes up to cover yours where it rests on his chest, pressing your palm flat over his heartbeat. “You’re bein’ real distracting.”
You whine softly against his neck, lips brushing skin, unable to stop yourself from nuzzling closer. Your fingers keep playing with his ear, stroking, tugging lightly, circling the base until his tail thumps once against the couch cushions.
Across the other end of the couch, Sukuna’s head slowly turns.
His stare hot, heavy and unblinking.
The impulse hits you before you can talk yourself out of it.
You slip out of Toji’s loose hold, who lets you go with a half-hearted grumble, scampering across the rug on bare feet. Sukuna doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just watches you approach with that predatory stillness that makes your pulse kick hard against your ribs.
When you’re close enough, you dart forward and tug the thick length of his tail.
Just once. Playful. Teasing.
His eyes flare crimson.
You squeak and bolt, laughing breathlessly, darting back toward Toji like he’s safety. Sukuna’s tail lashes once, whipping the air where you’d just been, but he doesn’t give chase.
You skid to a stop in front of Toji again, breathless, cheeks flushed, tail twitching behind you. Before he can say anything you’re climbing into his lap, straddling one thick thigh, arms looping around his neck again, fingers immediately finding his ears once more.
You tug, stroke, rub, can’t stop touching, can’t stop pressing yourself closer, hips shifting restlessly against the hard muscle beneath you.
Toji groans low in his throat, emerald eyes fixing on you. Both hands settle on your hips now, fingers digging in just enough to still your squirming.
“You’re asking for trouble, little bunny” he purrs, voice rough, nose dragging along the side of your throat. He inhales deeply, scenting the rising sweetness of your arousal, and his grip tightens. “Keep wigglin’ like that and I’m gonna have to do somethin’ about it.”
You whimper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, lips brushing skin. Your fingers card through his hair, releasing a fresh wave of his scent while your hips rock in tiny, helpless circles against his thigh, chasing friction you can’t quite reach.
From the other end of the couch, Sukuna makes a low, dangerous sound, half growl, half groan.
You glance over Toji’s shoulder.
Sukuna is watching you with burning intensity, one clawed hand resting on his own thigh, fingers flexing slowly. His tail sways behind him in long, predatory arcs.
You swallow hard.
Then, because the restless itch under your skin won’t let you stop, you lean forward just enough to reach past Toji’s shoulder and tug Sukuna’s tail again. One sharp teasing pull.
Sukuna’s eyes snap to yours.
You squeak and bury your face back in Toji’s neck, heart hammering, thighs clenching around his.
Toji laughs, hands sliding up under the hem of the shirt to grip bare skin.
“Keep pokin’ the bear, bunny” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. “See what happens when he finally snaps.”
You shiver violently, fingers still tangled in Toji’s hair, hips still rocking in tiny, needy circles.
“I want to run” you blurt suddenly, the words bursting out like they’ve been clawing at the inside of your throat for hours.
You abandon Toji in an instant, scrambling off his lap in a frantic tangle of limbs, floppy ears snapping upright with sudden alertness. Your tail gives an eager little wiggle at the mere thought of wind whipping across your face, the wild thrill of motion, grass and earth springing beneath your bare feet.
Freedom, even if it’s only pretend.
Toji blinks up at you from the couch, magazine forgotten in his lap. He lets out a long, weary sigh, scrubbing one broad hand down his face.
“I’m tired, bunny” he grumbles, voice thick with the kind of exhaustion that comes from restraint rather than exertion.
You drop immediately onto your haunches in front of him, chin propped on his knee, gazing up at him with wide, adoring eyes, the exact look you know melts him every time. Your ears flop low, pressing against your head.
“Please” you whisper, and for good measure you nuzzle your cheek against the warm, hard muscle of his thigh, rubbing slow and affectionate. “Please, I won’t run for long. Just a little. I need to stretch.”
He exhales through his nose, eyes half-lidded. You watch, fascinated, as his free hand drifts down between his legs to adjust himself through the sweatpants. Your gaze follows the motion shamelessly, heat curls in your belly when you see the thick outline already hardening beneath the fabric, straining against his palm.
A filthy little smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.
“You can chase me” you hum, voice soft and coaxing. Your hand slides up his thigh, feeling the muscle jump and flex beneath your fingers. You press your cheek firmer against his knee, lips brushing fabric as you murmur, “It’ll be fun.”
Toji’s eyes flash electric green, pupils dilating at the thought. The hunt, the catch, the inevitable devouring. His nostrils flare.
“What do I get if I catch you?” His voice has dropped an octave, rough and hungry.
You let your hands fall away and rise slowly to your feet, so you’re looking down at him for once, hair spilling over your shoulders, shirt slipping off one shoulder to bare the delicate line of your collarbone.
“Whatever you want” you say softly, the words heavy with implication.
He growls, truly growls, low and inhuman, the sound rolling up from somewhere deep in his chest. It makes your hackles rise and your cunt throb in response. It shouldn’t feel this good, this right, to be so intensely aroused by something that could so easily tear you apart, but you know that’s not what Toji has in mind.
Not today.
He stands in one fluid motion, one clawed hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you toward the door with barely-leashed impatience.
“Be careful” Sukuna murmurs from the other end of the couch, eyes still fixed on the TV screen like he couldn’t care less.
Toji scoffs, pausing just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder.
“She’s my bunny” he says, voice edged with possessive pride. “I always am.”
And with that he yanks you outside. The door frame rattles as he slams it shut behind you both.
…
You’re almost laughing as you run, pure, breathless joy bubbling up in your chest. You leap over gnarled roots without breaking stride, duck beneath low-hanging branches with easy grace, ears flopping softly against your head with every bound.
The forest is a vibrant, green blur of motion and light, wind rushes past your face, cool and wild, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
Behind you, Toji runs leisurely, just fast enough to keep you in sight, whilst never closing the gap. He’s humouring you, letting you have this illusion of escape, letting you stretch your legs and lungs until they burn just right. Every now and then you glance back and catch his wolfish grin, sunlight glinting off sharp canines.
“Toji” you sing-song, drawing the syllable out long and teasing as you toss your hair over one shoulder.
That’s when you really take off, zigzagging through the trees, using your smaller, lithe frame to your advantage. You twist around trunks, dart under branches he has to duck, take corners faster than his bulk allows.
He snarls, and the chase is on.
You can’t help the gleeful laughter that spills from your lips every time you feel him just behind you, close enough that the heat of him brushes your back, only to slip just out of reach again and again. Your heart pounds with exhilaration, thighs burning, lungs singing.
Finally you spin into a small clearing, sunlight dappling the mossy ground in golden coins. You stop abruptly, chest heaving, hair wild, cheeks flushed. Toji skids to a halt a few paces away, breathing heavy, eyes dark and half-consumed by his predator instinct.
You shift left.
He steps to follow.
You jerk right.
He mirrors you instantly.
You giggle softly, and that’s when he pounces.
He throws himself forward, massive arms wrapping around your middle, rolling you both so he takes the brunt of the fall. Dead leaves and soft earth scatter around you as you tumble, collecting dirt and twigs on your skin and in your hair.
When you finally come to a stop, he’s pinned you beneath him, knees bracketing your hips, hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in.
“I have you now” he growls, the words barely human, rough with victory and desire. His eyes are molten green, pupils blown wide. “Time to get my reward, huh?”
His large hands clamp down on your hips, yanking you back toward him in one savage pull. Your bodies collide with a wet slap, your ass slamming against his pelvis as he looms over you, broad and feral, chest heaving.
He doesn’t waste a heartbeat, rough palms shove the loose shirt up your torso in a crumpled rush, baring your breasts to the dappled forest light. Your chest still rises and falls in frantic, uneven heaves from the chase, nipples already painfully tight and throbbing, flushed dark with blood.
Toji drops between your spread thighs like a predator claiming its kill. Hot hands wrench your legs wider, thumbs digging into the soft inner flesh until you feel the stretch burn sweetly. He buries his face against your thigh first, nose dragging along the sensitive skin, inhaling the thick, syrupy scent of your arousal so deeply his whole body shudders. A low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest straight into your core.
“Oh, bunny” he groans, voice wrecked and rough. His hips rock forward instinctively, grinding his aching cock against the dirt, seeking any friction as he breathes you in like a drug. “Fuck, you smell like heaven.”
You writhe beneath him, twisting, shaking, hips lifting in helpless little jerks, every nerve screaming for contact. He finally gives in, tongue pressing flat against your puffy, swollen lips, forcing them apart with brutal insistence until he can stroke the hot, wet length of it directly over your clit.
You gasp, legs drawing up toward your chest before falling open again, wider, offering everything. Your fingers claw into the soft earth, nails digging furrows as he attacks you with animal hunger.
His tongue flicks and rolls against your clit in merciless little lashes, then drags in long, greedy strokes that make your vision white out at the edges.
He spreads you wider with both thumbs, exposing every slick, trembling inch of you, and then shoves his face harder against you, nose grinding into your mound as his tongue spears inside, thick and hot, curling against your quivering walls in search of that spot that makes you scream.
Your eyes roll back, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste copper. The sky above you blurs into a watercolour smear of green and golden sunlight as he drives you toward madness.
“Toji—Toji, please—” you whine, voice fracturing.
He pulls back with a wet gasp, chin and lips glistening obscenely. He looks feral, drool hanging in long, trembling strands from his mouth, eyes so dark the beautiful green is nearly gone, claws pricking your thighs where he holds you open. His chest heaves like he’s been running for miles.
With a guttural snarl he crawls up your body, and you watch, mesmerised, as the change overtakes him. His shoulders widen, the sharp lines of his face grow more angular and predatory, hair thickens and lengthens in wild waves, muscles bulge and ripple beneath skin now dusted with coarse black fur from hands to elbows.
He becomes more beast, more wolf, more devastatingly beautiful in his raw power. Your cunt clenches hard around nothing at the sight, fresh slick dripping down your thighs.
You shudder, breasts rising and falling in hectic, stuttering breaths. Swallowing hard, you roll onto your stomach, pushing your hips up onto your knees, chest pressed to the cool, iron-scented dirt. The position is obscene, back arched, cotton tail twitching against the small of your back, glistening folds and puckered hole presented to him like an offering.
Toji’s fiery gaze rakes down your body, lingering on the elegant dip of your spine, the quivering tail, the curve of your ass, the way your sex throbs and drips for him in the gentle sunlight.
You try to steady your breathing, try not to whine or beg, but the rich smell of him only heightens the inferno inside you.
“Please, Toji” you whimper, voice cracking. “It hurts.”
And it does, a deep, throbbing ache that feels like you’ll crack wide open without him inside you.
“Tell me” he growls, lowering his massive frame over yours until his heat engulfs you completely. His rough tongue drags a slow, wet line down your spine, saliva chilling on your overheated skin in its wake.
“Inside” you sob, hips shimmying desperately. “It aches—please, inside—”
He shoves his pants down just enough. His cock springs free, painfully hard, veins standing out thick and pulsing, the flushed head leaking copious pre-cum that drips in glistening strings. He notches himself against your entrance, dragging the heavy shaft between your puffy lips, coating himself in your slick until he’s gleaming.
You mewl, face pressed into the dirt, the maddening tease of him sliding against you, bumping your clit, nudging your entrance, pushing you to the edge of tears.
“You want me?” he snarls, voice barely human.
“Yes—desperately—” You shoot a frantic look over your shoulder, sweeping sweat-damp hair away from your neck, baring the vulnerable column of your throat completely. “Please…”
His eyes lock on that spotless stretch of skin. His mouth parts on a savage growl, lip curling back to reveal gleaming canines.
With a roar so feral it sends birds scattering from the trees, he thrusts.
Despite your slickness, despite your desperation, it still burns, a thick, stretching ache as he almost tears you open from the inside, forcing your walls to yield around his massive girth.
He doesn’t pause, he just drives in deep and relentless, until the blunt head kisses your cervix with a dull, exquisite ache.
You shudder violently, letting out one long, broken moan, face pressed back into the earth, caring for nothing but the feeling of him finally sheathed to the hilt inside you.
He drapes his furred, massive frame over yours, clawed hands slamming into the dirt on either side of your head, claws gouging deep furrows. He draws back until only the head remains inside, then snaps forward again, filling you so completely your vision whites out.
He sets a punishing rhythm, pulling out slow enough to let you feel every dragging inch, then slamming back in with bone-jarring force. One hand leaves the ground to clamp around your hip, yanking you back onto him with every thrust so the wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the clearing.
“Oh—yes—” you cry, voice fracturing. Being so full, so stretched, so utterly claimed feels better than anything, right in a way nothing else ever has. “More—more—”
He almost howls. His pace turns savage, each thrust driving the air from your lungs, pleasure drowning out the ache until all you feel is him, everywhere, overwhelming.
He grunts against the soft flesh of your neck, lips curled back, canines pressed to your skin like the barrel of a loaded gun.
“Need to—” he snarls, voice shredded. “Want to—”
“Anything” you sob, curling upward so your back presses flush against his chest, sweat and fur sticking your bodies together. “Anything you want—”
The pleasure crests so violently you feel like you’ll burst.
His teeth sink into the tender juncture of your neck and shoulder, sharp and claiming, breaking skin just enough to mark. You come with a startled, keening cry, body locking taut, hands curling into fists in the dirt, eyes screwing shut as your walls clamp down around him in violent spasms.
He roars, releasing your skin to throw his head back to the sky, every muscle straining as he follows you over the edge moments later. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your insides, spilling deep, overflowing, dripping down your thighs and into the earth beneath you.
Finally he collapses over you, pressing you into the dirt for one long, trembling moment, both of you panting and shaking.
…
Your life with the two wolves settles into something blissfully domestic, it’s warm and steady, though inexorably laced with an undercurrent of constant, simmering want.
Toji’s claiming in the clearing seems to have quieted that deep, frantic need inside you.
For a while, your little heats no longer flare up every few hours like wildfire. Instead they simmer, low and manageable, a gentle pulse rather than a roaring blaze. You feel… settled. Anchored. Like some primal piece of you finally found its place between them.
You even grow bolder with Sukuna.
His intense, predatory aura no longer makes your want to run. You’ve become a constant fixture at his side while dinner is prepared, hovering too close, getting underfoot, earning softly growled warnings he never actually follows through on.
Tonight is no different.
You lean against him at the stove, your shoulder pressed into the solid meat of his waist, the top of your head tucked just beneath his ribs.
The warmth of him seeps into you, warmer than sunlight, the steady thump of his heartbeat against your temple the most comforting rhythm in the world. You can’t stop touching, can’t stop pressing closer, drawn to the safety and solid reality of them both.
Neither wolf complains… much.
“Move” Sukuna grumbles, voice guttural, though there’s no venom in it.
You smile softly and step back just enough to let him reach into the cupboard overhead for a tin of spices. The moment his arm lowers and he’s still again, you slide right back into place, moulding yourself against his side like you belong there.
You watch him work with a quiet fascination, his large hands moving with surprising precision as he chops vegetables, stirs simmering broth, every motion controlled and deliberate despite his size and strength.
You nuzzle a little closer, nose twitching as you breathe him in. A soft, contented hum escapes your throat before you can stop it.
Sukuna exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between annoyance and reluctant fondness, but he doesn’t push you away.
The front door suddenly bangs open.
Toji stumbles through, arms overloaded with shiny shopping bags, grin wide and triumphant.
You’re moving before you even register the impulse, darting across the room, bare feet slapping the floorboards, launching yourself at him with a delighted squeak.
He drops the bags just in time. They hit the floor with a soft thump as you collide with his chest. Strong arms wrap around you instantly, catching you mid-air and swinging you once in a dizzying circle.
“Missed me, bunny?” he laughs, voice warm and rough, already burying his nose in your hair to inhale deeply.
You nod frantically against his throat, arms locked around his neck, legs still dangling for a second before you find your footing. “You were gone forever.”
“Had to get you some clothes” he says, setting you down but keeping one arm looped possessively around your waist. “Can’t have my girl runnin’ around in my old shirts forever” He presses close, whispering in you ear. “Though fuck if it ain’t cute.”
You giggle softly as he bends to rummage through the bags, pulling out item after item with boyish excitement.
Cute pleated mini skirts in soft pastels. Cozy oversized sweaters with delicate ribbing. Little ankle boots with tiny buckles. A few silky camisoles. And, buried at the bottom, delicate scraps of lace lingerie. Sheer black babydoll sets, satin panties with little bows, a strappy bralette that makes your cheeks flame the second you see it.
You blush hard, ears pinning back shyly.
Sukuna, still at the stove, glances over with a low scoff.
“At least we’ll get our clothes back” he mutters, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Toji laughs, bright and unashamed, then turns that same grin on you.
“Wanna model some of this for me, sweet thing?” His voice drops lower, edged with heat. “Give me a little show, please?”
Your heart kicks hard. You nod and scoop up an armful of clothes, before darting toward the bedroom to change.
When you step back out a few minutes later, first in the soft cream sweater that sits off one shoulder paired with the tiny pleated skirt that barely skims mid-thigh, Toji lets out a long, appreciative whistle.
“Fuck” he groans, slouching deeper into the couch, one hand already drifting down to adjust the obvious bulge thickening behind his jeans. “Look at you, my pretty girl.”
You spin once, giggling, enjoying his undivided attention, then disappear again.
With your bravery flaring, you put on the babydoll lingerie. Smoothing the sheer black lace till it clings to your curves, satin ribbons tied in delicate bows, the hem fluttering around the tops of your thighs. When you step out this time, Toji’s eyes darken instantly.
His hand presses harder against his erection, stroking once through the denim in slow, deliberate drags.
“Goddamn” he breathes, voice wrecked. “C’mere, baby.”
A slower, warmer arousal blooms in your stomach. Your nipples tighten beneath the lace, thighs pressing together as slick gathers slowly between your legs.
Toji smells it immediately, nostrils flaring, pupils blowing wide. A low growl rumbles in his chest.
Sukuna smells it too. His head turns slowly from the stove, crimson eyes narrowing as they rake over you, lingering on the way the sheer fabric clings to your breasts, the curve of your waist, the flush creeping down your chest.
Toji notices, grins, and pats his thigh.
“Come sit, bunny” he murmurs. “Let me see your new clothes.”
You cross the room on shaky legs, heart pulsing harder with every step. When you settle sideways in his lap, his hand immediately slips beneath the hem of the babydoll, palm splaying wide over your bare hip, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, hovering just above your panties.
“Smell that?” he says conversationally to Sukuna, though his eyes never leave yours. “She’s excited just from modelling for me.”
Sukuna’s tail flicks once, sharp and irritated.
Toji laughs softly, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss beneath your ear.
“Good girl” he whispers against your skin. “Love seein’ you like this, all dressed up, lookin’ sweet”
You whimper, thighs clenching around his hand as it drifts higher, brushing the damp lace between your legs.
The kitchen fills with the smells of simmering dinner and rising lust.
But neither man seems in any hurry to let the moment end.
…
Later that night, with the living room lit only by the low amber glow of a single lamp on the side table, you curl up on your side beneath a blanket, knees drawn up to your chest, the sheer black babydoll still clinging to your skin.
The fabric had grown warm from your body, the lace edges slightly damp where it touched the small of your back, the delicate straps slipping down one shoulder.
You hadn’t bothered to change. You liked the way the material whispered against you every time you shifted, more than that, you liked the way the two of them looked at you, Toji with open hunger, Sukuna with something darker, something that made your pulse stutter and your thoughts scatter.
Toji had been pacing for the last hour, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and clipped as he spoke in terse sentences you could only half-hear.
It was work. Something about a job in town, timelines, money. He kept glancing at you between calls, offering small, distracted smiles that never quite reached his eyes. You understood, he was trying to keep things steady, keep the life around the three of you from fraying, but understanding didn’t stop the restless heat crawling under your skin.
When the last call finally ended, he exhaled hard through his nose and dropped onto the couch beside you. His hand found your hair immediately, fingers carding through it in slow, grounding strokes.
“Come to bed, bunny” he murmured, voice rough from talking too long. “It’s been a long day.”
You turned your face into his palm, breathing him in, woodsy leather, the faint salt of his skin, but even that familiar comfort couldn’t quite settle the fever simmering low in your belly. Your body felt too warm, too sensitive, the brush of lace against your nipples made you bite the inside of your cheek.
“I’m… too hot” you said softly, the words half apology. “I’ll stay here for a bit.”
He studied you for a long moment, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. Then he leaned down, pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, and stood.
“Door’s always open if you change your mind” he said, voice low. “Don’t stay up too late.”
You watched him disappear down the hallway, listened to the quiet creak of the bedroom door closing behind him. The cabin settled into an intimate hush. Only the faint crackle of the dying fire and the soft tick of the old clock on the mantel remained.
You tried to keep still. You really did.
But the heat wouldn’t ease.
It coiled tighter with every breath, spreading outward until your skin felt too small to contain you.
Eventually your hands began to wander, slowly at first, almost absently. Fingertips drifted across your collarbone, tracing the delicate strap of the babydoll, then lower, cupping the soft weight of your breast through the lace. Your thumb brushed over your nipple and you sucked in a sharp breath at the jolt of pleasure between your legs.
Your other hand was already sliding down your stomach, lifting the hem of the babydoll, fingers slipping beneath your panties.
You were soaked, had been for hours, and the first glide of your fingertips over your clit made your hips jerk. A soft, helpless sound slipped past your lips. You pressed harder, circling, chasing a release.
It wasn’t enough, it was never enough.
Your breathing grew shallow and uneven. You rolled onto your back, knees falling open, one hand still teasing your breast while the other worked between your thighs, slow, then faster, then slow again, frustration building alongside the pleasure.
The lace dragged against your skin with every movement. The blanket slipped to the floor. You didn’t care. You were too hot, too needy.
A delicious scent drifted into the room.
Not Toji’s comforting woodsmoke and leather.
This was darker, a coffee so rich it bordered on bitter, threaded through with the slow burn of smoky rum, warm and heady. It rolled over you like a wave, sinking into your lungs, curling around your thoughts until everything else blurred at the edges.
Your hand stilled.
You inhaled again, and the scent only grew stronger, pulling at something low and primal in your belly. Your thighs clenched around your fingers involuntarily, an involuntary rush of slick coated your palm.
You sat up slowly. The lamp’s glow painted long shadows across the room, but your attention was already moving toward the hallway, toward the faint strip of light leaking from Sukuna’s cracked door.
You stood on unsteady legs. The babydoll clung to your damp skin, the hem fluttering against the tops of your thighs as you crossed the room.
You should go back to the couch, you should crawl into Toji’s bed and bury yourself against his chest until morning.
Instead your bare feet carried you down the hall, past the closed bedroom door where Toji slept, until you stood outside Sukuna’s room.
You didn’t knock.
The door stood already cracked open, just enough for that dark, intoxicating scent to spill out into the hallway like smoke from a hidden fire.
You paused on the threshold, one hand still curled loosely around the edge of the frame, the other pressed low against your stomach as though you could somehow hold the heat inside yourself.
You pushed the door wider with trembling fingers.
Through the narrow gap you saw him first, curled onto his side on the bed, pants shoved down around his powerful thighs, one clawed hand wrapped tight around the thick, flushed length of his cock. He was rutting into his fist with slow, punishing strokes, head buried into the pillow, eyes screwed shut, face contorted in a raw, almost pained ecstasy.
The head glistened obscenely, pre-cum welling steadily and slipping down the veined shaft in slow, shining trails. Every flex of his hips made the muscles of his abdomen and buttocks clench, a low, broken growl rumbling from his chest.
Your heart thumped behind your ribs. It wasn’t the frantic, panicked rhythm your pulse usually took in his presence, this was slower, harder, as though your body already understood what was coming and had begun to prepare itself without waiting for permission.
He growled again, more pained this time, hips snapping forward into his own grip, the sound wet and desperate.
You stepped inside.
His eyes snapped open instantly, crimson and wild, nostrils flaring as he caught your scent in return. For a single heartbeat he froze, hand still wrapped around himself, chest heaving.
“I—I can help you” you whispered, the words trembling as you took another step closer. Your gaze drifted helplessly back to his cock, weeping in his fist, and you bit your lower lip hard enough to sting. “You helped me. Let me help you.”
“Bunny” he snapped, the nickname sounding ragged and torn from his throat. “Get out. I’m not in a good way, I’ll lose it.”
His voice cracked on the words, raw with strain, as though every syllable cost him something vital.
You shivered, ignoring the warning and the sensible voice in your head that told you to stop, and crawled slowly onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress, then the other.
Your palm met the burning skin of his thigh, the heat of him made you recoil for half a second before you pressed down harder, sliding your hand up the tense muscle, across the sharp jut of his hip.
He hissed, head falling back, brows knotting together in a grimace of pleasure and restraint.
“Kuna” you breathed, almost drowning in his scent now. It was triggering things in you, your own body responding with heat and wetness, as if preparing itself for him, thoughts narrowing until there was only him and the desperate, singular need to have him inside you. “Let me—”
You gasped before you could finish the thought.
His hands clamped around your waist, and in one fluid motion he had twisted onto his back, dragging you with him.
You landed straddling his hips, your soaked core pressing directly atop the throbbing heat of his cock. The sudden contact ripped a loud, broken whine from both of you at once.
Your body reacted instantly, hips rolling forward on instinct, dragging the wet lace of your panties down his length in a long, slick glide. He shuddered beneath you, head thrown back against the pillows, a long, rumbling groan vibrating through his chest. It sounded almost like purring.
You kept rolling, slow at first, then faster, each drag of the fabric across your clit sending shivers of delight racing up your spine. His hands moved restlessly over you, cupping your breasts through the gauzy lace, thumbs flicking your peaked nipples until you whimpered, gripping your ass to guide your rhythm, helping you rock harder against him.
“Please” you whispered again, so turned on that rational thought had long since dissolved. “I want to feel your knot.”
“Fuck—stop talking” Sukuna growled, eyes glowing like smouldering coals.
His teeth had lengthened, making him lisp slightly around the words, fangs glinting. His shoulders seemed to broaden before your eyes, the lines of his body growing sharper, more imposing, muscles bulging, fur creeping from his hands to his elbows in pinkish waves.
The change only made you want him more, that primal part of him spoke directly to something ancient in your soul.
“Please” you whined, rocking desperately now, pace sloppy and messy. “It aches—”
His touch turned bruising, claws nicking your flesh as he gripped harder, drawing tiny beads of blood that only made you moan louder. The sting blended seamlessly into pleasure, heightening everything until you were trembling on the edge of tears.
“Sukuna—” Your voice came out shrill and desperate.
That was what snapped him.
Your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce, body sinking into the sheets that smelled overwhelmingly of him, coffee and rum, smoke and musk. He tore through the babydoll, lace shredding like paper, the sound barely registered.
Right now, anything close to your skin felt like agony, and the faster he got you bare the better. He ripped your panties away next, leaving them in tattered scraps on the bed, before pressing his face between your thighs.
One long slow lick, from your fluttering entrance to your throbbing clit, ripped a choked scream from your throat. You spread your legs wider, planting one foot on the bed for leverage. He gripped the other thigh, throwing it over his broad shoulder, holding you open as his tongue lashed at you, quick, relentless flicks followed by broad, greedy strokes that made your hips buck against his face.
You grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, pressing them to your nose, shivering as his scent washed over you in waves. It was everywhere, on the fabric, on your skin, inside your lungs, and it only made you needier.
“Sukuna—” you breathed, already falling apart beneath his dedicated mouth. “Please don’t stop.”
He growled against your cunt, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and doubled down, tongue spearing inside you, curling against your walls while the bridge of his nose ground against your clit. One clawed hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb rolling your nipple in rough, perfect circles.
You were gone, lost in the heat of his mouth, the stretch of his tongue, the bruising grip on your thigh, the overwhelming scent that surrounded you like a second skin.
You twisted beneath him, spine arching off the mattress in a sharp, helpless curve as the orgasm crashed through you.
The sheets had been pulled over your head in some frantic, instinctive bid for more, or maybe just to muffle the broken sounds spilling from your throat, but they did nothing to dull the white-hot rush that flooded every nerve.
Your cries came out muffled, high and ragged, swallowed by the fabric as your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked against his mouth in stuttering, uncontrolled pulses.
Sukuna didn’t relent. His tongue turned sloppy, teeth grazing your swollen clit just enough to make you jolt, lips sealing around your puffy folds and releasing them with wet, obscene pops that echoed in the quiet room.
He kissed the inside of your thigh next, open-mouthed and lingering, while his thumb slid through your drenched slit, bumping your oversensitive clit with every pass. Each nudge sent fresh sparks racing up your spine, aftershocks that made your toes curl and your breath hitch.
“Sukuna—” Your voice cracked, hoarse from moaning. You peeled the sheets back with shaking fingers, blinking against the sudden light, and found him staring up at you, eyes molten, pupils blown so wide the crimson was only a thin ring, face flushed and glistening with you.
“I need more” you rasped.
He answered with a growl, his body already rising over yours. In one fluid motion he shed the last of his pants, kicking them aside, and surged up over you. His weight pinned you, broad shoulders caging you against the mattress, chest pressing your breasts flat, hips slotting between your thighs with bruising insistence.
The heat of him was overwhelming, skin fever-hot against yours, fur dusting his forearms and brushing your sides as he braced himself on elbows that trembled faintly with restraint.
He wrapped one clawed hand around the base of his cock, thick and flushed, veins standing out in sharp relief, and notched the blunt head at your entrance. You were so wet, so swollen, that the slightest pressure made your walls flutter around nothing, aching to be filled.
The anticipation was torture, you writhed beneath him, hips lifting in tiny, desperate jerks, trying to press him inside.
“Hurry” you whined, voice fraying at the edges.
He let out one last, pained growl, then snapped his hips forward, your legs wrapping around his waist, feet locking just above the base of his tail.
The stretch was immediate. He sank into you in one long, smooth thrust, splitting you open around his girth until the swollen base of his knot kissed your entrance.
The burn was exquisite, too much and exactly enough, your walls yielding to him with a slick, greedy clutch that made your eyes roll back. Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into the hard flex of muscle as you tried to pull him closer, deeper, needing every inch.
He stilled for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, knot pressing insistently against your rim, letting you feel the full, impossible stretch of him inside you. Then he began to move.
The pace was savage from the first stroke, hips snapping forward with bruising force, dragging out slow enough to let you feel every thick ridge, every vein, before slamming back in.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with your broken moans and his low, continuous growls. You’d never wanted anything more than that knot, never felt so empty without it, and now it was right there, swelling further with every thrust, stretching the tight ring of muscle at your entrance in teasing, maddening increments.
“Please” you sobbed, voice cracking as another orgasm began to coil low and tight in your belly. “Oh please—I need—”
Your orgasm hit too soon, your brain cutting out, body going taut around him.
He snarled against your throat, teeth grazing your skin, breath hot and ragged. His rhythm grew erratic, harder and faster, each thrust driving the air from your lungs, the swollen knot catching more insistently at your rim with every stroke.
Then with one last brutal thrust, it snapped inside.
The stretch was blinding, your entrance forced wide around the thick, pulsing bulge as it locked inside you, sealing you together with a wet, obscene pop.
You screamed, high, shattered, the sound tearing from your throat as the sudden fullness hit every oversensitive nerve at once.
It felt like coming home, like every hollow place inside you had finally been claimed, filled, made whole again. Your walls clamped down around him in violent, fluttering spasms, milking the knot as another orgasm ripped through you almost immediately after the first.
The pleasure was too much, too sharp too soon. Your body locked taut, thighs shaking uncontrollably around his hips, fingers clawing at his shoulders as wave after wave crashed over you. You could feel every pulse of his cock inside you, every throb of the knot stretching you to the limit, every hot spurt of cum flooding your depths until it leaked out around the seal and dripped onto the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna roared, head thrown back, fangs bared before biting down hard on your flesh, as he came with you. His teeth pinched your flesh, carving small crescents into your throat as his hips jerked in short, helpless thrusts, trying to bury himself deeper even though the knot already held him fast.
The motion only ground the swollen base against your oversensitive walls, prolonging your climax until tears streamed from the corners of your eyes and your voice gave out entirely, reduced to breathless, trembling whimpers.
The knot pulsed inside you, still swollen and unyielding, locking your bodies together in a slow, rhythmic throb that matched the lazy beat of your heart.
Sukuna’s weight had settled over you, his chest to yours, one furred arm curled beneath your back, the other braced beside your head so he could watch your face.
His breath fanned hot against the fresh bite on your neck, the skin already tender and tingling where his teeth had broken through.
Every small shift of his hips sent aftershocks rippling through you, your walls fluttering weakly around the thick intrusion, too sensitive to clench but too greedy to let go.
You were drifting, limbs loose, mind soft and syrupy, when the door gave a quiet, unmistakable creak.
Sukuna stiffened first, ears flicking toward the sound. You felt the change in him instantly, muscles coiling, breath catching, a low warning rumble starting deep in his chest.
Toji stood in the doorway.
He leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, scarred mouth curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
The hallway light behind him haloed his silhouette, but his eyes were fixed on the bed. On you. On the place where Sukuna’s hips were still flush to yours, where the knot kept you joined, where the sheets were dark with the evidence of what you’d done.
“Thought you didn’t like our bunny” Toji purred, voice warm, every word dripping with lazy amusement.
Sukuna’s growl deepened, vibrating through your chest, but he didn’t move to pull out. Not yet. His claws flexed against the mattress, puncturing the fabric in small, possessive crescents.
Toji stepped inside anyway.
He crossed the room without hurry, feet silent on the floorboards, and the air shifted as he drew nearer, his scent rolling in ahead of him, woodsmoke and leather and the faint metallic bite of the outdoors, layering over the thick, sex-drenched musk already saturating the room.
You felt the moment he caught it fully, nostrils flaring, pupils blowing wide, a rough growl rumbling up from his chest that made your inner walls flutter around Sukuna’s knot in helpless response.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, gaze dragging over you both, over the way your thighs trembled around Sukuna’s hips, over the shredded scraps of lace still clinging to your skin, over the fresh bite mark blooming on your throat.
Then he began to strip.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
First the shirt, pulled up and off in one smooth motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars that mapped his skin. His belt came next, buckle clinking as he unfastened it, jeans shoved down just enough to free his cock. It sprang up heavy and flushed, already leaking at the tip, veins standing out thick and dark.
Your mouth watered. You reached for him without thinking, arm stretching across the mattress, fingers trembling in the air.
Sukuna snarled, low, possessive, but he didn’t stop you.
Toji crawled onto the bed like a natural predator, knees sinking into the mattress. Before you could close the distance, he was on you, mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that tasted of hunger and a faint bite of whiskey. His tongue swept in without preamble, swallowing the soft whimper that rose in your throat.
He pulled you toward him in one firm tug, dragging your upper body off the mattress until your back arched, breasts pressing into his chest. Sukuna’s knot tugged sharply inside you at the movement, causing to to gasp into his mouth, walls fluttering around the thick bulge still lodged deep.
Toji broke the kiss just long enough to drag his lips down your jaw, your throat, pausing to lap once at the fresh bite mark Sukuna had left. The growl that rumbled out of him was pure hunger, dark and pleased.
Sukuna’s hands tightened on your hips, trying to keep you close. He was growing restless again, you could feel it in the way his knot pulsed, in the low, continuous growl vibrating through your chest, in the way his fingers began to roam, pawing at your waist, your ribs, your breasts, restless and greedy. Unable to keep still.
Toji lifted his head, eyes flicking to Sukuna over your shoulder. A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth.
“Still knotted in her, huh?” he murmured. His hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping between your legs to trace the stretched, slick rim where Sukuna’s knot held you open. You whimpered at the touch, it was too much too soon, but your hips rocked forward anyway, chasing it.
Sukuna snarled in warning, and his knot gave one last heavy throb.
Then, slowly it began to deflate.
The stretch eased by degrees, the pressure inside you receding inch by careful inch. You whined at the loss, walls fluttering desperately around the retreating thickness.
Before you could mourn it fully, Toji was there, mouth on yours again, tongue stroking deep, one hand sliding between your thighs to circle your oversensitive clit while Sukuna’s claws dragged lightly down your spine.
Sukuna finally slipped free with a wet, filthy sound, cum and slick spilling out of you in a slow, warm rush that made you shiver. He growled but didn’t pull away entirely. His hands stayed on you, possessive, stroking, as though he couldn’t bear to stop touching.
Toji broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips, voice thick with dark amusement.
“Think we can both fit, bunny?”
Your breath hitched.
Sukuna’s claws flexed against your hip in silent answer.
Toji lifted you with the same effortless strength that always made your stomach flutter, hands firm on your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft divots above your pelvis as he slipped you from Sukuna’s hands and drew you flush against him. He settled back on his heels, guiding you down until you straddled his lap properly, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
Your puffy lips hugged his shaft as you slid into position, coating him in the slick from your arousal and the mess Sukuna had left behind. You shivered at the contact, walls fluttering in anticipation, the lingering ache from being knotted earlier only sharpening the need.
He didn’t rush.
His hands slid up your sides, the faint drag of claws making you shiver, until his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts. Then, with a low exhale that fanned across your collarbone, he reached between you, notched himself at your entrance, and pushed inside in one long, steady glide.
The stretch was exquisite, your body still sensitive, still swollen, yielding around him with a wet, welcoming clutch.
You felt the familiar swell of his knot already at the base, pressing insistently against your entrance as he seated himself fully. He didn’t thrust, didn’t rock, just held you there, impaled and full, letting you adjust to the heavy pulse of him inside you.
His gaze lifted over your shoulder.
“Hurry up already, our bunny is waiting” he said, voice rough but steady, directed at Sukuna.
You felt the shift behind you before you heard it, the mattress dipping, the heat of another body pressing close. Sukuna’s chest met your back, solid and fever-hot, furred forearms caging you in from either side. His clawed hands found your waist, gentler than you expected, fingers digging into the soft give of your flesh.
He was feral still, breath ragged against your ear, canines grazing the shell, but the edge had dulled after his first release so when he spoke, the words came low and soft, almost nervous. “Easy, little bunny.”
He swept the damp hair from your shoulder, lips brushing the fresh bite mark he’d left earlier. The kiss was light at first, then deeper, tongue flicking over the punctures as though soothing the sting he’d caused.
At the same time you felt the blunt, slick head of him nudge your rim, hot and insistent.
You tensed for half a heartbeat, the stretch was already so much with Toji buried inside you. But your body was primed, slick everywhere, dripping down your thighs, coating both of them, and Sukuna pressed forward slowly and steadily, until the head popped past the tight ring of muscle.
The burn made you gasp, the stretch almost too sharp, but it melted into something better, something so impossibly right.
Toji leaned in at once, kissing the tears that slipped from the corners of your eyes, licking them away with soft, purring strokes of his tongue.
“Shh, bunny” he murmured against your cheek, voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “You’re doing so good.”
Sukuna mirrored him from behind, kissing along your shoulders, slow open-mouthed presses that left tingling heat in their wake, while his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your hips, anchoring you as he sank deeper inch by careful inch.
When his knot finally pressed against your rim, already swollen, already demanding, you felt your eyes go glassy, vision blurring at the edges.
You couldn’t keep your hands still, scrabbling over Toji’s shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there, then reaching back to grip Sukuna’s thighs, fingers curling into the coarse fur and taut skin as though you needed to hold on to both of them at once or you’d fly apart.
“Please” you breathed, voice cracking, barely coherent. “Move—please move—”
They didn’t need to be told twice.
Toji rolled his hips first, slow at the start, letting you adjust to every thick inch dragging against your walls, then harder, deeper, the motion pushing Sukuna’s knot tighter against your rim.
Sukuna matched him almost immediately, withdrawing just enough to make you whine at the loss before surging forward again, their rhythm syncing until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
You glanced down, breath hitching at the sight of Toji’s cock sliding in and out of you, glistening with your combined slick, stretching you wide around his girth with every thrust.
The view scattered your thoughts until all that remained was sensation.
Sukuna’s hands had already claimed your ribs, sliding upward until his palms cupped your breasts from behind. His thumbs circled your nipples, rough pads against tender peaks, drawing them tighter, making them ache with every lazy pass.
Toji’s mouth followed the motion almost immediately, lips brushing Sukuna’s fingers and closing around one swollen bud with a low groan that vibrated straight through you. His tongue lashed in perfect time with the deep, rolling thrusts of his hips, each stroke pushing Sukuna’s knot a little harder against your rim.
They snapped at the same moment, as though some unspoken signal had passed between them. Their pace turned ruthless, hips driving up into you with bruising force, the rhythm brutal and unrelenting.
Your head fell back against Sukuna’s shoulder, high-pitched moans tearing from your throat in broken bursts. You could only cling to them, one hand gripping Toji’s shoulders, other hand threading into Sukuna’s hair, gripping tightly as soft whines punched out of you with every punishing thrust.
“Come here” Toji rasped suddenly.
He tipped backward in one smooth motion, pulling you with him until your chest lay flush atop his, your hair spilling around you both like water. Your hands tangled instinctively in his hair, tugging as you tried to find purchase. Sukuna kept his grip on your hip, still thrusting into you from behind, unwilling to be left behind.
Toji’s arms banded around your waist, holding you pinned against his chest while Sukuna’s hand stroked up the length of your spine.
You cupped Toji’s face with shaking hands and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was messy and desperate, breathing into each other’s mouths as Toji licked his tongue past your teeth, catching your writhing tongue with his. His free hand gathered your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he could see you clearly.
“You want my knot, baby?” he whispered against your lips, every word dragged across them with the next thrust. You nodded frantically, unable to form words, only soft, broken pleading sounds. “Want Sukuna’s too?”
A desperate whine tore from your throat. Your fingers dug into his scalp, spurring him on.
“I guess that’s a yes” he murmured, a dark scoff curling his mouth, eyes flicking to Sukuna’s over your shoulder.
His thrusts grew harder, stomach bunching beneath you, muscles cording tight as he worked you toward the edge. Your body began to tremble before the orgasm even arrived, as though it already knew what was coming and wasn’t quite ready.
When it finally hit, it propelled you somewhere else entirely.
You shrieked, high and shattered, forehead driving into the hard expanse of Toji’s chest. Your body seized, back bowing sharply before collapsing, only to bow again in helpless spasms. White-hot pleasure surged through every nerve, burning, tingling, kicking you into overdrive until you were nothing but sensation, clenching, fluttering, coming apart between them.
You melted into jello, energy completely spent as they continued to rut. All you could manage were soft, broken whimpers, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, lashes fluttering against another rising tide that felt impossible so soon.
Toji came first.
He rutted up a few more times, short, desperate snaps, then his knot swelled and snapped inside you with a wet, audible pop.
Your walls resisted for one breathless second before yielding completely, stretching wide around the thick bulge. You whimpered at the sensation, walls clutching at him desperately, cheek pressed to his chest, ear filled with the frantic hammer of his heart.
He filled you in thick, molten pulses, cum coating your insides, trapped deep by the knot that plugged you full.
Sukuna kept moving, rubbing at Toji’s knot through the delicate wall that separated them. Toji hissed at the added pressure, eyes screwing shut, hips rocking gently as though he could fuck you again even locked inside.
“Hurry up, dude” Toji rasped, voice strained with exquisite agony.
Finally Sukuna’s shaft throbbed, then he slammed forward, knot locking home deep inside your rim. The stretch was blinding, your thighs shaking violently against Toji’s waist, fat tears slipping from your eyes as another orgasm was wrung out of you.
This one scorched, too soon, too sharp, your voice reduced to a raw, trembling sob.
“Fuck” Sukuna groaned, slumping forward until his chest plastered to your back, cheek pressed between your shoulder blades.
With each thick rope he pumped into you, he seemed to relax further, weight growing heavier, breath slowing until it matched the lazy throb of his knot inside you, tail swishing happily behind him.
“Kinda fucking heavy down here” Toji huffed after a moment, voice rough but amused.
You felt Sukuna’s laugh against your back, a soft, warm puff of air over your shoulder.
“Deal with it” he grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.
They stayed like that, knotted inside you, bodies pressed together, the three of you tangled in a slow, sated heap.
Toji monopolised your mouth the entire time, his kisses slow and deep, tongue stroking yours in unhurried sweeps. Every time you tried to pull back for air, he followed, catching your lower lip gently between his teeth before soothing it with another lazy glide of his tongue.
His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threaded through your hair, keeping you anchored to him even as your body trembled from the lingering fullness inside.
Sukuna claimed everything else. His palms roamed your body, sliding along the dip of your waist, tracing the soft swell of your breasts, thumbs brushing the still-aching peaks until you sighed into Toji’s mouth.
His lips latched to the tender bite he’d left on your throat, kissing, lapping, occasionally dragging the flat of his tongue over the punctures as though reminding himself they were there. The sensation sent warm, liquid pulses through you, each one making your walls flutter weakly around the slowly shrinking knots.
You were little more than a puddle of contentment, body loose, mind soft and drifting, humming low in your throat at every touch, every brush of their lips or calloused palms. Soft sighs escaped you whenever Sukuna’s teeth grazed the edge of the bite, whenever Toji’s tongue curled around yours in that slow, possessive way that made your toes curl.
Eventually, though, the knots eased enough for them to slip free. Sukuna first, then Toji, leaving you empty in a way that felt both pleasurable and aching all at once.
Warmth followed, a gentle rush of their combined release spilling onto your thighs and the sheets beneath.
Sukuna collapsed onto the bed beside Toji with a long, satisfied groan, face more relaxed than you had ever seen it. His eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, the sharp lines of tension smoothed away, leaving something almost boyish in their place.
Toji twisted beneath you, lowering you gently onto the mattress between their larger bodies, careful not to let you fall too hard.
They seemed to shrink back into themselves almost imperceptibly, the fur receding from their arms, elongated canines shortening, shoulders narrowing until they looked more like the men you knew and less like the beasts who had just ravished you only moments ago.
You reached up first for Toji, carding your fingers through his dark hair, still damp with sweat. He slung one heavy arm around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep, greedy inhale as though he could draw your scent straight into his lungs.
Sukuna shifted behind you a moment later, pressing himself along the length of your back. His chest moulded to your spine, one warm hand sliding possessively over your thigh, fingers splaying wide, gripping just firmly enough to remind you he was there.
Their tails flicked lazily, brushing the sheets and bouncing the mattress in gentle, contented little taps.
“Hey” Sukuna murmured against your throat, voice low and unexpectedly soft, like runny honey. “Don’t forget about me, bunny.”
You smiled pressed a quick kiss to Toji’s cheek, before turning in his arms. You wiggled backward until your hips settled cradled against Toji’s, the hard line of him still half-hard and warm against the small of your back. He growled softly at the contact, hand tightening on your hip in instinctive approval.
You pressed your face to Sukuna’s chest instead, nose brushing the inked skin there. Your nails dragged lightly down the strong plane of muscle, tracing one of the bold black markings absently, following its curve over his pectoral, down the ridge of his sternum. He hummed in quiet delight, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through you, and shifted closer until there was no space left between the three of you at all.
The room smelled of them, the sheets were a tangled mess beneath you, damp in places, warm in others. You could feel the slow rise and fall of two chests bracketing you, the steady thump of two hearts, one slightly faster, one deeper, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the restless heat beneath your skin had finally gone quiet.
You were safe.
You were wanted.
And for now, that was enough to let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the low rumble of Sukuna’s purr and the gentle stroke of Toji’s thumb along your hip.
Run, Bunny...Run! (Sukuna x Toji x Reader) Part 3 of ?
Genre: Smut.
Warnings. 18+, female reader, some mentions of violence, fingering, oral sex, shower sex, feral beasts (Rawr!) MDNI!
Word Count: 4,906
Synopsis -
Part 3 of an ask. You're a bunny hybrid, who runs from one hands of a predator, right into the jaws of another. Only problem is, they don't want to hurt you...they want to keep you.
I believe header art belongs to @enden-k
Part 1 (here) Part 2 (here)
Masterlist
The next morning dawns soft and golden, sunlight filtering through the trees in lazy, dappled patches across the small garden behind the cabin.
You’ve claimed the old tire swing hanging from the thick branch of an ancient oak, legs dangling, gently rocking yourself back and forth with idle pushes of your bare toes against the grass.
Toji is out in the yard, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, making a theatrical show of chopping firewood.
He swings the axe with exaggerated flair, muscles flexing under sweat-slick skin, then pauses dramatically after each clean split, flipping his dark hair back like some romance novel hero, one hand on his hip, the other resting the axe head on the chopping block.
Every few swings he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow, revealing the hard ridges of his abdomen, the deep V disappearing into his jeans, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
When he catches you watching, wide-eyed and smiling, he grins, and in one smooth motion peels the shirt completely off. The fabric is damp with sweat, clinging briefly to his shoulders before he balls it up and lobs it straight at you.
It lands across your lap with a soft thump, warm and smelling overwhelmingly of him, salt, pine, and that rich, masculine musk that always makes your stomach flutter.
You burst into delighted giggles, clutching the shirt to your chest like a prize. Your legs kick happily beneath you, the tire swing swaying faster with the motion.
Toji laughs too, delighted by your reaction, and immediately starts posing even more ridiculously. Flexing both biceps, turning in a slow circle like he’s on a runway, winking at you over one shoulder as his tail flicks back and forth.
You’re laughing so hard now your stomach hurts, head thrown back, floppy ears bouncing with every giggle.
He drinks it in, eyes crinkling at the corners, grin wide and boyish despite the scars and the sheer size of him.
Every time your laughter starts to fade he does something more ridiculous, a dramatic hair flip, a slow stretch that makes every muscle ripple, a mock bodybuilder pose that has you dissolving into giggles all over again.
From the corner of your eye, you catch movement.
Sukuna.
He’s at the kitchen window at first, arms crossed, crimson eyes fixed on you through the glass. Unblinking. Intense. The moment your gaze flicks toward him, heat crawls up your neck, feverish and sudden, like his stare alone can raise your temperature.
Later he appears in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, tail flicking slowly behind him. Still watching. Still silent.
The memory of yesterday, of his tongue, his teeth, the way he’d growled against your skin, flashes hot and vivid. Your thighs press together instinctively on the swing.
But Toji is being so gloriously, wonderfully silly, strutting around like an overgrown peacock, flexing and preening and making exaggerated grunts of effort every time he swings the axe, that it’s easy to look away. Easy to focus on him instead. Easy to let his laughter and antics drown out the simmering awareness of Sukuna’s gaze burning holes in your back.
Eventually though, Toji straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Gotta head into town for a bit” he says, voice dropping from playful to serious. He crosses the grass in long strides until he’s standing right in front of the swing, towering over you. One big hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye.
“Stay away from Sukuna while I’m gone, yeah?” His tone is low, edged with warning. “He’ll pounce the second he gets half a chance. I mean it, bunny. He’s not gentle when he wants something. Don’t let him corner you.”
You nod quickly, heart giving a nervous little thud.
He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose. “Be good. I’ll be back before dark.”
Then he’s gone, grabbing his jacket from the porch railing, tossing you one last wink over his shoulder, and disappearing around the side of the cabin toward the dirt track that leads to town.
The yard falls quiet.
Too quiet.
You feel the shift immediately, the air thickening, the playful warmth draining away. Sukuna is still there. You can feel his eyes on you even without looking.
Unease flutters in your chest.
You don’t wait to see if he’ll approach. You scramble off the tire swing so fast it spins wildly behind you, bare feet slapping across the grass as you bolt back inside. Straight through the living room, down the short hallway, into Toji’s bedroom.
You dive under the covers without hesitation, burrowing deep into the sheets that still smell like him. You pull the blanket over your head, curling into a tight ball, heart racing, ears pinned flat, tail tucked against your back.
The cabin is silent except for the faint creak of floorboards somewhere down the hall.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try very hard not to think about crimson eyes, or sharp canines, or the way your body still remembers exactly what it felt like when he finally caught up to you.
You lie there for what feels like an eternity, curled tight beneath the heavy quilt, heart thudding so loudly you’re sure it echoes through the room.
Every creak of the cabin floorboards, every distant bird call outside, makes your floppy ears twitch and your tail tuck tighter.
You wait for the sound of heavy footsteps, for the door to creak open, for that dark, predatory scent to flood the space and announce Sukuna’s arrival.
But nothing comes.
The house stays quiet.
Eventually the frantic racing of your pulse slows to a nervous flutter, and curiosity begins to win out over fear.
You peel back the covers inch by inch, ears perked, listening.
Nothing. No footsteps. No low growl. Just the faint hum of the television drifting down the hallway.
You slip out of bed on silent feet, still wearing nothing but Toji’s oversized black t-shirt. The hem skims the tops of your thighs, loose and slipping off one shoulder, the fabric carrying his comforting scent like armor. You tug it down self-consciously as you tiptoe toward the door, heart hammering again.
The living room is dim, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the TV. Sukuna is sprawled across the couch, legs spread wide, one arm slung over the backrest, the other resting on his stomach.
Some old comedy flick plays on the screen, canned laughter bursts every few seconds, but his face is utterly unamused. Brows drawn, mouth set in a flat line, crimson eyes dull and distant.
The moment you step into the doorway, his head turns.
His gaze slides over you slowly, from the messy tumble of your hair, down the bare expanse of your legs, lingering on the way Toji’s shirt clings to you and barely covers anything. Irritation flickers across his features, sharp and unmistakable. His tail gives one slow, annoyed flick against the couch cushion.
You swallow hard.
“Um…” Your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. “Can I… take a shower?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares. Then he shrugs one massive shoulder, the motion lazy and dismissive, and waves a hand vaguely toward the bathroom down the hall.
“Whatever” he mutters, voice low and rough.
You nod quickly and start to tiptoe past him, keeping close to the wall, eyes fixed on the bathroom door like it’s a lifeline.
But halfway across the room, something makes you pause, instinct, maybe, or that prickling awareness of being watched.
You glance back.
He’s staring.
Openly. Hungrily. Crimson eyes fixed on the bare stretch of thigh where the shirt rides up, on the soft curve of your hip, on the way the neckline slips to expose the delicate line of your collarbone.
For one split second, his expression is raw wanton heat, almost possessive, before he catches himself. His head snaps toward the TV so fast it’s almost comical, ears flicking back in clear embarrassment at being caught.
Your breath hitches.
Heat floods you instantly, a feverish, overwhelming heat that makes your skin prickle. It starts low in your belly and races outward, making you flush, thighs pressed together, slick already gathering between your legs.
You don’t wait another second.
You hurry into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. Your hands shake as you peel Toji’s shirt over your head, letting it drop to the tile floor. Cool air kisses your overheated skin, making your nipples tighten and your tail twitch nervously.
You step into the shower and twist the knob to hot. Water cascades over you in a steaming rush, pounding against your shoulders, your back, your thighs. You tilt your face into the spray, trying to breathe through the rising fever, but it’s no use.
The ache between your legs only deepens.
Sukuna’s stare lingers in your mind, and your body responds like it’s driven to do, with a needy, desperate ache for relief.
A soft, helpless sound escapes your lips.
You rest your forehead against the cool tile wall, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to focus on the simple rhythm of breathing, in, out, slow, steady.
The steam swirls thick around you, heavy and humid, but it does nothing to soothe the rising fever licking through your veins. If you keep going like this, keep letting the heat build unchecked, you’ll be throwing open the door to the wolf, practically begging him to step into the chicken coop.
He’ll catch your scent the second it spikes, rich and needy, and just like in the forest, he won’t be able to stop himself. The thought sends a fresh shiver racing down your spine, equal parts terror and aching want.
Your skin feels itchy, too tight, stretched thin over a body that’s suddenly hypersensitive. Every droplet of water feels like a teasing fingertip, every shift of your thighs makes your swollen clit throb harder. You need something, anything, to dull the unbearable ache.
Your hand slips between your legs almost without conscious thought, fingers sliding through slick folds with humiliating ease. You stroke your clit the way you did yesterday, quick, desperate circles, but it’s useless.
If anything, it makes the fire worse, stoking it higher until you’re panting, chest heaving, hips twitching forward into your own touch. You’re going insane, the need so sharp it borders on pain.
Frustrated, trembling, you reach up with shaking hands and unhook the shower head from its cradle. The warm spray hits your skin as you guide it lower, pressing the pulsing stream directly against your clit.
Your head kicks back with a shuddering moan, thighs quivering. It feels good, the rhythmic pressure pelting your swollen bud, sending bright sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
You rock against the cool plastic instinctively, twisting and angling it, chasing different sensations, trying to find the perfect spot that will finally tip you over the edge.
But it’s not enough.
Not nearly enough.
You choke on a desperate, frustrated gasp, hips grinding harder, water splashing against tile and skin.
Then, the soft click of the door unlatching.
The steam is so thick it hazes everything, but you still see him, Sukuna, filling the doorway like a storm cloud made flesh, broad shoulders blocking the light from the hall. Crimson eyes lock onto you instantly, pupils blown wide.
“Don’t look” you cry, voice cracking, but your hand doesn’t move the shower head away. Your hips don’t stop their frantic little gyrations against the spray. You’re too far gone, too desperate to hide.
He stands there for one long heartbeat, just watching, chest rising and falling fast. He moves then, wrenching the glass door open with a sharp tug. He eases the shower head from your hands and slots it slowly back into the cradle.
Water immediately soaks through his clothes, plastering the white tank top to his chest in seconds. The thin fabric turns translucent, clinging to every hard ridge and valley, the beautiful, brutal strokes of his black tattoos curling over his pectorals and down his ribs, dusky nipples peaked and visible, one pierced with a gleaming silver bar that catches the light with every heaving breath, the strong ladder of muscle along his abdomen flexing as he steps inside.
The sight nearly buckles your knees. Your cunt clenches hard around nothing, a fresh gush of slick coating your inner thighs.
“It’s okay” he says gruffly, voice rough and strained, trying, and failing, to mimic the soothing rumble Toji uses. It comes out jagged, almost uncomfortable, like gentleness is a foreign language on his tongue. “I’m here for you.”
Your bottom lip wobbles, tears of frustration and need stinging your eyes. You hold out your arms towards him, trembling.
“Kuna...” you whine, small and broken.
He moves in an instant, swooping forward, pressing his soaked, heated body against yours from hip to chest. The wet fabric of his tank sticks to your bare skin, cool at first, then quickly warming from the furnace heat radiating off him.
His arms cage you in, one hand splaying wide across your lower back, the other cupping the nape of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot behind one ear.
“What do you want me to do, bunny?” he murmurs, face buried against the side of your neck, nose flush to your throat, inhaling deeply like he’s starving for your scent. His voice is rough, barely controlled.
“I don’t know” you whimper, honest and aching. “Anything. Everything.”
It’s true. Every inch of you throbs, skin buzzing like live static, nipples tight and aching, clit pulsing with every heartbeat, entrance fluttering around nothing. One touch feels like it will send you flying apart.
Sukuna exhales shakily against your throat, fangs grazing the delicate skin there, just enough to sting sweetly.
Then his hands begin to move.
They slip from the small of your back with deliberate slowness, palms gliding down the soft, water-slick planes of your spine, tracing every delicate curve until they reach the firm, plush swell of your ass.
His fingers, claws extended just enough to prick without breaking skin, dig into the supple flesh. The sharp sting makes you bite back a hiss, but it melts into a needy whimper as he pulls your body flush against his, moulding you to the hard lines of his frame.
His cock, thick and rigid, presses insistently against the soft give of your stomach, pulsing through the soaked fabric of his pants, a blatant promise that he craves this every bit as much as you do. The knowledge floods your mind with hazy, dizzying lust.
You mewl, high and desperate, the sound vibrating against his chest as you press closer, needing more of that intoxicating proof of his desire.
One large hand releases your ass, sliding lower. From behind, it slips between your trembling thighs, claws retracting fully now, careful not to hurt you, and cups your dripping heat.
One touch, just the barest brush of his fingertips, and you gasp sharply, back arching in a graceful bow that thrusts your breasts against the soaked transparency of his tank top, nipples dragging deliciously over the hard muscle beneath.
His fingertips stroke through your heated, swollen flesh, gathering the copious slick that coats you, spreading it up and down your cunt in slow, slippery glides that make obscene, wet sounds echo off the tile.
The sensation is electric, every pass over your puffy lips and throbbing clit sending sparks of molten pleasure racing through you. You bury your face against his broad chest, nuzzling desperately into the wet fabric, inhaling the dark, feral spice of his scent as you ache to taste his skin beneath.
Two long fingers enter you slowly, slimmer than Toji’s but so much longer, stretching you open with a delicious burn. They press deep, filling you to the absolute brim, curling immediately to stroke your silken walls, probing with patient, insistent pressure, searching for that secret spot he knows will make up cum quickly.
You glance up at him through the steam, trembling, lips parted on a shaky breath. Water has plastered his salmon-pink hair to his forehead in dark, dripping strands, fat droplets cling to his lashes before falling from the tip of his nose, trailing sensually over the sharp curve of his lips.
Unable to resist, you rise onto your tiptoes, pushing your desperate little mouth against his in a frantic, needy kiss, lips sliding wet and hungry, tongue darting out to taste the water and salt on his skin.
His fingers still inside your clenching heat as he focuses on kissing you back, the hand on your ass shifting to cup the nape of your neck, thumb stroking softly as he tries to slow your frantic pace, to control the rhythm.
His tongue slips past your lips, stroking and flicking against yours in a slow, coaxing dance that makes your knees weak, drawing soft, muffled moans from your throat.
Only then do his fingers resume their gentle thrust in and out, curling deeper, until he finds it. That perfect, spongy spot that has you moaning shamelessly into his mouth, hips jerking forward to chase more.
Finally he pulls away, just enough to break the kiss. A thin, glistening string of saliva connects your lips for a trembling second before it snaps, leaving you both panting.
“Please, please, please” you babble, voice breaking as you arch upward again, grinding down onto his hand, urging him to go faster, harder, anything to ease the aching void inside you.
“It’s okay” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, plunging his fingers deeper. His brow furrows in fierce concentration, jaw clenched tight. He looks tired, strained, like holding back is exquisite torture, too much and not enough all at once. Guilt flickers through your haze. You shouldn’t be asking this of him, pushing yourself on him like this.
“I’m sorry” you hiccup softly, tears pricking your eyes.
His frown deepens, upper lip curling just slightly in irritation. Without a word he thrusts his fingers in harder, deeper and faster, like your apology has personally offended him.
“What for?” he growls. In one fluid motion he steps forward, pressing your back against the cool shower wall, shielding you from the pounding spray. Water cascades over his broad shoulders instead, soaking him anew, rivulets racing down the inked planes of his chest.
“Making you do this” you whimper, closing your eyes to hide the tears threatening to spill.
You gasp sharply as his hot, fat tongue suddenly strokes over your lips, tasting you like a starving wolf. It flicks teasingly along your lower lip before dragging across again, savoring every drop of water and desperation.
Your eyes flutter open, meeting his hungry, ravenous gaze, pupils blown so wide the crimson is nearly swallowed by black.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do” he growls, voice thick with lust. He gives your lips one more lascivious lick, before sucking your plump bottom lip into his mouth, drawing on it with gentle, pulsing suction that makes you whine. He releases it with a wet, obscene pop.
Then he drops to his knees.
His fingers slip free of your clenching heat with a slick sound, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Strong hands grip your thigh, hiking one leg over his broad shoulder, opening you wide, exposed, dripping, trembling under his gaze.
His crimson eyes lock onto yours, fierce and unwavering, as he leans forward. One long, deliberate lick, from your fluttering entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit.
You choke on a scream, hands flying to tangle in his wet hair, fingers gripping tight as pleasure crashes through you.
He leans back just enough to smirk.
“See” he growls, voice husky and triumphant, before diving in again. His tongue wiggles between your puffy, swollen lips, seeking your clit with relentless precision, flicking, circling, lapping hungrily as your hips buck against his face.
Sukuna’s tongue presses flat against your clit in one long, deliberate stroke, slow enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily. The heat of his mouth is overwhelming, wet and insistent, and the first real taste of you seems to snap something inside him.
He groans low against your folds, the vibration rumbling straight through your core, making your fingers tighten in his soaked hair. His hands clamp down on your hips, claws pricking just enough to sting sweetly, holding you open and pinned against the shower wall so you can’t squirm away.
You’re already trembling, thighs quaking around his head, but it’s not enough, not yet.
“Please” you whimper, voice cracking on the word. “Please… tell me I’m good. Like Toji does. Please, Kuna—”
He growls again, deeper this time, feral, lips sealing around your swollen clit as he sucks hard, pulling a sharp cry from your throat. His tongue lashes against the sensitive bud in quick, relentless flicks, then flattens to lap in broad, greedy strokes, drinking you down like he’s starving.
You try again, voice small and pleading, hips rocking desperately against his face.
“Please… I need to hear it. Tell me... Please—”
The growl that tears from him is pure animal—raw, possessive, vibrating right against your pulsing clit. He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot and ragged against your soaked flesh.
“You want praise, little bunny?” His voice is gravel-rough, strained with restraint. “You’re fucking perfect. So wet, so sweet, taking my tongue like you were made for it.”
The praise hits you like a spark to dry tinder. You moan, loud and broken, thighs shaking harder as fresh slick gushes against his lips.
He likes it, likes the way you melt, the way your hips stutter, the way your fingers tug at his hair like you’re afraid he’ll stop. His crimson eyes flick up to yours, pupils blown wide, and something shifts.
He dives back in with renewed hunger.
“So good” he murmurs against your cunt, lips brushing your clit with every word. “My perfect little thing, look at you, dripping for me, shaking so prettily.”
His tongue spears inside you, thick and hot, curling to stroke that deep, sensitive spot while the bridge of his nose grinds against your clit. Then he pulls back to suckle your bud again, harder this time, canines grazing the tender skin around it, just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you how dangerous he is.
“You taste so fucking good” he growls, voice muffled against your folds. “So sweet when you’re this needy. My perfect, desperate bunny.”
Each word of praise makes you clench, makes your thighs tremble violently around his head, makes your moans pitch higher, more frantic.
He’s losing it now, control fraying at the edges. His hands slide up to grip your ass, lifting you slightly so he can bury his face deeper, tongue thrusting in and out in a filthy rhythm.
You’re babbling now, an incoherent mix of 'please, yes, Kuna, more', voice cracking, tears mixing with the shower water streaming down your face.
He growls again, the sound vibrating straight through your core.
“Come for me” he snarls against your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking mercilessly. “Come on my tongue like the good fucking bunny you are.”
It hits like a tidal wave.
Your whole body locks up, back arching off the tile, thighs clamping around his head so tight he can barely breathe, a raw, shattered scream tearing from your throat.
You shatter hard, hips bucking wildly against his face as pleasure crashes through you in blinding, relentless waves. Your cunt pulses and flutters around nothing, slick gushing against his tongue as he laps at you through every tremor, every aftershock, drinking down every drop like it’s his lifeline.
Your legs give out completely.
You would have collapsed if not for his iron grip on your hips, holding you upright as you tremble and shake, body wracked with aftershocks, breath coming in ragged sobs.
Sukuna doesn’t pull away immediately.
He stays there, nose pressed to your mound, tongue giving one last slow, possessive lick from your entrance to your oversensitive clit, before finally easing back. His lips and chin glisten with you, water still dripping from his hair, crimson eyes dark and wild as he stares up at your wrecked, trembling form.
“Good girl” he murmurs again, softer this time, almost reverent, as his thumbs stroke soothing circles over your hipbones. “My perfect little bunny.”
Sukuna eases you back onto your feet with surprising gentleness, one arm banded firmly around your waist, the other supporting your elbow as your trembling legs threaten to give out beneath you.
The aftershocks still ripple through you, lingering tremors that make your thighs quiver and your breath hitch every few seconds. He holds you upright until you find your balance, his broad palm warm and steady against the small of your back, thumb tracing absent soothing circles over your damp skin.
He reaches past you without letting go, knocking the shower knob to off with a quick twist.
The sudden silence is deafening, only the drip-drip of residual water dripping from the shower head and the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing remain.
Steam continues to swirl lazily around you both as he stares down at you, crimson eyes dark and searching. For a long moment he simply looks, hungry, conflicted, like he’s torn between devouring you again right there against the tile and the fear of pushing too far, of seeing that same wide-eyed panic from the forest return to your face.
You stare back up at him, lips parted, chest still rising and falling too fast. You want more, you want so much more, his hands, his mouth, the thick stretch of him finally filling the aching emptiness inside you, but the words stick in your throat, too shy, too afraid to voice the depth of your need after everything.
The tension stretches taut between you.
Then, abruptly, he moves.
He turns to the rack, snatching a thick, fluffy towel and shaking it open with a sharp snap. He wraps it around your shoulders carefully, tucking the edges in front, cocooning you in soft warmth.
For just a heartbeat his mask slips completely, his touch turns tender, gentle. He pulls you against his chest, one arm cradling the back of your head while the other circles your waist, holding you close.
His fingers find the base of your floppy ears, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the sensitive skin there, coaxing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips.
You melt into him, cheek pressed to the wet fabric clinging to his pounding heart, letting yourself have this small moment of softness from the wolf who’s usually all sharp edges.
But it doesn’t last.
His hand stills. His posture shifts, shoulders squaring, spine straightening. The rough mask slams back into place like armor.
“Don’t let yourself get so desperate again bunny” he grumbles, voice low and gruff, though there’s no real bite behind it. The words are more warning than insult, edged with something that sounds like concern.
You nod meekly against his chest, too overwhelmed to argue, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.
He releases you slowly, making sure you’re steady on your feet before stepping back. Without another word he turns and strides out of the bathroom, water still streaming from his clothes in rivulets. You follow at a distance, towel clutched tight around you, bare feet padding quietly on the tile.
In the hallway he pauses only long enough to kick off his soaked boots, then continues toward his bedroom. As he walks, his fingers move to the buttons of his jeans, unfastening them with casual indifference.
The wet denim clings to his powerful thighs as he peels the ruined white tank over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing and rolling beneath the skin.
You stop dead in the doorway, breath catching.
The glorious sprawl of his tattoos is laid bare, bold black lines curling over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the deep valley of his spine, wrapping around his ribs like living shadows.
Water traces every inked path, droplets sliding over the hard planes of his back, catching the low light and making the designs gleam like wet obsidian against his pale skin.
The sight knocks the wind out of you, each inch of you yearning for him. A soft, involuntary whimper escapes you.
Sukuna pauses at his bedroom door, half-turning, crimson eyes flicking back to you over one tattooed shoulder. For a second his gaze darkens, nostrils flaring as he catches your renewed arousal.
Then he smirks, wicked and knowing, and disappears into his room without a word, door clicking shut behind him.
You stand frozen for one heartbeat, then bolt.
You run to Toji’s bedroom like its sanctuary, slamming the door and diving beneath the covers. You burrow deep into the sheets that still smell like him, pulling them over your head until nothing exists but darkness and the muffled thunder of your own heartbeat.
But even here, wrapped in Toji’s scent, you can’t escape the memory of Sukuna’s hands, his tongue, his voice calling to you.
cw - lots of weird shit, dubcon, piss kink in like three of them, anal play, daddy kink… uh dark content?? Idk but just be mindful while reading bc some can be gross.
Toji’s got a fixation—an obsession—with your tail, and it shows in the way he can’t keep his hands off it. You’re bent down to pick vegetables in the garden with your back arched and your butt poking out? He’s already looming over you like a shadow. Rubbing his bulge on your fluffy tail while groaning. He’ll grind against you through his jeans while his big hand cups your tail and squeezes, muttering, “Fuuck, look at this little thing wiggling for me”.
He uses your ears as handles. Doesn’t matter if he’s kissing you, fucking you in the barn, or yanking your bratty ass back into his lap — he’ll tug them just to make you squeal. He loves how sensitive they are, how a light pull makes you whimper and melt. Sometimes he’ll wrap one ear around his fist while pushing his cock deeper, using it like reins.
After a long, sweaty day—he stinks of work and sweat, and he always pulls you right into his spreaded lap before showering. He’ll shove your head down and make you nuzzle against his tented crotch, cooing, “Go on, sweetheart, bunny’s nose belongs right there”. He gets off on you twitching and sniffing him like a desperate little pet while he’s half-hard in his dirty jeans.
He calls you his “little farmhand,” but everyone in town knows you’re really just his cockwarmer. He’ll plop you down on his stiff cock while he sharpens tools or fixes something at the workbench. You’ll sit there stuffed full of cock while it marinates in your creamy cunt, your soft tail brushing his stomach, while he ignores your needy whines. “Sit still. If my cock slips out, you’re getting punished”.
He’ll finger your little asshole just because he can. Usually, when you’re already cockdrunk, drooling, and begging while impaled by his dick—he’ll slide a thick finger up your rim and watch you twitch while swallowing his finger up. He loves murmuring nasty shit while he does it, like, “Bunny’s holes don’t know which one to squeeze harder”. Sometimes he makes you hold a plug while you do chores in the field, just to hear you whimper every time you bend down and it shifts deeper.
Farmer Toji’s favorite way to cum is fucking you on your stomach, burying your face into the hay while he presses your tail down flat and ruts into your ass cheeks while he squeezes them together to fuck between them. He loves watching fat flesh jiggle and spread around his swollen cock, groaning, “Goddamn, this ass was made for me”. Half the time he cums just from rubbing himself on your tail and hole before he even sinks in.
He feeds you carrots straight from the field— except he makes you eat them with your mouth while he rubs your wet pussy with another. Sometimes he’ll stick one inside you and make you keep it there while you squirm around the house. “Don’t drop it, darling. That’s dinner”. He eats it later, laughing while you hide your face in embarrassment.
Toji’s nasty enough to breed you like an actual pet. He’ll force your knees up to your chest, rut into you meanly, and groan about how cute his warm cum looks steeping out of your ruined cunt. “Gonna pump you full every night ‘til you can’t walk straight. My little bunny hole’s nothing but a nest for my cock”. He’s obsessed with how small you are under him, how his fat load leaks down your thighs when he pulls out.
He lovesss fucking you outside, while you’re bent over the fence, tail twitching against his pelvis, his hands on your lower back keeping you pressed down. He gets off on the thought of the neighbors seeing—on you being used like his dirty little slut in broad daylight. He tells you to keep your ears up so anyone passing could see you, even though you whine and protest.
When he’s really mean, he makes you straddle his lap while he milks the cows. Your tiny cunt's stuffed full on his cock, bouncing down gently with every movement he makes. If you whine too much, he slaps your ass and squeezes it hard enough to bruise, and says, “Shut up. You’re just a cockwarmer ‘til I’m done working”. By the time he finally fucks you for real, you’re incoherent, dripping down all his heavy balls and thighs.
Toji can’t walk behind you without grinding on your tail. If you’re carrying a basket of vegetables, he’ll come up behind, sticking his cock between your cheeks, and letting the pre that’s dribbling out his tip leaks on your cotton hair while groaning, “Careful, sweetheart. I’ll spill my seed before you spill those tomatoes”.
He lives to grope you while you’re busy. Washing dishes? He’s behind you, big hands groping your soft tits, cock nestled snugly between your ass cheeks, and letting his angry tip rub against both of your holes. Hanging laundry? He’s got your panties down and two fingers knuckle-deep before you can protest.
Sometimes he just wants to bury his face in your ass. You’ll be bent over feeding animals, and suddenly he’s got your upper body pinned, eager tongue pushing between your cheeks and lapping a long stride from your drooling cunt to twitching asshole. “Mm, your ass smells sweeter every day. Daddy’s addicted”.
He’ll make you ride his cock backwards in the tractor seat while he drives slowly around the property. One hand on the wheel, the other on your hips, muttering, “Don’t stop bouncing. Gotta keep daddy awake”. He spanks your poor cheeks real hard till they’re red whenever you’re slowing down.
He jerks off to your tail when you’re not looking. Sometimes you’ll catch him in the barn, fist pumping his weeping cock while he stares at the way it twitches when you hop around. He doesn’t even look guilty — just smirks, grabs you, and finishes on it instead.
He gets nasty when you wear skirts — always shoving your panties to the side instead of pulling them down. He’ll growl in your ear, “Too much work. Just need your holes”. And he fucks you like that until the fabric is soaked.
Morning wood means you’re getting stuffed before breakfast. He’ll roll you onto your back, still half-asleep, and push in slow. “Shh, bunny. Daddy’s gotta drain it somewhere”. He keeps going until you’re panting, tail twitching, and the sheets are a mess.
He jerks off on your ears just to watch them flop heavy with his cum. Then he makes you lick them clean. “That’s my good girl. Bunny knows daddy’s mess belongs in her mouth”.
He kisses your rim the way most men kiss a mouth — sloppy, wet, sucking at it with obscene pops. Sometimes he’ll mutter against it, “Love this lil’ hole too much,” before stuffing his tongue back in until you squeak.
He’s obsessed with spitting on your cunt. Not once, but over and over, letting it drip in your hole before fingering it deeper. He’ll mutter, “Sloppy holes need sloppy prep,” before shoving his cock in with an nasty squelch.
Farmer Toji hates condoms and pulling out. He cums in you multiple times a day and makes you waddle around leaking, panties soiled and ruined. He’ll check you at the end of the night, pushing two thick fingers in and scooping out what’s left, then shoving it past your lips. “Good bunny eats what she can’t keep inside”.
He’s so vocal and filthy. He’ll say shit like, “You hear that, bunny? Daddy’s cock stirring your guts,” or “Pussy’s foaming all over the place”. He gets nastier the closer he is to cumming, babbling about how tight, sticky, wet, and perfect your holes are.
Toji will piss in the field and make you watch, grinning at your ears twitching as you stare. Sometimes he pulls you over it after and says, “Squat right here, bunny. Mark this spot with me. Let’s give earth a drink, yeah?”. He gets hard just seeing you pee in the dirt, and mixing your piss together.
He jerks off into whatever you’re eating when he’s feeling pervy. He’ll stir it in your oatmeal or smear it on cornbread butter. “C’mon, baby, eat up. Daddy put a little extra protein in there”. He watches until you lick the spoon clean.
He makes you rub your feet on his cock when he’s laid back in his chair on the front porch while smoking. He groans when your toes flex around him, muttering, “Cute little paws. Work daddy’s cock ‘til I mess the floor”.
Toji rarely reaches for lube — he just spits or uses his own cum. He’ll finger your little ass with the load he just pumped inside your pussy, groaning, “Why waste it? Bunny’s holes should be filled with me anyway”.
He’s a pervert about your scent. He’ll push your face into the mattress, spread your cheeks apart, and breathe in deep like it’s air. “Fuck, you smell better than fresh-cut hay”.
He’s gross enough to talk to your pussy while he’s fucking it. “That’s it, sweetheart, squeeze daddy tighter. Good lil’ cunt”. Then he smacks your ass and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll give the backdoor some attention after”.
On long wagon rides into town, he makes you sit on his cock the whole way, skirt pulled down over your lap. He talks casually to passing neighbors while you twitch, cock nudging your cervix with every bump in the road.
When he’s creampied you, he sometimes doesn’t let you run off to the toilet. He takes you to the yard, presses his cock back against your messy slit, and tells you to pee with him while his cum leaks out. “Piss daddy’s load out nice and sloppy. Let me watch”.
He gets nasty about punishing your clit — not mean, just filthy. He’ll tap it with his plump cockhead over and over until you’re squealing, then finally slide in, groaning, “Had to tenderize this little pearl before I overstimulate it”.
Half the time he’s fucking your pussy from behind, he’s spreading your cheeks apart just to stare at your rim twitching at him. “This little eye’s winking at me, begging for daddy’s thumb”. He rubs spit all over it before sinking his thumb in every single time.
While you gush from his fingers, he pins your thighs open and drags his nose side to side over your clit through the mess. He laughs at your squeaks, “Sensitive lil’ pearl loves daddy’s nose more than his cock”.
When you squat to pee, Toji’s already there on his knees, shoving his nose right against your slit while the stream splashes down. He inhales deep through it, groaning, “Fuck…smells so good”. He usually strokes his cock until he nuts in the puddle you just made.
The livestock didn’t even flinch anymore. They were used to it by now.
You were draped over the edge of the old wooden fence of one of the stables like a ragdoll, your little tail flicking erratically as farmer Toji pounded his girthy dick into you from behind. His huge hands squeezes your hips tight enough to bruise, manhandling you back onto his shaft over and over while his heavy body towered over yours—your toes were barely even touching the ground. The creaking wood beneath you almost seemed to shriek with every brutal thrust that the massive man delivered.
“Fucking listen to that shit,” Toji growled, voice guttural as his hips smacked into your rippling ass loudly. “You hear how sloppy this pussy’s getting? Nasty cunt’s fucking singing to me from how wet she’s soaking my cock”.
Your cunt squelched around his thick cock with every rough stroke, leaking down your trembling thighs, soaking the hay-strewn floor beneath your feet. His cock was so fat, you could feel your gummy walls struggling to hold onto him, stretched wide and raw with every deep drag of his length. Your breath came out in helpless, high-pitched gasps, each one bouncing off the barn walls.
“Stuffed full’a cock,” he rasped, letting one hand slide up to your lower back, pressing you down even more until your face was nearly buried in the hay. “Barely any room left, huh?”
You couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t form. Your mouth hung open, drooling onto the wooden beam, tears spilling freely as your body spasmed. Your vision blurred. Your mind was mush. The only thing you could focus on was how brutally stuffed full you were, his cock punching up into you again and again like it was trying to rearrange your insides.
“Bet you can’t even think straight right now,” he groaned against your ear, broad chest pressed flush to your smaller back. “So dumb and empty up here.” He gave your temple a rough, qteasing tap with two fingers. “All your brains are leaking out your drooling cunt”.
A sob tore from your throat — you didn’t even know if it was pleasure or desperation anymore. His cock was stretching you so wide your belly ached, and yet your hips still kept pushing back to meet him, chasing the sickening pressure of his fat tip battering your cervix.
“You keep squeezing me like that, baby, like you’re tryna pull my fucking load out of me,” Toji panted, his voice breaking into a low laugh. “Greedy fucking hole, you’ll get it soon enough, don’t worry”.
Then you felt his rough fingers slide back between your cheeks, spreading your ass wider. Your tiny tail twitched wildly as his fat, calloused thumb circled the little hole in your ass, smearing your slick mess over it.
“You know I’ve been waiting for this, baby,” he murmured, panting against your cheek. “This cute little backhole just winking at me every time you bend over in that short little skirt”. His breath was ragged. “Begging me to stuff it full”.
Before you could even react, his thumb pushed forward, breaching the tight ring. The stretch made your entire body jerk forward against the fence, whimpering like an animal as he worked his thumb in and loosened you slowly. The barn was filled with nasty, wet sounds: your pussy sucking him in, your asshole stretching around his finger, your gasps and mewls bouncing off the beams.
“That’s it. Take both, bunny,” he crooned, almost sweet if it weren’t so fucking nasty. “One cock, one thumb. Little holes stretching so pretty for me. You’re made for this shit”.
Your brain barely functions anymore. Your legs were shaking so bad you thought they’d give out, but Toji had you trapped — his thick arm snaked around your neck now, locking you tight against his chest as his hips picked up their brutal pace again.
“Fucking perfect,” he moaned into your ear, hips snapping forward in hard, sloppy thrusts. “Stretched wide n’ drooling with your ass plugged up— fucking look at you”.
You sobbed brokenly, eyes rolling back as your body convulsed around him, orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. You couldn’t even breathe properly, too full, too overwhelmed — your pussy spasming wildly as he groaned deep and snapped his hips flush to your ass.
“Take it, take it,” he hissed, and then you felt the hot flood of his release pump deep inside you. Heavy spurts of cum filled your cunt while his thumb wriggled deeper into your ass, holding you stretched open as his cock pulsed inside your clenching walls.
The cows were mooing again, the sheep shifting, but neither of you heard any of it anymore.
His breath was shaky and hot on your cheek as he finally let his weight rest on top of you, trapping you under him like you were nothing but his little fucktoy.
“Don’t move, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Might not be done with you yet”.
sum. new year, new you? well you definitely pick up a new kink or two after a visit to the ultra-trendy fitness club, limitless, with personal trainer!sukuna. but when you can't afford another session, will you get your fix with a new obsession?
cw. mdni. major scent kink + sweat kink. reader is down HORRENDOUS. semi-public sex. semi-public masturbation. humiliation. reader is a perv. stalking. reader is a lil degen towel stealing goblin. piv. minor choking/headlocks. gojo is a goof. creampies. unprotected. dry humping. dirty talk. [art by sab_xcvii & sakimenz]
an. so happy to say this was inspired by my bbgirl @sytorusdoll beautifully nasty toji sweat-kink fic so check it out! i know im supposed to be working on other things and tried to toss this over to @yenayaps but she told me i had to write it myself 💞😭 buuuut i am excited to post this on the day of the return of jjk s3 we are soooo back my lil ecchi angels! wc. 7.4k idk how.
The only reason your broke ass is stepping foot into Limitless—the ultra-chic, LED-lit, influencer-infested gym—is because your rich aunt gifted you a year-long membership for Christmas.
You clocked the look she gave you at Thanksgiving—that side-eye scrutiny of you squeezed into a dress that used to fit you perfectly last summer. Let’s just say... the turkey wasn’t the only thing stuffed at the table this year.
But whatever. You’re not complaining about anything that’s free‑99. As a struggling grad student, you’ve been surviving off ramen, iced coffee, and vibes for a year now.
But the second you walk through Limitless’s sleek steel doors, two things hit you—
You’re being sonically assaulted by the unce-unce-unce of euro-house bangers vibrating through the walls like some nightclub in Amsterdam.
The man behind the front desk is unreasonably hot.
Like, offensively hot.
Lounging behind the counter in a black dry-fit shirt that's cropped to showcase his washboard abs, while his toused white hair and stupidly perfect complexion make him look like he's headed to a photoshoot rather than a workout.
Tipping his sunglasses just low enough for you to catch the flash of icy blue eyes, his grin widens as you approach—like he already knows just how completely out of your depth you are.
“Welcome to Limitless!” he chirps. “I’m the owner, Gojo Satoru.”
Like you don’t already know.
Even a ramen-fueled, overworked shut-in like you knows about @ SixPackGod—TikTok’s reigning fitness thirst trap.
Gojo’s got 5 million followers and a cult-like fanbase—naturally, he monetized it by opening a gym. You’ve definitely seen his videos—stretching in ways that should get him banned and somehow making kettlebell swings look erotic.
As if on cue, a group of girls swish by in matching Lulu, Alo, and Vuori sets—tan, toned, and giggling as they wave at him. He winks back, weaponized charm turned up to 100 earning him shrill squees and coos as they exit.
It makes you want to book it the hell out of there. You clearly had no idea what you were getting yourself into, suddenly becoming painfully aware of your ratty anime tee and faded track shorts from high school.
Gojo turns back to you excitedly, completely unbothered by the fact that you look practically homeless. He launches into a rapid-fire tour, rattling off all the high-tech equipment and renovations—some already done, some still on the way.
You nod, clueless, too busy tracing the slope of his arms, the stretch of his shirt, the twitch of long fingers as he talks with his whole body.
Looking back, Gojo catches your totally glazed-over expression.
“Y’know,” he says, flashing you a panty-evaporating grin, “all new members get one free personal training session. Helps you get the most out of the place.”
Gojo steps in closer, charm dialed up to max and absolutely zero concept of personal space.
“Oh—no, thank you,” you say quickly, hands going up in half-surrender, half-subtle plea for him to back the hell up. “I—I can’t afford that. I mean, to continue after.”
You wouldn’t even be in here if your aunt hadn’t paid for your membership. One session probably costs your rent.
And in this economy?
You can barely afford to heat your apartment in the winter.
Gojo just shrugs, all smiles. “It’s freeeeee though! C’mon cutie.”
Cutie!? You!?
“I-I just don’t wanna waste your time,” you mumble, flustered and trying to keep your shit together.
“I don’t mind, you wouldn’t be the first,” Gojo flirts with a wink. “Buuuut, if it eases your worries, I’ll set you up with a girl trainer. Yuki. She’s great! Won’t yell at you… well, much. No strings. Promise. C’monnnnnn babe.”
The drawn-out plea and puppy-dog eyes are ridiculous—but the ‘babe’ seals it.
You fold faster than a wet paper towel in a hurricane, agreeing to sign up for a session on the spot.
What harm could one free session with a girl trainer do?
Except you don’t get Yuki.
Two days later, you show up—and Yuki’s “out sick.”
Instead, standing in front of you is Personal Trainer!Sukuna.
And holy shit—he’s fucking massive.
Like someone compressed chaotic aggression and carved it into pure muscle. Black tribal tattoos snake across his arms and chest, flexing under his tight “trainer” shirt like every inch of him is weaponized.
Your gaze drags from the cut of his shoulders to his chest—and lower, to thighs thick enough to crush a watermelon. And is that—? Oh fuck. There's a heavy print stretching his sweats.
You suddenly get what SZA meant about needing a big boy for winter.
What would it feel like—being pinned under all that weight? Back arched against the mat—
"AYE!"
Sukuna snaps your name like a whip, yanking you out of your fantasy and causing you to flinch so hard your heels lift out of your shoes.
He just looks at you like you’re stupid.
Which, to be fair, at this moment, you absolutely are.
You start babbling, fast and frantic—sputtering about how this is a bad idea, how you’re not going to book more sessions, how you’re probably just wasting his—
He rolls his eyes and gives you a look that screams: I don’t get paid to hear your bullshit.
That shuts you up immediately.
Sukuna’s red eyes then skim over you in a brutally clinical fashion. Unlike your ogling, his glance catalogs every weak point, every soft roll, every underdeveloped muscle in under fifteen seconds.
“Sukuna,” he says flatly. “Your PT.”
That’s it. That’s all the intro he gives you.
“You’re mine for the next sixty minutes—now move!”
You nod like a bobblehead, eyes wide—but he’s already walking away.
Scrambling after him, heart pounding, you try not to trip over your own feet Sukuna leads you deeper into the gym.
Not surprisingly, Sukuna’s intensity is so fierce that you can barely look at him the entire session. He runs you like a drill sergeant—efficient and merciless.
There's zero flirting, no coddling and definitely no encouraging bullshit beyond clipped commands.
When he needs to correct you, he does it physically—grabbing your hips, waist and shoulders with rough, unapologetic hands. Sukuna moves you into position like you’re a piece of gym equipment needing to be adjusted for his use.
His fingers press into muscle and bone like he already knows exactly how your weak little body is supposed to work for him, and it does, struggling yet ultimately bending to his will.
You can only sort of be thankful that Sukuna doesn’t seem to give a fuck that you freeze under his every touch. He certainly doesn’t blink nor acknowledge when you suck in a sharp breath or let out a shaky, humiliating little sound of anguish when his fingers trace over your ribs to correct your posture.
He just keeps going, dishing out relentless commands that push you harder than you’ve ever worked out in your entire life.
“Stop trying to cheat, brat” Sukuna growls, tapping your soft belly—right over your abs—with just enough force to make you squeak like the Pillsbury Doughboy.
“You’re weak here. Engage it. Squeeze tighter. That’s it, good girl.”
Good girl!?
Little does Sukuna know it’s not your core that’s responding but your pelvic muscles, your pussy fluttering wildly at the command like he's addressing her directly.
By the end of the session, every muscle in your body is cooked. Lungs on fire, like you’ve never worked out a day in your life.
And honestly—if this is what real training entails?
Then yeah. You definitely haven’t. Not even close.
Still, for a one‑off session, Sukuna gave you more than enough to continue on your own—form breakdowns, weak points to target, enough structure to build a routine from scratch.
Not that you’re thinking about fitness anymore. You just want to crawl out of here—and into bed.
You’re so worn down, so light-headed, that you don’t even notice you’ve grabbed the wrong towel—Sukuna’s, damp and still warm from use—instead of one of the cool eucalyptus-scented ones the gym provides. You sling it over your shoulders without thinking, wobbling toward the water fountain.
By the time you bend down for a much-needed drink, it practically slaps you across the face.
The aroma of salty sandalwood and heat, along with a musk so dark and undeniably masculine it makes your belly tingle.
Oh sweet fuck!
Warmth floods your senses, spreading through you all the way down to your toes. Your legs begin to quake once more—worse than they did during the three-minute wall squats Sukuna forced you to hold.
You’re no virgin—but you’ve never been affected by a man’s scent like this.
Ever.
You spot the laundry bin the moment you step into the women’s locker room—your rational brain whispering to just drop the towel and walk away.
Your hand hovers over the bin… but lingers a second too long. Voices now echo behind you as a group of women enter.
Snatching the towel back on instinct, your pulse spikes as you shove it into your locker like illicit contraband. There's no time to think more about it as you rush to the showers, hoping cold water can cool off whatever the hell is happening in your brain.
The shower soothes your muscles but it does nothing for the fire in your belly rapidly increasing.
Already weak, you slide down the cool tile. Water beats against your body as your fingers slip between your thighs on instinct. You circle your clit once, twice, then trail lower, pushing two fingers into your cunt with shaking hands.
You bite your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, acutely aware of how thin the walls are, how public and just wrong this is.
Yet no matter how hard you work your fingers, you can’t scratch the itch.
Even angling yourself so the water beats directly against your clit doesn’t get you there.
Shiiiit. You can’t even get off properly. Argh!
Frustrated and flustered, you finally give up. Shutting off the shower, you towel off in record time and book it out of the locker room—but not before stuffing Sukuna’s sweat-drenched towel deep into your duffel like contraband.
Glancing around you attempt to play it cool as you make your exit… only to duck your head a little too obviously as you pass the front desk.
Gojo, of course, spots you anyway. He waves at you cheerily and you try not to flinch as you force a smile and wave back, doing your best to look inconspicuous.
Nothing at all like the perverted little horn-dog thief you actually are.
You drive home like a woman possessed. The second your door clicks shut behind you, you’re already bolting for your room.
Shoes kicked off in a hurry, your duffel landed on the bed with a heavy thud. Your hands shake as you fumble with the zipper, pulse pounding with the insanity of what you’re about to do.
There it is.
The stolen towel, still damp and filthy, you lift it to your face and inhale like it’s oxygen itself.
God, that hits!
Your eyes lodge into your skull as the odor particles hit your brain, your mouth and pussy watering instantly.
This is wrong.
Disgusting.
Depraved.
And yet—you can’t remember the last time you were this fucking horny.
You don’t even undress properly—just shove your shorts down, kicking them off with your panties as you hurriedly reach into your nightstand.
Got it!
The suction vibrator hums to life in your hand as you collapse back against the pillows, towel pressed over your face.
The second the toy clasps over your clit, a gasp punches out of your chest, your eyes flying open.
Embarrassingly slick and oversensitive, your body reacts like it’s been waiting for this since his hands were on you. Your hips grind into the suction with helpless little thrusts.
The crumpled towel muffles your moans as your brain fills in the blanks—his voice, his hands, his tongue in place of the toy.
His gruff voice berates your thoughts.
Push harder, brat.
Hold it. Take it.
Good fucking girl.
As far as your delusions are concerned the soreness in your muscles isn’t from the workout, but from him folding you over the bench, stretching you open with this hefty cock and working you over until you’re shaking for an entirely different reason.
Trembling, your hand almost slips as your orgasm builds, causing you to arch into the vibrations.
Engage it! You hear him growl.
And you do—just like he taught you as you bury your face deeper into the towel and flick the button increasing the pulsing suction on your throbbing button.
When you come, it hits you all at once.
A breathless cry tears out of you as your body locks up—pleasure tearing through you. You cling to his scent, hips jerking as you ride the overstimulation until you finally go limp.
Lying there afterward, dazed, sweaty, staring at the ceiling in quiet horror because even through your shame the hard truth is—you want more.
And like an addict after the first hit—you’re already clicking the wand back on.
By morning, to your horror, the scent has already started to fade from the towel and the panic that claws up your throat is immediate.
You know you can’t afford another session...
But an unhealthy obsession?
That, you can manage.
After that, the gym doesn’t just become part of your routine—it is the routine. You start showing up religiously, like you’re worshipping at the altar of your own filthy fixations.
Well, for your workouts too. But mostly?
You come for him. Sukuna.
Like a fucking weirdo you start watching Sukuna from a distance.
In mirror reflections. From across the floor. From behind machines.
You just… observe—quietly and patiently—drinking him in like a thirst you can’t quite quench.
You never try to make eye contact though, nor dare to try to make conversation.
Hell no, you’re too terrified of him for that.
Plus Sukuna didn’t seem like the small talk type.
On the rare occasion your eyes do meet in the gym in close passing, you barely manage a stiff and squeaky, “Hi” before darting your eyes away, like you’ve been caught doing something illegal.
Which, honestly, feels kinda accurate.
But you weren’t really doing anything bad right?
You were a gym member. He worked there.
Of course you’d see him. It’s normal.
Super casual.
Just like you casually timing your workouts to use machines near wherever he is training clients. Hoping to get close enough to maybe, just maybe, catch another whiff of those musky pheromones that rewired your brain chemistry and wrecked your sense of normalcy in a single afternoon.
Your jealousy hits fast when those bubbly influencer girls, all high-ponytails and matching sets, laugh way too loud at things he definitely meant as insults and actually have the nerve to try to cling to his adonis-like form.
The only consolation is they are usually crying by the end and few rebook in return, making Sukuna's regulars mainly men who want him to tear them apart so they can have even a fraction of the physique he does.
Yet man or woman, Sukuna runs them into the ground. He doesn’t care how pretty they are or how hard they flirt or how much they protest.
It doesn’t take long to realize something else, either:
Sukuna’s harder to book than Gojo.
You only got him that day by pure fluke—Yuki was out, and someone canceled.
Sure, Gojo’s the golden boy. Content king, the face of the gym and the main draw to why people sign up for the ridiculously expensive membership in the first place.
But Gojo’s sessions are all vibes. He jokes, flirts, counts a few reps, and always films a cute reel for your socials—just as long as you make sure to tag him and the gym.
But Sukuna? Sukuna doesn’t even have social media.
You only go to Sukuna if you’re serious. Or masochistic.
Or just plain obsessed.
Like you.
No one leaves his sessions looking camera-ready. They leave wrecked.
And goddamn—that just makes you want him even more.
Once, while leaving the gym, you spot the personal trainer shift schedule—just left out on the front desk.
Plain as day, just sitting there in the open.
You don’t mean to look. You really don’t.
But the next thing you know, you’re pretending to scan a QR code on a sign advertising the gym app (which you downloaded weeks ago), while sneakily snapping a photo of Sukuna’s hours instead.
You nearly shit yourself when Gojo pops up out of nowhere.
Grinning, smoothie in hand, he starts chatting you up like you didn’t just commit a minor felony.
Panicked, you mumble something about catching your bus—
…while holding your car keys in plain view like a dumbass.
Then you bolt outta there like your name is Usain.
But minor mortification aside, from that day on, your visits become a lot more strategic.
You realize Sukuna comes in at the ass crack of dawn to train before his shift.
So, naturally, you start showing up even earlier—just to watch.
Today’s upper body, apparently.
You find Sukuna posted up at the shoulder press, casually repping weights that are triple your mass. His black tank clings to him, sweat-darkened and stretched across his chest like it’s trying to merge with his skin. You swear it looks just as desperate as you are to be pressed against him.
Getting visibly annoyed at the clingy fabric, Sukuna rips the tank off one-handed, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor like it had personally offended him.
You nearly fall off the elliptical at the sight.
His bare chest is on full display now—tatted pecs glistening, thick and meaty, bouncing slightly as he pumps out reps like it’s nothing.
You’re barely moving.
The machine beeps at you, flashing “INACTIVITY DETECTED.”
Chile, you don't even notice.
You’re too busy imagining burying your face in those muscular mounds, tits squishing against your cheeks while he presses you in deep and lets you suffocate in nirvana.
God, you just want to motorboat your face into them until you pass tf out.
Unknowingly, a soft whine slips out of you.
Louder than it should in the mostly empty gym, even with music pumping.
Sukuna’s eyes flick over toward you.
Fuckkkk.
Caught, your neck twinges from how fast you whip your head away.
You don’t dare look back, but you feel Sukuna watching you. His stare scorches a hole straight through your soul.
You don’t look anywhere other than the ellipticals display until Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice calls Sukuna over from the back office, waving encouragingly like he’s summoning a particularly grumpy doberman.
Leaving all his stuff at the machine, there's a distinct growl of annoyance from Sukuna as he rolls his eyes and stomps away.
Alone now, your gaze slides back to the shoulder press machine.
The black leather shines under the overhead lights—drenched, shining like a fucking beacon, soaked through with Sukuna’s delicious man‑sweat.
Practically calling to you like an obscene siren song.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re already in front of the machine.
You’ve never even used it before—but that’s not about to stop you now.
Under the pretense of adjusting the weights, you crouch down and press your nose to the seat where Sukuna had been sitting.
A salty musk clings to the cushion.
Mmm, pungent. It’s so fresh. God, it’s been too long since you’ve smelled him this intensely.
A shudder rips through your spine as you inhale deep, chest stuttering.
Quickly, you glance around, checking to make sure the coast is clear. It is. Then you do something you never would have considered doing just a few weeks ago—you lean forward, tongue peeking out of your drool glossed lips and lick a lingering bead of sweat straight off the backrest.
Oh damn, Oh fuck!
This must be what heaven tastes like.
Suddenly, a door booms open from the back. You hear Gojo’s laughter, in near hysterics as and Sukuna’s grumbling something you can't quite make out.
Startled, you bolt upright, heart slamming into your ribs.
You don’t think, you just know you can’t get caught licking seats like a freakazoid so—you book it.
By the time you stumble into the locker room, panting you notice something in your hand—
It's practically saturated with sweat, beads dripping down onto your sneakers. Biting your lip, you know you just can't walk out there and give it back to him.
You'd look bonkers.
And worse—you can still feel his warmth in the fabric.
Shit! Darting into the nearest bathroom stall, you slam the door shut, sitting on the toilet lid as you stare at the dirtied tank in your hands.
You are absolutely fucking disgusting.
And you don’t give a solitary fuck.
Without hesitation, you wring the fabric out over your open mouth, catching the salty drip on your tongue. A moan fumbles from your lips as you lick them, before you stuff the fabric into your mouth and slurp it down glutinously like its holy water.
From there, it only escalates further.
A few days later, a long sock falls out of Sukuna’s bag in the lobby.
You bend down like you’re tying your shoe and swipe it when no one’s looking. At home, you loop it around your head—hands‑free—covering your nose while you grind against a pillow until your thighs ache.
You steal water bottles.
Sweatbands.
Once, you even snag a pen he’d been chewing on—lift it straight off his clipboard and stuff it into your pocket. Later, you suck on it like it’s his tongue while your fingers work between your legs in the women’s locker‑room showers.
Yeah. You get over the embarrassment of getting off in the private stalls pretty fast.
It goes on like this for weeks.
No matter how much you take, telling yourself it's the last time. It never is.
It's never enough.
When Sunday rolls around, you show up at 5:30 bright and early—well, not bright exactly.
The sun isn’t even out yet, but as expected the gym’s a ghost town.
Just Gojo behind the front desk, humming to himself as he uploads another fitness thirst trap video, sipping an energy drink he definitely doesn’t need.
“Morning, cutie. You’ve been looking good lately,” he calls out as you enter, flashing a devilish grin that throws you off before you’ve even cleared the threshold. “Reconsider any personal training yet? Sorry again about Yuki bailing. But you enjoyed Sukuna, riiiiight?”
You freeze mid-step.
Gojo hasn’t brought up training since that first—and only—session.
He doesn’t know anything… right? So then why bring it up now?
“Ah, um—no, I did,” you stammer. “It… it was great. Amazing, even. B-but like I said, budget is so tight it’s nonexistent.”
You laugh nervously and Gojo hums like he's thinking something he’s not outright saying. “Mmhmm. Got it.”
Before you can slip past the desk though, he continues: “Oh! We just installed an infrared sauna, you should check it out! No one’s even used it yet, give it a test go for me will ya?”
Gripping your bag tighter, you offer a weak noncommittal smile, eager to get away from Gojo’s amused eyes.
But upon entering the main workout area your mood dips immediately.
No sign of Sukuna.
Goddamn it.
Early Sundays are usually your favorite—You always get a front-row seat to Sukuna’s infamous leg day routine. Full of squats that show off just how dummy thick his ass is.
Still, if you dragged yourself out here, you might as well make it count.
Surprisingly, when you pick up the 25lb dumbbell you used to struggle with, it feels light. Stalking clearly is a workout—your gains speak for themselves.
Usually, your “sessions” don’t last long—mostly an excuse to ogle—but today you grab a towel and decide to hit the new sauna tucked in the back.
You might as well do Gojo the solid, your study group isn’t until noon.
Besides, you’ve never tried the regular Saunas—too self-conscious to sit half-naked next to glossy, influencer types. But the gym’s a ghost town and the new one is down a quiet, empty hall.
Perfect.
Stripping down in the locker room, you wrap the towel around yourself and head down the corridor.
There’s only one sauna, but a paper sign slapped on the door reads Women’s, so you don’t think twice.
Stepping inside, the noise from the main floor vanishes, sealed off by thick walls. The red glow of infrared lights paints the wooden heatbox in a soft, sultry rouge.
It’s oddly peaceful.
You breathe deep, lowering yourself onto one of the benches. Your limbs still ache from your half-hearted workout, but the heat is a balm. Eyes fluttering shut, you let it melt into your muscles, loosening tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying.
But your mind refuses to settle. Ten minutes, maybe less, go by, and all you can think about is Sukuna.
That wild pink hair. That gruff voice. Those hands. And of course—that stench.
You squirm slightly on the hard wooden bench, warmth pressing in from all sides. The silence thickens around you, humid and still. Your legs part just a little. A hand slips beneath your towel, nudging it up past your hips.
Sure, this is way more public than the showers… But no one’s around. Just Gojo up front—too busy refreshing his comments section to do any actual work.
Relaxing, as soon as your fingers dip into your folds—
Creak.
The door swings open.
Scrambling, you snap your legs shut, crossing them tight. Your hands fold in your lap like you’ve been sitting politely this entire time.
Adrenaline in overdrive, just when you think it can’t get worse—Sukuna steps in.
Shirtless, only in swim trunks, with a towel slung over one shoulder, Sukuna's torso gleams. The visible temperature of the sauna makes him look like a tempting mirage.
Pool? Since when does he swim? Also, you didn’t even realize the gym had one.
Breath stuttering you clutch your towel tighter around you.
“Um, e-excuse me, M-Mr. S-Sukuna?” you mumble, refusing to meet his eyes, “T-This is the women’s sauna”
Sukuna just looks at you incredulously.
“Cut that Mister shit out right now brat—tsk, but who the fuck said that?” he huffs, “There’s only one. It’s unisex.”
There’s plenty of room across from you, even on one of the upper levels. But Sukuna sits next to you, the bench creaking under his hefty bulk.
You swallow hard. “Ah, er… b-but the sign—?”
“What sign, you dizzy brat?” he smirks, flashing a single sharp canine.
Scrambling to your feet, you crack the door open and scan the hallway.
You blink at the walls, the floor, the door itself but the sign is nowhere to be seen.
Where the hell did it go!?
“Get your ass back in here and close the damn door,” Sukuna grumbles. “You’re letting all the hot air out.”
You straighten, nearly dropping your towel as you scurry back inside to avoid his wrath. Still mumbling apologies, you hover near the door—until Sukuna throws you a look.
You flinch, then shuffle back to your seat beside him.
Okay, girl, be calm.
But that's near impossible when you are internally freaking the fuck out.
Your thoughts race to find an excuse to leave. But the moment you turn toward Sukuna to speak, every thought evaporates—unlike the thick sweat beading along his tanned skin, your gaze zeroing in on a drop rolling lazily between his sculpted pecs.
You’d kill for a taste of that right now.
“You look good,” he finally says, causing you to jump, which only seems to amuse him.
You blink. He means you!?
Well… you suppose you can slip on your thanksgiving dress without a fight now. But you hadn’t really noticed—too busy splitting your time between school, the gym, and gooning yourself stupid over Sukuna.
Somehow, you’ve turned into a regular gym rat.
“You’ve been doing the sets I taught you, yeah?”
You nod quickly.
Sukuna doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable as silence stretches between you. But you are stuck, frozen like a deer in headlights—fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
Unfortunately for you though, patience has never been a virtue of his.
“Tch.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly fed up.
“Is that it? That all you’re gonna say for yourself?” His questions are intense as he eyes you down. “Didn’t take a freaky lil’ brat like you to be so damn shy.”
Hello!?
“Um, what—?”
Sukuna’s expression hardens further, his teeth sucking sharply as he leans in.
“Don’t bullshit me, brat. You’re into some kinda perverted stalker shit, right?”
Well…tea but damn, saying it like that makes you sound crazy.
“I—I don’t—what are you talking—”
“Careful.” Sukuna cuts you off with a sneer. “Lying’s not your strong suit.”
He shifts closer, thigh brushing yours, arm on the upper level bench draping behind you.
Dear god, he's so close you can smell him now.
The scent of his sweat curls around you like a chain, thick and oppressive in the heat, seeping into your pores.
The same scent that lives in the sock under your pillow. The tank you sleep in. The towel on your nightstand. The water bottle. All the stupid little trophies you stole like a greedy hoarding goblin.
“There are cameras in the gym,” Sukuna says casually—like he’s reciting policy, although his eyes never leave yours. “When my shit started going missing, I checked the footage.”
You would die on the spot right now if that was actually a viable option.
“I saw everything, woman” Sukuna spits, “You’re a fuckin’ freak. You should be locked up.”
Shitshitshit—is he actually going to call the cops!?
The sauna feels a thousand degrees hotter. Your instinct screams run—but you know you wouldn’t make it to the door if he decided to stop you.
“Ha, you know…Gojo called me into the office that day on purpose,” Sukuna adds, clicking his tongue, “He didn’t believe me that a quiet lil thing like you would be such a fuckin' weirdo at first, so he’d thought it’d be funny set a lil trap for ya.”
Your stomach drops… trap? Oh god, that day…
"Tch, a'course you fuckin' fell for it too—just like I knew you would…licked that groadie bench down like a slut."
But Sukuna, is unbothered by your falling apart, not softening his blows.
“You think I didn’t see you sniffing benches?”
“Licking the rim of my shaker bottle?”
“And that sock I dropped?” He snorts. “Wore that shit for five days straight. Smelled like rank ass.”
A broken sound slips out of you—half gasp, half whimper as you bury your face in your knees, trying to scrunch up in the tightest ball possible.
You can feel Sukuna looming closer though, his aura utterly overwhelming.
“Just admit.” Sukuna’s voice lowers, a bit gentler but not by much.
“You’ve been stealing my shit to flick your slutty little bean for three months straight. Figured you’d own it, now that I’m giving you a chance.”
Peer up at him from your knees, you look puzzled.
A chance??
“You, um… mean you're not mad?”
His grin widens, sharp teeth flashing.
“Oh, I’m fuckin’ pissed,” he says easily. “That some greedy, perverted brat’s too cheap to pay for more sessions, so she creeps on me and steals my shit like a freaked out leprechaun…”
You grip the edge of the bench, ready to run. Out of the sauna. Out of the gym. Out of the goddamn country. Nine months of prepaid membership? You’d flush it down the drain and never look back.
“…but,” Sukuna interrupts your spiral, licking his lips, “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working. Like you’ve got my voice in that nasty little head of yours… telling you what to do.”
He leans in just slightly, voice dropping with heat.
“And that? That gets me hard as fuck.”
Your eyes drop. His shorts are tented—thick, obscene, stretching toward his thigh.
Pulling away from you, Sukuna leans back, spreading his arms along the bench behind you like he owns the place.
“Come here, brat.”
You freeze, just a beat too long—long enough to piss him off and before you know it Sukuna is grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, hauling you into his lap. Your towel slips in the process, falling around your hips.
But you don’t even notice as his thumb presses beneath your jaw, tilting your face up to focus solely on him.
“Look at me, woman.”
Your throat tightens, holding his gaze, forced and trembling as your palms press flat to his chest and your bare pussy rests on his thick cock, still caged in his shorts—yet you still feel the twitch of it through the material.
The contact hits you like a fever, soaking into your naked body like fire. At long last, you are skin to sin, you imagined this more times in the last few weeks than you can count.
You can’t help the tremor that ripples through you.
Sukuna’s lip curls.
“So…”
SMACK.
His palm cracks against your ass, the punishing blow, has you biting down on your lip not to scream.
“You like the way I stink, huh, slut?”
Your bottom lip quivers and sick of holding it in, your degeneracy boils over in your admission.
“Oh fuckfuckfuck… yesss!”
God, that felt good. Like confession—but instead of relief, all it does is stoke the heat rolling through your body. You’re no sinner seeking redemption—you’re reveling in your own depravity.
Sukuna chuckles, pleased at your admission as his grip tightens at the back of your neck, yanking you forward until your face is buried in the thick curve of his raised arm.
Right into his funky pit. The epicenter of everything you’ve been chasing.
“Then get a good whiff, freaky-ass brat.”
And you do. Eyes fluttering shut, you bury your face in the muggy pocket of sweat and inhale—deep, greedy lungfuls that make your pussy clench helplessly around nothing.
Sukuna reeks of unfiltered masculinity. No deodorant. No pretense. Just thick heady pheomones—raw, musky and pungent.
You don’t care that you’re naked. Don’t care that you’re in public.
All you care about is getting more. More of him. More of that addictive stench that’s already rewired your addict brain.
“That’s it,” Sukuna says, “Just like that. Fucking knew a nasty brat like you’d melt.”
You whimper against his skin, but shame doesn’t stand a chance anymore—choked out by sheer, throbbing need.
This is your sickest fantasy made flesh.
You nuzzle deeper, nosing through the soaked pit, surprised by how smooth the skin is—just a faint dusting of pink fuzz tickling your cheek. The texture alone makes your clit throb.
A needy moan slips from your throat as your hips roll forward on instinct, grinding against the fat stiff ridge straining in his shorts.
Already dizzy and feral, you rut shamelessly—slick soaking through the fabric—like you’ve long since forgotten what the concept of dignity even is.
Sukuna growls, teeth clenched as your soppy cunny smears across his thigh.
“Shiiit,” he grits out, voice rough as gravel. One big hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding languidly through your messy folds, far too composed compared to the frantic buck of your hips.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time?”
He snorts at the pitiful sound you make.
“What—never thought to get your fix straight from the source, huh? Fuckin’ scent junkie?”
You whine, helpless, hips jerking as he pushes a thick finger inside your perverted lil’ pussy.
“Where’s your shame, slut?” Sukuna jeers teasingly, “You want someone to walk in here and see you like this?”
You couldn’t care less.
You could die like this. And die happy.
Eager to show your gratitude your tongue drags wet and slow through the sweaty hollow of his pit, flicking, swirling and sucking at the flesh.
Your tongue swirls more obscenely at his praise—devouring the taste of him like you’ll never get another chance.
Exhaling hard, Sukuna knows if he doesn’t stop you, he’s going to fucking bust soon, just from your vulgar lil’ tongue in his pit and from the feral way you dry hump his cock like a deranged, funk-drunk perv.
“Say, brat?” Sukuna’s tone is laced with something dangerous but you’re too far gone to register, only groaning into his skin.
Sukuna loosens his grip on your neck just slightly to stroke the back of it, deceptively gentle.
“You do your warm-ups today? The ones I showed you?”
“Mmm—ah—” Your mouth breaks from his skin just long enough to mumble a blissed-out, “Always do~!”
“Good,” Sukuna chuckles, shaking his head “This shouldn’t break you then.”
Before you can blink, Sukuna yanks you from his pit.
He manhandles you face-down, ass-up on the bench, forcing your spine into a brutal arch.
There’s a rustle behind you—the sound of fabric hitting the floor.
That’s the only warning you get.
Then he slams in.
One brutal, bottomed-out thrust—balls deep—and the air rips straight from your lungs.
“Ngghh!—F-FUH!”
Your thighs spasm, cunt clenching tight as Sukuna rams straight into your G‑spot, slick pulsing out around his cock and soaking him to the heavy sack.
“Called it,” Sukuna snorts, smacking your ass, watching it ripple. “The crazy ones are always fuckin’ gushers.”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Completely incapacitated, you quiver beneath him—already fucked too dumb by his veiny girth splitting you open. No time to brace. No chance to adjust.
Just reduced to a shell, a fucktoy for his use—and fuck, it feels sooo good.
“Quit squirmin’, woman,” Sukuna growls, landing another smack—harder this time—making even the cheek he didn’t hit jiggle.
You’re desperate to follow orders—but you barely know where you are anymore. The sauna’s heat blurs your vision, your brain melted by the fire in your core and the way Sukuna’s cock throbs inside you, turning your guts to mush.
“Tsk. Not stable enough—looks like you need a spot.”
Sukuna plants one foot, swinging the other up to plant on the center of your back, pinning you in a shape exactly to his liking. Locked into position at the perfect depth, angle, and tilt to pound into your spongy walls and pound straight into your womb.
“There,” he grunts satisfied, “Perfect fuckin' form.”
The sauna fills with the sound of sloshing flesh. You’re leaking from everywhere—sweat slicking your skin, tits dripping, cunt gushing around his cock. The bench beneath you is drenched, an obscene puddle collecting under your trembling limbs and dripping onto the floor.
It’s messy, it’s vile and it’s the hottest sex you'd ever had,
“Take it,” Sukuna roars. Spreading your ass cheeks wider, he hunches over you, crescent moons digging into your flesh for leverage lest he slips out of your slick cunt entirely.
“That’s it. Fuckin’—tight little thing, *puh*” Sukuna grits, spitting.
The fat wad of fluids hits the top of your crack, pooling with the sweat dripping off his brow and your own, rolling in rivulets down your back, dribbling down—all messily coalescing in the crack of your ass. The mixture bubbles over your hole as it flutters, struggling to take it in, but Sukuna’s thumbs keep it stretched open, ensuring it does.
Fuck what a filthy sight—it hasn’t even been that long and already his balls are tightening, wanting to explode in your crazy, stalker coochie.
“Look at you,” Sukuna pants, muscles twitching, the sauna’s heat finally catching up to even him. “This is the real training ya needed. Been too long since this freaked-out pussy had a good workout.”
“YESSSSS!” you cry, it feels so good, but it’s all too much. You’re seconds from blacking out.
Your hands claw at the bench, nails leaving streaks in the wood as Sukuna, removes his foot from your back, grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright, putting you in a headlock.
Each brutal thrust snaps your body forward, cheeks stinging with every slap of his hips against your ass.
“Sniff,” he orders. Thrusting harder with each word. “Breathe. It. All. In.”
But his arm's tight around your throat—you can’t breathe.
Everything collapses into sensation: the choke of his hold, his scent pouring over you, the heavy weight of his body pressing down, the wet flick of his tongue in your ear before he bites the shell just to hear you squeal.
“You wanted this,” he mocks, voice ragged. “Earned every inch, creepin’ on me like a filthy lil’ perv.”
The moment his palm smacks your swollen clit, your orgasm detonates.
Bruttally ripping through your body, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.
You’re sobbing in pleasure, helpless, as Sukuna swears under his breath—but doesn’t slow.
He fucks you through the aftershocks, pussy squeezing him in erratic, wet pulses that has him coming undone.
With a final, guttural grunt, Sukuna’s cockhead presses flush to your cervix, thick, hot ropes of white flood your womb, searing your insides until you’re dazed and seeing galaxies behind your lids. Keeping you pinned in the headlock, Sukuna holds you there until the worst of your spams subside, finally pulling out with a wet, heavy pop.
You’re half-conscious, limp from exertion—but Sukuna isn’t finished.
He lowers you onto your back, spreads your trembling legs, and drops between them to survey the looks of your battered, swollen cunt, still plugged full of his cum.
“You know,” Sukuna smirks, “You’re not the only one into musky shit, slut.”
You shiver as he licks his lips—then dives in, hungrily sucking his own cum out of your pussy, groaning low as the cocktail of scents flood his senses.
You have no idea how much time passes. Surely there’s no cum left—yet Sukuna’s still down there face buried deep like your folds like your pussy juice was the much needed recovery electrolytes his body craved after fucking you into the bench.
If you had the strength, you’d push him away.
But you don’t.
You just lie there, ruined and twitching, as he rips another body racking orgasm out of you.
Click.
Unexpectedly, the sauna door creaks open.
You can barely see now with all the sweat dripping into your eyes—but the voice is unmistakable.
“…Well, well.”
Gojo.
He’s standing in the doorway, a green smoothie in one hand, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Oh,” he says, sipping through his straw. “Thought I heard some suspicious moaning through the vents. Wanted to make sure no one was dying back here.”
Panicked, you try to sit up—but Sukuna doesn’t let you. His arms lock tight around your thighs, dragging your ass back down onto the bench with a scowl.
He doesn't even look at Gojo.
Gojo snickers, lounging in the doorway. “I know I of all people shouldn’t judge but, Sukuna, buddy. The women’s sauna?”
“Unisex,” Sukuna grunts into your cunt. “You labeled it wrong on purpose, dickhead.”
“Guil-ty~,” Gojo sing-songs. “But hey—look at you! Finally got your dick wet in some crazy stalker pussy. I definitely did you a favor.”
“The both of you actually,” he drawls on, swirling the straw of his smoothie like a martini, “I did leave that trainer schedule out on purpose. Didn’t think you’d go full gremlin though, girliepop, but hey—looks like it paid off!”
A pathetic sob escapes you—half humiliation, half pleasure—especially when Sukuna tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down like a meal that won’t stay still.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna snaps, surfacing just long enough to glare at Gojo’s smug ass. “You’ll scare her off. She’s jumpy enough.”
Gojo merely laughs it off.
“Nah, not this one,” he says, eyes glittering with mischief. “After indulging that freaky lil appetite? You’re the one who should be scared, Kuna~.”
But Sukuna clearly doesn’t give a fuck—he’s already back between your legs, this time sliding his thumb into your ass.
You jolt, thighs shaking violently, muffling a cry behind your hands as your body bucks against his mouth. Although, given the situation, you still are considering skipping town when all of this is over.
“Well, don’t stop on my account.” Gojo hums. “I’ll throw a cone outside so no one wanders in on your little… aroma therapy session~”
Just before disappearing, Gojo pauses in the doorway, faux-pouting.
“Oh—and next time, you fuck little miss agora hills? Invite me. Or I’m docking your pay for unauthorized client sessions—okay toodles~~!”
Click. The door swings shut behind him.
Sukuna doesn’t even look up.
Tch. Like hell he’s inviting that fruity-smelling bastard.
an. this was a hyperfocus brain obsession i had to thug out, soz. going back to work on elevator p2, freddy!sukuna and incel!naoya [if i didnt mention it no im not working on it right at this second, yes i do plan to finish it, please don't bug me about it :) ]
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
your owner, shiu, had warned you that toji was in rut. you should’ve listened. you were just so needy and in heat too that you couldn't help it and went to him for help.
shiu was sitting back on the couch, cigarette glowing between his fingers, watching as toji had you pinned to the carpet, not making an effort to help you. your little nails scrabbled at the floor as the massive wolf hybrid drove into you, panting against your ear.
“stop fighting,” toji growled, claws digging into your soft hips as he held them up, tail lashing as he rammed into you at a brutal pace. oh, you regret ignoring shiu's words, but it felt so good that you just couldn't stop coming back to him every time you were in heat.
“easy, toji,” shiu said lazily, blowing out smoke. “don’t hurt her, she's a rare breed.”
toji snarled, extremely rut-drunk. his tail lashes behind him, sharp teeth bared in a savage grin. “i’m not hurting her. look, she's soaking.” he pushes your legs to open up further with one hand, showing shiu the slick coating his cock every time he pulled out.
you buried your face in the floor, ears twitching in pleasure as the humiliating squelch of your arousal filled the room.
“p-please,” you gasped, desperate. whether you were pleading for mercy or more, you weren’t sure.
shiu exhaled a long drag, smoke floating into the air. "ease up. she's going to get hurt.”
but toji didn’t stop. he pushed you flat, his weight caging you beneath him. “fuck, that's it. take it, you were made for this,” he growled. his thrusts grew more erratic, deeper, harder, and your thighs shook violently in response as you let out more of your delicious moans.
you cum, your fluffy ears flattened against your soft hair as you scream into the carpet. shiu always made sure to take care of you well, but he didn't know what to do when you were in heat other than give you pills. but toji did. without the pills. and he always made you feel so good.
you twitched beneath him, whimpering from the stretch of his large cock in your smaller cunt, but he didn’t let go. his teeth sank into your neck possessively.
"enough, no marks," shiu said, finally standing up, stubbing out his cigarette. he crouched beside you, fingers catching a tear slipping down your cheek. his smirk was lazy, mocking. “told you, bunny. can’t say i didn’t warn you.”
his hand drifted lower, brushing over your red, overstimulated clit, making you jolt.
his thumb circled your clit lazily, a contrast in how soft the pressure was compared to the brutal stretch of your cunt around toji’s cock, which was still buried in you. your thighs are trying to squeeze shut, only for toji’s massive frame to keep you spread wide.
“sensitive, are we,” shiu hummed, watching the way you twitched against the carpet. “he’s got you filled up nice, hm?”
toji gave a low growl, eyes narrowing. “she wants more.” his hips shifted, grinding deeper inside you, your nails clawing helplessly at the rug. “this greedy little bunny always does.”
shiu’s thumb pressed harder, making you choke on a moan. “what a mess,” he said, tilting his head, lips curling in a smirk.
your fluffy ears twitched, pinned flat against your hair, and the sound you made was something between a sob and a whine.
toji’s teeth scraped over your neck again, careful not to break skin again, because then shiu would be upset. you came hard around toji, clenching so tight it pulled another snarl out of the wolf hybrid.
“fuck…” toji groaned. “can’t hold it…'m gonna fill her up again.”
“go on,” shiu said smoothly, watching your expression as his thumb worked you through another climax. “breed her stupid. she’ll take every drop, won’t you, bunny?”
your head nodded weakly into the carpet, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks as you cum yet again, leaving you boneless under them.
and that was how your heat usually went after shiu bought toji.
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