the sun pours over your body as you walk along empty handed with sukuna holding all the bags and beach equipment. baby!yuji patters along on the mildly hot sand, running on levels of adrenaline only a six year old could muster.
the beach is filled with families similar to yours, children playing in the water, people tanning in the deliciously hot sun and rounds of volleyball being tossed around by large friend groups.
sukuna places down your lounging chairs with an attached shaded umbrella, and plops down with all the bags containing various miscellaneous things.
yuji sticks his tongue out slightly, eyes lighting up with mischief and tries to make a beeline for the water before you grab him by the collar.
“no one gets out there without sunscreen” you wave a finger at him, instructing him to settle down.
yuji pouts impatiently swinging his legs while you get out the bottle of kids sunscreen and rub it on every bit of his exposed skin.
your son wrinkles his nose when you reach for his face applying the lotion in soft rhythmic motions. you proceed to pinch his cheeks and give him a little kiss there while yuji giggles.
sukuna watches you fuss over the brat with mild amusement. his eyes squint under the sun, and drop to admire what you’ve got on.
a frilly little thing exposing your beautiful curves.
sukuna scans the area noting any men looking towards your general direction and stares them down with a cutting glare only he could manage. a look that screamed ‘look away before i come dislocate that head myself’ for good measure.
while yuji runs off to play in the sand, you turn to him with the sunscreen bottle in hand and a knowing smile.
“your turn”
sukuna scoffs from where he’s sprawled back in the beach chair, one arm lazily hanging off the side.
“i don’t burn”
“yes you do”
“i literally don’t”
“your nose got pink last time”
his eyes narrow immediately, “it did not.”
“you then complained that it itched and brooded about it the whole time”
“i don’t brood”
you hum ignoring his offense entirely and pat your thighs.
“c’mere”
he stares at you for a long second before clicking his tongue and leaning forward anyway because despite all his dramatics, sukuna has never once denied you when you used that tone on him.
you snort as sukuna settles in front of you. his massive frame blocks the sun completely and he smells like saltwater and heat already despite barely having stepped into the ocean.
you squeeze sunscreen into your palms and rub it across his shoulders.
his muscles flex beneath your hands while you smooth lotion over the dark markings curling along his skin, careful and thorough despite the way he eyes you.
you drag your fingers over his neck and jaw, rubbing sunscreen into the bridge of his nose while he looks deeply inconvenienced by affection.
“look down”
“this is humiliating.”
“look down, so i can get the back of your neck.”
he grumbles under his breath but tilts his chin downward anyway. his previously bored, half lidded eyes, dilate at the sight of your cleavage, right. in. his. face.
how blissful.
yuji bursts into giggles. you had spiked up sukuna’s hair to stand up in a funky way.
“you look funny papa”
sukuna grimaces.
“want me to throw you into the ocean?”
“yeah!”
“…”
you laugh so hard you nearly smear sunscreen into sukuna’s eye.
you take turns, with sukuna now applying sunscreen onto your back.
eventually yuji tears off toward the shoreline with a plastic bucket in hand, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.
you lean back into your chair with a satisfied sigh while sukuna sits beside you, one arm draped lazily behind your head.
for a while the two of you simply watch.
yuji jumps over tiny waves, yelling triumphantly every single time he successfully crosses one.
he crouches to collect shells with complete seriousness only to abandon them three seconds later because another wave has appeared.
his little laugh carries over the water. your chest feels warm.
“he looks like you when he gets excited,” you murmur, nuzzling against the base of sukuna’s neck.
“poor kid”
you elbow him lightly, “it is cute sukuna, you are cute”
before sukuna can mull over your words, yuji suddenly turns around spotting the two of you immediately.
“papa!! come here!!”
sukuna pretends not to hear,
“papa!!”
you mouth a slight ‘go’ as your husband sighs dramatically before obliging as per usual.
the water reaches just beneath his knees when yuji grabs his hand excitedly and starts dragging him around with all the strength a six year old could possess.
you pad in after them enjoying the waves and the feel of soft sand beneath your bare feet.
you smile to yourself. it is almost absurd seeing sukuna getting ordered around by a child carrying a neon orange shovel.
yuji points toward a lopsided sandcastle near the shore, “help me make it BIGGER” he sticks his arms out to act out how big he wanted it to be.
sitting back down on your chair you try not to look too amused as sukuna crouches down into the sand.
his large hands awkwardly shape wet sand while yuji gives deeply unnecessary instructions beside him.
“more tower”
sukuna looks over at you, pleading for an escape. you wave him off.
“it’s a sandcastle not a fortress” he mutters back.
“more tower” yuji runs about, sometimes gathering sand and sometimes water. most of the time being largely unhelpful.
sukuna clicks his tongue and adds another tower.
hours later the sky begins softening into gold.
yuji’s exhausted enough now to become clingy, dragging his feet through the sand while holding onto sukuna’s hand.
“i need to wash my feet” you brush sand off your legs with a tired groan.
before you can even move, sukuna bends down and scoops you into his arms effortlessly.
you yelp, “kuna—”
he pats you lower thigh,“stop squirming”
people nearby glance over briefly before immediately looking away once sukuna glares in their direction.
you hide your snicker against his shoulder while he carries you toward the rinse station near the boardwalk.
the water runs cool over your feet as he holds you securely against his chest, an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing at all.
yuji stands beside him sleepily rubbing his eyes.
once your feet are clean, sukuna sets you carefully onto the bench.
then without a word, he crouches down.
you blink.
“..what’re you doing?”
he grabs your sandals from beside the bench.
“your feet’ll get dirty again.”
years of loving him and your heart still stutters stupidly.
sukuna slides the sandals onto your feet one by one with mild annoyance etched across his face, but you know better. his love language when it came to you, was acts of service.
meanwhile yuji watches with narrowed eyes, “papa..?”
“what.”
“that’s sooo romantic” he smiles ear to ear.
sukuna immediately flicks water at his forehead.
yuji screeches dramatically while you laugh loud enough that people turn to look again.
“where did he even learn that?” sukuna asks, a mild smile overtaking his usual harsh features.
you shrug, in a dream-like trance, the domesticity of this moment making your heart soar.
and for once, sukuna doesn’t care at all.
firefly; you guys wanted longer fics so hehe i hope this was good
choso has developed a very specific grudge against your vibrator.
it started when he found it by accident—tucked in the drawer beside your bed, pink and unassuming, looking about as threatening as a tube of lip balm. he picked it up, turned it over in his hands, pressed the button once. it buzzed to life with a cheerful little hum, and he just… stared at it. like it had personally offended him.
now he watches it. when you’re not home, when you’re in the shower, when you’re asleep beside him. he doesn’t touch it again, but he thinks about it. a lot.
"it’s not fair," he says one night, lying on his back with his arm behind his head. you’re scrolling on your phone, half-listening.
"what isn’t fair, cho?"
"that thing. it makes you cum in two minutes. i counted."
you pause, lowering your phone. "you counted?"
"yeah." he sounds genuinely upset about it. "i timed it. two minutes and fourteen seconds. i take twelve. minimum."
you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "choso, are you jealous of my vibrator?"
he doesn’t answer right away, staring at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. "…maybe."
the next time you’re in bed together, he’s different. focused. like he’s studying for an exam and your body is the textbook. his fingers are careful, tender , mapping every spot that makes you twitch. "tell me when it feels good," he murmurs, watching your face. "like, exactly when."
you’re already breathless, your hips rolling into his hand. "fuck— cho…! r-right there—"
"okay. don’t move." he stays right where you told him, his fingers working in tight, precise circles, and when you cum, it’s with your hand fisted in his hair and his name on your lips.
he looks up at you after, his expression unreadable. "how long was that?"
you blink, still dazed. "i don’t know. five minutes?"
his brow furrows. "better. but not enough." he’s already reaching for the drawer. "can i see it again?"
you sit up. "choso, what are you—" he pulls out the vibrator, examining it like it’s a cursed object he needs to understand.
"i want to watch how it works. on you. so i can learn."
you stare at him. "you want to… study my vibrator. while it’s on me."
"please?" he says it so earnestly you almost can’t say no.
"…fine. but if this gets weird, i’m taking it back."
it doesn’t get weird. it gets filthy.
he has you on your back, legs spread, the vibrator pressed to your clit while he watches with rapt attention. every time your hips jerk, he notes it. every time you moan, he adjusts the angle. "there," he says, almost to himself. "that spot. you like it here, baby?"
you’re gripping the sheets, your thighs shaking. "ch-choso! i’m gonna—"
"not yet." he pulls the toy away, earning a whine from your kiss-swollen lips. "i’m learning," he explains, almost apologetic. "i need to see how long it takes. how your body changes. what happens right before you finish." he does it three more times—brings you to the edge, pulls back, studying your reactions like he’s dissecting a curse. by the fourth time, you’re sobbing, your voice hoarse, your mind fuzzy.
"choso, please, i can’t—"
"okay," he says softly, finally pressing the vibrator back where you need it. "you can cum now. i’ve got you, there’s my pretty girl. doing so well for me."
you cum so hard your vision whites out. when you come back to yourself, he’s lying beside you, the vibrator turned off and resting on his chest like a trophy. "seven minutes!” he says, sounding pleased with himself. "i beat it."
you laugh, weak and breathless. "you’re insane." he turns his head to look at you, his expression soft. "i just want to be good for you. better than that thing."
you roll onto your side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "you already are."
he’s quiet for a moment. then, "can i keep it? for research."
you groan, burying your face in the pillow. "you’re never living this down." he just smiles, small and proud, already planning his next experiment.
˖ ࣪ 𑣲 ❤︎ 𝓗.𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃!𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𓂃 ⊹ fucks his rider in his stable with his huge horsecock
♡. your record-breaking horse is upset with you after you both lose the championships. so he takes it out on your pussy :: hybrid!au :: smut :: rough sex :: p in v :: size difference :: choking :: dirty talk :: marathon sex :: creampie :: overstimulation :: rider!reader :: horsecock. . .
"F-Fuck— hnghhah, toru slow dowwwnnn."
"You promised. Promised— promised me we'd. Fuck, you promised me we'd win!"
Large hands doubled a nasty choke on your throat. Crushing you down into a bundle of hay while his hips clamour into yours. Skin slapping skin. His flesh bruising yours. A filthy, messy web of cum and cream stringing between your shaky thighs. Drenching his long, silky white tail that limped over your leg.
Everyone said your horse was special. Strong. Fast. You gave him a name that meant enlightenment. Gojo Satoru.
But no one knew exactly what he was.
The equestrian world sung praises to your name. The most beloved jockey of the century. Leaving competitors choking up dust under Satoru's fast hooves.
Not this time, though.
A mishap. A miscalculation. Maybe you both got too cocky. Maybe you shouldn't have promised him something you couldn't guarantee.
Now, you were dealing with the monster you created. Your loyal steed. Your overly competitive horse hybrid.
Pinning you down in his lavish stable you built just for him. Hay poking at your soft flesh as his big hands hold you down. Wrapped tight around your neck. As he shows you just how strong and fast of a stallion he truly is.
Everyone talked about a horse's speed.
A horse's reliance.
Elegance.
But no one. Absolutely no one. Talked about just how good horse cock could stretch out your poor pussy.
White riding gloves still on as one hand digs into his hulking shoulder and the other fists the hay. Your riding gear strewn across the stable floor. He'd ripped off whatever he could. Left you vulnerable for him. The one he trusted most— now split open and crying on his cock that smothers you in bursts of creamy cum.
"You— you promised—" Satoru huffs above you. Jaw set tight and horse ears pinned down in his snowy hair. Agitated. As his hooves dig into the floors and he hunches over you. Smacking! his brutal hips into you meaner.
"You promised. You said— said we'd win. Said we'd always— win!"
"Sorry, 'm sorry. Oh fuck toru." You croak, throat bobbing against his palms as your teary eyes meet his wild ones. The bit piece is strung around his neck now. Messy in his saliva. Messy like the rest of him.
His cock grinds deep. Suffocated into every sweetspot. Every nook and cranny. Pressed tight on your spasming cervix. He can't even fit it all in. Some inches left to soak up your spilling juices and pulse thick, heavy veins at his base.
He's stretching you out. Splitting you open. Spilling his frothy cum again and again. Penance for your lies. For riling him up.
"I— I hate you," his ragged voice cracks above you. Pounds pummelling your squelching pussy as his movements blur. A frenzy of heat and feralness as he takes his anger out on your warm, clenching walls.
"Hate you, hate you s'much. Hate. . ." Tears prick at his eyes. He hiccups and slumps his head onto your forehead. Drowning in your crossing eyes as his thrusts turn shallow. Mean, nasty smacks that jolt your body.
His hands flex round your throat. Then one slips down. Splays over your tummy and presses down on the bulge he leaves behind.
"Mngh, fuck. It feels s'good. Why does it feel so good when I'm mad at you?" His voice husks.
Both of your hands slipped up. Burying into his fluffy hair. Tugging hard like you would the reins. Your hiss cut into his hair.
"Mad at me? You could have been faster," you quivered.
Slam!
Your cry chokes out into a pitiful gurgle. His blunt teeth dig into your shoulder. Hard.
Hips ramming at lightning speed. Heavy balls harassing your folds with soaked, filthy slaps. Strong pelvis meshing with your clit and spasming you into several-stimulated orgasms all at once.
"This fast enough for you?" Satoru sneered.
Eyes wide and bright blue as he yanks back from the bite he marked on your flesh. Glaring above you with something near-animalistic as his hips batter against yours. Cock driving into you ferally. Recklessly. Pounding your cervix and plunging into every spot that had you sobbing.
"This fast enough? Yeah? Am I fucking this pussy fast enough?"
He's panting now. Chest heaving. Face blotched. A snarl fixed on his mouth as his hooves stomp on the ground. Agitated. Like his nasty thrusts that jerk your entire body. Squish your ass and pummel your thighs into a shaking, apologetic mess.
"Please—!" You sob, mouth hung as your head limps back.
Your hands drag from his hair. Down his shoulders. One to the hand holding your throat and the other to his elbow. Holding him. Your trusted steed. Your loyal stallion.
"Please. Please toru— fuck. 'm gonna cum again."
"Again?" His grunt pierces above you. Hand shoving on the bulge to squeeze the pressure. Stir you into a whimpering mess.
"Gonna cum all over my cock again? Even though you're a lying slut?"
"M-Mhhm! I— ah. toru please. So sorry. I love you. Y'know I always love you—"
His breath hitches.
Pace faltering.
Once. Just once. Only to spur into a clamouring frenzy all over again. Splattering your cum and hammering your cervix. Because he hates failure. Cause he didn't wanna lose again. Didn't wanna falter. Slow.
"Sh-Shut— shut up," he whines, thumb reaching down to circle your throbbing clit. "Just shut up and cum. Cum f'me. Please. Cum cause you still love me."
The crack in his voice has you holding him tighter. Trying to string him closer. As his thrusts turn sloppy. The webbed mess between your thighs and the goey froth evidence to how many times he's pumped you full. How long he's been going. Trying to prove himself to you.
You know your poor stallion's tells.
"Cum, please." He's begging now. Eyes teary. Ears droopy. His thrusts stuttering into a messy fumble as both his arms hook around you. Shoving you into his hard body. Clinging onto you as if you'll disappear, as his mouth presses atop your head.
"Please. Please, please— I'll be good. I'm so good. I'm still a good boy, right?" He whimpers, shattered.
"Always," you hiccup, arms hugged tight around his neck as your nails dig into his flexing shoulder blades. "A-Always my good boy. Always. Fuck. Toru cum with me. Please."
"Gonna cum—" he nods, rasping as he buries his face into your hair. Pace picking up into a final, rough, maddening spurt. As he pounds your pussy into a filthy, squirting stream.
His sob drowns into a long, needy whine. His hips smacking harder. One more time. Two more times. Three— before he finally bursts.
Thick, creamy pools of cum splatter your clenching, climaxing walls. Frothing you up for the nth time that night. So violent that some spurts right out of you. Bubbling around your slit and spilling all over the hay together with your cum.
Heaving. Trembling. Satoru's hulking body collapses into you. Slumped over you like hes trying to tuck himself away in your warmth. Like he isn't twice your size. Like his half-hard cock isn't wedging you open and choking your quivering pussy.
Still, your hands hold him. Limp on his shoulder blades as he sniffles in your hair. Still rocking his hips in a pitiful, haphazard hump.
"Fuuckk, I hate this." His little sob on your hair has you holding him tighter. "Hate losing so much."
"I-I know toru. I know, sshhh. . ." you soothe him as best you can. Quivering under the weight of his power and heavy cock still plunged so deep within your overstimulated cunt.
"It's gonna be okay," you mumble.
He huffs through his nostrils. Face buried in your shoulder as his wet tail hangs low between his legs.
And as his breaths even out, you think he's fallen asleep. Finally settled. Finally calm.
Until a nasty, wet, shlap! slams on your pussy and you croak a whine.
"t-toru— c'mon, said I was sorry." Your whimper's cut off by a choked whine as large hands bunch your thighs. Shove you further into the hay. Bending you in half for him as he drags away to glare down at you with those brilliant, wild blues.
"Well 'm not ready to fucking forgive you yet." He snarls. Cock already hard again. Still deep inside.
His nails dig under your knees as he folds you into a nasty position. Stretching your poor, abused cunt out and forcing her to take more of him.
Rough, and deep, and grinding so dirty on your cervix as he looms over you. Hips ramming in a hard, amping pace.
"Better hold on tight," he huffs a chuckled nicker above you. As a cruel grin spreads over his lips. His face leans closer. Dangerously so.
A heated, deep drawl drags from the depths of his throat. Rasped. Wild like the feral stallion he was.
★ pairing: brother's best friend!satoru × f!reader
★ synopsis: satoru should know better than to hit on his best friend's little sister.
P.S. 1) if you saw this before, no, you didn't....... 2) listening to tate's song while reading is heavily advised ( run for the hills - tate mcrae )
next part
"so it's decided?" satoru asked. "we're going to the bar i talked about?"
"bar? i thought we rulled that out," said aiko, your sister in law.
"no, come on?! why would we rule it out? the night is young and we're like two minutes away from it."
"we got here by car, meaning suguru can't drink," she argues, nodding towards your brother.
"she can drive my car and nanami will drive yours, deal?" satoru squeezes your hand looking for approval.
"I'm fine with it," you reply.
"okay," nanami says as well.
"fine, but let go of my sister's hand," suguru adds. "you've been all over since all evening."
"be serious. I'm taking care of her. we wouldn't want her to get lost, right?" he grins, your fingers still intertwined as he starts walking.
you get to a not so busy area as it was the middle of the week. music was blasting from everywhere and neon signs were distracting you.
"here," satoru stops you. "this is the best bar in town."
"you come here often?" you ask, instantly regretting how obvious it sounds.
he holds the door open for you as a smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn't reply.
inside you all settle at a table. a small group plays beer pong nearby.
"we should play too," satoru says enthusiastically.
"I've never played this shit," suguru fires back.
"fuck off," aiko says, her eyes on the menu.
you and nanami stay silent though all of this. as the youngest and least connected you both felt out of place.
suguru and satoru have been friends since highschool, which is almost 10 years. suguru and aiko have been together for half of that, meaning she knew satoru almost as well as your brother.
you didn't. you met briefly once at your brother's birthday, about seven or eight years ago when you were way too young to care. nanami is a new friend of satoru's, neither one of you knew him until a few weeks ago, and so, more or less, you both find yourselves similar situations.
"fuckin'...okay then." satoru sighs. "what do you want to drink?" he asks you.
"i don't know. surprise me?"
"nah, we don't play like that. tell me what you want and I'll get it."
"well, since i have to drive i guess I'll have a green apple, thanks."
"alright. geto come order for your girl. nanami, get it yourself," he says heading to the bar.
as soon as only you and aiko remain at the table she leans in. "stop holding hands with him," she scolds you. "you know he's an ass."
"he was holding my hand, i didn't–"
"doesn't matter."
you know she's only looking out for you. satoru's reputation preceds him and he's also your brother's best friend and you shouldn't cross that line.
you don't get to defend yourself because the boys return to the table with the drinks.
"here," satoru places the mocktail in front of you while holding his glass of whisky. you thank him.
the night goes on and no matter how much you try to avoid him, he still finds his way back to you. either his hand is resting on your thigh under the table, or his knee brushes against yours, acting like a couple for a reason you don't know. and it's not like you were so familiar for him to be so touchy. you've only met four times over the 10 years your brother has been friends with him.
the second time was not so long ago, actually. it was at your brother's wedding when you're almost certain satoru hit on you just to piss suguru off, which worked. maybe he's doing the same now? you didn't know.
third time was not long after the wedding, when you tried to keep your distance, something he isn't letting you do tonight.
after a few hours of drinking and the boys reminiscing stupid shit they did in highschool, aiko says: "it's getting kinda late, no? maybe we should get going."
"yeah, i have to go to work tomorrow," nanami says. "satoru too."
"wouldn't be the first time i sleep two hours and then go to work. don't worry about me nanami, I've got stamina," satoru winks.
"we also have tk leave early," aiko adds.
"well, my city so it's on me tonight," satoru says.
"you're just showing off in front of my sister," suguru scoffs. then his eyes norrow, as if he just remembered something. "and wait, why is my sister driving your car? can't nanami drive yours?"
"you don't know where i live."
"we could follow you?"
"it's a big city, you could get lost easily. my plan is much simpler."
"ok, but I'm riding with you two."
"come on, suguru. she's literally driving the whole time. plus, i wouldn't do anything with your little sister."
he was such a liar.
"you say that, but you definitely don't act like it," your brother snaps.
"I'm just doing it to piss you off," satoru shrugs.
"okay. she can ride with you, but only because i trust her better judgement," he reluctantly lets it go.
"wow, thank you for finally acknowledging me as a person," you roll your eyes.
"if i find out you tried anything–"
"yeah, yeah. you'll kill me, blah, blah." satoru rolls his eyes. "heard it before."
"good."
"can we leave now? preferably before you start wrestling in the middle of the bar?" aiko stands up.
suguru hands nanami his keys.
"see you at my place," satoru grins, lacing his fingers with yours.
"you don't have to get on his nerves all the time, you know?" you mutter as the rest head towards the exit.
"it didn't cross your mind that i actually wanna hold your hand?"
it did.
it definitely did.
but he also said he's doing it to piss off his friend. was he playing with you? he wasn't oblivious to the effect he had on you. he had to be doing it on purpose.
"drive safely," suguru calls once you reach the cars. "don't listen to that dumbass next to you," he stares at satoru.
"if we don't meet at mine, just know she took your advice to the heart and we will probably have to–"
your brother clicks his tongue dramatically. "you know what i meant, fucker!"
satoru smirks, pleased with himself.
he unlocks the car and opens the door for you before placing the key in your hand, his fingers lingering a little more than necessary.
"i trust you will be gentle with her," he winks.
as soon as he gets in you start the engine. you can feel his eyes on you, but you choose to ignore him.
you barely even make it out the parking lot before you notice him shifting in his seat. his arm drapes over the back of your headrest. a few moments later his hand is on the back of your neck. he starts massaging slow, with deliberate pressure. he knows exactly what he is doing.
you tense immediately under his touch and he notices.
"relax, you're gonna leave a print on my wheel," he chuckles.
"your hand is distracting me."
"you don't like it?"
"it's not that. it's just that it's distracting. do you want me to crash your car?"
"you won't crash."
"if you keep doing that there's no guarantee i won't."
"just say you don't like it," he pulls his arm away.
at the next red light you reach over and place your hand on the back of his head, mimicking what he was previously doing to you.
"imagine I'd be doing this to you while you're driving."
"I'd love it."
"it would distract you."
"not necessarily," he clicks his tongue. "but maybe you don't want me to be gentle?"
his hand returns to the back of your neck, grabbing a handful of hair and lightly pulling at it, sending a shiver down your spine.
"satoru–" your breath catches. "jesus fucking christ, do you actually want me to crash your car?"
"not my intention, but whatever happens, happens," he chuckles.
the light turns green and you take off. his hand stays on you.
not constantly, he toys with you.
fingers brushing your neck, sliding up to your hair, tracing the curve of where your jaw meets your ear.
he watches you pull into the parking lot with the same lazy interest he had in the bar.
"you're amusing pretending to be be unaffected," his lips curl into a smile. "terrible liar, though."
"I'm not pretending anything."
"of course you aren't."
you park the car and try to regulate your breathing back to normal without him noticing, but of course he notices. how could he not?
"careful, dear."
his fingers brush your neck one last time. "if you're this worked up just from me touching your neck I'm really gonna have to behave inside."
nanami pulls in right beside you.
"then behave."
"I'm trying," he grins. "you're the problem."
his apartment is dimly lit and looks effortlessly expensive. as soon as suguru sees the sofa he throws himself onto it, pulling his phone out to dumbscroll. "god, I'm beat."
"drama queen," aiko rolls her eyes, tossing her bag next to suguru.
"I'm gonna take a drag before going to sleep," nanami says, heading toward what you assume was the balcony.
"me too," satoru says, looking for the lighter in his pockets.
"me three," aiko glances at you, then tilts her head toward the balcony as a subtle 'come on'.
you follow them out, the glass door sliding shut behind you. the cool night air hits your face first, followed by the faint sound of the traffic bellow.
you’re only two steps onto the balcony when satoru reaches back without looking and hooks a finger through your belt loop.
he pulls you gently toward him. then not so gently. suddenly your back is against his chest again, like earlier in the car. you’re about to step away when his arms slide around your waist like he's allowed to do that.
and his hand finds the back of your head. again. gentle strokes, deliberate pressure, enough to make your breath hitch once or twice. yet your body is still stiff.
"relax, I'm not gonna push you off the balcony."
"that's not the issue," his thumb brushing the base of your skull.
"mhm," his finger circle a soft spot. "thought so."
aiko stops her conversation with nanami and eyes the two of you.
"satoru, keep your hands to yourself," she says pointing her cigarette at him.
"they are," he says, smiling against your temple. "to myself."
"that's not what that means," she snaps.
namami snorts before putting out his cig to go back inside. aiko follows him after a moment, muttering something about idiots. you try to go too, but satoru pulls you back in his arms.
"stay with me a bit," he asks.
"why?"
"you keep avoiding me, pretending–"
"i know what you want, satoru," you cut in, sharper than intended. "it ain't gonna happen."
he goes quiet, not because he's offended, but because he's intrigued. his fingers slide deeper into your hair.
"and what is it," his head dips lower. "you think that i want?"
you roll your eyes. "you know what."
"no, tell me."
"to mess around, prove a point, piss off suguru?"
he hums. "i wouldn't be doing this much just to piss him off. i know how to push his buttons, i don't need to go to this extent."
his lips brush your temple.
"you could just tell me off, pull away if you didn't want this."
you try, hald heartedly, to push off him, but he doesn't budge.
"i am."
"are you?" he leans in more.
you swallow hard.
"so, tell me. what is it you think i want?"
your breath catches. truth be told? you didn't know, not anymore.he sees your hesitation and chuckles. his hand lifts your chin upwards. not enough to make you face him, just enough to remind you he could.
"that's what i thought."
he licks his lips before speaking again. "we should get back inside. they will be suspicious."
synopsis: you and satoru gojo absolutely do not have a thing for each other. you only spend time together because of your shared affection for his dragon. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself—because there’s no way you’d ever fall for the most insufferably cocky, sharp-tongued, ridiculously charming dragon rider on the entire isle of berk… right?
alternatively, in which a dragon plays matchmaker and you save satoru’s ass.
tags: fluff, mild angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, fingering, riding), action, frenemies to lovers, how to train your dragon!au. pining, idiots to idiots in love. profanity, injuries, blood, reader almost drowns, etc.
word count: 16.1k
a/n: art by _3aem on x. reposted from my old blog :)
“Piss off, Gojo.”
Satoru Gojo does not piss off. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t know how to. It’s stitched into his DNA, being an annoying twat on the good days and an all-round prick on the others.
“I would,” he says. “But Sukuna really wanted head pats and for whatever reason, he thinks mine are unsatisfactory.”
The aforementioned Sukuna, of course, refers to his dragon—the last-remaining Night Fury on the Isle of Berk.
“You couldn’t have picked someone normal to bond with?” you ask the dragon.
Sukuna blinks slowly, entirely unfazed, then shifts his massive head a fraction closer to your shoulder. His scales catch the sunlight like dark, wet marble, but the way he’s leaning into you gives him all the menace of a particularly clingy housecat. A housecat with fire breath, razor claws, and the ability to level a village if he ever got bored enough.
Satoru, stretched out on the grass beside him, grins. “Don’t blame Sukuna,” he says, resting his weight back on his palms like he owns the hill, the sky, the whole bloody island. “He can’t help liking you better.”
“Everyone likes me better.”
“Mm. Bold claim.”
“True claim,” you retort. You scratch absentmindedly under Sukuna’s jaw, right where the scales give way to smooth skin, and he lets out a deep, throaty rumble of pleasure. It vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a sound that would send most of Berk sprinting for the hills. You barely flinch. He’s impossible not to soften toward—something Satoru has weaponised far too often.
“I’m just saying,” Satoru drawls, “you might be his favourite person on the island.”
“He doesn’t have many options,” you say.
“Wow. And here I thought we were friends.”
You roll your eyes. “We are not friends.”
“Acquaintances?” he tries, silver hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes far too bright and mischievous and knowing.
“Barely.”
“Brutal,” he says. “You talk to all your barely-acquaintances this much?”
“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”
“That’s most people, though.”
“Maybe you’re the problem,” you shoot back.
It’s exhausting, really, how he manages to talk in italics, every word tilted just enough to keep you bristling. He’s the single most aggravating man on the entire Isle of Berk—and that’s saying something, considering the place is full of dragon riders who think personal boundaries is a suggestion, not a rule.
You’d like to say you hate him. Really, you would. It would make things simpler. But hate implies he occupies actual space in your head, and the problem—the infuriating, inescapable problem—is that you refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Why are you even here?” you demand finally, because you’ve learned the only way to deal with Satoru Gojo is to stay on the offensive.
“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.
“Pretty sure Sukuna can find his own way here.”
“Yeah,” Satoru says, grinning wider, “but I can’t.”
You blink. “Are you—are you implying you used your dragon as an excuse to see me?”
“No,” he says immediately, dragging the vowel out. “Definitely not. I have so many better things to do.”
“Name one.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “…Patrolling?”
“That’s not better.”
“Depends on who you ask.” He falls back fully onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head, one long leg bent at the knee. The picture of ease, like he hasn’t just dropped the suggestion that he wanted to see you and then refused to elaborate. Like he hasn’t steadily been driving you insane since the day you met him.
The wind shifts over the hill, carrying with it the salt of the distant sea. Berk stretches out below—scattered houses of stone and timber, smoke curling from chimneys, dragons wheeling in the sky above the watchtowers. Out past the cliffs, the ocean flashes silver under the sun, calm for now but never for long.
“Illegal trapping’s been getting worse,” Satory says idly after a moment.
You glance at him. “And yet you’re here annoying me instead of dealing with it?”
“Hey, I’m off-duty.”
“You’re never off-duty.”
“True,” he admits, shameless. “But my boss doesn’t need to know that.”
You roll your eyes. The boss in question is Yaga the Vast, chief of Berk, who has approximately zero patience for stragglers like Satoru and yet, somehow, keeps putting him in charge of things anyway. Probably because when he isn’t being insufferable, Satoru is annoyingly good at his job.
Sukuna shifts closer again, massive head nudging your shoulder with a low whuff. The force of it nearly knocks you off balance.
“He’s so needy,” you mutter, scratching under his jaw again.
Satoru props himself up on his elbows to watch. “You love it.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“Do—”
“Finish that sentence,” you warn, “and I swear I will throw you off this hill.”
He smiles, unbothered. “Can’t, gorgeous. Sukuna would just catch me.”
“Shame,” you say.
Sukuna rumbles again, louder this time, as if laughing at the both of you. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Dragons don’t laugh. Probably. You’re still scratching absentmindedly at his jaw when the shout comes from below the hill.
“Gojo! We’ve got movement near the cliffs!”
It’s one of the younger riders—Yaga’s apprentice, maybe. You don’t remember his name. He’s sprinting uphill, out of breath, waving both arms wildly.
Satoru sighs. “And here I was enjoying my day off.”
“Trappers?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” He pushes to his feet. “Looks like it.”
The apprentice finally reaches the top, panting. “They spotted nets near the west cliffs,” he manages. “Could be setting up for a catch.”
Satoru dusts off his hands lazily, as though he hasn’t just been summoned to go handle the exact kind of people who would love to get their hands on a Night Fury. On Sukuna. You glance at the dragon, who’s gone very still beside you. His tail flicks once, sharp and restless.
Satoru notices too. “Relax,” he tells him softly, before turning that insufferable grin back on you. “Rain check on the head pats?”
“Not my dragon,” you remind him.
He winks. “Technicality.”
With that, he swings easily onto Sukuna’s back, all long limbs and practiced motion, like he was born in the saddle. Sukuna launches into the sky a moment later, wings snapping wide, dust kicking up in their wake. You watch them go, a dark shape against the sunlit clouds, until they’re nothing but a speck over the cliffs.
You’re still staring at the empty sky when the young rider clears his throat.
“Uh… hi,” he says awkwardly. He’s about your age, maybe a bit younger, with a nervous energy that makes you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to relax. He’s holding a map, which he’d pulled out of his pocket and now folds and unfolds with frantic hands. “You’re, uh, you’re the mapmaker, right? The one who lives by the sea?”
“That’s me,” you say, forcing yourself to look away from the horizon.
He nods, relieved. “Right. Yaga said to give you this. It’s the new coastline for the north. He said you’d be able to sketch it out better than anyone else.” He holds out the piece of parchment.
You take the map, unfolding it to see the jagged lines and rough sketches of a coastline you haven’t visited yet. The lines are crude, but the general shape is there. “Thanks,” you say. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can.”
“Right,” he says. “So… you and Gojo. You guys are… close?”
You stiffen. The question is innocent, but it feels like an accusation. “No. Not at all.”
He looks skeptical. “He talks about you a lot. Like, a lot lot. Says you’re the only person who can keep up with him.
You fight the urge to groan. “He’s a liar.”
“Yeah, he is.” The young rider laughs, a short, nervous sound. “But I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s always, like, looking for you. Or waiting for you.”
You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s too close to the truth. You just shrug, then look at the map. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”
“Right. See you around, then.” The rider turns to leave, jogging down the hill with a newfound energy, happy to escape the awkwardness.
You look at the map, then at the sky where Sukuna and Gojo disappeared. You can’t stop thinking about the way Gojo smiled when he told you that Sukuna was just an excuse to see you. It was a joke, you know that. He’s always joking, always playing with words. But the way he said it… it felt like there was a kernel of truth in it, a tiny, infuriating admission that you didn’t want to acknowledge.
You trace the lines on the map, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re picturing him, the way he looks when he’s serious, the way he talks when he’s trying to get under your skin. You’re picturing Sukuna, the way he leans into your touch, the way he rumbles with contentment. You’re picturing the two of them, a perfect pair of chaos, a storm of annoying energy.
You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You have work to do, a map to sketch. But you can’t help but wonder if Gojo and Sukuna are okay. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll say the next time you see him.
A soft breeze, smelling of salt and distant rain, carries the sound of Sukuna’s contented rumble. You look up from your work, the firelight from your cottage flickering on the parchment in your lap. The Night Fury, a silhouette against the moon, lands with a soft thud, a dark shadow in the growing dimness. You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips. It’s a happy sound, that snort of his, and it’s hard not to feel a little bit of warmth toward the gigantic reptile. The smile vanishes the moment you see Satoru Gojo dismount.
He slides off the dragon’s back and lands on the packed dirt with a huff. His silver hair, usually perfectly styled, is now adorned with a scattering of leaves and twigs. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Looks like you had a hard day,” you say, voice dry. You don’t bother looking up from your map, a new survey of the eastern coast that is proving to be a nightmare of jagged inlets and hidden reefs.
“The hardest,” he replies, walking toward the fire. Sukuna follows, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he nudges your shoulder gently. You stroke the smooth scales under his jaw.
“Did you, by any chance, get your head stuck in a bush?” you ask pointedly.
He laughs. “Just a little turbulence. But don’t worry, it was for a good cause.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“Well, you know,” he says, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “I had to make sure the trappers didn’t get away. Can’t have them messing up the ecosystem, can we?”
“But your impeccable hair and abysmal flying skills get a pass, I suppose.”
“Priorities, you know.” Satoru sits down on a log across from you, the firelight glinting in his bright blue eyes. “What are you up to? Still drawing pretty pictures of rocks and water?”
“I’m creating an accurate navigational chart for the fishing fleet,” you correct. “So that they don’t end up on the bottom of the sea.”
“Right, right. Important work,” he says. “You’d be a lot faster if you had some help.”
“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“I’m just saying,” he drawls, “a second pair of eyes could be useful. Especially mine. They’re very, very good eyes.”
You roll your own. “I’m not interested in your help, Gojo. Or your eyes, for that matter.”
Sukuna, who had been contently nuzzling your shoulder, chooses that moment to let out a slow, mournful sound, as if he understood the conversation and is deeply disappointed by your attitude. He nudges Gojo’s head with his own, then your shoulder again. He goes back and forth, like a pendulum. It’s slightly annoying.
“See?” Gojo says, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Even Sukuna agrees. He thinks we should be friends.”
“Sukuna thinks you should be less annoying,” you counter, reaching out to pat the dragon’s large head. He lets out a low rumble, pleased.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Satoru says. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me on the way here that he thinks we would make a very handsome couple.”
You snort. “He has terrible taste. You’re lucky he hasn’t left you for a better rider.”
“Impossible,” Satoru scoffs. “I’m the best. And he knows it.”
“And the most modest, too,” you mutter.
Sukuna lets out a deep, throaty rumble, and gently nudges you closer to the fire. The action is subtle, but a piece of your parchment slips off your knee and lands with a quiet rustle on the ground near Satoru’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, his long fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back.
“Clumsy,” he says, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not talking about the paper.
You ignore him, focusing on the map, but your hand trembles slightly, and the ink bleeds on the line you’re trying to draw. You let out an exasperated sigh, and Sukuna, with a loud huff, settles down between you and Satoru. It’s a deliberate move. The dragon’s nothing more than a massive, scaly chaperone.
“Look at him,” Satoru says, his voice softer now. “He’s tired. Trappers, you know. They’re more persistent than usual.”
“Did you catch them?”
“Most of them. They had nets—one almost got Sukuna. If he hadn’t been so fast, it would have been a rough night.”
You look at the dragon, who is now snoozing with one eye open, the firelight catching the dark, wet-looking scales on his hide. A sudden wave of protectiveness washes over you, a familiar feeling when it comes to the dragon. But then you look at Satoru, and see the deep weariness in his eyes, the faint lines of stress etched around his mouth, and that familiar wave of protectiveness becomes tangled with something else, something you refuse to name.
“You should get some rest,” you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.
He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”
“I’m worried about Sukuna,” you shoot back, and the warmth in your stomach curdles into a familiar acidity. “He needs his rider to be in top form. The last thing he needs is to be stuck with a tired, insufferable oaf.”
He laughs. “You wound me. But thank you. It’s nice to know someone cares.”
“I don’t care,” you insist, and you know you’re lying. You also know he knows you’re lying. It’s a game you play, a tense, stupid dance.
Sukuna lets out a snort. He flicks his head towards Satoru, then towards you, as if to say, just talk to each other, idiots. You want to kick him. Affectionately, of course.
“Well,” Satoru says. “I suppose I should go. Duty calls and all that.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head before shaking it.
“You’re going back out?” you ask, a note of alarm in your voice that you can’t control.
“Nah,” he says, smiling a little softer now. “Just kidding. Yaga told me to stay put until morning, ‘cause he said I caused enough trouble for one day.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
He reaches down and ruffles Sukuna’s head, though his words are addressed to you. “I’ll be back tomorrow for some more pats, okay?”
Sukuna huffs happily in response.
Satoru turns and walks away, a long, lanky shadow disappearing into the darkness. Sukuna watches him go, then turns his gaze back to you, his garnet-coloured eyes flashing. He nudges your hand again. You know what he wants. He wants you to talk to Gojo. He wants you to go after him.
You sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not his keeper. I’m not yours, either.”
Sukuna snorts, a clear, exasperated sound, and settles his massive head on your lap. He’s warm, a solid weight of comfort in the cool night. You don’t bother to shoo him away. You simply sit there, under the moonlight, and stare into the dark where Gojo disappeared.
“It’s a fool’s errand,” you say, dropping the rolled-up parchment onto Yaga’s desk with a resounding thud. The Chief of Berk, a man with a beard as formidable as his temperament, looks up from the horn he’s polishing.
“What is?” he asks.
“This,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the map. “The north coast. It’s impossible to draw from the ground. I’ve only been there twice, and I spent most of the time trying not to fall to my death. The cliffs are sheer drops. The inlets are jagged and hidden. I need to map it from above.”
Yaga stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. You hold his stare, a silent challenge. You’ve never been one to back down from the Chief, a fact that both annoys and impresses him.
He sighs. “Fine. You’re right. You’ll need a rider.” He looks around the hall, his eyes scanning for a likely candidate. Your heart sinks into your stomach when he lands on the very last person you want to see.
“Satoru!” he bellows.
Satoru Gojo, leaning against a support beam, in the middle of conversation with Yaga’s apprentice, gives you a little wave.
“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.
“You’re taking our mapmaker to the north coast,” Yaga says. “She needs to draw it from the air.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Chief,” he says, sauntering over to the desk. “North coast, huh? A little chilly for you, isn’t it?”
You resist the urge to punch him. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get this over with.”
He claps his hands together. “Excellent! My calendar is wide open.”
The next morning is cold and brisk. A light mist hangs over the village, and the air smells of wet stone and woodsmoke. You’re waiting by the flight academy, a satchel slung over your shoulder and your sketchbook clutched in your hands. You’ve been waiting for ten minutes, which is ten minutes longer than you’d like.
Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear a loud, familiar whoosh of wind and the deep, throaty rumble of a Night Fury. Sukuna lands right in front of you. Satoru leers at you, seated on his back.
“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.
“I’m ready to get this done,” you correct.
You climb onto the dragon’s back, settling behind him on the saddle and placing your sketchbook and charcoal pencils carefully in your lap. Sukuna lets out a low purr, a rumble that you can feel vibrating through your body. He nudges his head back, giving your hand a soft, affectionate lick.
“He’s excited,” Satoru says. “He loves when we all go out together.”
“He’s excited about the snacks I brought him,” you say, pulling a piece of dried fish from your satchel and holding it out to Sukuna. He devours it in one gulp.
“You brought snacks?” Satoru asks. “For the dragon, and not for your very handsome and talented pilot?”
“You are not my pilot, and you are not getting any of this fish.”
He kicks his feet against Sukuna’s side, and the dragon launches himself into the air. You grip the saddle, your knuckles turning white. The wind whips at your hair and clothes, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of flight wash over you. It’s a feeling you’ve never gotten used to, and it’s always a little terrifying, a little exhilarating.
Satoru leans back. “You’re good at this. Not screaming, I mean.”
You grit your teeth. “I’m a mapmaker, not a child. I’m used to dangerous situations.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re the one who saved my ass, remember?”
The memory of that night, of his blood on your hands, of the raw fear in your gut, flashes through your mind. You shiver, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the wind.
“I’d rather not,” you say.
He doesn’t respond. Sukuna, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, lets out a low, questioning snort. He banks left, heading toward the northern cliffs.
The gentle, rolling hills of Berk give way to a brutal, unforgiving coastline. The cliffs are dark and jagged, the sea a churning mass of white foam. You pull out your sketchbook and begin to draw.
You work for hours, meticulously sketching every rock formation, every inlet, every hidden cove. You direct Satoru to turn this way and that, and he, for once, doesn’t argue. He lets you work, his body a steady, comforting presence in front of you, ensuring Sukuna’s movements are smooth and controlled.
At one point, you get so focused on a particular series of sea caves that you lean too far over the edge of the saddle, and almost lose your balance. A long, strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You stiffen, your body rigid with surprise.
“Careful,” Satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t want you falling to your death.”
You push him away, heart pounding. “I had it under control.”
“Sure, you did.”
Sukuna lets out a low, knowing chuff, a sound that makes you want to smack him. You ignore him, focusing back on your drawing, but it’s hard to stop thinking about the feeling of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body against yours.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a while.
“I’m working.”
He hums. “Right. I just thought, you know, we could talk. Get to know each other. Since we’re going to be hanging out more often, we might as well be friends.”
“We are not going to be friends,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.
“We are,” Satoru says. “We’re a team. You and me. And Sukuna, of course.” He reaches forward and strokes the Night Fury’s head, and the dragon rumbles with contentment.
“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.
“He likes you, too. More than me, I think,” Satoru says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice—something soft and genuine—that makes you look away from your sketch and at him instead. His eyes are fixed on you, a strange mixture of warmth and… something else. You can’t quite place it.
You look away, your heart pounding again. You can’t handle this. You can’t handle this man, this dragon, this strange, dangerous intimacy that has sprung up between you.
You land back in the village as dusk is falling. The air is colder now, and the stars are beginning to peak out. You slide off Sukuna’s back, your legs shaky from the long flight. You feel a hand on your arm, steadying you.
“You did good,” Satoru says.
“So did you,” you say.
He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a smile that you realise you haven’t seen very often. It’s a smile that makes the hollow cavity inside your chest where your heart lies skip a beat.
You turn away, clutching your sketchbook to your chest. “I’ll bring this to Yaga in the morning.”
“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”
You walk away, but you can feel his gaze on your back. You can feel the warmth of his hand still on your arm. You don’t look back.
You make it to your cottage, but you don’t go inside. You sit on the stone step, your sketchbook still in your hands, and stare at the sky. You think about the north coast, about the cliffs and the caves, but also about Satoru. About the way his arm felt around your waist, about the way his smile made you feel, about the way he wasn’t being annoying for once.
You hear a soft thud. Sukuna stands behind you, a small branch in his mouth. He drops it at your feet. A branch from a Night Fury’s nest. He jabs at your hand with his nose, his eyes fixed on yours.
You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to tell you that Satoru is not so bad. There’s a place for you in his life, in their life.
You reach down and pick up the branch, then look back at the dragon. You sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.
“You’re a terrible matchmaker, you know that?” you whisper to him.
Sukuna lets out a low purr and nudges you again. You don’t know what to do. You’re a mapmaker, a person of logic and order, and this man and his dragon are nothing but chaos. There’s absolutely no way anything good could ever come out of this.
“Head pats? Again?” You shoot Satoru an unimpressed glare, though the effect is rather diminished by the fact that you’re hanging upside down, trying to fix a hole in your roof. “At least come up with a better excuse.”
“Can’t. The dragon wants what the dragon wants,” Satoru says. “And what the dragon wants, the dragon gets.”
You grunt, shoving a loose thatch of straw back into place. Your ankles are looped around a wooden beam, your torso dangling over the edge of your cottage’s roof. The world is a strange, inverted place from this angle. The grass is a vibrant green sky, the clouds are a white, fluffy ground. Satoru Gojo’s annoyingly perfect face is floating in the air below you. He’s leaning back, his hands in his pockets, watching you with a smile. Sukuna is a little ways off, chewing on a large branch.
“And what the dragon wants is for me to risk breaking my neck just so you can make a terrible joke?” you ask.
“No, no, the dragon wants head pats,” Satoru corrects, shaking his head. “I’m just here to deliver the dragon to the head pats. A simple go-between.”
“You’re a go-between for your own dragon?”
“Look, it’s a complicated relationship,” he says. “He’s a very discerning dragon.”
You roll your eyes, a motion that makes your head throb. You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and clamber onto the roof. You sit on the ridge, straddling the peak, and pull a loose piece of wood from the hole. The wood is rotten, and the smell of mold and wet earth makes you wrinkle your nose. A sudden gust of wind snatches a loose piece of cloth from the edge of the roof, and you watch as it flutters to the ground and lands directly at Satoru’s feet.
He picks it up and says, “Lost something?”
“It’s just a rag,” you say.
He examines it, shaking it out with a flourish. “Looks like a perfectly good rag to me.”
“It’s not,” you say. “It’s old and worn out. Just leave it.”
He doesn’t. He folds it carefully and places it in his pocket, before walking over to where Sukuna is lying, and pulls out a piece of meat from his saddlebag. He tosses it to the dragon.
“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”
“No,” you say, “I just enjoy dangling from high places.”
He laughs, a clear, loud sound that makes your stomach feel weird. “I get it. You’re a thrill-seeker. It’s one of your many charming qualities.”
“I’m not a thrill-seeker,” you say. “I’m a mapmaker. I prefer quiet, predictable things.”
“Still,” he says, “here you are, hanging from a roof, and here I am, your friendly neighbourhood… well, whatever I am.”
You groan. “You’re a pain. That’s what you are.”
“And you’re my favourite pain,” he says. “You’re the only person on the entire Isle of Berk who doesn’t fall all over themselves to talk to me.”
“That’s because I have a working brain.”
He laughs again, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s leaning against Sukuna’s side, his arms crossed over his chest. His silver hair catches the sunlight, and his bright blue eyes are fixed on you. He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met, but you can’t deny that he’s also breathtaking.
You tear your gaze away, a flush of heat creeping up your neck. You turn back to your roof, your hands shaking slightly as you try to hammer a loose piece of wood into place. You miss, and the hammer clatters to the ground, landing with a soft thud on the grass.
“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.
Satoru bends to pick up the hammer, turning it over in his hands. “For someone who claims to like quiet, predictable things, you have a funny way of living on the edge.”
You scowl down at him from the roof ridge. “I’m fixing a hole, Satoru. Not fighting a dragon barehanded.”
“Could be both, if you fall on Sukuna.”
Sukuna, hearing his name, glances up, tail flicking idly. He looks like he’d catch you if you fell. Probably. Maybe. If he felt like it.
“Very reassuring,” you mutter. “Give it back.”
“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.
You glare at him. He leans back against Sukuna’s side, one long leg crossed over the other. He looks like he could stay here all day, bothering you from ground level while you slowly lose your mind above him. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. The sun’s beating down hard, pressing heat into the back of your neck. Your hands are already splintered from the wood, your hair sticking to your cheeks. You have an entire day’s worth of mapping to do but here you are, arguing with Berk’s most irritating dragon rider over a hammer.
“Fine,” you say. “Keep it. I’ll just tell everyone you bullied me into falling off my own roof.”
“But you didn’t fall,” he says. “Yet.”
You wish you could throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. Like a rock. Or maybe the entire cottage.
Instead, you clamber down from the roof ridge to the small platform just under it, wiping your palms on your trousers. From here, the world tilts alarmingly close. Satoru watches your careful descent with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
When you reach the edge, you stretch your hand out. “Hammer.”
He taps it against his chin thoughtfully. “What do I get in return?”
“Your continued survival.”
“Tempting.” He tosses it up, easy and careless, then finally lobs it towards you. It arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and you snatch it out of the air just in time, the impact jolting through your wrist.
“Show-off,” you say.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
You don’t dignify that with a response, instead crawling back to the hole and fitting the new piece of wood into place. The hammer thunks steadily as you nail it down, the sound mingling with the wind and the distant crash of waves against cliffs. Satoru hums something under his breath, a lazy, tuneless thing. It carries upward, curling under your skin despite yourself.
You focus very, very hard on the roof.
When the piece finally holds, you sit back, wiping your forehead again. Your arms ache, your knees are bruised, and you can feel bits of straw clinging to your hair. Glorious, really.
“Done?” Satoru asks.
“For now,” you say.
“Good,” he says, pushing off Sukuna’s side. “Because Sukuna’s patience is running out.”
At the mention of his name, the dragon lets out a short, sharp huff, nostrils flaring. The branch he was chewing lies in two neat halves at his feet. His pupils have gone wide, round as coins—his version of puppy eyes.
You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“It’s effective,” Satoru says cheerfully, already strolling over to you. “C’mon, he’s been waiting all day.”
You glance from the dragon’s enormous, hopeful stare to Satoru’s infuriating grin and feel, very distinctly, like you’re being tag-teamed.
“Fine,” you mutter, hopping lightly off the lower edge of the roof. You land in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, then stand and dust yourself off. “But only because he asked nicely.”
Satoru bows low, one hand over his heart. “As the humble messenger of the dragon, I thank you for your generosity.”
“Shut up,” you say, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Sukuna lowers his massive head as you approach, scales gleaming like wet stone. He makes a low, thrumming sound as your hand comes to rest between his eyes, the tension in his frame melting instantly. It’s absurd, how such a creature—so powerful, so feared—can melt into warmth at something as simple as a touch.
You scratch behind his jaw, feeling the rumble travel through your palm. “You deserve a better rider,” you murmur, just loud enough for Satoru to hear.
Satoru presses a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Absolutely gutted.”
“You’ll live.”
He leans against Sukuna’s shoulder, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wind and leather and something warm underneath. “You always say that like you’re sure.”
“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.
“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”
You roll your eyes. The wind picks up again, tossing Satoru’s hair into his eyes. He doesn’t move to fix it, just grins at you through the mess like he knows exactly what kind of picture he makes—irritatingly golden in the sunlight, with the dragon at his side and the whole damn world under his heel.
“You really are full of yourself,” you say finally.
He tilts his head. “Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the trappers that thought they actually had a chance against Sukuna? Even I don’t stand a chance against Sukuna, and that’s saying something.”
“Trappers?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your hand moving against Sukuna’s scales. “I thought you lot scared them off two weeks ago.”
“We did,” Satoru says. “Or so we thought. But the funny thing about pests—” He leans lazily against Sukuna’s massive shoulder, folding his arms. “—is that they always crawl back when you’re not looking.”
You frown, not at him for once, but at the idea of it. “Where?”
“Southern Coves,” he says. “A little group at first—three, maybe four men. We figured they were amateurs, probably thought they’d make their fortune dragging a few Terrible Terrors back in cages. Easy enough. Send them running, burn a net or two. Job done.”
The way he says it—casual, dismissive—doesn’t sit right with you. It rarely does, when Satoru Gojo talks about problems like they’re inconveniences rather than… well, problems.
“But then?” you prompt.
“But then,” he says, drawing out the words, “we found another group. Bigger. With better equipment. Steel nets, reinforced cages, the whole shebang.”
Your hand stills against Sukuna’s jaw. “Reinforced cages?”
“Mhm.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction like it’s more interesting than the story itself. “Not something you find lying around unless you’ve got coin. Or connections. Or both.”
Sukuna shifts beneath your touch, nudging his head into your palm like he can sense the tension in your shoulders. You scratch harder, both to soothe him and yourself. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” you say.
“It doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Satoru counters flippantly. “Could just be a few desperate men pooling what they’ve got. Could be something else. Either way, we’re keeping an eye on it.”
“And by we you mean…”
“The riders. Me, Suguru, Kento, Haibara—the usual.”
You narrow your eyes. “You mean the same group that considers dive-bombing into cliffs a legitimate training exercise?”
“Worked out fine for me,” Satoru says with a shrug.
“Everything works out fine for you,” you shoot back.
That earns you a flash of his grin—bright, boyish, and infuriating. But it fades, just a little, and he says, quieter, “Doesn’t always.”
It’s the kind of admission that makes your stomach twist, because it’s true. Riders don’t always come back. Dragons don’t always survive. Trappers—real trappers, the kind with coin and steel and a hunger that isn’t easily sated—don’t play fair.
You exhale slowly. “You think they’re after Sukuna.”
“Everyone’s after Sukuna.” He says it like it’s a joke. “Last Night Fury, blah blah blah. People can’t help themselves.”
You glance at Sukuna. His pupils are still round, content beneath your touch, but his tail lashes once, like even he knows the weight of those words. A rare thing: fear dressed up as restlessness.
An unease worms its way beneath your ribs. It feels like the calm before a storm, the air just a shade too still, the sea too quiet. The trappers Satoru described don’t seem like scavengers chasing scraps. They’re organised. Equipped. Waiting for something—or someone. You hate it. You hate that Satoru can stand opposite you, hands tucked in his pockets, as though the world isn’t about to tip over its edge.
“You should be more worried,” you say finally.
“I worry plenty.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“Would it help if I wrung my hands and wept dramatically at your feet?”
“I’d pay good money to see that,” you say automatically. Sukuna nudges you again, harder this time, nearly knocking you off your feet. You steady yourself with a laugh that comes out thinner than you’d like. Satoru watches the two of you, his smile softened into something that almost looks like thought. Then, just as you’re about to ask another question, a shrill whistle splits the air from somewhere down the hill.
“Show time.” Satoru straightens, stretching his arms overhead. “Sounds like they’ve spotted another group near the coastline.”
Your stomach sinks. Already?
Satoru clicks his tongue, turning back to Sukuna. “Up, big guy.”
The Night Fury rises in a smooth, graceful motion, all coiled muscle and gleaming scales. His wings snap open, blotting out the sun for an instant, and you step back instinctively. Satoru sings into the saddle. He doesn’t look at you until Sukuna’s already crouching low, ready to launch.
“Don’t worry too much,” he says. “We’ve got it handled.”
“You don’t know that.”
He grins down at you. “Sure I do. I’m me.”
“Again?” You stare at Yaga the Vast like he’s sprouted another head—which, considering the man’s already broad shoulders and beard thick enough to hide a small family of sparrows, would be quite a sight. “You want me to map out the north coast again?”
“Yes,” Yaga’s voice rumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight in the great hall casts half his face into shadow, making him look even more immovable than usual. “But this time, you go deeper. Past the cove, beyond the breakers, to the inlets we’ve yet to mark. Unless we map out our neighbouring areas, how will we be able to defend Berk?”
You blink slowly, as if stalling will make the task shrink back into sanity. “Defend Berk from what, exactly? The world’s deadliest flock of puffins?”
“From anyone who thinks Berk is ripe for the taking,” Yaga replies. His thick fingers drum against his arm. “We can’t pretend we’re isolated forever. Already, the trappers sniff at our borders.”
You mask the prickle of unease that shivers down your spine with a scoff. “So your solution is to send me to traipse along the most dangerous stretch of coast known to dragon or man?”
“You won’t be alone. Take that scoundrel of a dragon rider with you.”
You groan, dragging both hands down your face. “Not him.”
“As if there were any other scoundrel I could mean,” Yaga says, almost indulgent.
“Satoru Gojo,” you say, lowering your hands and scowling, “is less of a companion and more of a—what’s the word—parasite. Loud, obnoxious, impossible to get rid of once he latches on.”
“He’s effective,” Yaga says.
“He’s insufferable,” you say.
“Both can be true,” he says. “And if you want Berk defended, if you want us to have some place to safely hide, or if you want your precious maps to mean something, you’ll take him with you. End of discussion.”
You gape at him, outrage coiling hot in your chest. But before you can muster a reply sharp enough to singe even Yaga the Vast’s vast beard, a familiar voice cuts through the hall.
“Did somebody say my name?”
Of course. Speak of the devil and his Night Fury, and both shall appear.
Satoru Gojo strolls in; his hair is a windswept mess of silver, his tunic is half-untied, and there’s a cocky grin already plastered on his face. Sukuna pads in behind him, the great black beast moving silent as shadow, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim hall light.
“Perfect timing,” Yaga says. “You’ll be escorting our mapmaker along the north coast. Deep waters. High cliffs. Dangerous territory. See to it that she comes back alive.”
“Yes, boss,” Satoru replies. His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Believe me, if I had a choice between this and swimming naked through eel-infested waters, I’d be halfway to drowning by now.”
“Romantic. You always know how to make a man feel wanted.”
Sukuna rumbles low in his throat, the kind of sound that could be a laugh if dragons were capable of such a thing. You swear he’s mocking you, too.
Yaga heaves a sigh. “Enough. The pair of you leave at dawn. Supplies will be waiting at the stables. Make sure you chart everything—caves, currents, shoals, nesting grounds. The more detail, the better.”
You open your mouth to argue, to plead, to hurl one last desperate objection into the flames. But Yaga fixes you with the kind of look that ends battles before they begin. You clamp your jaw shut.
“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”
“Looking forward to it,” Satoru says brightly, clapping you on the shoulder. “You, me, the sea, a few deadly cliffs. It’ll be fun.”
You glare at him. “You have the worst definition of fun I’ve ever heard.”
He leans down, so close you catch the faint scent of leather and salt. “That’s because you haven’t tried my kind of fun yet.”
Before you can throttle him, Yaga clears his throat. “Gojo,” he says. “I want your usual post-mission report for this one as well. How Sukuna flies, how he fights—everything. Not a single detail should be omitted.”
“Not just that,” Yaga presses. “Every maneuver. Every burst of speed. How he responds under pressure. The trappers are adapting. If they’ve learned to counter one type of dragon, they’ll learn to counter another. We need to be ready.”
“Of course, boss.”
Satoru says it so confidently that it makes you want to hit him with the nearest tankard. He doesn’t care about reports—he’s probably never written anything down properly in his life—but somehow Yaga keeps trusting him with “observations” and “evaluations.” And somehow those “reports” always end up getting him exactly what he wants: more freedom, more lenience, more time spent to annoy you.
“I’m serious,” Yaga says. His gaze sharpens, sliding briefly to you before returning to Satoru. “I want precision. Not exaggerations, not flourishes. If there are trappers along that coast, I want to know how they move, what they use, where they hide. If Sukuna faces them, I want to know every reaction. Understand?”
It’s subtle, that pause on Sukuna’s name, but it hooks in your gut like a barbed fishing line.
“Your last report,” the chief continued, “was ten pages of what Sukuna ate, and a drawing of your own face in the margins.”
You can’t help it—a bark of laughter escapes you. Satoru grins wider, like he’s proud of the memory.
“Historical accuracy,” he defends breezily. “Someday, bards will want to know I was the handsomest man alive while Sukuna was saving lives.”
Yaga doesn’t look amused. In fact, the firelight catches on the hard planes of his face, casting the deep creases at his brow into shadows that look almost like cracks. “Enough,” he says, but this time there’s a finality to it—like stone slamming into place, sealing a tomb.
You should probably let it go. Keep your head down, accept the assignment, and try not to imagine all the ways you might die tomorrow. But Yaga’s words stick in your ears like thorns. He’s always been thorough, sure, but the way he said it makes something twist uneasily in your gut.
Why does it feel less like he wants a record of Berk’s defenses and more like he wants a catalogue of its weaknesses?
You frown, shoving the thought down before it can root itself. Paranoia. That’s all it is. Spending too much time around Satoru Gojo rots the brain.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Satoru says, snapping a salute. “We’ll chart your cliffs, your caves, your currents, your… cozy little hidey-holes. And if the trappers do come sniffing around, we’ll have a nice little map all drawn up for them, won’t we?”
It’s meant to be a joke. You know it is.
Yaga’s eyes cut to him, sharp and assessing, but then—to your surprise—soften into something close to approval. “Just bring me the report.”
You’re dismissed. Or maybe exiled. Hard to tell with Yaga.
Satoru stretches like a cat as you both step out into the night air, his hair catching silver in the moonlight. Sukuna slips behind him, shadow melting into shadow, only the gleam of his garnet eyes betraying him.
“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.
You snort. “You heard him. Reports, details, flight maneuvers—like you’re some glorified scribe. What’s he going to do, publish a book?”
“Who knows? Maybe Yaga just really likes bedtime stories.”
“You’re going to fall if you keep bending over like that.”
The words brush the back of your neck, almost lost to the roar of the wind. Satoru’s voice, of course, because if anyone was going to ruin the thrill of flight over the North Sea cliffs, it was going to be him.
“I’m not bending over,” you snap, leaning forward on Sukuna’s broad back to adjust the rolled parchment strapped at your hip. “I’m securing the maps so they don’t blow away. Some of us actually care about documenting this trip.”
“Mm,” he hums, far too close behind you. “You say that, but it looks a lot like you’re presenting yourself to me.”
You jerk upright so fast you nearly throw yourself off balance. “I will throw you off this dragon.”
Sukuna rumbles beneath you, wings slicing through the wind. The cliffs roll past below—jagged teeth rising from the sea, waves smashing themselves to froth at the base. A treacherous coast, all jagged rocks and narrow inlets, the sort of place even seasoned dragon riders avoided unless they had a death wish. But, you remind yourself, you’re riding with Satoru Gojo. Death wishes are practically stitched into his skin.
“Relax,” he says lazily, shifting so that his chin rests on your shoulder, bold as anything. “If you fall, Sukuna will catch you. Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Eighty percent sure.”
You elbow him hard in the ribs. He laughs. The wind whips against your face, tugging at your hair and lashing past your chin. You should be focusing on the coastline, on the cliff formations and hidden coves Yaga wanted mapped. Instead, you’re stuck with Satoru practically wrapped around you like an overgrown barnacle.
Below, the sea shifts from deep sapphire to frothing white, currents curling against each other in unpredictable swirls. You sketch the outline hastily, balancing parchment on your knee, your fingers stiff from the cold. The smell of salt, the tang of brine—it all presses sharp in your nose, mixing with the faint smoke curling from Sukuna’s nostrils as he exhales.
“You’re making that bay too small,” Satoru says, peering over your shoulder. “It’s at least twice that size.”
Your head snaps towards him. “You’re a dragon rider, not a cartographer. Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” he says. “If you want this to be accurate, maybe listen to the guy who’s actually looking down at it.”
You jab your charcoal against the parchment with unnecessary force. “I am looking down. You think I’m staring at the clouds?”
“Wouldn’t blame you. They’re very fluffy today.”
You grit your teeth. It’s either throw him off Sukuna’s back or commit to your map and pretend his voice doesn’t grate against your ears.
The coastline curves sharply, forcing Sukuna to bank hard. The sudden tilt knocks your knee against the saddle, the parchment slipping sideways in the wind. You swear under your breath, catching it just before it can flutter away.
“Careful,” Satoru drawls. “Wouldn’t want all your precious squiggles to drown.”
“They’re maps,” you snap, tucking the roll more securely under the leather strap. “Not squiggles.”
Sukuna lurches again, this time with a force that wrenches you off balance completely. One moment you’re clinging to leather straps, the next, you’re weightless—dangling over empty air, your stomach dropping out as the sea roars up to meet you. Your scream is swallowed by the wind.
Cold air slams against your face, your limbs flailing as the ocean surface rushes closer, white spray licking like fangs. You think, absurdly, that this is it. Yaga will get his precious map back water-stained and half-torn, and Satoru will laugh at your funeral pyre.
The sea devours you whole. Salt scorches your mouth, icy shock steals the breath from your lungs, and the water closes like a fist around your ribs. You kick, thrash, but the waves drag you under, tangling your limbs. The North Sea swallows you whole, dragging you down, down, down. Your maps slip free, parchment dissolving into sodden clumps as the current claws them away. Panic claws harder.
Through the blur of bubbles, a shadow streaks above—massive wings cutting the sky. Sukuna. You can just make out the gleam of his scales as he dives, but the current twists you sideways and drags you deeper.
You feel hands.
Hot even through the freezing water, strong fingers hook beneath your arm and haul you against a solid chest. Your head knocks against leather and chainmail. You cling without meaning to, nails biting into Satoru’s sleeve as he kicks upward, legs cutting the water with terrifying strength. The world tilts again, the suffocating weight of the sea giving way to open air as he breaks the surface.
You cough, choking up brine, the cold biting so deep it feels like your bones are splintering. But there’s air—ragged, salty, glorious—and Satoru’s arms are still wrapped around you, keeping you afloat.
“See?” he says, breathless. “Told you one of us would catch you.”
“Shut—” you hack, spitting seawater in his face, “—up.”
With one arm, Satoru signals upward, and Sukuna swoops low, skimming the waves. The dragon’s vast shadow falls over you both, wings slicing the mist. With a smooth, practiced motion, Satoru boosts you toward the saddle. You land gracelessly, half-sprawled, coughing into your sleeve. Sukuna steadies his flight. Moments later, Satoru swings up behind you, water dripping from his hair.
You twist, glaring, salt-stung eyes narrowing. “You dropped me!”
“I saved you,” he says.
“If you’d stop distracting me, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.”
“Aw, admit it,” he says, tugging you back against him as Sukuna banks into the wind again. “You wanted me to play hero.”
Your jaw locks. You want to scream, punch him, and shove him straight off Sukuna’s back. But the truth sticks bitter at the back of your throat: without him, you’d be a corpse rolling in the tide right now.
Instead, you grit out, “The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m too cold to kill you.”
“Sure, gorgeous,” Satoru says, far too cheerfully for someone who just dove into the North Sea like a loon. He pats Sukuna’s neck. “Land over there, big guy.”
Sukuna banks again, wide wings slicing through the mist as he angles toward a rocky shelf jutting from the cliffs. It’s not much—a spit of grass clinging stubbornly to stone, slick with sea spray and battered by wind—but it’s flat enough for a Night Fury to perch. The dragon’s claws scrape against the stone before he settles down.
You peel yourself upright, every muscle trembling from the cold. Water streams from your hair and sleeves, soaking into the saddle leather, dripping in miserable rivulets down your legs. You feel like a half-drowned cat.
Satoru swings off Sukuna and immediately shivers, shaking out his hair. Droplets fly everywhere.
“Ah!” You swipe your face with your sleeve. “Do you mind?”
“Not even a little,” he says.
You clamber down less gracefully, boots squelching against stone. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the wind slices through your wet clothes. Your teeth chatter so hard it feels like they might rattle loose.
“Right,” you say, hugging your arms around yourself. “Let’s make this quick. I need to salvage what I can of the map before—”
“Before your hands freeze off?” Satoru interrupts. He crouches to scratch Sukuna’s chin, even though he’s dripping seawater like a broken barrel. “Sorry, cartographer, but your squiggles can wait. We’re both shaking. That’s a fast track to hypothermia.”
“I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles with a shiver. “We don’t have time to—”
“You’re not fine.” He straightens, eyeing you in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “Your lips are purple. You’re shivering so hard I can hear your knees clacking. Don’t make me be the sensible one here, sweetheart—it feels unnatural.”
You glare. “If I die of cold, I’ll haunt you.”
“Oh, you already haunt me.” His grin softens the jab. “Now, strip.”
“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.
“Your clothes are soaked,” he says matter-of-factly, already tugging at the laces of his tunic. “Wet fabric sucks the heat right out of you. The best thing we can do is get ‘em off, huddle together, and hope Sukuna doesn’t roast us in our sleep.”
You blink at him, scandalised, even as another violent shiver racks your body. “You’re insane.”
“True. But I’m also right.” He pulls his tunic over his head in one easy motion, tossing the dripping cloth onto the stone. The setting sun’s light catches across his bare skin—broad shoulders, pale scars scattered across his abdomen, lean muscle shifting as he moves.
You pointedly do not stare.
“You’re ogling me,” he says.
“I’m glaring at you.”
“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”
“Die.”
“Already almost did,” he says lightly, wringing out his sleeves. “Your turn.”
Every inch of you bristles at the command. Still, the damp fabric clinging icily to your ribs argues louder than your pride. You peel off your own tunic with stiff fingers, ignoring his wolf-whistle, and spread it on a rock to dry. The wind hits your bare skin, covered only by the slip you’ve worn inside, cold and merciless, goosebumps rising instantly.
Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, lingering longer than you like. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to. The curve of his mouth says enough.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” you warn, hugging your arms over your chest.
“Not one word,” he promises. “Plenty of thoughts, though.”
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “This is torture.”
“No, this is survival.” Satoru pats Sukuna’s flank, and the dragon obligingly lowers himself, curling his massive body into a crescent. His wings arch inwards, a living shelter against the wind. Heat radiates from his scaled belly.
“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.
You want to argue. You really, truly do. But your legs wobble under you, and the promise of warmth tugs at you. So you crawl into the nook of Sukuna’s body, pressing against his side. Satoru follows, sprawling next to you, then tugging you firmly against him. His skin is startlingly warm, even damp as it is, and his arm slides around your shoulders.
“Move,” you grumble, trying to twist free.
“Nope,” he says, tucking his chin on top of your wet hair. “You’ll freeze.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”
You want to snap back, but the heat of him seeps into your skin. Sukuna’s breathing is a thunderous rhythm behind you, the rise and fall of his chest as steady as the tides. Satoru’s warmth presses into your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine.
The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.
You think, just before sleep drags you under, that maybe it isn’t so bad—being held like this, the storm kept at bay by dragon wings and an irritating idiot who refuses to let you drown or freeze. You’d rather die than admit it out loud.
“Oh, my Gods.”
The voice snaps you awake like a slap. Your eyes peel open blearily, gritty from salt and sleep. The first thing you see is scales—Sukuna’s broad, ridged side, still warm beneath your cheek. The second is pale dawn light seeping over the horizon, turning the sea into hammered silver. The third, and the worst by far, is Yaga’s apprentice standing ten paces away, gawking at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.
You jolt upright so fast your skull cracks against Satoru’s chin.
“Ow—fuck!” Satoru lurches back, clutching his jaw. His hair is sticking up in ten different directions, his chest bare, his arm still heavy across your waist. He blinks owlishly, still half-asleep, then follows your line of sight.
“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”
The apprentice—gangly, freckled, barely old enough to grow a proper beard—turns a shade of crimson so bright it could signal passing ships. His dragon, a lumbering Gronckle, looks pointedly in the other direction as though it, too, is practicing modesty. The apprentice’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I—uh—you—Chief Yaga sent me—”
You scramble upright, hugging your damp tunic to your chest as though it might shield you from the apprentice’s wide-eyed horror. “It’s not what it looks like.”
The boy squeaks. “It looks like you and Gojo—”
“It doesn’t,” you snap. Heat crawls up your neck, sharp as the morning chill.
“Actually,” Satoru drawls, still lounging half-naked against Sukuna’s side, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”
You kick him in the shin. He hisses through his teeth but grins anyway. Bastard.
The apprentice makes a strangled sound and stares very hard at the cliffs instead. His ears are scarlet. “Chief Yaga said—he said it was urgent. Two dragons were stolen last night.”
“Stolen?” you ask.
He nods quickly, eyes still fixed anywhere but at you. “By trappers. They slipped past the watch posts by the southern coves. Took a Nadder and a Zippleback. Riders tried to give chase, but they were gone before dawn.”
You freeze, cold in a way seawater could never manage. Images slam unbidden into your head: chains biting into scaled hides, muzzles forced over mouths, wings bound and flailing. Dragons screaming as they’re dragged into cages.
“Shit,” Satoru says, the first hint of sharpness cutting through his lazy tone. He pushes to his feet, water-dark trousers hanging low on his hips. Sukuna rumbles beside him, wings twitching restlessly.
The apprentice swallows, wringing his hands, as his Gronckle hovers above the ground. “The Chief sent me to find you. He said you’re needed immediately—both of you. He was… angry that you weren’t at the watch last night, Gojo.”
You flinch. Angry. Of course he was. You were out here, tangled up in a mess of salt, warmth, and sleep, while dragons were dragged away into darkness. Your stomach knots.
Satoru’s hand brushes yours. “Not your fault,” he murmurs.
You want to believe him. You don’t.
“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.
“East,” the apprentice answers. “Towards the mainland, we think. Scouts found broken nets on the tide and claw marks on the rocks, but… there were too many tracks. More than just one ship. It’s—bigger than usual.”
You hug your tunic tighter, your unease curdling into something colder. Too many tracks. Bigger than usual. And Yaga, always conveniently aware of where the trappers struck, always pushing for maps that stretched further, deeper, as though he wanted Berk’s vulnerabilities laid bare on parchment. Something ugly stirs at the back of your mind.
“Great job finding us, kid,” Satoru says. “Go on back, tell Yaga we’re on our way to Berk.”
The apprentice nods and urges his Gronckle away. Silence stretches after his wings vanish into the horizon. The only sound is the crash of waves and Sukuna’s low, restless growl.
You finally tug your tunic over your head, the fabric clammy against your skin. “Two dragons. Gone. While we—” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “While we weren’t there.”
Satoru’s gaze flicks to you. “We’ll find them.”
You want to argue. Want to spill the unease clawing at your ribs—that this isn’t coincidence, that someone is feeding the trappers information, that Yaga’s heavy insistence on maps and watch-posts feels less like defence and more like design. But Satoru swings into the saddle, his hand extended down to you, and all you can do is shove the suspicion somewhere deep down where it won’t choke you.
Later. You’ll think about it later.
The ride back to Berk is wordless. Sukuna cuts through the dawn sky with a speed that makes your bones rattle, the wind lashing your damp hair against your cheeks. The village comes into view—first the crooked rocks of the cliffside, then the smoky thatched rooftops, and finally the wide stone courtyard where riders and dragons gather in knots of uneasy conversation.
Yaga waits at the centre of it all, arms folded across his massive chest. His scowl alone could ward off a sea storm. You’ve seen him angry before, but this—this is something else.
Sukuna’s talons scrape stone. Riders hustle across the square, tightening harnesses, checking saddlebags, shouting clipped reports to one another. Dragons bristle and shift, their restlessness bleeding into their humans. You slide down from Sukuna’s saddle, boots hitting the stones. Satoru follows, rolling his shoulders once.
“Come,” Yaga’s voice booms from the centre. “Where were you?”
“Taking the north coast maps you wanted, remember?” Satoru says. “Thought you’d be proud I was finally listening.”
Yaga’s jaw ticks. “While you wasted time drawing cliffs, two dragons were stolen from right under our noses. A Nadder and a Zippleback. Good, loyal beasts, now likely in chains.”
You open your mouth—an instinctive we didn’t know, we would have been there if—but Yaga’s eyes cut to you, and the words wither in your throat.
“And you,” he says, quieter but no less cutting. “Distracted.”
Your cheeks burn hot as a furnace. You force yourself not to look at Satoru, not to flinch under Yaga’s disappointment.
“Careful, Chief,” Satoru says, stepping forward. “Sounds almost like you’re blaming us instead of the ones who actually stole the dragons.”
Silence. Riders shuffle uneasily at the edge of the square, pretending to busy themselves with tack and gear. Yaga exhales. He gestures with a curt hand, and says, “Enough. We’ve no time for excuses. Gojo, you’ll take Sukuna east. Track the trappers. If they’ve gone towards the mainland, we need to know which paths they’re using. Don’t engage. Don’t be reckless.”
“Reckless?” Satoru echoes. “Chief, that hurts me.”
“It’s meant to.”
Yaga turns to you. You think—hope—he’ll send you with Satoru. You’ve flown the coasts enough times now, you know the currents, the cliffs, the possible landing points. Together, you’d be faster.
“You,” Yaga says instead. “Stay here. The maps you made—finish them. Copy them properly, mark all the coves and hideouts. We’ll need every detail if we’re to tighten our defenses.”
“But—” You start. “With all due respect, I should go too. I was with Satoru when we—”
“No.” Yaga’s eyes harden, the finality in them brooking no argument. “We need accuracy more than we need an extra set of hands in the sky. Your maps will serve Berk better than you will.”
Heat floods your chest: anger, shame, suspicion all jumbled together. The same suspicion that had gnawed at you when the apprentice spoke of too many tracks, bigger than usual. The same suspicion that whispers now: why does he care so much about these maps?
Satoru’s hand brushes yours again, quick, almost hidden. When you glance at him, his expression is unreadable, but his mouth quirks, almost imperceptibly, in reassurance.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he says aloud, stretching his arms. “I’ll bring your lizards back safely. Maybe even some extra, if they’re feeling friendly.”
“Go,” Yaga growls.
Satoru vaults back into Sukuna’s saddle. The Night Fury launches skyward in a storm of wings and air, climbing so fast your stomach flips just from watching. He doesn’t look back, but you feel his absence immediately, like the ground beneath you has shifted.
“Chief,” you try again, forcing the tremor out of your voice, “if there are more ships than usual, if this is bigger than—”
“Finish your maps,” Yaga cuts you off, turning away.
You stand there for a long moment, your fists clenching around nothing, as riders murmur and scatter and dragons snort restlessly at their sides. Something in your gut twists again, sharp and certain. Yaga doesn’t just want you out of the mission. He wants you blind, and you don’t know why.
Satoru Gojo doesn’t arrive back with the rest of the riders and it takes you about four hours to swallow down your pride and admit that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.
At first, you tell yourself he’s late because he’s lazy. Because he got distracted chasing a gull or decided to nap on Sukuna’s back somewhere over the cliffs. That’s his style, isn’t it? Careless, infuriating, utterly impossible to pin down. But when the other riders return—faces set in grim lines, dragons shuffling uneasily on the packed earth—there’s no trace of him.
The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.
The courtyard empties slowly, mutters and wary glances trailing after you as you linger by the dragon pens. You can’t ask them where he is, not when your throat is tight with fear. You can’t ask Yaga either—at least, not openly, when you already suspect he doesn’t want you to know the answer.
Instead, you find the apprentice.
He’s lugging a basket of fish towards the Gronckle pens, shoulders hunched. You stride over and plant yourself in his path.
“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.
The boy nearly drops the basket, mackerel slopping over the edge. “Wh-what?”
“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”
He stammers. “He—uh—he’s in the great hall, I think. With some of the elders. I’m not supposed to—”
You move before he can finish. The great hall looms at the centre of Berk. Its roof rises steeply, carved dragon heads snarling from the beams. The heavy double doors are shut, but a warm glow seeps from the cracks—torchlight, flickering against the chill dusk. You shouldn’t be here. Yaga will flay you alive if he catches you sneaking where you don’t belong. But the thought of waiting, sitting idly while Satoru doesn’t come back doesn’t sit right with you.
You slip inside.
The hall stretches wide and long ahead of you, the walls lined with shields and old weapons that gleam in the light. Long tables stretch out across the floor, empty, a few littered with tankards and scraps of parchment. The far end is dominated by Yaga’s chair, carved from mahogany, massive enough to dwarf even him.
It’s empty.
You turn away from the chair—because on the nearest table is your map.
Or rather, it should be there. The stack of parchment you left after your last session of furious sketching is gone, only a faint smear of charcoal dust staining the wood. The straps you’d used to tie them together still sit at the edge of the table, neatly coiled, but the maps themselves have vanished. Your stomach lurches.
The map of the north coast. The one you risked half your life to sketch, nearly drowned for. Every cove, every inlet, every hidden path marked out in careful strokes of charcoal—gone.
Your hand curls tightly around the strap left behind, the leather cutting into your palm. The room spins, your thoughts snarling into one conclusion: if Yaga has the maps, he didn’t take them to protect Berk. And if he doesn’t have them, then someone else does. And Satoru still hasn’t come back.
You hurry out of the hall, past the empty pens, past the wary stares of villagers who pull their cloaks tighter as you barrel through. The sky is already bruising into night, gulls wheeling overhead in harsh cries that grate against your nerves. You don’t think. You just turn—towards the cliffs, the only place that makes sense. The north coast, where your maps pointed. Where Satoru isn’t supposed to be.
The path narrows as you climb. The wind rises, sharp and cold, tugging at your tunic. The sea roars below, white foam smashing itself against black rock. Each gust shoves at your balance, each step rattles your teeth. You know these paths—you’ve sketched them, charted them—but tonight they feel alien, hostile.
Your lungs burn. Your legs ache. Still, you push forward, clutching your side, muttering curses under your breath.
A shadow moves above you, massive fast, cutting across the purpling sky. The figure drops lower, angling towards you. You stumble to a stop, heart hammering, and tilt your head back.
Sukuna.
The Night Fury flies through the dusk, scales glinting dark blue where the light catches. His cry rips through the cliffs—sharp, haunting, enough to send a flock of puffins exploding from their nests. The wind from his wings slams into you, sending you staggering backwards.
He’s alone. The dragon banks sharply, almost skimming the sea, and you see a saddle still strapped tight, leather dark with seawater, reins dangling loose.
He lands on the cliffs just ahead of you, talons tearing furrows in the stone. His wings flare wide before folding in, each movement rippling with tension. He’s restless, furious, his chest heaving and his tail lashing like a whip.
“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.
He turns at once, those twin rings of garnet eyes locking onto you. Recognition flares, but it’s not soft. It’s sharp, wild, like he’s on the edge of bolting right back into the sky. His nostrils flare, smoke curling as he huffs out a growl.
Your legs move before your mind catches up. You rush towards him, arms out, words tumbling uselessly from your mouth. “Where is he? Where’s Satoru?”
Sukuna lowers his head, nostrils flaring again as though scenting the wind. His scales are slick with salt, his wings ragged from the flight, his whole body coiled tight with an agitation you’ve never seen in him before. He paces, restless, claws scraping sparks against the stone. The saddle’s empty. Satoru’s gone.
The thought claws at your skull, frantic and ugly, but you push it down, shove it away, refuse to let it root. “Take me to him,” you say. “You hear me? Take me to him!”
Sukuna freezes. His head tilts, eyes narrowing, sharp and assessing. You think he’ll refuse, that he’ll vanish into the sky without you. But he shoves his massive snout against your shoulder, hard enough to nearly knock you flat. His wings flare again. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command.
Your hands fumble with the saddle’s straps as you clamber up, fingers numb, stomach twisting. The moment you’re seated, Sukuna surges forward, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The world drops away beneath you, cliffs shrinking, sea spreading endless and merciless below. Wind tears at your face, your hair, your clothes. You clutch the straps tightly, the air freezing your cheeks, your heart slamming so hard you can’t tell if it’s fear or relief.
Sukuna doesn’t soar, doesn’t play with the air currents or bank lazily just to terrify you the way Satoru likes to. He cuts through the night like an arrow, wings beating ruthlessly, each downstroke flinging you forward until your stomach lurches. The North Sea yawns before you, and the cliffs crawl past in uneven shadows.
“Where are you taking me?” you shout, though the wind steals most of it away. Sukuna’s neck stiffens, his flight angled low, purposeful.
The further north you go, the rougher the landscape grows. The cliffs rise higher, crueler, sharpened by centuries of waves gnawing at their base. The moon breaks through the clouds in flashes, silvering the rocks. You’ve charted these shores on parchment, every inlet and alcove, but in the dark, they look unfamiliar.
Sukuna dives. The drop rips the breath from your chest and tears your stomach into your throat. You can only cling and pray as he folds his wings tight and plummets. At the last possible instant, he flares his wings wide, landing with a shuddering crash onto a stretch of uneven stone, claws biting through moss and shale.
You scramble down, your boots skidding on slick rock as Sukuna growls. Ahead, the cliffs hollow into a cove, a natural amphitheatre of stone and sea. Torches burn inside, small orange flames that lick against the rock, wrong against the wild dark.
In the centre of it all: Yaga.
The Chief of Berk stands with his arms crossed, broad shoulders squared and cloak snapping in the wind. His great beard glints ruddy in the torchlight. But it isn’t him that makes your heart stutter. It’s what’s at his feet.
Satoru.
He’s on his knees, wrists bound in thick rope, head tilted at an insolent angle that doesn’t quite hide the blood streaking down his temple. Even half-slumped, gagged with a strip of cloth knotted cruelly between his teeth, he radiates infuriating carelessness—eyes narrowed, expression hovering between boredom and mockery.
You make a sound—something strangled, something useless—and stumble forward, only for Sukuna to block you with a sweep of a wing. He growls again.
“Finally,” Yaga says. His voice booms off the rock, heavy, immovable, the kind of voice that fills halls and commands loyalty. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned him.”
“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.
“What I should’ve done the moment that creature set foot on Berk.” His eyes cut to Sukuna. “That dragon is too dangerous to be left in the hands of a fool. Or worse, shared between fools. Give him to me, and I may let Gojo live.”
Satoru makes a muffled noise behind the gag, rolling his eyes so hard you half-expect them to stick. You can almost hear his voice anyway: Don’t listen to the old man, gorgeous. He just wants my dragon ‘cause he doesn’t have one of his own.
Your chest feels too small, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “You—you can’t mean that. Sukuna’s not a weapon. He’s not—”
“He’s a Night Fury,” Yaga says. “Do you have any idea what that means? The power he carries? No village could stand against us if he were ours. No trapper would dare threaten us. Berk would be untouchable.”
“He’s not yours,” you say.
Yaga’s gaze flicks past you. “And yet here he stands, listening to your commands. Think, child. You’ve seen the cliffs, the danger at our borders. Berk is one storm away from ruin. I won’t gamble its survival on the whims of a dragon who answers only to Gojo.”
Satoru gives a muffled, derisive laugh that earns him a kick to the ribs. He tips his head back, gag muffling whatever clever retort he tries to spit out.
“Is that why you funded the trappers to surround your own village, Yaga?” you ask, mustering up all the courage you own.
Yaga stills. His boot rests against Satoru’s ribs, his shadow thrown long against the cove wall. His lips twitch beneath his beard—not surprise, not shame. Annoyance.
“You shouldn’t know that,” he says slowly. “The apprentice talks too much.”
“You set them on us. You set them on him.”
A sound splits the night—metal ringing against stone, boots crunching over gravel. From the shadows at the edges of the cove, men appear. Rough-spun leather, ragged furs, nets rolled thick over their shoulders. Their faces gleam with salt and grease, their eyes hungry. Dragon trappers. You know them by the stink alone: fish oil, blood, old smoke. They slip from the dark like wolves, more than a dozen, their movements practiced, circling.
The torchlight catches iron chains coiled in their fists. Hooks. Bolas. Shackles built for wings, not wrists.
“You’re working with them?” you say.
“I’m using them,” the chief says. “They have the means, the tools that I don’t have.”
You think of the maps gone from the hall, the apprentice’s trembling mouth, the sidelong glances of riders who returned without their strongest, without him. Pieces snap into place with a sickening clarity.
“You sold us out,” you whisper again. “You sold him out.”
“I did what I had to. Berk survives because I make hard choices. You, girl—you make sketches. You play at your little maps, but I—I see storms on the horizon. Dragons beyond counting. Trappers fattening themselves on our weakness. Do you think a village of fishers and smiths can stand against that? No. But with a Night Fury—with that beast, Berk rules the seas.”
Sukuna’s growl reverberates through the rock beneath your feet. His pupils pinprick, his wings hitch upward, every line of his body coiled to strike. You know he understands enough: tone, intent, threat. He does not know, yet, how to forgive.
“Tell me,” Yaga says, low and inexorable, “what’s one boy’s life against the safety of a whole people?”
Satoru chooses that exact moment to lurch upright against his bindings, muffling something sharp and entirely unhelpful through the gag. You catch the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin. One boy? Try national treasure, old man.
You almost laugh.
Chains rattle. The trappers are closing in. Their boots scrape the shale, torches lifting higher, nets poised to fly. The scent of pitch and iron stings your nose. There aren’t raiders in passing—they’re hunters, professional, and they’ve been waiting.
You step forward, planting yourself between them and Sukuna’s flank before you even think it through. “If you think he’ll ever obey you, you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” you bite out. “Sukuna isn’t a weapon. He isn’t yours to wield.”
“He will be.”
The nearest trapper lunges. A net arcs through the air, weighted corners sparking as they whip forward. You throw yourself sideways, but you needn’t have bothered—Sukuna’s blast rips it to cinders mid-flight. The explosion lights the cove for a split-second, dazzling white, searing afterimages into your vision. Rock shatters, smoke plumes, men scream.
The Night Fury roars.
The sound is primal, thunder given flesh. Sukuna surges forward, plasma bursting from his jaws in ragged, relentless blasts. Trappers scatter like startled crabs, some diving for cover, others spinning their chains desperately to keep him back. One man screams as his bolas ignite mid-spin, molten metal splattering his arm.
You drop to Satoru’s side in the chaos. He turns his head sharply, eyes catching yours, blue in the firelight, furious and alive. Your fingers fumble at the knots. The rope is soaked with seawater, swollen tight, cutting into your palms as you fight with it.
“Hold still,” you hiss, though he’s hardly moving.
He snorts through his gag. The knot slips at last. The rope slackens, and Satoru jerks his wrists free with a hiss. He tears the gag from his mouth, coughing once before grinning up at you, that same insufferable smile that somehow hasn’t dulled even after being tied and bloodied.
“Miss me?” he drawls.
You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”
“Oh, I plan to.” Satoru’s gaze flicks past you, to Yaga still looming at the centre of it all.
Sukuna lashes his tail, knocking two trappers flat, and whirlls his head back towards you both, plasma building in his throat again. The trappers rally, more of them pouring from the shadows at the mouth of the cove, their nets glowing with oil to withstand fire, their bolas gleaming with sharpened edges meant for wings. Their shadows jitter grotesquely against the cove walls, wolfish and endless. Sukuna’s blasts have rattled them but not broken them—they circle tighter, nets at the ready.
A horn splits the night.
It’s high and keening, rolling down from the cliffs above: Berk’s call to arms.
Shapes tear through the dark sky. Dragons. Not one, not two—a little less than a dozen, wings beating hard, riders silhouetted against the clouds. Their cries cascade through the air—the iron thrum of Nadder wings, the heavy, beating thunder of a Gronckle, the shriek of a Zippleback.
The riders dive. Bolas meant for Sukuna snap backward, suddenly tangled in fire. A trapper screams when a Deadly Nadder’s spines pin his arm to the cove wall. Yaga’s apprentice clings desperately to his dragon—far too small for this fight, a Gronckle, wings buzzing frantically—but his horn blast keeps sounding, rallying the others.
“Traitors!” Yaga bellows. His face is red with fury, veins bulging in his temple. “Do you side with him over your own chief?”
“Over a traitor, yes!” the apprentice shouts back.
The cove fractures into chaos—dragons wheeling, trappers shouting, nets burning in mid-air. Sukuna tears through them, plasma lighting up the night. You turn towards Satoru, only to freeze.
Yaga’s hand clamps down around your arm, thick and brutal, yanking you off your feet. The world spins; your back slams against his chest, his arm like an iron band around you. He drags you towards the cliff’s edge, gravel skittering into the black maw of sea below.
“Stop!” His roar drowns even the dragon cries. “Or she falls!”
Sukuna halts mid-pounce, talons gouging sparks in the stone. The other riders hover, their dragons’ wings beating the air in slow, heavy pulses. Even the trappers hesitate, chains slack in their hands. The sea crashes below, white foam gnashing against the rocks, a drop so sheer it makes you feel nauseous.
Yaga’s breath rasps against your ear. “The Night Fury, girl. Give him to me or you’re gone.”
You twist, fighting against his grip, nails digging into his arm, but he’s immovable, a wall of muscle and conviction. He jerks you closer to the edge, and the heel of your boot slips on loose gravel. Your weight tilts towards the abyss.
Somehow, impossibly, you make eye contact with Satoru—astride Sukuna. His white hair gleams in the torchlight. Sukuna crouches beneath him, plasma pulsing faintly in his throat, tail still twitching.
Satoru’s lips move.
Eighty percent.
You blink, barely comprehending. “What?” you croak out.
Eighty percent.
Suddenly, you know. He wants you to trust him. He wants you to fall. It’s insane. It’s impossible.
The apprentice screams your name from somewhere above. The riders shout warnings. The trappers lunge forward, seeing their chance. Yaga tightens his grip, preparing to hurl you like discarded cargo into the sea.
You make the choice first.
Your knees buckle, and you let yourself go slack. His grip loosens in shock—just enough. You wrench sideways, twist hard against his hold, and throw yourself forward into the air.
The sea roars up to meet you. Wind tears your scream to shreds. There’s only the black water yawning wide, jagged rocks slick with foam—until Sukuna dives down, his wings folded tightly. He rockets down the cliff face, plasma sparking in his jaws. You glimpse Satoru’s silhouette against the stars, leaning low in the saddle, eyes locked on you.
The air sears past your skin, the spray of the sea already stinging your face. Claws close around you.
Sukuna’s talons scoop you from the air. The force of it nearly rips the breath from your lungs, but the relief, the sheer surge of it, blinds you more than the wind. He angles upward in a steep climb, wings snapping wide, hauling you clear from the rocks and the ravenous waves.
You’re pressed tightly against his chest, his claws curled just enough to cage you without harm, his scales hot with exertion. Above you, astride the saddle, Satoru twists in his seat, grinning down at you.
“See?” he calls. “Told you. Eighty percent.”
You want to kiss him. You also want to scream. Instead, all you manage is a hoarse, furious, “You’re an idiot!”
Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.
Not because you wanted it to. Gods, no. You’d rather have wrestled a Gronckle with one arm tied behind your back than admit you were even remotely tempted by the smirk plastered across Satoru’s stupid face. But Sukuna, traitorous beast that he is, decided that enough was enough.
It starts when the Night Fury refuses to let either of you down. You’re sore from the fight, ribs aching where Yaga had grabbed you, salt still drying and sticking to your skin. You’ve been through enough for one night, and all you want is the ground. Just solid ground beneath your feet.
Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.
He lands not on the village cliffs, not near the dragon pens, but on the highest bluff overlooking Berk. A windswept place where he knows neither of you can escape quickly. He lowers his head, eyes narrowing with that calculating look he always gets when he’s three steps ahead of everyone else.
You try to slide off the saddle. His tail lashes, blocking your path.
“Really?” you snap, shoving at the scaled wall of muscle. “I’ve had enough for today.”
“He just doesn’t want us to leave,” Satoru supplies. “Can you blame him? We make such a great team.”
You whirl on him. “You nearly got yourself killed.”
“Nearly. Keyword.”
Your teeth grind. The wind snaps your hair into your eyes, the sea growls far below, and Satoru is—well, Satoru. All flippant grins and infuriating calm, as if Yaga’s betrayal, the trappers, the near loss of Sukuna, none of it left so much as a scratch on his spirit.
You jab a finger at his chest. “You think this is funny? You were gagged and tied and—”
“—and you swooped in and saved me,” he says. “Admit it, you couldn’t stand to see me suffer.”
“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”
Sukuna rumbles, wings settling around you both like a barricade. His eyes gleam faintly in the dark, twin garnets pinning you where you sit. You realise too late: he’s cornered you.
Satoru tilts his head. “You hear that? He’s saying we should kiss and make up.”
“He is not,” you say flatly.
“He definitely is,” Satoru insists. He leans in just slightly, enough to test the boundaries, enough for your heart to betray you by stumbling over itself. “C’mon. Wouldn’t want to upset him. He’s had a rough day too.”
You glare, but the problem is that Sukuna seems to agree. He nudges the both of you closer with the blunt force of his snout, nearly toppling you into Satoru’s lap. The dragon huffs smoke, satisfied, before curling into the stone and laying his head flat as though to say, Now behave.
You should shove Satoru away. You should storm off, make the climb down the cliffs yourself, risk the dark. Anything but this.
The adrenaline of the fight still thrums through your veins. Your pulse hasn’t slowed since you saw him bound on his knees, blood dripping from his temple, smirking like a madman even then. You remember the feel of the ropes cutting your palms as you freed him, the wild terror that maybe you’d been too late.
Maybe that’s why you don’t shove him away. Maybe that’s why you let him close the distance, why your lips meet his halfway in a kiss that’s less a decision and more a consequence, inevitable as the tide.
It’s clumsy, at first. You’re too angry, he’s too smug. But he softens into it, just a little, and you hate the way the ground seems to tilt under your feet, how the world narrows to salt air and warmth and the reckless promise of him.
When you finally break apart, breathless, Satoru grins like he’s just won a war.
“Knew you liked me,” he says, blue eyes sparkling.
You shove him hard in the shoulder, though your face burns. “That was for Sukuna,” you say.
The dragon rumbles again, smug as any beast can be. Satoru only laughs, tipping his head back, and pulls you in for another kiss.
It’s ecstatic, the feel of Satoru’s tongue lapping at your folds.
His tongue is wet and hot as it laps over the sensitive nerves, and you can feel the way he hums happily as he laps at the juices that drip onto his waiting mouth. You’re sure his face is going to be covered in your slick by the end of this, but it seems like he couldn’t care less, if his moans and groans are any indication. Your fingers tangle in his white strands of hair, gripping hard to keep him where you want him. His arms are wrapped around your legs, keeping them open as he feasts on your cunt. You can see the muscles in his back flexing as he tries to get closer, get deeper, and you can only hold on for dear life, feeling the way he drives you higher and higher towards your orgasm.
Satoru is making a mess of himself, and you know he has a thing for being covered in your slick.
The moment the thought passes through your head, you can’t help the cry that escapes, a full-body shiver wracking through your body. He groans into you, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you feel his tongue move in a way that you know has him spelling his name, over and over again. You tug at his hair, trying to move him, but his arms tighten and he doesn’t budge.
You let out a moan, trying to speak. “Satoru, I—I need you. Inside me. Now.”
He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. “One more, gorgeous. Give me one more, and then I’m all yours.”
You whine, feeling the heat in your stomach build, and Satoru continues to eat you out. Your back arches off the bed, and you grip his hair tighter. Your thighs start to close around him; he lets go of one of your legs to press two fingers into your heat, pressing right into that spot that has you crying out his name, curling his fingers as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your body shakes, and you cry out his name, feeling the way your cunt tightens and throbs around his fingers.
Satoru groans, moving his face away from your core and watching as the aftershocks of your orgasm make your body tremble. He pumps his fingers slowly, prolonging your pleasure, and you whine at the sensitivity.
He smiles softly, kissing the inside of your thigh, before removing his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking the juices that cover them. He lets out a pleased moan, eyes locked onto yours, and moves to kiss you.
His lips are warm, and you taste yourself on his tongue. It only serves to rile you up more when you feel the way his cock throbs where it presses against your thigh. You raise your legs to wrap them around his hips, and you push him lightly. Satoru moves willingly, letting out a moan as he lies on his back. He grips the sheets in anticipation, watching as you straddle his lap. He groans, feeling the way your cunt settles on his thighs. You smile, running a finger down his chest, and he bucks his hips in response.
You let out a gasp when the tip of his cock rubs against your folds. He moans.
Satoru’s hands grip your hips tightly, and his thumb rubs circles on your skin. You can feel the way he trembles under you. Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping lightly; he whines. You position the tip at your entrance, rubbing it against your clit, and moan.
“Stop teasing,” he groans, and you grin.
“Or what?” you taunt, grinding against his length. “Are you going to punish me, Satoru?”
He growls, hips jerking upwards. You gasp, feeling the tip rub against your folds, catching at your slit, and try to lower yourself. But Satoru tightens his hold, not letting you sink further onto his cock. You glare at him.
“I should,” he says, and suddenly his arms are around you, flipping you onto your back.
He settles between your thighs, his arms framing either side of your head. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can feel his cock brushing against your folds. You move your arms to wrap around his shoulders, nails scratching lightly down his back.
Satoru groans, burying his head in your neck, nipping lightly.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling his hips jerk.
The tip of his cock rubs against your clit again. He lets out a breathless laugh.
“I will,” he responds—only to be interrupted by a loud, keening wail from outside your cottage door.
The sound is so piercing, so demanding, that for a moment you think some villager has wandered into mortal peril right outside your door. But no—no, you recognise that guttural, almost petulant cry. You and Satoru both freeze.
“Was that—” you start.
Another wail, louder this time, rattles the hinges of your cottage, followed by the unmistakable scrape of claws against wood.
Satoru drops his forehead against your collarbone. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The Night Fury wails again, insistent, tail thudding against the doorframe. You bite back a laugh, half-giddy, half-exasperated, and say, “I think someone wants attention.”
Satoru lifts his head, hair mussed and eyes narrowed. “He’s the worst cockblock in history,” he mutters. “Tell him to go hunt some haddock or terrorise the chickens, or—Gods, literally anything else.”
The next sound isn’t just a wail. It’s a low, mournful croon that slides under your ribs and squeezes. Sukuna isn’t just loud—he’s lonely.
You soften, even as Satoru makes a strangled noise of despair above you. “Satoru…”
“No,” he says, rolling off you onto his back. “No, no, don’t you dare give him those eyes. He doesn’t deserve those eyes. I was right there, gorgeous—right there.”
You’re already tugging your tunic back over your shoulders, laughing despite the ache in your belly. “He’ll tear the cottage down if we don’t.”
Satoru throws an arm over his face, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “I hate him. I actually hate him.”
But when you slip to the door and crack it open, Sukuna is there, his massive head lowered to the threshold, those garnet eyes glowing with expectation. He snorts the moment he sees you, bumping his snout against your chest.
“Alright, alright,” you murmur, your hands automatically smoothing over his warm snout. “Head pats. Happy?”
Sukuna rumbles, pressing harder into your palm. Satoru groans again. “Unbelievable. My dragon just stole my girl. I’m doomed.”
You glance over your shoulder to find him sprawled on the bed, hair a disaster, chest heaving, the blankets thrown over the lower half of his body. He’s sulking. You grin.
“Maybe he just knows when to step in,” you tease, scratching gently at Sukuna’s scales.
“Step in? He barged in.”
Sukuna lets out a little huff and nuzzles harder against your hand.
Satoru groans once more, louder this time, dragging the pillow over his face. “I’m moving out.”
a/n: thanks for reading! i have a habit of turning sukuna into animals lol he was also a horse in my old gojo tangled!au
cw: men who yearn, physical affection, kissing, soft bakugo, muscles described, kissing, swearing, & not proofread
ⓘ Featuring Bakugo initiating affection doesn't happen often, so when it does, you should keep it going.
Waiting up for Katsuki is kind of like playing around with a claw machine. You never really know what you're going to get.
It could be a prize you'll cherish forever. Like a kiss, an invite to shower together, a moment of weakness, or the rarest of all. When he falls into bed next to you and sleeps it off on your chest.
But it also has the possibility of getting nothing but a tired grunt while downing a bottle of water or just falling into bed without a word.
But no matter what he does, it's always worth it. He'll never push you away if you initiate affection, letting you rake your fingers through his hair & sleepily attaching.
"Honey?" You rasped, glancing over your shoulder at the feeling of Katsuki pressing his chest flat against your back. "What are you doing?"
He got home later than normal, looked unkempt & told you to go ahead and go to sleep while he showered.
"Nothing," Kats mumbled, eyes visibly tired, as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. hauling you close enough to tuck his face into the crook of your neck and press a soft kiss there.
"Baby. I'm trying to sleep." You mused, bringing up a hand to lightly tug at his blond strands.
"Hey. Shut up. I'm trying to get comfortable." He hissed, nipping at your cheek as he rubbed your stomach slowly. "Didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to hold ya' tonight."
A soft sigh escaped your lips as you rolled over to press your chest firmly against his bare chest. "Hadn't fallen asleep yet; don't worry."
You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before tenderly tracing the scar there, watching in delight as the blush spread across Katsuki's cheeks.
"You're such a nerd sometimes." He huffed, grasping your hips & rubbing the soft skin slowly. "Not fair, I'm tired, no. Sleep-deprived."
"Long night?" You whispered, quickly pulling the blanket over his bare back, your fingertips lingering on his toned biceps before dragging up to tangle in his damp blond hair.
He always had this look in his eye after an annoyingly long night patrol, but tonight it just looked somber.
"You could say that, yeah." He admitted, leaning into your touch just a little, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "It's been a long, long night, honestly."
"Do you want to talk about it?" You whispered, trying to soothe him, sliding your hands to rest comfortably on his chest. "I don't mind staying up longer."
"No. No, not tonight." He shook his head before tucking you under his chin, moving to rub your shoulder gently. "I just want to hold you right now, if that's alright?"
It was your turn to blush, letting out a quick gasp at his warm chest pressing against your face before nodding quickly. "That's fine, baby; we can just sleep too."
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : rewrote my favorite Bakugo fic to celebrate 12k. original.
౨ৎ — after you let it slip that the vibrator you just bought can’t get you off, bsf satoru gojo is more than happy to help || MDNI, smut. 1.6K words
inspo from this post by @blkkizzat. love her sexy brain.
there’s nothing quite as thrilling as having the man you told your exes not to worry about perched right between your legs.
you lie on your bed, naked from the waist down while your best friend sits fully clothed and examines your vibrator like he wishes he had a microscope to give him a better look.
he moves it from one hand to the next, the very picture of indifference when he switches it on.
satoru shakes his head when the toy quickly spurs to life and fills the room with it’s constant hum, “there’s no way wanted to throw this away,” he starts “seems perfectly fine to me.”
your eyes narrow the tiniest bit.
“well, you're not the one who has to use it.” you grouse defensively.
and maybe you were a little more pent up than you thought, because the image of him doing just that starts to take shape. the man practically lives in sweats, so you’ve caught the print of his dick more times than you’d ever care to admit.
and in your mind’s eye, you can picture him rubbing the vibrator against his tip then all the down the thick veiny length. white lashes fluttering and neck muscles bulging as the vibrations made him twitch in need—
cerulean eyes flicker to yours, and satoru smiles like he knows exactly what you're thinking. slow, full of teeth and boyishly sexy.
“you’re totally thinking about me using it, aren’t you?”
you forcibly expel the image away with a shake of your head.
“you wish,” you smack his arm a little too hard, and it has him groaning between a chuckle. ignoring the flush in your cheeks, you raise an eyebrow at him, “i still can't believe you offered to do this by the way.”
“i can’t believe you agreed,” he quips just as quickly and well…fair enough. because you couldn’t either.
satoru readjusts so he’s on his knees and dips his head, his eyes following the length of your body until they land right between your legs.
you watch them dilate until only a thin ring of blue remains, and the longer he stares, the more heat rushes south. cool air feathers over your cunt and the achy tease of it, coupled with the weight of his rapt attention, have your legs trying to close again.
satoru doesn't let you get far though. he grumbles his disapproval, freehand spanning over the plush flesh of your thigh and spreading you open again.
“don’t go shy on me now.”
your hips shift a little. “you’re staring.”
he huffs out a laugh, hand spasming over soft skin, “can you blame me?” he asks with a good helping of reverence and not a lick of denial in the question.
his eyes never stray away and fuck, you don’t even think he’s blinking.
“almost want to take my time with how pretty she is,” his chest rises with a deep inhale, like he’s trying to breathe you in. “wet too.”
one look at your face lets him know that you would walk out if he tried, and he has to stifle a grin.
“maybe next time,” he decides, and when he sees you about to tell him there won't be a “next time”, he lifts the vibrator and presses the tip of it against your clit.
and for someone who claimed it didn’t work, the effect it has on you is intense. your breath hitches, body bucking up, and he groans at the sight of your tits bouncing under your shirt.
he nearly dropped to his knees in anguish when you refused to take it off, but the way your nipples stiffen under the fabric almost makes it worth it.
“oh shit,” the moan draws his attention away from your chest, and he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth at the fucked-out look on your face.
satoru drags the silicone toy along your slit, and while glittery wetness immediately drenches it, it’s not nearly enough.
so he rears back and draws his cheeks in. when his lips part, a fat blob of spit splatters onto your clit. your hips pitch and the mess drips all the way down to your ass.
satoru watches your head roll against your pillow. hair splaying out messily and eyes a little too glassy, “toru,”
“too pretty for your own good, ” he husks quietly. as if it was only meant for his ears.
he presses himself against your thigh. cock thick and hard as it strains under his jeans, and you clench around nothing. suddenly painfully empty.
with how easy it is for satoru to map your reactions, someone would think this wasn’t the first time the two of you were doing this. it's like he can sense what you need long before you do. so, when your lips part to beg him for something your mind can barely string together, he's already nudging the vibrator against your entrance and slowly pushing it inside.
he pumps it in and out of you in deep, teasingly slow strokes that make it impossible to bite back your moans.
they sound embarrassing to your ears. all too high some moments and wavering into soundless gasps in others, but satoru clearly doesn't share the sentiment. he grinds his cock against your thigh harder, and it pulses with each sound that pours out your mouth. he feels them wash over his back and light up the base of his spine in a white-hot beam.
“you’re so fucking hot,” the vibrator is turned up a couple notches, and you freeze when you feel it.
you’re close.
a broken gasp escapes, then you react how you always do.
you run from it.
panicked and restless when your hips shift back and each pulse has you squirming.
you only get far enough to make an inch of the dildo slip out before a hand curls around your waist and holds you in place.
“where are you going?” gojo tilts his head at you and you think his eyes are the brightest you’ve ever seen them.
slowly, something clicks into place behind them, and a huff of laughter bubbles out.
“wait…don’t tell me you're a runner,” he's so tickled you're tempted to hit him again. but it's impossible to do anything but jerk when he plunges the toy to the hilt again. “well shit, baby, no wonder you thought it was broken.”
his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you would’ve found his wide grin cute if he didn't turn the intensity all the way up.
he lets the toy buzz inside of you and when you recoil, both hands grip your hips and swiftly tug you back.
“nuh uh, we can’t have you running away when you’re so close.”
“f-fuck, i can’t,” you whine. head shaking from side to side, and he coos.
“of course you can, pretty,” satoru drapes his body over yours, one burly thigh snug between your legs to keep the toy in place. and to keep grinding against your soft thighs.
“you’re doing so much better already,” he murmurs quietly, hips already moving against you. “just need me to hold you down and make you take it, hm?”
he phrases that like a question but slants his lips over yours to muffle your answer. satoru groans into your mouth, tongue swirling around yours and teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
your fingers twist into the sheets, clutching at them as if they would ground you. it proves useless because the filth coming out satoru’s mouth is clearly trying to leave you wrecked by the end of this.
“god, the sounds you make around fake cock,” he grunts against your jaw, hips shuttering for a moment before rutting harder. “should’ve—shit—just offered you the real thing.”
arousal pools around the vibrator to drip down onto the sheets below and it takes everything to keep your eyes from rolling backwards.
“oh my god,” you whimper, and he licks up the seam of your lips.
“be a good girl and stop holding back. let yourself feel it,” your hips roll upwards and his chest rumbles with a sound that doesn’t even sound human anymore. “yeah, there you go, fuck yourself on it.”
he was delirious. blabbering almost as much as you were, but at least he was halfway coherent. your limbs seal around him. legs coiling tight around his trim waist and hands sneaking under his shirt to scratch at his back.
your nails must dig in a little too deeply because a hiss is punctured against your lips. you draw back, scared you hurt him, and he shakes his head.
“do it again,” he pleads. palming your clothed tit. “like you mean it this time.”
a shocked huff leaves you, “jesus, you’re insane.”
the unhinged laugh that echoes through your room only proves your point, but you oblige. your nails rake over his muscled back, and the sound he makes makes your clit pulse.
“oh, c’mon baby harder,” you cut into skin, and he chokes. “ah—fuck yes!”
satoru doesn’t bother holding himself up anymore. he just lets all his weight bear down on you, basically trapping you under him.
he drops his head to the swell of your breast, and your back bows when he latches onto your nipple through your shirt, sucking it into his mouth and wetting the fabric.
“cum for me,” he hums against the peak when you tense under him.
you have a brief moment of panic when your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest. it wracks with a broken sob, and even when you go limp with your release, the vibrations between your legs don’t stop.
satoru shudders not long after you. moaning between your breasts while his cum makes a mess of his briefs. it spurts onto material in thick pulses and you swear you feel it on your skin. warm, sticky and sleek.
he stays on you for a second longer, then lifts himself onto his elbows so he doesn’t accidentally smother you.
it’s only when he slides the vibrator out that air returns to your lungs. tension leaves your body and your spine loosens again.
your eyes flit over to him and they bulge when you see him raise the toy to his mouth. glossy lips wrapping around the silicone, as he sucks your arousal and cum off of it.
the slurping noise he makes while he keeps his eyes on yours has liquid heat building up in your belly again, so intense it’s like you didn’t cum seconds ago. he releases it from his mouth with a pop and grins widely.
“see? works perfectly.”
you had a total psycho for a best friend, and whatever craze that infected him had to be spreading. because when he parts your legs again, murmuring something about making you squirt with round two…
note: hi this is a scheduled post. period cramps currently have me on my ass but i’ll be back online as soon as i can. lmk if you saw any errors okay? okay.
ps: @rambld see what other best friends are doing? lock in.
Synopsis. First time fitting all of him = first time losing his mind.
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, they’re PACKING, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, p talking, p slápping, use of “my wife”, dúmbifícation, BÚLGES, jealousy (Ino), BRÉEDING, true form Sukuna, dp, Shiu cameo, spítting, GOJO’S POWERS, D analysis, chóking, exhíbitíonism (Higuruma), cúmplay, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Tony Claus is here with a biiiig gift for y’all hehehe <3
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8.96 inches
“T-Toooji- why the hell are you s-so big?” And oh, he can’t help but snicker at how you can barely even speak, barely do anything but thrash your quivering legs against the coiling springs of the mattress.
“Yeah yeah, tell me something I don’t know, doll.” Toji’s rolling his half-lidded eyes, swollen hilt plummeting down to French kiss his fat, mushroomy tip with a sappy thwack! at your teary slit. “Besides, m’barely even heh- an inch in.”
Barely even an inch.
Toji can feel his parched mouth just lather in greedy saliva at the oh-so-cute shock slipping its way onto your pretty features. “An i-inch…Toji will it even-”
“Silly girl, ‘course it will.” You’re gasping when one big, beefy arm claws around your boneless thighs to drag you halfway down the bed. Streaking a wet swab down your achy folds - oh, the sheer size difference was so vulgar. It makes him grin, “Because m’gonna make it fit, duh.”
Oh.
That wasn’t a promise - it was uttered like an oh-so-simple fact.
Well, your melty mind supposes, that is what you get for stubbornly claiming that you could “take it all”. Begging.
Over and over for days until your dear Toji had finally snapped. Had finally manhandled your poor self into the meanest of mating presses, giving your sloppy hole a mere savoring taste of the fat circumference of his syrupy pink tip-
“Oi.” Toji’s planting two swats onto the deliriously lolling side of your face. “Better not be f-fucked stupid already after all that talkin’ outta ya slutty pussy, ma.”
Hypnotized head nuzzling the sweat-slicked crook of his neck, your sloppy tongue garbles out a barely-coherent, “I-I’m not- I swear. It’s j-just…”
“J-j-just what?” Toji’s rumbling baritone hitches up into a dramatic high pitch, rounded curvature of his knees opening your trembly thighs up even further.
“Just…”
Only to rummage a good few inches of length past your saccharinely glossy hole. Perfectly left-leaning curve of his shaft swiping down your tender spots and fucking you spellbound. Snickering, “Honestly, just loooove complainin’, don’tcha? Why don’t you ah- beg f’me, instead?”
But you can’t - couldn’t even if you wanted to.
Because Toji was big, to say the least.
Girthy, merciless near-nine inches of him glazed a dripping gloss of precum. And it looked like it pained him to pull out. It pained him to slip and slide a sandwiching kiss of his soft, coral pink underside between your saturated lips. Back and forth back and forth back and-
“C’mon c’mon–” he’s hissing, dark brows knitting together tight. And the way you’re pushing away his sweat-streaked strands of black makes Toji shudder. “Yer my good girl, right? G-gonna take it all like a fucking champ, aren’tcha?”
“I-I will?” You mewl, eyes nervously straying to the way he looked so comically staggering twitching between your legs. Impatient. Red and angry. It made you starved. “I will.”
And oh, Toji would make sure of that.
Making sheer white cloud your vision when he’s letting go of his hefty crownhead to thud! across your quivering hole. Before his toned hips drivel in tiny little gyrations to pump you so full - Toji’s bloated cockhead spearheading you open so solidly. And the stretch-
The stretch.
The globular ends of his shaft mazes between your gluey walls to push you tautly to your limits. His sobbing divot buttering up every forbidden nook and cranny inside you with sappy splotches of pre - you felt so heavy with him halfway inside.
“Ah ahh- Toji– you’re in s-so d-deep-” You’re mindlessly rovering your fingers over to feel for that fattened, cylindrical outline of his nudging further and further up your gummy orifice. Big, pearly tears bead at your eyes and make him grin. “Can feel you right h-here. Dunno if I can take m-”
But in the blink of an eye, your slackened maw is being flooded with such stringy wads of spit. Streaming in a slicked mess from Toji’s curled lips before spattering onto your tastebuds. “If ya can t-take this, then you can take all of me, doll.”
Shrieking at the plummy twitch of his split cockhead swashing another wad of ribbony pre. “R-really?”
“Mhmm, Toji’s always hgh- right.” The fat curves of his fingers smush your mouth closed. To swallow. He swipes away a few speckles at the corner of your pretty mouth, pecking an innocent smooch against your lips to wipe those excess remnants cleanly off. “H…heh- good girl. Now get ready for hah- Toji’s biiig stretch.”
Leisurely swiping down one set of his fingerpads to scissor your puffy pussy lips further and further open. Herculean hips rolling to make you gulp down more more more-
“S-See? Didn’t I hah- say this cute cunt could ngh- take me?” Toji can’t help but crush your pliant body with the weight of his muscular thighs, heaving - practically plastering his sculpted front into yours. “Take this fuckin’ cock- the one you said was too big.”
God, he thinks he could almost laugh - fucking giggle like he was air-headed at how pretty you looked underneath him like this .
Your pupils practically heart-shaped and crossing with every jackhammering roll of his hips, tongue lolling out in a way that makes him spit all over again.
“Mhm- just one more fuckin’ inch now, ma.” Well, more like three - but Toji had the feeling you were too cockdrunk to tell the difference, anyway. And with a sodden slap! against your perked clit, he’s curling a calloused few digits around your throat. “Better take it all now.”
Dragging you - biceps flexing when he manhandles you from your throat to push you down millimeter by millimeter, suck him snugly down your elastic walls. And you didn’t know whether you were lightheaded because of that choking restraint or because of the stretch-
But then…
“Oh- Oh?” And something in Toji’s tone makes you blink your thoroughly glassy gaze to rationality. “Fuck- wait-” Toji gasps, he heaves. Willowy eyes bulging, snarling when he feels his ears pop! “Wait, don’t tell me- m’really…really…”
He was.
Now, Toji never claimed to be an optimist - he never said he was a miracle-worker but fuck- was this real? You were really, really milking all of him? This was what it felt like being buried balls-deep inside you?
God, he could die right now between your legs and still be a happy man.
Because he feels like his entire body has been zapped with a zillion bolts of electricity - like he’s in heaven. Stemming all the way from the lustrous little thwack! of his pulpy tip against your spongy cervix.
“Are- are you all the way inside?” You’re sobbing out, whines clawing at your throat with every smooth whack of Toji’s fattened cock into your goopy depths.
“I…” And Toji wants to answer - he wants to not look like a wordless fool in front of you but he can’t right about now. Scarred lips falling parted, he can barely even breathe right about now. Sharp jaw slacking open into a sexily husky laugh, “Yes. Hah! Atta girl, there we g-go. Knew my girl could ngh- do it.”
“Too big” his ass.
In the lazy blink of your weepy eyes, Toji has the two of your sweat-simmered bodies flipped over. Your own glued to his toned front, nails clawing at his bulging deltoids, head drooping between his cushiony pecs.
Bubbles of spit and pure whines flood your mouth when the massive mountains of Toji’s palms sift underneath your thighs to help you ride. Starting off slow - stumbling - presenting you with languid, tumbling thrusts that shape your fleshy insides to every ridge and curve of his cock.
Roughened digits pushing you down. Even more.
“Now…here comes the fun part tha’s gonna end up with you heh- pregnant, ma.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - 10.25 inches
“Am I…am I really that big?”
If this was anyone other than your dear Nanami you’d have huffed at that subtle brag of a question - but Nanami wasn’t bragging. And he wasn’t aware of just how much that simply sopping slide of his blushing shaft into your gooey depths was splitting you apart.
“Y-yes–” you’re mewling out, tangling your fingers with his thick ones to trek them all over your stuffed lower tummy. And Nanami gasps at the bloated nudge of his fat tip against your buttery walls. The outline. That you can feel from the outside. The curvature of his greedy thumb smearing down the mushy rounded edges tenderly. “S’like m’gonna hngh- break.”
Stern lips puckering up to kiss away the pearly tears that lather your fluttery lashes, he’s rumbling from the back of his throat. “Shhh…if you c-can’t, my love, then we can always-”
“Noooo-” God, Nanami loved to see that smack mouth of yours wobble with a few breaking whines, falling into a soft oh! when your squirmy hips shuffle a ravenous few gulps of more and more of his inches. “Want it- want it all.”
“Are you sure, darling? M’only halfway in right now.”
Nodding - nodding and nodding because you’ve never wanted anything more. A simpering trailway of drool sloshes from the slackened corner of your mouth when he’s slapping his weepy cockhead in two nice slaps into your extra sweet orifices.
He was long and thick - unfairly so. Equipped with heavy breeder balls that thump! thump! thumped against your thighs in the same needy rhythm as your heartbeat. Messy. The tannish blushing divot on his mushroomy tip barely even having to try to sugarcoat your goopy depths with a sweltering hot few splotches of creamy pre-
“Then…” Nanami’s wrenching you out of your cockdrunk little daydreams, and you’re faced with his utterly loving gaze. “You can hah- hold my hand- squeeze it if it gets too…much, my love.”
As if you ever would tap out.
Because the stretch was so addictive.
Every single one of his shuddering drives making your dewy eyes sprint all the way hidden at the back of your lids. The exact degree of his arch having you let off a few keens, legs thrashing with the depraved kiss of his sappy cockhead against your g-spot.
“Hey hey-” Nanami’s slanting his mouth over the rivulets upon rivulets of cold sweat beading at your forehead. And in turn you desperately crane upwards to kiss his plush pecs. “Remember what we talked about hngh- before?”
“Y-yes. Simple breathing techniques ah-” you’re crying out as he sneaks in a good swab down your slippery walls. “S’best to oh! Take slow, d-deep…long breaths to relax.”
Nanami chuckles out at your whiny little emphasis, every slow breath of yours helping his dexterous fingers guide that hooked bend of his knotted cock to bump into your treasured spots. Deeper. “Mhmm– good girl, relax. What else?”
“A-and- focus on one part of your ah- body t-to-” You can feel your weepy cunt pulse – thoroughly full and just about all that you could focus on. Inch by fucking inch disappearing. “-to boost awareness and…relax.”
Yeah, certainly enough for Nanami to tut when your glutinous pussylips tack on even tighter around him to halt his merciless pathway.
“Hate to see ya strugglin’, darling. Hold on t-tight-” Nanami’s blond brows simmer with a fresh sheen of perspiration at the tiny resistance. Strong arms dredging your useless legs up onto his broad shoulders. Indenting circular bruises with just how hard your heels were digging in. But oh, he doesn’t care. Doesn’t give a shit if it hurt - instead, planting a sweet few pecks at your ankles. “Because s’a bit of a biiiig stretch.”
He’s hiking one athletic thigh up even higher, adonis-like muscles flexing when Nanami arches his back and bends you easily in half.
Sweetly toying a few circular brushes of his fat thumb against your neglected clit. You’re at the utter mercy of the deepening angle walloping his crownhead into your spongy cervix. Dragging his wet tip in a saccharine few ribbons of velvety pre, you’re being absolutely flooded with the sheer size of him. With all of him-
“I-is it all in?” You’re sobbing out, only for Nanami to stray his hypnotized eyes accordingly downwards and gasp.
“S’all in- ohhhh s’all in- my perfect, perfect girl.” Nanami’s regal nose crinkles with sheer bliss, condensely fogged-up glasses leering further and further down his nosebridge. “N’ s’like y-you’re gonna be hngh- split apart, darling.”
And it felt like it.
Like Nanami was trying to mold your rubbery cunt into the exact shape of him, sticky kisses of his tight balls making you shy. To make sure with every bruising circumference of his overfed tip that you won’t forget him. Forget his size.
“G-gonna hafta get this pretty pussy hngh- used ta me.” He’s tilting his head down at that addictive image of your slurping pussy greedily sucking up every drilling jackhammer, every gyration, every grind just to watch the way your eyes bulge when he’s probing deeply into your cervix. “Jus’ hafta hngh- fuck her to the sh-shape of my cock oh!”
Every clingy squeeze of your gluey walls felt like you were doing that exact thing, and Nanami can’t help but let his toned hips poke languidly into your slicked g-spot. Sloshing a few tender dabs when he’s latching his mouth around your ankles to bite. To worship.
And it makes you sob. It makes you moan. It makes you cum - gasping in surprise at the sudden crash of your high, legs locking around Nanami’s thick neck.
You’re feeling limp - your eyes half-shuttering to a close at the flurries of stars in your vision. Barely even able to breathe let alone register the simpering smile plastering all over Nanami’s face when he locks your ankles behind his head with one ravenous hand.
Still moving. Still aching.
“My love…” He’s starting off. Low. Promising. You’re being gifted with a slow, slow filth of a kiss, still having his pretty lips sucking on your tongue when he hums. “Don’t think I’ve molded you ta my ngh- cock jus’ yet.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - 9.54 inches
It’s been hours now - hours.
Hours of Geto cracking open your trembly legs to mouth over that glossy wetness between them, making out with your slobbery pussy for ages until you were still dizzy with the slow tangle of his soft tongue against your treacly clit.
Still feeling the aftershocks of your nth orgasm when he’s flooding out a few viscous spurts of cum that slop between your pursed pussy lips. Gleaming sultry little lip-stain that he’s oh-so-unashamedly swabbing along a few fingers.
“Hmmm, now this won’t do–” Geto’s popping those slender digits into his mean mouth, snickering at the awe-struck little gasp you’re letting off. “Ain’tcha embarrassed to be th-this fucked n’ I’ve only put the tip in, gorgeous?”
He was so unfair.
Dark brows marrying together sexily when he’s spending a sloppy few seconds pretending to think, “Whaddaya think? Can you ah- take me even when you’re being this full?”
And full you were - being teased over and over again. Fucked with only the hefty, globular curve of his pretty, pierced cockhead until your poor pussy was frosted with a thick, creamy lather of Geto’s seed. Trickling between your legs and splotching over where you were hovering over his muscular thighs, bouncing with your precarious seated position.
Huffing, one hand of yours grapples onto the mountainous terrain of Geto’s sculpted deltoid. The other curling around his pale, sweat-slicked throat in a way that made him drool. “Been w-wantin’ all of ya you, all this ngh time, Sugu–”
SMACK!
“Speakin’ out of turn is rude, y’know?” Geto soothes over the swatted imprints of his fingers on your ass. Before rovering down, down, down, to dredge out the most sinful slurps when he slides one greedy index over your sodden slit. “Right? N’ we were havin’ such a ngh- good conversation.”
That cold studded Prince Albert on Geto’s blushing mushroom tip skims between your pussyflaps, feeding you inch by fucking inch until he stopped just past the tip. As usual.
“Hmmm, what’s this?” Pointedly ignoring your broken little whines in favor of guiding his trekking fat crown to bump that metallic piercing against your gooey sweet spots. To bruise. “Ya want more? Heh, so filthy how ya think ngh- more with this pussy than that pretty lil’ head of yours, gorgeous.”
“You’re the filthy one, Suguru–” you’re whimpering, fingers digging even tighter around his throat at the rude smirk on his pretty face. And you can’t stop yourself - you can’t help yourself - when your hips shiftily sink deeper. And deeper.
“W-woah-” Geto’s puffy breaths hiccup, before clearing his throat into one stray hand. “I-I mean- fuck! Can see it from the outside.”
Indeed, he could.
You were so fucking pretty sat upon him like this, with your slobbery pussy weaving out squelching rivulets of cum. Your chest heaving in a way that makes Geto’s mouth water, his eyes locked on that lecherous little bulge where he was scouring a pathway to your very womb.
He’s giggling - delirious and drunk. “What a cute lil’ pussy- s-sooo fuckin’ tight. Feels like m’gonna break ya…h-heh.”
And it’s only when you stutter, when our drizzling jaw shudders open with a cracking Sugu– that he lets his eyes rip away. His hips jutting upwards with a pressurized push-
“Awww, my gorgeous girl struggling to take this hah- big cock? Wanna take it all but you can’t?” With a rough hand latched onto your waist, Geto fucks up into you so tauntingly, rigorous little pushes and pulls that pump you spellbound. And he’s viciously thumping open your sappy pussylips, mouth drying up at the sight of those silvery sploshes of cum. “Y’know m’not gonna fit if ya don’t relax, girl.”
“I-I am relaxing-” you’re bawling out, head lolling backwards at the utter stretch. It was ridiculous, and your blood curdles with just how good it felt.
Because Geto was so thick. Girth more intimidating than any toy you’ve ever even seen, such a pretty blushing beige. Pricked with one chilling silvery stud at his tip and then another at his bulky hilt, right after the ends of his neat happy trail - one that you oh-so-desperately wanted to reach.
“Liar.” He’s snapping - snarling.
Making you flinch at the lurch of something dark and hot swimming in Geto’s half-lidded eyes. Long, dark lashes batting innocently up at you when he’s lacing two sets of readied fingers on top of your sweat-dampened head and pushing. “W-wait, Sugu what are you-”
“This pussy is s-soo much more ah- honest…aren’tcha?” And it takes only one more final rapid swat at your gloopy cunt, one wet strike of Geto’s round-tipped fingers before he’s bulldozing you downwards. “Hm, bite on this.”
He’s presenting you his toned arm - mercy.
Your teeth mindlessly clamping onto his awaiting forearm, gurgles of moans and screams concocting together as your hips buck- Losing your nervous footing to finally plant a pretty peck of your glossed pussy lips against his toned base, to finally have his orbed piercing nudge your throbbing clit.
And he was big - so, so big that you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe at the sodden stripes of his pulpy cockhead etched into what felt like your lungs.
With a soggy pah! you’re letting his arm go, kissing over the sunken indents of your teeth across his flesh.
“O-oh-” Moans upon moans are tumbling out of your mouth before you even realize, and you can’t help the way that your hips are bustling up and down in a filthy cadence. “I-It feels so…”
Alternating between the sloppiest drags up and down up and down his thickened length and lazy swivels that result in fat drags of Geto’s piercing onto the mushiest parts of your clit. He was so fucking big that your fatigued legs could barely even bounce up to his uprightly curved tip.
“Yeahhh? F-feels nice havin’ me all ngh- inside ruinin’ your cunt, huh?” Geto’s leaning his body further backwards to take in every single detail of you. One arm bounding behind his head and making his biceps flex, the other helping manhandle your needy hips. And you swear you hear his voice falter, you swear you could hear his teasing baritone crack into a whine. “Look how ah- well she’s takin’ me- don’tcha think I deserve a lil’ r-reward, gorgeous?”
Ah, of course he does.
And as soon as you’re craning your head forwards, you feel the sudden twitch of his swollen tip colliding against your cervix. Gushing in ribbony strings of pre when you pry open Geto’s pretty mouth and spit-
“Messy girl.” He’s swiping away that purposeful little splatter of translucent saliva pooling at the corner of his sappy mouth. Swallowing. “Hope ya know m’gonna be doin’ the ngh- same with my cock riiiiight…” Before trailing that very same finger up, up, up to draw an invisible line at the bullseye of your womb. “-here.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - 8.20 inches
“Jus’ need the ah- tip, pretty baby–” Choso’s begging - pleading from his splayed-out position spooning you - and he’s fucking his fat, ruddied cockhead into you desperately. Animalistically. Like it’ll be the last time - when in fact it’s the first. Ever.
Slurring out a drawling few squelches from your overstuffed pussy, the way you’re glistening all your lustrous volumes of slick down his generous length makes Choso simply keen. Hulking body breaking out with shivers once your nails scrape against his sweat-lathered scalp.
“But I want more, Cho-” That sullen pout of yours is enough to drive him wild. To bump up at least once more of his inches out of a staggering eight past your gooey ring of muscle, molding your entrance to that girthy bend of him. “Y-you’re so fuckin’ big n’ I want it all.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Y-you shouldn’t say those ngh- things when s’my first time–” he’s scrunching his brows adorably shyly, one strong palm lifting your trembly thigh even higher to eye the teary trail of cum he’d left off just earlier from simply putting it inside. “Don’ wanna have a ngh- r-repeat of that.”
How cute.
Choso was so embarrassed that his precious pink blush was reaching all the way from his regal cheeks, down to his bustling tip. Messy and angry.
You’d heard that it was always the quiet ones - and Choso was hung to a T. The expansive swollen outline of his rock-hard cock smearing against your elastic walls in a way that felt permanent. Your poor pussy was swallowing up so many copious inches again and again and it felt like Choso always had more to give.
His long length guides a sultry bash against your puffy g-spot, spearheading your gluey walls to mold around his size like butter. Swirling such voluminous heaps of cum that layer him in creamy rings.
“M’being serious, baby-” you’re purring, silken sweet tone of your voice making Choso gasp. Handsome cheeks burning bright red when he’d faced your greedy gaze over one shoulder. “I-it feels so good ngh- you’re in so deep.”
Choso’s coral pink lip wobbles delicately, face flushing your favorite shade of red. “M-me? Don’t even know how to hngh! use it…r-really? Me? But m’just a virgin-”
“Was a virgin, baby-” You’re correcting him, deft fingers nimbling through his soft locks to pull. And it’s enough to make Choso rut- enough to make his reddening hips shovel even harder. “N’ no need to be so shy. You’re so big you might’ve ngh- jus’ ruined everyone f’me.”
And oh.
Choso can feel his mind shatter, powerful hips working overtime to plunge another sappy stroke that thuds against your g-spot. Deeper. And deeper. You’re half-wondering whether he even realized that he was way, way past “just the tip” now.
Nah…definitely too pussydrunk to.
He’s sucking on your kiss-bitten lips like his favorite sugar-coated candy, whimpering out. “G-good. Don’ want you f-for ngh- anyone else.” And you swear you’re catching his doe-eyes dew over with a veil of tears. “Want you to be mine.”
Grinning - cockdrunk, heart-eyed. “Already am.”
And that extended to that greedy cunt of yours.
Of course, it did. Why wouldn’t it?
Choso’s on the very verge of sobbing to himself about why he didn’t do this much, much sooner when his dextrous palms smear open the drool-worthy globes of your ass to sneak a long, mouthwatering eyeful of your stuffed pussy.
He’s so filthy. So urgent skimming two fat thumbs over to spy the way his fattened cock was disappearing between your soppy pussy lips. Fat and heavy, bullying in solid squeezed into your comparatively tiny opening.
And the sight makes him grunt, “S-such a pretty pussy. Could fuckin’ worship her heheh. I hope you don’t ngh- mind, baby, if I…”
Oh, and you didn’t mind.
Didn’t have a mind coherent enough to think at all when Choso has to scissor your slick-flooded hole open with his thorough digits to be able to fit in the rest of his raw length. Saturated, solid ruts pushing past your tiny resistance - your poor entrance being stretched further and further with his circumference.
He has to - he needs to because the stretch was so cozily tight. So sinful. Rubbing his ridged veins down the treacly sides of yours walls, you’re being stuffed to the brim.
His spattering seed glomping out of you and creating such a fucking mess. Helping Choso slip and slide his thighs to engulf your own.
“Pretty pussy…ohhh what a pretty pussy.” He’s hissing to himself - slurring like an intoxicating mantra. Your honeyed squelches were so loud, answering him practically. “Baby, I want you…need you. Need you to take it allll up inside, m’kay?”
And you can only manage out a stream of dripping wet gasps puffing hotly from between your candied lips, shivering at the honeyed drip of his thick crownhead mussing up the sploshes of cum seated inside you. “G-gonna take it- ah-don’t miss, Choso–”
“I’d never.” But the one thing he might do is be rendered utterly stupid when that cylindrical shaft of his plunges impossibly deep into your gooey orifice. As deep as it would go. As deep as he could give.
And you swear that Choso stops breathing for a full few seconds once he first bottoms out. Still regaining the blurring vision in your gaze with how you felt fit to burst, you’re opening your mouth with slight concern-
“Th-this…feels so heavenly- fuck! Why does it feel so heavenly?” Choso sounds so genuinely awestruck. Scared. Words dripping with the slight tremble of an exhilarated giggle when his sopping tip curves its way to thud! against your cervix. “I- woah th-this doesn’t feel like my fist at all.”
And every slight bit of recoil makes Choso tut, makes him plant pound after pound onto your battered cunt until you see stars. He was fucking you like he hated you - and babbling pussydrunkenly like he loved you.
You’re mewling through bliss-lathered tears, “D-does it feel good, baby?”
Oh, Choso really did love you.
“I…I’m fucking you-” he’s breathing out. “I-I’m really fucking you and…”At your encouraging little coos, Choso only swelters with a wafting red blush. Buttony divot at the very ends of his achy cock twitching with a promising squeeze of his hefty, full balls. “...can we hold hands as I cum?”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 13.3 inches
Nice - the cursed king of curses said he was going to be nice. But if this was his way of being “nice” then you didn’t-
“Tch, that pretty lil’ head of yours scrambled already, brat?” That gruff, rumbling little scolding from underneath you makes you jolt, winding sparks of electricity sprinting down your perfectly arched spine when Sukuna’s punishing your brimful cunt with a sloppy smack!
Such a sleazy grin overtaking his sexy features at the stunned expression on your face, he’s bouncing his adonis-like knees to jostle your greedy hips up and down up and down up and-
“Can’t ngh- talk now, huh?” Sukuna’s tittering out, a few more numerous swats upon swats being pounded upon your bulging cunt. And the syrupy squelch! emanating from down below is enough to make him groan. Brows knitting, teeth sharp when he grins. “Honestly, woman- aren’tcha used to that stretch by now?”
Fuck- it would be impossible to get used to such a ridiculous size.
Sukuna’s towering height of seven feet translating into matching cocks that make you gape, your drunken maw parting stupidly open when his twin swollen lengths plunge up into your goopy depths. Reckless. Rude. Your felt like he was fucking open sweet nooks and crannies that you never even knew existed.
That vulgar size difference was everything.
Because he was so girthy - wisps of precum slathering like torrents against your clingy walls. Tautly pulled over thick thirteen inches - and not just one, two of them - that were making you whine-
“B-but-”
“Ah ah-” Sukuna’s cutting you off, sugary tips pecking a hollowing little smooch of his candy-coated pre against that spot in a way that makes you shut up. “Can’t forget our manners now hngh- can we? Raise yer hand when ya talk to the king.”
And it was a joke…partially. It was something to make your beautiful features scrunch up in that adorable pout of yours - not something to make you wrench one trembly hand upwards and listen to him.
“S-s’not my fault-” you’re huffing out, your wondrous hands roaming all down those sinful curves and dips of Sukuna’s muscles thereafter. Resting on their favorite place at the fleshy mounds of his pecs to squeeze. “You’re just so big.”
Rolling his eyes, you’re being angled so that his oversized second tongue can press a dripping smooch against your plump clit.
“Compliments aren’t gonna g-get me to be any hngh- nicer, mama- C’mon you know that.” And he’s sure to make it so that you never forget if the merciless few more thwack! of his five fat fingerpads down your teary slit were to say anything. “M’already bein’ nice letting you ride me.”
And ah, he’d never admit how pretty you looked like this.
With your sappy cunt stretched wiiiide open over his bumpy cocks, your entire body lathered in sweat and sheer need when he’s sinking in a few more bulky inches. Puffing your pussy lips up until you were about halfway down his raw, red cocks.
“But ah…yer right about one thing.” Sukuna titters and the flurries of emotions that overtake your absolutely fucked-out face. Head lolling to the side when you’re trying to remember what you even said. Cute. “Lemme heh- jog that memory o’ yours, brat.”
And it was such a blessing - or a curse - that Sukuna had four arms. Four massive, strong arms that were busying themselves with driving you wild.
Two of them caressing the sultry curve of your hips, manhandling you up and down all his copious inches with all the dignity of a ragdoll. A third clawing on top of your cottony-filled head and forcing you to look- to spy where his fourth hand was.
Sharp, blackened nail of his burly index tapping those ringed tattoos at his inner thighs. “See these?” Doesn’t matter if you didn’t because Sukuna was making your cockdrunk head motion out a nod for him anyway. “Well- then see these?”
Oh, you had to crane your head - you had to stop your condensed gasp from dripping out of your mouth when he’s swiping his fingers across those matching black rings tattooed around the very hefty hilts of his cocks.
Neat. Stark against unruly tufts of pink. Lacquered with a glistening layer of your sweet, sweet juices.
“Gotta take it ah- allll the way until there, got it?” Sukuna muses, plummy split-ends of his shafts pummeling even harder against the gumdrop sponge of your walls. Very same finger drawling lazily up, up, up until he was drawing a smug line across way past the middle of your tummy. “So get r-ready for a biiiig stretch, mama.”
And it wasn’t just the stretch - not even the double stretch - triple. Triple the invasive rummages inside your snug channel when Sukuna’s swirling his large secondary tongue to lap up every sliver and every bead of slick slobbering from your cunt.
Sloshing a gleaming trailway down the very middle of his rosette tastebuds so lewdly when Sukuna grits against the resistance, hips pushing and pushing-
“Ah- ah!” Your hips are like a pendulum still deciding between swallowing up more more more and running away. “I-I don’t think it’ll ngh- dunno if I can t-take any…”
“Nuh uh, no running away.” Sukuna’s greedy hands devour every naked inch of you to stuff you full, tongue working overtime to push open that elastic entrance to your pretty cunt. He knew you could finally take it all. He knew. And he was going to do it. “Made yer bed- now- lie- in it-”
There’s a deafening pap! of your body glissading into his when with a final, determined thrust, Sukuna’s bottoming out. Your pussy lips smooching both his sexy circular tattoos with their first-ever kiss. For the first time in a thousand years. For the first time in his life-
This is what it feels like - this is what it looks like.
You were so stuffed past the brim that you could feel your pressurized ears pop! White-hot pleasure flashing behind your lids when your mouth opens with a raw shrill.
“So? S’it feel good bein’ all ruined inside?” He’s tittering - choking on rude little whimpers threatening to spill from his even ruder lips.
“Yes- please it f-feels so…”
And then you’re cumming.
“Oh? Cummin’ already just from taking that cock you said was hngh- t-toooo fuckin’ big?” He leaves a few ravenous bites over the tender crook of your neck. “What a heh- slutty cunt o’ mine.”
Sukuna’s realizing before you when his hips rut upwards into the tight fit to pound you through your high, over and over slapping his heavy cockheads against every tiny geyser of an orifice. Until you felt like you were about to burst-
“O-ohhh look at that gorgeous ngh- bulge.” Sukuna’s voice bleeds its way into a whimper - whimper. And if any other curse saw that heart-eyed filter in his gaze, the way his smile grows simpering, then they’d faint. “Almost makes me think of something…else.”
You, all round and glowing - and not just from the thorough rummage of his dual shafts messing up your poor insides. Outlined with thick cylindrical bumps forming their way at your precious womb.
The sight is enough to make Sukuna’s heavy-handed cockheads glaze your mushy cervix with a few ribbony spurts of pre. Flooding. Overspilling. Enough do that he’s digging in a thumb hard to feel for the soppingly wet thwack! of those volumes of velveteen splatters.
Murmuring, “Y’know…how do ya feel about the curses getting an ah- new heir, brat? And their very own queen.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - 7.64 inches
“Shhhh, jus’ an inch more- only an i-inch, pretty.” Ino’s heaving, his plummy, split-ended cockhead gushing out a lazy few rivulets of syrupy pre down your sappy slit. “I know that you can do it…take s’more f’me?”
“I-I want to-” you’re gasping out, legs wrangling an even tighter grip around the slender curve of your beloved boyfriend’s toned hips. Mashing his ridged washboard abs against the sensitive backs of your thighs, “But I don’t know if it’ll fit…”
You say that but you can already feel the way your elastic cunt was constricting and molding to the exact sinful curvature of Ino’s swollen cock. Wanting more more more-
But how could you not?
He was so unfairly pretty - fat, burling inches that rummaged your insides with a sugary layer of sloshing precum. It’s like his plump tip was bawling with every smack! down your puckering pussylips, reddening with an innocent flush that matched his cute cheeks.
“I want it- no, need it to ah- g-go all the way inside-” Ino’s panting begs stumble into your deliriously open maw, the slick gyrations of his tongue tasting you. Savoring. Ringed fingers splayed out and pressing down hard onto the heaving surface of your tummy. “-need everyone t-to know how I’ve ngh- ruined ya for them.”
It’d only taken one sneaking glance at the way some loser at your work was a little too close, a little too…flirty. Simply one spark of that green-eyed monster inside him for Ino to all but drag you home and bend you into such a mean mating press.
His pummeling hips even meaner. Babbling with every dousing swab of his fattened cockhead probing into your goopy depths. Pushing and pushing. “W-wanna be good f’you, y’know? Wanna be…yours.”
“Ngh- s-sweet-talker-” You’re spitting out, heart lurching oh-so-traitorously at the little blush dusting its merry way all over Ino’s handsome cheeks. He’s ready to burst into flames when you’re hiccuping, “Fuck me, baby- with all of you.”
Those words are barely out of your mouth - the thought barely even registering in Ino’s fuzzy scribble of a brain right now before he’s tugging his hips back a sodden inch and sinking in.
“Mhmmm- don’t worry, pretty-” Ino’s gruffing, scorching beads of sweat forming a dotty mosaic over his blissed-out features. “-Taku’s gonna make it fit- h-heh, yeahhhh m’gonna make it ngh- fit-” So snug that he can’t pound into the way he wants you. Huffing at the resistance, he’s latching onto your peaked clit with a pointed pinch. “-or m’gonna die trying hah.”
A promise - well and fully intended to be made true.
Abs flexing with every tight little grind that whacks against your sweetened spots, short. Punctuating. Harder and harder until you’re hearing a watery pap! and Ino’s finally - finally - driving you overwhelmingly full with the ruthless dab of his angry, peach-pink shaft impaling open your deepest insides.
“O-oh.” Ino’s breathing out, chestnut eyes bulging out almost comically at the sloppy trawl of his rock-hard cock in and out. “It fit- it…it actually fit. Mhm- s’that too big for ya, pretty?”
And Ino loved your smart mouth - he loved whatever honeyed syllable would drivel from your pretty lips. But seeing you like this - gasping, and fucked oh-so-dumb on his cock - Ino thinks that he could cum right here and now.
“R-right now?” Your breath hitches, chest heaving to steady your gulping inhales. Impossible with the way that his girthy, rotund cockhead was skimming against what felt like your lungs.
But oh, you weren’t the only one with your sanity dancing away from you with every plunging jackhammer. Ino looked so ruined - his pretty eyes doeing down till they were almost closed, drizzles upon drizzles of drool flooding out and slicking down his mouth, hanging pathetically open when he’s realizing-
Shit, did he say that out loud?
Oh, well.
“And so wh-what?” Ino’s huffing out - meant to be much more smug than the pouty whine it actually came out as. Lower lip wobbling out in a watery way, “Wanna fill ya u-up until yer overspilling, sweetness- until I can’t hahah- fit again.”
He’s making such a sappy mess down there as if already fulfilling those promises. One clammily prespired hand latching around your throat to crane your neck into a tender kiss.
“Wanna fuck a b-baby into ya- ngh- fuck ya until they know I did it-” He’s snarling - alabaster canines beared in a giggle. “Till they s-see you all ah- round and glowing and see me me me me- that coworker’s gonna know that I-I did that. That I fucked you s-so full.”
Heavy thighs planting flat onto the cushiony mattress, and from the woozy corner of your eye you’re spotting a few bedcoils spring brokenly upwards. “Gonna gimme that, aren’tcha?” He’s breathing. Begging. Eyes fuzzy with a heavy clingfilm of utter loving that he was bestowing upon you with every pap! pap! pap! “Make me a dad, mama?”
Ah, just as you do - Ino plants a gliding thwack! against your g-spot so hard that it makes your eyes criss-cross with utter pleasure. Tumbling into your orgasm headfirst and dragging your dear Ino with it, too.
Each peaked crevice of your high being followed by the wettest slap of his lathering cum into your most tenderized spots, fucking his seed into you so viciously that you feel bloated. Eyes drooping fatiguely, your nails dragging red, red patterns down his rigorously flexing back.
It was heaven.
You can’t think of anything but the slow puddle of viscous seed dribbling from between your slippery slit, nothing but how full you felt. Barely even noticing the creaking protests of the bedframe that was suspiciously sagging from one end.
Broken.
And when Ino’s blinking his vision back - letting his mouth drool at the sloppy slosh of his ribbony sap clinging around him like a second skin - the only thing he can utter is a low, “S-so…I don’t think we’ve ngh- made our son just yet.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - 11.01 inches
“Aw c’mooon, my girl. Too big- s’too big, riiight?” Fuck- it was. And Gojo already knew with every cocky snicker that wafted over the back of your neck like an oven. He’s plumping his lips down your spine in a sleazy kiss. “Jus’ admit it n’ I might play…nice.”
As if.
The strongest would never play nice when he had you like this.
When he had his fat, strawberry pink tip French kissing your gluey walls so open. Bumping up against your precious insides to indent every ridge and curvaceous vein against your overstuffed pussy - so staggeringly full. But he still wasn’t done. Barely.
So ridiculously long and pretty - a size to match up that mean ego of his. Eleven inches? He didn’t even have to try to drive you insane.
Gojo was flushed the most candied palettes of pink and red, all the way up to his thickened base. Slender fingers curling dexterously around the white tufted hilt to slowly empty out thick drags of buttery pre just past your throbbing g-spot. “Unless ya want-” Inching ever-so-sinfully closer. “-more?”
It was just a little tease - really, it was. Something to make your cute pout jut out, and your gooey insides clench.
But what Gojo didn’t expect was for thick, viscous droplets of saliva to splatter from between your lips at the sheer mind-numbing stretch. Babbling out into the spit-lathered mess of a pillow. “I- I want- ngh- Toru…”
“Yes yes, your dear Toru is hah- here.” And shit, he can’t help but saddle a strong forearm around your neck to hoist your lolling head upwards in a rude headlock. Making such a mess of glimmering dribble seep into the bulging bicep around your neck. You’re feeling the sappy drag of his long tongue down those puddled splatters of spittle, “Talk to me…tell me…complain about how big I am- I know you want to.”
You’re gasping when he’s leaving a pretty stinging smack! against your treacly cunt, muscular thighs shuffling against your own like a second skin. “I want…”
Every garbling syllable of your pretty voice making him twitch. Depraved. “Mhm—?”
“All of it- More.”
More?
CRASH!
Shit- maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed how the flickering yellow lamp at your bedside shatters into a zillion pieces. And how Gojo was much the same.
Slamming one dexterous free palm down onto the already-splintered headboard, you’re catching it crack underneath his vice-like clasp when Gojo hitches his breath and pushes. Wordless. Keening. Mean maw slacking parted with a low ah! ah! ah! at the sweltering hot pulse of his ever-hardening cock.
“S-Satoru did you just get-” bigger. It’s the word you can’t bring yourself to utter even if you wanted to - because Gojo’s swatting his doughy palm to entrap your whiny words.
Hiding your watery sobs when his engorged dick ravines past the adhesive-like grip of your slick-flooded entrance to perk up even harder.
Rasping, “Shhhh sh sh- Another word outta you n’ m’gonna cum.” Entire herculean body hitching - shuddering - to pin you to the velvety sheets like he was practically melting into you. You’re sandwiched into the sweaty glissade of his rugged washboard abs. Jolting at the miniscule lightnings of blue that bolt from his lazily lidded eyes, “Tell me how badly ya want the hngh- biiiig stretch, sweetheart.”
So embarrassing, “I-I want the…biiig stretch, Satoru.”
He’s humming with utter delight, “Louder- more.”
“Please.” Legs kicking in impatience, “I want it- w-want your hck! biiig stretch, Toru. Want it so bad-”
“Then, b-brace yourself…heh.”
Something’s cracking - breaking - only hours and hours later do you realize that it’s your poor mahogany bedframe underneath Gojo’s utter strength.
Knuckles whitening when one sickly sweet rut has his toned abs careening into your mounds of flesh. And that tight little bout of resistance makes him stutter out a hiss, teeth clenching. “Christ, s’fuckin’ tight- n-need more.”
You words had done such a number on him.
And Gojo wanted more - needed it. More more more-
With a sopping pap! Gojo’s sludging his hefty length out from your elastic hole, purposefully peaking his inflated veins against those treasure troves of your tender spots. Emanating out such a sinful squelch! of wiry slick-filled slurps the moment his globular crownhead is popping out of your gooey cunt.
“L-look downwards, my girl-” he’s mumbling, tongue slurring those pesky little whines into his words. And oh, Gojo himself can’t bear to spy his ravenous gaze down below because of that dangerous little high building up at his tight, nudging balls. Can’t bear to do anything but let his sapphire gaze droop half shut.
Tumbling your head down, “Toru what do you- oh!”
Gojo was so fucking needy. That mouthwateringly sculptured arm around your neck taking its second favorite position to warp around his sweltering hot cock and squeeze.
You can only watch when he’s beading out wispy little ropes of precum that gloss your pussy lips a creamy white. Connecting delicate little ropes of your sweet, sweet juices to his bawling cockhead.
It was soiling his hand ivory, his wrist, his cloudy happy trail - he was being so messy.
“Yeah- see this? Take a loooong hah- hard look, sweetheart. Yer gonna take this entire c-cock, m’kay–?” Gojo’s nuzzling his sweat-glimmered cheek down your down, stray strands of white sticking to your skin. Pumping his fist harder - harder. He’s scooping up a syrupy few dredges of sap to poke into your awe-struck mouth, “Gonna take i-it all. No matter how big- mhm?”
You’re whining when his intimidating length nestles between your thighs and pulses, the very brim of his curved tip swiping a sweltering hot drag of pre about half-way down your tummy. The size difference looked so sinful.
And you’re barely nodding - barely whimpering out a polite yes, please - before your mind shatters with the feeling of being split-apart. With every hidden nook and cranny caverning your sloppy pussy being stretched to the max.
“Yeah- yeah yeah c’mon-” Gojo’s begging. Pearly white teeth digging into his pulpy lower lip when his blushing shaft fringes down your clingy walls. “Go inside- fit- please- need ta give m-my girl everythin’.”
Needed - not wanted.
Gojo doesn’t even have to try for his left-leaning curve to locate your most coveted spots, spurting out waterfalling little geysers of slick from between your thighs with every gulping inch.
“Oh- oh mmpf!” You’re mewling when his furious divot mashes into your nearby g-spot. Easily. Too easily that you’re half-wondering whether he’s using his Six Eyes. “It’s s-shoo deep.”
You’re being jostled in a sultry dance back and forth when Gojo’s planting rummaging pound after pound just to fit inside. The slamming smack! smack! smack! of his muscular thighs imprinting against the backs of yours fucking out each and every coherent thought out of your mind.
And with absolutely no hesitation, he’s skimming numerous buzzing fingertips from one hand over to toy around your clit and pinch. Barely even realizing the startling spark of jujutsu that makes you yelp-
“Toru- wh-what did we say about…” Shrilling shrieks withering away on your tongue when- what were you complaining about again? Gojo’s incredible inches sheath their cozy way into your gummy cunt - fully. “O-oh.”
Oh was right.
Because he had finally bottomed-out. Finally. Gasping at the sudden thud! of those ladder-like abs smooching the pretty curve of your ass. The bouncing recoil of his swollen cockhead against your pulpy cervix. Gojo can’t help but run his hands over your jiggling flesh to make sure - to register that this was real.
Having your slobbery pussy wrapped around every needy inch of him? This must be a dream.
He’s struggling to catch his breath, gulps sounding high. Thumbing apart your sodden pussyflaps, Gojo’s rich baritone hitches adorably. “You- yer really m-milkin’ my entire fuckin’ cock…”
Bleary eyes snapping open and veering pathetically cross-eyed, Gojo’s snowy brows scrunch achingly together when both stumbling hands latch onto your waist and pounces a harsh thrust. Thickened, hefty balls swatting your clit heavily. Once. Twice.
And the third - barely even a swirling gyration of his slicked-up cock drilling into the spongy flesh of your cervix before he cums. Cums and cums so hard that it feels like copious orgasms upon orgasms piling all into one.
Feeling like he was bursting - just like the wreckage of generators across all twenty-three special wards in Tokyo this very second. Electricity flickering, Gojo’s eyes glowing, and you two don’t even notice the way the bed crashes! down onto the carpeted floors as if it had been hovering a slight inch.
“W-wait tha’s cheating-” he’s puffing out furiously, but he can’t stop. Luscious ounces of seed gumdropping out from his divot to laminate your poor cervix - no doubt battered and bruised at this point. A fat thumb of his caps your leaky slit with the voluminous dredges of splattering cum gushing haplessly out of you. “This is s’pposed to s-stay inside, sweetheart.”
It was too much - you were overfilled to the very brim of your glistening pussy folds.
But Gojo didn’t sound upset - not in the slightest.
No, in fact, he was smiling.
Cerulean pupils molding practically heart-eyed, a burning blush washes over those handsome cheeks and all the way down to his still-twitching, still-hard cock- “Sooooo…marry me?”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 8.89 inches
“S’for your own good, angel.”
“B-but, Hiromi–” Oh, you were already winning - and you knew it - you’re feeling that perky little dab of syrupy pre that butters up your insides. Just the mere sound of your voice enough to make Higuruma twitch, “I want you now.”
To make him jolt, to make him sigh.
Long, dextrous fingers of his tightening around that vice-like little restraint of his tie shackled around your neck - just the scratchy dig of that velvety fabric into your tender flesh makes you lightheaded.
“I already told ya.” Higuruma’s sighing, sleepy eyes peaking up at where your trembly figure was riding the fucking soul out of him. Or, at least, was supposed to. “Don’t want ya hah- hurtin’ yerself the first time ya take me, don’t want my girl’s pussy sore.”
But what you were aching for right now was him.
Bucking your hips in a stubborn little up and down that makes his thin lips curl, canines bared. Feral. “Fine- slutty angel.”
And you barely have the time to process his words - to process the stinging sensation of his formal office tie constricting around your throat. Before Higuruma’s dragging you down with a thorough flick of his wrist, leveraging the merciless tightrope of his tie to feed your needy cunt inch by fucking inch.
He’s not stopping when you gasp, not even when big, globular bouts of tears lather your lashes dripping wet. Only pulling you to him like some glorified sex toy-
“H-Hiromi-” your clammy palms clasp around his pale, bulging biceps to squeeze. Spine arching at the way his staggering size was opening you so deliciously.
“Mhmmm, m’here m’here. Biiig stretch, isn’t it?” Bouncing those bulky, muscular hips of his with years upon years of practice in battle. And right now you were on the receiving end of his ruthlessness, your pussy lips being smeared agape at the hefty cylindrical shaft being bullied into you. “Easy there, girl. Easy. You can take m-my ngh- big cock.”
And Higuruma barely even had to try to get you all shattered on his cock like this was. Because his cock? The absolute prize of your wettest dreams.
He was so thick and long, nearing nine inches that bumped his throbbing walls in a lewd little massage down your precious treasure trove of sweet spots. That left-leaning angle of his curvature was so droolworthy, meshing a sodden French kiss easily against the bullseye of your g-spot.
But what had you spellbound - what had you so dizzy - right now wasn’t just the stretch. No, it was that tiny, orbing little piercing studded right underneath Higuruma’s deeply indented slit.
“Hey, doin’ ah- good, angel?” The chilling patch of his metal stud wrenching out the cutest little whimpers from your heated mouth, falling further and further slack with every pretty peck. Every tiny swab of his length being overstuffed into you. “Only an inch more- juuust an i-inch more n’ I want ngh- you to milk it for me.”
“M-me?” You’re pointing at yourself, as if there was anyone else here in this heady bedroom.
“Tha’s right-” Blinking away the clingy film of lust surrounding your eyes, you’re finally noticing the air of something instinctually primal in your dear Higuruma’s ravenous gaze. So at odds with the gentle kiss placed onto your prespired forehead. “While I get some hah- work done, angel.”
Your hips tense when he’s reaching out to grab the phone that had been buzzing on the bedside drawer for quite a while now. Only to get jostled into motion once more with a soft swat! planted onto your jiggling ass.
Turning the flashing screen to emblazon your vision with the name, Shiu Kong (Work)
Oh?
Oh.
At your filthy nod, Higuruma’s puffing out a shuddered bout of laughter. Before sliding one fat thumb across the screen and answering, “Hello? Shiu?” Head tilting to the side, another manhandling haul of Higuruma’s massive palm keeps you riding him. “Yeah, I can heh- talk right now.”
“S-so mean–” you’re mumbling, thoroughly not expecting for him to hear and punish another smack! against your ass.
You couldn’t hear the response - you didn’t even realize that the audio could even hear you before he’s babbling on.
“The meeting- Oh, that? Ah, jus’ my lovely wife.” Gasping, because Higuruma hadn’t proposed…yet. And the way he was sidling your gummy cunt with hefty, vicious pound after pound to lose himself - to melt into your unsteady arms - made you think he just might. Soon. “She’s uh…strugglin’ with somethin’ ya see.”
Fuck- he knew exactly how to make you work.
But you knew exactly how to work.
One hand splaying out between the sweaty valley of Higuruma’s plush chest, you’re eyeing with satisfaction as his dark brows raise. Squeezing that overpriced fabric wrapped around his thick fingers to muffled your leaking whimpers - to choke-
Only for his sharp jaw to fall parted, breath hitching when you jerk your fatigued thighs and ride. Deeper. Sloppier. Further and further until with a heaving shudder your ass smacks against his with a ringing pap!
Loud.
Undeniable.
His hefty breeder balls colliding into the jiggling curve of your ass, Higuruma’s massive cock embedding a few perfectly rounded bruises into the back of your pulpy cervix. Streaking a lazy line drawn by his bulbed piercing across each and every sweeping fissure inside you. Once. Twice.
Again and again-
“A-ah, what?” He’s bumbling absent-mindedly into the speaker, and you’ve never seen him sound so shaky before. Deep baritone cracking into a few whimpering cracks towards the end when one of his thumbs swipe your puffed-up pussylips to take a long look at that heavenly sight. “Oh…oh yeah. My wife- sh-she got it…finally.”
And it’s only when you’re drawing out the most whipped splatters of slicked pre, when you’re steadying your precarious hands onto his sculptured biceps and slamming a sloppy cadence. Humming, “Y-yeah. Real cute, isn’t she?”
Only when Higuruma looks like he’s on the very verge of ending the call that you’re musing how Shiu must know already.
That blasphemous question on the very tip of your tongue before Higuruma’s attractive eyes widen, chuckling out at words exchanged over the phone that you couldn’t make out. Yet.
“Oh?” Yeah, Shiu totally knew. Dark eyes boring right into your heart-eyed depths, and when you nod he’s cracking a smile. Pussydrunk. “Mhm, sure, we can videocall.”
⡴ utterly whipped gojo with a girl who’s just using him for dick slowly warming up to him ⡴ 0.5k words
“you’re really gonna make me leave baby?” he’s frowning. frowning like a child while he stands by your apartment door as you’re actively trying to shove him out. “i brought flowers.” he looks over to them on your table, sitting in a vase he brought with a sappy note attached to it. he looks back at you with puppy eyes to try and convince you further.
“yes, i am.” you just keep on pushing him trying to hurry him out your door but making next to no progress. you know you’ll win eventually though. you guess in about 5 minutes you’ll compromise and say he can actually kiss you next time if he leaves. “i’m not looking for a relationship right now, gojo. i don’t need you all fawny over me. now leave.”
his lips quiver like they’re about to cry. his hands even grip harder on the change of clothes he brought incase you’d let him sleepover this time and the fabric scrunches beneath his touch.
“so you’re just using me for my body?” he knows damn well you are. for gods sakes you met him at a bar and had told him you just wanted rebound dick from your last breakup. his other hand pushes on the door frame, steadying him and rendering him completely still. you stop pushing at this point. he’ll leave eventually.
“you’re a great person ,” you feel like you’ve said this before, and by his hurt face it looks like he has too, unfortunately now seeing it from the other side. “but i can’t deal with all this mopey shit. i have work, bills—”
“i can pay them!” he suggests, perking up like that’s the only word he heard. “or you could move in with me!” he’s back to that prince charming smile you can just tell he abused back in college.
“that’s not it, gojo—”
“i love you,” he grabs your wrists, dropping his clothes he was holding, that were by your side and brings them up to his face, forcing you to cup his jaw. you stare up at him. “i can wait, sweetheart! i can—i really can!” he’s like a child trying to convince their mother they won’t act too crazy on sugar.
he stays going off on a tangent now, gripping your wrists even tighter unconsciously.
“i-i can buy you anything. my friends would love you—especially utahime, you hate me like her i guess. i already give you good dick, i mean you were just moaning not to long ago—” you start to drown him out.
“—just one date. if you really do hate me you can slap me after it, just let me try. please? don’t be so cold hearted, baby.”
“gojo,” he looks disappointed already, like he’s anticipating a terrible answer. “come here.” you gesture with your hands for him to lean closer. you plop a delicate, just barely there, chaste kiss on his cheek. “go home.” you deadpan.
and best believe he’s showing up at your door the next evening awaiting another one.
︵ ೀ mdni. sucking suguru off until brother!satoru interrupts, so suguru has to hide his cock deeper (in your throat)
suguru geto has always known he shouldn’t want you.
you’re satoru’s little sister—sweet, spoiled, and far too innocent for someone like him. but the way you looked at him with those big, curious eyes every time you visited made something dark twist in his stomach.
but suguru’s always been bad at keeping his distance from things he should want and when he stayed over at your house for the weekend to study with satoru for finals he cannot hold himself back anymore. now you’re on your knees in the guest room, lips stretched wide around suguru’s thick cock.
“that’s it… good girl,” suguru’s hand rests gently on the back of your head, guiding you as you bob slowly, inexperienced but eager. your tongue swirls around the head, tasting the salty precum leaking from his tip. “just like that. take a little more for me.”
you whimper softly around him, eyes watering as you try to relax your throat. suguru groans quietly, hips twitching forward to push deeper.
“fuck… your brother would kill me if he saw this,” he says, thumb brushing your cheek. “his precious little sister sucking my cock like such a perfect slut.”
you’re so focused on pleasing him that you don’t hear the footsteps.
the door suddenly swings open.
“yo, suguru, you in here? i can’t find my—” satoru’s voice cuts off as he steps inside.
in one smooth motion, suguru yanks you forward, shoving his cock all the way down your throat until your nose presses against his pelvis. your eyes widen in panic, a choked sound dying in your throat as he hides you completely under the desk.
“yeah, i’m here,” suguru answers casually. he leans back in the chair, one hand still gripping your hair to keep you in place. “what’s up?”
satoru stands a few feet away, completely unaware that his best friend’s cock is currently buried deep in his little sister’s throat.
“have you seen my charger? i swear i left it somewhere around here,” satoru says, scratching the back of his head as he looks around the room.
suguru smiles, even as he slowly rolls his hips, pushing his cock even deeper down your convulsing throat. you gag softly around him, tears slipping down your cheeks, but you don’t dare make a sound.
“haven’t seen it,” suguru replies. he gives a tiny thrust, forcing more of his length past the tight ring of your throat. “maybe check the living room?”
you’re struggling to breathe, throat bulging slightly around his thick cock. suguru’s fingers tighten in your hair, keeping you pinned as he continues the casual conversation like nothing is happening.
“yeah, maybe…” satoru mutters, still scanning the room. “you good, man? you look a little flushed.”
suguru lets out a chuckle, hips giving another shallow thrust that makes your eyes roll back.
“just tired,” he says. “long day.”
satoru shrugs and finally turns toward the door. “alright, i’ll keep looking. don’t stay up too late.”
the second the door clicks shut, suguru yanks you off his cock with a wet gasp. strings of saliva connect your swollen lips to his glistening length as you cough and suck in desperate breaths.
he looks down at you with dark, hungry eyes, thumb wiping away your tears.
“such a good girl,” he praises. “keeping quiet while your brother was right there… now open wide again. we’re not finished.”
megumi fushiguro is trying very hard to play it cool.
he’s buried deep inside you, hips pressed flush against yours, when he first notices it—the soft, unmistakable bulge in your lower belly every time he thrusts forward. his cock is visibly pressing against your insides, distorting your stomach just slightly with every slow roll of his hips.
he freezes for half a second.
his usual stoic expression stays perfectly intact, but inside, something feral awakens. his dark eyes flick down to your stomach again, locked on the way the bulge appears and disappears with each thrust. he feels almost dizzy at the sight.
he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t acknowledge it. just keeps his breathing steady and his face neutral. at least, that’s what he wants you to think. in reality, megumi is obsessed.
the sight of his cock making your tummy bulge is doing dangerous things to his self-control. he’s never seen anything hotter in his life. the primal urge to push deeper, to make the bulge even more obvious, is quickly overriding his usual restraint.
without warning, his pace changes.
his thrusts become harder. deeper. more deliberate. each stroke is forceful enough that the bulge in your stomach becomes much more visible. megumi’s jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he watches it intently.
you moan loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “megumi— ah! slow down—”
he doesn’t. if anything, he fucks you even harder.
his hand slides down and presses firmly against the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock through your soft skin. the sensation makes him groan low in his throat—the only crack in his cool facade.
“fuck…” he mutters under his breath, barely audible.
he’s completely fixated now. every time he bottoms out, he watches the way your belly swells with his cock, mesmerized. his usual calm and steady rhythm is gone, replaced by something rougher and more possessive. his hips snap against yours with more and more intensity, chasing that view that makes his brain melt.
you’re trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by how deep he’s getting. “megumi… it’s too much— i can feel you so deep—”
“good,” he replies. his hand stays pressed against your tummy, pushing down gently so he can feel himself even better. “i want you to feel all of me.”
he leans down, forehead pressed against yours, eyes still glued to the way your stomach bulges every time he drives into you. his breathing is ragged now, control slipping further with every thrust.
“you look so good like this,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, even as he fucks you harder. “seeing my cock inside you… fuck, i can’t stop looking.”
megumi’s thrusts turn punishing, hips slamming into you as he loses himself in the sight. the usually controlled boy is gone—replaced by someone completely addicted to the way your body yields to him, marked so visibly by his cock.
he presses down on your belly again, eyes dark with lust. “take me deeper,” he whispers against your lips. “i want to see how much you can take.”
Choso and you have been cucking Sukuna for weeks - all to get revenge on him cheating on Mario Kart. Well, when Choso decides to gift you with a dildo moulded after his own dick? It leaves Sukuna alone with you finally - only for you to torture him on Tomodachi life, making him fall in love with Satoru!!! Well, Sukuna's had enough, time to teach you a lesson. Or... so he thinks.
pairings - sukuna x reader x choso
warnings- rage baiting Sukuna, cucking him as revenge for Mario kart hehe, fingering, squirting, p in v sex, mean sukuna, he's so mad Abt tomodachi lifeee, cream pie, lots of biting, cucking choso this time hehe (dw he loves it)
This is a sequel to Pretty Please - my comm for my sweet bb @martianzmars who I love so so much. wc - 4.5k
It’s been weeks since Sukuna first got cucked by you – all over a stupid fucking video game at that – and now? He’s had to hear you getting backshots from Choso every goddamn night, had to hear that boy whimpering in the room, knowing you were riding him. He has walked right by your room – the door open, the sight of you lifting your ass up and right back down his roomate’s cock.
Sometimes you glare over your shoulder right at him, riding cock like you’re made for that shit.
As for Sukuna?
Well he’s left to jerk off to the sounds and the way your hips curve, stroking his cock and resting his head against the door once he rushes to his room, thinking of all the ways he would ruin your cunt when he finally gets the chance. How he’d make you know the shape, bruise your cute little cervix, have you squirt and drool until you were dumb off him.
“Fucking petty little brat,” he’d moan out your name, picturing all the handprints he’d leave all over your ass – the bruises he’d dig in as he hears you riding Choso till he cums.
Oh, and Choso?
Well he’s clearly fucking loving this, torturing Sukuna and having you all to himself. He’ll tug you on his lap as he hits the bowl and pass it to Sukuna with this mean smile. The nice guy act? Sukuna knows better, Choso was a nice person until it came to you, then he was a complete territorial little shit
When Sukuna would sit next to you on the couch, Choso would make sure to wrap his arm around you. He’d leave marks all over you, too, and didn’t let you out of his damn sight. Sukuna hasn’t even had a moment alone with you hardly, and when he does, you decide to torture him.
You loved to just shamelessly walk around with your pretty tits half out, shorts riding up the curve of your ass, you’d bend over right in front of him when you grabbed a drink from the fridge. Smiling at him all fucking evil when you catch him staring – oh, and when Sukuna thought for just a moment he’d get you alone? Your mean ass would tease the ever loving fuck out of him.
‘Hey Kuna,’ you’d lean all close, a hand on his chest, letting him grip an ass cheek and drag you close, he knows you fucking want him, too, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. ‘What’s wrong? You look mad.”
‘Tch, asking me what’s wrong?’ he’d raise a brow and tug you so close against him that you could feel it – his cock straining his pants, pressed on your lower tummy. You’d bite back a moan, but he could hear it.
Just when he thought he’d have you?
Well, here came your knight in fucking armor – stoned ass Choso coming to rescue his damn princess peach.
All of this was over Mario Kart of all things.
Mario Kart and you’re still mad.
“Mean ass lil brat,” he mumbles one night, barring you against the fridge door when you go to shut it, pinning you between his hard chest and the cool stainless steel, your nipples press up with need as he’s right there.
“Me, mean?” You laugh at that, thighs pressing together like on instinct – Choso’s cum is still trickling out of your needy hole as Sukuna’s huge ass hovers over you, a thigh slotting itself right between yours.
You barely catch a breath, it feels so good, Choso’s got you all sensitive and you do want Sukuna inside you, fuck all you’ve done with him was cuck and tease him – but he just didn’t deserve to yet. You are rightfully still infuriated that he cheated in Mario Kart, and he should suffer his consequences, even if you loved the way his muscled thigh felt against you.
“You act like you don’t want my cock inside you,” he tilts your chin up, watching you bite down on your lip. “Want me in all your holes, huh? Admit that shit.”
“No, I don’t,” you feel your heart race at your damn lie, giggling when he scowls even deeper. “I don’t!”
“Lemme guess, because of fucking Mario Kart.”
“Yep,” you push past him and he grips you, turning you so that your back is pressed against him – he’s so fucking big your ass barely hits those muscled thighs, his hand splaying your tummy, long, tattooed fingers spread all over. “Kuna…”
“I know I could watch my cock move inside you,” that fucks you up, as much as you act unaffected and just petty, you do wanna know what it feels like. “Admit it, brat, you want me.”
Sukuna chuckles all mean – you want him even more, ugh. “Admit you suck at Mario kart.”
His laugh cuts off, red eyes narrowing. “No!??!”
“Good night, Kuna,” you tug off him, just to get his teeth sinking into your shoulder, sharp and leaving marks as you gasp out. “Ow!?”
“Hey, what’s up?” Choso walks out – shirtless with his pajama pants with cute lil pandas all over them, he yawns and looks at you two, raising a brow as he scratches at his stomach all sleepy.
“He’s not admitting he sucks at mario kart!”
“She’s not admitting she wants my dick.”
“I don’t!?”
“Why are you using my dildo then, huh?” You blush, turning and shoving at the big ass, thick fucking man you live with, Choso just sighs.
“Are you all fighting again?”
“Well aren’t you happy we are?” Sukuna asks, Choso blinks all innocently as you rush over to him, slipping an arm around you. “Acting like she’s all yours. I had her squirting all over my fingers.”
“Well,” Choso trails off, a hand on your hip, smiling lazily. “She just squirted all over my mouth, so...”
“Fuck you both,” like he wouldn’t die to have you ride his face – Choso’s living his damn dream. Sukuna walks up to you and grips your chin, tugging it up so you have to look at his tall ass. “Wait till I get your bratty ass alone, won’t be able to fucking talk, will you?”
Your throat goes dry – the thought of Sukuna losing his shit on you?
You’re soaked – mixing with Choso’s cum that you’d love to have fucked back inside you by Sukuna. Instead you bat your lashes all innocent and cute. “Oh, I’ll still be able to talk – I’ll tell you how you suck so bad at games you cheat.”
“Me!?”
“You!”
“All right, bed time,” Choso has to carry you away from the six foot five, scowling ass pink haired man, pouting once you’re in his room. “I want you to have a dildo made from my dick, baby.”
“Oh,” you giggle now, hands sliding up his chest. “You do?”
He nods all eagerly, lower lip jutting out. “It’s not fair that Sukuna has one.”
“But you get to fuck me?”
“Still, baby please?” He takes your hand and you giggle, nodding.
Why wouldn’t you want Choso’s cock to add to your extensive collection? You’ll use it and Sukuna’s together.
You wonder just how much more you can piss him off.
The backshots would be worth it.
*****
“What the fuck is that!?” You scowl over at your roommate Sukuna the next morning, as you drag his character around on the screen – a perfect likeness really, you even have him in a pretty pink kimono.
“It’s your Mii,” his jaw sets in annoyance, ruby eyes narrowing at the version of himself with one fucking tooth, you’ve drawn his tattoos all over him – you’ve even drawn a penis on his goddamn face. “Isn’t he cute?”
“No he’s not fucking cute!? The fuck is that?” You start giggling and see his brows lower over his eyes. “Why am I wearing a dress!?”
“You love it, Kuna,” you giggle and pull another dress from the shop, handing it to his Mii and letting him put it on. He blushes and jumps up and down. “Look how much you love it! Oh my god, you’re so happy!”
“What am I even doing!?” He crosses his arms as you giggle at the screen, looking at the little Mii flashing his flashlight over and over at the little Satoru.
“You’re having fun,” you roll your eyes as if he’s asking some insane ass question.
“And that’s you?” You’re over there living with a Choso Mii, clearly head over heels. You giggle again, hand in front of your face.
“Mhm! Look, even this version of me loves Choso!”
Sukuna has had enough.
“I’m fucking done,” you gasp when he yanks the switch controller from your hands and throws it.
“Hey! Your Mii is getting ready for a european tour with Satoru-”
“You?”
“No,” you grin again. “I made your best friend Satoru a mii, the one from college, remember? You and him have this beautiful yaoi-”
Sukuna snatches you up so fast you gasp, throwing you over his shoulder, having you yelp and smack at him, only for him to smack the fuck out of your ass.
“Ow! Put me down you dick!” He tosses you right on the bed with an unceremonious bounce, you huff in indignation, staring up with your thighs spread – just enough for Sukuna to see the slick trail down it.
“I said sorry about your dumb fucking Mario Kart,” his hands slide up your thighs achingly slow, goosebumps sliding right up them, you can’t stop the whine that slips from your mouth, hands gripping the blankets tightly, bunching in your hands. “Yet here you are, torturing me over that shit.”
“Torturing you how?” You reach up and yank him down, letting him lay over you – his scowl fading, lips parted just a bit when you arch your hips, his hands sliding even higher. “Playing a video game?”
“No, by fucking Choso all goddamn day,” you giggle, but it’s cut off when he yanks you hips, dragging you against him so that your knees are bent, feet planted on the edge of the bed.
“Choso is sweet to me,” you murmur, fingers drifting up his chest, his neck, until a hand entangles in his pink locks, tugging hard at the root. “You’re fucking mean.”
“Me? You’re mean!?” he slams his lips on yours, hands against where your hips and thighs meet, thumbs just pressing in, your core tightens, breaths coming even faster. “Mean ass brat. Over falling off the rainbow road.”
“You’re the one who cheated, admit it,” he chuckles, dragging you against his length and watching your eyes roll back in your skull. “Mnh!”
“Don’t want it, huh?”
You swallow nervously now, nails sinking in until they sting his skin, he hisses through his teeth. “You really think you can handle me, Kuna?”
He laughs, throwing his head back, flipping you so quickly you’re dizzy, shoving your shorts right down your thighs, watching as they tremble, seeing that pussy that’s usually just full of Choso’s cum. “Can you take my dick, brat?”
“I can,” you’re already arching when he kneels down, his breath ghosting your cunt, laughing as you push back on it. “F-fuck…”
“What, gonna admit you want it?” His tongue flicks up your slit, moaning at that taste that coats his tongue, slipping right against that barbell. “Slutty lil cunt, bet I could fit in without any prep, you’re that messy.”
“Mnh,” you’re going to fuck with him later, but right now his teeth are nipping your clit so damn hard you’re gasping out. “Gonna bite it, really!?”
“You love that,” he’s stroking his cock – already leaking pre – parting your puffy lips to watch that hole wink. He pulls you wide open and then spits a glob of saliva right in your hole.
“Did you just spit on it? You’re such a slut – ngh!”
“Me?” He spits again, moaning as he stands up, shoving your head down and pinning your wrist behind your back – you’re arching more, you’ve already taken his cock in the form of that dildo he had made, you can’t help but want the real thing. “Look at you, all needy, arching like that. Been fucking yourself with my cock for months, hah…”
“Dick,” your words are muffled, head against the pillow, nails digging into your palm as a hand grips that wrist, and his cock lands on your ass with a filthy slap. “P-please…”
“Hah, please what? Please tell you – that I ‘suck’ at Mario kart? That I’m mad as fuck I can’t sink inside your slutty cunt and have to hear Choso whimper?” you just moan more, peeking back at him with lidded eyes, making his cock leak pre and drip it right down on the bed. Sukuna smacks your ass with his free hand with a loud smack. “Answer, brat.”
You’ll let Sukuna think he has control – for now – you really want backshots from him, after all.
“Please, in me,” your words fucking ruin him, how could he even imagine you’d be begging him to shove his cock inside you? He spits down your ass and lets it drip down your lips, shoving his pants down and freeing his cock. “Kuna…”
“You’re gonna be sweet for once? Because you want my cock? Hah,” you feel his spit slipping down, his cock slaps his flat abdomen, leaking white on the pink happy trail now, coating it. “Needy lil fuckin’ brat. Gotta be filled by the two of us?”
“Fuck,” he’s mean – but you love that shit, you want him to be mean, love when his hand clamps down on your wrist, pushing you down even further into the mattress.
“Say it,” he’s taunting you now, trying to exact his revenge as he runs his pierced tip right up and down your slit, faster and faster – edging you, breaking you down to where you forget just how annoyed you are with this giant dickhead you live with. “Say you wanna be fucked by both of us, not just him.”
“You’re so jealous,” your giggle is cut off when he pulls his cock back. “Ngh – Kuna, fuckin’ put it in, shit…”
“Nah,” he’s throbbing when he slips two thick fingers through the spit and precum he’s coated your pretty pussy with, swirling them and then shoving them in hard, making you spasm so damn fast. “Don’t tell me you’re that easy f’me, gonna come from my fingers?”
His fingers are thick and rough, years of football have them calloused as they massage your walls, rocking up and down and in and out of you, that clicking sound of just how wet your pussy is echoing in your ears. You’re dizzy from a few pumps, the way he curves up and down on that spot as you’re arched, shoving you down even further until your cries are muffled.
“Gonna squirt in less than a minute, tch,” he’s lost in how good you feel gripping his fingers, he can hardly stop himself from drinking your cunt again. “Love to make me so fuckin’ desperate because of a goddamn game.”
“I t-take it serious,” he laughs then, smacking your other ass cheek and watching that flesh rise up with his hand print. “Ah!”
“Yeah I can tell you do, bratty, mean little – fuck, you’re about to cum, huh?” You shatter before he can yank his fingers out and deny you it, squirting obscenely right down to your bed, legs quivering as that orgasm has your pussy flooded with that slick, so much it’s ridiculous. “Fuck, you squirt like that?”
“Mnh,” you can’t even manage a word, pussy tightening up after your orgasm, just for him to spit on you again, filthy and nasty with it, huge, tattooed hands gripping your hips and tugging you back. “Fuck me… god, put it in – or do you wanna fuck Satoru like your Mii did- ah!”
Sukuna slaps the fuck out of each ass cheek, over and over until you’re about to cum from the pain, hands digging into the covers as you arch your pussy up, he watches the sight of it all messy and glossy and almost cums himself. He strokes his needy cock, smearing that pre along his reddened tip, moaning all pornographic to the point just that is sending you.
“Say you want my cock inside.”
“No.”
“The fuck!?” You laugh again, you love torturing him, especially when he leans over you with his heavy weight, his chest pressing down on your back, hand gripping you underneath your chin and turning your face to him.
When you look into his pretty, dangerous red eyes though?
You’re fucked.
You just swallow, trying to catch your breath and act like you’re not actively losing all your control, until you gather yourself. Sukuna slips his thumb over your lip and you pretend to kiss it, only to sink your teeth in, laughing as he curses.
“You are an evil lil brat, swear to…” He moans when you back up on him, grinding your hips up and down. One of his hands squeezes your throat, the other planted right by your face. “Say it.”
“I said ‘fuck me’!”
“Say you want my cock inside, that you love my fucking dildo, say that shit you brat,” you smirk and almost ruin him, finally conceding a bit just so you can actually feel his cock inside.
“I want your cock inside me,” he loses it then, hearing your breathy whisper, seeing your eyelashes tremble as your lids lower. “Kuna, fuck me… god just put your cock inside, I can take it – I- ngh!”
Sukuna shoves his thick cock inside your needy cunt with one mean thrust, bottoming out instantly. Your eyes roll back as a desperate, breathy little moan escapes your lips – you’re stretched out so fucking good, his pierced tip just kissin’ your cute, puffy lil cervix. You’re so stretched out it’s intense, much more than the dildo you'd been secretly using still.
You couldn’t let Sukuna know how much better his real cock is than his toy, even if his dildo had worked you up to the feeling, there was no replica for that piercing, for those veins pulsing.
“Fuck, you're taking all my cock like you’re made for it," his hips jerk back and then shove forward, burying himself in your slick, hot pussy that’s stretching just for him, the initial resistance already passed. "Needy lil cunt, fuck she’s grippin’ me like she wants cum inside her, huh? That what you need?"
“Ngh…” You can’t talk, not when he’s sliding almost all the way out and then slamming back inside. The pretty little barbells underneath his tip catch on that spongy spot in your tacky walls, making you whine out. “Fuck!”
“Fuck,” as if he’s fairing much better, you’re taking all his goddamn cock inside, those puffy pussy lips stretching around his shafe. “Look at her, wanted this so fuckin’ bad, huh?”
Sukuna’s huge hands grip the curve of your hips hard enough to bruise, and you want him to, you want to bruise him just as bad. The thought has you quivering and spasming as he slowly shoves back in, maddening when his heavy, cum filled balls just smack right on your neglected, twitchy clit.
“Kuna… please…”
“Kuna please,” you scowl now, clamping down on his cock, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. “Stop that, god…”
“Don’t be a dick, I’ll have you c-cum so fast you, ah!” Sukuna scowls, gripping you at the waist and beginning to fuck you then. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“So fuckin’ needy, so bratty, only sweet when you’re stuffed full of cock, huh?” He begins to fuck all his frustrations out on your pussy, skin smacking loud in the room, cock stretching you out so full you feel him everywhere. “Can’t talk? I fuck you dumb already?”
Sukuna is a dick.
But you can’t talk, the faster he moves, slamming so hard inside you it hurts – you can take dick, too, but he’s so mean with it, balls smacking your clit where you need the friction. You reach down between your own thighs, resting on a shoulder and rubbing your own clit, only for him to snatch your wrist.
“Ah-ah,” he shoves your hand back on the mattress, fucking into you as his balls hit your clit again, torturing you. “You’re not gonna touch that lil clit.”
Oh fuck him.
“Your mii wants to m-move in with Satoru and have babies with-ah!” Sukuna slams even harder, filling you up so that his tip is bruising your cervix, his teeth biting your shoulder blade, hand taking your much smaller one over.
“Soaking wet, never even felt someone this wet,” Sukuna is too far gone now, you’re wrapping him too goddamn good, his chest slips across your arched back, shoving you further onto the bed. “Cucking me, edging me, so mean for what?”
“Mario – mnh! – Kart – will you j-just lemme touch my clit!?” He laughs then, his piercings catching on your sensitive spots in those quivering walls, making you gasp out all ragged, your eyes rolling back in your skull.
"Look at you, all that talk about Mario Kart and now you're drooling, can’t talk shit now, huh? Too full of cock?” His huge hand releases its grip and instead wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, everything fuzzy, until even without your clit played with you’re about to shatter. "Admit it - you've wanted this since I moved in."
"Never," you manage to gasp out the words, even though your body betrays you as you clench around him, slutty pussy completely not agreeing with you. “Won’t… harder, fuck me harder…”
He responds by pulling out almost completely, making you whine out. “When you admit that shit.”
“Okay, fuck, I want you,” you whine out all sweet, turning your face and kissing his lips, making him moan desperately into your mouth. “Please.”
“Mnh…”
“Did you whimper?”
“No!?” You’re laughing when he flips you around, cock dripping with all your slick, smacking it on your puffy cunt with loud thwacks as he pins you underneath him. “Didn’t whimper.”
“You did,” your giggle is fucking cute – not that Sukuna would tell you, he’s too stubborn to admit you’re so pretty he melts around you. No, instead he glares and shoves your thighs to your chest. “Hey! I can’t bend that way!?”
“Sure ya can,” his fingers press into the plush of those thighs, cock slammed right back inside, both of you moaning as he fills you up. “God…”
Sukuna paused for a moment, kissing you all sweet as he crushes you with his weight, making you bite his lip. He glares, so you bite his shoulder, even harder, giggling at the teeth marks.
“You’re so fucking evil, I’m fucking you like this and you’re biting me?” You bite him again, feeling his cock twitch inside you, his sooty pink lashes fluttering shut. “Stop it, brat.”
“You’re gonna crush me, so heavy, mnh!”
“Callin’ me fat? Tch,” Sukuna bites your ear so hard you gasp out, your nails dragging down his back, leaving scratch marks that slip all across. “Mnh…”
“Whimpering again, hah,” you’re digging your nails in harder, eyes fluttering closed with just how needy you are for him, teeth sinking into a well muscled bicep, right over a black tattoo. “Aw, Kuna, you’re so close, huh?”
“Can’t stand your ass,” he’s about to bust, he barely holds back as his balls start tensing and throbbing, hands shoving your thighs further apart when they threaten to close. “I want my mii to move in with you.”
“No,” his brows lower, before you bite him right on his nipple. “Livin’ with Cho.”
“Ouch! Fuck that,” you giggle and he throws you around again, but this time on your tummy, prone bone right over you. His hand wraps your throat again as he shoves his cock fully inside, your head falling back. “Stop biting me!?”
“You love it,” he does – but–
“Oh… hi?” Sukuna groans as he hears Choso – no damn way was he not going to cum inside you.
“Go the fuck away.”
“No, stay,” Choso chuckles, setting aside the box – his cock has been made into a pretty pink dildo just for you! He can’t wait till you see it, though just hearing your slutty pussy and your moans are wrecking him. “Mngh… Cho…”
“Hi pretty baby,” he walks over as your other roommate is pumping your pussy full, he can’t help but moan at the sight. “Is he being nice to you?”
“Nice, hah – she’s biting me and making my Mii fuck Satoru!” Choso snorts in laughter. “It’s not funny?”
“I made your mii, isn’t he cute?” Sukuna might kill Choso, as he walks over and sits in the pretty pink chair, thighs spread. “Can I watch you ride him, baby?”
“No, get out-”
“Mhm,” you turn your head to look at Sukuna. “On your back.”
“Fuck that, I…” He sighs, he sure isn’t gonna turn down getting ridden by you, even if Choso’s over there unzipping his pants. He rolls on his back just for you to run to choso and give him a quick kiss, his hand glides down to your cunt, taking some of those juices from it and sucking them off his fingers. “Get over here!?”
“Impatient ass!” You giggle when Choso presses kisses to your nipple, sucking one in his mouth. “I missed you, Cho.”
“I’m right fucking here, cock out! Get on it, brat,” you stomp over as Choso spits on his cock, moaning at the sight of you straddling Sukuna. Sukuna himself can’t help but whimper a third time, his cheeks all flushed when you sink right down on his cock, his black nails pressing into your hips. “Fuck… Show me what you got, huh?”
“Lemme see you pretty,” you giggle and look back at Choso, just for Sukuna to snatch your chin up, forcing your gaze back on him.
“Eyes on me,” you can’t lie – it’s hot that he’s jealous, that he’s needy, it’s hot that Choso is whining out and the sounds of him stroking his cock are mixing with the wet sounds of your cunt sucking Sukuna in. “That’s it, ride me, fuck…”
“Kuna,” you tease, leaning low as if to kiss him, only to bite his chest again, he yanks your hair at the root, hissing at you as Choso strokes faster, seeing your pussy stretched like that. “You suck at Mario Kart. And your Mii is living with Satoru.”
“Fuck off, just… there just… mngh…” Sukuna busts so much it’s filthy, pumping in your walls and coating them, white ropes just pouring down his length, sticky and dripping out. Sukuna groans, gripping your hips bruising, Choso watches the white mess pour and groans.
He can’t wait for you to use his dildo next, but for the moment he’s perfectly content watching his pretty girlfriend torture and bite the shit out of Sukuna, especially when he gets to drink his cum right out of you. <3
𐙚 plug!choso who craves you when he has the munchies.
“you brush your teeth?” you look down at the faded man, long hair sprawled out on the pillow. “yes- yes. cmon..put it on me please.” his beautiful eyes clouded from how high he was and how hungry he seemed to be.
“m’just making sure Cho.” 𐙚 plug!choso knew better than to eat your pussy with smoke on his tongue. he treated you like a princess, and he’d never let his princess get such lowly treatment. That went for the both of you: yourself and that pretty pearl between your legs.
“yes yes yes- fuck mmph..” he whined, piercing tongue instantly licking the sweetness between your legs. You gasp, your hands finding the headboard to steady yourself. 𐙚 plug!choso’s hands found their way around your thighs, pulling you down more to actually sit. He never got tired of eating your pussy, his favorite meal. “right there baby…good boy that’s it.” your hips find a steady rhythm to rock to. the ball of his piercing flicks against your clit. “m’fuck princess-“ 𐙚 plug!choso felt himself twitch in his pants.
He knew he had to be patient, though. You granted him enough grace to ride his face when high. “That’s it..” Soft moans escape past your lips, your head leaning back as your grip on the headrest tightened. Because something you didn’t do, was have sex with 𐙚 plug!choso while he was high.“If you make me cum I’ll ride you next, Cho.” You bit your lip, smug smirk on your face.
He lets out a cry, hands gripping your thighs tighter, tongue flicking against your sensitive bud faster. Dick twitching in his sweatpants, 𐙚 plug!choso started to think about you. How well you took him in everytime you had sex. How good and warm you felt around his big dick. How you called him a good boy when he did anything you told him to do. He fucked you just how you wanted, everytime. “M’gonna make you cum princess.” Wet dripping down his chin, he lost himself in you, Nose buried deep into your pussy, tongue slipping into your hole.
“M-mmm you’re talking with your mouth full Cho.” You moan at the whine he lets out, you could hear the muffled “sorry princess” from him afterwards.
`ঔঌ. never did you expect, in all your years married, for your husband, firelord!zuko to have a breeding kink? | 18+
the supporting council of the fire nation, and even several of zuko’s advisors have been adamant on one thing since your marriage to your childhood lover: producing an heir.
“yes… i know. even my ladies in waiting are asking,” you replied. the both of you were in his study, with you lounging on some cushions while he clearly was distracted from his paperwork considering the turn your conversation went.
zuko appeared hesitant, almost antsy. “really? they’re a bit annoying, aren’t they?”
you shrugged, until you just kept talking mindlessly. “it’d be nice though…wouldn’t it?”
your words made your husband furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “what would?”
“having children?” you walked over to him, sitting on his lap as his arms snaked around your waist and held you. “being pregnant…”
“you’d be a great daddy… so why don’t we try?”
“really?” his tone changed, almost laced with a bit of amusement. “are…are you sure?”
“why not?” you leaned towards him and you swore you saw the tips of his ears go red and his face slightly appear flushed.
it was a clear fact that your husband was a fast man, but before you knew it, you were naked before him, warm skin pressed against his cold desk, quills, ink, and paper scattered. he had undressed you quickly—as if you were going to run away.
“you’re sure about this?” zuko asked, beginning to align his cock to your entrance the moment you nodded, and rubbing your arousal around his length before slowly pushing in.
fuck, you really should’ve taken to account just how your husband is… because when he’s serious about something, he’s dead serious.
“mmm—zuko-! please—fuck!”
you felt almost lightheaded, with your cunt squeezing your husband’s cock almost uncontrollably while your clit throbbed immensely. the two of you have been at it for hours, going at it like damn rabbits all over his study. on the desk, the cushions, against the wall. and now? you’re riding him while he’s sat on his chair.
“you—hahhh—said you were sure,” he replied, hands squeezing at your ass and slapping it teasingly.
you could feel his loads of cum spill out of you with every harsh thrust of his hips, with your husband groaning loudly from how tight you felt around him.
it was all too much—so. damn. much. he fucks you so mean…
your arms around his neck only tightened around him the faster you went, pulling on his long hair slightly and eliciting a whine? from your husband.
“you’re gonna—shit—look so damn pretty… so fucking pretty pregnant…” he gazed up at you, almost intoxicated with how you looked riding him, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock while you whined so cutely. your maw was slack while your eyes were glued to the ceiling, and your grip on his hair only tightened (again).
until the two of you heard a knock on the door, and he covered your mouth quickly.
“fire lord zuko, your presence is requested—“
“i’m busy.”
zuko’s hips continued, slower yet still so torturous on you. he bounced you slowly yet harshly, slamming you on his cock. then came that obnoxiously loud squelch! you could cry of embarrassment… but it seemed that your lover was enjoying this.
“w-what was that?” the advisor asked.
and it wasn’t until zuko lifted your hips and slammed you onto him one last time, where you cried out in a octave you’ve never hit ever.
“gotta make sure we have that heir, right?”
.
.
.
had to… i just had to… #leastcanonthingever anyways IM CRINE THIS IS SO OOC BUT ITS OK!! also wtf is it with me and zuko smut in his firelord study
hai mai lob @yailuxe <33
also more zuko i’ve written (prepare to get sick of me)
satoru gojo is quite literally the worst person on earth to try and have a silent treatment with.
of course, he knows you’re mad, he knows he fucked up - but he also knows that if he can make your life "unbelievably" inconvenient, you’ll eventually have to break the silence just to tell him to stop.
here's the thing; you haven’t spoken to him in twelve hours.
you are a fortress of solitude, him?
he is a persistent, white-haired fly that cannot be swatted away because of his infinity or maybe a mosquito; sucking your energy out instead of blood.
he realised (unfortunately he is capable of realising things) that as long as you are self-sufficient, you can keep ignoring him. therefore, he must delete your ability to function.
it's 9am, you wake up and try to get out of bed - you can't.
no, not because he’s holding you, but because he has lowered the friction of the floor around your bed to exactly zero; you try to step down and your foot just slides back like you’re on the world’s most invisible ice rink.
satoru is sitting in the corner, casually reading a magazine upside down, doesn't say a word. he just watches you glide helplessly back onto the mattress. 0-1.
10:30am, you manage to "crawl-surf" to the bathroom.
naturally, you reach for the faucet - it’s not there.
you blink, and the faucet is on the ceiling. water flowing upward into the pipes - you look in the mirror;
he’s standing behind you in the reflection, holding a toothbrush and looking incredibly "helpful," "innocent," waiting for you to snap - you don't.
you use bottled water instead, winning the second battle of this "silent treatment war". 1-1.
by midday, he realizes you’re more stubborn than a cursed spirit, so he goes full on nuisance mode. (special grade sorcerer edition).
you open your closet to get dressed; every single item of clothing, every shirt, every sock - is vibrating. if you touch a sleeve, it teleports to the other side of the room.
you are effectively locked out of your own wardrobe by a space-time anomaly.
you go to make tea to calm your nerves, thinking 'if you can't fight it, then adapt to it.'
the kettle is suddenly encased in a "red" orb that repels your hand every time you get within six inches.
the final straw for you was when you tried to leave the apartment to get some space;
you open the front door and walk out, only to find yourself stepping right back into your own living room.
confused, you try again. door → living room. door -> living room, an infinite loop. he’s turned your hallway into a localized version of the prison realm.
you stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, fuming.
satoru is now sitting on the couch comfortably, dramatically sighing and checking his watch as if he's the one being inconvenienced with this whole thing.
you take a deep breath. you tried - you really did.
"satoru," you growl, finally looking at him.
"oh! someone spoke!" he teleports directly into your personal space, his blindfold pushed up so his blue eyes are practically glowing with "i won" energy.
"was that the wind? or was that my favorite person finally realizing that they need a certain handsome sorcerer to fix the literal glitch in their reality?"
"fix the door," you snap, trying to hide the twitch of a smile. "the tea, and the floor. you’re such a fucking brat."
"i'm your brat," he chirps, snapping his fingers.
suddenly, the world stops vibrating and gravity returns to normal.
he leans down with no shame resting his chin on your head. "apology accepted! let’s go get lunch. i’m paying - mostly because you can't reach your wallet since i put it on the moon."
bully!gojo who takes you out for dinner, but of course there's a catch.
he's looking at you from across the booth, eyes wild with interest and curiosity. the restaurant he's taken you to is quite nice, far too nice for what he's doing.
"how you going over there? your face is a little red." he teases, wearing an innocent smile.
you squirm in your seat, trying to avoid the pleasure of the vibrator he shoved down there. one of his hands remains under the table, playing around with the vibrations on his phone. you can't even respond, eyes closed in both focus and desperation.
when the server comes over, he asks if you're all right.
"she's fine, just a little nervous. two waters please," gojo says with confidence and ease before ordering for the both of you. you look down, trying to hide the needy look on your face.
"y'know, i think we should try this during school."
"p-please, turn it down, satoru-"
"ha, no thanks. i'm loving this." he says. his eyes never leave you, admiring how your body curls in and tries to hide its shakes. he's been at this for an hour already, and you're beginning to feel overwhelmed.
"please, i can't, i don't want to." you say, although not entirely sure of what you do and do not want. gojo sighs dramatically before standing and making his way to your side of the table, sliding into the booth next to you. his arm snakes around your shoulders and holds you close.
he puts his phone on your thigh and points to it.
"go on, you do it." he says, voice softer. you look up at him, wondering if this is just some game, if he will take away the control. but he doesn't laugh or anything, patient.
your finger moves to the screen, small gasp leaving your mouth as you hold on the higher function. gojo chuckles lightly, whispering again.
"there you go. now make yourself cum and stop being such a baby."
"can't we take it out instead?"
"no, i want it in. come on, you're not scared of a little orgasm in public, are you?" he teases, smiling at your defeated face. your finger moves to the screen again and you close your eyes when the pleasure consumes you.
you squirm in the seat, your other hand gripping it's leather. gojo responds by leaning closer, preventing you from moving too much.
"such a wiggler. don't worry baby, i'll help you." he shuffles closer to you, effectively trapping you in the corner. his hand grabs your head and turns it so your hiding in his chest.
as your orgasm builds up, gojo kisses your head gently, whispering perverted things.
"such a whore, huh? you would have never done this before me. i make you that needy that you'll do anything i say. no debating that."
you take in a sharp breath as you feel yourself nearing the edge. finally, you cum. your body shakes and gojo firmly pins you, stopping the vibrations.
suddenly, your server returns with your food. gojo thanks him calmly while you hide your face again, overwhelmed with embarrassment.
when gojo looks at your face again, he leans in to whisper in your ear.
"don't be ashamed beautiful, here, feel how hard you've made me?" he grabs your hand and shoves it over his crotch.
"fuck, those little sounds. makes me wanna fuck you right here. come on, let's go to the bathroom."
janainaart
yousharknotpass
theartofmadeline
dededos
