it started innocently enough—or as innocent as anything ever is with him. one lazy sunday morning when you were still half-asleep and riding him slow, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand with that mischievous grin and whispered, “just one video, baby. for my eyes only. i wanna watch how pretty you look when you come on my cock.”
you said yes.
now it’s become a ritual.
every time he fucks you, the phone comes out. sometimes he sets it up on the tripod in the corner of the bedroom so it captures everything in wide angle. sometimes he holds it himself, filming close-ups of his thick cock stretching your pussy open, the way your tits bounce with every thrust, the messy slick coating his shaft when he pulls out just to push back in deeper.
he loves the sounds most of all.
“listen to that,” he’ll groan, angling the camera down between your bodies so the microphone catches the wet, filthy squelch every time he bottoms out. “hear how sloppy your pussy gets for me? fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my balls.”
he always makes sure to get your face too—the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth falls open when he hits that spot inside you, the broken moans and whimpers of his name that spill out when you’re close.
“say it louder,” he’ll demand, voice rough as he fucks you harder, free hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider for the camera. “tell the camera who’s making you feel this good. who owns this tight little cunt.”
you always give in. “you do, satoru—fuck—only you—”
he saves every single video.
they’re stored in a heavily encrypted folder on his phone titled “private collection🤍” with a little heart emoji he thinks is subtle. there are dozens now. some are short clips of you sucking him off in the back of the car after a mission. some are long, hour-long tapes where he edges you for ages before finally letting you come. there’s even one from the time he fucked you against the floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse while the city lights glittered behind you.
he watches them when you’re away.
when you’re on a solo mission, or visiting family, or just busy with work that keeps you late. he’ll lock himself in his bedroom, pull up the folder, and pick one at random. sometimes it’s the one where you’re riding him reverse cowgirl, ass bouncing as you take every inch. sometimes it’s the one where he has you folded in half, legs over his shoulders, pounding you so deep the camera catches the bulge in your lower belly.
he strokes himself slow at first, matching the rhythm on the screen, groaning your name under his breath. “fuck, look at you… taking me so well even when i’m not there.”
his hand speeds up as the video gets filthier. he loves the parts where you beg—when you’re crying and whimpering “please, satoru, fill me up, i need your cum.” he always comes hard to those, thick ropes spilling over his fist while he watches himself breed you on the screen.
after he finishes, he doesn’t delete anything. he just saves the new load of cum on his fingers and sends you a quick text:
“miss you. watched our video from last thursday. you looked so pretty crying on my cock. can’t wait to make a new one when you get home.”
you always reply with something flustered and needy, and he grins like an idiot, already planning the next tape.
sometimes he gets bold.
he’ll send you short clips while you’re at work—a ten-second snippet of him thrusting into you from behind, his hand fisting your hair, the sound of skin slapping skin loud and clear. the message always comes with the same caption:
“thinking about you. hurry home so we can film the sequel.”
he never pressures you to let him post them or share them. these videos are strictly for him—his private collection, his dirty little secret. he watches them when he’s stressed after a long day, when he’s horny and you’re not around, when he just wants to relive how perfect you feel wrapped around him.
and every time he films a new one, he makes sure to whisper against your lips right before he starts recording:
“smile for the camera, baby. gonna watch this one later when i’m all alone and missing this tight pussy.”
then he fucks you like he’s trying to make sure the next video is even better than the last.
because gojo satoru doesn’t just love fucking you.
he loves keeping every single moment of it forever.
so he can watch you fall apart for him again and again.
toji’s thick arms were always the safest place in the whole world, especially on nights like this when the rain pattered soft against the windows and your little apartment smelled like the takeout he’d brought home just for you.
except now the food was long gone and his thick, calloused fingers were knuckle-deep in your fluttering cunt, carving you open with that lazy, practiced curl that always made your toes curl up in your socks.
you’d already cum three times for him— once on his tongue, twice on those beefy digits—but the he wasn’t done playing with his favorite toy. not even close. his free hand pinned your squirmy hips down to the sheets, soaked mostly with sweat, keeping you right where he wanted you while his thumb circled your swollen clit like he owned it.
which, as far as he was concerned, he did.
“open your eyes, baby,” he rumbled low, voice all gravel and smoke, lips curled in that smug smirk that made your tummy flutter as he leaned down to kiss sloppily all around your heat. “made ya cum three times already and you’re still clenching around my fingers like you need more. pretty girl wants it real bad tonight, huh?”
you whimpered, all soft and broken, thighs twitching helplessly around his thick wrist. your thin nightgown was bunched up around your waist, tits spilling out the top where he tugged the straps down, nipples pebbled and shiny from where he’d sucked them raw earlier.
his frame loomed over you when he sat up—broad shoulders flexing and muscles rippling and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, that black hair falling messy over his sharp green eyes.
“p-please, toji,” you hiccuped, voice all high and shaky, hips trying to chase the pressure building deeeep in your belly.
your puffy lips glistened, slick dripping down to your ass and puddling beneath you, but he just kept pumping, scissoring, rubbing that spongy spot inside you over and over until your eyes rolled back.
“i— ‘s too much i-i can’t—”
“shhh, easy, dollface,” he cooed, deceptively sweet, but his fingers never slowed.
he leaned down, hot breath fanning over your clit as he spat right onto it, rubbing it in with his thumb. “you’re gonna gush for me like a good girl, yeah? uh huh, just like we’ve been practicing all this time. make a mess of these sheets so i can lick it up after.”
your back arched clean off the bed when he added a third finger, stretching you until you cried out again. the wet, obscene squelch of your messy hole filled the room, syncing with the creak of the bedframe under his weight as he shifted to sit back on his heels.
his free hand slid up your tummy, pressing down firmly right below your belly button, and oh god— that pressure, squeezing the orgasm right out of you.
“a-ah, it’s.. ’m gonna—” your voice cracked into a squeak, that deep, bladder-tight ache making it difficult to stay still. your thighs spasmed, little tremors racing up your spine and making you jolt.
“that’s it, babygirl. let it happen. squirt for this old man like the pretty little fountain you are,” he bit back a groan, fingers curling harder, faster, thumb flicking your clit in tight, mean circles, eyes locked onto where his hand was working eagerly.
“c’mon, baby, soak me. i know you can, just give it to me.”
you tried to hold it, wanting to prolong the feeling of being on the edge, but toji knew your body better than you did. he pressed down on your tummy again, leaned in to suck your clit between his lips with a wet pop, teeth grazing, and that was all it took.
your whole body seized up, vision whiting out as the orgasm ripped out of you.
you squirted hard, hot, clear liquid gushing out around his fingers in pulsing spurts. it sprayed across his forearm and jaw as he pulled his face away to watch, soaked the sheets in a big shiny puddle, somehow even splashed up onto his scarred chest.
the sound was so lewd, wet and messy, your pussy fluttering and gushing endlessly like it was trying to push his hand out and pull it back in all at once.
“fuuuuck yeah, there she is,” toji groaned, not stopping, just slowing his fingers to milk every last drop from you.
“look at my messy baby makin’ such a big, pretty puddle. good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl—keep squirting, doll, ‘m not done yet.”
you were crying by now, soft little sobs mixing with moans as the aftershocks rolled through you, each one forcing another weak spurt of slick from your overworked cunt. your legs were jelly, spread wide and trembling, and it wasn’t until your hips started pulling away from overstimulation that toji finally eased his fingers out with a wet pop, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean like he was tasting the sweetest candy.
“mmh. taste like candy, baby,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with pure satisfaction.
he crawled up your body, that massive, beefy frame caging you in, breathing you in.
“three orgasms, one big squirt.. and you’re still looking at me with those big, sad eyes? you want more, don’tcha?”
he kissed your forehead, deceptively gentle, then nipped at your bottom lip with a grin.
“don’t worry, baby. i’m just getting started. think you could do it again? wanna feel her squirt around my cock.”
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 18+ mdni.. bestfriend's brother!suguru.. pussy inspection?.. oral. f rec.. recording.. FYI severely not edited..
“And I bet you, you won’t have a royal flush by the end of this game,” you challenged Suguru Geto. Your best friend’s older brother by 6 years. The same person you grew up hanging around. And the same person you were currently playing cards with because your fake ass friend went out to run a quick errand.
You weren’t mad, just… flustered? Being left alone with her older brother, who always watches you like a predator waiting any second to pounce on their prey.
He did offer to buy what she needed, but she said no and left.
It’s not like you were scared of him (you were), you grew up around him. It’s just that things are different now. He’s older and bigger, and hotter. And has abs now. Like what?
“And if I end up with that by the end of the game, then?” he said, voice low, in a soothing way.
“Then… You um.. You can get whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” a pause, “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
For some reason, you were starting to feel hot under his piercing gaze. Those heavy eyes of his that undressed you before actions ever could.
“What will you give me?”
“Whatever you want, Suguru,” you groaned, repeating yourself, making him grin. “No take-backs, ok?”
“Why… what do you want?” There was a small chance you might be regretting your words now. What if he makes you do something embarrassing or eat an insect or– or–
“You’ll see,” was all he said before grabbing the first card from the deck, placing it face up on the glass circle table that was centered in front of the dark leather sofa you and he were sharing, sitting on opposite ends.
The game was coming closer to an end, and victory seemed far from reality for you. But Suguru ending with a royal flush was so fucking unlikely that you were relaxed. Even if you lost, Suguru technically wouldn’t win.
Yeah. Or so you thought. Even with the impossible chances, once the game finished, and you accepted your loss, Suguru turned his hand in your direction, being met with what you could only describe as bullshit.
There was no fucking way this man pulled it off. Whether he cheated or didn’t, the chances of getting a Royal Flush are incredibly low. One in a Million type beat. So how?
While you were having an existential crisis, pacing around the living room, Suguru came up behind you, wrapping those large, veiny arms around your midsection, making you jump.
“So about that deal.”
“...what do you want.. And– before you say anything, I’m not eating inse–”
“Let me play with your pussy.”
What?
—
Somehow, your friend was still missing, and some-fucking-how in that time frame of her not being a part of her own household, you have somehow managed to fuck yourself up both physically and mentally and have gotten in bed with your friend’s older brother—in his bed—while he inspects your pussy like it’s a cold case.
“You keep twitching, are you horny?” Geto teases, his warm breath fanning over your exposed cunt.
“N-no, dickhead, I’m just— ohh– fuck!” You choke on your words—saliva—leaving the sentence on a cliffhanger. Suguru’s rough fingers, the backside, ghost over your swollen clit before leaving a harsh flick that has you moaning in pleasure.
“Such a dirty liar and masochist,” The man coos, 2 fingers circling your entrance, all that unused slick sticking to his fingers, trailing them up to your poor abused clit, massaging the little bud between the 2 damp pads, rolling it between them.
You bite your lower lip, shutting your eyes tight enough to hopefully wake up from whatever dream this is or fall asleep. But neither happened. Your body is too aware to fall asleep and too awake to be dreaming.
Biting back any noises that threaten to slip out while he teases you like an untouched instrument.
“Sugu–”
“I’m going to record, ok?”
“What!?”
“Relax, I won’t show anyone,” he says calmly, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his grey sweats. You want to fight him, but do you really? As much as you want to run and kick him in the face, he can clearly see you’re enjoying this far more than him.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he grins, your eyes squinting from the bright flash of his phone. Is this fucker really filming with flash on?
Your body has a physical reaction to the thought of him just having a recording of your bare body at his disposal, anytime he needs.
His fingers stretch and play with your cunt, pulling it in all sorts of directions, getting every part of you on camera. He even films your insides as he slowly pushes the 2 fingers he’s been using on you inside. Watching how they fill your needy little hole. Your back arches, fingers tangled in the sheets, pulling harder. Eyes wandering over his perfect face, stray hairs falling over his face, while the rest is messily tied.
“She likes it,” he says, grinning at your reaction to his words. Face twisting in pleasure.
“Record,” he demands, abruptly handing you the phone, not giving any sort of warning before diving in between your parted thighs.
His soft lips come into contact with your soaking wet cunt. Tracing along your clit and down to your hole. Slipping his tongue inside, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head, one of your hands unsteadily holding the camera, having it angled down to his hair while he devours you like a starved man.
“You have the softest and sweetest fucking pussy. You taste like heaven, doll,” the man says with a mouthful, the vibrations reaching your core. His hands gripping and massaging your thighs, matching the rhythm of his tongue that moved like it knew its way around your body.
He licks every corner and bump that sends you higher than the 7 skies. Touching each part that elicits the sluttiest noises out of your mouth and the tightest spasms from your muscles.
His fingers dug into the squishy flesh of your thighs, nose bumping against your clit, leaving your thighs trembling.
“So fucking—mm, good,” he groaned, making you scream his name, a way of informing him that you’re close, already. Might be one of your quickest orgasms.
“Come on, pretty girl, I’m nowhere near done playing with you,” he chuckles at your needy whine at his words, “ok, ok, you can cum, go on.”
Your back arches off the bed, phone slipping from your loose grip, landing somewhere in the sheets.
He keeps sucking and licking and drinking you in like sin. Enjoying every untouched part of you.
Your body shakes as release crashed over you in waves. Suguru slows his roll. Sucking more sensually, flicking your clit with his tongue only when needed. Once he’s pleased with your orgasm and your sudden body jolts, he pulls back.
The dim glow in the room illuminated his slick-covered lips and chin, and that filthy smirk plastered across his face.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before my sister beats both our asses,” he grins. Helping you up.
“I’m never playing cards with you again.”
“By the way, I cheated.”
“You son of a–”
A/N: im back from my mini something hiatus, also no part 2, leave me alone and i'm working on my longer fics, i swear, no more tiny one shots, i've js been rllyyyyy sick
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
asshole!sukuna and his soft spot for shy!girlfriend!reader ༊*·˚ (18+)
asshole!sukuna doesn’t fuck with a lot of people. i mean, when you’re a 6’5, 90 kg guy with bold tattoos littering your entire body, you’re not really trying to attract sociable people. still, the borderline loner had a few exceptions, his frat brothers, a select few professors, and you.
you were the main exception.
asshole!sukuna met you one day at a fundraising event his frat was hosting, a dollar for a slap. girls would line up in front of a long table and choose a guy to hit, then pay a small donation that went towards the rspca. you and your friends were keen to donate, put some of the guys who’d fucked with their feelings in their place, or however they’d phrased it. you were mostly there for the experience, not too in tune with the whole frat fuckboy lore your friends loved to gossip about.
when you arrived, you started to feel really bad. all these guys’ cheeks were raw and red, and despite their cocky smiles, it just couldn’t be all that fun. when it came to your turn, you had to choose a guy, and your eyes drifted to asshole!sukuna. he was the biggest there, had only a slightly red cheek, and looked like he could take a hit.
asshole!sukuna forced a smile when he saw you walk up to him, your head lowered as you shyly handed over a fiver. he accepted with a, “thanks, sweetheart. go ahead.” he leaned down to your level, bracing for impact, but all he felt was a light pat on his stinging cheek.
“the fuck?”
“oh, i’m sorry! i tried to go soft, i—”
“you call that a slap? what, think i can’t handle it?” he scoffs. “slap me again, hun, harder. don’t waste your money.” he leans down again, looking you in the eye to challenge you.
but again, all that comes is a light tap.
“oh, for god— it’s a dollar for a slap, not a dollar for a fuckin’ cheek massage.” he huffs, looking over your expression with an irritated scowl, only to catch that hesitant little frown on your face.
asshole!sukuna can’t help but crack a smile. he’d had about ten girls come and slap the fuck outta him today. they were all old flings desperate to get their get-back, but that was hardly the point. you were this new thing entirely, a soft thing that seemed sweet regardless of if he was notorious for being a cunt or not.
“what’s y’ name, sweetheart?”
asshole!sukuna decided he wanted to see you again after that. you’d caught his interest, which doesn’t happen often. he asks for your number. your instagram, your snapchat, everything. it was kinda pathetic how eager he was to get to know you, but you handed them all over anyway. your friends warn you after the fact that he’s definitely not good news, but you can’t help but want to see where this goes after only dating squares for most of your life.
asshole!sukuna takes you on a date the very next day, and you were pleasantly surprised at how chivalrous he was. he pulled out your chair at the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant he took you to, he paid for everything, and even more surprisingly, made you feel comfortable. you talked for hours about everything and anything.
you learned that asshole!sukuna had a lot of hobbies. he played guitar, drums, did a fair few building sketches in the art room with his friend geto when he had time, and had a real connection to film. all of which were things you found extremely attractive, and he could tell, because the next time you two went out he took you to his dorm and showed you his musical endeavors.
“you’re like... super talented, it’s really attractive.” you smile gently, sitting at the foot of his bed, watching as he finishes up a love song he’d been learning for you.
“yeah, y’ think so? gonna come to all my gigs when i’m a famous musician?”
“will i get a backstage pass?”
“oh, absolutely.”
asshole!sukuna had officially swooned you after about five dates. he'd mustered up the courage to ask you to be his at that same restaurant he’d taken you to on that first date, and the rest was history. you and sukuna, the couple everyone of his mates envied due to how perfectly you two fit together.
“how the hell did a guy like you bag a girl like her. yr' gonna destroy the poor thing.” geto teased while they were smoking up one night.
asshole!sukuna could only reply with, “god, don’t you just hate jealous, hating ass motherfuckers?”
asshole!sukuna loved to not so subtly brag about you to literally anyone he talked to. (which wasn’t many, but still.)
“eugh, you’re buying lunch? my girlfriend made me food today, fucking loser.” he’d laugh at the dining hall when gojo and geto sat next to him with a greasy burger and fries. they just gave each other a look, smiled, and rolled their eyes.
“hm? nah, can’t tonight. me and my girl are getting hot pot. have fun drinking your problems, tho.” he’d turn toji down, turning his nose up at the idea of bar hopping like he wasn’t the most frequent man along the strip a few months back.
“a two man? i’m not bringing my girl around your little one and done situation, don’t ask me that shit again.” he’d laugh in jogo’s face, hating the idea of his precious baby being around a sleaze bag like him.
asshole!sukuna always puts you first. his frat’s planning something big, another fundraising night where they really care about attendance, and he’s meant to be there early to help set up. but out of the blue, you’ll send him a text just to say that you've had a slightly shitty day, and boom, he’s suddenly nowhere to be found. his phone’s off, car’s out of the driveway, and he’s at your door with your favorite food and that pissed look, how dare the world have the nerve to bother you.
asshole!sukuna likes to keep you very close to him when you’re out and about, with either an arm at your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s most comfortable when you’re right there where he can see you. that way, if anything were to happen, you’d be there for him to protect.
asshole!sukuna lets you get away with absolutely everything.
“ryo, can i draw on you? like, draw on your back while we watch a show or something?”
“sure, baby.”
“ryooo, can i braid your hair?”
“of course, love.”
“hey, ryomen? could you drive me to my friend’s house? she lives on the other side of town, though.. it’s okay if you don’t want—”
“no, no. let’s go, sweetness.”
“ryo, you smell.”
“shower with me then, baby.”
with anyone else, asshole!sukuna would have either yelled or broken their jaw for even thinking they could ask him such questions. but with you? the princess gets what the princess wants or whatever the saying he made up in his head was.
asshole!sukuna fucking hates when people talk over you. it’s a common occurrence due to your soft-spoken nature, you’ll be in the middle of saying something, and someone’ll cut in with whatever thing they think is funnier or more worth listening to. sukuna never lets it slide. “she was talking, dickhead.” he’d scoff, shutting them up and earning a shy, thankful smile from you, as you continued with what you were saying, far more important than whatever that clown had to yap on about anyways. (in sukuna’s mind, at least.)
asshole!sukuna spends a shit ton of money on you. you almost always go against the idea, but he just can’t help it... when he sees your eyes light up when you see something you like at the mall, he physically can’t resist. he’ll bookmark the product, then order it online to come to your apartment the next day.
“ryo... why do i have another package?” you whine over the phone, earning nothing but a chuckle from the other end.
“could tell you wanted it, so just enjoy it, sweet thing. you deserve all the fruits of my labour.”
“you don’t work? isn’t it your parents’ mon—”
“semantics. just enjoy, baby.” and he hangs up the phone, grabbing his keys to drive to your place and see how you like the new gift. he thinks it was a new dress? couldn’t be sure, it was hard keeping up with the millions of notifications from the post office.
asshole!sukuna remembers everything about his girl and makes sure you’re always getting exactly what you want. if he’s out getting dinner before driving to your place, he’ll stop at five different places if that meant getting your order perfectly correct. local maccas has a broken ice cream machine? he’s driving to the next location to try his luck there. one place doesn’t have the kind of noodles you like? he’s making his way to the closest chinese place to see if they do. he is the embodiment of “if he wanted to, he would,” and it’s all worth it seeing your face light up when he holds up the paper bag with a smile.
“your favourite.”
“oh my god? this is the place out of the city? how did you—”
“don’t worry about it, angel.”
and that was another thing, ashole!sukuna didn’t let you worry about anything. your place felt too messy? he was over there turning on mlp equestria girls and helping you clean. you wanted a home cooked meal? he’s at the store buying the ingredients. you needed help with an assignment? he’s pushed back his own work to sit down and help you smash them out.
asshole!sukuna is so overly territorial when it comes to functions. he doesn’t know, there’s just something about people drunk and horny all around you that ticks him off. he’ll always have you either sat next to or on his lap at frat parties. you stick to him regardless, but he has to make it obvious to all the fuckwits blatantly staring at you that you are indeed, his.
if they don’t get the hint the first time and are still gawking after his mild pda, asshole!sukuna would up the ante. he’ll take you off to some hallway or, if the guys are being particularly sleazy, he’ll kiss you right there. his lips trailling up and down your neck while he stares them dead in the eye, challenging them to look away.
“ryo... people are looking!” you whisper nervously.
“let them, sweetheart. you’re too pretty not to stare at.” he grins against your neck, sucking and biting at your soft skin.
by that point, they always look off. whether that be due to his death glare or the realisation that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon was beside the point.
asshole!sukuna gets embarrassingly hard at the smallest little things with you. you’ll just be sitting on the couch together and you’ll start scratching his back or head, boom, hard. when you’re sitting next to him in the library and you’re biting your pen, boom, hard. even when you’re just laying in bed, tired from the day, he’ll lay next to you and just sigh.
“how the fuck do you just look like that. you make it so hard to keep my shit to myself.” he groans as his arms snake around your waist.
“jeez, i can feel that thing poking into my back... what did i do now?” you smile sleepily.
“i wish i knew. seems like one look at you and i pop a boner.” he admits, a little embarrassed.
“can i help you out?”
asshole!sukuna loved how willing you were to service him, but preferred it the opposite way round. sukuna would spend hours between your pretty thighs if he could, sloppily kissing and sucking at your cunt with dazed eyes, loving nothing more than the pretty moans and groans he could pull from your throat.
“fuck yeah, y’ like that, baby? you like my tongue, hm?” he’d tease with his mouth full, pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked pussy as he dragged you closer and closer to your orgasm.
asshole!sukuna knew how wet his filthy words could get you, and he abused that knowledge each and every time he needed you prepped and ready for him.
“y’ think you can take me, baby, yeah? think you can take this fat cock?” he’d taunt, slapping the thick head against your cunt as your slick coated the pink, glossy skin. “fuckkkk, pretty pussy’s beggin’ t’ get drilled.”
“what’s that? you need me? well, isn’t that fuckin’ cute. beg a little more and maybe i’ll give you what you want.”
“be a good girl n’ say please and it’s all yours, angel.”
asshole!sukuna was massive, but you always took him so well. “you can do it, baby. i know you can.” he’d coo in your ear, lining up the monster of a thing.
“one, two, fuckkk.”
asshole!sukuna saw stars every time he’d push in, letting go of a long, pornographic moan as he began to thrust slowly in and out of your tight entrance. the look on your face as your eyes rolled back in pleasure made coming in less than a minute extremely hard, but the intense need to make you finish first overrode any sort of selfish desire to fill you up to the brim in the first few minutes.
asshole!sukuna loved missionary the most because he could see your pretty face. he enjoyed a bunch of freaked-out positions, but nothing could beat watching your pupils dilate and your lips quiver the second you finally came, his name on your tongue as you let go of the tension building in your tummy.
“y’ gonna come, baby? y’ gonna come on this cock?” he’d grunt, slamming his member deeper and deeper the louder your cries got, faster and faster until— “fuck, ryo! m’ cumming!” you’d stutter, your insides spasming on his cock, drawing out his own orgasm with one final pound, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed.
asshole!sukuna was the king of aftercare. words that were filthy before, now soft and caring.
“you okay, baby? did i go too hard on ya?” he’d ask through tired pants, standing to grab the wet wipes in the side drawer to wash your messy parts off.
“you want me to order something? anything you want, love. i’ll get you anything and everything.”
“c’mon, sweetheart. drink some water.”
asshole!sukuna never made you feel small after intimacy, in fact, sometimes you enjoyed the aftermath more than the mindblowing sex.
“m’ okay, ryo. just wanna cuddle.” you’d admit shyly, reaching for him to come back to bed.
his eyes would soften and he’d plop down next to you, pulling you into his lap. “anything for you, angel.”
sure, sukuna was an asshole, but he couldn't even dream of mistreating you, his biggest exception.
“love you, baby.”
“love you too, ryo.”
a/n: i wrote this semi off my face so excuse any bad word or structural choices 💘
Synopsis. Four arms. Four eyes. Two mouths. Ryomen Sukuna has everything he needs and more: power, riches, enough concubines that he’s grown bored of such frivolities. That is, until you’re entering his royal estate as the newest addition—and he just didn’t expect such a puny little human to become…
His favorite.
Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!concubine!reader, Heian era!Sukuna, true form!Sukuna, DP, Sukuna’s second mouth, the Sukuna Estate, other concubines, schemes, sIight pIot, mostly just true form Kuna mmmmpfg, he’s the master, he’s BIG (like really big), four arms, two mouths, he’s FÉRAL, mouth-ríding, sort of face-sítting, p sIapping, oraI (f + brief m), DÚMBlFICATION, making it fit, tight squeezes, stretching, tummy buIges, cervíx smooches, sIight degradation, bréeding, mentions of heirs, MANHANDLlNG, tension, full nélsons, overstímulation, spítting, foIding, stopping you from running, making you CRY, rough s, he’s MEAN, creampíes, cúmpIay, muIti-tasking (iykyk), implied marathon, slight proposals, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.5k
A/N. Blame that split-second frame from the last episode not me…
“Of the eighty-two chambers, you are free to enter most.” Uraume’s words were smooth, steady, and not a second longer than necessary; just as their steps were down these winding hallways.
You’re hastening your strides to keep up.
“You may roam in the gardens and libraries. The main kitchen has its doors always open, the Eastern one is for specialty desserts and guests, and the Western one is for poisons…and guests.” They continue, “The dojo is forbidden to anyone but the master, and you are expected in the Buddha room every evening.”
They suddenly halt.
Boredly, “You do plan to stay alive, I believe?”
And you could barely breathe, “I-I believe so?”
You’re realizing that you’ve stopped at the end of a massive bridge connecting to a quieter wing of the estate—intricately carved, and accompanied by a slow river drifting underneath. Uraume’s hand falls to the edge of the lattice doors, “Good. Here we have the concubine quarters-” Looking at you seriously, “-where you shall reside.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
Truth be told, you hadn’t expected to get this far.
According to what the stories and legends claimed, a mere mortal like you would have been sniffed out—would have been sought after, would have your flesh torn to shreds the very second you stepped inside the Sukuna Estate. If not by the monster that inhabited it, then the Estate itself.
Some whispered that it was inhabited by cursed spirits - amongst something far, far worse - that both guarded and imprisoned. Whilst others whispered that the house itself was a cursed spirit in the form of this sprawling aristocratic estate—as vast as a palace. Even more whispered that whomever entered the house gained a taste for blood, and even most claimed that a house’s auspiciousness reflected that of its master’s.
For who else would inhabit such a place but Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses himself?
If the public whispered about the estate, they simply yelled about the sorcerer that inhabited it. Blood-curdling screams.
There was no avoiding the rumors that swirled around the special-grade; those who were unfortunate enough to cross his path painted a picture of a beast more than eight feet tall, with glowing blood-red eyes and horns that tore open the skies. Storms he could silence with a single wave of his hand. His powers were what made legends—never before had there been seen a sorcerer as strong as he, and it was likely that there never shall be again. Though that was not for a lack of trying, or talent, or assassinations.
Despite remaining living, he was depicted in temples and murals of hell. Four arms. Four eyes. Two mouths and countless tattoos. So imbued in his sorcery that it metamorphosed his physical body itself - Ryomen Sukuna was said to be something more than human, but something less than a person.
Look at him wrong and you might find yourself without sight. Without life.
Thus, not many dared to lay their eyes upon him—but they didn’t have to. He left a pathway of destruction and blood-soaked footprints wherever he went.
A kill count higher than several populations.
Wherever he went, it loomed the dark shadow of a hand across the land. Currently that hand was grasped tight around the city of Heian-kyō: the home of Ryomen Sukuna, it sat at the very center of the capital. Dubbed aptly by the citizens to be The Estate of the Dead. For no human that wandered inside, will ever wander out.
And yet, that’s exactly the chance you’d taken today.
You’d had enough.
You’d waltzed right up to those grand doors this evening, dwarfing everything and anything around it, and knocked. Dark mahogany panels. Gilded handles. Unlike most noble homes, the Sukuna Estate didn’t need to have guards stationed outside it—for who was mad enough to bother the King of Curses?
You, it seems.
And so the busy road froze around you; the residents paused mid-gossip, the merchants stopped haggling their prices, the carts and wheels creaked to a halt—the world itself held its breath as the doors to the estate had opened.
And a short, slender person stepped outside.
They were dressed in a dark monk’s robe draped over a white kimono, equally white hair dazzling - almost ethereally odd - underneath the sunlight. They closed the door behind themself, and looked at you intensely. “State your purpose.”
You struggled to remember why you were here in the first place, “I-It is my greatest honor to-”
“Hasten.”
“I only wished to-”
“Hasten-”
“A position.”
You weren’t sure who was more bewildered at the words that blurted out of you—you or the citizens around you. There were soft gasps that echoed into the air, peering even closer at the strange interaction. However, the attendant merely looked at you uncertainly, and you hurried to explain yourself. “I come seeking employment, my lord of the house.”
“I am but a mere servant.” They replied, raising one hand. “And we seek help no longer.”
As they attempted to turn back and go inside, you’re rushing. “Please-”
Brows furrowed, “I said we seek help no-”
“But I swear that I shall be the most loyal servant to the master…” Bowed slightly, a slight rush of relief goes through you as you notice they’ve turned back. Just barely, but it’s something. “-after yourself, of course.”
They huffed in slight amusement.
And your hands shook. Gripped onto the long length of your sleeves, you steadied them before you continued - just as you’d practiced. “I swear upon my soul that no assignment shall be too great, no concern too small. Please—please, I have scoured every street and alley for weeks now in search of employment, and you have been the only one kind enough to open your doors…Any job is enough for me- any. Just spare me the chance.” Hands twisted together into a plea, “I beg of you.”
They looked slightly taken aback, and you stepped closer to seize your chance.
“My body is the master’s, and I shall gladly undertake any task.” You gazed straight into their doe-like, brown eyes—“Any task.”
Their lips barely moved as they repeated, “Any?”
“Any.”
There was a ringing silence following your answer, and you knew that everyone in the once-bustling vicinity must have been staring at you. But that didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but the way the white-haired attendant let their brows raise, they appraised you from head to toe.
Head to toe.
Head to toe.
It honestly seemed like forever before they finally sighed, “At ease.”
And you shot upwards from your painstaking bow with an awed breath.
Untold, the doors to the Sukuna Estate opened. They turned around, not meeting your eyes - nor that of anyone around you two - and gestured for you to follow them inside. Stepping inside as though they didn’t care whether you proceeded or not, the strange attendant uttered. “I expect you to use your body well to serve the master.” Just barely tilted to the side to take another look at you, “You have one night to please him.”
The sound of wrought iron echoed through the ancient city like thunder.
And you touched your sleeve once more - your best silk, but more specifically…the dagger you’d hidden beneath it.
You had one night to take down the King of Curses.
In no time, you’d been led around the massive estate by Uraume - they’d uttered their name to you between the meeting chamber and the second library - and your heart still thumps away at your throat as they now creeeeeeak—! open the quarters for the concubines. Blood bubbling in your veins. Blade cold against your skin.
There was a buzzing sort of excitement that seemed to extend from the weapon and onto you—only growing stronger as you’re pacing inside.
It wasn’t the small, structured sort of barrack that you might’ve expected - you weren’t sure the validity, but you’d already heard stories about how concubines were cramped together in certain royal palaces. Bunks on top of bunks. Bodies that remained undernourished and untouched.
However, what Uraume takes you through is a gilded hallway—nothing out-of-place from the rest of the palace. On one side was a line of separate rooms, at the end of the hallway the paneled doors opened to a garden. It had unlit lanterns on the high ceilings and intricate artifacts that seemingly sprouted from the gleaming wooden floors; the spotless corridor branched and divulged into several other rooms and hallways, weighed with nameplates, and you were shocked to realize that each concubine seemed to have their room - no matter how small their rank; there was a lingering of perfume in the air.
Fit for royals.
Your eyes bounce off of the walls, and Uraume watches your reaction closely. “I assume it is to your liking?”
“Yes-” You wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression - especially not when a mere offense could mean death—“F-forgive me, it’s far more than to my liking, it’s…” Taking another awed look around, “-magnificent. I suppose I didn’t expect it to be so…”
“Beautiful?” Uraume seems to read your mind.
And you can only turn to them and nod.
They sagely nod, something knowing in their tone. “The master has an inclination to all that is beautiful and surprising.” Looking at you closely, “Particularly surprising.”
Uraume’s expression gives nothing away, and you attempt to do the same - the dagger glints coldly against your hand. A single movement and it could cut you. A single movement and it could be in your hands.
You don’t know how long they maintain eerie eye contact with you before the sound of footsteps makes you tear your eyes away—and where you’re perhaps expecting to see the monster, the inhuman, the master of this house himself—it’s another woman. Human, perhaps.
Donned in expensive silk that robes her figure, she tip-toes towards the two of you with a sheepish smile upon her painted face.
She bows, and you’re bowing back.
“Forgive my intrusion.” She says as she straightens once more, “It is seldom we meet a new girl. Perhaps this is forward, but am I right in presuming you are one of the new concubines?”
“O-oh, you are correct.” You’re surprised by her warm and welcoming demeanour - weren’t fights and jealousy typical of close concubine quarters? Wasn’t she supposed to scheme and plot against you just as you were doing against her- you suppose your master?
But she takes your hand and beams at you, “Then it is most wonderful to make your acquaintance. Ask me anything you would like.”
Your lips part - unsure what to say - but the white-haired attendant at your side beats you to it by announcing. “Dinner shall be served shortly.” They turn, about to make their exit before eyeing you closely. “Human.”
And you wondered whether they meant to call you human…or they meant that dinner was human.
Once those delicate doors slide shut, and Uraume’s footsteps disappear, you’re just then realizing that you were still holding onto the other woman’s hand. Mustering up some semblance of a smile, you’re asking her—“Could you tell me about…Ryomen Sukuna?”
.
.
.
“There’s a descendant of the esteemed Kamo clan here, as well—” One of the women chuckle, taking a deep drink of her sake - one of those expensive types that came in an intricate wooden box. She smacks her lips in satisfaction, “-but you just missed her.”
Your heart batters against your chest- you still had the dagger hidden up your sleeve. Setting down your water, you hope that none of the other concubines here can hear the waver in your voice- “I see. Is she perhaps attending the…?”
“Huh?” The woman looks at blearily for a few seconds. “Who? The master?”
You nod silently.
She exchanges a look with one of the other women-
Before bursting into rambunctious laughter.
And you’re sitting there confused as they clap one another on the shoulders, as they rattle the food-laden table—as they wipe mirthful tears from their eyes. Repeating the last sentence to one another and breaking out into peels of laughter once more. Surely, you hadn’t said anything too humorous…perhaps this was some unspoken rule of etiquette you’d missed?
It hadn’t been too long since you’d been somewhat- absorbed into the group of numerous concubines upon concubines that were housed in the Sukuna Estate. Many more than you’d initially predicted - the hallway you’d entered had been just one of many residential wings.
Right now, about half of them sat at a long table of which you couldn’t clearly see its end - both because of length and the sheer volume of food towering upon it. All sorts of soups and noodles. All sorts of breads and wines. All sorts of meats and charred vegetables. Desserts and colorfully-packaged sweets from around the world that you’d once believed that only the emperor himself would have been able to taste.
It would have been possible to dislike every food you’d ever known, and still find something here that made you wish to stay…if just for the food.
You could hear the other half of the women chattering and laughing away in another dining room connected to this one.
All in all, your proponent - a woman you’d learned was connected with the Fujiwara family - had told you everything about Sukuna as she introduced you to the other concubines. They took you in readily, to your surprise, and cooed and surrounded and showed you around. Speaking to you about how the estate was designed personally by Sukuna himself. How Uraume was his (human) cook. How he was a ruthless ruler, and the hallways were more often bloodied than not—but he didn’t lay a hand on them.
When they’d told you this, you’d assumed it was regarding his more…aggressive reputation on the battlefield. You didn’t think it meant-
“Our Kamo girl has travelled to Edo.” The woman from earlier - Abe, you remember her name being - continues as the others settle down. She whispers scandalously, “To visit her lover.”
You breathe in sharply, “The master permits you to take lovers?”
“It isn’t that he permits…” Fujiwara smiles warmly at you - not too far down the table. The other concubines nod as she continues, “It’s that he doesn’t pry—he has no time for human frivolities. After all, the master hasn’t called for one of the girls in…well, since we can remember. He’s a picky man. But nowadays, girls enter and leave the estate as they please, as they wish for employment. Most choose to join the house staff in time, for we aren’t bound, and the master seems to have no need for concubines these days.”
Surprise overtakes you, your hand grips tightly on your sleeve. But your objective…
Abe speaks up now, “Which is why it’d been quite the surprise to know he’d allowed in yet another.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile, “Perhaps you’re the type to really get his loins going-”
“Abe—!” A few other women swat at her.
“I jest- I jest—” She winks at you, “In part. Would you prefer to lay with the master?”
Something twists at the bottom of your stomach, “I-if it must come to it, I wouldn’t mi-”
You’re cut off as they exclaim in scandal all around you.
Fujiwara shakes her head with a smile, then she looks at you. “No matter what it is, you shall be housed and fed here. You shall never go without despite the master’s…”
“Impotence?”
“…”
“I jest-”
“What’s more—” She pulls back her sleeves and gestures for a bowl of sake, “Given the state of affairs, I highly doubt that you would ever have to-”
Just then, there’s a tap at the sliding doors.
An announcement of Uraume’s title—before they’re cracking the entrance open just a fraction. That stark white hair of theirs flashes from the gap in the door, illuminated by both the dim yellow lighting and the curiosity leaking out of the dining room; eyes scanning the vast chamber before finally landing on you.
An utterance of your name.
All eyes snap to you.
“The master wishes for you to join him tonight.”
One by one, you could feel the jaws of the other women drop—as well as your own. Right alongside something at the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t quite describe.
As the silence stretches and expands to the other speechless dining chamber- Fujiwara lets out a pointed cough—and it’s all you need to jolt right back to your senses. Scrambling to stand up, you barely have the time to smooth down your kimono before following Uraume out of the room - throwing a cautionary glance over your shoulder.
Fujiwara smiles, slightly shocked.
Abe winks.
The sliding doors rattle closed, and the whirlwind of gossip that follows accompanies you even to the bridge.
Head ducked. Hands in sleeves. Uraume remains painfully silent as you’re following them down winding hallways and past chambers vast enough to be estates themselves; and though you’d been given a tour of the place beforehand, you can’t help but let your mind get just a little frazzled at the thought of what was to come after.
Of what was to come once they finally stopped.
And they do—after what feels like nights upon nights, the white-haired attendant stops before two sliding doors - nothing but sliding doors. Though you’d assumed that the King himself might have decked his personal chambers with several of his best guards, you’re realizing with a prickle of anticipation that he didn’t need them.
But that only made your job easier.
Invisible hands seem to pull the doors - panes decorated in artwork depicting archery - apart, and you’re entering a room that would have been too lavish for an emperor.
A massive rectangular-shaped room of which strange interconnected woodwork make up the flooring; windows towering from floor-to-ceiling, half-hidden by thick curtains of red velvet. They clung themselves onto a ceiling that was gilded, calligraphy rounding the high perimeter, and a chandelier-like composition of lanterns fashioned down from it. Reds and greens and blacks and golds, the most eye-catching painting colors of furniture within.
In the far end of the royal chamber was the futon.
And you would describe its incredible size and its golden threading, even the red, red blanket that covered it- you would…but your eyes were far more interested in who was occupying it.
Thighs spread. Two elbows resting on his knees.
All four eyes locked on you since the moment you step inside-
“Uraume.” His lips barely seem to move, though that hoarse baritone is hard to deny. It wasn’t as inhuman as you might have expected—it sounded human and yet, there was surely something malevolent in the way he made your thighs squeeze together with just a single word. “You are dismissed.”
You’re feeling Uraume bow deeply next to you, and in the blink of an eye they’re gone-
In another blink of an eye, Ryomen Sukuna has one large hand stuck out - index quirked at you, he beckons you to him once. Only once.
And you gulp as you walk to him.
This was your first time really seeing the King of Curses- fuck. He was wearing nothing but baggy white pants and a strange, carnal inkling about him. Engulfing you in it the second you’re locking eyes with him. The legends were right…somewhat.
Because Sukuna truly was larger than any mere mortal could ever be: with shoulders sculptured and broad enough that they’d put your best warriors to shame, with corded muscle around biceps the size of your head, with his pecs creating a bumpy road for his tattoos. He was about nine feet tall—perhaps even taller than the stories said. Far taller. Far stronger. Far more monstrous.
Abs consistently patterned his front, disrupted only by the presence of his second mouth - it slashes aaaaall the way across his navel, large n’ licking his cursed lips with a grin.
And those tattoos- oh, those tattoos.
They were the tattoos of a criminal - two looping around each of his four arms like shackles, and then a circle on all four deltoids.
You bite the inside of your cheek—you knew your mission. But fuck- you won’t deny that a part of you wanted him so bad.
Sukuna’s pink hair catches the lantern light as he leans back on two hands, meaty thighs manspreading before you. And in-between you swear you could see the thick, throbbing outlines of two-
“On your knees.” The King commands. Crimson eyes narrowing, “Should you so wish.”
And your knees are buckling almost instinctually- he raises a rose-pink brow as he watches your hands reach for your sleeve…before ultimately going against your orders to settle down before the foot of the bed where he was seated.
Embarrassment curdles in your chest as you’re crawlin’ yourself closer to him, and the sorcerer himself hums in approval once you’re leaning your cheek against his right thigh. Rubbing.
The muscles underneath twitch—and Sukuna’s swollen tips let out a spurt of precum that puddles right in front of your lips. That translucent dampness stretches across the fabric and wets your lips with its salty taste- you whine.
Right before he grasps the back of your sweaty scalp with one massive hand- and shoves your head down onto one clothed cock. Your mouth gaped wide and plopping! right on top of his mushroomy tip—an open kiss against where his sensitive slit was flared outwards.
He’s pulsating against your lips.
And you’re moaning with your eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of his entire tip being nearly fuckin’ big enough to envelop your entire maw-
“Do you understand now?” Sukuna’s tone rumbles from above - low and level in a way that speaks of such power. He doesn’t reveal anything more, however. “Do you understand that your puny human body cannot handle me?”
You’re looking up at him with furrowed brows, “I-I understand…”
“Do you understand that I may ruin you?”
“I understand.”
“Do you understand that you cannot take m-”
“I want you-” And almost as bewildering as the fact that you’ve interrupted him, is that Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t crush you with his cursed energy on the spot for interrupting him. “-my lord.”
But that seems to be his tipping point. For his large stomach mouth quirks upwards in what almost seems like a smile—
And Sukuna gruffs out, “Then kiss your King.”
And so you’re gripping onto the soft edge of the mattress and leaning yourself up into his kiss- not the one his face was so ready for—but one where you’re leaning in and pressing a chaste peck onto his second mouth.
Onto those monstrously large lips hungrily gaping at his stomach.
Onto that fucking hungry - starved - maw so deprived of any touch that he’s immediately slurpin’ the edge of his textured tongue outwards. Attempting to enter his incredible size between your own lips, Sukuna’s only managing to fit about an inch of his cursed tastebuds—swipin’ the insides of your heated cavern and making you gasp, before he’s searing his grip into your scalp and tugging you off-
“Naughty naughty.” He trundles. And yet there’s a glimmer of something different in his eyes that told you Ryomen Sukuna was almost…excited. He’s patting one side of him on the futon, “Come up here with me, insolent thing.”
In no time, you’re hauled onto the bed and straddling the infamous King.
Thighs struggling to squeeze around his toned core, cunt drooling your slick through your panties. As you’re inadvertently rubbing uuuup and down his ridged abs- it creates a snail trail of glistening sap that trickles all the way down to his pinkish-brown happy trail.
Sukuna titters once he leans his head down and takes in the mess - n’ then he’s gripping one side of your waist with a single hand.
Squeezing lightly, it doesn’t take even a mere fraction of his power to glide the exterior of your pussy down those unruly tufts of hair—dooooooown in a carnal scratch as he positions you directly on top of his second mouth.
His second mouth.
Now gaped wide open and fucking ravenous.
Immediately cracking apart from each other with a parched gasp- something deep and rumbling from his underbelly. It reminds you of a creature that’s been starved for eons—something that makes shivers run up your spine right from the in-betweens of your drippin’ wet cunt. Right as you’re feeling his oversized tongue press aside your ruined underwear and start to eeeeeease inside-
“Fuh-fuuuuck—” Dazed peripherals rolling to the back of your head - without even realizing it, you’re planting your feet onto the futon and bucking- whether more into Sukuna’s cursed mouth or away from it…you’re unsure.
But he’s making the decision for you. He’s cupping either side of your hips with two clawed hands, letting those pointed tips dig into your clammy flesh, “Easy-” Letting out a rumbling chuckle. “Easy there, woman.”
Gasping, you’re lurching-
“Easy.”
And it’s all he needs to steady you.
It’s all he needs to tighten his hold onto your squirmin’ body, until it’s like he’s attached onto you with adhesive. It doesn’t take much of him to move you ‘round and spread open those folds even further like a pretty flower—that massive tongue of his wastes no time before swirling around that first ring of muscle. Cutely clenching around him- fuck, he can’t wait.
Before slurping his muscle back and shoving it straight between your pussylips.
Through the popping pressure in your ear, “Because how’re you gonna take my cocks otherwise?”
And you really didn’t forget who you were dealing with, did you?
You really didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna - the King of Curses - was going to go easy on you…did you?
Because without even waiting for your struggling walls to get used to the size, his enlarged tongue reels all the way backwards with a deafening slurp! Right until the curvaceous tip was ticklin’ at your entrance, before Sukuna’s thrusting all the way back in. Again.
Your toes curl. Your eyes dart instantly to the back of your head.
Sukuna himself cracks a smirk- before he’s then doing it again.
And again.
“Don’t think yer running from it.” A third hand ends up plastered atop your clammy scalp- dangerously gripping your head and puuuuuushing you down onto him.
As far as your tight hole would let him. Your thighs quiver, “B-but-” Bucking.
“Now now, brat—” Pushing you back down. “Ya get what you’re given.”
Again and again.
It doesn’t matter how many times you’re twisting on top of him because of the ruthless swabbin’ of his tastebuds inside. Honed at the very tip and zig-zagging around in a way that makes you viscerally shake on top of him—he’s slipping his velvety muscle inside and stirring it a few times to get a reeeeally good feel for your walls. For how much you’d stretch. “Because you shall fit- oh…” He seethes between clenched canines, nose scrunched at the very top. “You must- fit it. You must not run away.”
Another tough battering ram of his thick tongue - it’s almost adorable how your poor body is being jerked to and fro. He murmurs, “For who can possibly escape Ryomen Sukuna? Heh.”
His tongue seems to wind n’ stretch even deeper inside you after his own self-praise - you always have heard rumors about the King of Curses being particularly egotistical…though righteously.
And again and again—“P-please.” Sukuna’s second tongue fills you up in all sorts of ways you’ve never felt before - not with the texture or the size or the complete and utter need…Those ridged tastebuds of his were pushin’ into eeeeevery single nook and cranny he could reach - which was all of them. At least, as far back as your dewy walls were allowing him to go, “Such a size should be-”
“Necessary.” He’s cutting you off cleanly. “Besides…”
Sukuna raises a pink brow, leaning backwards on the mattress to watch his massive tongue indulge in and out. In and out. In and out.
Your puffy folds being pushed apart at a rapid pace, your gloss seeping everywhere as he tunnels inside—he’s letting out a low whistle of approval as his second mouth creates such a mess between your legs. Monstrous tongue jerking outwards and slapping the front of your cunt teasingly- it makes a fresh wave of your juices slather down your thighs.
And he smiles - already knowing that he’s going to clean this up later.
The King’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, “Heh- you should be aware, little human…that m’not even halfway inside yet.”
There were two things in that sentence that drove you utterly wild: the fact that he mentioned he was barely inside, and the fact that he said…yet. As though to prove the point he’d just sparked inside your muddled brain, Sukuna arches his hips off the bed and ruts-
Pistoning his tongue a mere inch deeper.
Even though - to you - it feels like he’d just struck his tongue against your very throat—“Wh-what you claiming…” Your thighs quake as he continues fucking you between them, “How much longer may you possibly have to go?”
“Oh…an inch, two, four….seven.” Sukuna tilts his head airily, “Tch- such tedious tasks are meant for humans. How about you count instead?”
You balk, “Pardon, master?”
“Count, little human.” And without a single warning, his fourth hand snakes underneath your flapping kimono- between those sopping pussylips and squeezing at your poor clit. “Your master orders you to count.”
And the only thing you can possibly do is let your eyes shutter at the pleasure, lips trembling as Sukuna’s second tongue finds its mazin’ way across your walls. As you’re struggling to get a single word out, however, at least the ruthless sorcerer slooooows his pace down to something more languid- making sure you feel every bump and vein.
Every quirk.
Every inch.
Until finally you’re throwing your head behind and vocalizing—after only a few sloppy strikes. “T-two…”
“Heh…interesting.” One of those gnarled hands clasped onto your sides reaches upwards n’ grabs onto your pretty face, smushin’ those cheeks together as he stares deeply into your eyes. Sukuna takes in your dazed peripherals, your spit-glossed lips - the way you looked completely and utterly gone on his tongue, and yet…still managed to answer his question.
Mere mortals never did manage to surprise him anymore. You, however…
Before even he knows what he’s doing, Ryomen Sukuna leans inwards and spits between your gaped maw. Rushing to then kiss you with his own lips - eyes widened, mouth hungry. He looks bewildered himself, as his cursed mouth continues rubbin’ your pussy raw—“It seems we have a feisty little human on our hands.” Three out of four hands groping at your sides and making you ride him-
You’re trembling.
“And yet, who told you to cease your counting?”
Thwack!
“Three—” You cry out. Expectedly, Sukuna was mean—that fourth n’ final hand of his plasters his knobbly fingertips against your sensitive nub. Spanking you hard enough to see stars.
But Sukuna only grins, “Incorrect.”
Yet another spank. Yet another brush of his cursed tongue inwards- and you swear that you’re starting to hear his second mouth start to snicker to himself. Was that even possible?
Were you even thinking? Were you even breathing?
It doesn’t take his keen eyes long to realize that he’s left you completely and utterly stupid on his tongue—just so luscious and lewd. Spreadin’ apart your puffy folds and funneling your insides with him, “Four- four—”
“Correct.” Just to tease you, those fingers of his leave another rude spank.
And Sukuna doesn’t bother letting you gather your bearings before he’s delving even deeper.
“F-five…” You’re trembling out as you feel the massaging texture of his tastebuds enter, they’re pokin’ into spots you hadn’t even realized you had - filling out your tight channel and leaving his shape molded straight into your cunt. “And is that…ngh- six?”
“That was seven.” He rumbles out in a smug tone.
Your jaw drops as you register the massive number - seven inches of his cursed tongue fucking your pussy. And yet it still doesn’t seem as though he’s planning to stop anytime soon…
Back arched, you’re keeping your hands on top of Sukuna’s broad shoulders. Nails digging into his deltoids. And with all the strength that you could muster, you’re attempting to riiiiiide your hips back down onto his—grinding in figure-eight motions.
Sukuna was already manhandling you down onto him - now it might just be your turn to control the cadence. To control how much of him went inside you.
“J-just fuck me already—” You’re pleading. Your jaw drops with a parched whimper, hips veering down harder and harder- “Ngh- that was eight. Nine. Just fuck me- all of me.”
Sukuna’s eyes widen in slight surprise- before he’s quickly catching himself and tightening the two hands at your waist. “Now now…easy there. Go too fast for a little human, and yer going to hurt yourself.”
“But I need it.” Lip jutting out in the cutest damn pout, “I need you inside me, Kuna.”
His breath catches, “Repeat what you just uttered.”
Back bending into the most delicious curve, pushing up against his sweaty pecs. You’re sobbing out as his stomach mouth gapes even wider n’ seemed to push in even more, more, moooore of his sultry inches—“N-nine and a half…? I need you inside-”
“Not that-” Smacking your clit once more. “-you insolent brat.” The tip of his tastebuds reach the very back of your pussy, and it’s a sensation you just can’t describe. “That…title. I command you to hah, repeat it.”
“Title?”
Thwack!
“Repeat it.”
And it’s taking everything and anything in you - in your utterly cockdrunken mind - to conjure up the faintest inkling about what Sukuna was talking about. To let your head throw back with a final primal cry—for the first time since he’d started fucking you with his stomach mouth, you’re finally feeling your ass cheeks seat down properly on top of his washboard abs.
And then you’re finding yourself in his strong arms, your moans muffled into his actual mouth. “T-ten.” Gasping through the constant drool n’ sounds of pleasure clogging up your throat, “That’s ten, Kuna—”
And there it was.
Theeeeeere it was - in more ways than one.
Ryomen Sukuna’s getting to hear that sultry nickname fall from your mouth once more - for some inexplicable reason leaving the tips of his ears feeling warm - and he’s getting to see you complete his command.
Ten entire inches of his cursed second tongue- lickin’ away every trace of sap at your inner thighs, before he’s pushing it all the way inwards. Inwards and inwards. The maw slashed across his stomach grins as he’s hitting the very back of your pussy-
And before you know it, the King is tugging you into his arms.
He kisses your mouth sloppily while his second tongue continues fucking you between your legs. Harder by the minute.
Sukuna grunts as he opens his mouth wiiiiide n’ slips his tongue between your jaw- “Suck on my tongue.” He’s echoing out in a hollow tone.
And you can do nothing but squeeze your glossy lips together—eagerly suckling on his tongue. You’re unsure whether it was from your lavish dinner prior or whether it’s just how hazy your brain is, but you’re finding him to taste almost…sweet.
And your eyes roll to the back of your head as you do so-
“Heh-” Sukuna manages to pant out between kisses, open-mouthed and hot. “Now both pairs of pretty lips are sucking on my tongue.”
And your jaw…drops- only for him to use the opportunity to kiss you even deeper.
Making you ride his stomach mouth whilst he kisses you stupid - his tongue probing inwards, inwards, inwards in looooong slick thrusts. Scrapin’ every orifice inside but especially bending around to hit your g-spot.
You’re sure your body jolts as you feel the sudden zaps of charged pleasure, setting your body positively alight. “I-I’m so close, master.” You pout, “I must- hah- cum.”
“Must, hm?” Sukuna mutters - almost to himself. “And am I to believe that my human deserves to cum? Am I to believe that she is ready to take both my cocks?”
Nodding fervently, “Y-yes—yes, please-”
“Am I to believe that she will have no trouble taking me down to the very womb?”
“Yes-”
Crimson eyes narrow, “I will not slow down, needy human. Am I to believe that-”
“Yes-” Just so gone on your impending high. So close.
And to your surprise, the King merely chuckles as you’re interrupting him - had this been anyone else, then they would have found themselves being made an example of. But you…you’re finding yourself jerked almost aggressively upwards as he bucks his hips, more to run the ridges of his cursed tastebuds along the interior of your walls. Harder. Faster.
You hurtle straight into your high at an incredible pace-
“If you had let your King finish…” It’s the last thing you’re hearing before the pleasure overtakes you - Sukuna’s rumbling tone. “-then perhaps you would have known my question was whether I’m to believe you shall give me an heir in my name.”
His question was going to be whether you’d give him an heir.
His question was going to be whether you’d give him an heir.
But you’re unable to articulate anything more than a few whimpers n’ grunts - because the waves of your orgasm that overtake you are enough to leave you numb. Enough to leave you babbling. Enough to leave you shaking on top of Sukuna’s toned body as he shovels his fat tongue in and out.
In and out. In and out.
The way his overlarge tongue curved was just perfect for hittin’ every spot, and you’re feeling him time out your peaks perfectly—knowing juuust when the surges of your dopamine were at their highest.
Just then, he’d slam! his flattened tastebuds onto the exact spot of your nerves. Fingers nothing but a dizzying blur between your legs as he rolls his thumb over your clit, “Gonna take my t-tongue-” Sukuna spits between honed canines, “Gonna take my cocks then- gonna take my seed.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You yowl, “It feels so good, Kuna-”
“That’s ‘master’ to you.” He scoffs, nose sliding down the column of your throat. Sukuna takes one more look at the way you’re swallowing him up - at the way you grind deeper to stuff his glistening muscle between your pussylips, and shivers. “Or…consider yourself lucky to be shown mercy this time, human. Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Kuna.”
“Tch-”
And with that said, it’s not long before you’re completely and utterly fucked through your orgasm by the mouth on his stomach—through every tiny shred n’ ounce of pleasure.
Once Sukuna feels your quiverin’ pussy finish, he’s pulling out of you with the most lecherous squelch! Letting your thighs drape limply around his waist for a few seconds- that’s as long as the King can manage before he’s sitting up on the futon and flipping the two of you around.
So that your back was against the mattress. So that your head was hitting the pillows.
Sukuna crawls his massive figure down the length of your body- four arms pinning back your slick-sheened legs as he pushes his head between them. He’s wasting no time before digging his larger-than-mortal nose between your sodden pussylips and giving your cunt a good liiiiiiiiick of his actual tongue - this time tasting you with his actual mouth.
“Shit—” You’re surging up from your comfortable position, sparks sizzling in your brain. “A-again, Kuna?”
“Your master never had his fill.”
And with that said, he’s lavishin’ your pussy with countless long licks and dribbles. Lips glued to your folds. Breathing through his nose. Sukuna darts his tongue out - thick, though definitely not to the extent of his stomach mouth’s - and zig-zags it across your entrance.
Easing his wet muscle inside—inside and inside. He’s scourin’ every inch of your walls as though to check every mark he’s made before. Just so tender.
The velvety inches of his tastebuds flickering in and out- five inches long, you’re realizing automatically. Far longer than a normal human’s.
And it just drives you insane.
The edges of his fangs nip either side of your entrance - Sukuna had already left you so raw with his cursed tongue prior, so now it’s only taking a few seconds before he’s getting you to spray your orgasmic juices all over his mouth once more—“K-Kuna, I’m close.”
He hums at the feeling of your trembling fingers weaving into his pink hair, “Close? Stupid brat, you’re already cumming.”
The wetness of your cunt spills down his chin.
And Sukuna’s dragging his tongue iiiiiiiiiiiin and out at a constant, sloppy pace to get you through your high. To elongate it. Curving the pointed tip of his tongue against your g-spot - he holds it there for a few seconds just to feel you shake n’ clench around him.
Before he’s breathing through his nostrils and starting to synchronize your peaks with the slashes of his tongue. “Mhmmmm—” He moans out sultry vibrations, they send shockwaves up your spine. “Yes- fuck, yes. I believe this pussy is ready for me.”
Raging through you hard and fast - he doesn’t have much time before your legs start to twitch cutely with overstimulation. Tears sheening down your face. Your jaw unfastened with the most sinful noises.
Sukuna’s prominent nose pushes up against your clit and you’re crying out—
Looking up at you with hungry, half-lidded eyes. “I believe this pussy is ready to be my queen.”
With the pins and needles of your last two orgasms still coursing through your body, it’s nothing but a blur to you as Sukuna hovers his large body over yours once more. And it’s as if one second you’re blinking up into his handsome face, and in the next—you’re finding him laid back against the mattress- and you laid back against him.
Your head rests against his collarbone. Your back was arched against his stomach mouth.
Your legs were dangling off somewhere around his lower half- until Sukuna reaches two of his powerful arms down to position you properly. First, he’s grabbing either side of your waist and aligning you with where his clothed erections were—then he’s spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open.
Finally, he’s cupping his clawed hands underneath your thighs and pulling them up, up, up, upwards—until they were stretched out almost beyond your ears. And Sukuna was just basking proudly in this rude full nelson that he’d manhandled you into.
Gruff laugh echoing by the side of your ear, “And now…” In the corner of your teary peripherals, you’re seeing his other two arms bend to your lower half. “-to check for myself whether this pussy can really follow orders…”
Your kimono was already an utter mess- and Sukuna doesn’t have to do much to have it bunched around your naked hips. Your cunt all glistening with slick n’ saliva from earlier—hissing at the heated air that’s hitting you. “Shit…I need you so badly, master.”
“Then I expect you to take every inch.” He replies ominously. Just then, his eager fingers drop to the hemline of his pants. “I expect you to take every drop-”
And he’s tugging.
Only for your jaw to fall—
Because Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just huge - you’d already expected as much, given his height and other physical prowess. But he was just staggering.
Just like the rest of him, there was double the number of appendages as there would be on a normal human. Two achingly-hard cocks stacked on top of each other. Inches upon inches. Despite your counting challenge earlier, you’re having trouble registering the sheer lengths that he could possibly be - ten…no….twelve? Perhaps even longer. Though you’re noticing that the upper one was just the slightest bit longer than the other.
Both just as girthy.
Round and reddened. The plump, puckered tips upon their ends throbbed with carnal desire- oozing out generous helpings of milky-white precum that dribble down the front of your cunt. It mixes with the mess already made before, and leaves your thighs sticky with need.
Heavy ballsack twitching underneath his second shaft. So many veins that you lose count.
“K-Kuna—” You’re whimpering as he starts to rub the shafts of his two cocks between your swollen pussylips. Pushin’ them apart and making space for his ruthless girths instead, “Want it inside, Kuna- hck! I really crave you inside me…”
“Oh, little human…” He coos from above. Larger face craning down next to yours, “Did you really believe that I was hesitating? That I was waiting for you?”
“I suppose…”
“Here’s where you are mistaken, my puny thing.” Sukuna trundles, and you don’t have to look behind to know that his sharp fangs were making an appearance. “I am no kindred man.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
And before you can open your mouth to ask what exactly he meant—his rounded tips press against your wettened crevice. Just the sweetest dual pecks, they’re letting out harsh slurps! as he starts to slip around your needy hole. “I wasn’t waiting for your body to get ready, as you so might have believed.”
“Th-then—?” You sob.
“I was waiting…” Your body bucks down into his, your hands reach up to grab at his pinkish locks and-
And your dagger slips out.
His voice grows excited. “I was waiting-” Both of you reach for it at the same time, Sukuna with his four arms and you with your two. Your heart stutters- your hand closes around the thick, metallic hilt—“…for a distraction.”
Several things are happening at once: for one, Sukuna finally forgoes teasin’ at your readied hole to instead scour his cocks inside - fucking in with a long, hard thrust. Deeeeeeeply pressing against your cervix—it feels as though he’s splitting you sensually from the inside out, and you’ve never felt anything better.
And then you’re closing your fingers around the blade - tight - and aiming behind you to press the sharpened edge of it against his throat.
You knew you’d struck your target. Especially when you feel the dagger tremble as he chuckles- chuckles. The King of Curses has the audacity to chuckle.
When you have a weapon to his throat.
You’re unsure whether it was overconfidence or something else entirely- but his hips don’t falter for a single second as he rams his swabbin’ tips thoroughly inwards—thumping away at the back of your pussy. Your ears sizzle with the slamming impact of skin-on-skin, “And so?” He mutters to you, “For what reason do you stall? Do it.”
You grit your teeth, blade pressing against his sunkissed skin until a bead of crimson peppers out. “Do you believe that I am too cowardly to do so?”
“Forbid the thought.” Sukuna hums, “A King assassinated by his favorite concubine? How romantic. I merely implore you to hasten-”
“I shall—”
“So do it.”
“Do not regret-”
“Do it.”
In fact, he leans in even closer as though to help you.
He’s fucking you deep from the rounded orifice of your cunt, to the very depths of your womb. Pulse thundering inside - until it felt like he was taking over every single part of you—until your teeth were set on edge, and the thud-thud-thudding of his matching cocktips was all that you could think of.
Your hand trembles around the hilt.
Your lips wobble with emotion.
Your eyes lock deeply with Sukuna’s own hellishly crimson ones, and-
And the dagger falls gently onto the cotton futon.
Sukuna’s body ripples with a sensation that could’ve been anything from pleasure, to victory, to utter glee—but most of all, his tone just sounded awed.
“I knew there was something special about you, woman.”
And then you’re being crushed in Sukuna’s arms as far back as you would go - as high as your legs could reach above your head, as curvaceously as your spine could bend against his core. He’s manhandling you like nothing but a ragdoll above him—plastered to his muscular back, you’re at the mercy of his vicious thrust after thrust.
The stretch was just incredible.
The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Two thick, loooooooong shafts that were mazin’ between your sopping pussylips- the rounded edges of their cockheads manage to swerve your tight walls apart. Jostling against one another. Throbbing in synchronization inside you - ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! Scraping his thumping veins inside and reaching aaaall across every nook, orifice, and cranny. Just so big.
Sukuna himself grunts out in pleasure as his cocks manage to press through the slight resistance you still maintained - his cursed tongue had stretched you out incredibly, and he’s groaning out in pleasure as his cocks manage to slide against one another and then against you- “And now- hah, and now I believe you remember what you promised me?”
“Promised?” Your lashes flutter open, “I-I’m afraid…”
“You promised me an heir.”
Your maw droops open. Your heart starts to race.
Your cunt’s drooling out your arousal at the prospect faster than you could register it- and Sukuna feels the sploshin’ leaks around his thickened bases. His grin stretches as he takes in your unspoken reaction, and before you know it—both sliding cocks are knocking at the door to your very womb-
“And I’m not Ryomen Sukuna if I don’t fuck one into you tonight, brat.”
Rough thrusts. Crushing you in his big, beefy arms.
Closer and closer. Tighter and tighter.
If you thought that you’d been treated like a ragdoll earlier- then you’d been lucky. Because now you’re pressed between his bulging biceps and his pecs, sweat covering both your bodies in a thin sheen as your movements grow more and more fervent—“Fuck a- hah, fuck my heir into you.” Sukuna was barely speaking by now - short, rasping bursts. “Fuck you so big and fuuuuuuuull.”
Running two hands down your front—“Master, I have doubts that it gets much more full than this.”
And he lets out what almost sounds like a guffaw, “It can.”
“Wh-what do you mean- oh.”
And all this time, you’d been damn thankful that Sukuna had chosen to stretch you out on his oversized tongue first—how else would you have fit him so easily? Softenin’ up the snug exterior of your channel. Mapping out your sweetest spots.
Because it just made it even easier to slip inside—it just made it sooooo much more convenient for his dual tips to probe open your wet cunt. Inching and easing.
But then you’re starting to feel a third intrusion.
Then you’re starting to feel his needy tongue once more.
You’re gasping-
The slightest, smallest ticklish sensation of…none other than his cursed mouth dragging down the inner sorts of your thighs. Just teasing. Just the roughened ridges of his tastebuds, long enough that he can snake them down and flatten them over that soft skin beside your cunt.
And in a matter of mere moments, Sukuna’s rugged hands settle deeper against your skin. Tight. Tough. He’s double-checking to make sure that your restless hips couldn’t skin away- before reeling his hips back and penetrating you in longer, harder ruts—each rude slammin’ of his cocks accompanied by the soothing laps of his cursed tongue.
“Y-yet again—?” You’re blabbering out stupidly. Tears falling in big, bulbous beads down either of your cheeks and ending up smeared, “Kuna-”
“Mhmmmm.” He hums out - and you could almost hear the smugness in it. The way his piercing canines make an appearance as he says, “It’s for your own good, brat.” One of his hands lifts off of your sweat-covered body - folded like a lawnchair - and Sukuna runs it down your middle.
He stops right above where both his swabbin’ cocks and his tongue had started to form a tiny bulge at your stomach—“S-sensitive-”
“Exactly.” He sounds so content with himself. So damn content.
Those handsome lips - both pairs of them - quirk further upwards as he’s massaging the front of your stomach—particularly over that one spot where you’re stuffed till you’re bloated. Pressing down-down-dooooown- “And how shall this puny human body handle carrying my heir, hm?” He growls as he accelerates his ruts, “How?”
Mouth sobbing open in answer.
You're gripping onto either side of his muscular body and swervin’ your hips in response- unsure whether you wanted to rut back down for more or just…
“Running away?” Sukuna's dangerous trundle sounds from behind you, and the clasp he has on your shuddering body only grows stronger. Before you know it, you’re being manhandled like nothing but his favorite toy and shoved right back onto his twin erections-
He continues, “If you can’t handle two of my cocks—” They’re emptying out at the bottom of your pussy with two distinct thuds! The top one first, and then the squeezin’ of the latter. “If you can’t even handle my tongue…the babies of my lineage tend to be large.”
Palm pressing down on your stomach.
“Does this pretty womb have enough space?”
And there’s nothing more for you to do but throw your head backwards and buck up into his awaiting arms. He’s only seeming to crush you even deeper against his toned body, “It does-”
“What was that?” One pink brow raises.
“I s-said it does—it does.” You’re blabbering away, thighs attempting to wrangle downwards so that you can steady yourself. But the only thing that’s succeeding in doing is making Sukuna tighten his restraint on you maddeningly - “I can fit even more of you- hngh, I can fit your…”
He grins- and this time it’s his second mouth that hisses demandingly at you. “Say it.”
“Heir in here…” And if this was any other time - if you’d been in any clearer of a state of mind - you wouldn’t have said such embarrassing words in your lifetime. And yet, here you were—bouncin’ down welcomingly into Sukuna’s largely gaped maw. “I want it, Kuna.”
“Heh?” He grins, “Then brace yourself.”
And it’s the only warning you’re getting - honestly, you’re surprised to realize that he’d given you any at all.
Because in the next few seconds- his cursed mouth goes from lappin’ away at the sweet, sweet juices coating the edges of your cunt—to slithering between those puffy pussylips of yours and attempting to devour your pussy whole again.
Two arms laced behind your clammy scalp. Two more arms reaching down to toy with your overstimulated pussy.
“O-oh gods-” Hiccuping through your tears as you start to feel the pleasurable burn of your pussylips stretchin’ once more.
Wider and wider.
Deeper and deeper.
In, in, and in—
Sukuna's second mouth tenderly whips apart your wet walls—with the most lecherous squeeeelch! he's then attempting to stroke his tongue inwards between the thrusts of his dual cocks. Sharp, stabbing thrusts. Just to fit inside.
Three- three of his sinful appendages attempting to stuff you all full - you're losing your mind already with his throbbing cocks, but now Sukuna's tongue was a different sort of texture altogether that was just leaving you on the verge of-
“You can cum.” The King sputters out against your temple, lips moving what seems like a mile a minute. “But you have to remember to reward me with a strong heir after, hm?” Tap-tapping at the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, “Hafta give me one with my powers. Hafta give me one that- hngh, I can train into the strongest. Hafta give me one with- haaaah…” He breathes out laboriously, “-that smile.”
Your eyes shoot open as you’re registering exactly what he’s uttered, “Kuna…fuck, it feels so good.”
“Please…” And it might just be the first time that you’ve witnessed the infamous Ryomen Sukuna utter a word of plea since you’ve met him. That chiselled cheek of his nuzzles down the side of your temple, “-call me your husband.”
Oh.
Oh.
You’re barely even given enough time to let the entire ordeal sink of having him inside you sink in- before the wooden panels beneath the futon creeeeeeak—! And Sukuna’s arching his hips fully off of the dampened mattress, entering his entire greedy lengths into your pussy.
Again and again.
Reeling back until it was only the plump, glossy tips kissin’ at your entrance - before drag-drag-dragging his pulsating length inwards. In-between he just barely manages to squeeze his textured tongue inside.
Repeating once. Twice. Thrice. So many times that you’ve lost count, and you’re barely in control of your own ministrations as a third hand stuffs between your pussylips and squeezes your neglected clit.
And then your overstimulation’s hitting you all at once. All at once.
And Sukuna realizes it before you do- when you’re shivering primally on top of him and cumming once more. Around his cocks. Around his mouth. It’s such a white-hot pleasure that bursts stars behind your eyelids, creating heat at the tips of your toes and then sending it searing through every vessel within you- your body shakes in his hold as the dopamine courses right through you.
His lips crack into a chuckle, and he’s cooing softly down at you as he ruts his hips even harder—fucking you through every peak. “Theeeeeere, there…” Something almost sweet- though you know better than to expect sweet from Ryomen Sukuna. “My poor human couldn’t handle it?”
“I-I can…” You’re arguing back- even though your answer sounds like nothing but a jumbled mess of syllables. The sheer force of the high that wracks through you is enough to make your head spin, thighs shake—fucked up, up, and up by his never-ending hips.
And he can only smile, “Is that so…? Then perhaps my fierce concubine won’t mind if I just—speed up a little bit.”
Even more?
Your mouth drops as you’re perhaps getting ready to beg for mercy- before even the choked-up syllables at your throat start getting fucked back down by his roverin’ tips.
Rubbing their flared ridges across every spot of your insides, dribblin’ out gooey precum into the smallest nooks and crannies. You’re feeling the sultry slickness of it puddling up deep inside you, and it’s almost enough to send you raging right into another high-
“K-Kuna—!” Your voice cracks.
“I know, heh.” He snickers, deep and hoarse. “I can feel this pussy begging even more f’me.” A few more vicious strokes and you’re feeling another faint arc of pleasure that you’re sure must be your nth high of the night.
Hard and fast.
Hitting through every one of your bundled nerves- but especially that g-spot he’d bruised by now. Two large circular marks in the exact shape and circumference of his bludgeoning tips - they were slapping at two separate times—one after the other. Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
Except…this time, Sukuna’s own thickened cocks twitch inside of you as you’re clenchin’ through your high-
“And don’t you worry, brat…” He growls from behind, “This time, your husband’s not too far behind—”
Your eyes flutter open in pure shock- and one of his hands reaches down to tilt your chin to look at him. “Shit-”
“Say it f’me.” Sukuna rasps, “Say it- call me your husband while I cum inside.”
And who were you to deny an order from the King himself?
The words are barely escaping your lips—“C-cum inside me, husband…”
Before the strongest sorcerer in history throws his head back and jerks his hips upwards- letting the pouring wads of his cum plug your pussy up twofold. What’s better than one of his cocks seeping deeply at your innards? Two of them…There are so many gooey wads of it trickling all deeeeep inside- splashin’ against the spongy layer of your cervix. Swashing down your tight channel.
You’re shuddering as you feel the delicious sensation of him sprayin’ inside you - a sheer volume that ends up frothin’ in-between your legs. A circle of white forms around both of Sukuna’s thick bases. “There we go-” He snarls. “There- there, we go…”
“Shit—it feels so, ngh…” You don’t even have the words. Your body quakes as his ridged tastebuds start tickling the outer parts of your pussy. Long, luscious licks - it’s enough to make you cum again.
“And this baby shall become my heir.” Sukuna whispers - mostly to himself than anything. He runs a hand down the sweat front of your body, left ever-so-slightly more inflated with his constantly-pumping cum. “This baby shall be taught to become the strongest. This baby shall be- hah, feared amongst the nation’s lands and beyond…” His fanged smile grows, “Known by my name, I shall teach this baby to protect its mother with their life.”
The fatness of his tongue dips between your swollen pussylips- lapping again and again. He’s torn between drinkin’ up and pushing back the pearly white beads of cum that kept on leaking from you.
And you’re merely draped limply over his front. Crushed to his powerful body.
“And this baby’s gonna become the most precious thing in this- hah, estate…” You feel him press a kiss to your temple, “-alongside you, of course, Your Majesty.”
“Majesty…?”
“The Queen of Curses.”
For who could’ve tamed the infamous Ryomen Sukuna?
In no time, he’s finally fucked himself into your pussy through his high- and it’s a tangled mess of limbs and moans as Sukuna attempts to pull out. Before realizing that his cocks were probed in too deeply, before realizing that that would mean letting his pool of cum spread out of your cunt.
Losing all his hard work.
And so he sniffs haughtily, reaching one pair of his hands up into the air and clicking-
In a split-second, you’re finding your back against the pillows. As if in a dream, you’re blinking up to stare into Sukuna’s handsome face—two hands braced upon either side of your head, both cocks still shovelled deeply inside of you. Throbbing. Did he just…did he just use his powers to change-
“Yes.” He answers your unspoken question- of perhaps it had been spoken, you’re too drunk on his cocks to realize whether or not you’d blabbered it out loud. “I call it…teleporting.”
“Th-that should be outlawed-” You’re gasping. The air around you felt tightened with what you assumed must be his cursed energy - you’d heard the stories about them. Who didn’t?
And he merely hums, “I am the law, woman.”
Without another word, one of his four hands snake between your legs- his cursed second mouth had finished up lappin’ at the coat of cum around your thighs. And he licks his lips and belches almost gluttonously once Sukuna reaches down to cup your pussy and—
“O-oh.” Something buzzes between your overstimulated legs.
Almost as soon as it’d started, it’s over- and Sukuna pulls his hand away—and then his rugged cocks. Letting out the most lecherous sluuuuurp! as he’s reeling his hips away, rounded tips funnel out from between your pussylips and leaving such a-
Wait…your eyes widen. There was no mess - whatever technique that Sukuna had collected between your legs stopped his cum from leaking out.
And the King of Curses wastes no time waiting for your surprise to register- not before letting out a deep snicker. He straightens his bulky body n’ edges himself closer—and before you know it, you’re suddenly finding your head straddled by Sukuna’s meaty thighs.
His dual, furiously-hot erections slapping their shafts down onto your readied face.
Both fanged mouths grin, “Now…open, human.”
And you just knew he was about to make you take both.
ㅤㅤㅤBULLY!GOJO who facetimes with his best friend while he’s balls deep in his sweet, sniveling ex-girlfriend; yanking you back by a fistful of your hair so Suguru can see your face and all the pathetically slutty expressions that you make for him.
You’re fucked-out, drooling; Satoru can feel your cunt spasming through a tidal-wave orgasm, snickering behind your back—the fucker—as he quickly snaps his hips to your ass—plap-plup-plap-plup.
A snap-back, a trophy smile—it’s already humiliating to have succumbed to the campus asshole’s gloriously big dick, but yet more embarrassing is listening to the tinny audio of your most beloved ex-boyfriend’s groans as he fists his cock to the sight of you getting totally pulverized by Mr. Beefy Biceps Blue Eyes Quarterback.
“Look at how fuckin’ pretty your girl is, Su—I take back everything I said about her being a loser, she’s really—ahh—quite charming, especially when she’s got a fat cock plugging her up.”
Suguru grins, cheeks a colored a burnt rouge, “—Sooo pretty,” he agrees, languidly stroking his cock with one hand, “fuck, Satoru—are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Obviously,” Satoru purrs—pace unfaltering, bullying your pussy his mean cock as he speaks coolly—like this is just a casual activity and not raw, bitter hatefucking. “but this little slut was already moaning your name—quite a bad girl, huh?” he snarls at your ear, firm abs morphing to your sweaty back, “and she cums wayyy harder when you watch her, Suguru. Just listen.”
And that’s when Satoru brings the phone’s mic closer to your slacken lips, your moans bursting loudly on Suguru’s side. He can practically feel your voice in his cock, tingly and threatening to cum.
“Su—Sugu!! Nn!!” you sniffle in between choked up moans, throat feeling raw from earlier when your bully proudly palmed you down to the base of his impossibly fat pink cock.
“Awww, pretty baby,” Suguru coos, “are you taking every inch of my best friend like a good girl? Yeah? Does he feel good?”
“Yeshhh—’s so good, so good, so fuckin’ gooooood!” you’re a babbling mess. It makes Suguru stroke his cock faster and faster, gritting his teeth.
It’s too much; Satoru’s cock is prodding dangerously close to your cervix, you’re a few strokes away from cumming again, and Suguru’s watching you take it.
Worse; Satoru’s been your bully since first year, and if anyone it’s him who knows what pushes you over the edge.
On the screen, Suguru watches as Satoru grabs roughly at your throat, locking you into an arch against him with his hand and his cock controlling your pliant little body.
Rudely thrusting into you from behind, like he’s telling your guts how much he hates them. Wispy white bangs cling to Satoru’s forehead, and silky strands of long, black hair cling to Suguru’s cheek.
“—baby, tell Suguru how deep you feel me. Tell him where you feel my cock right now.”
“—in my tummyyyy! Feel you in my tummy, ’toruuuh!”
You look so angelic when you’re fucked into a dumb, slutty mess; it actually pulls at your ex-boyfriend’s heartstrings a bit—he used to fuck you like that.
Now his tip pulses jealously at the memory of being inside your tight, hot pussy. He can hear how wet you are, how sloppily your cunt gushes around his best friend. And he can just bet that you’re clinging around his cock with a death grip.
“Oh, Satoru, I think she wants it harder—fuck her harder for me.” he instructs, voice so soft like he’s cooing a lullaby and totally not telling his best friend how to fuck his ex-girlfriend.
At his command, you feel plump, pink balls meeting your clit and the angry throb of your bully’s cock as it hits your weakest spot with cruel precision. Like, fuck, he’s ruining you—and Suguru’s watching, getting off to it, seeing you come undone, reduced to just a cock-drunk whore who can only babble nonsensically about how hard you’re cumming.
“Little slut,” Satoru ridicules, “cumming with your ex watching, how naughty can you get? Hey, why don’t you moan his name like you did earlier—I’m sure he’d love that.”
“—Satoru, you’re such a—”
“—Suuugu!!” your whiny moan cuts through whatever Suguru was about to say and now his brain turns off.
“Fuck. Again, baby.”
“Sugu! Sugu! Ngh! Sugu, nn, ’toru’s so been so m-mean t’ me!”
“Yeah, baby?” his voice strains, jerking his cock faster and faster making his fat balls bounce, “Tell me how mean he’s been to you.”
Satoru presses a sweaty, grinning face against your temple, like he’s just daring you to say what happened earlier. His thrusts feel more... deliberate. Cock angling against your weak spot, he pounds slow—hard—and—rude—thrusts—just—like—that—
“Ha-ha.” Satoru sneers victoriously, watching how he breaks you down with every snap of his hips to your wobbling ass.
That, and the sight of your eyes flickering into the back of your head and your breasts bouncing lewdly—still wearing the necklace that he bought you on the first date shuddering between your soft mounds—with Satoru laughing meanly behind your back? That’s enough to make Suguru cum. Hard.
“Fuck, fuck! Ngh!” he grunts, jaw slacking as he sloppily strokes himself through it, hardly able to hold his phone up in the other hand with how aggressively he orgasms.
You swear, as you watch him cum while getting fucked yet harder by the muscular menace behind you, that Suguru spurts out wayyy more cum than he ever has before. It lands thickly on his abs, some tainting the hem of his pushed-up 4XL tee—that youuu bought him for his birthday, btw—and cascades goopy and white down from his twitching cockhead.
Now a sticky white mess of cum clings to Suguru’s fingers, which are anchored tightly around the base of his sensitive cock.
“Fuuuck, Satoru—maybe we need to plan a sleepover sometime.” he groans.
Satoru lets out a laugh that would be sweet if not for the fact he’s balls-deep bullying another orgasm out of you right now, “Ha-ha, like we’ll be getting any sleep.”
Yes he’s a big, bulky, snarling bully with unbeatable stamina, and you’re his complementary weak slut that fits perfectly on his cock—but even Satoru has his moment, when his breath hitches, lashes flutter, and voice breaks;
“—I’m so fucking jealous...” Suguru mutters bitterly, mouth open in a lopsided smirk as he watches Satoru creampie you.
Your legs wobble, pussy clenching as you feel a warmth spreading so deep inside. Satoru lets out a near primal growl at the sensation. He drains his balls in your eager pussy, pumping his seed right up against your cervix—but yeah, it’ll still leak out, unfortunately. Not like there’s enough room to take Satoru’s pent-up No Nut November load.
“Haaah—fuck,” he grunts, rolling his hips steadily into your ass, body completely moulded to yours as he snakes his arms around you—locking you tightly with his fat bicep.
There’s a thud—and suddenly Suguru’s voice is coming from the floor.
“... show-off...” he mutters.
Satoru withdraws with a—pop!—out your cum-flooded cunt, letting you face-plant into the oasis of the pillow, where you let out a puff of relief. But your pussy is clenching in confusion like—cock??where??comeback??
But the owner of your favorite XL-incher is busy scouring for his newly shattered device—twice this week; he’ll have to get his phone repaired twice in one damn week because it keeps slipping from his grip every time he creampies you. And that’s totally your fault, btw.
You’re groaning into the pillow, ass in the air, listening to the dialogue between the two men you supposedly ‘hate’.
“If you’re so jealous, Su, why don’t you come over~?” Satoru teases.
“Shut up and pick me up off the floor, asshole; I wanna see round two.”
“Nah, you need a ticket to see that movie. Sowwy!”
“Wait—! What!? No!—Satoru you cunt—!!”
Bloop!!
Call? Ended. Pussy? Creampied. Satoru? Flipping your ass over, wrestling you to the floor, bending you into a tight mating press—so that he can watch you cry harder.
ㅤㅤㅤ──── AN; poor Suguru doesn’t get to see round 2, and neither do you—ha! 🥴
toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, dd/lg, cockwarming, public sexual situation.
you're perched on toji's lap, his big cock lodged deep inside you, stretching you out. you mewled, feeling your pussy clench with need around him.
"easy there, baby girl," toji hummed and dug his fingers into your hips. "daddy's gotta finish his dinner. then you can eat."
toji casually took another mouthful of his noodles, like he wasn't bothered by the fact that your pussy was desperately clenching around his dick. and he probably wasn't. you bit down on your lip as you glanced around the restaurant. to your relief, no one seemed to notice what the two of you were doing. even though that was part of the thrill. doing it in public. for anyone to see.
toji shifted his legs and a whimpering moan left your lips when his cock stirred inside you, pushing teasingly against your cervix. toji let out an amused chuckle and you scrunched your eyebrows at him, knowing he did it on purpose.
"aww, look at you, looking all cute when you're angry."
"fuck you," you gritted, eyes widening as you immediately regretted your words when toji glared dangerously at you.
"well, well, looks like someone wants to get punished when we get home. or maybe, i'll do it right here," he said with a wicked grin as your eyes widened at his words.
"i...i'm sorry, daddy," you whispered, gasping and clutching to his t-shirt as he made a subtle buck of his hips, pushing his dick impossibly deeper inside your now leaking cunt. "p-please...don't do it here, daddy."
toji only sighed and rolled his eyes as he returned to his noodles and you didn't know if he was still angry with you or not.
"daddy-"
"shut up, baby girl." toji sighed again when he heard your quiet sniffle. "you need to learn your place, little one. and i'll teach you when we get home. now sit still and shut the hell up so i can finish my dinner."
summary. After a disastrous date with a guy who called you “broken” for never squirting, a furious you storms back to the Jujutsu Tech dorms—only to run straight into your two least favorite (and hottest) classmates: Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. What starts as vicious teasing about your ruined night quickly spirals into the most “scientific experiment” of your life: blindfolds, toys, edging, and a very determined duo hell-bent on proving just how wrong that idiot was.
word count.
triggers/warnings. Enemies to Lovers, Enemies with Benefits, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Plot, Alternate Universe - College/University, Jujutsu Tech College AU, Gojo Satoru/Reader/Geto Suguru, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Reader-Insert, Female Reader, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Forced Orgasm, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Blindfolds, Sex Toys ( Vibrators ), Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Vaginal Sex, Spit Kissing, Cum Play, Facials, Bukkake, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Mean Dom Gojo, Mean Dom Geto, Affectionate Bullying, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Bad Date Gone Right, Revenge Sex Vibes, Squirting.
the night hangs heavy over the jujutsu tech campus like a velvet shroud, all thick and sultry with that late-autumn chill that nips at your bare skin but doesn't quite bite hard enough to make you regret your choices—yet— like a damp blanket, thick with the remnants of a humid evening that started out promising but soured faster than milk left out in the sun. stars speckle the sky in lazy clusters, mocking you with their twinkling indifference, while the moon's a fat, glowing orb that casts long shadows across the winding paths of the dorm grounds.
it’s late— it's past midnight, the kind of hour where the world feels too quiet, too empty, except for the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves whispering secrets you don't care to hear. the kind of quiet that amplifies every little sound, like the distant hum of a streetlamp flickering its last breaths or the faint rustle of leaves skittering across the pavement like tiny ghosts.
you're storming—no, stomping—down the cracked pavement path that leads to the shared dorms, the cool, gritty concrete biting into your bare soles with each deliberate step— god, your feet ache, but not as much as your pride—or whatever's left of it after that disaster of a date. your high heels dangling from one hand like defeated trophies, their strappy black leather swinging with each furious step. your feet are bare against the cool, rough concrete, toes curling slightly with every gritty contact, the pavement's uneven texture scraping just enough to remind you how utterly pissed you are. god, it feels grounding in the worst way, like the earth’s way of saying hey, girl, snap out of it, but all it does is fuel your grumble, a low, muttering rumble that spills from your lips in fragmented curses.
your dress—oh, this goddamn dress—this slutty little number you picked out with such wicked intent, clings to your body like a second skin, slutty in the best (or worst) way possible, the kind of outfit you picked out with mischief in mind, envisioning tangled sheets and breathless moans until the sun peeked over the horizon; is a deep crimson slip of silk that clings to every curve like it's painted on, the fabric so thin it whispers against your thighs with each movement, riding up just a tad too high to be innocent.
it's got a plunging neckline that dips dangerously low, framing the swell of your breasts with lace-trimmed edges that scream come and get it, and the hem barely skims mid-thigh, leaving your long legs exposed to the night's breeze, flirting with the edge of indecency, short enough that a gust of wind could expose the even sluttier lace thong underneath. underneath? even sluttier—a matching black thong that's more string than substance, paired with a bra that pushes everything up and out like an offering to the gods of debauchery, the kind that screams fuck me without you having to say a word.
you shaved everywhere, smooth as silk, and doused yourself in that vanilla-caramel perfume that always turns heads, the scent lingering like a sweet, seductive trail. your makeup's still flawless, smoky eyes and red lips that could make a saint sin, hair tousled just right from the wind and your earlier anticipation. you are a vision, honestly — you're a walking fantasy, so fucking pretty you could blind someone with a glance, curves in all the right places, skin glowing under the dim campus lights. but tonight? all that effort wasted on some idiot who couldn't appreciate the masterpiece in front of him.
your face is a storm cloud of upset, brows furrowed deep enough to carve permanent lines, lips pursed in a pout that's equal parts adorable and menacing, eyes narrowed like you're plotting murder—which, honestly, you kind of are. each step comes with a grumble, words tumbling out in a heated whisper to yourself, “fucking idiot, who does he think he is?”
the date had started so promising: a cozy little restaurant downtown with dim lighting and candles flickering like they knew the vibe, the guy across from you all chiseled jaw and charming smile, handsome in that generic way that makes your pulse quicken. food was great—steak juicy and rare, wine smooth and heady, conversation basic but bearable, small talk about classes and cursed techniques that didn't bore you to tears. and you? you were geared up for the main event, ready to get dicked down until dawn, body primed and eager, imagining hands on your skin, moans echoing through some cheap motel room. but no. nope. hell no.
the conversation veered into bedroom territory, and he hits you with that stupid question: can you squirt? you're honest—“not sure, never have, no guy's ever made me—and suddenly his face twists like you just confessed to being a cursed spirit in disguise. calls you broken, says he likes girls who can make him feel drowned, like he's some aquatic fetishist who needs a fucking flood to get off. the fuck was that? you're not broken just because squirting's not in your repertoire; it's a stupid, shallow reason to bail, as if your body's some defective toy he can return.
you could do so much better than squirt, anyway—hell, you could clench around him like a vice, milk him dry with those kegels you've been practicing, ride him reverse cowgirl until he's begging for mercy, deepthroat like a pro and swallow every drop without spilling, or arch your back in doggy so perfectly he'd see stars.
you could moan his name in ways that shatter egos, scratch down his back leaving marks that last days, or even edge him for hours until he's a whimpering mess. squirting? please. that's amateur hour compared to the symphony of pleasure you could orchestrate. and the fucking guy can squirt himself if he's so obsessed—shove a hose up his ass and drown his stupid self in it.
you grumble louder now, voice rising in the quiet night, “if he wants to drown so bad, he can jump in the fucking ocean, not hunt for girls like they're goddamn fountains.” the words echo off the dorm buildings, your bare feet slapping the pavement harder, frustration boiling over until you spot a trash can by the path—rusted metal, overflowing with soda cans and wrappers—and you kick it, hard, the clang ringing out like a gunshot in the silence, the can wobbling but not toppling, your toe throbbing but the satisfaction worth it.
“take that, you symbolic piece of shit,” you mutter, pushing through the double doors of the dorm with a shove that makes them bang against the walls.
inside, the lobby's dimly lit, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like annoyed bees, the air thick with the faint scent of instant ramen and lingering cursed energy from earlier training sessions. you stomp deeper, into the communal living room where mismatched couches sag under invisible weights, a tv flickering static in the corner, posters of old jujutsu missions peeling from the walls.
it's college life at its finest—messy, chaotic, shared among sorcerers who pretend they're adults but act like overgrown kids. but your dramatic entrance gets halted mid-stride by voices, two of them, lazy and teasing, cutting through the quiet like knives dipped in honey.
“look at that, strolling in like a lost little slut after curfew,” comes the first voice, smooth and mocking, belonging to gojo satoru, that white-haired menace sprawled on the couch with his long legs kicked up, blindfold pushed up to reveal those piercing blue eyes glinting with mischief. he's in his usual casual getup—black shirt hugging his lean muscles, sweatpants low on his hips—looking every bit the pervert he is, a smirk playing on his lips like he owns the damn room.
“yeah, what happened, princess? date ditch you 'cause you couldn't keep up?” adds geto suguru, his dark hair loose around his shoulders, lounging beside gojo with that infuriatingly calm demeanor, but his eyes—sharp and hungry—rake over your form, lingering on the way your dress clings, the bare feet, the upset flush on your cheeks. he's in a simple tank top that shows off his broad shoulders, gauges glinting in the low light, voice dripping with that mean sweetness that always gets under your skin.
you freeze, heat rising in your chest—not just from anger, but from the way they look at you, like predators toying with prey, affectionate in their filthiness, loving in their menace. enemies? sure, on the surface—always bickering in class, clashing during missions, their teasing pushing your buttons since freshman year. but there's something deeper, stupid and sweet, a dynamic where their perversion feels almost caring, their insults laced with unspoken want. you whirl on them, heels still dangling, face twisting further into that grumble-pout. “shut the fuck up, both of you. not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.”
gojo laughs, that high-pitched, deranged cackle that echoes too loud, like a fucking hyena leaning forward with elbows on knees. “aw, come on, don't be like that. you look all dolled up and slutty—that dress? damn, it's practically begging to be ripped off. but your face says the night bombed. what, pretty boy couldn't handle you? or wait, did he call you broken too?” he mimics your earlier grumble, voice pitching up in dramatic mockery, and somehow he knows— damn you gojo and his stupid six eyes. . . while geto chuckles low, filthy and soft, “nah, satoru, look at her grumble. bet she scared him off with that attitude. or maybe she promised the world and delivered a drizzle. pathetic, aren’t you?”
you step closer, bare feet padding on the worn carpet, anger flaring but mixed with that weird, playful heat they always spark—stupid, affectionate, like they're mean because they care too much not to be. “fuck off, idiots. he was the broken one, obsessed with squirting like it's the holy grail. and you two? calling me a slut? pot meet kettle—you're the perverts who stare at my ass during training.” your voice rises, dramatic and crazy (must be loose her mind’ both men thought), hands gesturing wildly, but there's a spark in your eyes, a flame pull toward their teasing, the way gojo's gaze drops to your cleavage, shameless. . . while geto smirks, “oh, we're perverts? says the one barefoot and fuming in lingerie disguised as a dress. tell us more, sweetheart—did he at least make you moan before bailing?”
“moan? ha, as if,” you snap back, crossing your arms which only pushes your breasts up further, drawing their eyes like magnets, the argument heating up in that ‘make me mad but i know you are gonna fuck me later’ way—mean words flying but softened by the underlying affection, their shamelessness, rude. . . fucking meannnn wrapping around you like a warm, sticky post-sex hug.
gojo stands now, towering over you with that dramatic flair, like he knows he is better than anyone— he is, he soooo fucking is. “come on, admit it, you're upset 'cause you wanted to get fucked silly, and now you're taking it out on us. poor thing, all dressed up with no one to drown.” geto joins in, voice sweet but cutting, “yeah, but we could fix that—if you're not too broken for us.”
your frown deepens, carving sharp little trenches between your brows, lips twisting into something so pouty and stormy it could summon rainclouds inside this damn dorm. you're more upset than you thought possible, chest tight and hot, because—of all the fucking people to run into tonight—it's them. gojo satoru and geto suguru, the undisputed strongest duo on campus, the ones every girl whispers about in the locker rooms with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
especially gojo, they say. especially, the gojo fucking satoru. that white-haired freak apparently fucks like he fights: relentless, overwhelming, leaves you shaking and stupid for days. and you hate that the thought even crosses your mind—hate that you can't believe that idiot from the date couldn't handle you, yet these two perverts have probably ruined half the female population with their dicks. it's unfair. it's infuriating. it's making your thighs clench in the worst way. it make your pussy cry for thier said 'magical' cock. . . or cocks??? yeah, you can definitly do both. . . wink, wink.
you let out a long, dramatic groan that echoes in the empty living room, shoulders slumping as you spin on your bare heel. “fuck off, both of you,” you mutter, voice low and gravelly with exhaustion and lingering rage, before turning toward the elevator at the end of the hall. your heels still dangle from your fingers, swinging like pendulums counting down to your escape, bare feet padding softly against the cold linoleum now, each step a little stomp because you're still pissed.
behind you, gojo lets out the most pathetic, high-pitched whine you've ever heard from a grown man. “whaaat? you're just gonna leave us hanging like that?” he yells with that gangly, dramatic flair, long legs carrying him after you in two big strides. geto follows at a more leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, but you can feel his dark eyes burning into your back like brands.
“i wanna get away from you idiots,” you call over your shoulder without looking back, voice flat and mean, jabbing the elevator button repeatedly like it's personally offended you. the doors finally ding open with a tired groan, and you slip inside, pressing your back against the far wall, arms crossed tight under your chest—which, of course, only pushes your tits up higher in that slutty crimson dress. key word; purposely (you try to get fucked but too shy to ask).
but peace? nope. not tonight. gojo barrels in right after you, all boundless energy and smirking lips, while geto slides in smooth and quiet, the doors closing with a soft thunk that traps all three of you in this tiny metal box. instantly, the air thickens—cursed energy, perfume, and the faint musk of their cologne mixing into something heady and dangerous. geto's on your right, leaning casually against the wall, while gojo crowds your left, towering and unapologetic.
geto glances at the panel, that lazy smirk curling his mouth as his dark eyes flick to you. “12, right?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, not even waiting for confirmation before his long finger presses the button for floor 12—your floor—and then 8, theirs, right below. the elevator lurches upward with a soft hum, and you exhale a tiny, relieved sigh, thinking thank fuck, they'll get off first, leave you alone to stew in your room with a vibrator and some spite . . . lie, you rather stew, stir, anything with cock, or cocks.
“thanks,” you mumble under your breath, barely audible, staring at the floor numbers lighting up one by one.
geto hums in response, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrates through the small space. “anytime, princess.”
but gojo—fucking gojo—can't let anything be peaceful. he's staring at you openly, head tilted, blindfold pushed up so those stupidly bright blue eyes can rake over every inch of you. he's leaning sideways now, one palm flat against the wall right beside your head, caging you in without touching, his body heat radiating like a furnace. that signature smirk stretches wider, lazy and filthy.
you finally snap your gaze to him, frown sharpening. “what the fuck are you looking at?”
he shrugs, slow and exaggerated, eyes dropping deliberately to your chest. “your tits,” he says, voice dripping with casual perversion, like he's commenting on the weather. his smirk grows even bigger, sharp canines glinting. geto snorts beside you, a soft puff of laughter he doesn't bother hiding.
“fuck off, satoru,” you hiss, cheeks burning despite yourself, arms tightening across your chest like that'll hide anything in this dress.
but gojo doesn't listen—never listens. instead, his free hand lifts, fingers bold and unhesitating as they hook into the plunging neckline of your dress. he tugs it down slow, deliberate, the silk sliding lower until the lace edge of your bra peeks out and even more cleavage spills into view, the cool elevator air kissing newly exposed skin. both of them let out twin hums of approval—gojo's high and teasing, geto's low and rumbling—like they've just uncovered buried treasure.
“fuck, that's better,” gojo breathes, eyes hooded, thumb brushing the swell of your breast for half a second before you react.
you slap his hand away hard, the crack echoing in the tiny space, your voice rising sharp and dramatic. “you're both disgusting! absolute perverts—get your filthy hands off me!”
gojo whines again, cradling his slapped hand to his chest like you mortally wounded him, bottom lip jutting out in the most over-the-top pout. “owww, so mean! we were just appreciating the view you put on display, sweetheart. walking in here all slutty and grumpy—it's practically an invitation.” that's right. . . i'm inviting you two to fuck me, please take the goddamn bait' you thought.
geto chuckles darker this time, shifting closer on your right until his shoulder brushes yours, voice soft and sweet like poison. “he's not wrong. that dress is begging to be messed up. and you're the one who came home all worked up and unsatisfied… we can smell it on you.”
your breath hitches, thighs pressing together instinctively as the elevator climbs agonizingly slow, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, thick enough to choke on. they're so close—gojo's fingers still hovering near your chest like he might try again, geto's gaze heavy and knowing on your face—and you hate how your body's reacting, how the anger's twisting into something hotter, needier, nastierrrr. the burn is excruciating, every second stretching into eternity as the floor numbers tick upward, and you know—you just know—they're not getting off on 8 without dragging you into whatever filthy chaos they have planned— hope it's fuck you till you cry domain.
the elevator dings like a smug little bitch, doors sliding open with a soft whoosh to reveal the dimly lit hallway of floor 8—their floor, all muted blues and grays under the flickering fluorescent lights, posters of old missions taped crookedly to the walls, the faint smell of instant coffee and boy-sweat lingering like a signature. geto steps out first, smooth and unhurried, turning to plant himself right in front of the doors with his arms loosely crossed, that dark hair falling over one shoulder, smirk sharp enough to cut glass as he blocks any hope of escape. gojo's still glued to your left side, body heat pouring off him in waves, that stupidly tall frame crowding you against the wall like he owns the damn elevator.
you tilt your head at him slow, deliberate, one brow arched high in that silent, universal language of get the fuck out, now. your bare toes curl against the cold metal floor, heels still dangling uselessly from your fingers, crimson dress riding up just a little higher from all the shifting.
gojo blinks those ridiculous blue eyes, points at his own chest with a long finger, then jabs it toward the open door like he's genuinely confused. “me? out?” he mouths dramatically, lips forming the words in exaggerated slow-motion.
you nod once, firm and pissed, lips pressed thin.
he nods back, all solemn and fake-serious—then in one fluid, idiotically strong motion, he ducks low, arm hooking behind your knees, the other around your back, and suddenly the world flips upside down. your stomach drops as you're hoisted over his shoulder like a goddamn sack of cursing, squirming girl. the breath whooshes out of you in a shocked yelp, your heels clatter to the elevator floor forgotten, hair tumbling down in a wild curtain as blood rushes to your head.
“what the fuck are you doing, satoru?!” you screech, voice echoing off the hallway walls, fists pounding uselessly against the broad, annoyingly solid plane of his back—muscles flexing under your palms like he’s enjoying the massage. upside down, you catch geto strolling behind, one hand in his pockets while the othe now holding your heels, laughing low and rich, eyes crinkled with pure satisfaction.
“put me down right now or i swear to god i'll scream!” you threaten, kicking your legs, bare feet flailing in the air, thighs brushing dangerously close to gojo's face with every swing.
geto tilts his head, voice all velvet and filth as he walks backward down the hall, keeping pace. “go ahead and scream, baby. everyone on this floor already thinks satoru's fucking you good when you make noise like that. they know his reputation.” he winks, tongue flicking over his lower lip like he's tasting the idea already.
you go dead silent for a beat, dangling there like a furious cat, staring at geto upside down—blood rushing louder in your ears. “are you fucking kidding me?” you finally hiss, incredulous and hot-cheeked. “you’re both disgusting—absolute animals—put me down!”
you kick harder, one heel connecting with gojo's abs— which does absolutely nothing except make him grunt a pleased little “mmph”, and you slap at his back again, nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt. but he's the strongest for a reason—your hits are mosquito bites to him, and he just chuckles, the vibration rumbling through his chest into your belly where it’s pressed against his shoulder.
gojo strides down the hall like he’s carrying a prize, long legs eating distance until he stops at a door—their shared dorm, you realize dimly, the one everyone jokes is basically a brothel disguised as student housing. he kicks it open with one foot, the bang loud and dramatic, revealing a messy, lived-in chaos of clothes strewn over chairs, empty energy drink cans, two unmade beds pushed together into one massive one because of course they share, posters of cursed techniques and half-naked models taped side by side. the air smells like them—clean sweat, mint, and something darker, muskier.
he finally lowers you, slow enough that your body slides down his front, dress hiking up embarrassingly high, thighs brushing his hips, until your bare feet hit the soft rug. the world spins for a second—head rush making everything tilt—and before you can steady yourself or spit another curse, gojo's hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks soft and sudden, and his mouth crashes onto yours.
fucking yesss.
it’s not gentle. it’s hungry, stupid, overwhelming—lips hot and demanding, tongue sliding in without asking, tasting like the strawberry candy he’s always sucking on. you groan into it immediately, a low, betrayed “nngh” that vibrates between you both, hands flying up not to push but to grip—fingers digging hard into his biceps, anchoring yourself as your knees threaten to buckle. the door clicks shut behind you—geto locking it with a deliberate turn that echoes like a promise—and then his presence is at your back, heat radiating, but for now it’s just gojo devouring your mouth like he’s been starving for it.
you kiss him back just as filthy, teeth nipping his lower lip in retaliation, tongue tangling messy and wet, another soft moan spilling out of you, “mmph, fuck.” because god damn it, he tastes good, feels good, and all that earlier anger is melting into something molten and stupid between your thighs. your body arches instinctively, pressing closer, nipples tightening against the silk of your dress as his chest molds to yours.
geto’s low chuckle ghosts over your ear from behind, affectionate and mean all at once. “look at her, satoru. already moaning like she’s been waiting for this all night.”
gojo pulls back just enough to grin against your lips, breathless and wrecked. “told you we could fix that bad date, sweetheart.” then he dives back in, deeper, hungrier, one hand sliding down to palm your ass and squeeze like he owns it, while your head’s still spinning from the kiss and the carry and the fact that you’re in their room now, door locked, no escape—and honestly, you’re not even sure you want one anymore. bitch, you never do.
you feel geto before you even hear him move—his chest pressing flush against your back like a wall of warm, solid muscle, the thin fabric of his tank top doing nothing to hide the heat pouring off him. those big hands, calloused and rough from endless hours gripping weapons and throwing punches during training, slide up your bare arms slow and deliberate, fingers dragging over your skin like he's memorizing every inch. goosebumps erupt in their wake, your body betraying you instantly as his palms glide higher, over the delicate curve of your shoulders, thumbs brushing the thin straps of your crimson dress. he leans down—god, he's sooo tall—and his lips find the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there, one, two, three, each one lingering longer than the last, his breath hot and minty against your skin. the faint scratch of his stubble makes you shiver, a tiny, involuntary “mmh” slipping from your throat.
you melt. like, actually melt—knees going soft, body sagging back into him until your head thuds gently against his chest, hair spilling over his collarbone as you let out a long, shaky sigh that sounds way too needy for your own pride. geto's chest rumbles with a low, pleased hum, one arm banding around your waist to hold you up while his lips keep working, sucking lightly now, leaving damp little trails that cool in the dorm's air-conditioned chill.
gojo, never one to be left out, crowds in closer from the front, that stupidly pretty face dipping to pepper kisses along your cheek—soft and teasing at first—then down to your jaw, nipping playfully before his mouth finds your neck on the opposite side from geto. he's not gentle like geto; he's greedy, lips sucking hard enough to bloom bruises almost instantly, tongue flicking out to soothe the sting before he latches on again. “nngh,” you moan softly as he marks you, one hickey, two, three, dark little claims blooming across your throat like he's signing his name in purple and red. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise tomorrow, pulling you tighter against him so you can feel how hard he's already getting, the thick line of him pressing insistently against your lower belly through his sweatpants.
geto's hand starts wandering—slow, filthy exploration—from your shoulder down the front of your dress, palm cupping one breast through the thin silk, giving it a lazy squeeze that makes your nipple pebble instantly against his touch. “ah—” you gasp into gojo's mouth as he steals another kiss, geto's fingers rolling the sensitive peak just enough to make your back arch before his hand slides lower, over the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, until he's cupping your pussy right through the dress. the fabric's so thin it's basically nothing— lingerie in disguised' quote gojo, his heat searing straight through to your thong-clad folds as he presses two fingers along your slit, rubbing slow and testing.
he pulls his lips from your shoulder with a wet little pop, breath ghosting over the damp skin there as he mutters a soft, incredulous “huh,” like he's just discovered the most baffling thing in the world. his fingers press a little harder, parting your lips through the layers of fabric, searching for wetness that should be flooding by now if that date had gone anywhere good.
“you're not dripping,” he says, voice low and velvet-rough, almost disappointed but mostly amused, fingers circling your clit lazily through the silk. “like, not even close to ‘just got fucked full’ dripping. sweetheart… did that guy even touch you?”
you groan, breathless and wrecked, head still lolling against geto's chest as gojo keeps sucking another hickey just below your ear, his teeth grazing in a way that makes your thighs clench. “nngh—no,” you manage, voice cracking as geto's fingers keep teasing, the pressure maddeningly light. “he didn't fuck me. the idiot didn't want to… said i was broken because i told him i've never squirted. as if my pussy's suddenly less because i'm not a fucking fountain.”
gojo pulls back just enough to laugh against your neck, the sound high and unhinged, vibrating through your skin as he licks a stripe up to your earlobe. “that's the dumbest shit i've ever heard. baby, you're soaking through your dress just from us kissing you—feel that, suguru?”
geto hums again, deeper this time, pressing his fingers harder until the fabric of your thong is wedged between your folds, the wet spot growing under his touch. “yeah… starting to now. but still, poor thing came home all dressed up like this and didn't even get properly railed. what a waste.”
you whine, hips rocking forward into geto's hand without permission, chasing more friction as gojo's mouth finds yours again, swallowing the sound with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. “mmph— shut up,” you mumble against his lips, but there's no heat in it anymore—just needy, desperate want as both of them press closer, sandwiching you between their bodies, hands and mouths everywhere, the slowburning feelings finally catching fire and threatening to burn the whole damn dorm down with how stupidly, sweetly, lovingly mean they're being about fixing your ruined night.
gojo breaks the kiss with a wet, obscene pop, lips shiny and swollen as he grins down at you like the cat that finally caught the canary—except the canary's currently sandwiched between two very hungry cats and not even pretending to fly away anymore. his forehead rests against yours for a second, breath coming in hot little puffs that mingle with yours, those stupidly long white lashes fluttering as he stares into your eyes with that unhinged, affectionate gleam. “broken? because you don't squirt?” he echoes your earlier grumble in this high-pitched, mocking voice that's somehow still dripping with sugar, like he's teasing a toddler who dropped their ice cream. “baby, that's the funniest shit i've heard all week. guy probably couldn't find your clit with a map and a flashlight.”
geto laughs behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest and into your spine like thunder wrapped in velvet, his big hand still cupped possessively over your pussy, fingers lazily stroking up and down the dampening silk of your dress as if he's petting a needy little kitten. his other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you harder against him so you can feel every inch of how affected he is too—the thick, heavy ridge of his cock pressing insistently against the small of your back through his loose pants, hot and throbbing like it's got its own heartbeat. “seriously,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the shell before he nips it lightly, making you jolt with a tiny “ah—”. “if that's his standard, no wonder he's out there drowning in mediocrity. meanwhile you're here, all pretty and aching, and we haven't even gotten you out of this dress yet.”
you whimper, a soft, broken “nngh” that you can't hold back as geto's fingers finally slip under the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric up your thighs slow and teasing until his rough palm meets the bare skin just above your thong. the contrast—his calloused warmth against your smooth, shaved legs—makes your hips twitch forward into gojo's grip, chasing more touch like the desperate slut they've been calling you all night. gojo's hands slide down to join the fun, grabbing fistfuls of your ass and squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints, spreading you just a little so geto has better access.
“feel that?” gojo whispers, voice dropping low and filthy as he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel how impossibly hard he is, the thick length of him dragging against your lower belly. “that's what a real cock feels like when it meets a perfect pussy. no stupid requirements, no fountain bullshit. just wants to be buried inside you until you're crying and clenching and coming all over it.”
geto's fingers finally hook into the thin string of your thong, tugging it aside with zero ceremony, and the cool air hits your slick folds for half a second before his middle finger slides through them—slow, deliberate, gathering wetness from your entrance to your clit in one long, dragging stroke. “fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent, circling your swollen clit once, twice, making your thighs tremble. “listen to her. already so wet just from some kissing and teasing. that idiot really fumbled the bag.”
you moan louder this time, head falling back harder against geto's shoulder as your body goes liquid between them. “mmh— pleaseee,” you manage, voice cracking, not even sure what you're begging for but knowing you need more. your hands scrabble at gojo's shirt, fisting the fabric like it's the only thing keeping you grounded as geto sinks one thick finger inside you without warning—slow, steady, curling just right to stroke that spot that makes your vision spark white.
gojo watches your face like it's the best show on earth, eyes blown wide and dark, licking his lips as he leans in to suck another hickey right over your pulse point. “aww, look at her,” he coos, mean and sweet all at once, one hand coming up to pinch your nipple through the dress until you squeak. “already falling apart and we've barely started. bet we can make you come so hard you forget that loser's name existed.”
geto adds a second finger, scissoring slow and deep, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet dorm room as he pumps them in and out, thumb grinding against your clit in tight circles. “we're gonna ruin you for anyone else, princess,” he promises against your neck, voice soft but edged with that loving menace that makes your pussy clench around his fingers. “no more dumb boys with dumb standards. just us. just this.”
you cry out—a high, needy, “ah, fuck— suguru,” hips rocking shamelessly between them now, chasing the building pressure as gojo drops to his knees in front of you without warning, shoving your dress higher and mouthing at your inner thigh, teeth grazing dangerously close to where geto's fingers are working you open. the slowburn is gone now, replaced by a wildfire licking up your spine, and all you can do is cling to them and let it consume you, moaning their names like prayers as they take you apart piece by stupid, affectionate, filthy piece.
but oh, they are your enemies for all the right, stupid reasons—the kind that started with bickering over mission rankings freshman year and snowballed into years of relentless, mean-spirited teasing that always skates the line between hate and something way too hot to name. they love pushing you, love watching your cheeks burn and your eyes gloss over until you're one sharp word away from actual tears, then swooping in with that soft, affectionate crap that makes it impossible to stay mad. tonight, with you already bruised from that idiot's rejection, they smell blood in the water and decide—without even needing to speak—that yeah, this is the perfect time to be extra fucking relentless.
geto's fingers slide out of you in one cruel, sudden motion, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, a pathetic little flutter that has you gasping in shock. your eyes fly open, wide and confused, head whipping around to find his face in the dim light. “huh—?” because why the fuck did he stop? his dark eyes are glinting with that particular brand of loving cruelty they both wear so well, the one that's been your personal torment since the day you met these two assholes. he's staring down at you with that half-lidded, dangerous fondness, dark hair falling forward as he leans in and presses the softest, most mocking kiss to your forehead—like he's comforting a kid who skinned her knee.
“not yet, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and syrupy, thumb stroking your cheek like you're something precious he's about to break. “just for research. for fun. let's find out if you really can't squirt… or if you just needed better motivation.”
your stomach drops, heat and dread twisting together, because you know that tone—it's the same one he uses right before he corners you in training and makes you tap out five times in a row just to prove a point.
gojo, synced up like they're sharing one perverted brain cell tonight, lets out a delighted little “yes!” suddenly you're being turned, manhandled with that effortless strength and spins you toward the massive, unmade bed with hands on your hips. the sheets are a tangled mess of navy and black, pillows half on the floor, scattered everywhere from whatever dumb pillow fight they probably had last night, the whole thing smelling like boy and sleep and them. gojo's hands are on your hips, urging you forward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. “dress off, princess,” he demands, already yanking at the hem himself, fingers brushing your thighs in teasing little grazes. “let's see the full outfit. come on, come on, don't be shy now.”
you huff but obey—because arguing feels pointless when your body's already humming like a live wire—sliding the crimson straps off your shoulders, letting the dress pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. the cool air hits your bare skin, nipples tightening instantly under their hungry stares. gojo whistles long and low, dramatic as ever, eyes raking over the black lace thong and matching bra like he's appraising a masterpiece. “fuuuck, look at you. all shaved and pretty and wrapped up like a present.” his fingers hook into the waistband of your thong, tugging impatiently. “these too. off. now. don't be shy—we've seen tits before, promise.”
you huff—half annoyed, half turned on but obey because arguing feels pointless when your body's already humming like a live wire—and shimmy out of the crimson silk, letting the dress pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. the cool air hits your bare skin, nipples tightening instantly under their hungry stares. the second your matching black lace thong and bra come into view, gojo whistles long and low, dramatic as ever, eyes raking over the black lace thong and matching bra like he's appraising a masterpiece, spinning you slow like you're on display. “fuuuck, look at these. shaved, wrapped up in slutty little bows—someone was hoping to get fucked tonight.” his fingers snap the strap of your thong against your hip, the sting making you yelp. “these too. off. now. don't be shy—we've seen tits before, promise. i wanna see tits.”
you roll your eyes but obey, unhooking the bra and sliding the thong down your legs until you're completely naked, flushed and trembling between two fully dressed idiots who look way too pleased with themselves. it's unfair—gojo in his black shirt and sweats, geto still in that tank that clings to every muscle. it's unfair, it's humiliating, and it's doing horrible things to the heat pooling between your thighs.
geto drifts over to the nightstand drawer, pulling it open with a casual rattle that makes your heart kick. he lifts out a thick, curved wand vibrator—shiny black silicone, clearly expensive and mean—and a smaller bullet vibe for good measure, with a flared tip clearly designed for g-spots and ruin. your voice comes out smaller than you'd like. “suguru… what exactly are you planning to do with those?”
he turns back, smirk slow and filthy, holding the wand up like a trophy. “told you. scientific experiment. wanna see if that idiot was right… or if we can make you squirt so hard you forget his name. purely scientific.”
before you can protest, gojo's behind you again, his blindfold already off his face and dangling from his fingers, the soft black fabric warm from his skin. in one smooth, practiced motion he loops it over your eyes and ties it snug at the back of your head. everything goes dark—pitch black, no hints of light, no shape, just sudden, overwhelming nothingness that spikes panic through your chest.
“satoru—what the fuck—why are you blindfolding me?!” you squeak, hands flying up to tug at the knot, heart racing. “take it off, i don't—”
they both burst out laughing—gojo's high and manic, geto's low and fond—like you've told the world's cutest joke. “shhh, relax, sweetheart,” gojo coos right against your ear, hands sliding down your arms to calm you even as his voice drips with mockery. catching your wrists and pinning them gently to your sides. “it's better this way— it's more fun this way. no seeing, just feeling—feel everything. no peeking, no distractions. just us and that pretty pussy. trust us.”
“yeah,” geto adds from somewhere lower, voice dripping with fake reassurance, “stop freaking out or we'll have to tie your hands too. be a good girl.” i'm a good girl.
you whine, a soft, frustrated “nngh”, that only makes them chuckle harder, but you stop fighting because the darkness is already doing things to you—heightening every sense until the air feels thick, every breath louder. you feel the mattress dip as gojo guides you to sit on the edge, his chest presses against your back a second later—he's climbed behind you, sitting up against the headboard and pulling you between his spread legs so your back is flush to his front, his hard cock nestled hot and heavy against the curve of your ass through his sweatpants. his hands splay over your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles, holding you open and pinned.
geto settles on the floor between your legs—you hear the soft thud of his knees hitting the rug, feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your inner thighs. “come here, baby,” he murmurs, big hands wrapping around your thighs and tugging you down the bed until your ass is right at the edge, legs draped over his broad shoulders. “spread for me. wider. there we go… fuck, look how pretty she is.”
you can't see a thing. just feel—feel geto's rough palms keeping your thighs forced open, the cool air kissing your slick, exposed folds; feel the anticipation coil so tight in your belly you're already trembling; gojo's chest rising and falling against your back—heart thudding against your spine, his cock twitching every time you squirm; his fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles over your ribs and stomach, brushing just shy of your breasts.
geto hums, satisfied and mean. “let's find out, yeah?”
the vibrator clicks on with a low, ominous buzz that fills the quiet room like a threat, and before you can brace yourself the rounded head is pressed right against your clit—steady, relentless pressure that has your hips jerking up with a sharp, broken “ah— fuck!” you cry out instantly, hips bucking hard, the sudden intensity ripping a sharp, broken moan from your throat as pleasure slams through you white-hot and overwhelming.
gojo laughs softly behind you, one hand sliding up to cup your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. “there we go. no squirting yet, but listen to those pretty sounds. we're just getting started, baby. hold still… or don't. makes it more fun when you thrash.”
the vibe circles slow, then faster, geto's free hand coming up to spread your lips wider, exposing every sensitive inch to the torture. your world narrows to vibration and heat and their voices—sweet, filthy, affectionate torment promising they're nowhere near done finding out exactly what your body can do tonight.
geto circles the wand slow, then presses harder, the vibrations sinking deep into your clit until your thighs shake against his grip. “feel that? all for science,” he teases, voice affectionate and utterly merciless. “gonna keep you right here until we figure it out… or until you're crying and begging. whichever comes first.”
they are so fucking relentless—like twin devils who've decided your body is their new favorite toy and breaking you is the only acceptable outcome tonight. the wand never stays in one place long enough for you to chase the high; geto wields it like he's dumbledore with a particularly filthy spell, swirling it in tight, maddening circles over your clit one second, then dragging it down to buzz against your entrance the next, then pulling it away completely just to watch you whine and buck into empty air. every time that coil in your belly tightens, every time your breath hitches and your pussy flutters with the promise of something huge, he eases off—slows the vibe to a teasing hum or lifts it entirely, letting the sudden loss punch the air from your lungs in a frustrated, trembling sob.
“nngh— please, fuck. . .” you cry out, voice cracking high and desperate, hips chasing the wand like a pathetic little puppy. your thighs are already shaking uncontrollably, muscles jumping and quivering against geto's shoulders, slick dripping down your ass to soak the sheets beneath you.
geto hums, low and thoughtful, like he's conducting an actual experiment. “hmm, not yet. she’s getting close though—feel her twitching?” he murmurs, and you feel one of his big hands leave your thigh, the sudden absence making that leg slip off his shoulder and fall toward the bed. before you can close it even an inch, gojo's hand is there—long fingers wrapping around your thigh from behind, yanking it back open and pinning it wide against your chest so you're spread obscenely, pussy on full display for geto's torment. asshole.
“gotcha,” gojo chuckles right against your ear, breath hot and teasing, his grip iron-strong as he holds you splayed for his best friend. “wider, baby. suguru needs room to work his magic.”
geto takes the invitation immediately—of course he does—pressing the wand harder now, sliding it lower to nudge right against your entrance, letting the thick head buzz just inside your hole without pushing in, just vibrating against your sensitive walls until your back arches off gojo's chest with a broken wail. "ahh— suguru, pleaseee," you sob, eyes squeezed shut so tight behind the blindfold that you see stars anyway, hands scrabbling blindly for something, anything to hold onto. your fingers finally find purchase behind you, nails digging into the warm skin of gojo's neck as you clutch him like he's the only solid thing in the spinning dark.
"aww, look at her," gojo coos, voice all fake sympathy and real amusement, tilting his head to nip at your jaw while his free hand roams your stomach, tracing the trembling muscles there. "shaking like a leaf already. poor little pussy can't decide if it wants to come or cry first."
"both," geto answers for you, voice calm and cruel as he pulls the wand away again right as your hips start grinding down desperately, leaving you empty and aching. "definitely both. listen to her—whining like we stole her candy."
you are whining—high, wet, pathetic sounds spilling out with every breath, "please, please, don't stop, i was so close. . . " tears actually gathering behind the blindfold now because they're edging you so ruthlessly, building and building like a fucking Fix-it Felix, Jr— that pressure until it's a physical ache low in your belly, then ripping it away like it's a game, crumble like they are Wreck it Ralph. your whole body is shaking uncontrollably, thighs spasming in their grips, pussy clenching around nothing so hard it hurts.
gojo's cock is a steel bar against your lower back, throbbing every time you moan his name or dig your nails deeper into his neck. "fuck, you're cute when you're desperate," he whispers, lips brushing your temple in a kiss that's way too soft for how mean they're being. "gonna keep you right here on the edge all night if we have to. science takes time, sweetheart." science my ass.
geto drags the wand up again, pressing it directly to your swollen clit and cranking the speed higher—merciless, unrelenting vibration that has you screaming almost instantly, a raw, “fuck— ah, ah, ah—!" ripping from your throat as your hips jerk wildly. he holds it there for five agonizing seconds, ten, letting the pleasure crest so high you're dizzy with it—then pulls it away again, just as you're teetering right on the brink.
"no—no no no—pleaseee," you sob outright this time, actual tears soaking into the blindfold, body thrashing between them as the ruined orgasm pulses through you without release, leaving you wrecked and empty and shaking harder than ever.
geto leans in—you feel his hair brush your inner thigh—and presses a soft, affectionate kiss to your dripping folds like he's praising you for taking it so well. "good girl," he murmurs against your pussy, voice vibrating through your clit. "we're getting somewhere. just a little more data. . ."
gojo tightens his arm around your waist, holding you steady as you tremble and cry and beg, his lips brushing your ear in that loving, menacing way only he can manage. "shhh, we've got you. not done playing yet. gonna make you squirt so hard you see stars behind that blindfold—or we're gonna die trying. either way, you're ours tonight."
and they dive back in—wand buzzing to life again, gojo's fingers pinching your nipples in time with geto's ruthless patterns, their voices overlapping in filthy praise and mockery as they edge you over and over and over, relentless and mean and so stupidly affectionate about every sobbing, shaking second of it.
after what feels like hours of their stupid, relentless edging game—your body reduced to a quivering, sweat-drenched wreck, blindfold clinging wetly to your tear-streaked cheeks, every muscle twitching like a live wire, voice hoarse from begging and sobbing their names in broken loops—they finally take pity. or maybe they just decide the data is conclusive, or finally decide you've suffered enough for their little ‘experiment’. . . geto presses the thick head of the wand flush against your clit again, no more games, no more teasing circles or cruel pull-aways, just brutal, steady pressure on the highest setting he'd dared so far— high-speed vibration that sinks straight into your core like a lightning strike. the buzz so intense it feels like it's vibrating your bones.
gojo's grip on your thigh tightens, his other hand back to sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple in time with the rhythm, whispering filthy little encouragements right against your ear like, “come on, baby, give it to us. soak him. show us how much that dumb fucker missed.”
the orgasm doesn't creep up—it crashes, it detonates. your whole body locks up, spine snapping into a harsh arch as the pleasure rips through you like a tidal wave. one second you're teetering on that agonizing edge again, hips grinding desperately, and the next your entire body seizes up with a violent, full-body shudder.
“fuck— ah, ah, aah— i'm—!” you scream, the sound raw and ugly and perfect, back arching off gojo's chest so hard your spine bows like a drawn bowstring. your pussy clenches hard, then gushes—a hot, forceful rush of liquid that sprays out in messy arcs, splattering geto's face and soaking the front of his tank top in seconds. he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away; if anything he leans into it, mouth open just enough that some of it hits his tongue, a low, satisfied groan rumbling out of him as he keeps the wand pinned right where it hurts-so-good.
you squirt and squirt, longer than you thought possible, wave after wave, thighs shaking so violently gojo has to brace you or you'd thrash right off the bed or to keep you from kicking geto in the face. “nngh— stop, stop, too much,” you sob, actual tears streaming down your cheeks under the blindfold now, but geto doesn't care—doesn't even pretend to.
he keeps the wand exactly where it is, buzzing mercilessly against your oversensitive clit and laps at your dripping folds between the sprays like he's savoring every drop— broad, filthy strokes of his tongue dragging from your spasming entrance up to your clit, swirling around the buzzing toy like he's trying to drink you dry. his tongue is hot and rough, dragging from your entrance up to swirl around the vibe, pushing you straight into a second, even more brutal climax before the first has fully faded. the overstimulation is excruciating, pleasure twisted into something almost painful, and you scream again, high and broken, “no, no, ahh— fuck, suguru!" as he assaults your pussy without a shred of remorse.
“that's it, pretty girl,” he praises between licks, voice muffled and vibrating against your folds, hands gripping your ass to tilt you higher into his mouth. “give me everything. fucking drown me—good girl, so good."
it isn't long before the second wave hits—the second squirt is obscene—stronger, messier, your body barely recovered from the first before hitting geto's chest in thick streams. geto finally pulls his face back just in time to watch it, eyes dark and hungry, lips shiny with you as he cranks the wand to its absolute highest setting without warning. the sudden spike in vibration rips a scream from your throat, "suguru— no, no, please, i can't— ahh!"
geto hums, tossing the wand aside for a second but not done—not even close. his fingers replace it immediately, rubbing fast, tight circles over your throbbing clit, slick and relentless, forcing the last spurts out of you in messy little bursts. “come on, baby, one more. empty it all out for us.”
the squirt erupts in a powerful stream, clear and hot, splashing across his chest and collarbones, rolling down in rivulets that disappear into his waistband. gojo whistles low and impressed behind you, fingers digging into your thighs as he watches over your shoulder.
your hips jerking so hard your ass lifts clean off the bed, whole lower body suspended in the air, leaning entirely against gojo's chest as you shake and gush and fall apart all over again.
“holy shit,” gojo laughs, breathless and delighted, nuzzling your neck. “that idiot you went on a date with? he'd be eating his own words right now if he saw this. ‘girls who can't squirt’—yeah, right. look at you, turning suguru into a fucking fountain show. guy must feel so stupid, passing up all this."
you think—hope—that after this you'll finally get peace, get to float down into that soft, boneless quiet. but no. these are your enemies, after all, mean and perverted to the core, and they love nothing more than pushing until you're crying for real.
gojo's hand comes down in a sharp, wet slap against your hypersensitive pussy—light enough not to bruise, but stinging like fire on raw nerves. you jolt with a strangled wail, another surprised gush squirting out in response, and he does it again—slap, slap—each one perfectly timed to make you spray more, body convulsing violently between them. "satoruuuu— stop, please, i can't—" you sob, but it's useless; your hips lift clean off the bed on instinct, whole lower body suspended in the air from the force of the shaking, leaning entirely against gojo's chest as your ass clenches and your thighs spasm out of control.
one hand flies forward blindly, fingers tangling desperately in geto's damp hair, tugging hard for any kind of anchor as the pleasure-pain overwhelms you. the other claws backward, nails digging deep into gojo's forearm where he's still holding you open, leaving red crescents he's definitely going to brag about later. you're a complete mess—whimpering, shaking, squirting in weak little pulses now with every slap until there's nothing left but tremors and the wet sounds of your ruined pussy.
gojo laughs, breathless and delighted. the impact forces another surprised spurt out of you, smaller but no less humiliating, and you wail as your hips buck involuntarily. "fuck, look at that," he croons, voice dripping with smug affection, slapping again—once, twice—each one making you squirt a little more until your thighs are trembling so badly you can't hold the position anymore. your ass collapses back onto the soaked sheets with a wet thud, body going completely limp against gojo's front, chest heaving, little aftershock twitches rippling through you every few seconds.
finally, mercifully, gojo stops the slapping. his fingers turn gentle instead, tracing soft, soothing figure-eights over your clit, easing you down with slow, feather-light strokes that make you twitch and whine but in a softer way now. "shhh, there we go," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your sweaty temple. "good girl. fuck, you're perfect."
geto finally—finally—clicks the vibrator off and tosses it aside fully, the sudden silence deafening except for your ragged breathing and the wet sounds of him licking his lips. he leans in again, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, your fluttering entrance, your abused clit like he's apologizing and praising all at once.
"good fucking girl," he murmurs against your skin, voice rough with want, hands stroking soothing patterns over your shaking legs. "told you we could make you. that guy you went out with? he'd be kicking himself so hard right now if he knew how much you can squirt when someone's actually competent."
gojo snickers, nuzzling into your damp temple, fingers idly tracing the mess on your stomach where some of it splashed back. "seriously. imagine his dumb face—'i don't fuck girls who can't squirt'—and here you are, turning suguru into a human sprinkler twice in a row. idiot probably couldn't find a g-spot if it had a neon sign." he slaps your pussy one last playful time, lighter now, just to watch you jolt and whimper pathetically. "bet he'd cry harder than you did if he saw this."
you can't even form words—just little broken sobs and whimpers, body utterly spent and boneless between them, blindfold still on, world reduced to the feel of their hands petting you down from the high. geto climbs up onto the bed properly, knees slotting between your trembling legs, hands sliding under your knees to push them up and back until you're nearly folded in half—ass lifted, pussy still dripping and exposed.
he lets one leg slide off his shoulder gently, then reaches up to finally—finally—untie the blindfold. the fabric falls away and light floods in, dim and warm from the dorm lamps, but still blinding after so long in darkness. you blink sluggishly, eyes watery and unfocused, vision hazy with lust and exhaustion and that floaty, drunk kind of bliss. everything feels soft around the edges, like you're underwater—geto's face swimming into view first, hair damp and falling forward in dark strands, a few droplets still clinging to his lashes and lips, that affectionate menace softened into something almost tender.
he leans down slow, presses the gentlest butterfly kisses to your forehead—one, two, three—lips lingering each time like he's tasting the salt of your tears and sweat. "there you go," he whispers, voice rough but impossibly soft now, thumb stroking your cheek. "hi, pretty girl. you back with us?"
you laugh—it's breathless, watery, a little hysterical around the edges—and nod slow, words thick and fuzzy in your throat. "yeah... so good. fuck, so good."
gojo chuckles behind you, arms loosening to cradle you properly now, one hand petting your hair like you're a kitten. "look at her, all fucked out and smiley. cutest thing ever."
"proud of you, princess," geto adds quietly, crawling up to cage you between them, both of them still fully dressed while you're a naked, shivering mess covered in your own slick. "experiment success. conclusion: you're perfect exactly how you are, and that guy can go drown in a puddle for all we care."
you manage a weak, watery laugh that turns into another hiccuping sob, burying your face in geto's neck while he spoons you from the front, their arms wrapping around you in a tangle of warmth and lingering menace. they're not done with you—not even close—but for now they let you come down, murmuring sweet, stupid, filthy praise into your skin until the shaking stops and all that's left is the slow, heavy thud of three hearts beating way too fast in the quiet dorm room, sheets absolutely ruined and no one giving a single damn.
for a moment it's just that—soft and sweet, their hands gentle, voices low and fond, letting you float in the afterglow while your body twitches with little aftershocks. geto's still between your legs, chest glistening with you, tank top absolutely ruined, and gojo's cock is still hard as steel against your back, but they're giving you this tiny pocket of peace, murmuring praise like "did so well for us" and "perfect little mess" and "love how you shake when you come undone."
but of course it doesn't last. they're mean, after all—lovingly, affectionately, stupidly mean.
geto's warm smile twists slow into something wicked again, eyes glinting as he picks up the discarded wand, still slick with you, and bops you lightly on the nose with it—boop—like it's a toy hammer. "aww, look at that face," he coos, voice dripping with fake innocence. "all hazy and happy. but now that we've proven you can squirt like a fucking champ... think you're ready to take some real cock, princess?"
he tosses the vibrator away from within reach, somewhere across the room—it lands with a thud on a pile of laundry—and leans in closer, hands sliding up your thighs to spread you wider again, cocky grin sharp and hungry. gojo laughs high behind you, fingers dipping down to tease your dripping entrance, already plotting round two.
because peace? rest? not tonight. not with these two. they're just getting started ruining you properly, and the look in their eyes says you're not leaving this bed until you've forgotten every dumb boy who ever made you doubt how fucking incredible you are.
especially now when geto rises from the bed like some kind of dark god finally shedding the last of his mortal clothes, tank top peeled off and tossed somewhere into the corner with a wet slap—still soaked from your earlier mess—and his sweatpants follow, kicked aside without ceremony. he's butt naked now, all lean muscle and cursed energy humming under inked skin, cock standing proud and thick in his hand as he strokes it once, slow and lazy, precum already beading at the flushed tip like he's been edging himself just watching you fall apart. his hair is still damp, strands clinging to his forehead and neck, and that wicked, affectionate smirk hasn't left his face once.
behind you—no, under you—gojo has maneuvered you both to the edge of the bed, his long legs planted firm on the floor like he's anchoring the whole damn world. he's naked too now, shirt and sweats vanished in that effortless way he does everything, pale skin and ridiculous abs on full display, cock hot and impossibly hard against the curve of your ass. his hands are on your hips, big and steady, guiding you to straddle him reverse—back to his chest, thighs spread wide over his—so you're sitting pretty on his lap like a throne made of pure torment. the position leaves you completely exposed, pussy still twitching and dripping from everything they just did to you, and gojo doesn't waste time lining himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance, slick and insistent.
but god, you're sensitive—every little brush feels like fire and electricity and too much all at once, your folds swollen and raw from the wand and the slapping and the squirting until you're a whimpering mess before he's even inside. “wait— fuck, satoru, i'm so sensitive, please, slow. . . " you complain, voice cracking high and pathetic, hands flailing for something to hold as your thighs already start shaking again. they don't listen. of course they don't and your whining only makes their eyes gleam darker.
gojo chuckles low against your ear, breath hot and teasing as he circles his tip through your folds, gathering wetness just to torture you more. "aww, poor baby, too sensitive? but look how you're still dripping for it. you can take it, princess—we know you can. you've been begging with that pussy all night."
geto steps closer, still stroking himself slow, thumb swiping over his leaking slit as he watches gojo tease you. "yeah. . . don't be weak now," he adds, voice all velvet cruelty and fake sympathy. "you just squirted like a champion—twice, or three times? this is the reward. real cock, like we promised. be good and take it."
you curse under your breath, but your hips are already rocking back instinctively, chasing the pressure despite the overstimulation, and gojo takes that as permission. he pushes in—slow at first, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open, your walls fluttering wildly around him from how sensitive you are. it's too much and perfect and overwhelming, the drag burning in the best way until he bottoms out with a final thrust that seats him deep, balls pressed against your ass.
a full, broken whimper tears out of you, “fuck, satoru, you're—" your thighs shaking harder now, weak and jelly-like as the overwhelming fullness hits you all at once. your hands scramble blindly forward for support, fingers finding geto's hips, then his hand, clutching desperately as you try to breathe through it.
geto threads his fingers with yours immediately, squeezing gentle and steady, letting you grip as hard as you need while you adjust. "there you go," he murmurs, soft for a second, thumb stroking your knuckles even as his other hand keeps lazily pumping his cock. "breathe, baby. you've got him all the way in. look at you—taking it so pretty."
both of them chuckle at the same time—gojo's high and unhinged, geto's low and fond—when your legs keep trembling like you might collapse any second.
"so weak already," gojo teases, hands sliding up to grip your waist, lifting you just an inch before dropping you back down slow, making you feel every ridge of him. "one orgasm—or three—and you're shaking like a leaf. cute."
"fuck you both," you manage to gasp out, voice wobbly and hoarse, but there's no heat in it—just needy frustration as your head falls back against gojo's shoulder.
another soft whisper of a moan slips out, "mmh," as gojo starts moving your hips for you, slow ups and downs that have his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls in the most filthy, perfect way. geto steps even closer at the sound, until you're face-to-cock with him, the musky heat of him filling your senses, precum dripping in a slow bead down his shaft.
but he doesn't force it—not yet. instead he lets you lean forward, forehead pressing against the warm, hard plane of his stomach, breath coming in hot little pants against his skin as you try to ground yourself. his free hand comes up to pet your hair, fingers threading gentle and soothing, nails scratching lightly at your scalp while his other keeps stroking himself right in front of your face, slow and deliberate, the wet sound of it mixing with your whimpers and the slick slide of gojo inside you.
"good girl," geto praises softly, voice rough with want, tilting your head just enough so your cheek brushes the side of his cock, leaving a shiny streak of precum on your skin. "just relax. let satoru fuck you open a little more. then you'll take me too—gonna fill you from both ends until you're crying again, but the happy kind this time, yeah?"
gojo laughs breathlessly behind you, hips starting to roll up to meet the slow drop of yours, pace picking up just enough to make you moan louder. "fuck, she's clenching already. hear that, suguru? all that big talk about being too sensitive, and her pussy's trying to milk me dry."
you whimper against geto's stomach, thighs still shaking, hand squeezing his tighter as the pleasure builds again—slow, deep, relentless—sandwiched between your two favorite enemies who are finally, finally giving you what you've needed all night, mean and sweet and stupidly affectionate about every second of it.
geto lets gojo have his moment, because that's what best friends do—share the spotlight, especially when the spotlight is a trembling, cockdrunk girl impaled on one of their dicks and making the prettiest broken sounds against the other's stomach. he's patient like that, a saint in pervert's clothing, standing there with his hand wrapped loose around his throbbing cock, stroking slow and steady, thumb swiping over the slick head every few pumps to spread the precum that's been leaking nonstop since you first squirted all over him.
his dark eyes are heavy-lidded, fixed on the scene in front of him like it's the best porn he's ever seen: you, forehead pressed to his abs, lips parted and drooling a little onto his skin from how overwhelmed you are, while gojo's hips roll up slow and deep from underneath, fucking into you with that lazy, relentless rhythm that makes your pussy hug him tighter and tighter.
every thrust drags a new sound out of you—high, wet moans that turn into little cries, your breath hitching hot and damp against geto's stomach, leaving shiny trails of saliva that cool in the dorm air. it's filthy and perfect, and geto doesn't mind the mess one bit; if anything it makes his cock twitch harder in his fist, another bead of precum dripping down his shaft as he watches gojo's face twist in pure ecstasy. gojo's head is tipped back against the headboard for a second, white lashes fluttering, mouth open on a silent groan before he lets out this low, drawn-out "fuuuck" that rumbles through his chest and into your back.
geto hears it all—your moans climbing higher, gojo's breathing getting rougher, the wet slap of skin where gojo's lifting and dropping your hips just enough to make his cock drag against every sensitive spot inside you. it's intimate in the dumbest, dirtiest way, and geto is patient, stroking himself to the rhythm of gojo's thrusts, letting his best friend chase that edge while he enjoys the show. but god, the sounds you're making—those broken little whimpers vibrating against his skin, the way your fingers keep flexing in his hand like you're barely holding on—are starting to chip away at that saintly restraint.
he's heard gojo fuck before, plenty of times actually, thin dorm walls and all that. random girls giggling their way in, then moaning their way out hours later, gojo's voice carrying through the plaster with cocky laughter and the occasional dramatic groan. but this? this is different. you've got gojo making sounds geto has never heard from him—deeper, more desperate, like you're pulling them straight from his soul. his eyes are rolling back now, blue peeking white under half-closed lids, lips parted on gasps that turn into your name chanted like a prayer.
geto snorts, low and amused, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head. "that good, huh?" he asks, voice rough with his own want, hand still moving slow on his cock. "never heard you sound this pathetic, satoru."
gojo laughs—breathless, wrecked, absolutely unhinged—as he snaps his hips up harder, making you cry out sharp and sudden against geto's stomach. "fuck off, suguru— she's... nngh... she's perfect. like her pussy was made for me. gonna wife this shit up, keep her full forever—romantic as fuck, right?"
it's the dumbest, most gojo thing anyone's ever said—stupidly romantic and utterly disgusting all at once, like he's proposing marriage mid-stroke while balls-deep in you. geto bark-laughs, head shaking, but his cock jumps in his hand because yeah, he gets it. you're clenching again, pussy fluttering wild around gojo from the praise or the thrust or both, and the sound you make is so cockdrunk and ruined that geto feels his patience snap like a frayed wire.
you can't even respond to gojo's idiot declaration—just another wet, open-mouthed moan against geto's skin, drool pooling at the corner of your lips, eyes glassy and unfocused like your brain's checked out and left your body on autopilot. you're too far gone, too stupid on cock, and seeing you like that—knowing he helped put you there—makes geto greedy in a way that's almost mean.
he lets go of your hand gently, both of his sliding up now—one fisting your hair at the roots, firm but not painful, angling your face away from his stomach and up toward his cock. the other guides the flushed, leaking head to your lips, slapping it once, twice, wet and heavy against your mouth, leaving shiny streaks of precum across your cheek and lower lip. "open up, princess," he murmurs, voice velvet and dangerous, thumb stroking your jaw like encouragement. "you can multitask, right? been taking satoru so well—now take me too. greedy girls get both."
you whimper—high and needy, muffled against his cock as he taps it again, smearing more precum over your lips until they glisten. your tongue darts out instinctively, licking at the tip, tasting salt and him, and geto groans low, hips twitching forward just enough to slide the head past your lips. "mmh—" you moan around him, the vibration making his thighs tense, and gojo laughs breathlessly behind you, hands tightening on your hips to speed up the slow grind.
"fuck, look at her," gojo gasps, voice cracking as your pussy clamps down harder from the new stretch in your mouth. "taking both like she was born for it. our perfect little slut."
geto slides deeper—slow, letting you adjust, feeling your tongue flatten against the underside of him as you suck messily, drool already spilling down your chin to drip onto your chest. his hand in your hair pets gentle now, affectionate and guiding, while gojo keeps bouncing you on his lap, the two of them finding a rhythm that has you stuffed full from both ends, moaning nonstop around geto's cock while your body shakes and clenches and drips between them.
it's overwhelming and perfect and so stupidly loving—the way geto's thumb wipes the drool from your chin even as he fucks your mouth deeper, the way gojo's whispering absolute filth about keeping you forever while his hands bruise your hips, both of them watching you fall apart with that mean, fond gleam in their eyes like you're the best thing that's ever happened to their dumb, perverted hearts. and maybe you are.
they keep fucking you like it's a competition to see who can wreck you sweeter—gojo from below, hips rolling up in that lazy, deep grind that makes his cock kiss your cervix on every upstroke, hands gripping your waist like he's steering a particularly fun ride. geto in front, feeding you his cock inch by thick inch, the salty taste of him flooding your tongue while your drool spills down your chin in messy strings. the room is nothing but wet sounds—skin slapping skin, your muffled moans vibrating around geto, gojo's breathy laughter mixing with low groans every time your pussy clamps down like it's trying to trap him forever.
they're high on praise tonight, drunk on how perfectly you fall apart between them. "fuck, listen to her," gojo gasps, voice cracking as your walls flutter again. "pussy's singing for me—nngh—good girl, keep squeezing like that." geto hums agreement, eyes dark and half-lidded as he watches his cock disappear between your swollen lips. "taking us so well, princess. look at you—mouth full, pussy full, still greedy for more."
geto's hand tightens in your hair—fingers twisting at the roots just hard enough to sting sweet—before his other slides forward, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive collar. not squeezing hard, just there, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point so he can feel how fast your heart's racing for them. the pressure makes you groan deep in your chest, "mmph." the vibration humming straight into geto's cock, and your pussy reacts instantly, clamping down hard on gojo like a vice.
gojo jolts behind you, hips stuttering as he lets out a wrecked, "fuuuuck, yes." his nails digging crescents into your hips. "did you feel that, suguru? she just tried to milk me dry when you choked her a little. kinky little thing."
geto definitely feels it—feels his own cock sliding deeper into the wet heat of your throat, feels the way your muscles flutter and swallow around him every time gojo thrusts up. it pulls a rough groan from his chest, low and filthy, hips twitching forward involuntarily. "shit— yeahh. . . i felt it. throat's doing the same thing. greedy on both ends."
he tugs your hair sharper, angling your head back just enough to push deeper, sliding past your tongue until the head nudges the back of your throat. he holds you there—patient but merciless—watching your eyes water, feeling your throat spasm open and close around him in panicked little swallows.
"that's it," he praises, voice gravel-rough with affection, thumb stroking your cheek even as he keeps you pinned. "relax your throat, baby—fuck, there we go. feel you opening up for me. perfect fucking girl." he only pulls back when your chest starts heaving, when the first real choke bubbles up around his cock—slow, letting you gasp wetly around him before he slides out with a filthy string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.
you cough hard, collapsing forward against gojo's shoulder as you suck in desperate breaths, face messy with drool and tears and precum. "you—cough—fucking asshole, i couldn't breathe," you rasp, voice hoarse and wrecked, but your hips are still rolling back onto gojo like your body can't decide if it wants to fight or fuck.
geto just hums, low and amused, petting your hair once like you're a bratty cat. "now you can," he says simply, tugging your head back up by the roots until your lips brush his cock again. "open up, princess. we're not done."
you do—because of course you do—tongue lolling out obediently as he slides back in, easier this time, your throat already pliant from the abuse. gojo keeps fucking you through it, slow and deep, cooing soft praise into your ear about how pretty you look choking on suguru while riding him.
after a while—minutes? hours? time's meaningless when you're stuffed full like this—geto pulls out with a wet pop, hand stroking your cheek as he looks over your head at gojo. "switch," he says, voice calm but edged with hunger.
gojo whines immediately—high, dramatic, ridiculous. "nooo, i'm just getting into it—fuck, her pussy's perfect right now, all swollen and hot—"
geto snorts, already pulling his cock from your mouth with a slick slide. "you've been balls-deep in her pussy for ages, satoru. my turn. if you don't wanna share, go fuck your fist like a big boy."
gojo groans long and suffering, but he obeys—hands sliding to your ass, giving it one sharp, resounding slap that makes you yelp around nothing and your pussy clench on empty air. he spreads the cheek, presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the stinging skin like an apology, then grumbles as he lifts you off his cock with a filthy wet sound. you whimper at the loss—high and pathetic—legs shaking harder now that you're not filled.
geto wraps an arm around your waist immediately, strong and steady, hauling you up to stand on wobbly feet. "up, baby," he murmurs, turning you around slow until you're face-to-face with gojo's dick—glistening with your slick, flushed angry red and twitching in his fist as he strokes himself lazily by the bed. gojo grins down at you, all sharp teeth and affection, thumb sliding into your mouth to press on your tongue. "hallo again, baby," he coos, using his cock to tap your nose lightly—boop, boop—like it's a game. "miss me already?"
geto snorts behind you, hands nudging your thighs apart wider, wider, until your legs are spread obscenely and your knees threaten to buckle. "spread, princess," he orders softly, voice gentle but firm. when your thighs start trembling harder, threatening to give out, he presses his chest to your back, arm tightening around your waist to hold you up. "no, you can do it. just a bit more—there we go. good girl."
he lines himself up slow—thick head nudging your dripping entrance, gathering your wetness before pushing in with one smooth, deep thrust that has you crying out around gojo's thumb. gojo pulls it out with a pop, replacing it immediately with his cock, sliding into your mouth as geto bottoms out behind you.
sandwiched again—geto buried to the hilt in your pussy, gojo feeding you his slick-coated cock until your lips stretch wide around him. they find their rhythm fast, gojo's hands in your hair now, geto's arm banded across your stomach, both of them moving like they've done this a thousand times— maybe in dreams, maybe in fantasy, but now it's real and overwhelming and so stupidly loving.
"fuck, taste yourself on me?" gojo groans, hips rocking shallow into your mouth. "sweetest thing ever."
geto thrusts deeper, hand sliding up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple in time with his strokes. "pussy's even tighter from this side," he mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin. "gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby. just us from now on."
and you believe him—believe both of them—moaning broken around gojo's cock as they fuck you standing, legs shaking, body held up only by their strength and greed and that mean, affectionate way they have of never letting you fall.
after a while, the rhythm settles into something hypnotic and brutal—geto behind you, cock buried deep in your pussy with every slow, deliberate thrust that drags against your oversensitive walls like he's trying to map every inch of you from the inside; gojo in front, feeding his slick-coated dick into your mouth in shallow, teasing pumps that make you choke and drool and moan around him like a desperate little thing.
your legs are barely holding you up anymore, thighs trembling nonstop, knees threatening to buckle with every roll of geto's hips, but his arm banded across your waist keeps you pinned upright, impaled and helpless between them. the dorm air is thick with the smell of sex—sweat and slick and precum—and the sounds are obscene: wet slaps from behind, gagging whimpers from your throat, their mixed groans overlapping in filthy harmony.
geto starts losing it first, the patience he's been clinging to finally cracking like thin ice. it begins with a low groan rumbling from his chest, deeper than before, eyes fluttering half-shut as his head tips back for a second. then his eyes roll—just like gojo's did earlier—white peeking under dark lashes as your pussy clamps down on him again, fluttering wild and greedy from gojo's cock nudging the back of your throat. "fuuuuck," he breathes, voice rough and wrecked, hips stuttering for the first time. "okay, i get it now. i fucking get why you were making those stupid sounds, satoru. this pussy—shit—it's heaven. gripping me like it doesn't want me to leave."
gojo laughs breathlessly around a moan, fingers tightening in your hair as he watches geto's composure shatter over your shoulder. "told you, asshole. she's unreal. wait till she comes again—gonna suck your soul right out."
geto doesn't answer with words—just a rough, affectionate growl as his hands slide up your arms, grabbing your wrists and pinning them behind your back in one strong grip, arching your spine and forcing your chest out. the new angle changes everything; his cock hits deeper, harder, dragging against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids even with gojo still fucking your mouth. "hold still, princess," geto mutters against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin before he bites down lightly. "gonna fuck you proper now."
and he does—merciless. hips snapping forward faster, harder, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing loud in the room as he rails you standing, your body jolting forward onto gojo's cock with every thrust. you choke around gojo, "mmph— guh. . . " drool spilling down your chin in thick strings, tears streaking your cheeks from the overwhelming fullness. your pussy's making the filthiest sounds, squelching wet and loud, and geto groans like he's dying, eyes rolling again as he pounds into you.
"nngh— fuck, take it, take it," he pants, voice cracking with affection and menace. "pussy's so fucking good—milking me already. you love this, don't you? stuffed from both ends like our perfect little toy."
you can't answer properly—just muffled, cockdrunk moans around gojo, your tongue swirling sloppy and desperate because it's all you can do. gojo's hips start moving faster too, matching geto's brutal pace, fucking your throat in shallow thrusts that make your eyes water more. "yeah, she loves it," he gasps, thumb wiping a tear from your cheek even as he pushes deeper. "look at her—crying and still sucking like she needs it to breathe."
it's too much and perfect and stupidly loving, your body shaking between them as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter, pussy fluttering wild around geto, throat swallowing convulsively around gojo. you're close again—teetering on that edge they've been dancing you along all night—and they feel it, both of them groaning in unison as your body tightens.
"fuck— she's gonna come," geto grits out, thrusts turning erratic, grip on your wrists bruising now. "pussy's clamping—shit—gonna make me—"
gojo pulls out of your mouth suddenly with a wet pop, hand fisting your hair to tilt your face up as he strokes himself fast and sloppy. "wait—fuck, me too—gonna cum, baby, gonna—"
they both curse at the same time, voices overlapping in desperate, filthy harmony, "fuck, fuck, coming. . ." and geto pulls out of your pussy with a slick rush that leaves you empty and whining high in your throat. your legs finally give out, knees buckling as the sudden loss hits, but gojo's there instantly, hauling you down to the rug with strong hands under your arms until you're on your knees between them, shaky and wrecked and dripping.
gojo drops down from the bed too, both of them standing over you now—tall and flushed and gorgeous, cocks in hand as they stroke themselves fast and frantic, eyes locked on your face like you're the only thing in the world. "open your mouth, princess," gojo pants, voice sweet and mean all at once, free hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. "tongue out—yeahhhh, just like that. good fucking girl."
geto groans beside him, hand still pinning one of your wrists behind your back even on your knees, keeping you arched pretty for them. "gonna paint you, baby," he mutters, voice rough with affection. "deserve every drop after taking us so well."
you obey—mouth open wide, tongue lolling out obedient and desperate, eyes glassy and adoring as you look up at them. "please," you whimper, voice hoarse and small and needy. "want it—want your cum—please—"
that's all it takes. gojo comes first—high, broken moan of your name as his cock pulses, thick ropes of cum striping your face in hot, messy bursts—across your cheeks, your nose, your waiting tongue. "fuck— take it, take it all," he gasps, aiming the last spurts right into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallow greedily.
geto follows seconds later—deep, guttural groan that sounds like it's punched out of him, hips jerking forward as he paints your face too, cum mixing with gojo's in sticky lines over your lips and chin, dripping down your neck. "shit— perfect, so perfect," he praises, voice cracking soft at the end, thumb smearing the mess across your lower lip like he's marking you.
they milk themselves dry onto you—stroking slow through the aftershocks, making sure every drop lands on your face, your tongue, your chest—until you're glazed and messy and utterly ruined, kneeling there panting with cum dripping off your chin and the biggest, dopiest smile tugging at your swollen lips.
gojo laughs first—breathless and unhinged—dropping to his knees to cup your messy face and kiss you deep and filthy, tasting himself and geto on your tongue. "fuck, look at you," he murmurs against your lips, all soft now, menace melted into pure affection. "prettiest mess we've ever made."
toji murmurs, his deep voice rumbling against your ears as you straddle his lap on the bed, your soft tail twitching behind you while you grind down shamelessly on the growing bulge in his pants.
you’ve been like this all afternoon. clinging to him, nuzzling into his neck, your fluffy ears flopping with every needy wiggle.
he knows it’s just one of your bunny traits, that constant heat bubbling under your skin, making you so damn clingy and desperate for his attention.
and he always indulges you. because who wouldn’t with a sweet thing like you?
“toji... please,” you whimper softly, your voice all breathy and small, rolling your hips slowly, feeling that thick hardness press right against your aching pussy through your thin panties.
“need you so bad... mmnghh.. it aches.” you whined.
he chuckles low, his big hands sliding up your thighs to squeeze your round ass, pulling you closer to him. “yeah? my needy little bun can’t wait, huh? been humpin’ me like you’re in heat all day.”
you nod early, ears drooping as you hide your face in his shoulder, but he’s already flipping you over, manhandling you onto the mattress face down with your ass up in the air- because he knows exactly what you need. a good, hard pounding to shut that whining up.
your fluffy tail flicks excitedly as he yanks your panties aside, exposing your slick, puffy pinkish folds, already dripping and swollen from all that grinding.
“look at this pretty pussy, so fuckin wet for me,” he growls, his massive hand cupping you roughly before he spreads you open with his thumbs, watching your hole clench around nothing.
you’re so small compared to him- that size difference between you two making everything look obscene. his cock’s gonna stretch you to your limits and he loves it. you love it. everytime.
“toji, hurry.. please, put it in,” you mewl, voice muffled into the sheets, pushing your hips back to him like a desperate little animal.
toji smirks, freeing his thick cock from his pants— it slaps heavy against your ass, fat and veiny, the tip already leaking precum that he smears over your cheeks.
“shhh baby, i got you, mkay? gonna give you what you need, nice and deep..”
he lines up and thrusts in slow at first, but fuck- you’re always so tight, your walls sucking him in like you’re made for this.
you gasp loud, “ahhhh! toji.. it’s so biiig... feels so full,” you whined, your body trembling as he sinks even deeper into your poor cunt, splitting you open.
he doesn’t hold back after that— he grabs your hips with bruising grip and starts pounding you into the mattress roughly. the bed creaking under his brutal thruss. your puffy pussy squelches with every slam, your juices coating his cock, dripping down your thighs in a messy creamy trail.
“that’s it... such a good bun, taking it all, that feel good, baby?” he coos, voice husky as he watches your ass jiggle with each thrust, your tail quivering.
you’re getting dumber by the second, mind getting mushy from the stretch, the fullness, nothing to do but lay there and take his cock like the needy bunny you are.
“feels good, huh? my pretty girl’s pussy lovin’ this cock.” he murmurs, leaning down to lick your neck.
“yes yes.. mmnnghh.. haaah toji- harder... don’t stop, keep fucking me...” you cry out softly, your claws scratching the sheets, ears flat against your head, your body shaking from the relentless pounding.
he’s so deep. you can feel him kissing your cervix with every brutal snap of his hips, fucking into you like he means it, his ridiculously big cock churning your insides into the shape of him.
“gonna fill you up, bun, breed this tight hole full, y’want that, hm?” he groans, leaning over you, his massive frame caging yours as he ruts faster, chasing his climax.
you’re tapping out on the sheets, the sensation too much for you. “too much, tojiii— haaahh, m’bout to cum...!” you sob, tears soaking your flushed face but he just coos, “you can take it, this what you wanted, ain’t it? cum for me again.”
and you do. squirting a little around his cock, making everything even messier as he slams in one last time, pumping hot thick ropes of cum deep inside, his cum overflowing and leaking out around his girth.
“mmmnghhh...” you whined into the sheets, your eyes crossed, tongue lolled out and your legs shaking violently as he grinds even deeper into your cunt, making sure not a single drop of his cum go to waste.
he pulls out slowly, watching his seed drip from your puffy, well-fucked pussy then flips you over to face him gently, kissing your forehead. “such a good bunny for me.” but as you catch your breath, body still twitching and sensitive, he smirks down at you.
“we ain’t done though, this pussy can take more loads, right, baby?” toji cooes.
“you really thought you could piss me off like that and get away with it, huh?”
nanami growls low in your ear, his voice steady but edged with that quiet fury as he bends you over in front of the full length mirror, your sweaty palms slapping against the glass for support.
you’d snapped at him earlier over some stupid argument, pushing his buttons until he snapped back. not with words, nanami could never raise his voice at you— but with this: ripping your panties aside and slamming his fat cock into your dripping pussy without warning.
“haaahh...! kentooo! too big— fuck!” you sob, eyes already watering as he was pounding you from behind, hips snapping so hard, his thick girth stretching you wide, abusing your tight walls with every brutal thrust.
you were already making a mess on his pistoning dick, your cream froths at his base, your juices squelching so loud as he pounds your cunt, dripping down your thighs and coating his balls in messy strings.
he’s so fucking big. towering over you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangles in your hair, forcing your head up. “look at yourself,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, all gentle coaxing even as he rails you senseless.
“watch how good you take me, baby. see that pretty pussy creaming all over my dick?” you try to look away, feeling overwhelmed, but he yanks your hair harder, shoving two thick fingers into your mouth to shut you up.
“nuh-uh. eyes on the mirror. suck on these while i fuck you deeper.” you drool around them instantly, your tongue lolling out, sobbing. “mmphh— k-ken— please.. mmnghh!”
he slaps your ass hard, the sting making you clench tighter. his cockhead kisses your cervix over and over, bullying that spot until your legs shake, making your vision blur, eyes crossing from how good he’s fucking you.
“that’s it, feel me right there? you love it when i fuck you hard like this, don’t you? was i too gentle with you all the time, love?” he whispers, one hand snaking around to press against the bulge of his cock on your stomach, making you scream.
nanami hold you tighter, kissing your shoulder softly before gripping and pulling your face back to face him so he can spit right on your parted lips, the warm glob sliding down your chin.
you whine, loving it, lapping at his fingers greedier as he spits again- straight into your open mouth this time, mixing with your drool. “swallow it. good girl— fuck, you’re so wet, listen to that sloppy cunt.”
you can’t take it anymore so you try to push him away, tapping out on his right thigh, too overwhelmed from how hard he’s pounding into you but nanami’s not having it.
“where you think you’re going?” he snarls, yanking you back by the hips and thrusting even harder and faster, the slap of skin echoing like gunshots. “take it. fuck, take every inch.”
you wail loud, “aahhh! kento— oh god! too muuch— ahh! c-can’t—!” collapsing face down onto the floor, ass up, but he just follows, mounting you in pronebone like a dog in heat, riding your ass with delicious strokes, balls slapping your puffy clit until you’re a dumb, babbling mess.
your tongue lolled out, eyes crossed, sobbing into the carpet as you cream hard around him again, squirting messily.
“shiiit— gonna cum inside you” he groans, voice cracking just a bit, slamming deep one last time before flooding your pussy with hot thick ropes of cum— so much it overflows, leaking out in creamy globs around his still thrusting cock.
but he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop. instead, he flips you onto your back effortlessly on the floor, hooking your legs over his shoulders, eyes dark and focused on your fucked out face as he lines up his cock again.
“i’m not done with you, sweetheart. this greedy little cunt needs more. gonna fuck you till you can’t walk, till you’re sorry for real.”
💭 fucking inside a public bathroom with college!tsukishima
from the moment you stepped into the crowded college party, tsukishima— your tall, snarky boyfriend—had been unusually touchy.
his long fingers grazed your waist constantly, pulling you closer amid the thumping bass and laughter, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, “you look so fucking good in that skirt, i could eat you alive.”
but it escalated when he tugged you onto his lap on the couch, his hand sneaking under your skirt right there in the dim light, fingertips teasing your damp panties, circling your clit slowly. “feel how wet you are already? bet you’ve been thinking about my cock all night” he whispered, voice low and rough, making your thighs clench.
you squirmed, whispering back, “babe, people might see—” but he just hummed, slipping a finger inside you briefly, pumping once before pulling out. “then let’s find somewhere private before i fuck you right here.”
now, shoved into the cramped bathroom, door locked but music still vibrating through the walls, tsukishima has you bent over the sink, skirt hiked up around your waist, panties yanked down to your ankles. his pants are barely undone, just enough to free his cock that is thick, veined, and throbbing as he lines it up with your dripping pussy.
“fuck, look at you in the mirror” he groans, gripping your hips hard, slamming into you raw in one hard thrust.
you cry out, but he clamps a hand over your mouth, leaning over your back. “be quiet or i’ll stop. you don’t want that, do you? not when your greedy cunt’s sucking me in like this.”
he starts pounding relentlessly, hips snapping with hard wet slaps, his dick stretching you wide, bullying your cervix with every deep stroke.
the size difference is obscene— well, he is much more bigger than you. right now he towers over you, one hand bracing the sink as he rails you from behind, your ass jiggling against his pelvis. “you like me fucking you like this? taking my dick in public?” he whispers into your ear, breath ragged, free hand sliding up to shove two fingers into your mouth. “shit, you're so loud.”
you moan around his fingers, drooling messily, eyes rolling back as he lifts one of your legs onto the counter, spreading you wider. the angle’s brutal- his fat tip hammers your g-spot, then deeper, kissing your cervix over and over, making your legs tremble uncontrollably.
cream coats his shaft, frothy and white, dripping down your thighs as you cum on him hard, walls fluttering wildly.
“that’s it.. cum all over me,” he groans, watching in the mirror as your tits bounce under your top, face flushed and dumb with pleasure, your flawless makeup from earlier now all smudge. “fuck, you’re so tight- gonna make me cum inside you.”
he doesn’t let up, pounding into your pussy harder, deeper— reaching around to rub your swollen clit in messy circles, smearing your juices everywhere, while his other hand yanks your hair back so you’re forced to watch yourself get ruined. “look at how good you take it, baby. taking my cock like a champ. so fucking pretty for me”
your mind blanks, fucked dumb, legs shaking so bad he has to hold you up as another orgasm rips through you, squirting slick down his balls.
your pussy clenched tightly around him and then hes cumming with a shaky moan, he buries himself balls deep, pumping hot ropes of cum straight into your womb, his cum overflowing and trickling out around his girth.
he stays plugged in for a moment, kissing your neck sloppily, whispering, “thats a good girl.”
you stumble out of the bathroom minutes later, legs wobbling like jelly, cum sticky between your thighs under your skirt. tsukishima wraps an arm around your waist, smirking down at you like the loving asshole he is.
“where you going?” tsukishima drawls, long fingers curling around your wrist as you try to slip back toward your table.
his voice is low, laced with that smug edge, golden eyes glinting behind his glasses.
you open your mouth to answer, but he tugs you closer, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. “parking lot’s this way,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “let’s go home. i’m not done with you yet.”
summary. married to the king of curses is a feat in itself, yet you find yourself at a standstill with his attendants—clothes strewn across the chambers, snarky smirks and insubordinate glares practically routine. they detest you, and you have no fucking clue why. but, you're sure as hell going to find out.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, slight dub-con, explicit smut, lots of plot with some porn, bloodshed, violence, decapitation, bisection, loss of limbs, ryomen-sukuna-level-gore, use of his stomach mouth and stomach tongue, use of extra mouths, tit sucking, degrading, fingering in ass, fingering in pussy, overstimulation, mean sukuna, happy ending. 8.1k words.
read on ao3 here
Cold.
Cold is what you wake up to. The shoji panel doors pulled wide open like some grand entryway sometime around dawn and a draft spiraling in, sharp and passionless. The biting chill nips at your skin, a wave of goosebumps pebbling over you, leaving your teeth to chatter and shoulders to shiver. You grit your teeth, curling yourself into the woven quilt resting on your shoulders, padding over the tatami mat to shut the door. The iron charcoal brazier has long gone cold, no coals gone replaced or tended to. You do what you must, sifting the coals and allowing the warmth to reach your hands after sometime, bent beside the small contraption.
You know why the door was slid open, and the brazier left neglected. You may be placid, but what you are not is a moron.
Before the sun kissed the horizon, Sukuna’s attendants got him ready for the day like routine. Bringing in a fresh set of clothes to your shared chambers, strips of human flesh awaiting him in the dining area for breakfast. The same before you got here, and after the matrimony. And in these very chambers do they leave a sloppy mess for you to deal with, along with a sideways glance to a brazier they’ll abandon. Clothes strewn across the floor, chests popped open and spilling with silks, partition still propped open.
All for you to deal with. The wife of the King of Curses.
“Impudent, bare-faced aides,” you mutter, expression caving inwards. And oh, do you realize how much you’re starting to sound like your husband.
It was only your first season here, and you’d been made a pushover. Initially, you hadn’t thought too much on it. They’d been contemptuous when you were simply the lowly courtesan that Ryomen Sukuna brought to his shrine to fuck on occasion.
Not a soul in these walls had reckoned that Ryomen Sukuna would ever take on a wife, much less you, so you welcomed the transition with grace.
You’d dressed yourself, bathed yourself, on occasion offering a hand in the kitchen to the faint servants even when your husband sneered at your docility. You had taken their adverseness as unfamiliarity, hoping that with time the tensions would ease up as they’d gotten to know you and slowly come around. But it hadn’t, they hadn’t welcomed you. If anything, the mistreatment only mounted.
And their abuse can only go so far, a woman pushed to her wits end.
Propping your chest open, you dress yourself in your kimono and paint your lips red. A fierce look contrasting the serenity coloring your face than you are used to.
Your husband is out hunting. His mount galloping through the mountains as he crosses either dwellers or game, bringing back whatever he can by mid-afternoon. This winter has been rather harsh, so it isn’t uncommon for him to unleash his blaze across an unsuspecting village and bring home treasures.
That gives you enough time to set things right, and if all else fails, you’ll at least avoid your husbands taunts while he basks in your humiliation. It seems you’ve married a cruel bastard. He’d lounge on his chair and guffaw at the thought of you standing up for yourself and failing.
Additionally, he’s resided with these people long before he’d come to know you, so who knows if he’ll take their side in such an accusation.
No, this is something you want to fix yourself.
—
“I have come to fetch you, My Lady. Is there assistance you require?”
With your posture ramrod straight, you pace the length of the serving room in the east wing of the shrine. Ages ago, it was built for guests, though Sukuna hosts nothing of the sort. It is simply ornamentation now, left to collect dust and wither.
“These zabutons. They have been eaten away by moths,” you express, tone level. “Replace them at once.”
Tsumigi, one of Sukuna’s attendants, dips her head, arms slipped into the sleeves of her kimono. “I see, My Lady. But it seems that Master Sukuna asked to keep this room untouched.”
Your gaze meets hers over your shoulder, lips thinned. You can hear the smirk playing in her tone. “And I am ordering you to find replacements. Do you dare to defy me?”
By now, you would have expected her to give in. Toss aside the harsh theatrics, and obey her lady. But instead, she meets your gaze with a grin.
“If it is to satisfy Master Sukuna, then yes.”
She excuses herself as you seethe, your eye twitching in disdain.
This is going to be harder than you thought. But you musn’t give up. This is as much your home as it is there’s, and you tend to see this through.
—
You arrive in the dining room for breakfast—the scent of steamed rice and dashi stock broth wafting into your nose and blossoming a hunger deep in your gut. For the most part, your breakfasts are uneventful, though they can be rather lonely.
You drum your fingers across the low table you’re seated at on a cushion, taking a sip of your steeped tea and allowing it to diffuse through your frayed nerves.
A new plan. One that will assert your authority over the attendants…
Or, you can gain their favor.
Both routes are rather humiliating. Attempting to mirror your husbands attitudes, or grovel as what he despises. You can picture his mocking of you crystal clear.
The soft taps of your fingers increase, sounding into the mahogany finish, cogs and wheels churning in your mind.
The vapor from your untouched and lively miso soup curls upwards, soft tendrils billowing up before dissipating.
Your gaze thins on a partition across the room, mindlessly studying the decorative flora.
Appeasement or authority.
You turn it over a countless number of times, chalking up half-witted plans, mentally cursing yourself out. It shouldn’t be this hard, seeing as you’d scavenged around half of your life for scraps before joining a brothel once you’d come of age.
Though you find yourself at a standstill with the people who call this place home.
And it is unbelievably infuriating.
Snap!
Suddenly, your chopsticks break in half in your hand, small fractures of splintered wood flinging across the table and littering the clean surface.
You mutter curses as a small girl finds her way to your side, deeply bowing her head and attempting to atone.
“I apologize, My Lady. Is the food not up to your standards?”
You find yourself stilling at her soft tone. Huh. Her sincerity is refreshing.
“Uh, no. It seems I am lacking an appetite this morning, but I can assure you that the food is plenty flavorful every other morning.”
You give her a half hearted smile as she wipes the table with a rag that was tucked into her apron. It seems she is part of the kitchen staff.
A groove hooks between your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, it seems that I do not recognize you. What is your name?” you offer her a tilt of your head, the corners of your lips twitching upwards when she nearly topples over her feet and straightens beside you.
“Furi, My Lady.”
You chuckle, soft, your eyes forming crows feet from how fitting her name is.
振り. A shake. A tremble.
A fall.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Furi. Now, tell me. Why is it that I have yet to come across you? After all, we share these walls,” you express, a genuine yet perplexed smile creasing your cheeks.
She lifts her gaze from the hem of her kimono, reddened ears and hazel eyes locking with yours. “It is a long story, but I am the chef, My Lady.”
Your eyebrows lift in intrigue. “So you say? A girl this young with such a knack for cuisine,” you smirk, lifting a spoon to dip it into the miso soup. You bring it back to your mouth and feel yourself slacken, your tensed up muscles unkinking. A sigh of relief puffs from your lips, lashes nearly dusting shut.
“You are too kind, My Lady.”
There is a beat of silence where she retreats to her previous spot, off in the corner. She makes herself undetectable, like how you didn’t notice her while your breakfast was served. The new sets of chopsticks find their way to your hands, before you begin working away at your steamed rice.
“If I may,” Furi starts again, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder see her. “Is everything alright, My Lady?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” you lie through a bite, globs of chewed rice sliding down your throat.
She hesitates, swaying where she stands. “The last thing I would want to do is overstep and upset you… but you seem quite… untuned as of late. Are you sure nothing is out of the sort?”
This young girl is quite attentive, though the intention of her actions escape you. Does she really seek to console you? Are you questioning her sincerity as it’s been so long since you felt something of that likeness?
You place your chopsticks down, turning to face her. You’ve met young girls like her during your time at the brothel—innocent yet capturing a word of compassion. Naturally, you would beckon her to come sit beside you, however you do not want to offend not scare her. So you speak to her from where you sit.
“How long have you been living her, Furi?”
“Just over two years now, My Lady.”
You nod, inwardly noting this information. She’s been here quite some time, and you’re wondering if she’s pissed someone off for being secluded to the kitchen but out of your sight.
“And what can you tell me of this shrine?”
She sways again, her feet doing a sort of dance beneath the flounce of her skirt. She’s nervous.
“There is no one here to punish you. You may speak freely,” you offer, eyeing as she smooths out the creases of outfit.
She is still reluctant, so you hope the silence will prompt her to speak. Swiftly, it does.
“Though I am confined to the kitchen, I am not without notice,” she begins, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact while she twists her hands between each other. “I see the way the attendants treat you.”
Her directness makes you falter, your mouth parting to say something but words fail you. What exactly are you supposed to say? Defend your tormentors? Complain about their aggression?
“I see,” you resort to acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek. “For a moment, I believed it was all in my head.” The chuckle that leaves you is dry, coating the inside of your throat like raw honey. Thick, uncomfortable.
“I apologize for it. On their behalf, you have done nothing to deserve such treatment,” she hastens her words, eyes widening as she watches you carefully. “However, a bit of context might prove beneficial.”
Context?
You cock your head to the side at her cryptic words, watching as she takes a tentative step forward.
“Well, then. Do tell,” you say, clearing your throat ad adjusting your posture. “It seems I am always outside of some long running, cruel joke.”
Furi glances past her shoulder, eyes squinting when she sees a shadow pass the parchment of the sliding doors. “Not here. Not now. I will tell you everything I know in due time,” she affirms, biting the inside of her cheek.
There are far too many attendants lurking nearby, and not enough time as the allotted duration for breakfast is already coming to an end.
“Very well. I hope to speak to you soon,” you reckon, returning to your cold rice and stale tea.
Furi bows and dismisses herself, and another attendant steps into the room to replace her.
It is Tsumigi yet again, a frequent contender to your misery. Her cheeks are flushed as if she’d been outside in the relentless cold tending to something, the hem of her skirt riding up and tucked into her sock awkwardly.
Bowing, she greets you and offers to clean the table, a snarl playing at her face. Most likely, the attendants are aware of your humiliation that unfolded in the serving room just an hour ago.
Gathering your bearings, you get to your feet, smothering a huff, and step past Tsumigi.
Wordlessly, you dismiss yourself before you offer her any more gossip for tea time.
—
The next few days, you find yourself in a bleak routine. Each morning grows colder, Sukuna’s place beside you empty every morning as he tends to foreign affairs. Scorching villages or plaguing the capital. Doing whatever he does to satisfy his insatiable hungers as the lands grow fallow.
It doesn’t help that you have to tend to the brazier on your own through the night as winter harshens, but you’ve endured worse.
Furi doesn’t serves you breakfast personally, that day she spoke to you serving as a fluke. The attendants seemed to be understaffed and placed the catering on the chef. But it comes to your attention that Tsumigi was busy with her stableboy that clarifying morning, the whispers of gossip curling through the shrine walls easier to pick up on as you attempt to make yourself as imperceptible as Furi.
Tsumigi is making a ridicule of you, and for why? You cannot come to fathom. The two of you barely exchange words aside from repulsing pleasantries.
It is late one night when Sukuna is bathing after coming home soaked in sweat and caked in dirt when you linger towards the kitchen.
You discover Furi hunched over a large pot, dipping her finger in to taste a broth that makes your stomach growl despite having dinner a mere few hours before.
“It smells wonderful,” you offer, tugging your obi loosely over your yukata after quickly throwing it on.
She nearly jumps out of her skin, setting her ladle down and bowing her head. “M-My Lady… I wasn’t expecting you at this hour,” she mutters, folding her hands into her kimono.
You close the proximity, leaning over to get a whiff of tomorrow’s lunch. “It seems you weren’t expecting me at all,” you press, lifting an eyebrow giving her a slow appraisal. “Is something of the matter? I have been waiting to speak with you.”
It wouldn’t be far-fetched for this young girl to avoid you after telling you such secrets, regretting every letting you in or offering clarification.
Furi cringes, her brunette bangs falling over her forehead. “I believe that one of the attendants might have been privy to our conversation.”
Your careless grin drops. “Is that so?”
She nods, again with her swaying.
You sigh, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Are you safe? Have the attendants been mistreating you in anyway?”
Weakly, she shrugs. “Not any more than they already have.”
You deflate at her words. Her situation doesn’t seem much better than yours, except she doesn’t have a title to protect her. You endure passivity, while she very well may endure aggression. “I sincerely apologize, Furi. It was not my intention to get you tangled up in my troubles, but it seems that we have a lot to discuss.”
The attendants, besides the ones tending to Sukuna in the bath, have retired to their quarters, leaving the kitchen open for the two of you. Nabbing a stool, you rest beside her while she makes you a cup of tea and tends to her broth.
“There was a woman before you,” she starts, a look painting her face as if she wants to bite her tone off, “just three change of the seasons ago. With bushy eyebrows and hair as long as a yōkai and believed her nudity to be a pastime.”
An ache blooms behind your ribs, but you bite it down. It’d be foolish to think that you were Sukuna’s first anything, seeing as your occupation before this marriage had been as a courtesan.
Still, it hurts.
You smother a sigh but it escapes you.
A pang to dwell upon for another time.
You nod for her to continue.
“She was incredibly beautiful, a sorcerer just the same. A daughter of the Fugiwara clan with a technique to their standard. But…” she cocks her head to the side, as if reliving her memories in real time. “Master Sukuna spared no interest in her. He simply tolerated her. Her slaughter meant a headache in the capital that he had no patience to deal with.”
The broth simmers on a low kindled heat, the sound of ash sparking and wood shifting.
“She was wildly obsessed with Master Sukuna, clinging to his side and attempting to seduce him at every corner. He pried off her pawing hands when they grew too grabby, and, unsuccessfully, I tried to warn her. Her attitudes were dangerous, and she believed she formed a friendship with me when I wanted to avoid the spilling of blood across these tatami mats.”
Ah. Benevolence had been her fall from grace.
“The attendants here had quickly grown tired of her, irritated that her mood swings affected the Master’s, which in turn made their livelihoods all the more difficult.”
You drop your head, a sigh wound of stress tricking from your lips. “And they took their grievances out on you…”
Furi nods carefully, tending to the flickering flames beneath the pot.
“… and what they’re doing now is all the same. I am just another disposable woman they’ve come to reject.”
She doesn’t confirm your words, but her silence says enough. “There is more, My Lady.”
You find yourself tapping your bare foot against the cold flooring.
“One morning, she had challenged him to a fight, expressing her undying love and desire to be the individual to take his last breath.”
Her words, thick with distress, slam into you.
It is very clear how the result of the fight came out, seeing as Sukuna still breathes and she is nowhere to be found.
Your blood roars in your ears, your foot now at a bouncing cadence on the floor. You drown out her next words, but catch bits and pieces of it. It seems that following the slaughter of his past admirer, the capital had unleashed an outcry. Sukuna had no interest in hazing the capital as it brought him a plethora of benefits, but it was inevitable. The result of the achingly long war had been catastrophic—hundreds and thousands of men slaughtered by his hand before he stalked into the capital with the head of their general. The shrine itself reaped the consequences, attendants beheaded for a single misstep and food running scarce as hunting had been replaced with frequent battles.
It is a possibility that a battle near the capital had been when he’d first spotted you in your pleasure house.
“Furi, I must thank you,” you confess, running your fingers through your hair and getting to your feet. Move, you need to move. “There is plenty that I must do now, so I will dismiss myself. But make it known, I will not let this insubordination and blustery ravage on.”
You lean forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Your heart clenches at the thought of this young girl enduring such harassment without a single shoulder to lean on.
“Leave it to me. I shall mend the divide that splinters the shrine.”
Furi’s tense expression melts away into something of relief, and you want to commit this image to memory to ensure you see this through.
“However, before I go, I have one last thing to ask of you.”
“Anything, My Lady.”
You release a strained breath.
“The name of this woman. What was it?”
—
You leave Furi in the kitchen, your bare feet slapping against the narrow corridors. The sconces adorning the walls flicker, flames licking at each other and casting your shadow long and obtuse across the ground.
Once you realize you’ve reached your husbands chambers, you realize how much time has passed between dinner and the present.
He will be curious as to where you’d gone off to. Often times, he grows restless in your absence.
You sigh. In all of the time you’d known Sukuna, he’d been vexingly talented at reading you and picking up on your mannerisms. You only pray that he is exhausted from his eventful day to spend his time analyzing you.
Though it seems you are woefully ignorant of just how energetic your husband tends to be, the sight you open his chambers to jarring.
He’s in nothing but his pale sirwal, his lower pair of arms crossed behind his back while he presses himself to the floor, and back up. His upper pair of arms flex, palms splayed on the ground, hands massive enough to curl around your throat and then some.
Push-ups.
Realistically, there has to be a way to maintain such a massive physique, so it isn’t outlandish that he works out. But still, you find yourself caught off guard. Innocent as ever, but heat still manages to fist low in your loins. Your gaze trails the length of his corded forearms, veins bulging across his biceps, deltoids rippling through effort.
Not the first instance to cross your mind, but you’d find immense pleasure in biting his arms.
You are well aware that he has sensed your presence ever since you found yourself in the kitchen up until you were standing outside his chamber doors, so he doesn’t flinch when you gawk at him from just a few feet away.
“Where did you run off to?” he presses through a grunt, lowering himself where his chin nearly brushes the straw mat.
Straight to the point.
“I was hungry, there were some fruits left in the kitchen,” you lie, steeling your nerves and praying you don’t betray yourself.
He continues his repetition, though he finally slides his attention upwards towards you. Deep pools of blood red assess you, his brow line furrowing in thought. “We had dinner merely an hour ago. Do not tell me you are with child and stuffing yourself for two.”
You splutter, shaking your hands, a nervous chuckle leaving you. “N-no, My Lord. Nothing of the sort.”
He finishes his workout, before standing to his feet and rolling his shoulders back, looking everything but convinced. “That title from your lips disgusts me and you know it. Do not address me as such again,” he mutters in mild irritation, padding over to the door and peeling his socks off.
You deflate, wanting to slap yourself for how easily you squirm under his scrutinizing attention. But, you cannot tell Sukuna of your current situation. There are a number of ways it could go once it is in his orbit, and you want to avoid majority of them.
Untying your obi, you toss it on the top of your chest before making your way towards the bed when a pair of heavy arms snake around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
“It seems that my efforts have gone to waste,” Sukuna mutters, the lower pair of his hands settling on your waist while the others work their way towards your breasts. Melting, you toss your head back against his torso, lashes dusting shut. He leans forward, sniffing the plush of your cheeks, of your lips. He has a thing for your scent, an admission you were privy to when he had you squirming beneath him. “This womb isn’t swollen with my heir.”
Weakly, you giggle through the butterflies, scrunching your nose. “We have yet to discuss such matters,” you deflect, reaching a hand up to grab a fistful of his silky, salmon-colored hair. “Take this up with me another time.”
Sukuna cocks his head thoughtfully, then spins you around and tosses you over his shoulder with terrifying ease. “Foolish woman. You think I do not see how you gawk at the stable hands son, how you beam with such idiocy at the thought of carrying your own?” He lands a harsh slap against your ass, punching a squeal out of your throat, before tossing you onto the bed.
“Speaking in circles. Tch. We might as well practice tonight,” he prompts, fingers curling around the waistband of his sirwal before dropping it, leaving only his loincloth.
Two heavy cocks straining against the too-small fabric. Two cocks you’ve felt slipping down your tongue, dragging inside your cunt, stretching your ass—.
You shake away the dizzy feeling mounting you, all splayed out with your parted yukata, your bare form his to feast his gaze upon. And he does so unabashedly, canines clicking as four crimson slits rest heavy on your lips, your breasts, dancing down your navel, to your spread legs pooling with arousal.
You wonder if he’s looked at her this way.
Inwardly, you cringe. You shouldn’t be thinking of her when you’re about to be taken by him.
The mouth rending his stomach grins with earnest, drool coating its lips in a sheer shine. The tongue hangs out limply, desperate for a taste of your sex.
“Come,” he mutters, two arms folded across his chest with the other two propped at his hips. His voice, impossibly deep and raspy, sends heat prickling over your skin, coupled with a flush that suits you.
You crawl to him, slowly and allowing your hips to sway freely beneath your yukata, not once tearing your gaze from his hardened stare. His pectoral muscles shift, a muscle in his jaw pulsing like he’s holding back from pouncing at you.
You come to a slow before him, lifting off of your haunches and kneeling. Your eyeline barely meets his chest, allowing you to bask in the immense size difference between the both of you.
Sukuna chuckles low, running his tattooed tongue over his teeth. “You have always been a bad liar.”
You feel your heart dip behind your ribs.
“Excuse me?”
His lower pair of hands come down to grab your wrists, holding them up beside your head. He leans forward, face mere inches from yours, his warm and iron-laced breath fanning over your lips. “Your breath smells the same as it did during dinner. I didn’t take my wife for a cheat,” he grunts, upper lip peeling back in disgust to bare his teeth. It’s true, there are no remnants of citrus or sweetness hanging from your lips. “Now tell me. What affairs were you tending to between dinner and now?”
Unbearably, your pulse quickens.
You twist in his grip, but his fingers only tighten, nearly bruising your skin. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grit out.
The seams of his mouth curl upwards, before he’s closing the distance between his cheek and yours, rubbing them against each other. His facial crest, the texture like roughened and cracked tree bark, digs into your flesh and you bite back a curse. “My wife, stubborn and obstinate as always,” he grumbles into your ear before catching your lobe with his teeth. You hiss, casting a cheek away from his cruelty, before one of his hands fly towards your chin and connects your lips.
Betraying yourself, you hum into the kiss, your spine arching backwards as he folds you impossibly. His tongue, heavy and slick, presses down on your own and strokes it reverently. Hands—everywhere—begin to tug your yukata off and discard it, before something wet laps at your pebbled nipples.
You pull away, sliding your gaze down to your wet areola, Sukuna’s stomach mouth desperate for a taste of you. You peer back up to your husband, something perverse and frantic coiling between your silky folds. “W-we’ve never…”
Never used the stomach mouth in bed, is what you were going to say. Though you won’t lie and say you haven’t thought of it.
Sukuna’s nostrils flare, lower pair of eyes focused on your saliva-slick lips while the upper pair glower at you, releasing the unrelenting grip from your wrists. “Afraid? The brat wants to take it slow and easy, huh?” he taunts, head cocked to an angle.
You scoff, arms falling by your side. “Nothing of the sort.” Your coital acts through the last couple of seasons have been raw, and debauched—Sukuna lapping the blood of his freshest kill from your navel before devouring your sex, to taking you with both cocks, your obscene noises loud enough for the entire shrine to bear witness to.
So, no. Slow and easy wouldn’t make much sense seeing how he handles you with those four hands of his.
“Then quiet that fucking mouth of yours,” he scowls, before he’s on you again.
Teeth crashing, saliva swapping, noses bumping.
Hungry. So fucking hungry.
And angry. What Sukuna does not tolerate, especially from his betrothed, is deceit.
The tongue mouth laps at your tits, occasionally tweaking an erect bud between it’s teeth and tugging just to earn a whimper from you, your maw parting open for Sukuna to gag you on his tongue. Writhing and squirming in his grasp, you attempt to tamp down the pleasure darting down your spine, nearly leaking your essence onto the sheets, but it is inevitable. You surrender to his touch like a sinner seeking repentance.
Two hands cradle your face while the other two knead the flesh of your ass like dough, squeezing and groping. His stomach tongue slathers spit across your chest, and you mewl through the sensitivity, hips rocking and thighs rubbing together for friction.
“That desperate, huh?” your husband mutters against your lips, and in your urgency, you nod quickly. The two hands cradling your head shift—one to grip the back of your neck and face your gaze upwards to meet his, and the other drags down between the valley of your breasts, down your navel, until he’s sliding the meaty digit across your swollen clit.
You jolt at the contact, but much movement isn’t possible as he keeps you place at the nape and the waist.
“Is this amusing?” he quizzes, unfurling to his full height and staring at your nude form down the bridge of his crooked nose. “Running circles around your husband like some charlatan.”
Cruel bastard.
“I-I am not—.”
“I can feel your pulse jumping under my thumb,” he snaps, leaning into your face with a snarl. “Have these walls kept you bored in my absence?”
You frown, a muscle in your jaw ticking. “Something like that.”
He clicks his tongue at your vague reply, clearly unimpressed. “Tch. Still as cryptic as ever.”
Quickly, his open palm slaps sharply against your clit, before two fingers push past the ring of resistance in your cunt and stretch you open. A mouth forms on his palm, a drooling mess, lapping at your hood and prying apart your silky folds.
“Looks like I’ll just have to coax it out of you.”
As if the brazier has been finally warmed, coals tended to and sifted, the heat in the room mounts as he splits you on his hand. Calloused digits from decades of labor and torment drag down your gummy walls, all while the open maw on his palm collects your juices and nibbles at your clit.
He doesn’t stop open-mouth kissing you. He barely allows you to come up for air, tamping down your noises with his mouth. Your breasts are aching and wet, the nubs perky and sensitive from the continuous stimulation.
His towering form pushes you down onto the sheets, slotting his massive body between your legs. The stretch is painful, but you curl your legs around his waist and dig your ankles into the divots on the small of his back.
“You’re a pretty little thing, bird,” he mutters against your lips, his wrist picking up a brutal cadence as his fingers reach places that make you whine and tense. “It’s a shame you’re a fool.”
His words carry a heat behind them, adamant on undoing you to figure out what you're keeping from him. He knows you may be anserine, but you're not an utter idiot, so the sin you’d committed and are keeping from him cannot be too great.
Still, he will have his fun breaking you.
It’d been a bit of time since he’d had his hands on you—sorely exhausted from the long days and even longer nights, reserved to his chambers once he returns from the bathing house over the last couple of weeks—so the stimulation has you huffing and puffing. Clit woefully sensitive, mounds on your chest sore, and a heat fisted low in your gut that only Sukuna has managed to unspool compared to the men you’ve been with back at the brothel. Pathetically, you claw at his chest, pushing to slow his brutal pace, scissoring motions inside your cunt and stretching your walls wide. After all, you’ll need to accommodate his girth in time.
“Oi. Paws off,” he complains disgruntled, lower pair of eyes widening. One hand finds both of yours, pinning them down above your head while he laughs sardonically.
And oh, how he enjoys such a debauched sight. Your bare form, flushed and wet and squirming beneath him while he taunts you. Whittles you down to some hapless mutt.
He works you through your first orgasm, finger pads repeatedly swiping over that tender spot and feeling the plush muscle jump. A strangled moan is punched out of you, legs trembling over his thighs and stomach caving inwards. Your cunt squeezes his two digits like a snare, sucking him in as you buck your hips into his palm.
But the King of Curses does not stop there, no. Giving your cunt a few slaps, he works his two fingers back in while his other hand finds your puckering hole. You freeze up, muscles spasming as you lock eyes with him, slick finger coated in your arousal rubbing over the entrance.
“B-both?”
“The idiocy of you,” he scoffs, one of his upper hands gripping your cheeks to squish them together. You pout, lower lip jutting out, before you feel the burning stretch. A finger, pushing into your ass. “I’ve no patience for stupid questions.”
He peers down, a glob of spit trickling from his lips pelting your cunt. It sloshes with your juices, before you feel the slick wetness cascade down to your asshole.
“M-my god!” you squeal, back arching up off of the mattress, now being speared from both holes. The curl and flex of his fingers as he finds all those sensitive spots is hypnotizing, drool leaking from the seam of your lips, eyes rolling back into your skull until all you see is black.
“Not my name,” he sneers, pressing another inch deeper while you wriggle.
Another orgasm. And another. And another.
You’ve made a wet, sloppy mess across his sheets, completely unaware of how many blissful peaks he’s worked you over and through, each more mind-numbing than the last. Your ears ring dully, eyes glossing over with a thing gossamer of wet luster. When you meet his pumps, he praises you, kissing the bevel of your jaw. When you sob and squirm against him, he clicks his tongue and gazes at you with blown pupils and a look of pity.
Your form is perspired, covered in a thick coat of sweat and cum, nearly breathless as you huff and puff. Nothing coherent leaves your lips, arousal stuffing the ridges of your brain like cotton.
Fucked dumb by his fingers.
“N-no more, ‘Kuna,” you mumble out, your holes aching and still stretched open. How he has not cramped in his fingers is beyond you.
The raspy chuckle from your husband is enough evidence that he’s nearly at his wits end—hefty cocks hard against the fabric of his loincloth, brushing against the inside of your quivering thigh. But one thing about Ryomen Sukuna is that he will never yield first, even if it’s dragging him up a wall. “The dove is spent, hm?” he cooes, the side of his lip curling upwards. “I can stop anytime. Just tell me the truth and I can release you from this exertion.”
You muffle a whine into his pillow, wrists aching from where he keeps them pinned above your head. “It is n-nothing, Sukuna.”
His eye twitches, before his wrists starts to pick up a speed and you squeal. “Okay, okay! …I visited the c-chef in the kitchen.”
His eyebrows dart inwards. “The scrawny girl? What for?”
“Release me first.” you mumble, Sukuna’s fingers nearly brushing against your womb.
Your scowl has mirth swirling in those thinned crimson irises. “Do not think that you are in the position to make demands.”
A beat passes before you puff air from your nose. The sooner you tell him, the sooner he’ll release you and you can figure out a plan for Tsumigi and the other attendants. “Fine. Why didn’t you tell me about Yorozu?”
His smile falters for a moment, nearly imperceptible, before he releases your hold and peels away from you. Fingers slip from your holes and you collapse in exhaustion, keeping your eyes trained on your husbands rolling shoulders. He’s silent for a few moments, while he finds his discarded kimono and slides his arms through them. “It is insignificant. Besides you.” He waves a dismissive hand, bare feet padding over to a chest propped open.
That does nothing to soothe the ache unfurling around your heart and squeezing the organ. “If it is so “besides me,” then I do not understand why I had to be kept in the dark.”
He chuckles, searching for his pipe. Two of his fingers rub together, kindling a flame he uses to smoke the pipe. “Former lovers are trivial. You are my wife while she was just some,” he inhales, smoke billowing in his lungs. “Whore I kept around for my affairs.”
“She was in love with you and you murdered her. This wasn’t some fucking concubine.”
He stirs, folding his lower pair of arms over his chest. The silence has you feeling filthy, the cum between your lungs a sticky mess.
Sukuna pads over to the low table, a bowl of nuts awaiting him. He sits down, legs folded beneath him, mildly entertained while he stares bleakly at you. He pops a nut into his mouth, then smokes his pipe. Casual, insouciant.
You attempt to smother a groan but it escapes you, lifting from the bed to get dressed. You slip your yukata on, then tie your obi across your waist. “If nothing but silence is what you offer me, then I shall retire to my chambers.”
The silence is deafening while you adorn yourself.
“Name.” Sukuna suddenly grumbles from the dark corner, moonlight filtering through the drapes distorting him in the shadows. He looks menacing, like the beast he is.
“What?” you blurt out, fixing your hair and attempting to look semi-normal before you enter the halls. Who knows what’s waiting out there, if your disheveled image will be even more fuel to gossip?
“I want a fucking name. Who told you of Yorozu? Was it that chef girl?”
You roll your eyes, before you parrot his words right back to him with a pinched smirk over your shoulder. “It is insignificant. Besides you.”
You don’t know how, but in the blink of an eye, Sukuna closes the proximity between the two of you. One hand curls around your throat before he’s pushing you against a wall, his face contorting in utter disdain and disgust. He regards you like a slab of meat to be devoured come morning.
“What I tell you, and what I keep from you is up to my discretion. Mine,” he snarls, fingers tightening around your throat. Not choking, just firm. Keeping you in place. “What I won’t tolerate are attendants that poke and prod into my history then blab to my wife. Now…” the corner of his lip twitches upwards, as if he is enjoying this. “Name.”
Your husband is a sadist.
You hold his gaze, inexorable, unwilling to yield to his cruelty. “She told me you didn’t love her.”
“She’s got something right,” Sukuna jeers, another hand coming to tilt your chin up. Yet, something in his gaze almost… softens. The sharp edges of his russet eyes melting away, curled and mocking smirk sliding into something else. “The only time I’d felt anything for her was when I’d slashed her in the chest, and then ate her for dinner.”
You freeze, feeling your heart cinch.
“And what reason do I have to lie?” he adds on, head tilting when his lower pair of eyes slide down to your lips, then to the door. “There is a shrine I have to look after. Her presence threatened it.”
Your fingers twitch at your side, not quite sure what to do with his seemingly genuine confession.
He clears his throat, returning his gaze to you. Now, he regards you like something delicate. “If she had meant anything to me, wouldn’t you think she’d still be with us, bird?”
Ryomen Sukuna truly has no reason to lie to you.
He can bed anyone he wants. Yet, instead of keeping you as some concubine, he chose to seal this relationship with matrimony. With titles. With an unspoken promise.
He chose to be with you.
You don’t address the suffocating tension between the two of you. You heart slamming against your ribcage and a lump nestling into your throat, dropping your gaze. “Furi, the chef. She is not at fault, Ryomen.”
Your husband eyes you, waiting for you to continue.
Coughing the lump in your throat away, you fidget with your kimono, chin still held up. “The attendants have been… undutiful,” you settle on that word, not quite sure how to tread upon the unfamiliar territory.
You wait for his reaction, but he just continues to watch you. Like a predator studying its prey.
“Clothing left a mess, glares across the halls, insubordination,” you emphasize the last word in disdain. “I have been left to deal with their ostracization in your absence, Sukuna. Furi only told me why they may feel this disdain towards me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“She’s been the only friend I have.”
Sukuna’s grip loosens on your chin and throat, his expression settling into something you’ve seen when his advisors approach him. Before he mounts his horse and heads into battle.
Something hungry for war, for a need to unleash his fiery wrath.
“I need names. Or shall I just turn this fucking shrine upside down and start anew?” he chuckles maniacally in sheer rage, padding towards the door.
Fuck.
Leaping forward, you grab his wrist and halt him, eyes staring up at him and practically pleading. “Sukuna! Wait, before you do something rash—.”
“When they insult you, they insult me,” he growls, shoulders rippling with effort and you know that all he sees is red.
It seems you misjudged him. Ryomen Sukuna would go to the ends of the earths for you. To hell and back.
“Sukuna, just— give me a moment,” you emphasize, nearly begging him back inside the chambers. Fire radiates off of him in shudders, like he’s prepared to set this shrine ablaze for you.
Scorned, he stares at you for a few moments before stepping back inside, arms folded over his chest. “So this is what you were so fucking adamant on keeping from me? What, was your pride threatened?” It almost seems laughable to him, you of all people worried about humiliation.
You married a beast at the end of the day.
Dejectedly, you sigh, orbs darting between Sukuna’s left and right ones. “I… I didn’t think,” you nibble on your lip. “I was worried you would take their side.”
Ryomen Sukuna practically gawks at you now, before a huff of humored air jumps from his chest. “What?”
You toss your head back, running your hands through your hair. “Tsumigi, she’s one of your oldest servants. How am I supposed to complain to you about her when I’ve barely been here half the year?”
Another laugh tumbles from him. “You must be the asinine person I’ve come across.”
“Enough of the jokes, Sukuna, I—.”
You freeze.
Sukuna’s lips are on yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His tongue swiping against your lower lip and tugging on the plump skin.
Not soft, but rough. Possessive.
You don’t know how long it takes for him to pull back. Slightly breathless, pupils that were pinpricks a moment ago now saucer wide.
“You. I chose you, brat,” he huffs, large palms splayed on the side of your head and digging into your scalp. “That Tsuragi servant means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Tsumigi,” you correct, but he ignores you.
“When I had decided that marriage was the best option for this… relationship, I was also ready to call this place your home. And being the wife of the King of Curses…” he snarls, hooking a thumb into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. You can’t bite down the whimper that resonates from you. “… means your word matters just as much as mine here.”
Despite yourself, your lip trembles, warmth unfurling over your skin.
Hearing the rare affection in his words makes you wonder why you ever doubted him in the first place.
He tugs his thumb out from between your lips, swiping your cheek, head cocked to the side while his four eyes appraise you in the moonlight.
“This… I must mend myself, Sukuna,” you whisper, form leaning in towards him, into his heat.
He chuckles, all raspy and taunting. “It is not yours to fix, you foolish bird. A disobedient, mouthy whore is not someone I will allow to reside within the shrine walls.” A beat. “Unless it’s you.”
You giggle, a hand coming down to smack his chest, but he catches it with a sly grin. “No, really. I have to make an impression on them. Make them remember who they respond to.”
His four eyes search for dubiety, before he retires. “My, my. It seems that my influence here is rubbing off on you,” he points out, a hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.
You feel his two hardened cocks, needy and begging for your attention, press into your abdomen.
He leans down, his coppery and nutty breath fanning over the crown of your ear.
“And I must say… jealousy does not suit you, sweetheart.”
—
The days that follow, you keep your head held up high.
Sukuna returns to his daily retreats, but ensures that he will cleave whoever missteps dare you speak up. If he hears of it, whether or not you like it, he’ll be feasting on an attendant for dinner.
But you, you find your cadence.
You accompany Furi in the mornings, legs dangling off of a large stool while she chats your ear off, broth and meat lilting in the air, all tantalizing. She’s been promoted to head of the kitchen, meaning all servants must answer to her.
Most do not reject it, heads bowed in genuine reverence and tones amicable.
Tsumigi has been demoted from kitchen staff to the stables—where her stable hand lover can see her scooping up horse excrement's. It isn’t long that you here that he has moved returned to his wife at home, and she has grown cold and bitter.
It isn’t perfect, but your actions against Tsumigi have other attendants treating you kinder. In turn, they learn what kind of person you are.
Cordial, organized, timely.
A friend to most.
You simply have to wait for everyone to fall into step.
Sukuna grows irritated easier than before, more and more missteps he’d scowl at resulting in a severed limb he could gnaw on.
You do what you can to placate him, but he’s kept an ear open for who has mistreated you. The so-called gossip he rejects keeps him well-informed as to who he needs to split open.
And not long after, you come back from the forest to find Tsumigi’s decapitated head held up by your husband like some trophy.
A ghastly sight.
Your husband— the cruel, detestable bastard.
One that would kill and haze the entire world for you.
One that ensures your safety, and your comfort in the place you can now safely call home.
He may not be a picture perfect companion seeing as he refers to himself as a king and finds pleasure in your soreness, but one thing he won’t allow is some measly human being to cross you.
Free food, a fresh kill, and a happy wife he gets to come home to at night.
a/n: hello hello! i have been working on this for a bit now and i hadn't expected it to become so plot heavy, though i do not regret it <3 these two are stuck in my head. i do have some of sukuna and reader's origin story in my draft and i would love to know if you guys want more of them :] comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading.
genre/tags: smut, age gap (implied), obsession, power imbalance, dubcon themes, masturbation, degradation, breeding kink, toxic behavior, voyeurism, possessive dom!toji
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who always finds a reason to come over when he knows your dad isn’t home. says it’s to “grab a few beers he left behind,” but he spends way too long leaning in your doorway, eyeing your legs, licking his lips like he hasn’t eaten in days.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who asks if you have a boyfriend just to get pissed off when you say yes. says shit like “bet he doesn’t fuck you right. bet he cums before you even get your panties off.” and you pretend not to squirm even though your thighs clench.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who steals your dirty panties from the bathroom hamper when no one’s looking. jerks off into them in the guest room with the door barely cracked open— just in case you walk past and catch him moaning your name.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who stares too long when you walk around the house in your tiny pajama shorts. makes comments under his breath like “jesus fuck, that’s not how you should be dressed around me, sweetheart” while never once looking away.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who offers to drive you to campus but lets his hand rest a little too close to your thigh the whole ride. tells you to keep your legs shut in that short little skirt unless you “wanna get eaten out in traffic.”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who says he “accidentally” walked in on you in the shower but doesn’t leave. just leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and eyes roaming slowly down your dripping body.
“you grown up way too fast, huh, princess?”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who makes you sit on his lap at family BBQs and parties, claiming there’s “no more chairs,” but presses his bulge against your ass the entire time and murmurs filthy shit in your ear while your dad’s a mere ten feet away.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who texts you late at night with half-drunk messages like “you up?” and “can’t stop thinkin’ about that pretty mouth of yours.” you don’t reply, but you do check them over and over.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who cums to the thought of you calling him daddy even though he’s known your real one for over 20 years. the first time he fucks you, he presses his palm square over your mouth and threatens to stop unless you say it.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who saves every picture you’ve ever posted on instagram and zooms in on your chest, your thighs, your lips. jerks off in the garage after dinner with your family while looking at them again and again.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who lets you catch him jerking off in the bathroom “by mistake.” leaves the door open just enough so you see his fist around his cock, hear your name in his groans, and catch the way he smirks when your footsteps freeze.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who calls you “his little secret” the first time you let him bend you over your childhood bed. makes you promise not to tell— then takes a picture of you dripping on his dick while you whimper his name.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who loves fucking you with your dad passed out downstairs. covers your mouth with his big hand while he pounds into you and whispers, “don’t make a sound, baby. don’t wanna get caught, do you?”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who buys you things he knows your dad wouldn’t approve of— skimpy little dresses, thigh-high stockings, vibrators. says it’s his way of “spoiling his girl.” makes you model each gift before he ruins you in them.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who takes secret videos of you sleeping in just a tank top and panties when he stays over. jerks off to them in his car the next morning with the AC blasting and his belt still unbuckled.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who makes you sit on his face after a heated argument just to “shut you up.” keeps eating even after you cum, keeps going until you’re sobbing and begging him to stop because “you’re so fuckin sweet like this, baby, how could i?”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who jokes about knocking you up way more seriously than he should. presses his hand low on your tummy and mutters, “you’d look so good carrying my kid. your daddy would have a heart attack.”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who won’t fuck you without creaming inside. says condoms are for little boys and he’s not one.
“you let that kid pull out, don’t you? pathetic. bet your pussy don’t even know what it’s like to be full for hours.”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who makes you ride him with his phone recording so he can watch it later. calls it “home movies.” tells you to smile and wave at the camera while you bounce on his cock, drool spilling down your chin.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who fucks you in the kitchen with your dad’s beer in his hand. slaps your ass with the bottle, makes you moan around two fingers, and doesn’t stop until your knees give out.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who likes it when you cry. especially when it’s from too many orgasms. coos at you, “what’s wrong, baby? too much? too bad. daddy’s best friend didn’t get to finish yet.”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who refuses to let you date anyone. threatens to break your little boyfriend’s jaw. “you think some punk-ass college kid can take care of you? pay for your stuff? make you cum?”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who takes you to a motel two towns over, books a room under a fake name, and keeps you there all night. has you cockdrunk and shaking with no panties left intact by the time the sun rises.
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who grabs your cheeks with his calloused hand and makes you keep eye contact while he fucks your throat. “good fuckin girl. gonna swallow it all, yeah? know how to behave even if you’re a little brat sometimes.”
sleazy dad’s bsf!toji who watches you through the crack of your bedroom door, pumping his cock to the sound of your vibrator. ends up barging in and growling, “this what you use when i’m not here? disgusting. let me show you how it’s done.”
mdni | rough sex | overstimulation | begging kink | crying kink | slight praise kink | possessive tone | primal play (light) | restraint (wrist pinning) | slight degradation | semi-consensual vibes (pushed past limits) | tears | dirty talk | power dynamics | sub reader | dom male
Your body is already a mess—shaking, slick, every nerve screaming—when his hand presses flat against your stomach, forcing you down into the sheets.
“Don’t run from me,” he orders, voice dark, breath hot against your ear. His tone makes your spine arch helplessly, even though every part of you is crying out for relief.
“I—I can’t,” you gasp, tears slipping down your temple. “Please, I can’t—”
“You can,” he cuts in, rough and merciless. His grip on your wrists tightens until you whimper. “And you will. You’ll take every damn second of this.”
Your thighs quake, trying to clamp shut, but he pries them open, pushing you to the edge again and again. Each stroke, each press, sets fire to your already-overworked body. The aftershocks haven’t even died down before he’s pulling another one out of you, dragging you up the cliff with ruthless precision.
You sob, arch, twist, but his weight keeps you trapped. “Stop—please, I can’t—oh my god—” Your voice breaks into high, jagged cries, but he only laughs low, cruel.
“You hear yourself? You’re beautiful when you beg,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. Then, sharper, commanding: “Count them.”
Your mind stutters. “W-what?”
“Count. Every. One,” he growls, thrusting harder, faster, until you’re keening. “I want to hear you choke on the number while you fall apart.”
You try, you really do, but your voice splinters, numbers slurring into sobs as another orgasm rips through you. “Three—f-four—” you cry, your body convulsing so violently your legs shake against the bed.
“That’s it,” he praises, though his tone is anything but gentle. “Keep going. Don’t you dare stop.”
By the sixth, your throat is raw, your nails leaving crescents in your own palms where he’s holding your hands down. By the seventh, you’re incoherent, reduced to nothing but whimpers, tears, and trembling flesh under his command.
Finally, finally, he slows—but not before bending down, lips brushing your ear as you sob beneath him. “Look at you. Wrecked. Ruined. Perfect.”
And when he releases your wrists, you collapse instantly, limp and broken on the sheets, your body twitching with aftershocks. He smirks down at the sight, satisfied—not because you begged for him to stop, but because he decided you were done.
author’s note: I’m so sorry I’ve been inactive, I’ve been juggling school and work but, i’ll be here this month ;p
SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru hates that you’re so fucking stupid… But he doesn’t mind it when you go stupid on his cock.
WARNINGS: bully!gojo, degradation, humiliation, penetration, squirting, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding kink, cumflation, overstimulation, dumbification, dacryphilia i guess, hate fucking, cervix fucking, office sex, talks of voyeurism, mindbreak, drooling,,, i think that’s all lol i hope i didn’t forget anything!
3.9k words
You’re late to the staff meeting again.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t even look up from his phone when you slip into the conference room, but you can feel his attention on you anyway—that’s the thing about the Six Eyes, he sees everything whether he’s looking or not.
“Nice of you to join us,” he drawls, and several other teachers glance your way. Your face burns.
“Sorry, I was—”
“Let me guess,” he interrupts, finally tilting his head up so those impossibly blue eyes can pin you where you stand. His blindfold is off today, which means he’s in a mood. That makes you a bit more bothered than usual. “Training ran long because you still can’t manifest a simple veil?”
Your throat tightens. This is what he does. He humiliates you in front of your colleagues simply because if anyone had the right to, it would be him. If anyone can boast and gloat about one’s power, it’s the Six Eyes and Infinity user himself. You know it’s true, but he doesn’t have to say it in front of everyone.
“Gojo,” Nanami sighs, “leave her alone.”
“What? I’m just stating facts.” That insufferable smirk tugs at his lips, kicking his foot up the table because he can and throwing his head back—perfectly content to keep talking about how insufferably weak you are. “Two years and she still fights like a civilian who took a weekend self-defense course.”
You drop into the nearest chair, willing yourself invisible. This is normal, you remind yourself, even as tears well up your eyes and you have to blink a couple times to will it away. Gojo’s been on your case since the day you arrived at Jujutsu High, a late bloomer who didn’t even know she had cursed energy until she was eighteen. While other sorcerers trained since childhood, you’re still struggling with basics.
And Gojo Satoru never lets you forget it.
He loathes your weakness and makes sure you know it. He’ll do it in front of others, he’ll do it when it’s just the two of you. Every tear that slips from your eyes when you’re having a particularly bad day makes him grin even wider, eyes twinkling with that same look of mischief.
The meeting continues, but you can barely focus. You’re too aware of him across the table, legs spread wide in that careless way of his, occasionally glancing at you like you’re something amusing he found on the bottom of his shoe. He meets your eyes briefly, hand on his thigh twitching lightly like he wanted to probably strangle you with it. He smirks at you for a second before turning away and pretending like he listens to whatever people are saying, yet you know his Six Eyes follow you nonetheless—watching your every move. Every shift, every twitch.
What makes it worse—so much worse—is that despite everything, despite his constant criticism and cruel remarks, you want him.
You’re attracted to your bully. How pathetic is that?
It started small. Noticing the way his uniform stretched across his shoulders. How his voice dropped lower when he was annoyed. The casual grace in every movement, like physics itself bent around him. And then it grew into this shameful, persistent ache that blooms every time he corners you in the training yard, every time those eyes rake over you with disdain. It grew into that wet and heavy heat between your thighs, pooling in your underwear even as you shiver from the hatred in his eyes.
You’ve touched yourself thinking about him. Fingers circling your clit, pumping in and out of your cunt, face muffled by your pillow as you stain it with mascara-covered tears you couldn’t even wipe—rushing home to fuck yourself stupid on your fingers after he practically cornered you after your silly mistake from a mission and your thighs shook from arousal. All while imagining it’s him. Cried from shame afterward, wiping your own cum out of your thighs like it’s blood you can’t fully scrub away.
“—which is why I’m assigning her to you for remedial training,” Yaga’s voice cuts through your filthy thoughts.
Your head snaps up. “What?”
Gojo’s smirk widens. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”
“You’re not even trying.”
Gojo’s voice echoes across the empty training field. It’s late evening now, the sky bleeding orange and purple, and you’ve been at this for two hours. Your legs shake with exhaustion. The only thing keeping you up is the sheer fact that you refuse to give him another reason to add to your list of weaknesses.
“I am trying,” you manage, breathless.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He’s not even breaking a sweat, hands in his pockets as he watches you struggle through the basic kata he assigned. “My students get this in a week. You’ve had four years.”
“Not everyone is a prodigy like you—”
“No, but most people have some natural ability.” He circles you slowly, predatory. He lightly touches your hair, tugging on it slightly to make a point.“You’re special though. Spectacularly weak. It’s almost impressive.”
Your cursed energy flickers and dies. Again.
“Pathetic,” he spats. Then he’s right behind you, so close you can feel his body heat. “You know what I think?”
You can’t breathe. Can’t think. He’s never been this close before.
“I think you like being weak.” His breath ghosts over your ear. “I think you like me telling you how useless you are.”
“That’s not—” Your voice breaks.
“Then prove me wrong.” His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding it up. His touch burns through your sleeve. “Manifest your cursed energy. Right now.”
You try. God, you try. But with him pressed against your back, his fingers on your skin, your mind goes blank except for want want want—
Nothing happens.
“Disappointing,” he murmurs, but there’s something different in his voice now. Something darker. His thumb strokes over your pulse point, and you know he can feel how fast your heart is racing. “Though I have to wonder… what are you really thinking about right now?”
He knows. Somehow he knows. That stupid Six Eyes. He could probably see you dripping.
You jerk away from him, stumbling. “I need to go.”
“Running away?” He tilts his head. “Again?”
You don’t answer, just grab your bag and flee.
The next day, you’re called to his office.
Your hands shake as you knock. This is professional, you tell yourself. He probably wants to discuss training schedules or—
“Come in.”
Gojo’s office is exactly what you’d expect—minimalist, expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. He’s leaning against his desk, arms crossed, and this time his blindfold is definitely off.
The door clicks shut behind you.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says casually.
“I haven’t—”
“Don’t lie.” He pushes off the desk, stalking toward you. “You couldn’t even look at me during the morning briefing. Interesting reaction for someone who apparently finds me so repulsive.”
“I don’t—”
“Then what is it?” He’s crowding you now, backing you against the door. “Because here’s what I think. I think every time I get close to you, I can feel your cursed energy spike. I think when I insult you, your pupils dilate. I think—” his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, “—you get wet when I’m mean to you.”
Your face burns with humiliation because he’s right, he’s completely right.
“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, but it sounds like begging.
“No?” His thumb presses into your mouth, eyes alight with the same amusement it always has and your lips part automatically, a heavy breath slipping past. “Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”
You should. You should shove him back and leave and report him and—
His thumb presses down on your tongue—firm and strong. The action immediately and automatically pushes your tongue out, hanging low on your lips as you feel drool collect.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, pushing his thumb a little deeper—almost to your throat, almost gagging you. He tsk’ed at the gagging sound you made, reflex triggered from how far in he is. Then, he lets go, patting your cheeks with his wet finger and then running a hand through your hair—tugging it close to the base.“Such a good girl, aren’t you? So obedient even when you’re pretending you’re not.”
A whimper escapes your throat, making your thighs squeeze from the aching mess you know he’s aware of.
“Oh, you like that.” His eyes gleam with dark satisfaction, chuckling at the patheticness you display. “You know what else I think? I think you’ve been touching yourself thinking about me. Playing with your little cherry, trying to reach parts you know you can’t. You’ve fucked yourself stupid on your fingers, muffling your shouts of my name on your pillow. Haven’t you?”
The shame crashes over you, but you can’t lie to those eyes. Eyes you’ve dreamed of every single night since you’ve seen it.
He sees your answer in your face and laughs—cruel and delighted. “Fuck, that’s pathetic. Getting yourself off to the man who makes your life miserable.” His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. Strong. Possessive. “Tell me what you think about.”
“I can’t—”
“Tell me.” His voice drops to that commanding tone that makes your knees weak. “Or I’ll make you show me instead.”
“You…” you swallow hard against his palm. You decide to spare him the dirty details, sparing yourself from the embarrassment.“You’re mean to me. And then you… you fuck me.”
“How?” His grip tightens a little.
“Rough,” you admit, barely audible. “You’re… rough with me.”
His pupils dilate and you feel something hard press against your hip. He’s turned on. He’s actually turned on by this. He’s turned on by you. Your display of patheticness.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Do you know that? Absolutely perfect.” Then his mouth is on yours, brutal and demanding, swallowing your gasp of surprise.
You should stop this. Should push him away. Instead, your hands fist in his uniform and you kiss him back desperately, messily, pouring two years of shameful wanting into it.
He groans into your mouth, grinding against you. “I’ve wanted to ruin you for so fucking long,” he mutters against your lips. “Every time you looked at me with those big, scared eyes—fuck—wanted to make you cry on my cock.”
“Satoru—”
“That’s right, baby. Say my name.” He’s pulling at your clothes now, rough and impatient. “Say it while I show you exactly what happens to weak little sorcerers who can’t defend themselves.”
Your shirt tears. He doesn’t care, he desperately and quickly rips through it, grasping your breasts in his impossibly large hands.
“Please—”
“Please what?” He presses on, trying to make you say it as he shoves his hand down your pants, fingers finding you soaked. “Oh, fuck. You’re dripping. All from me being mean to you?” He laughs, something akin to pride in his eyes. He circles your clit roughly and your hips buck, trying to feel the roughness of his fingers. Trying to imprint the feeling in you.. “Such a desperate slut. Getting this wet for someone who hates you.”
“You don’t—” you gasp as he pushes two fingers inside you without warning, curling so perfectly, it makes you buckle and fall—head on his shoulders while he presses your back against the door.
“Don’t what? Hate you?” He fucks you with his fingers, cruel and efficient. Your cunt makes sticky noises, every pump of his fingers making you cream right down to his wrist. You bite on his shoulders, muffling a scream while you stain it with the drool involuntarily dripping down your lips.“You’re right. I don’t hate you. I’ve been hard every single time I make you cry. Does that make it better or worse? Tell me, baby.”
Worse. So much worse. And so much better at the same time.
“I wanted to bend you over every surface in this school,” he continues, his voice rough with need as he works you open, scissoring his fingers inside you. His lips trail kisses on your neck, biting and licking every single one of the crevices and veins. “Wanted to make you beg. Wanted everyone to see you spread out on my cock. Wanted to fuck that timid little act right out of you until the only thing you can do is scream my name. I wanted everyone to see you, princess. So they know you might be a bit dumb in sorcery, but you go a lot more stupid when I’m bouncing you on my cock.”
You’re shaking, overwhelmed by his fingers, his words, the reality of this finally happening. Your eyes roll at the back of your head, cunt squeezing his fingers at the filth of his words. You want it so bad. That fantasy of him taking you, keeping you dumb and obedient. You’ll gladly give it to him and all he has to do is say it.
“But first,” he pulls his fingers out and you whine at the loss, the sudden emptiness.“I want to taste how desperate you are for me.”
He drops to his knees.
You barely process it before he’s yanking your pants down your legs, spreading your thighs, pushing it up against the door knob, and burying his face between them.
“Oh—fuck—” Your head slams back against the door, hands reaching up to tug on his white hair, grinding your clit down his tongue, his face, trying to feel all of him agaisnt your cunt.
“That’s it, princess” he groans against you, voice rough and deep, sending vibrations down your cunt. His teeth gently nips your clit and you let out a shout that you’re pretty sure someone definitely heard. “Let everyone hear what a slut you are for me.”
His tongue is everywhere—licking, sucking, fucking into you with obscene enthusiasm. He eats you out like he’s been starving for it, like your cunt is the only thing that matters. The world’s strongest on his knees for you. Eating you out like he’s worshipping you. One hand grips your hip bruisingly hard, holding you in place, while the other joins his mouth, two fingers curling inside you to find that spot that makes you see stars.
“Satoru—I can’t—I’m gonna— Fuck! W-wanna cum, baby. ‘s too much.” You stumble over your words, thighs shaking from the orgasm that’s about to hit you.
“Cum on my face,” he demands against your clit. “Show me how weak you are, princess. How easily I can break you apart. How easily you spread your legs for the man who fucking hates you”
You come with a cry that’s definitely too loud for the office, thighs clamping around his head, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps fucking you with his fingers until you’re sobbing, oversensitive and shaking. Tears running down your face just as your arousal keeps dripping down your thigh.
“Too much—please—” you choke between sobs. “Can’t take it— can’t, no more, Satoru— ah, fucking hell.”
“No such thing as too much,” he growls, shaking his head against you and adding a third finger. “You’re going to fuckin’ cum again. And again. Until you’re nothing but a wet, crying mess for me, sweetheart. Till you can’t even tell me to stop cause you’re too busy cumming and crying my name out.”
He’s ruthless, working your body like he knows exactly how to destroy you. His fingers curl and thrust, finding that perfect rhythm, while his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard.
The second orgasm hits you so hard your legs give out. He holds you up with pure strength, never breaking contact, wringing every aftershock from your body.
When he finally pulls back, his face is soaked, lips swollen and shining. He looks absolutely feral, eyes dark the way it is when you see him fight an especially stubborn curse. The same feral look he has when he wants to obliterate the world and know that he can do it if he wants to.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, standing, eyes roaming down your face all the way down to your puffy clit and glistening thighs. He sounds proud, almost tender as he takes in your appearance.“Already fucked stupid—so fucking pretty blusing and crying so sweetly, and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”
He comes closer, grabs your jaw and lightly tugs you towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Say it. Say you’re my slut.”
“I’m…” you swallow hard, face burning with shame and arousal. “I’m your slut.”
“Louder, sweetheart," he shakes his head disapprovingly. “No need to be so shy about it. I’d say being my dirty little slut has its pros, no? Say it a little prouder, now.”
You inch closer to him, lips ghosting his while you say it with a little more conviction, knowing that hearing it from you probably makes him go a little bit closer to the insanity he’s making you go through. “Satoru, I’m your dirty little slut,” you say against him, “and because I am, I’d let you fuck me stupid, as much as you want to.”
He shivers against you, bulge getting impossibly harder on your thigh.
“Good girl.” He kisses you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he’s spinning you around, bending you over his desk, one hand between your shoulder blades to keep you down.
You hear his belt buckle, the sound of a zipper. Then the thick head of his cock is pressing against your entrance.
“Been thinking about this for years,” he mutters, rubbing himself through your wetness, tip already stretching you open. “Every time you fucked up in training. Every time you looked at me like I was a god and all you wanted to do was please me. Get my approval. Shit, wanted to split you open on my cock and watch you break. Fill you up nicely too. So fucking perfect and beautiful with my cum dripping down your hole.”
“Please—”
He cuts you off, slams in to the hilt, cock stretching you open and bruising your cervix as he fucks right through it. You scream. He’s huge, stretching you impossibly wide, and he doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking you with brutal, punishing strokes. You feel every vein, every ridge, rubbing into your walls with an unforgiving pace. Carving your cunt to the shape of his cock.
“That’s it, take it,” he groans, cock twitching inside of you. “Take every fucking inch like the desperate slut you are. My little cockslut, yeah? Fucking take it—God, yes, that’s it, baby.”
It’s too much. It’s not enough. You’re crying—from pleasure, from pain, from the overwhelming reality of Gojo Satoru finally, finally fucking you the way you’ve always dreamed.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he pants, one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back until you are flushed on his chest. He tries to look at your eyes but you are too fucked out to meet them. “Virgin?”
“N-no—”
That satisfies him.“But no one’s fucked you like this, have they?” He angles his hips and hits something inside you that makes you wail, makes you cream until your cunt is making squeaky sounds from the amount of stickiness that coats you where you meet. “No one’s been mean enough. Rough enough. Have a cock nearly big enough to make you go all brainless. They probably made love to you all gentle and sweet.” His laugh is cruel, almost jealous, yet also proud. “Not me. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. Carve you to the shape of me, darling.”
His free hand snakes around to rub your clit and you convulse around him, throwing your head back and chanting his name like a prayer. Your tongue lols down your chin and your eyes blur. You’re going lightheaded from the pleasure. So good. So, so, so good.
“That’s it, squeeze my cock. Fuck—you’re going to make me cum already, you feel so perfect, baby” He’s rambling now, control slipping. “Want to fill you up. Want to breed this needy little pussy until you’re dripping with my cum. Want to pump it all in your cunt. Dump all my cum in you, baby—fucking hell. Would you like that?”
“Yes!” You’re sobbing, overwhelmed, another orgasm building impossibly fast. “Yes, please, please— Fill me up, God, yes. Give me all of it, Satoru, please!”
“Cum for me,” he demands, increasing his pace and swirling your clit even more ferociously. “Cum on my cock like the good slut I know you are.”
You do, and it’s different this time—wetter, more intense. You feel the tightness and heat in your stomach threatening to let go. You try to grab his arm and tell him,
“Gonna, gonna make a mess—wait—“
Liquid gushes out of you and Gojo moans like he’s fucking losing his mind. Flips you around after you make a mess on his desk and meets your eyes, not letting up with his fucking even as liquid continues gushing out of you and all you can do it shake and squeeze around him.
“Fuck, you just squirted. Holy shit—” His rhythm falters, eyes full of awe and hunger. He dips down to kiss you hard, tongue fighting for entrance. “That’s so fucking hot. Fuckin’ do it again, sweetheart. Make a mess for me.”
He’s merciless, fucking into you harder, faster, his fingers brutal on your clit until you feel him in your stomach. His fingers go around you and you feel the press of his thumb on the other hole—tight, untouched. He puts it in and you’re squirting again, making a mess of his abs, his pants, the floor. Screaming for him, pulling him in and pushing him away at the same time.
“Perfect,” he groans. “You’re fucking perfect. My perfect, weak, desperate little toy.”
You can’t form words anymore. Can only take what he gives you, shaking and crying and coming apart.
“Going to fill you up now,” he warns, his voice strained. “Going to pump you full of my cum. You’re going to fucking feel it dripping out of you for days. Gonna give it to you and fucking plug you in. Keep it in you till I empty it out just to fuck you again.”
He slams in deep one final time and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and overwhelming. He collapses over you, both of you panting.
After a moment, he pulls out slowly. You whimper at the loss, at the feeling of his cum starting to leak out.
“Look at that,” he murmurs appreciatively, fingers gathering the mess and pushing it back inside you. Then, he slips your underwear back, keeping his cum warm and safe inside of you. “So full of me. This is where you belong, isn’t it? Bent over my desk, stuffed with my cum, too weak to even stand.”
You should be humiliated. You are humiliated. But you’ve never felt so satisfied in your life.
He pulls you up gently—which is jarring after everything else—and brushes your tears away with surprising tenderness.
“You okay?” he asks, and there’s actual concern in his voice now.
You nod shakily. “Yeah. I’m… yeah.”
“Good.” He kisses you softly. “Because we’re doing that again. A lot. Think of it as… intensive training.”
Despite everything, you laugh.
“There she is,” he grins. Then his expression turns serious. “For what it’s worth… you’re not actually weak. You just needed the right motivation.”
Your cursed energy flickers to life, stronger than you’ve ever felt it, wrapped around both of you.
His eyes widen. “Holy shit. Did you just—”
“I think,” you say breathlessly, “you might be onto something with this training method.”
His grin turns absolutely wicked. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun.“
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