✦. You’re trying to save money for college… And at the same time your neighbor — that asshole and a pervert, Ryomen Sukuna — gets out of prison. He offers to keep your little secret, but on one condition... “I’ll pay you thirty bucks to take my cock in your mouth. Right here, before Toji gets back. Be a good girl.”
This summer is going to be a long one.
And Sukuna has already decided exactly how you’re going to spend it.
Ⅰ. part one: harassment / coercion vibes. ✦ wc : 6k
Ⅱ. part two: rough oral sex :: handjob :: cum swallowing ✦ wc : 8k
Ⅲ. part three: explicit smut :: rough titjob :: forced orgasm ✦ wc : 3k
Ⅳ. part four: virginity loss :: first time :: explicit sex.
✦. Ⅴ. Part Five (Gift): threesome (Sukuna x reader x Toji) :: group sex :: explicit.
✦.cw :: vulgar asshole!kuna :: criminal!kuna :: so wants to fuck the you :: 18/23 :: sexually aggressive :: dubious consent :: sexual harassment :: sexism :: reader’s father :: toxic dynamics :: past mentions of underage harassment(non-graphic)
✦. note : all characters are 18+ in the present timeline!
✦. You’re trying to save money for college… And at the same time your neighbor — that asshole and a pervert, Ryomen Sukuna — gets out of prison. He offers to keep your little secret, but on one condition... “I’ll pay you thirty bucks to take my cock in your mouth. Right here, before Toji gets back. Be a good girl.”
This summer is going to be a long one.
And Sukuna has already decided exactly how you’re going to spend it.
Ⅰ. part one: harassment / coercion vibes. ✦ wc : 6k
Ⅱ. part two: rough oral sex :: handjob :: cum swallowing ✦ wc : 8k
Ⅲ. part three: explicit smut :: rough titjob :: forced orgasm ✦ wc : 3k
Ⅳ. part four: virginity loss :: first time :: explicit sex.
✦. Ⅴ. Part Five (Gift): threesome (Sukuna x reader x Toji) :: group sex :: explicit.
✦.cw :: vulgar asshole!kuna :: criminal!kuna :: so wants to fuck the you :: 18/23 :: sexually aggressive :: dubious consent :: sexual harassment :: sexism :: reader’s father :: toxic dynamics :: past mentions of underage harassment(non-graphic)
✦. note : all characters are 18+ in the present timeline!
synopsis: you thought you were doing a good deed by taking in the biggest problem resident at the hybrid rescue you work for! but now you're stuck waking up to a six foot plus tiger hybrid who steals your panties and snores on your chest. good thing it's only temporary...right?
pairing: tiger hybrid!sukuna x f!reader
wc: 4.7k
content: mdni, smut smut smut!, porn with plot, hybrid au, he's got fuzzy ears and a tail, he's handsy and huge, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex, knotting, mating bites, shower sex, sukuna packing a massive cock what else is new, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, possessive sukuna, mates
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @stardust-sprinkler hehe <3 KUNA ART BY THE AMAZING @alukaforyou !
“Can you please come in? Sukuna’s…”
Bitten another staff member? Clawed up their calves just because they brought him the wrong food while he was in heat? Threatened to slice one of the other hybrids in half?
You’d gotten enough of these phone calls since you started working at your local hybrid rescue to take a guess at what would come out of your coworker’s mouth next, already rolling out of bed and rubbing your eyes as you flicked on your lamp, internally groaning and grumbling as you listened to the latest issues that always seemed to surround the most feral resident of the shelter.
But still, twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot in pajama pants and a hoodie, shutting your car off and spinning your keys around your finger as you walked down the dimly-lit sidewalk, bracing yourself for whatever you’d find inside.
Shoko was standing by the front door, white vet’s coat swaying in the wind and a cigarette delicately placed between her lips as she puffed out a little ring of smoke. Nodding at you as you drew near, one corner of her mouth curling up all crooked before she plucked the cigarette back out, “Good luck.”
Great.
You already knew you’d need it.
It wasn’t like you knew when you took the job that you were basically signing up to play Sukuna whisperer – you hadn’t even wanted anything to do with the bulky beast that was technically still mostly human when you saw him through the thick one-sided glass during your initial interview. But from the first evening you shyly stepped into his room to feed him, anxiously glancing at his broad frame curled up in the corner while you offered him dinner and softly introduced yourself, he had given you a quick glance over and apparently decided you were the most tolerable staff member.
There didn’t appear to be a rhyme or reason.
He just picked you.
A miracle, your boss said. Like you didn’t hear your coworkers whispering to each other that they were so glad it wasn’t them.
The halls were empty, oddly quiet as your footsteps padded down various corridors, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you scanned your keycard to get through to the section that was reserved for the more…wild hybrid variants. Bears, wolves, snow leopards, not your typical bunny or cat most people would choose to take home. These days, some hybrids even lived and worked on their own, had the same rights as humans.
But a few couldn’t help their more, ah, animalistic instincts.
With Sukuna?
You couldn’t exactly tell what was his hybrid half and what was just his personality.
Sighing as you found yourself standing outside his room, pausing to peek through the now cracked window, watching Sukuna sitting on his too-small bed, back against the concrete wall with his muscled arms folded across his chest, completely fucking naked as his furry ears bristled in irritation.
He was attractive, annoyingly so, enough to remind you every time you saw him why the hybrid population kept increasing every year, but you as quick as the thought floated up, you shoved it back down.
You knocked twice on the door before scanning your card again, peeking inside before stepping in, feeling his stare on you before you looked up at the man of the hour. Or well, tiger of the hour.
“Took you long enough,” he tch-ed, a low growl escaping his throat as he sauntered to his feet.
“What did you do this time?” You wryly asked, nose scrunching up as you let your eyes scan the rest of his room. Someone must have tried to toss some toys in, as if he was a cub instead of fully grown, the remains of a plush mouse scattered across the floor.
“The blonde tried to bathe me,” he indignantly scoffed, head held proudly up. You were tempted to tell him that he had a perfectly good bathroom already attached to his room – complete with a shower and tub he could use to wash himself, if he wasn’t so high and mighty to insist on being babied. Or, according to his perspective, treated like the king of this place he frequently insisted he hated so much.
You exhaled, shutting your eyes for just a second to massage your temples in an attempt to stall the headache brewing behind them only to open them and find him standing six inches away. Looking down at you.
“I told her you’re the only one that can touch me,” he muttered, low and almost lethal. His hand reached out to skim over your bicep, barely touching but still enough for you to feel the pressure behind his fingertips. “She sent in the fucking vet to try to sedate me.”
“And how did that go?” You sarcastically asked, as if you didn’t have a pretty decent inkling.
“Well, they called you, didn’t they?” He sharply retorted, cocking his head to the side, jaw clenched as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.
He got what he wanted.
And you got to scrub a ridiculously oversized man in a tub for twenty minutes while he complained about not having enough bath salts, rubbing a sponge over his ridiculously ripped back muscles as he muttered about how awful everyone else here was. Grumbling with gritted teeth while your hands ran over his spine, damp sleeves rolled up over your elbows as you traced shapes along his strong arms, his slightly musky scent still invading your nostrils no matter how much soap you used.
It wasn’t bad, even if it was strong.
All masculine and warm, whatever pheromones he was putting off having a funny effect on your head the longer you knelt so close to him, sighing as you reached into the water and pulled up the drain.
“Bath time’s over,” you muttered softly, standing up and grabbing a thick towel to hold out for him, making a point to not look past the thick patch of his happy trail when he wrapped it around his waist, even if you couldn’t not notice the way his damp tail dripped water behind him after he got out.
“Where are you goin’?” He growled when you started to walk back out, his claws poking out in protest as your hand paused just before you could scan your key card to get out.
“Home,” you muttered. “You better have some clothes on when I come back.”
The shelter sure spent fucking enough on custom robes big enough to fit him.
He snarled, two seconds from making a snide comment, but you slipped out before he could.
You were ready to crawl back into your own bed, curl up and get some sleep, maybe message your boss before you passed out that you’d be a little late in the morning since you had to come in overnight. Let yourself get an extra hour or two of rest before you had to deal with him again.
Except, uh, your boss was already waiting for you in the lobby, Yaga leaning back against the receptionist desk and grimacing at the fluorescent lights as you stopped and stared.
“Is everything okay?” You blinked a few times, just for him to fix you in a solemn stare.
And still, while your brain scrambled to come up with a reason for him being here too, you didn’t expect what left his mouth now as he jutted his thumb in the direction you came from.
“Do you think you could foster him?”
No. No, there was no way-
Except, um, apparently, there was a way when they offered you a hefty bonus and a few days off, and Shoko slipped a strong sedative in his breakfast so you could transfer him from his room back to your place – which you promptly had to Sukuna proof.
You expected him to throw a fit when he eventually woke up, to try and break through your front door and escape.
But he just sniffed the air slowly before he even lazily opened up his dark eyes to glance around your apartment, a crooked smile curling up as he centered his stare on you.
“So I’m your problem now?”
Was it too late to take him back?
Trade in your annoying tiger hybrid for a fluffy housecat?
In your personal experience, all felines were funny in that they could listen perfectly fine – they just didn’t care.
And Sukuna was no exception.
Shredding your curtains when you went out without telling him, sinking his sharp teeth into your pillows after you made him floss between them, turning your couch into his personal little nest and dragging your clothes from your closet into it. Judging the comfort of your blankets and commenting on how boring it was being here, acting like he’d rather be back at the shelter as he ate half the food in your fridge in a few hours.
He was insufferable and spoiled and a million other awful adjectives you could assign him, but it wasn’t totally terrible to come home from your shifts to someone warm. Who’d begrudgingly let you scratch behind his ears and stroke his pretty, pink hair. You took him to the park as much as you could, ignoring the pointed stares you’d receive and the people who muttered that he should have a muzzle on while he begrudgingly stayed by your side.
It wasn’t like you had a backyard he could stretch his limbs or lounge in.
And two months in, you hadn’t exactly envisioned starting off your mornings with fur in your mouth and the weight of a full-grown man on your chest, but you guessed there were worse things.
You might even miss him when all this came to an end, which, according to the text message you woke up to from Yaga, might be sooner than you think. Some rich guy had apparently called asking about him, claiming he owned thirty acres of land he used to house exotic hybrids and wanted to add Sukuna to his collection.
Now you just had to figure out how to tell him that he might have a new owner.
You tried to sneak over to the bathroom after carefully extracting yourself from underneath him, bare feet padding out while you glanced over your shoulder at the slumbering mass in your bed, a little bit of drool leaking down his lips as he snored on your pillow.
He almost looked peaceful like this.
As if you hadn’t gotten back from work last night to discover a stash of your panties underneath the daybed he’d currently taken over in your spare room. And the, um, dried substance they seemed to be coated in you’d desperately been trying not to think too hard about.
Okay, perhaps he was closer to a perverted roommate than a pet.
But you couldn’t scrub out the guilt that seemed to cling to your skin in the shower, hot water running over your body as you sighed to yourself and debated on how you’d break the news when he had started to settle in here.
At least there he’d be able to have the space he needed, time outdoors, probably better nutrition than what you could afford to keep in your fridge and pantry, even with the added provisions your work provided for him. He was about as antisocial as it came – but there might be other hybrids there that he could actually stand being around. Closer to his spot on the food chain instead of the other ones he usually sneered down at.
His new owner might even treat him like the king he thought he was.
The shower curtain was abruptly pulled back, your arm rushing to cover up your tits, but his eyes were just on yours, his sharp nose scrunched up in a familiar scowl as he grunted good morning, his clothes already stripped off as he stepped in after you.
“What is your problem?” You huffed at him, but he just yawned, toothpaste stuck to his bottom lip as he reached past you to grab the bottle of specialty hybrid shampoo you bought for him.
“Didn’t you tell me yesterday we have to conserve water or some shit?” He grunted, lathering up his hair like his rock hard dick wasn’t out and poking you in the thigh.
“I didn’t mean-” You started to groan, lips pressed together in a flustered frown. Swallowing hard as you struggled to keep your stare somewhere appropriate. You’d like to pretend your relationship was entirely platonic. That it fit perfectly in the boundaries of what it was supposed to.
Where the only spot of your heart he occupied was pure. That the growing intimacy you’d been ignoring was innocent.
It was getting a lot fucking harder to believe it when he felt more and more like a person to you every day. More human.
“You were takin’ too long,” he added, moving over to bump his hip into yours to start hogging the hot water for himself.
You stepped back, goosebumps trailing down your arms once you were out of the stream, holding your breath as you debated on ripping the bandaid off while he was washing himself for once.
“Someone wants to buy you,” you heard yourself say, unsure of what emotion it was in your voice as he suddenly went still, tail twitching as his shoulders straightened. “Um, adopt, I guess.”
He turned his head, just barely, enough for you to catch his nasty side-eye and locked jaw.
“That’s not fucking funny,” he growled.
“Yaga texted me,” you continued, careful to keep your tone steady. “Said some guy with a ton of acres wants to take you in. Guess he like, collects rare-”
“No.”
“No?” You incredulously repeated. “You can’t just-”
“I’m not going to be some fucking breeding stock for an asshole who wants to stick me in an enclosure,” he declared, your mouth hanging open at the wild assumption he jumped to just from a couple sentences.
“Who said anything about breeding?” You gaped, eyebrows arching up as you stopped yourself from stomping your foot.
“You’re delusional if you don’t think that’s the only reason someone would want a problem hybrid like me,” he half-glared at you, molars grinding as you tried to come up with a reason to argue with him.
“I-” You stopped yourself, blinking too hard and fast.
“Tell them no,” he spat the word back out, thick brows furrowed together tightly as he shut off the water.
“What if someone else wants to-” You started, and his whole body twisted around, his arms suddenly caging you in as you shrank back against the cold walls of the shower, all the air in your lungs ripped from you as he pinned you in.
“I’m yours,” he hissed. “You can’t just toss me out like I’m some fuckin’ stray.”
You were pretty sure you were gawking, grasping at straws to push him away when heat was pooling and simmering in the pit of your stomach.
“They’ll be able to give you a better life than-”
His mouth crashed into yours, fingers tangling in your hair while he shut up your stuttered gasp with his tongue slipping past your lips.
He didn’t ask for permission.
But maybe it was because he didn’t need to.
Because when it boiled down to it, you’d let him into your home. Your shower. Let him slice and carve out half of your heart, even when you knew he’d probably just chew it up and spit it out.
“Mmph, S’kuna,” you tried to breathe, placing a damp hand on his bare chest, fingers pressing down as he just kissed you again, struck by how strange it was to taste your own toothpaste on him, smell your soap on his skin and see the strawberry-scented shampoo suds running down his chiseled chest. His cute fuzzy ears standing up straight between his wet strands of pink hair.
“You want me to stop?” He dared between kisses, moving down to your jaw, painting your skin with greedy wet sucks as he dragged his rough tongue across the sensitive skin. “Wanna keep pretending that I’m just your pet?”
He wasn’t.
And when your eyes skimmed down his pretty chest and his dripping cock, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no.
“You know you’re not,” you whispered, as close as you could come to a confession.
Let him grab you by the ass next, hoisting you up as his mouth returned to yours, matching his starving fervor, wrapping your wrists around his neck as he groaned into the kiss. And maybe it was how wrong it was, but you didn’t think any kiss before this had ever felt so right.
His fingers dug into your soft flesh, dimpling it as he tried to claim you with his tongue and teeth, a low growl ripping from the deepest part of his chest you felt his cock catch right at your entrance.
You sort of expected him to just cave into the desires you knew were hardwired into hybrids like him. Just jam his cock in and breed you until he had his fill, or uh, filled you up. It wasn’t like he could even get you pregnant, not when you’d been on birth control far before you met him.
But before you could brace yourself for the burning stretch that was surely coming, he was ripping free from the kiss to lift you up higher. Like, a lot higher.
Using that ridiculous strength of his to balance your weight as he pressed your damp body against the cold wall of the shower, ignoring your squirming until his your cunt was presented right in front of his mouth.
Dragging his rough tongue across it, worming his way in before you could so much as mumble the probably needed what the hell was he doing.
You guessed you already knew what the answer was.
He was always starving, after all.
You’d just become his breakfast.
Your head leaning back against the shower wall while his hands steadily supported your weight, keeping your thighs spread enough to make room to bury his head between them. Sloppily swirling his tongue inside you, using the thick muscle to map you out, explore you with an expertise you hadn’t expected. An attention to detail you hadn’t thought he was capable of when it came to something that didn’t benefit him.
Although, judging by the feral moans reverberating through you from his mouth, you guessed he was getting some pleasure in eating you out.
Fingers digging in possessively to your soft flesh, his tongue flicking in-and-out fast, your chest straining to contain your rapid heartbeats as little jolts of electricity raced through the rest of you. Arousal and anticipation bleeding into each other as they overwrote your anxiety over what you were letting him do.
Just when his tongue slid back out, traced a messy line up to your needy clit, and you foolishly thought he was about to make you cum for him, his head turned up, looking up at you almost accusatory through half-lidded eyes.
“You’re soakin’, brat,” he scoffed, and you could make out a hint of a crude smirk on his lips.
“We’re in the shower,” you tried to retort, like heat wasn’t flooding your face – and between your legs.
“Water’s been off for like, five minutes,” he reminded you.
Your mouth fell open, but you couldn’t come up with a reply sharp enough to shut him up.
It didn’t matter though. Because his hands shifted, and you were falling, a scary second passing before he grabbed you and pinned you back in the first position, chuckling with amusement as he lifted your thighs up, pressing them against your chest and squishing your tits as you tried to wiggle in his renewed grip.
Stupid.
He was too strong, his hold too tight, the tips of his claws teasingly pressing into your skin as you whined, more aware of the emptiness in your pussy than you’d like to be. The ache he’d left you with desperate to be soothed, stuffed.
“You should go dry off,” he mocked, your heart stopping at his suggestion, playing right into his hand. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
“Can’t you just shut up and fuck me already?” You hissed at him, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of your throat instead of stomping your foot like you instinctively wanted to. A little swish, a flash of orange caught your attention in the corner of your vision, a smile curling up on your lips when you realized his tail was wagging.
He could play coy.
Act sly and in control.
But his body gave him away.
And while you were distracted, he’d taken the chance to line himself up, angle and all, just to slide himself in like it was nothing, his saliva acting as lube as he shoved inch after inch in. His rather, ah, large girth barely able to make it through, your thoughts immediately fizzling out into a chorus of holy fucking shit, how much more is there only for it to keep going.
His mouth returned to your face, leaving messy kisses all over your cheeks, down your jaw, wherever he could reach, like it could coax you through the mean stretch of his cock spearing you open.
“So fuckin’ tight, brat,” he groaned, teeth gritted, his breath warm on your skin as you whined at the intense sensation of his hips moving, rolling up while you were struggling to even manage breathing at all.
“Not my fault you’re so-” You couldn’t even finish, lips clamping shut as you realized you were about to stroke his ego.
“M’so what?” He dared you to finish anyway, stalling inside you, making it obvious he wouldn’t move a muscle until you said it.
Biting your lip as you begrudgingly murmured, “Big.”
You were wondering who was really the pet here when it felt like you were being rewarded for good behavior after he pulled his cock out and pushed it back in, quickly picking up a steady rhythm – one that seemed specifically designed to unravel you.
Pull you apart until you were reduced down to your basest instincts.
Until you were like him.
And even worse?
It was working.
A babble of syllables that sounded like his name falling from your mouth when he kept grinding into the soft, spongy spot in the back, pressing into it over and over again like it was a button built for breaking you down. Your sanity slowly dissolving into something he could swallow, his sharp teeth glinting when he bared them at you in a crooked smile.
“You love me rutting into you like this, huh?” He growled, your head bobbing uselessly as his cock split you open deeper, grinding meanly into your cervix like it was his to claim.
You did, and it, you were his, even if you sold yourself some other story to make yourself feel better.
“A-asshole,” you groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair to try and find something to pull on, holding onto the slivers of rationality you had left by threatening to rip some of his hair out of his scalp.
“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” he half-spat out, kissing you again so you couldn’t argue with him. His tongue returning to your mouth as he thrusted up faster, fucking you so full you were pretty sure you felt him in your lungs. Whining into the kiss until he pulled back, his dark red eyes glinting in the warm yellow lighting of your bathroom as he smirked, “What would your friends think if they knew you let me fuck you like this?”
Pushing his lips out in a dramatic pout, but you just pulled his hair harder, trying to make him wince to match the weird feeling he kept stuffing down your throat, the hint of humiliation at knowing what he was trying to imply.
That everyone you knew would judge you for sleeping with Sukuna. Say that you shouldn’t fucking have sex with the hybrid you were literally fostering. For good reason, too.
But how the hell were you supposed to say no when his hands felt like they fit you?
When every ridge of his swollen cock stretched you open just right?
“I-I don’t care,” you protested, puffing out your chest despite your sore thighs being pinned to them. Muscles aching, straining as the rubber band you were currently clinging to threatened to snap hard the longer he rutted into you.
But then, right as his fat tip grinded up against your womb, he stopped, ignoring your irritated huff for him to continue.
“Kuna,” you started, but before you could form another syllable, you felt it. Him.
The base of his cock slowly ballooning, his knot trying to take hold and work its way up inside you, to lock himself in. You made some strangled noise you didn’t even know you were capable of, a guttural sound torn from the deepest part of your throat as the pressure built and soared, feeling yourself getting molded and practically reshaped by his size.
“C’mon,” he growled, just as raw and rough as you expected from him, one of his huge hands slipping between your thighs, a calloused thumb covering your clit as he started rubbing mean circles over it. Distracting you from the fact you were being destroyed, remodeled around his cock, flames of lust licking over your sensitive bundle of nerves as he sent another set of shudders down your spine. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it.”
You could.
You would.
Just as stubborn as he was, even if you were shutting your eyes and biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood, the pain of the stretch melting into white-hot pleasure as he began kissing your collarbone, trailing up higher until his lips were pressed against the crook just above it.
His teeth sank into your throat, your entire body shivering under the sheer force to it, something inside you pulling tight as you gasped some broken cry of his name. But he didn’t let go. Didn’t retract. Just bit down harder, feeling you spasm and squirm around him as he held on, the knot at the base of your entrance somehow managing to inflate more.
You dragged your nails down his back, probably shredding the skin there, leaving long scratches of your own to mark him as yours too.
“Mine,” he growled, licking the sore spot while your brain struggled to process what was happening. What he’d just done.
You couldn’t exactly drop him back off at the rescue when he’d made you his mate.
Left a huge fucking hickey you’d be stuck living with, a bond forged from baths and breakfasts and boring movies.
You knew it was a bad idea.
But you didn’t want to break it.
He was yours, wasn’t he? Wasn’t it only right that you were his too?
Letting all those negative thoughts fade as you gave into how fucking good he felt, his mouth on your neck and his thumb massaging your clit and his cock filling up every crevice until you weren’t sure where you started and he ended anymore.
“Say it,” Sukuna gruffly grunted, his thumb hesitating, knowing just how close you were and still teasing you anyway.
“I’m your mate,” you admitted, your weak voice coming out in a whimper as he dragged you to a climax with just a harsh swipe of his thumb. White stars splotching and staining your vision, heat simmering through you as your thighs trembled, muscles begging for relief as his heavy breathing undercut the drone of the bathroom exhaust fan.
“That’s fuckin’ right,” he hissed, cumming right after you, still rubbing your clit through it, warm ropes of cum filling you up and getting plugged inside by his knot. Not even able to leak down your thighs as it held fast, your thoughts distant and dreamy as slowly floated back down to earth.
Hesitantly meeting Sukuna’s dark eyes only to find them already focused solely on you, clouded with something that looked an awful lot like love up this close.
“I’m staying here,” he grumbled, nose scrunching up as his tail wrapped around your leg.
You didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of him even if you wanted to.
Now how the hell were you supposed to tell your work?
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably mid to late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never fully recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so… connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods. you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs. you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing. not even a flicker of interest or a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. there could be a possibility he had a secret wife. or maybe he was, god forbid, celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts— his eyes dropped. slow, deliberate. right to your thighs. then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are in fact not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. he sounds as though he was in the middle of something and you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down, but doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him;
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, silently judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating profusely through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the whole fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency! eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair, lazy sweatpants, and his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides, if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking or anything. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another awkward pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed, tapping your temple as if the realization just dawned on you. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living out your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved, again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” to really seal the deal.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere?”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and you try not to short-circuit when he crouches down.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper;
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you somehow manage breathe out.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic utensils. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed knee stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. lingering.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact, just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
albeit, slow and restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. hell, maybe even kiss you.
but instead— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens, closes, no words ever come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve officially stopped trying.
no more cookies, fake run-ins, or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could potentially mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more. wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the very first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs and looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow and wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, setting a brutal pace, hips snapping harshly into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely. all you can do is nod frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes as you whimper out a little, “yes please”
toji grins at that. dark, and way too cocky.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, as though the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, almost like he’s petting you. like you’re his and this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
repost from my old blog ! ^_^ (this might be one of the only ones i’m reposting since i liked this one the most lolz)
cw: dead dove do not eat, dark content, incest, toji and nanami are on their late 40s and reader is 20, non-con themes, naive reader, icky dad toji, pervert nanami, fingering, blowjobs, face fucking, hair pulling, virgin reader, threesome, dollification, praising, reader calls toji “dad/daddy”, noncon picture taking, groping, voyeurism, dirty talking, pussy inspections, breeding mention, toji calls you “kid/kiddo” “doll”, nanami calls you “sweetheart”, they’re both so mean, dumbification, they call you all types of nasty names, just pure filth
tysm to my lovely 🦢 nonnie for requesting this, i had so much writing it and i hope you and everyone can enjoy this little fic
Nanami has been your fathers best friend for quite a few years now. They’re both coworkers, so he usually comes home on the weekends to have some drinks with toji. He has always been nice to you, bringing presents every now and then.
You thought of him as a nice and sweet man, but the reality was quite different. Him and Toji were in reality disgusting. Your dad would send Nanami pictures of you getting out of the shower, all naked as the water slid down your body, nipples perked by the sudden coldness hitting you. He would also take pictures of you bending down as you were making lunch or cleaning the house, Toji’s bonner hard as a rock as he saw his pretty daughters cunt trough your panties as you wore his favorite skirt.
Nanami would fist his cock, his mind wondering how thight your insides may be as he rammed his thick length in and out of that sweet cunt.
Toji did his best work to protect you from the rest of the world, but that didn’t mean he had to protect you from him or his friend. He loved showing you off to Nanami, you thinking it was just your father being lovely as ever, when the truth was much darker than your mind could ever comprehend. You thought your father touching you, in ways a father shouldn’t touch his daughter, was completely normal, and it was routine at this point. As soon as you started college he warned you about the boys your age, saying they were cruel and would try to use you, that’s why you could only trust dad. He was older, more experienced and your dad, of course he would be better than any other boy.
You’d let him inspect your cunt before and after going to class everyday. He would order you to take off your panties and spread your legs as you sat on his lap, his fingers teasing your insides as you whined when he found that sweet spot that made you squirm. His cock hard, poking at your butt as he grind on you, coming on his pants like a fucking teenager when he felt you clench around his digits.
Toji hasn’t fucked you yet, not because he didn’t want to, no, he was aching for finally break you and that sweet cunt of yours. He was just waiting for the perfect opportunity. He wanted, needed, to break you more, made you fully dependent on him. He had to be sure you’d never leave his side, even if it meant to breed you while you carried his kids, tying you forever to him.
Now it was a few days after your 20th birthday. Your father had spoiled you all over, buying you the prettiest clothes and lingerie, making you model them in-front of him as he took some pictures, “just to remember how pretty you look, kiddo” he had told you. Toji was lying of course. As soon as he took those pictures of you in the baby doll pink gown, Nanami’s phone was blowing up from notifications of his friend. When he opened the photos, a smirk displayed on his face. “Fucking lucky bastard” typed Nanami as he observed all the pictures with full attention, salivating at your plumpy ass and perfect tits. You looked so fucking innocent and he wanted Toji to let him have a taste of you, even if it meant to eat you out as his friend fucked your little holes. The though of it made his cock flinch, groaning as he palmed himself trough his pants, wondering how beautiful your moans would sound.
“Come over this weekend”. Nanami read the text Toji had sent him. It wasn’t weird that he invited him over, they were beat friends after all, but for some reason the blonde man had high expectations, maybe this time Toji would loosen up and his fantasy could come true.
The weekend came by in a blink of an eye, Nanami loosing his tie as you cheerfully opened the door in the tiniest dress ever. He knew this was Toji’s doing, he loved to play dress up with you and treat you like a doll, while you let yourself be treated like that. After all, you loved being daddy’s girl.
You greated him with a big smile, admitting how much you have missed him. It had been a few weeks since the last time he saw you and he hadn’t had the opportunity to wish you a happy birthday, so that’s why he brought you a little present today, a present he knew Toji wouldn’t like. You took it in your hands, and as you invited him inside you opened the package and saw a beautiful lipstick you had been wanting for a long time, but your dad was adamant as he had said only whorish girls use that type of stuff, but it couldn’t be wrong if his friend bought it for you, right?. As you hugged Nanami excitedly, your dad came down the stairs and you happily went to him as you showed off the present.
“Hm? What’s that kid?” he wondered as he took the lipstick from your hands and examined it.
“Nanami bought it for me, he’s so nice daddy” Toji saw your eyes flutter, his gaze turning dark knowing what Nanami was trying to do by buying you that.
“How thoughtful of him, doll. Why don’t you show us how pretty it looks on you, hm?” he palmed your ass and ordered you to go to the bathroom as you applied the red tint on your lips.
Nanami eyes Toji as you disappeared from their vision, a smirk on his face knowing what was about to happen to your prettily stupid self. He could have been the one to buy you that shit, but it was your dumb brain the one that thought your dad wouldn’t do anything about it.
When you finished applying the present Nanami brought you went back into the living room, showing off the pretty shade of red that now adorned your lips.
“It looks pretty on her, don’t you think so?” Toji questioned the other man.
“Yeah…yeah she does look pretty” Nanami agreed as he felt himself grow bigger on his pants. You looked so fucking slutty.
Your cheeks turned a light pink color, the compliments of both men making you shy.
“Kiddo, I think I thought you better than that” your dad spoke “don’t you think you should thanks for being so sweet to you?” oh yeah, you had completely forgotten about it.
“S-sorry dad, I truly appreciate your kind words” Toji patted your head, pleased as you listened to him. You thought he was going to praise you a little bit more, so it was kind of a surprise when his hands found a fistful of your head and forced your knees onto the floor.
“Ouch d-dad that nghh that hurts” you cried out as his grip got harder. You were confused by the situation, what was it that you did wrong?
“You truly are a stupid kid sometimes, doll” his words feeling heavy on your chest “What did I tell you about those things hm?” the hand that was grabbing your hair was now on your cheeks as he forced them together, a disgusted expression on his face. “You look like a cheap whore with that shit on you” you tried pleasing him to be nicer, you truly thought it wouldn’t be wrong to be happy since it was a present from his friend!
Nanami appeared on your vision, your eyes teary as he spoke up “Seems like your dad isn’t happy at you, sweetheart. But he is right, you look like a prostitute”. You tried your best to speak up, to beg for forgiveness as if you didn’t knew better.
“I- I am sorry really, pl-please dad don’t be mad at me” your puppy eyes looked at Toji as you were still on the floor. His gaze turned soft for a moment, making you believe he was going to go easy on you, until you saw his free hand reaching down onto his pants to unbutton them, freeing his fat cock. You had already seen it many times but it didn’t fail to make you scared. This time you felt as if it grew bigger, angrier.
Your dad didn’t say anything in return to your begs, he just forcefully opened your mouth as he stuck his manhood inside. You have never seen him being so angry, so mean as he made you choke and gag around him.
Nanami just watched next to him, hand fisting his cock through his clothes as he grunted at the view of your mouth full of your dad.
“Shit” he muttered between his teeth “she really is something else man” Toji laughed at his words, thrusting deeper inside your mouth as you panicked, feeling like you couldn’t breath and palming his thighs, begging for release.
“Don’t” he warned “you want to look like a slut? then i will treat you like that” your sobs could barely be heard, the gurgling inundated the room as he finally came inside your mouth first, spilling a few drops of semen on your face as he finished. “If you want to feel her now it’s your time, Kento. Show my daughter what happens when she wants to be a whore so bad”. A few seconds later Nanami finally freed his cock, making you almost choke. He wasn’t as big as your dad, but he was still thick. You wanted to get up from your knees, daddy was being so mean to you, but this was a lesson right? He possibly couldn’t mean to hurt you.
Your mouth was opened once again, this time being filled with Nanami’s member. He wasn’t as rough as Toji, but he was desperate. He fucked your mouth in a quick pace, grunting and groaning at the feeling of your tongue trying to match his movements. Your lipstick was now all smeared over your lips and all over his and Toji’s cock. With all the cum in your face you weren’t view as a sweet girl anymore, you were now their little toy to play with. Nanami saw your eyes rolling back, clearly getting dumb on his cock as he also finally came inside your mouth, mesmerized by how much of a good girl you were being despite of them being such assholes.
Nanami finally pulled out, making you able to breathe once again. You were now sobbing, your dad going up to you to comfort you
“See, doll? That’s what happens to girls that act like they’re grownups. The girls that don’t listen to daddy get treated like that” you hid your head on his neck, him now pulling you onto his lap as he shushed you to calm down. “That’s why you gotta be my good girl always kiddo, or do you want to be bad to dad? Is that it?” you quickly shook your head.
“N-no dad” a few hiccups from all the crying leaving your throat “I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again”.
“Hm, I hope so doll. You know this was for the best right? Dad just wants you to be good” you nodded as quickly as you could, murmuring a few more sorry’s. “There’s my girl, so smart when she wants to” he kissed your forehead. “Now rest a little bit, will you? Dad might finally use that pretty cunt of yours if you suck us once again you have woken up” you barely could hear him anymore, already too gone in your sleep.
“Maybe even I would let Nanami open you up once I have filled up that pussy” both of the men just laughed at the idea. Poor you, not knowing how sick this all actually was.
Turns out the man that was supposed to protect you, was actually the one you should fear the most.
Mind yall this was supposed to be a drabble and it turned out to be longer than I expected 🫣 Maybe if i see everyone likes it i could make a part 2 where we get our virginity taken…thinking thinking
summary: Ben wasn't here for the pleasure of Herogasm, this time. Followed by Butcher, Hughie and you, he's searching the TNT Twins, trying to make them his next victims. Though, the idea disappears from his mind when he is accidentally hit by a supe's power, making him all warm and needy.
cw: +18. mdni. the boys member!reader. herogasm!setting. dub-con themes (drugged, sex pollen). dirty-talking. praise. slight jerking off. mocking / cursing. needy!ben. unprotected piv. clit stimulation. body fluids play (licking it). reblog is a creator’s best-friend, thank you!
One second of inattention. It’s all Ben had. One single little moment of looking away while the Supes around flowed through sex, drugs, and sins. One stupid motherfucker trying to show his powers around; losing control because of the alcohol in his system before America’s little soldier is hit in the back. Nothing should have happened, because it’s Soldier boy, right? Though he felt anger course through his body, turning his head away with furrowed eyebrows before the Supe runs away and Ben decides to let it go.
That was before the warmth ran through his body, before his thoughts became all jumbled and the blood inside his brain glided all the way down to his fat cock. The sensation made Ben stop in his tracks; a gasp escaped him and surprise took over his facial expression, because what the fuck was happening? He looked around to realize that fucking Butcher, Hughie and you are not behind him anymore. He couldn’t give the slight fuck about that, anyway.
His feet stumbled against the cocaine-covered carpet as he pushed the people around, not caring about them or the ruckus he was causing at that moment. Because all he could think about was get his cock out and stick it far up someone’s hole. All his thoughts were about a sweet, slick-dripping, tight little hole around his cock, wetness coating his balls, curses running out of his mouth.
Ben can feel all his muscles, his skin, his organs on fire now, making him groan out loud before he pushes himself inside a room.
He expects to be alone, to take care of his little problem by himself before he hears a voice entering the room behind him, closing the door. “Ben, you good?” It’s your voice. You, the cute little ass of the big bad The Boys team; all curves, all lacey bra spilling from your top, those big doe eyes looking at him like he’s America’s Greatest Hero (isn’t he?). It’s like you’re just waiting for permission to come bounce down on his cock and honestly? He wouldn’t mind that right now. Now his thoughts are filled with the probable smell of your cunt.
His ass falls down on the water-bed of the room, thighs spread, showing the bulge inside his pants. It’s waiting for attention, for a hand, a mouth, a hole. “Don’t y’want to ride my cock?” He just replies to you, and your eyes widens. “Excuse me?” The words coming out of your mouth makes him smirk, like he expected that reaction.
Though, the cockiness evaporates when a new surge of warmth runs through his body and his head rolls to the ceiling, showing the expense of his neck. It’s sweaty, Adam’s apple gulping a few times before you can hear the tiniest of whine escape him. You have no idea what is happening to him but you pity it. Ben hiss finally, before one of his hands moves to undo the zip of his military green trousers, not caring about the fact that you are in front of him—analyzing his movement, feeling your heart beating faster in your chest. You should leave, but your feet are stuck to the floor.
A gasp of your own echoes in the room when his hand pushes the black brief boxers down enough to free his heavy, leaking cock and ballsacks. His shaft immediately twitches in his fingerless gloved hand as he wraps it around the base, giving himself a few pumps with whimpers escaping him. His hazel eyes lifts up to look at you. “Got hit by some fuckass power and m’thinking with my cock now.” He grunts, squeezing his shaft in his hand while jerking himself off, hoping to evaporate some burning from his body. But it doesn’t seem to work.
“Need your cunt—fuck, just come sit on it.” You could walk away, let him take care of that by himself, acting like you didn’t see anything. But hearing the slight begging tone in his voice is enough to make you pull down on the fabric of your panties from under your skirt, letting it fall and pool at your ankles before throwing it away with a foot. Ben curses under his breath when he sees that, his grip tightening on his cock; the pinkish tip leaking pre-cum in flows, a vein pulsating when it scratches against the rough material of his glove.
“Yeah, that’s a good girl. Come sit on that cock, yeah?” He summons you closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing at all the thoughts he has on your sweet cunt. Ben can feel his muscles aching, his cock begging to fill something up, his brains having vivid flash of folding you in two on that fucking watery bed. You don’t even try to tease him, because you’re sure he’ll make you pay when he gets back to himself.
You move, he lets go of his cock as you straddle his hips. Both of his fingerless gloves move to grope at the fat of your ass to pull you closer. “Y’fucking want that cock that bad, uh? Didn’t even try to say no to me.” He groans quietly as he ends up wrapping one hand on his hard, leaky cock again. “I—I just want to help you.” The words escape you, and they make Ben chuckle because he sure as Hell doesn't believe you. You feel the slight slap of his tip against your clit before he rolls himself between your folds.
There, wetness pooling at your hole waits for him. “Sweet little cunt, already so wet f’me.” He grunts, feeling feverish, hips trying to rut against yours already. “Please, Ben—” You whine at him, “Please, don’t tease me.” He hums at the words, hazel eyes looking up at your face when you say that. He wants to be an asshole; it’s in his nature. He wants to tease, to mock, to make you beg. Well, he should want to do that, but Ben finds himself more impatient than you seem to be. So he nods his head, rubbing the tip of his heavy cock against your sloppy hole before you feel the push.
His bulbous head stretches the gummy spots of your cunt as he jerks his hips up, free hand grabbing at your hips to lower you down. Your hands automatically go for his shoulders, nails burying into the thick fabric of his Supe suit. You can feel his shaft molding your walls to fit perfectly around his cock; you feel it twitch, kiss every nook and crannies, forcing itself to fill you up. A groan leaves Ben’s mouth when you sit down onto his lap, his shaft buried deep inside your warmth, wetness coating his skin. “Fuckin’ squeezing me.” You hear from him.
Shaking legs around his hips, a burning sensation in your lower belly, lips gasping; you’re unable to reply to him for a second, your arms now wrapping around his neck. “M’gonna fuck you stupid, doll, you’d like that, uh?” Ben voices at you, voice cooing like he’s not the one all needy and whining in your ear at how your pussy warms him up. Both his hands are trembling as they grope the fat of your ass once more.
You can’t help but nod your head at him, though. “Yeah—Yeah, I’d love that.” He doesn’t even reply at you, hands lifting your hips up before lowering them again, fitting his cock inside your dripping cunt. You moan at the feeling, it echoes in the empty room and you forget about the Herogasm outside the room, about those Supe sniffing coke on naked asscheeks, on alcohol flowing, on anything. The feeling of his shaft kissing at the gummy walls of your inside is enough to make you almost brainless.
You follow the movement of his hands by rolling your hips, spelling your name while riding him, creating squelching noises all around the both of you. Ben hisses, hands tightening on your hips. “That’s it, that’s a good girl. Show me how much y’like my cock.” Your fingers start to run through his thick locks, not pulling yet but you almost want to. Even though he doesn’t say it, Ben’s thoughts are still in shambles; all he can think about is your cunt wrapped around him, about your wetness coating his shaft, about the moans escaping you. It’s proof he still got it.
His hazel eyes lowers to where your bodies meet and he watches as his cock disappears inside your sloppy hole, juices slicking your folds. His lips part as if he’s about to speak once more, but a loud whine reverberates from him; his eyebrows furrowing when you clench around his shaft. There’s a slight needy glaze inside his eyes, but he tries to brush it off but making you bounce faster on him. You cry out, holding onto him as his tip kisses your cervix a few times, his veins pulsating against your gummy walls. You hear the splash-splash-splash from your juices and his balls hitting your ass now.
“Ben—Ben, fuck! Feels so good!” He ends up looking at your face when you say those words, and you can finally see the glossy eyes. He’s so close to drooling all over your chest, cheeks flushed and body burning hot now. He’s losing himself in the feeling of your sweet little cunt, trying to keep control but it doesn’t work much. “Need—Fuck, I need you t’cum on my cock… I need you t’make a mess.” He gasps, jerking his hips up to meet yours.
Your walls are molding themself around his cock even more, fitting him so perfectly that it feels like he was made to be inside you. Your juices drip down from his shaft, coating his balls even more, making them stick to your ass each time they slap it. The perverted, depraved and icky noises are echoing all around the room, almost combatting against the ones from behind the door. Ben throws his head back to the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing, sweat trickling down his neck. Wild thoughts of licking it pass through your mind but it’s brushed off a second later.
Your hips rolls to meet his cock, angling it toward that sweet spot of yours with little to no effort; mostly because Ben is helping with his big hands on your thighs now. You can feel his fingers buried in the fat there, almost bruising it with how firm his grip is. “Fuck—m’fuck, keep going. Y’pussy’s dripping all over me.” He says after a moment; space filled with your moans and his groanings, whinings, cursings. “I’m going to fill you up so good, you’ll feel my cum weeks after.” He groans, and the words make you gasp. You can’t help but clench your gummy walls around his shaft.
His hazel eyes lower once more, looking at that pretty creamy white ring all around the base of his cock; your pussy pushing some more each time you lower yourself to meet his pelvis. Only then, Ben decides to move one of his hands to your slick folds, pushing a thumb between them, parting them. You let a sigh escape you at the touch, feeling his cold digit explore you like that. Your chest starts to press against his own when he finally circles around your clit, smearing wetness around. There’s an arch in your butt now, making his tip hit directly against that gummy spot at the entrance of your cunt.
“Come on, doll, keep fuckin’ yourself on me. Y’doing so good.” You don’t know if he truly meant to praise you or if his thoughts are just too much focused on your cunt but you don’t care at that moment. You nuzzle your face in his neck; musk, gunpowder, Whiskey and sweat. He smells so good that you could come right on the spot just with that.
His pelvis jerks up to meet yours, cock slapping to bury itself in your dripping hole, and it comes way more sloppy than before. Your juices are making a mess on the fabric of his military green trousers, coating his balls much more; it’s slick and sticky. “Such a good cunt you have. Might need to use it more after that.” Ben grunts in your ear, you feel your thighs burning and shaking from your efforts now. The knot in your lower belly is slowly undoing itself as his thumb rolls against your clit, fingers teasing it.
Your grip around his shoulders tightens when you come on his cock without any warning, spamming on top of him, crying out his name. Juices are flowing out of you, dripping on his shaft, splash-splash-splash noises louder in the room as he keeps fucking you through it. Your back arches, ass almost lifting from his lap but he brings you down again; making you moan out. “Ben! Fuck! I can’t—” He hears from you, hissing at your walls squeezes the fuck out of him, milking him dry. “Goddamn, that sweet little pussy—Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m ‘bout to come too.” He warns you.
His hands pull you down on his cock, now using your body to slide his cock deep inside you. You expect him to fill you up like he had said he would, but instead, Ben’s curses before pulling out of you. Thick ropes of thick, creamy white semen trickle out of his pinkish tip, leaking all the way down to his member, stopping at his balls before falling in globs on the watery bed. His thighs are shaking, his breathing is labored just like yours. Ben’s hazel eyes lifts up to your face, his cock twitching once or twice before softening very slowly.
He blinks, as if his thoughts were all clear now, which makes him smirk. “Might be the best pussy I’ve had in decades, fuck. Cunt squeezed me out so good. Just need to be hit by that fuckass power again; I want to try out new positions.” You whine at his words, and his hand comes to slap lightly on your butt, making you gasp. “Ben!” You sigh, watching as he sneaks a hand down to his balls, gathering his seed in the tip of his digits.
Ben then lifts his hand up to your face, pushing the sticky fingers against your lips so you’d part them. You don’t even hesitate, letting your jaw go slack; and suddenly tasting the salty, thick semen on your tongue. You moan around his fingers, tongue curling to lick at his digits, cleaning them. “That’s a good girl, go on, suck on my fingers.” He hums at you, pushing against your tongue harder to hear whines escape you. “Bet’ya would look good with my cock deep inside your mouth.”
You nod at him, taking his fingers deeper, sucking on them like you’d do with his fat cock. You can feel the fabric of his fingerless glove scratching at the skin of your chin and cheek. It makes him hiss to see you like that; saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, half-lidded eyes looking at him, thighs still shaking around his hips. Ben ends up by pulling his fingers out of your mouth in a wet-pop noise, a smirk decorating his face.
Synopsis: abandoned at the foot of a mountain in hopes of winning the favour of Sukuna Ryomen, you have to navigate life as his bride, constantly fearing death, torture, and being eaten out— up. being eaten up. definitely up.
right?
Warnings: porn with plot, dark romance, forced marriage, true form!sukuna - 2 peepees!, cunnilingus (he's a certified munch), use of curse mouth, blood play, masochist!sukuna, pussyjob, thigh job, death/violence/body parts, primal play, dubcon, double penetration, upside down 69, hair pulling, brief spanking, pussy slapping, biting, outdoor sex, bondage, shadow tentacles?, period sex, multiple orgasms, honestly not as dark as it sounds — this is quite romantic I promise, angst, fluff (soft!kuna), not quite curse au in the canon sense, f!reader, not proofread
Word Count: 16.9k
A forced marriage with Sukuna, the king of curses, sounds like hell.
And it is.
The village chief wanted to receive the newly arrived Curse King’s mercy and be spared from his tyranny. That apparently meant offering you, his only daughter, up for marriage. You were dropped off at the foot of the mountain, bound and gagged, unable to scream for help, not that any would arrive.
Not even your best friend, Suguru, had met your eyes.
Everyone had abandoned you.
A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision.
Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.
Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being.
There he was.
Sukuna Ryomen.
He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored.
“What is this?” he drawled.
The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”
“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”
It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.
‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”
At that, Sukuna hummed.
His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words.
Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”
The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second.
You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since.
It’s been about a week.
Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it.
Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet.
In fact, you have not seen another soul since.
The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually.
Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.
It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived.
Though…
With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right.
The doors are unlocked.
That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here.
Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’
You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen.
It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.
So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?
That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense.
No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.
You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.
“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.
Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels?
It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes.
Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.
Steam wafts over your face.
It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside.
The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.
At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.
It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.
The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.
Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?
Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.
Hot.
But not scalding.
“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.
Here, of all places.
The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with.
You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.
Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.
If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh.
Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.
For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.
You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.
A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing.
It’s…peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Your eyes open.
Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.
Your body goes rigid.
Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.
A pit that could swallow you whole.
Your breath catches.
“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.
The surface trembles.
Something moves.
Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.
Too slow.
Something clasps your ankle.
A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”
It coils.
Grabs.
Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.
The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.
A shape.
A body.
You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding.
Then it lets go.
You don’t wait.
You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.
Air. You need air.
You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking.
A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.
Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.
He’s here.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.
He’s watching you.
No, observing you.
That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”
“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”
A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”
When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch.
Uraume appears.
Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts.
“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious.
“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”
You flinch at the term.
Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”
Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”
“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”
There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence.
He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool.
He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm.
If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”
When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left.
You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:
The Curse King has a sense of humour.
And two giant cocks.
.
.
.
The next day, you find yourself back at the pool.
You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there.
And he is.
Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.
Something has brought you here.
A pull you could not deny.
Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something.
Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings.
But…
Bath.
He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.
Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
Sukuna’s eyes glint.
“I wonder the same thing myself.”
That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers.
The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him.
“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”
Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”
Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”
“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.
On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.
Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid.
The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.
You gasp.
Sukuna stands behind you.
The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.
Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin.
The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water.
He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him.
How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?
Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.
“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”
A nail flicks your nipple under the water.
You let out a shuddery breath.
The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall.
Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.
Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”
Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”
One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up.
You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.
But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go.
He doesn’t shove it inside at all.
The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies.
It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.
“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”
His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.
Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?
He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?
Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”
Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”
“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”
Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.
Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”
This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare.
Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.
He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”
With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach.
Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.
“Fuck.”
Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths.
Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”
You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.
He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight.
Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest.
Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.
But you don’t.
Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.
.
.
.
You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.
He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again.
Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse.
For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm.
And today, a head.
A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.
Your scream.
Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him.
An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side.
A garden.
It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.
The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.
Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.
It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well.
Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.
“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.
The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.
There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.
You freeze.
Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.
“Hello, little bride.”
It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.
Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”
He resumes walking.
Toward you.
Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.
You don’t move.
You tell yourself you won’t.
Your pulse stutters anyway.
“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”
“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.
“Mm.”
He’s closer now.
Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.
Another step.
Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”
Your brows knit. “About what?”
“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”
Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?
His nostrils flare.
A flash in his eyes.
“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”
In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up.
You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark.
The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible.
Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.
Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate.
“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”
That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.
“Sukuna!”
“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”
The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment.
In front of you, something emerges from his skin.
A wolfish grin.
There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.
SMACK!
Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.
You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.
A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.
The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there.
“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process.
At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit.
Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”
Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it.
“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”
Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.
He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.
“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”
Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.
“Sukuna!”
The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically.
A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later.
It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.
In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.
Thud…thud…thud…
Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.
Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.
“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”
“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.
“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.
Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body.
A hardness flanks you.
You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.
.
.
.
Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately.
It started off with him keeping you in his room.
It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.
You always find yourself back in here.
Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.
He isn’t here ever.
So you’ve started to think of it as your own.
During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna.
Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning.
Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward.
You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.
A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”
Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress.
Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.
Only relief and desire did.
What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties.
Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth.
“I am the pig in question?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”
Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”
“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.
“Do not!”
An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats!
Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away.
He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.
His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”
There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out.
The king was frightening in his aggression.
He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table.
Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!
They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit.
“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”
Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!”
He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted.
“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”
In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.
“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”
You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.
The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit.
“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed.
Something…
Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe.
Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”
How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?
“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”
He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.
Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”
“Cum,” he said.
Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”
“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded.
And you could not deny a king.
You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.
It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.
Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people.
In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing.
He read each one you had opened.
Poems.
Novellas.
Journals of travels beyond.
You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home.
The villagers had sold you.
Abandoned you.
They would not welcome you home.
So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.
It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.
But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have.
Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts.
That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.
You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock.
You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose.
When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night.
“Thank you.”
Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”
“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”
“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”
You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.
Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”
When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.
“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”
Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away.
He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you.
Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.
Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”
“I do not sleep,” he casually replies.
Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind.
Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky.
You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”
The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses.
He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”
That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it.
Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”
It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company.
Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet.
The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.
There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle.
And the warmth of the sun…
Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips.
When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift.
Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side.
“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says.
You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”
About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head.
“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back.
You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.
The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.
It is only you and him.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”
His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”
Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.
“You’re noisy,” he mutters.
Yet he does not tell you to stop.
You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.
Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”
Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”
That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”
He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”
Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”
A moment of contemplation passes.
Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?
Did he hate that you smacked him?
“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”
His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down.
With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”
A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying.
“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”
“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice.
Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.
And so a new tradition is born.
.
.
.
“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”
Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”
You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs.
This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers.
Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?
Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.
You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”
He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…
“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”
Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”
A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”
Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”
Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed?
Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”
A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside.
“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”
Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.
And so persuasive.
With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips.
It was almost like he planned this.
“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”
You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case.
But…
His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length.
“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”
The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out.
Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”
“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”
He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you.
Shlick! Shlickkk!
The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”
Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”
His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing.
“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”
“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”
You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.
And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.
It’s so hot. Scalding.
He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp.
When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin.
His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.
Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”
You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you.
“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips.
“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door.
Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”
The door opens with a wave of his hand.
“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough.
Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you.
“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”
You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue.
They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”
“I’m sorr—”
“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”
Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna.
.
.
.
You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head.
What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment.
He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up.
And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart.
The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you.
What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?
Will you be sad?
The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.
Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove.
It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.
You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him.
For how long will you be enough?
With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny.
He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”
Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining.
“Pretty girl?”
You jolt.
That voice…
“Suguru?”
Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”
The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.
He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch.
“What happened?”
Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”
Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet.
“Wait, no, I have to stay!”
He’s not listening.
Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss.
Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.
The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”
Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?”
He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels.
He releases you, like you’d burnt him.
“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”
“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”
It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?
A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”
You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”
“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”
He scoffs.
“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”
Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”
Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”
Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes.
You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back.
You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride.
That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now.
He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest.
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”
And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand.
Branches whip at your arms as you run.
The forest is different at night.
Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.
Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”
A roar splits the night.
It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured.
You freeze.
Suguru doesn’t.
“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”
Of course he knows.
This is his domain.
Every inch of it.
You run faster.
Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—
THUD!
The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.
He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.
Sukuna.
Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.
That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”
The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”
He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”
Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.
“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”
Your grip on Suguru tightens.
Sukuna’s smile widens.
“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”
Something in your chest cracks.
“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”
Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”
Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.
The shift is instant.
The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.
“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”
The air distorts.
Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt.
Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely?
Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.
“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.
Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”
A step forward.
“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”
Another step.
Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”
“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”
Suguru pulls you back a fraction.
“Run,” Suguru whispers.
His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.
It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush.
Sukuna smiles wider.
“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”
You do.
Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts.
God, it hurts.
But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again.
Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar.
Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.
Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.
“So panicked. So scared.”
His voice.
Right there.
Warm.
Amused.
Mocking.
You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was.
“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”
The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes.
You trip.
A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.
“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”
Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”
You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.
Run.
Run.
Run.
“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”
There’s a rustle above.
A shadow moving faster than you can track.
Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out?
He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better.
“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”
Your breath hitches.
“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.”
A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.
Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”
“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”
“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears.
Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”
Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late.
Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding.
A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King.
“Got you, little bride.”
In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips.
“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”
His lips slam onto yours.
Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate.
Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices.
“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.
You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood.
It’s sweet.
Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.
He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.
Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air.
His eyes flash red.
“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”
“I’m not your wife,” you spit out.
“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”
Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings.
They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew.
Blood?
Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.
The forest has gone still.
No insects. No birds. No wind.
Only him.
Only you.
And this…
This altar.
“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”
Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.
His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained.
Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.
The word lands like a final verdict.
Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand.
Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t.
You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.
The domain itself is bearing witness.
There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest.
He only needs himself and you.
Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged.
“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen. They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”
His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.
“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”
The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.
One step.
And another.
“To me.”
Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot.
“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”
For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”
Blood drains from your face.
That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much.
Both?
It’d be a death sentence.
Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar.
Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.
You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit.
They distract you, shushing the cries of protest.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”
He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red.
Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp.
When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”
“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”
Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips.
“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”
The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers.
Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol.
He throws his head back, chest heaving.
The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine.
“Fuck!” he bellows
Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.
“You almost came, didn’t you?” you ask, smiling in victory.
Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none.
You moan, back arching.
Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips.
“You expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?” he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. “I want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.”
He’s stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you can’t tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still.
Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist you’d bitten on your stomach, “I am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.” He draws a symbol, a sigil, you don’t recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. “Claim me.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you.
Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so.
You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.
He’s commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.
That’s why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:
“Please.”
“Yes!” you wail. “I do! I do! I claim you. All of you.”
Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. You’re set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.
Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though he’d been put out of his misery.
He holds you to him. He won’t drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name.
The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. There’s no going back anymore. You’ve given in. You’ve surrendered.
Two hot things begin pushing inside.
For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back.
The shadows haven’t stopped stimulating you outside and inside. You’ve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?
World ending.
Tantalizing.
Immense.
Boundless.
The most glorious gift.
You scream.
“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Perfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.”
Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most.
You thought it’d feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you can’t get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join.
“See?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. “You took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.”
In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with.
He’s ploughing his cocks inside you.
Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there.
He’s like an animal let loose. He’s rutting into you so fiercely you fear he’d break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldn’t like.
A crazed laugh echoes in the night.
You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. “More, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.”
Both lengths throb inside you.
Sukuna’s eyes cross. They’re glazed over. “Yes,” he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, “whatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.”
Hours must pass.
Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree.
His hands explore your body till he’s memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same.
The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit — all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.
You cannot get enough of him.
And he cannot get enough of you.
Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe.
“My wife,” he exhales, like announcing to the world. “My life…my love.”
Where he ends and you begin blur.
Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes.
In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter.
.
.
.
The sun has started to rise.
You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukuna’s chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. You’re both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.
Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his.
A deep satisfaction courses through your veins.
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.
There is something almost surreal about it — this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.
His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.
A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again.
Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukuna’s hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made.
All the while, you’re tracing the marks you left on him too — the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.
“Sukuna,” you murmur. He grunts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back home.”
“How you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,” he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.”
As he stands up, you frown. “A goblin? Why not Uraume?”
Uraume’s his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. You’ve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, you’ve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them.
Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, “Uraume is on time out.”
Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, “Why? What happened?”
Petulantly, he grumbles, “The insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.”
To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together.
It’s hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also it’s not a huge leap in logic. They’ve made their point of view abundantly clear — you just didn’t think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked.
“Are you…are you going to hurt them?”
Sukuna cocks a brow. “Would you like me too?”
“No,” you say immediately and sincerely. “Blood’s already been spilled tonight. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.”
“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.”
You giggle.
Then, all the humour dies out of you.
Exhaustion has set in your limbs.
Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now.
His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didn’t even know you’re tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, “Watching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.”
“I’m not crying for him.”
Sukuna’s crimson eyes flit to you.
“Oh?”
Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. “My ferocious, little wife…what is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do you…do you regret marrying me?”
The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder.
“Please don’t ever throw me away. I know I shouldn’t have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please don’t,” you plead through your tears. “I want to be with you forever and ever.”
Silence passes.
A pregnant pause.
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
It’s full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. “Hilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.”
Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. “Don’t laugh at me, you brute. I’m your wife. Respect me.”
Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, “Alright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.”
“Put me down.”
“Never.” Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, “I have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.”
Holding your breath, you listen to his confession.
“There is no world,” he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, “in which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.”
Shyly, you ask, “Even if I have a different face?”
Sukuna nods. “In whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.”
He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.
Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, “It certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.”
That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.
“I’m holding you to that,” you mutter against his lips.
Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours.
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.
summary - You made the unwise decision of entering Sukuna's enclosure with the scent of another man on you.
content - mdni, fem!reader, Sukuna crashes out, brief mention of death, scenting in the nude, 69, accidental indecent exposure, fingering, 'just the tip'', unprotected piv sex, ear pulling, missionary, cumming inside, slight belly bulge, literally what the hell are they doing
wc - 3.5k
an - smut was originally going to be on day 7 but I've moved it day 6 inside. Apologies if this feels rushed or doesn't flow well, I started this at 4am T_T
masterlist
Sukuna was incredibly territorial — that was a given. He made it obvious in the way he kept his rabbit plush within eyesight at all times, hoarded his food close, and rubbed his scent on anything he considered to be his in order to hold a firm claim over them.
So when you visited his enclosure with Satoru close in tow, he was livid. A few of the other staff members he didn't care to name trailed behind you, lingering behind the glass as you entered his enclosure — smelling like another man.
After everything? After holding you in the rain as you both slept, giving you the first of proper rest you've had in months?
Sukuna sat his bulky form up, having previously been sprawled against the dewy grass.
He felt as if he couldn't move as you set about cleaning up his living space a little, giving the ears on top of his head an affectionate graze with your fingers. "Mornin', sleepyhead. Looks like that nasty storm finally subsided."
Silence.
You shrugged, deciding it was simply just the hybrid being his usual aloof self — but six days in his enclosure had clouded your judgement. It had lowered your guards, and the predatory look he had cast your way was ignored.
Satoru tugged at Suguru's arm until the long-haired man turned around to face his on-and-off lover. "Hey … don'tcha think he's looking at her all weird?"
"Yeah. 's he horny again?"
Satoru snorted at that, but his concerns didn't subside. Sukuna's posture remained deathly still — the only movement visible being his red eyes, tracking your each and every moment. "Nah, can't be."
Back inside the enclosure, you were chatting away to deaf ears. Sukuna inhaled — the sound rumbling as it cut you off. His nose twitched, each nostril flaring briefly before he finally spoke, stiff.
"You smell different."
You turned around. Blinked at the hybrid.
"Huh?"
"You smell different," Sukuna repeated. It was only then that you registered the increasingly hostile look on his face, the way he struggled to contain his sharpened nails as they dug into the dirt. The veins snaking down his biceps bulged out of his own accord. Sukuna's head swam — yet he forced himself to get up onto his feet and drag himself to you.
It didn't escape you that his tail wasn't swaying from side to side as it usually did when you were near. "Oh, right," you chuckled, backing up a fraction. "Satoru lent me his jacket 'cause I got wet meerkat feed all over mine."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed into slits when you moved away from him — you had never shown an ounce of fear towards him since you first started working in his enclosure. It wounded Sukuna — especially when he didn't have the soothing balm which was your scent to calm him down. So he went back to his little living space, drove his fists into a tree or two before he could do something worse, and ignored your collective gasps.
"What the fuck—"
Both Satoru and Suguru rushed up the cool observation glass, dramatically mouthing at you to leave the damn enclosure. You glanced back with wide eyes and your heart in your throat as Sukuna dragged his nails down splintering bark in an attempt to self-soothe.
Clearly, it wasn't working.
"Eaaasy, now. What's got you so worked up?"
Suguru banged on the glass, aggravating Sukuna further. "Get the fuck out of there. Who do you think you are?! Y/N?"
A collective shriek left the onlookers outside the enclosure, almost indistinguishable against the tearing of metal. Sukuna grunted, tore off his roof and shredded it in half. If he couldn't take out his anger on Satoru, then he'd have to settle on the next best thing.
"What the hell do we do? Do we go in?"
"Fuck, no. What the hell do I look like, Superman?" Satoru blurted at the other staff member, eyeing the damage. "Let her handle it."
You threw your hands in the air, mentally cursing at your supervisor before tentatively approaching Sukuna. "Are you going to talk to me or keep messing up your living space like an animal?"
"I am an animal," Sukuna snarled in response, kicking at scraps of metal. You sighed at that, mentally noting to demand Satoru for a pay rise.
"No, that's not what I meant. You're beating everything up out of seemingly nowhere. Why?"
For the third time, Sukuna repeated his previous words — wondering how on earth you were so dense. "You. Smell. Different."
The words were low, a barely-veiled threat hanging over them. It took you a moment to register what he meant, but when you did, your face paled a fraction. "Oh, is it my— sorry, Satoru's jacket?"
Sukuna simply stood there, chest heaving as he remained facing a tree. Then, he nodded. Behind the glass, Satoru winced. Suguru rolled his eyes. "Idiot."
"Scent means everything to a tiger," Sukuna began, turning to face you. "Thought you knew that. Thought you were a smart girl."
You were rooted in place as Sukuna stepped forward, approaching you yet again. He seemed bigger than he usually did — turning into a mass of scarred tissue and stiff muscle as he towered over your trembling form. "I'm … I'm sorry, it seemed to have slipped my mind."
"Carelessness will get you killed around me. What do you think killed off everyone else in the pits?"
Ah, the fight club. Sukuna watched you, looking down as you absorbed his words. Everyone outside seemed to fade into the background, and the hybrid didn't bother looking up when they scurried out of the building.
You did, though — looking backwards and throwing a panicked look at Satoru. He threw you a thumbs up before shoving Suguru out with him. Bastard. Your eyes met Sukuna's, the way he wanted you to.
"Scent means everything. It's what makes me me, and you you," he continued, hearing the way your heartbeat pulsed rapidly. "So when you come in here, smelling of another man … what am I meant to think?"
"That I'm simply borrowing the jacket of a coworker who was generous to help me out," you bit back, defensively crossing your arms over yourself.
"It's disgusting. Take it off."
You stared at Sukuna, bewildered. "It-it's just a coat. You don't get to order me around like that."
"But you're in my enclosure, little keeper. And I don't want that scent on you."
"You're being ridiculous," you muttered, but even you didn't believe that. If anything, hours spent researching Sukuna's species in detail should have given you enough of a warning that he had the full capacity to be volatile around foreign scents. This was all on you.
A silence fell heavy, stifling. Sukuna's head continued to throb painfully.
"Alright, alright," you mumbled, unzipping Satoru's jacket. "I'm taking it off. There, happy?" You tossed it behind you, putting some distance between it and Sukuna.
And everything suddenly felt lighter. Your scent was prominent again, finally familiar.
Sukuna rolled his bare shoulders back, taking a proper breath of air in for the first time since you stepped into the enclosure that morning. Your scent was more noticeable now, and he gulped it down greedily, committing it back into memory.
"… happy."
That should have been the end of it, but Sukuna came closer, evidently greedy for more. Satoru's scent on you had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit — making him lean down to nose at your neck. He felt you stiffen against him, yet ignored it.
"But you still smell like him."
"I can't do anything about that right now, Sukuna. I mean—," you tried to explain, but Sukuna cut you off.
"Keep going," he grunted, "take more off. Please."
You gawked up at the hybrid, remembering rule five of the handbook.
'Rule no. 5 » Do not attempt to form personal relationships with subject'
But clearly you were well past that stage, having already broken the rule of making direct eye contact with the hybrid. Even then … stripping yourself before Sukuna just to make him feel better seemed crazy. Unethical, even.
Sensing your hesitation, his tail came around and gripped your wrist. "Please. I'll fix it."
"Fix what? The enclosure? Because that's definitely coming out of my paycheck."
"No. I want to rub my scent on you."
The words lingered between you both, eliciting a warmth inside you that wanted to bloom across your face. You couldn't let that happen, no matter how enticing it all sounded.
"That's not part of my job description," you mumbled, looking back to make sure no one else was in the habitat. There wasn't.
"Neither was sleeping with me yesterday," Sukuna reminded you, tense from exerting himself earlier but taking on a faint teasing lilt to his tone. "Please. Aren't you sorry? Don't you want to help me feel better?"
"Ugh, you're ridiculous," you scoffed, the hand that was uncertainly hovering over your printed t-shirt now yanking it up and over your head. You refused to look at the hybrid, letting him take in the warm expanse of your newly-exposed flesh. But even the sight of you in your bra wasn't enough.
"More. All the way."
And as much as you should have said no, you didn't — because the prospect of making Sukuna feel better, to right what you had done wrong, was too strong to resist. Besides, it wasn't every day a zookeeper was lucky enough to cuddle up to a hunk of a hybrid, and you were curious for some skin on skin contact.
That was why you stripped further, shaky fingers undoing the buttons of your durable khaki pants before they dropped to the grass. You kicked them away, hugging yourself as the cold wind hit you. Sukuna tutted, attentively honing in on the underwear you were wearing.
"Smells … nice. Take them off."
You tutted, hoping that just maybe he'd let you keep them on. But you stripped anyway, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous he was ordering you around like this, that you were the keeper here — not him.
Soon, the swell of your bare breasts met the air, too. Your hips, the soft angles of your legs, the dip of your spine … you were everything Sukuna wasn't, and he loved you for it.
"Stop staring, it's weird."
"Yet you're aroused."
A jolt of heat sparked in you, melding with the embarrassment as you dug your shoes into the grass. For some odd reason, you had kept them on. "Stop making things up and just … do your thing. There's cameras here and I don't want to be giving them a free show."
Sukuna let out a chuffing sound at that and lifted you up effortlessly — slinging you over his shoulder. He couldn't hear you, or at least chose not to when you squealed and banged your fists on his back. He walked to his ruined little shelter, kicking away the debris as best as he could before sitting down with a thud.
This was your first proper exposure to the intimate act of scenting, and it took you by surprise when Sukuna immediately began rubbing his entire face across your form. Two heavy arms secured you on his lap, squeezing as he dug his lips, his cheeks, his chin into the crook of your neck.
He gave you no time to protest, the enclosure silent save for your collective heavy breathing and the wind blowing in. You trembled, screwing your eyes shut as Sukuna nosed his way across your throat and inhaled over and over. Satisfaction wasn't a strong enough word to convey how the hybrid felt.
Sukuna was greedy.
And you were unsure, letting your hands hover above his shoulders. "… Sukuna?"
"Hold me."
You set your hands down, feeling his muscles shift as his chest rumbled against yours. Your breasts had pressed up against him, drawing out happy grunts from the hybrid — who was currently dragging his cheek along your collarbones. There was a slight prickling sensation from the stubble as Sukuna repeated the action, coating you in his increasingly potent scent.
It clung to him, and now it clung to you — stubbornly, just like Sukuna was. He pawed at your exposed rear, careful not to let his claws dig into your tender skin when you jerked against him.
"Sukuna—," you yelped, cold air breezing past your exposed holes. It was vulgar, the way the hybrid was now trying to stake his claim on you in more ways than just his scent. It was unfair how your body responded involuntarily, goosebumps arising and pussy clenching around nothing. Sukuna could smell it all.
"You're still shaking," he noted. "Are you still scared of me?"
You shook your head, a surprised noise leaving you when Sukuna nipped at the skin of your throat with his lips. "No. You're just … touching me far more than you should be."
"And do you hate it?"
…
"No."
"Then let me do this." Sukuna set you down on the grass without letting you respond, shifting to a kneeling position so that he could shuck off his own pants the zoo had given him. You let out a startled noise and covered your eyes as he disrobed.
"You aren't exactly subtle, ah—"
One large hand dragged you back to him by the ankle, and suddenly you were face to face with Sukuna's crotch. A wild tuft of pink hair decorated the base of his cock, which had progressively become erect during your little scenting session.
You shouldn't have been surprised, considering how large of a stature Sukuna sported — but were cocks this big seriously normal for his species?
Pulsing, fat veins decorated his tanned length, which darkened at the tip into a leaking shade of plum. Sukuna's balls sat heavy underneath, aching and full and heavier on the right side. These physiological reactions went beyond anything to do with his territorial instincts — indeed, Sukuna was in the mood for some mating action.
He grunted, cock bobbing he settled his hot palms on your waist, intending to flip you around. Eager. "Get on top of me. I'm not done … scenting you yet."
"T-that's really not necessary, 'kuna," you interjected, wondering if this was all moving too fast for your liking. It was giving you a whiplash, rendering you unable to steady yourself when Sukuna lay flat on the grass with you on top of him. Your pussy hovered above his face, and a fierce heat spread over your cheeks when he repeatedly sniffed. "Pervert."
"I know, now sit down."
Mmph.
A muffled yet delighted hum left the hybrid when he yanked you down by the hips, cunt planting right on top of the lower half his face. You were soaked — undoubtedly so as Sukuna began eating you out with vigour, subconsciously minding his sharp teeth. He made sure to rub his entire face against your lower half, nipping and kissing at your thighs as he spread you open as wide as he could.
You, of course, were writhing on top of him. The cameras would be sure to relay this all back to the bewildered security, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. "Your tongue … 's so rough," you keened out, hips bucking down under the stimulation. Sukuna gave a sorry smooch on your clit, angling his jaw until he could slip it into his mouth and languidly suckle.
"Sorry, 'm so sorry," he groaned, hissing when you took the initiative to grasp onto his cock. Your fingers just about managed to grip onto him, pumping erratically. Sukuna didn't seem to be apologising for his tongue — but rather for scaring you before with his outburst. "Didn't mean it. Promise."
You kept jerking at him, bending down with lidded eyes so that you could experimentally lick at his aching tip. The saltiness was overpowering, nothing like you had ever tasted before. It seemed to cloy your taste buds in a way that was rather addicting — prompting you to ease his head into your mouth with a wet pop.
"Thaaat's it," Sukuna crooned from between your parted legs, trying his damn hardest not to thrust his dick further into your mouth. There was no way you could take him all, and you opted for jerking whatever couldn't fit in your mouth. "Suck on it f'me. Just like that."
Shame had long gone, and you were positively cockdrunk. Thick fingers had slid into you at one point as you bobbed your head up and down, scissoring you open as Sukuna eagerly lapped at your wetness. The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm had begun, making him double down on his efforts until your cries were garbled around his cock.
Splash!
Sukuna's eyes fluttered shut reflexively as you came suddenly, effectively scenting him with your syrupy juices.
Over 'n over, your body spasmed with the aftershocks of your release, until his cock had slipped out of your grasp and you had slipped onto the grass. "A-ah, that's too much," you spluttered, trying to catch your breath. Sukuna shifted until he was able to roll you onto your back, situating himself between your spread legs. The sight of your cunt, glistening and puffy, was enough to make him shudder.
Another chuff left him, the hybrid visibly delighted at how responsive you were — and the fattened curve of his tip caught against your clenching entrance. "Can I? Will you let me in?"
"It won't fit," you croaked, "you're too big."
"Just the tip, it'll fit," he whispered, leaning down to mash his lips onto yours. You could both taste each other, slick webs of saliva connecting you by the tongue as he murmured reassurances into your mouth. When you nodded, Sukuna's thumb found your clit, pert and waiting for his touch.
So he pressed down, circling against it until your back arched up into him. He could feel your nipples, the way the hardened buds nudged against his own. It was all a distraction to help alleviate the discomfort of his cock finally slipping into you. You cried out — hands gripping every surface they could. You even tugged on Sukuna's tiger ears, making the rumbling in his chest claw out of his throat.
"Oh, you're so wet for me," he shook, forehead against yours as you both lay there on the grass. You panted — trying to accommodate your pussy to his obscene girth, feeling boneless and spent already. "Should've done this the second the white-haired fool stepped a single foot in here. Right in front of him."
"Huh—"
With that, Sukuna withdrew his tip, before sliding some of his fat inches back into your heat. He repeated the process until the pain on your face melted into pleasure, and you were able to take more of him with each stuttering thrust.
The cameras continued to blink, and jaws sagged open — including yours. A scandal at that, that the zookeeper of Enclosure 20 was having her pussy stretched out by the feared tiger hybrid before opening hours. Sukuna braced his arms on either side of your head, a lecherous grin on his face as his hips pummelled into yours with a chorus of wet plaps,
Adorable — his favourite little keeper was taking his cock so well.
You tugged at his ears again, body ablaze when the sound of his balls clapping down against the curve of your ass grew in tempo. Sukuna's tail came around, gentle around your thigh — which was a stark contrast to the way he was driving into your walls with the sole intention to fill your womb with his seed and make you climax.
Which you eventually did.
"Coming—!" you gasped aloud, head thrown back into the grass as the peak of pleasure finally hit you both like a ton of bricks. Sukuna had been holding back, but the splashes of your cunt spasming out moisture, coating his chest with your orgasm, was too much for Sukuna to handle.
"Take it," he rasped, "take it all." Sukuna choked on a groan, opting to suck on your throat even if the urge to bite was taking over all coherent thought. Warm spurts of his release filled you up from the inside, rendering you utterly stuffed to the brim with cum.
You could only be grateful that pregnancy wasn't viable between humans and hybrids, because at the rate Sukuna was going? He wouldn't have let you go until you were having triplets if you were one of his kind.
Speaking of Sukuna, he was panting in your ear, gently rubbing his body against yours to ensure you were thoroughly scented. He cradled you, looking down to see the imprint of his cock making your stomach bulge out the slightest amount. Before his cock could stir once more, Sukuna pulled out with a curse, pecking you when you whimpered from discomfort.
Somewhere during the routine of cleaning you up with his trousers, he had turned his rabbit plush around — muttering a small 'oops' as he realised it had been a silent witness to the whole thing. Your breathing slowly evened out, and Sukuna had glanced back at the camera. The red light blinked steadily, and a pang of guilt hit him as he realised he had put your career in jeopardy.
"Shit, 'm sorry," he uttered as he looked back down at you — but you had already fallen unconscious, snoring softly and dreaming of fuzzy ears.
Pairing: Nerdjo aka Nerd!Gojo x Popular Girl!Reader (w/ Frat!Geto & Business Student!Nanami)
Synopsis: Gojo is the biggest freak on campus. He gets pussy like he gets good grades. You don’t believe it for a second…until he gets you in bed and you realize that looks can be quite deceiving. Sure, it only happens because your friends dare you to flirt with him at a party, but taking that drunk dare turns into one of the best decisions you've ever made in your 4 years at uni.
Warnings: 18+ (MNDI); No Curse/College AU (Senior Year); Nerdy Boy x Popular Girl Trope; Drinking/Alcohol Consumption; Weed Smoking; Drunk!Reader; Truth Or Dare; Freakjo lol; Shy to Cocky!Gojo; Stripping; Dom!Gojo x sub!Reader; Mutual Oral; Pussy Whipped!Gojo; Dick Whipped!Reader; Missionary; Feet On The Bed; Doggy; Deep Dicking; Deepthroat; 69; Spit On Pussy; Dirty Talk; Panty Sniffing; Toe Sucking; Tongue & Dick Piercing; Gojo Cums 2x; Reader Cums 2x; Strangers to FWBs; Caught Fucking; FOURSOME???
Word Count: 7.3k
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!
Writer's Note: I had to write me some Nerdjo shit. He’s just tooooo sexy. I'm planning on doing a sequel to this one very soon too! I hope y'all enjoy!! MWAH!! -Jazz
Credits: Gojo fanart by 3vangel1ne_ on X and lildev_ on X! All photos found on Pinterest! Divider by @pixopix!
Gojo Satoru is the smartest student on campus by far.
He's always getting outstanding grades, leading his debate team to success, and is on his way to graduating valedictorian.
He is also a humongous, nasty ass freak.
You’ve heard rumblings about him on campus. Rumors about how good he is with his tongue and how big his dick is (supposedly just as big as his arms and muscular, tree-trunk legs he got from running track and wrestling in high school).
You've heard about him taking home the "hottest" girls on campus, but Satoru doesn't discriminate either apparently. He'll take home any girl: the goth chicks; the nerdy girls; the baddies. You can see why he'd able to pull anybody though since the man is fine as fuck.
Despite the sweater vests, oversized hoodies, and big, black framed glasses that he wears, none of his fashion choices do anything to hinder Satoru's dashing good looks. You've shared classes with him before, including one Algebra class now in senior year, and you've often caught yourself admiring his features.
He has looks fit for a model with dimples that pop when he furiously chews his gum as he works through a difficult problem or feverishly jots down notes in his notebook.
Blue eyes that remind you of a wide ocean in the islands or sparkling sapphires framed with long, white lashes behind his glasses. High cheekbones and a jawline that would make a male model cry. White locks of hair that are often unruly as if he just rolled out of bed but still work for his appearance.
He is also big and tall, standing at six-foot something, often having to duck down to avoid hitting his head when he enters a classroom and standing out like a sore thumb with a height. He hides his muscles behind his sweaters and hoodies, but sometimes you see the outline of his forearms and biceps that make your stomach twirl.
He is often quiet and keeps to himself, always reading a book or writing something in a notebook. You sometimes see him chilling on the campus square, sitting in the grass with his nose in a pages of a history book, a comic, or some sci-fi story.
He doesn't come off at all like he's this nasty-ass, big ol' dicked freak that likes eating a girl's pussy until she cries when she cums or stuffing his face between some juicy asscheeks or likes every kind of position he can put someone in.
But according to the gossip you've heard in the bathroom and at parties, Satoru is as freaky as they come. But you never believed it, even when your sorority sisters were telling you that the stories are 100% true.
"I'm telling you, Y/N!" Yuki exclaimed as you sat together one sunny, spring day over lunch. "I heard the guy is a total fuck machine! And he's hung! Look here!" She then proceeded to pull out her phone and flash you a photo of Satoru that he sent her a month ago.
But not just any photo: a nude. He was standing in his bathroom mirror, holding his shirt up between his teeth to expose his impressively toned stomach, pierced, pink nipples, and his—
"Is that him?!" you gasped, eyes wide at the sight of his bare, hard, big, long cock standing up at attention over his sweats. Yuki nodded, biting her lip. "I never got a chance to fuck him since I started dating Choso afterwards, but our sisters can speak for me."
"Just look right here," Shoko chuckled, smoking on her vape as she sat with you and Yuki. "It was a threesome with me and another girl, but he put us both in the mattress. He's a good time, girl."
But you still didn't believe them. It was impossible! How could a guy that looks that nerdy and be so awkward also be so freaked out and openly sexual? Sending nudes? Having threesomes? Maybe it's your ignorance, but it doesn't make any sense to you.
You knew that your uni was full of nothing but fuckboys looking for their next toy (unless you're a sweetheart like Choso, Yuki's boyfriend, or Nanami, your bestie from your business class who is a business major).
So you continued to ignore the stories and rumors, chalking up Yuki's nude to be photoshopped, not believing any word of mouth about this nerdy boy...until one night when you found yourself at the same party that Satoru was attending. It was a big weekend bash thrown by Geto Suguru, a frat boy and admittedly one of the hottest guys on campus. "Nice to see you ladies tonight," he greeted in his silky, smooth voice. "Nice outfit, Y/N. Color looks good on you."
You trained yourself well enough to not swoon as you stared up into the handsome frat boy’s violet eyes. He and you had engaged in a casual flirty back-and-forth practically since the Stone Age! And he’s tall, walking sex on legs with his muscles, piercings (an eyebrow stud, gages, and snakebites embedded in his plump bottom lip), arms and neck rippled with tattoos, and long, black hair cascading like a river down his back.
But you never let him fit. And you never would. A girl like you enjoyed the chase. So you confidently stuck your tits out a bit more and gave him a dazzling smile. "Thanks, Suguru. Thanks for the invite.” Geto did his very best to keep his eyes pinned on your face, but they drifted to your chest for a millisecond. Typical. “No problem. You here with somebody other than your girls?"
Like clockwork, Nanami noticeably moved closer to you. You managed to get his nose out of a business 101 book to come to the party. Meanwhile, Yuki wrapped an arm around your neck. “Yes, and she's not interested in the likes of you,” she sniffed. Geto raised a pierced brow at her. ”The likes of me? Shit, you say that like I'm some sort of slut. That's Satoru."
“Oh, really?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Geto smirked, sensing your disbelief. Perhaps he’d heard that you thought it was BS. "Yeah, we're good friends. We've been tight since childhood." He leaned in, smelling slightly of cigarette smoke, making your heart jump. “So if you want a good time and a good guy, give him a call. Though I could say the same about me."
He gives you a wink that only you catch before he steps back and allows you and your posse to step into his home. "Enjoy yourselves. See you ladies in there." But he was looking straight at you when he said it, his violet eyes dark with something unreadable yet hot. They grazed over your ass in your mini skirt that suddenly felt much shorter.
Geto’s frat house was decorated to the nines with decorations that looked like they were pulled out of storage: disco balls hanging from the ceiling; Christmas lights strung on the banister; a machine that glinted pink and red lights on the walls, creating shadows and shapes. The walls and windows seemed to shake from the bass of the rap music blaring from an Alexa Pro. If nobody was dancing, they were drinking, chatting, playing beer pong, or making out on a piece of furniture.
Once your were inside the crowded frat house, Nanami bumped his shoulder with yours. He had on his usual attire of a sweater and jeans with his glasses low on his nose. "Keep away from him," he murmured. "I heard he's a dick.” You tsked at him, waving him off with a waggle of your manicured nails. "You say that about every guy."
He looked like he wanted to say more as your girls whisked you through the throng of people, but he couldn’t. Not when a tray of shots was being shoved in his face. ”Let’s get some shots!" Mai squealed. “C'mon, losers, don't make me drink alone!" Maki rolled her eyes, taking one of the mini red solo cups. ”Okay, but I'm not draggin' your ass home like I did before."
Mai just rolled her eyes, raising her shot high, her shimmery gold tight nearly blinding you under the disco balls hanging from the ceiling. ”Ugh, such a party pooper! Bottoms up, sluts! Cheers!" You took a shot and passed one to Nanami who looked reluctant, but a business student needed his booze, right?
“Cheers!” you squealed and clinked cups before downing the tequila. Though you gagged and cringed at the burn, the warm wash that settled over your body and in your tummy was intoxicating. So you took another shot.
And then another and another and another. You drank and drank until an hour later, you were feeling sexy, irresistible, and slightly loose…okay, a lot loose. You were practically falling out of your top, your titties jiggling enticingly as one song after another played. ”I love this song!" you exclaimed, moving your hips. You didn’t care who saw or who thought what about you, feeling too good to give a fuck.
Nanami and Shoko watched you, standing against the wall. While Nanami looked downright concerned, Shoko smirked, puffing on her cig and sipping from her spiked punch. "Somebody’s drunk," she sang. "Shouldn't have dared her to drink those coconut shots."
You turned to her a little too quickly, teetering in your heels and nearly falling. Nanami shot a hand out to grab you, his hold firm. “Careful. You're in heels."
For some reason, his deep voice sounded a lot deeper than usual. Silkier. Sexier. But you chalked it up to the booze…all three tequila shots, three 1/2 coconut vodka shots, and a pint of spiked punch. "I'm not druuunk!" you giggled, spitting your tongue out at Shoko. You pulled yourself out of Nanami’s confusing hold, still dancing. “I’m just—" You gasped as you stepped back and knocked right into somebody, spilling their drink. "O-Oh, shit, my bad!" you slurred. But you stopped short when you saw who it was.
Gojo Satoru stood before you in a blue hoodie and jeans, his glasses slightly foggy and beer droplets on the front of his hoodie. He looked just as stunned to see you there, his eyes glancing down at your revealing top and legs. "I-It’s cool!” he stammered. "Er, sorry! I'm just trying to get through." Quickly, he retreated through the crowd, muttering “Excuse me”s as he did.
You watched in silence as he moved to some secluded corner, the scent of vanilla lingering. Was that his body wash? Cologne? It stirred something inside you and made your pussy throb.
"There goes Mr. Big Dick," you heard Shoko giggle. When you turned, you saw that Yuki and the Zenin sisters had returned to join you, all of them drunk. “Hey, Y/N,” Mai giggled. “I’ve got another dare for ya." You raised a brow as she placed a hand on your shoulder, her black nails nearly digging into your skin.
You thought you’d be expecting anything else but what she said next: ”I dare you to sleep with Satoru." Your eyes widened at her while Nanami looked like he wanted to choke her out. ”What?!” you exclaimed. “No fuckin’ way!”
Mai rolled her eyes, still holding onto you with a gorilla grip. ”Okay, then at least flirt with the guy!” Yuki nodded, her blonde hair a mess and slightly unbalanced. “Yeah, girl! You’re hot as fuck, so he'll definitely be interested!"
You thought about it for a moment. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were considering taking this stupid dare. ”What do I get if I do this?" you asked, crossing your arms. Yuki looked back at Shoko, sharing a smirk. ”Anything you want. Money. Free lunch. I'll even write your next paper for you."
"You just wanna see if he's good in bed," you huffed, shaking Mai’s hand off of you. What a load of horny bitches you had as friends. “We all do!" Mai replies. "Even this prissy bitch here!” She nodded at Maki who gave her the finger, just as drunk as the rest of you. “C’mon, at least get him naked, girl.”
You thought it over for a moment, Gojo’s delicious vanilla scent still hanging in your nose. You then eyed him from across the room, drinking in his model-sque features and pink lips. He couldn’t be all that bad if you heard so many rumors about him. "Fine,” you sighed. "Hand me a cup.” Yuki and Mai grinned as they whisked you away to the alcohol table and filled you a cup of spiked punch that you downed in one slurp. Though you felt woozy, you also felt that intoxicating confidence that made you feel like you could fly.
But as the girls cheered you on as you began to walk towards the white-haired nerd, you felt a firm hand take your elbow. "Y/N, hold up," Nanami said, his hazel eyes filled with concern. "You sure you wanna do this? Don't let them pressure you into doing something you don't want to."
But you just smiled, giving his bicep a squeeze. ”M’fine, Ken. It's okay, just stand clear and come if I fail miserably." Though your friend looked uncertain, he released you and watched as you sauntered over to Gojo, sexy, flirty, and irresistible. That was what you were going for, but the closer you got, the more unsure you felt.
You weren’t the type to approach guys. Guys approached you. Once they did, if they interested you or caught you on a good day, you flirted back. Now here you were about to talk flirty to a guy who was more interested in his phone than he was in this party. Finally, you stood before Gojo who was deep in something on YouTube, still holding his cup.
"Uh..." You paused, loudly clearing your throat over the music. He finally looked at you and his blue eyes widened a bit. ”Hi," you greeted, not intending to it to sound so sexual. "Satoru, right? We're in class together." Gojo’s Adam’s Apple bobbed a bit as he regarded you as if he had no idea if you were real or just a booze-fueled hallucination. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered, and that was it.
Quickly, you tried to fill the gap in conversation. “Soooo whatcha doin' here? I don't think I've ever seen you at a party before."
He rolled his sapphire-blue eyes, shoving his phone in his hoodie. “My friend is throwing the party. Geto, the guy at the door." You nodded, smiling. ”Yeah, he's real nice." Gojo begged to differ, a dimple popping in his cheek as he frowned. It was quite appealing. ”He’s an asshole. Don't let looks deceive you...n-not that they would. I don't think you're stupid or anything or—”
"Satoru, it's fine," you giggled. Quickly, he stopped, his cheeks beat red. ”I know what you meant. And you're right...but you could say the same about yourself."
He blinked at you, confused. ”Huh?” he dumbly asked. Finally, you felt that liquid fire pouring into your veins and the awkwardness was gone. "Looks can be deceiving, right? I'm sure you get that a lot. I do too." His brows knitted, giving him a very puppy-dog look that fueled a sudden want for him inside you. ”How so?”
"The clothes and the makeup. People automatically think I'm some dumb bimbo. Like this mini skirt." You ran your manicured French tips over your short skirt. Gojo followed your hands down your hips and thighs, swallowing hard. "Y-You're not. And the dress is...nice." He looked like he was about to pass out as he sipped his drink.
You smiled, knowing that you had him. "It's kinda loud in here. You wanna go somewhere more private? Only if you want to." You thought he’d say no due to how uncertain he looked, but finally, he nodded. “Uh…s-sure.”
Smiling, you took his hand in yours, noticing how much bigger it was, and shot a wink at your friends before you led the nerd upstairs. The noticeable thump-thump of a headboard against the wall and moans drifting from the closed doors made it evident that some rooms were occupied. Luckily, you found an open door and creeped inside with Gojo. “In here!" you whispered, giggling. "No one's fucking in here."
You didn’t try to look for a light, instead using your cellphone flashlight to shine over the room. It was a bedroom with a bed full of anime and Sanrio-themed pillows, beanbag chairs, walls covered in anime and science posters, a desk covered in books and papers, and a window overlooking the pine trees outside. As Gojo walked in, you carefully closed the door and found a lava lamp that cast all kinds of colorful glows over the walls and Gojo’s tall frame—pink, blue, orange, red.
The air was tense and thick with something charged as you stood by the door, suddenly unsure of whether you wanted to continue this stupid dare or not. Gojo was taller than you realized, his hand stuffed in his pockets as he stood by the window. “So you're graduating this summer, right?" you asked, your throat thick with a knot.
He didn’t even answer. Instead, he just stared at you, hot and knowing. ”Did you really bring me up here to talk?" he asked. "Or was it just to fuck me?"
Your blood suddenly went hot and your stomach dropped. Not only did the question stump you, but so did his voice: it dropped about an octave, becoming lower and silkier than he usually sounded. ”What?” you asked, shocked. Gojo smirked, his dimples popping. ”It’s okay. You can be honest."
You stared at him, unsure of whether this was real. It was like the Gojo you met earlier, so timid and uncertain, was gone, replaced with someone confident, cocky, and oh-so yummy. ”I...I don’t..." You nervously pulled at your skirt, suddenly clammy and unconfident. What was he doing to you?
Gojo continued to stand there, the lava lamp lights illuminating his handsome features and blue eyes. “I heard you don't believe the rumors. Some of your sorority sisters told me. I don't blame you; people talk and shit follows.” Then he started striding over to you on those long legs. “But if you're really interested, I can show you now," he said, his voice hushed and deep. He continued to stride to you, confident and so sure of himself. You felt none of that in yourself anymore. You felt just as awkward as he portrayed to you moments before, the hazy confidence that the shots provided dispersing.
“I-I'm sorry, Satoru," you whimpered, suddenly needing to come clean. "This was just a dare. My friends...they told me to…” You trailed off, your throat growing tight. Gojo finally stopped a couple inches from you, his pink lips forming an small O.
"Oh," he simply replied. Then he gave you a crooked smile that nearly had your panties dropping and heart twirling in somersaults. "Then let me give you somethin' to talk to them about." And then his hand was on your cheek and he was kissing you.
Satoru kissed like he had done it a dozen times before. His lips were soft and plushy, spiked with the taste of fruit punch and vodka. He took his time getting to know your mouth, using his hand to tilt your chin up so he could slide his tongue between your lips. You were shocked to find that he also had a fucking tongue piercing. The cold metal slid against your wet tongue, bringing soft moans out of the both of you.
“That’s it,” he cooed, lacing a hand in your hair while the other settled on your hip. “You’re a good kisser, y‘know. I’ve always wanted to do this.” He knew just what to say to make you feel so open and get you oh-so wet, something no guy has EVER accomplished before.
He also stripped a girl like he'd done it a dozen times before. While he continued to kiss you down and make your panties soaked, his big hands slid up your behind and gripped each cheek in his palms. In a blink, he was then sliding the pull-on skirt down your hips and exposing your lace thong panties. He slid off your top too, exposing your breasts to him. He gazed at you in awe, taking in a shuddery breath. “Damn,” he exhaled and you nearly melted in your heels.
Speaking of heels, he specifically told you to keep those on as he licked and sucked at your tits, teasing your hard nipples with his pierced tongue. “God,” you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck.” The word escaped your lips in shuddery moans and whispers, the sharp edge of Gojo’s teeth and his fat tongue making your pussy gush.
Gojo took one look up at you through his glasses, the lenses slightly fogged, and gave you a lustful look as he locked eyes with you with your tits smushed against his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of you, his long fingers cascading over your hips and gripping your ass as he sucked your nipples like he was trying to get milk out of them. If it wasn’t for the door, your knees definitely would’ve buckled, your muscles loose and flimsy like jelly.
After getting his week’s worth of your titties, Gojo finally took you over to the bed and pinned you to the spot with a look of pure heat radiating from his eyes. ”This okay?" he asked, his voice hushed and low. His tone is saccharine and honeyed with softness and concern as he held you close, his arms wrapped around your waist. You nodded, unable to speak. “So you still wanna do this? You still want me to show you what I can do?" He leaned in and kissed you, gently pulling at your bottom lip.
Again, you nodded and he gently caressed your knuckles with his thumbs. Though this was not your first time, you felt nervous like it was, damn near shaking in your heels. Especially when Gojo’s smile fell, replaced with a look of molten heat. “Get on the bed," he demanded. You did so, squeaking when his hand smacked your ass as you mooned him.
SMACK!
His chuckle was a damn drug as you squeaked, the sound bouncing off of the walls. “Sorry. I’ve been wantin’ to do that for ages.” Then he was kissing your ass, smothering it in wet kisses that soothed the sting.
Not to mention his pussy-eating. Satoru was a certified munch! So much so that you started to think he should have worn it on a name tag or stamped it on his birth certificate as "Gojo Munch Satoru”. But of course, that was just your delirium kicking in since his pierced tongue was making you see stars, stripes, and all kinds of crazy shit as it dipped through your puffy, wet folds and slid into your hole.
You gasped as you sat on the bed, legs cocked up and out, his hands pinning your thighs down and as wide as far as possible to get as much of your pussy in his mouth as he could. He was so precise with his tongue placement yet so sloppy and messy, getting his spit and your juices all over his chin and sliding down your asscrack, your panties pulled aside to make room for him.
You were a moaning, whimpering, writhing, humming mess, all of your cells coming to life like flowers in spring as the nerd sloppily lapped at your cunt, alternating between flicks of his tongue and sucking from his pillowy-soft lips. ”Mmm, fuck, Satoru!" you moaned. "Oh, my God, y-you're so good! Ah!" Your hands grasped his soft locks of his hair, pulling and carding through the strands.
Gojo seemed to get off on your praise, rutting his hips against the edge of the bed. ”You’re fuckin' perfect," he groaned against your clit. "Been wantin' you since freshmen year." You paused, reality kicking in for a moment, lifting the cloud of hazy pleasure. ”R-Really?” you stammered. "You...ohhhh!"
Your question was immediately cut short as his tongue slid back in you again while he rubbed your buzzing clit, causing the embarrassing, lewd sounds of squelching to fill the air. Satoru wasn’t quiet about it either. He was very verbal with his pussy-eating, mumbling compliments about your taste and how pretty you were down there as his tongue and lips wetly slosh and squelch between your thighs.
"Taste so good!" he whined, his words slightly muffled. "Mmm, fuck, I could do this all night." Then pulled away to stare at you, his glasses slightly crooked. ”Would you let me, baby?" he questioned, his eyes glistening with lust. "You'd let me eat this pussy and make you cum for me all night, right?” He continued rub your clit, making you see stars. "Toru," you whimpered. You were twitching, squirming, and writhing on the bed, desperate for more.
Gojo’s face suddenly darkened and his cheeks flamed pink. A feral look crossed over his eyes, making him look almost wild. “Keep callin' me that. I like that." He then spat a copious amount of spit on your pussy—Gojo Satoru just spat on your pussy—and slurped it back up as he continued to eat your pussy like his life depended on it.
It didn’t take long for you to feel your muscles tightening and your brain turning to mush as you got closer to the edge. "Oh, God!" you groaned. "Fuck, Toru, I'm gonna cum!" You held on tight to his hair, bringing him closer to your hole. “Mmm-hmm! Cum for me!” he begged. "Please, baby. Do it all over my mouth. Give it to me!”
And when you came, you heard bells and sirens in your ears because those things start ringing. You realize it was because of how loud you were. You were screaming for your life, enough to give Mariah Carey a run for her money, as you gushed all over the bed and Gojo’s mouth. He greedily lapped at it, not caring if it stained his hoodie or ruined his glasses. He drank you all until you were whimpering and shaking, your pussy quivering in his mouth as you came down from your high. He pulled away and lapped at his fingers, licking your taste off of him. ”Fuckin’ delicious," he sighed.
You laid there, panting and exhausted yet so wanton. Silently, he began to strip, pulling his hoodie off from the back. He wore a white tank underneath that perfectly accentuated his muscles and each vein in his biceps. He tore that off too, exposing his sculpted abs and pretty happy trail leading down to his V-line. Your eyes flickered down to his bulge, big and hard, pushing through his jeans.
"You want this?" he murmured, palming his cock through his pants. You nodded, too tired to speak. He then dragged them down alongside his briefs, exposing himself to you. That's when you come to understand that the nude Yuki showed you wasn't photoshopped; it was 100% real. "Yeah," he said, blushing as he stared down at his hard cock. "I'm a little big."
A little?! He practically had a third arm! You gaped at the nine-inch beauty before you. Thick, curved, and veiny. Heavy balls sinewy with fine, white hair and filled with cum. All for you. Not to mention the bulbous, pink head pierced with a silver hoop. “It was a dare by Geto,” Gojo explained, still blushing like the same, shy, nerdy Gojo you had always known.
Or maybe you hadn’t known him at all. Maybe now, you were coming to know both of the Gojos that lived in that gorgeous body. Growing cocky by your shook expression, he wrapped a hand around his dick and slowly stroked it up and down, making you fixate on his palm jerking himself off. "You want this nerd dick?" he asked again, the corners of his lips lifting in a smirk. Slowly, you nodded, transfixed. Dickmatized. ”Good 'cause I want that pussy again. Get on top of me."
Somehow, you found yourself 69ing the sexy ass nerd, straddling his face as you deepthroated his big, fat, long dick. It took some getting used to and some help from Gojo…by “helping”, he pushed your head down and practically forced himself down your throat. Lucky for you, you got used to him quickly and hollowed your cheeks to take him down your open throat.
At some point, Gojo forgot all about your dripping pussy above him, too busy moaning and whining about how good your mouth was wrapped around his dick. "Goddamn, you're good!" he moaned. "Wish we would've done this years ago, fuuuuck..." His blue eyes rolled back as your velvety, wet mouth enveloped him, sliding deep down your throat.
You gagged and choked, but persisted, finding yourself becoming wetter and more aroused from his stuffing your throat full of his cock. He took full advantage, lacing a fist through your hair and using it as leverage to pull his hips up and down to fuck your mouth. "Keep goin', baby," he grunted. "Take me deeper. Take all of that fuckin' dick.”
You moaned around his dick, the sounds making his balls vibrate, causing him lewdly groan, using your mouth like a fleshlight. He was so pent-up and needy yet forceful and demanding, taking everything you gave him. He tongue-fucked your pussy at the same time, moaning into your pussy hole. It somehow made you drip more and more, in addition to the bedsprings creeeeeking below Gojo’s pistoning hips.
What would your girls think? What would Nanami think if he could see you now? Slobbering and spitting and gagging all over the class nerd’s cock, making him moan and cry out for you? Soon, you felt Gojo’s cock swell in your throat and you knew that he was close. “Fuck, I’mma cum!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby!” He began to slam his hips up into your mouth without abandon as if he was fucking you, damn near knocking your jaw off of its hinges, making the bed shake. Soon, his hips stuttered and he stilled as he came deep down your throat with a groan fit for a porno, making you drip and leak into his mouth as he filled your mouth with his spunk.
You had no choice but to slurp it all down, your moans muffled as your throat swallowed every ounce of him. Finally, with a sigh, Gojo released you and let you pop off of him, swallowing down his cum. You rolled off of him, bouncing on the mattress before he sat up, grinning down at you. “Fuck, girl, you’re good,” he sighed.
He looked a fucked-out mess—his white hair was disheveled, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips were puffy and kiss-swollen. Now you understood why girls went crazy for him: the man was sexy as fuck. And full of stamina. You squeaked as he suddenly yanked you over by your ankles, sliding you across the mattress towards him so you were laying between his muscular thighs.
His eyes still held that same lustful, needy flicker as he gazed down at your naked body, heels dangling by his hips. “Still want me to fuck you?” he whispered. “Give your girls somethin’ to talk about?” He reached out a hand and his thumb toyed with your bottom lip, making your heart pound.
Despite the intense orgasm you just experienced, you still needed him fucking you. Using you. Filling you up. That was why you were there, right? To go all the way? “Yes,” you squeaked.
But Gojo wasn’t satisfied. He stuck his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck on it like it was a pacifier. “Yes what?” he teased. “If you want me to do somethin’, you have to communicate.” He then pulled his thumb out and let you speak. The words tumbled out of you, fueled by your arousal: “Yes, Toru, fuck me,” you whimpered.
Gojo didn’t need anymore convincing and proceeded to show you just why these bitches were all over his dick like bees on honey.
He laid you on your back against the cool Superman-themed bedcovers, hung your feet over his shoulders, and lined himself up with your entrance before siiiiiinking inside of your wet heat, drawing a moan out of both of you. He went slow, only putting in the tip, before giving you the second inch. Then the third. Fourth. Fifth. He drew back each time and paused to watch your body language, ensuring that you were okay.
You were more than okay. You never felt so full. So good. No man has ever made you feel this amazing just sinking their cock inside of you for the first time. After a few minutes of plunging in and out of your pussy, Gojo finally sunk in all the way and bottomed out, making you moan aloud and grip his shoulders. “Thaaaat’s it,” he groaned as you stretched around him. “There you go. S’good, right?”
He grinned down at you, his pearly whites gleaming at you in the lava lamp glow as the music from the party pulsed around you the same way his dick pulsed and throbbed inside of you.
“Ha…ha…” you thickly exhaled, gripping his biceps, digging your nails into his skin. He acted like it didn’t sting, a blush coating his cheeks as he continued to slide inside of you and draw himself out.
After a few long, slow strokes, Gojo finally began to really fuck you. And you had never been fucked the way that Gojo fucked you in that guest room.
Suddenly, the music blaring through the walls coated in anime posters and the fact that people were right downstairs (and could definitely hear Gojo putting you through the mattress upstairs) didn’t matter anymore. Neither did grades or exams or future or your stupid sorority group. All that mattered was Gojo’s dick plunging in and out of your dripping, wet pussy.
The bed rocked with his deep, rough thrusts as he pounded into your body, shoving you up the headboard littered in Sanrio pillows before drawing you back down to him, the squelching, wet sounds of your soaked pussy wrapped around his cock. His big hands gripped the soft flesh where your thighs met your ass, bouncing you against his pelvis on top of his dick over and over again.
“Uh, fuck, Toru, yes!” you whined. “Y-You…oh, fuck, ah!” You couldn’t keep quiet, drool embarrassingly dripping from your lips each time his dick slid inside of you, kissing that spot inside you that made you see stars and sparkles.
Gojo was just as gone as you were, his eyes rolling back and teeth pulling his bottom lip back as he rutted himself into your tight, wet, dripping heat. “Oh. My. God,” he groaned each time he thrusted, luscious, pornographic groans and whimpers leaving his soft, pink lips as he hotly glared down at you, loving how you looked spread open for him. “Y-You feel so fuckin’ good, fuck,” he gasped. “God, I love you’re fuckin’ pussy!”
He then gripped you harder, so hard that you were sure he’d leave bruises, and fucked you at a faster rhythm that made his thighs clap against your ass and your clit rub against his stomach. Your head lulled against the pillow, all thoughts and language and your existence knocked straight out your brain. Your eyes closed as the bliss of pleasure came over you and—
“Look at me,” Gojo hoarsely demanded. He gripped your chin, forcing you to stare into his deep ocean-blue eyes filled with fiery lust and need. “Watch me, baby. Watch me fuckin’ fuck this perfect pussy.”
Then each of his big ass feet were placed on the bed and he was deep-dicking you, of course, keeping his thrusts light and slow to avoid hurting you. But it didn't even matter—you could still feel all of him stretching you. Molding your pussy into his. Using your hole as a personal cock sleeve, drawing the most embarrassingly loud sounds out of your chest. You couldn’t stop your pussy for quivering or your clit from pulsing with ecstasy as Gojo gave you unbelievable dick. “Oh, my God, I’m…I’m—!”
And without warning, you squirted. You felt it, but couldn’t warn him. You could only feel the explosive pleasure build within you and release as your pussy gushed all over Gojo’s cock, squirt spraying from your walls like a fire hydrant. Your keens of pleasure were loud and made your throat raw, your eyes rolling back to your head as your back arched off of the bed. Gojo laughed as he watched you, slowing his thrusts down to slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “Fuck!” he gasped, laughing to himself. “Did you just squirt for me?”
You didn’t answer, too sensitive and shook to do so. You had never had a guy make you squirt before.
You stared up at Gojo in wonder. And slight fear. You knew that this man would become a problem. He smiled down at you, so adoringly, lovingly how you looked stretched around him and a total fucked-out mess. “I’m even more obsessed with you now, baby,” panted. “You can’t get rid of me now.” He leaned down to nibble at your bottom lip, a light flickering in his eye. “Let’s switch positions.”
Suddenly, he was flipping you over like you weighed absolutely nothing and pounding your pussy in doggy style. One of his favorite positions. He got right back to fucking you dumb even after you just came. He gripped your hips and grunted in time with the applause that his thighs made against your ass with every rough, persistent thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.
You squealed and whined, gripping the sheets for dear life as he railed your shit like it was his job to lay pipe like a plumber. “Fuck, Toru, ugh!” you whined. “W-Wait! I-It’s too much!”
You began to squirm as the deep dicking became too much, but he yanked you back possessively against his stomach, pressing your ass back flush against him. “Don’t run f’me, baby,” he gasped. “You wanted this, right? This is what you needed?”
You could only sob and whine in response, your moans echoing throughout the bedroom, your eyes wet with fat tears that ruined your mascara. It felt so good that it hurt, the pleasure indescribable. Speaking of “hurt”, Gojo was one for a little pain because he was freaky like that. “Fuck, this fuckin’ ass!” he groaned.
SMACK!
You squealed as his hand came across your backside, fire licking across your asscheeks. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Always walkin’ around in those damn jeans and skirts.”
SMACK!
He hit you again, triggering something inside of your pussy that signaled to your brain that your end was near. “You think that shit is fuckin’ cute? You think you’re funny teasin’ me like that?” Gojo hissed before hitting you again and again, loving the way your ass recoiled against him as your pussy tightened around his dick, squeezing him right in place.
“T-Toru!” you hiccuped. “I-I’m gonna…I can’t…” You felt your body go weak and your muscles turning to jelly. Your arch was failing and you were about to break. You couldn’t do it anymore.
But Gojo was there to save you, pulling his dick out just to slap it up against your clit before plunging in again. “Don’t tap out, babe,” he panted. “Not just yet. I need to cum too.” He then wrapped a hand around your throat and gripped it, leaning over to whisper dead in your ear. “Cum with me,” he whimpered. “C’mon, baby, please! Give it to me now!”
And he fucked you just like that—one hand on your throat, the other on your ass, pounding your pussy until you came all over him again with a trembling moan as you shivered against him. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back and your body bucked like you were possessed. You felt your cream spill down your thighs, soaking his cum-filled balls. Even so, that didn’t make him cum…and it didn’t make him stop either.
He pulled out just to flip you onto your back and slide his hard cock against your sensitive, puffy pussy lips. “Not yet, princess,” he chuckled. “I’m not done with you yet. You need a story for your horny friends, right?”
You knew it was the end for you when he held you down on your back again and wrapped your legs and arms up like a pretzel before fucking you into the mattress just like that, your head hanging off of the bed. He grunted and moaned wantonly and sluttily as he did this, words of, “Oh, fuck yes” and “Shit, baby” escaping him, his glasses falling off of his face and onto the floor somewhere, forgotten.
Weak gasps and moans left your lips as he drew himself in and out of you, using your sensitive little hole with every intention of cumming inside of you and making you cum again. You felt it now just as you felt his cock throbbing inside of you. Pulsing. Getting ready to spurt ropes of spunk deep inside of you.
And as you felt yourself getting closer, you looked at the door just in time to see it peel open from upside down. “Satoru!” you gasped, your heart lurching into your throat.
But Gojo misunderstood your body language, groaning when your pussy clenched out of pure fright, his eyes squeezed tight in concentration. He fucked you harder, faster, making the bed shake and the bedsprings bounce as he drew himself down against your hips again and again, putting his full weight on you, making your titties bounce. “Fuck yes, I’m cumming again too!” he moaned. “Cum with me, baby! Right now!”
And just as you felt a warm splash of his spunk explode inside of you, the door opened and there stood a frazzled-looking Nanami and a shocked Geto with a red solo cup. Gojo let out a loud, sultry moan as he emptied himself inside of you, cum gushing out of his cock and entering you. Unfortunately, it triggered your own nut and you gushed right in front of Geto and Nanami, your good friend.
As you let out an open-mouthed moan through your pleasure, humiliation somehow made the orgasm more intense and you couldn’t help but shake. Gojo finally relaxed inside of you, opening his eyes and gasping when he saw his two “guests” standing there.
Geto whistled impressively, a crooked smirk on his face. “Damn. Guess we were too late, Nanami.” Nanami just stood there, gaping at you, unable to speak.
Gojo quickly covered you with a Pikachu-shaped pillow, but never pulled out of you, still pulsing inside of your pussy. “Da hell are you two doing here?” he demanded, pissed. “This is my room!”
“Your room?!” you gasped, staring at him wide-eyed.
Geto was still nonchalant about it all, sipping from his cup like the scene was nothing new. “Well, Nanami wanted to check to see how his friend was…but I think we both wanna join the party.” He turned to stare at the blonde, smirking knowingly. "Right, Nanami?”
Nanami was silent, still staring, but you noticed the bulge that began to chub against his pants as he admired you stretched on Gojo’s dick from afar. “Ken?” you whispered.
Your friend sighed, his hands balled into tight fists as he tried to restrain himself. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, practically softly growling as he glared at Gojo. “But if anybody can fuck you better, it’s me. I need to show you that.”
You gaped at him, unable to process what he just said. This couldn’t be happening.
Geto turned to you again as he winked at Gojo, palming his own dick pushing against his sweats. “So whatdaya think, pretty girl? You up for round two?”
Synopsis: Toji, the TA, won't bump up your latest essay a couple marks, not with just some begging at least, so you try a different method:
good ol' pussy persuasion
Warnings: toji art by @/youKa.i on insta, smut, porn with a lil plot, nerd!toji, a couple years older than reader but both students, reader harasses him but don't save him he's right where he wants to be, some comedy aspect, college au, non curse au, f!reader, blowjob under the desk, unethical behaviour, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, briefest choking, sex against the window, pússy inspection, belly bulging, overstimulation, spitting, a little fisting I guess or almost, Toji's poor so this is canon compliant jkjk, creampie and unprotected sex, brief pussyjob, size kink/difference, hidden sex, not proofread
Word Count: 10.7k
“For the last time,” he drawls, “I’m not bumping you up a grade.”
You groan, pushing your legs to catch up to him faster.
“Come on, I need this. I’m not asking you to break the rules. All I want is for you to reread my essay and find extra marks, which you will!”
Toji Fushiguro is a tough nut to crack, though he doesn’t look it — one glance at him and one would think he’s a laidback TA. He’s the exact opposite; he takes his job a little too seriously.
For days now, you’d been hounding him, pleading with him and degrading yourself all for him to ‘remark’ your last paper and ‘coincidentally’ find a few extra marks that would push you to the top performing spot you’d been eyeing since forever. Each time you rushed into his office, waited for him after his classes, and followed him to his apartment, he’d shrugged you off with the same ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ look in his eyes.
Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”
Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”
He stops.
Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness.
His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”
A frown graces your features.
“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”
“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”
He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway.
You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”
Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”
Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope.
“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”
A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.
“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”
Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”
Everyone walks past without another look at you.
Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
His eye twitches.
As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”
“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.”
That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him.
God, he’s so stubborn.
It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass.
If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote.
For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.
Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition.
The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.
It’s just fun to be in the know.
Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?
Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”
No one replies.
Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?
Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.
Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease.
Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.
Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye.
“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”
Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”
You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.
“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”
The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan.
With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.
.
.
.
“Hi.”
“Fuck off.”
The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby.
Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.
An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.
So damn rude.
His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.
He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.
You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest.
“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”
Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”
He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”
Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”
Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”
You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”
Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”
The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing.
“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”
That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”
“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”
You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He’s still here when you come back.
As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.
“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”
“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses.
You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”
“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”
A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”
Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”
“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.
He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”
“Remind yourself what?”
The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”
“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”
A pat on the head ruffles your hair.
“Still a no, kid.”
.
.
.
“What if I suck your dick?”
Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”
The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture.
His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.
Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.
Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.
You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.
You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him.
“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”
“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.
“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”
He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’
Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”
Nah, you think to yourself.
With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”
You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”
You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up.
“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”
He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base.
Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”
Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”
“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.
“Don’t wanna.”
“You’re fucking killing me here.”
A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin.
Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin.
Oh fuck, he really is big.
With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better.
Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.
“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth.
You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”
The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood.
Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”
Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”
A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time.
Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.
“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”
He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big.
Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.
The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence.
Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam.
It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat.
Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”
“Hmm?”
Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”
Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”
Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls.
“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”
“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.
“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”
A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”
He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship.
The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.
The door opens before he even finishes the word.
“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”
From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.
“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.
His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity?
“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”
Of course he did.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.
“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”
“Exactly.”
A sheet of paper slides across the desk.
“You see this one here—”
From below, you hear Toji pick it up.
“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”
There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”
“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”
“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”
Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.
“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”
“Mm.”
“I suspect the workshop helped.”
Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.
“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”
This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum.
He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood.
The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”
A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation.
A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”
“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”
He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?
“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Professor.”
Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.
Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”
His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear.
“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”
You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now.
Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.
“Fuck!”
Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue.
Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth.
Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”
You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.
He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”
Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”
His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.
“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”
Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”
“Fuck off before I regret it.”
“Lacy thong it is!”
.
.
.
“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”
Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in.
You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp.
His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised.
“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”
Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”
You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”
He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”
“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”
“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”
Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking.
“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.
It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame.
Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”
“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”
“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”
He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in.
Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming.
“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”
“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”
“They bother you or something?”
“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”
He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”
You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”
A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”
“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple.
Another hum.
Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.
You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”
Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”
“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”
He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”
All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.
“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”
Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”
God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.
“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.”
He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”
“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”
Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”
“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”
Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching.
Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”
“Fuck yes!”
Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”
Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?
“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”
In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.
“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.
Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.
Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.
“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt.
You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”
In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”
His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you.
Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”
Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”
Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.
Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out.
“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”
More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits.
Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”
You do.
It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.
“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”
Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?
How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life.
Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in?
“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”
Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside.
Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble.
Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring.
Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out.
“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”
You laugh. “Sure.”
Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you.
“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”
Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”
He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”
“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.
His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder.
Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”
Then he enters you in one go.
You scream.
The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head.
You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating.
Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”
Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating.
“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.
The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in.
Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?
Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”
“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”
Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.
God, he’s dirty.
Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”
He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”
Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him.
Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”
And his lips?
They smack against yours.
He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same.
Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches.
“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”
“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”
The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this.
Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.
Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”
Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”
His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain.
“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts.
You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”
“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”
“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”
Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”
He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows.
Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!
Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you.
Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button.
“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”
“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear.
Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”
His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours.
When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream.
“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after.
Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans.
He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs.
Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy.
Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them.
“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”
Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”
“Thanks!” you chirp.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”
Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.
“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”
That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.
Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.
After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official.
In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together.
A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by.
“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.
Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”
“Mmm.”
“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”
You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”
“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words.
In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.
“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”
The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.
Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?
“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”
Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”
You go still, this time for a different reason.
Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”
The bastard’s trying to distract you…
“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”
Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?
Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you.
“Don’t mention it, Professor.”
The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants.
He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.”
Your jaw drops.
Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.”
“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.”
The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again.
“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.”
Your heart?
Drops to the fucking floor.
Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.
Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—
Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”
Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense.
Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”
“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good.
Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.
Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.
“You sneaky piece of shit!”
He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.
Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”
“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”
“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.
“Whore,” he fires back.
Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.
“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.
what if she's written mine on your upper thigh only in your mind?
synopsis: after a mission-gone-wrong leaves you missing the memories of your apparent marriage with your least favorite former classmate - you find yourself aching for your best friend when she's the one who steps up to take care of you. can you keep your crush to yourself? or will you cross the line?
pairing: husband!gojo x f!reader x best friend!shoko
wc: 10.9k
content: MDNI!! mostly angst but smut and fluff too!, amnesia trope, tw mentions of cheating/infidelity!!, reader is bisexual, can you blame her for wanting shoko when she looks like THAT, marriage, separation, divorce, reader loses a lot of her memories, struggling to cope with her new life, gojo sucks lol, manipulation tactics, heavy pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is conflicted, masturbation, oral sex, fantasizing about someone else during sex, piv sex, pulling out, kissing, confessions, confrontations
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @dayanim who has some of the best ideas literally ever !! art is by @/aransmind + div by @/tsumiinum
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The last person you expected to see sitting by your hospital bed was the white-haired idiot who had decided from the first moment you’d met that you were his personal toy to tease and taunt.
Really, the only thing more shocking than staring at his blue eyes brimming with concern back at you was hearing Shoko’s soft voice refer to him as your husband as she said something about a care plan.
And before you could stop yourself, your stare slipped down at the faint feeling of pressure, stomach dropping as you realized he was even holding your hand, a white-gold wedding band glittering on his fourth finger – and oh God, a ginormous diamond ring on your own, framed by aquamarine or topaz or some other little blue gemstones encrusted in your band.
You instinctively wanted to rip it off. Throw it at him with an annoyed huff even if the world was still all fuzzy, the drone of the air conditioning and the beeping of whatever machines Shoko had you hooked up to.
“This isn’t funny,” you snapped at him, scowling as you tried to sit up, body sore and aching as your head throbbed in protest. How much did he pay her to go along with this?
His head turned back towards her, his mouth parting as he spoke under his breath, and your eyes finally focused properly, nausea settling deeper as you realized that Gojo was different. Bulkier. Shoulders broader, frame filled out, no longer looking the least bit boyish or lanky when he made the cheap chair he was sitting in looked cramped.
And when you looked back up at Shoko, it struck you how much longer her hair was, even shinier too, but the dark circles under her eyes made your heart stall. Your brain refused to accept it. Any of it. Watching the cigarette dangling between her lips as she listened to what Gojo was saying, nodding along as her stare slipped back to you, mouth twitching for a second.
“Baby,” Gojo started, ignoring the fact you were appalled at him using a pet name like that with you. You snatched your hand back from him with an indignant huff, looking over to Shoko like you were trying to signal her for some help.
“Seriously, is this supposed to be a joke?” You asked, taken aback as his fingers skimmed over your forearm.
“You got a head injury during a mission,” Shoko spoke slowly, caught somewhere between polite and bored, lacking any of the warmth you were used to.
“And you guys thought it would be the perfect time to play some stupid prank and convince me I married him?” You accused, hurt and confusion twisting together tight in your chest as you half-expected Geto to pop out from somewhere with a camera to reveal he was recording the whole thing.
But instead of just laughing it off, or apologizing, you watched with thinly-veiled horror as Gojo and Shoko exchanged an uneasy glance.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Shoko spoke, softer now.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, shrugging your shoulders as you swallowed the spit in the back of your throat. “Class, maybe? The exchange event?”
“What exchange event?” Gojo pressed more aggressively, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glaring at him.
“Don’t act like you forgot, dickhead,” you grumbled. “You dumped water on me in front of everyone.”
But the awkward silence that hung in the air made your anger lapse into something a lot fucking scarier when the most annoying man you knew shut up for longer than two seconds. Staring uselessly at Shoko, like he was trying to tell her to fix you with his eyes.
“You don’t remember marrying him?” Shoko carefully asked, and you hated how helpless you felt.
“I don’t even remember dating him,” you practically hissed, your gaze shifting for a second to the subject of your conversation just to see his practically gutted expression.
It seemed unfathomable. Didn’t come remotely close to making any kind of sense. Since when did he even have feelings for you? And even if he did, why the hell would you choose a man you couldn’t stand?
He was an immature asshole who acted like he was going to be a teenager forever.
Although, when he was sitting across from you now, you supposed he really had turned into a man after all.
“Do you remember me?” Shoko followed it up, stepping closer as her white lab coat shifted around her. Had she really managed to become a doctor? How much time, exactly, had you missed?
“Of course I remember you,” you blinked up at her, a little offended that she’d think otherwise. She occupied most of the space in your admittedly half-empty head, colored the memories you had in soft colors of casual comfort, sleepovers and movie marathons, lazily days spent together in relaxing silence. Memories molded around the sound of her laugh, her cool demeanor you tried so many times to match, clinging to her side and completely inseparable.
“Looks like she’s got retrograde amnesia,” she informed Gojo, all clinical, colder than you expected. “We’ll have to see how severe it is.”
Hearing something was wrong with you felt even worse coming from Shoko’s mouth, your lips pressing together in a pout as your brain struggled to catch up with the scene you found yourself plopped in. Where your best friend since forever was treating you like a stranger and someone you wished was a stranger was apparently your husband.
Your head fucking hurt.
Like someone was slamming an icepick through your skull over and over again with each thought you pieced together, vision swimming as you blinked between them.
“How long has it been?” You asked, almost scared to ask for a mirror to see if there would be a stranger looking back at you there too. “What year is it?”
Neither one of them wanted to immediately answer you, like it couldn’t be more obvious that it was a lot longer than they wanted to admit. Unsure of how to break the bad news to someone with a fucking brain injury.
Gojo spoke up first, sunglasses traded in for a black blindfold hanging low around his neck as his stare pierced through Shoko. “But her memories are gonna come back, right? She’ll remember me?”
You braced yourself for her answer, although you still knew her well enough to know what she’d say before her lips parted, ashes drifting down from the end of her cigarette onto the not-so-sterile floor.
“I don't know,” she muttered, not as apathetic as she intended, leaning against the wall as she avoided looking directly at you. “But I think you should take her home.”
Your mouth opened, ready to protest and push back against the idea of going home with Gojo while she refused to look back at you.
But then Gojo was grabbing your wrist, pale fingers sinking softly into the skin like it was his to touch, and in a blink, you were somewhere familiar and foreign all at once.
Your legs threatened to collapse underneath you, but then he was scooping you back up like you were nothing, carrying you down a dimly-lit hallway in a clearly spacious penthouse overlooking the city in the brief glimpse you got out of the large living room windows. Pictures lining the wall of the two of you together, group shots where his arm was slung over your shoulder or around your waist in almost all of them, beach photos you guessed you took of each other, fuck, even wedding photos proudly hung up on display.
Morbidly, you almost felt like you were walking through a mausoleum, staring at a version of you that must have died on whatever fucking mission you’d been on, one that loved the idiot holding you enough to build this domestic little life with him.
How were you supposed to be her?
“Our bedroom’s through here,” he murmured, turning to walk through the threshold of a sprawling room, big bookcases lining one wall and a king-sized bed taking up center-stage across from it, doors that you guessed led to a closet and bathroom adjacent to you. “You should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
Shoko had turned into a doctor.
And you had turned into…what?
A housewife? A sloppy enough sorcerer to get caught off-guard?
“Please tell me we don’t have kids,” you mumbled, a silent prayer more to the universe than him.
“No,” he chuckled a little bit, and you nearly said thank god, just to get cut off by his nostalgic hum, “You wanted some though.”
He was wrong. He had to be.
“Let’s get you in bed,” Gojo hummed softly, speaking to you with care you thought he only reserved for himself, his cockiness absent in favor of more of that delicate concern. You never thought he was capable of handling anything fragile. But then again, you never thought you’d be fragile either.
Your tongue felt numb, unable to form the sentence you desperately wanted to say, but you let him gently place you on the bed, pulling back the blankets and covering you up before readjusting the pillow underneath your head. Your eyes did feel drowsy, the throbbing pain bouncing around your skull begging you to just shut out the world until you fell asleep.
Gojo sat on the edge next to you, not quite touching, but enough you could feel the weight of his presence, the energy bristling and burning in the air next to you as you rolled over away from him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and you hoped he was wrong.
That tomorrow, you’d wake up, and you’d be back in your own bed where you could just laugh it off. Tell Shoko what an insane dream you had and giggle about how absurd it was to think you’d ever marry Satoru Gojo.
But no, when the sun rose and your eyes slowly cracked open, your heart sank at the realization you were right where you fell asleep at.
In Gojo’s bed. In Gojo’s penthouse. As Gojo’s wife.
He made you breakfast, brought it on a platter and helped you sit up, hand-feeding it to you while you squinted and studied his face, answering every question you pelted him with.
“How did we even start dating?” You huffed at him after forcing yourself to bite into the syrup-ladden waffle he popped into your mouth.
“I really had to wear you down,” he grinned, one corner of his mouth curling up like he remembered it fondly. “Basically get down on my knees and beg you after months of pestering you for attention.”
“You? On your knees?” You scoffed, brows arching at how ridiculous it sounded. You could sorta see it, big round glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, messy white hair sticking up every way as he dramatically clasped his hands together. But the hard part was imagining yourself on the receiving end.
“I always had a crush on you, I just sucked at showing it,” he shrugged. “It took a lot of convincing just for you to accept a single date.”
“Yeah?” You asked, not sure how to feel about hearing about yourself like this. From him.
“Guess Shoko helped too. Told you to give me a chance after she got sick of hearing me talk about you,” Gojo added, and you paused just for him to slip the fork back between your teeth.
Chewing your breakfast as you searched your brain for even a sliver of recognition only to come up empty.
Shoko really wanted you to go out with him?
Convinced you to do it?
You supposed maybe you could see it. You had more faith in her than you had in anyone else. Trusted her to a fault. Listened to every word that left her lips with devotion that drifted dangerously close to reverence.
Having a crush on your best friend was dumb.
Holding onto the hope she shared the same childish affection you did – and wouldn’t be put off by the fact you wanted to be more than friends.
Had she found out in the past? Picked up on your feelings and pushed you to be with Gojo instead of flat-out rejecting you?
Your stomach churned, food settling too heavy as you tried to lift a hand and signal you were done eating as he dropped the fork back on the plate, only earning a pout from your husband.
“So, um, I guess we started dating in school then? When did we get married?” You asked, struggling to piece together the fractured puzzle of your own life.
Gojo grinned sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle the soft undercut that replaced his previously scruffy hair. A black blindfold was pushed up and holding the rest off his forehead, his blindingly blue eyes glittering as they appraised you. “A month after graduation.”
Your mouth fell open in shock.
What, did you tell him you wanted to wait to have sex until after marriage or something?
He didn’t need the six eyes to see the alarm on your face, reaching out to squeeze your bicep. “With clan politics and the higher ups, we, uh, didn’t want to waste time, y’know? Risk them ruining it.”
You stared at him, all the new information struggling to sink in as you slowly nodded like you understood when you definitely didn’t.
“Were we happy together?” You asked next, swallowing hard as the sickly sweet syrup settled on your tongue.
His face scrunched up for a split second, nose wrinkling as he contemplated your question, and you wondered if maybe you were being a little insensitive, hastily holding him at a distance as you came to terms with being his wife – while he was dealing with losing this other you.
“You made me the happiest man on the planet,” Gojo murmured, a soft purr that made your body tense.
“What about me?” You pressed, wondering what possessed you to pick him, what led to you laying in a hospital bed with a gaping hole in your memories and buried anxiety that seemed to burn in your skin.
“You’ve been depressed lately,” he admitted, mouth flitting down in a fast frown. “I’ve had a lot of missions lately, and you were, uh, a little lonely here.”
Seeing him so serious was strange, almost uncanny as you pried and poked at your past together.
“I mean, couldn’t I just hang out with Shoko or go on missions too?” You tilted your head to the side, nearly flinching when he reached out to cup your cheek sympathetically.
“You did, but I think you were disappointed in how busy she was too,” he answered, unable to help how fast your brows furrowed together at the bizarre notion that your best friend wouldn’t show up for you no matter how slammed her schedule was. “But, hey, why don’t I see if she can start coming by to check on you when I have to start going on missions again?”
“Sure,” you mumbled, more agreeable than you really felt like just for the excuse of seeing Shoko more.
She’d tell you the truth.
Even if it stung.
Gojo leaned in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead like he’d done it a thousand times before.
And it took everything inside you not to recoil at his touch.
You wanted to believe your memories would come back.
That it would fill this awful chasm inside you and something would suddenly click to make the world stop feeling like you were wearing someone else’s skin. For you to stop looking in the brightly-lit mirror in the bathroom and not see a face that was and wasn’t yours at the same time, little lines and a few faint scars that weren’t there before, a crinkle by your eyes you didn’t recognize, a couple grays in your hairs you plucked out while you brushed your teeth.
Gojo only stayed for a couple days, going over photo albums and answering questions, even ones you didn’t ask, painting a pretty picture of a happy marriage, filled with silly romantic gestures. But he had to return to late night missions, teaching the first years that were waiting for him back at the school you used to go to together, and the second the door swung shut behind him, you were rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, ripping through all your stuff for some sign you must’ve left behind.
A diary? A journal?
You couldn’t get into your own computer, getting locked out after guessing the wrong passcode too many times, glaring at the stupid security questions you couldn’t figure out, guessing the dates of everything from your birthday to your supposed wedding anniversary, about to break the damn thing when you resorted to inputting 123456.
The only bright part of your day was the half hour Shoko would show up, usually after she left campus for the day, hair hanging loose and smoke clinging to her jacket as she peeled it off by the door, slipping her shoes off when she entered with the key you guessed she already had.
It wasn’t the same.
Nothing was anymore.
But it was nice to sit next to her on the leather couch that cost more than anything you’d ever owned before this, asking her about her day – and the few thousand you missed. She filled you in, awkwardly at first, usually always sliding back into the subject of your health, asking if you were eating enough and getting enough sleep. Tepidly questioning if the status of your memory had changed.
You hadn’t told her, but a few hazy pieces had started to slip in. Shattered stills and strange feelings that struck you when you’d come across specific photos or caught the scent of something.
Memories that felt more like a movie, watching someone else’s life play out instead of your own. Holding hands on the sidewalk, snippets of cuddling on the couch, eating out at five-star restaurants and laughing at his awful jokes. But it was hard to feel what the old you felt. Couldn’t pretend that it truly felt like you were experiencing them for yourself.
So you just sort of filed them away, put them into boxes as you sifted through the silence of the dull days dragging by in a home that felt suffocating when you were constantly reminded of how out-of-place you were inside of it.
But one thing bugged you more than it should, itched at the back of your brain every time something new sprang up, and you started putting together a timeline of the years you couldn’t recall.
“We didn’t, like, get in a fight or anything, did we?” You quizzed Shoko, swallowing hard as she unboxed the to-go food she’d brought. She froze for a second, glancing back at you with those big brown eyes, narrowing them for a second before she shook her head.
Her perfume was stronger tonight, the slightly intoxicating scent making your head feel a little fuzzier than usual as you absentmindedly scooted closer to her, sitting cross-legged as you toyed around with the food in your own takeout box.
“Of course not,” she answered, even and easy. You could hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, throat constricting as your chest strained to stop your heart from racing.
“Gojo said we hadn’t been talking much because you were busy,” you muttered, watching her reaction as her pretty brows coyly arched up. You couldn’t get quite comfortable calling him by his first name yet, no matter how many photos and videos he showed you of the two of you together, no matter how hard you were trying to be open to him.
“Did he?” She echoed, not giving anything away as you nodded, taking a small bite while she deflected your stare. “I don’t exactly get much time off these days.”
She had still started to stay later though. Thirty minutes tripling as she found excuses not to get off your couch or raid the well-stocked wine cabinet.
“Does that mean you’ll stop coming around too?” You asked, regretting the words once they were out of your mouth. Acutely aware of how much you hated the prospect of being stuck in this place without her to look forward to.
It wasn’t like Gojo was totally absent. Wasn’t like you completely minded him not being here either. He still showed up most days, made his appearance and pampered you with affection when he was here. But, well, it didn’t make you feel that differently about him either.
“No,” Shoko slowly answered, your heart stalling and skipping a beat as you felt your shoulders drop. “I’ll make time for you.”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Gojo couldn’t decide if this was for better or worse.
But then again, hadn’t he vowed to be with you in sickness and health?
“Sleep tight, pretty girl,” Gojo murmured, watching the slow rise-and-fall of your chest as you snoozed, blankets tangled around your legs as the moonlight graced your skin. He brushed your hair away from your cheeks, studied your features in the low light.
You probably wouldn’t even know he showed up.
Wouldn’t remember the few hours he returned home for in the morning, although he’d be sure to leave breakfast on the table and the book you mentioned Shoko recommending on the table for you when you woke up.
It felt like it used to.
Back when everything was fine.
Before the accident. Before you showed up at the school asking for a separation in front of his students when he stopped there instead of seeing you after getting back from an overseas mission.
Acting like it should’ve been obvious, your brows knitted together all serious as you insisted that you'd pack up your stuff and get your own place, ignoring his panicked protests as you turned your back on him.
On your vows, all the promises you made to each other when he slid that ring on your finger.
Told him he would’ve seen it coming if he’d bother to actually be around.
You wanted serious. Stable.
To have kids that didn't have to worry about whether or not their dad would come home. To have a life that was more than just your jobs and responsibilities.
Couldn't you see he was already giving you everything he had? Why the fuck couldn’t that be enough?
He wasn't the most mature. He'd never been, and you already knew that when you started dating. So what if he took up more missions? Kept his distance until it dawned on you that making more mini-hims would be a disaster?
He thought you’d understand.
The weight of the world was already on his shoulders. Why add more burdens? Why risk bringing a life into the world if he had no clue if he could even protect it?
If Gojo had known you’d try to leave him for it, he liked to think he would’ve done something differently.
He tried.
God, Gojo tried so fucking hard to convince you to take him back. Begged for you to see that despite his avoidance, under his plastered-on smiles and bad jokes, his affection was all yours.
No matter how much yours had faded.
He never thought he’d end up sitting by your crumpled body, bearing the proof of his point and staring at the blood sticking to your scalp Shoko’s nimble fingers washed out, holding your limp hand and wishing you’d wake up. Praying for the first time to some higher power for the universe to fucking give you back.
His wish had been granted.
Only for you to look at him with disgust.
Revolted by your relationship, all the memories you made together wiped – good and bad. Your first dates, the light laughter and secret kisses you shared, the latest ones where you started turning your head every time he tried to press his lips to yours.
Half of him hated it.
Hurt slicing through his heart when he thought of everything that had been basically erased for you, remorse that rubbed salt in his open wounds when it started to sink in that even when he had you, you still didn’t want him back.
But the rest of him was doing his fucking best to be grateful that you weren’t gone.
It was awkward at first. Not sure how to act around you when you were clearly put off by his presence. Inserting himself in every conversation, occupying as much space as you’d let him until your sharp tone began to soften.
He answered your questions.
Just, uh, omitted a few details.
You didn’t need to know about the divorce.
There was no fucking way he was letting it happen this time.
Gojo told you that your phone was broken during the mission, buying you a new one with a fresh email and making sure you only had the contacts you needed. Deleted any mention of separation and divorce attorneys and even your fucking searches of what to do in an unhappy marriage, wiping your internet history clean in case you managed to get back into your old email. Covering his tracks to make sure nothing could fuck it up this time, fuck, he even paid his own students on the off chance you somehow showed up on campus one day to visit him.
He begged Shoko to spill everything you told him, tried to pry her for more information on how you were doing when you hardly spoke about what you felt to him. Jealousy pricking and pinning his pride down when he walked in to find you smiling at her the way you used to look at him two months into your recovery, lips curled up in a pretty laugh before you noticed him there, leaning against her arm while you watched a movie together.
Murmuring that you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to taking missions on your own even after Shoko cleared you.
But he couldn’t exactly tell her to get the fuck out when she was your doctor on top of his friend too. She convinced you to give him a chance before. Was it so absurd to hold out hope that she’d do it again for him? Even if he had to talk her into not bringing up the divorce out of fear that it’d make your condition worse?
It took time, but you started to accept him again. Your memories coming back in bits and pieces, your personality too. Warming up to him over late-night dinners and early morning conversations, asking about things you used to do together at first, starting to bring up his schedule, his students, his missions.
It was kind of strange, to hear you say the same things you had before your injury, to watch your old mannerisms come back, to see you become his wife again little by little, day after day.
Maybe the universe had decided to bless him.
Give him another chance to save this marriage by wiping the slate clean.
Surely you’d see now why he couldn’t just settle down in some suburbs and pop out a couple kids with you – not when he’d failed to keep you safe.
Still, he found it hard to break his old habits. Slipping into his old routine of taking too many missions, shoving more on his plate to distract himself from what was happening inside his own home. So he didn’t have to come home and see how much fun you were having with Shoko instead of him, start playing the comparison game instead of being glad that you were being supported.
So he didn’t have to hear you scold him for coming home so late, or missing meals together.
This you didn’t seem to mind though.
Just left notes on the counter for him or wrapped-up dinners stacked in the fridge, oblivious he’d just sit on the edge of the bed and watch you sleep half the night instead of resting himself.
He knew that he was deluding himself.
But you gained enough of your old self back that he could trick himself into thinking that everything was fine. That your relationship had just found a new normal.
Gojo still got you back.
Wasn't that all that mattered?
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Your brain had a funny way of playing tricks on you.
Memories were a fickle thing. Floating back in a haze, ones you had to hold onto, replay and study when one forced its way back up.
You didn’t know what to make of all of them.
Fuzzy recollections of museums and missions, of love and laughter, of hurt and heartache. Caught somewhere between the old you and this new one, torn between feelings that lingered in the past and new ones cropping up in the present, nearly six months passing from the awful day you woke up and realized you missed an entire fucking decade.
You’d guess you got half of it back, experiences that weren’t fully formed, but close enough that you could feel yourself changing as you found new footing.
Shoko said you shouldn’t hold your confusion against yourself when you finally admitted you were struggling with what to think about this new life of yours.
You didn’t know how to tell her that your problem was her.
That spending every evening with her instead of your husband had re-sparked your unrequited crush on your best friend. One you guessed the old you forced yourself to forget when you chose to be with Gojo instead.
And now the new you was married. A ring on your finger, but an ache in your heart and butterflies in your stomach when Shoko so much as smiled at you.
But it wasn’t like your husband was ever here to notice.
No, you’d spent far more time with your friend than the man who you supposedly loved.
“You feeling okay?” She hummed, her thigh brushing against yours on the couch as you scooted closer to snuggle underneath the thick blanket while she pulled up the stupid reality show you started watching together. And despite the bored expression she was wearing, you could hear the hint of softness in her voice as her warm eyes briefly flitted over to you.
“Just cold,” you excused, shrugging as you tried to drag your stare back to the tv.
Her brows scrunched together with suspicion, throwing you one of those ‘I-know-you’re-full-of-shit’ looks before her lips puckered, “Weren’t you complaining about being too hot earlier?”
Guilty.
But if she knew it was really just an excuse for you to take off your hoodie and reveal a much tighter tank top, she didn’t acknowledge it. Tonight, she had traded her doctor’s coat in for a loose sweater, the kind that hung loose on her frame, exposing the pretty shape of her collarbone, smooth and clean, drew your attention to the way the tendons in her throat flexed when she leaned in closer, resting the back of her hand against your forehead to check your temperature.
“Don’t think you’re running a fever,” she muttered, her fingers lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary as you swallowed hard, wondering if she could see how flustered you felt. If the air was only feeling thick in here for you. “Maybe I should stay a little longer to make sure though.”
“Yeah?” You had to bite back your smile.
“Mhm,” she casually nodded, hitting play on the next episode while you both pretended that best friends definitely sat together with thighs touching and pinkies grazing against each other under the covers of a blanket.
Definitely delicately traced over the other’s knuckles with the tips of your fingers, not quite daring to intertwine them.
Tiptoeing across a thin line as boundaries started to blur, as your friendship drifted further and further away from platonic – and closer to crossing over to an affair.
You knew you shouldn’t.
That you didn’t even know if what you felt for her was genuine, or just gratefulness that she was here for you, that she consistently showed up when you felt so alone. But you couldn’t keep telling yourself they were leftover remnants of happier times when she started occupying your thoughts even when she wasn’t around, when your heart stuttered when she spoke and heat pooled in your stomach every time she touched your arm or skimmed her fingers over your own.
God, you didn’t even know if she felt the same.
You tried to ask if she was seeing anyone once, but she just vaguely said she wasn’t in a relationship. Changed the subject before you could press her on it.
Should you care?
No. Not when you didn’t want to hurt your husband.
Who you admittedly had started to care for, at least in some capacity. He changed. Gojo was sweet, stars in his eyes and no longer only focused on stuffing sweets in his mouth, constantly apologizing for his absences – even if he didn’t do anything to change them.
You’d wake up with him there sometimes, occasionally share meals where he’d earnestly ask about how you felt and what he could do to make you happier, eager to please. He’d pepper your face with kisses, slip his hand into yours like it was the most normal thing in the world or sling a possessive arm over your shoulder on the rare occasion he’d drag you out for a date.
But even if you had the same last name, slept in the same bed, your soul didn’t feel like it was tied to his.
And even when you tried to force it, to fight to feel what you knew you were supposed to, open yourself up to loving and wanting him the way he wanted you, there was just nothing there. Not so much as a tug, no undercurrent or gravity from the old you pulling you back to him.
You didn’t love him.
But you didn’t know how to leave him.
“Sho,” you murmured softly, tapping twice on the back of her hand to get her attention.
“Hm?” She turned, tilting her head thoughtfully, attuned to your needs. And maybe it was your imagination, simply wishful thinking, but you could’ve sworn her eyes darted down to your lips for a moment before they drifted back up to your own eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” You swallowed hard, not sure how exactly to bring it up. To fish for what you really wanted to know.
“Always,” she answered, but you saw the way her stare diverted to the tv, discomfort swirling under your skin at the fear you’d do something to put distance between you.
“Do you know what things were like between, um, me and Gojo before I got hurt?” You posed, a hard lump forming in your throat as her shoulders stiffened. “Did I ever talk to you about it?”
And despite the fact you were sitting side-by-side, she still pulled out her phone and pretended it buzzed when you both knew it hadn’t.
“Fuck,” she feigned worry as her unsure voice broke the pained pause, scrambling for an excuse while you faked a sympathetic smile. Acted like it didn’t sting when she stood up and let the blanket fall back down on you. “I’ve gotta go, one of the students-”
“Sure,” you mumbled, waving it off as you brought your knees up to your chest, painfully aware of how large the couch felt when you were the only one on it. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Shoko soberly promised, and it felt like some invisible thread between you tensed, pulled taut as you watched the front door shut behind her, felt the thud heavy in your chest.
Tuning out the drone of the tv, as you rested your chin on your knees, playing back the past hour while you ran your palm over the side of your thigh. Your skin still warm, your mind distracted as you dreamed about what would’ve happened if you just kept your mouth shut.
Lying to yourself like suggesting the warmth simmering under your skin was simply coincidence, that you could somehow be confusing it with anything other than lust.
And when you ended up back in your king-sized bed, sprawled out on top of the comforter with your hand slipped down your shirts, scrunching your eyes shut and rubbing messy circles over the thin fabric of your panties.
You tried to think of Gojo.
To picture him on top of you, imagine his lips on your skin and his cock stretching you out. Tell yourself that you weren’t a cheater, that maybe you were just mixed up, missing a physical connection because you hadn’t fully allowed him to have you. That perhaps in clinging to Shoko, you could’ve closed yourself off.
All you found was the same frustration you’d been stuck with from the start.
Grinding your teeth when your hand drifted underneath the fabric, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, unable to tell who you were even wet for when it felt like they were playing a game of ping pong with your heart.
Your head told you that it should be Gojo.
That you made a promise to him, that you owed it to who you were before to try to love him too. Guilt pervading your judgement, sinking its icy talents into your bones when you thought of how it must feel for him – how he was probably mourning and missing a wife that didn’t fully exist anymore.
But your heart wanted Shoko.
Had since you were teenagers and you realized how pretty she looked with a cigarette perched between her lips, when Geto started getting too close to her and you had to deal with how much it ached to see her leaning into a man.
Was it so wrong to want her if you kept it locked inside your head?
Your fingers trembled.
Shook as you shoved them deeper, a gasp escaping right as you felt a sudden surge of cursed energy – and you realized in abrupt horror your husband was here.
His blindfold half-off, blue eyes wide with surprise as they slowly slid down your body, like his technique wasn’t giving him a fucking 4k viewing of you touching yourself.
“Sweetheart,” he started, in an amused low drawl that had you considering finding a hole to curl up and die in as you hurried to pull your hand out of your panties. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I didn’t-” You started, face flushing as you struggled for something to say to justify what you were doing.
He kicked off his shoes while you were still stammering, your breath getting stuck in your throat as you watched him climb on top of the bed, on top of you.
You couldn’t breathe. Brain short-circuiting as he caged you in underneath his beefy arms, his palm reaching out to cup your face as you stared up at him completely frozen.
And then he faltered, like he only just remembered that the furthest you’d gone with each other in the past six months was kissing, and one makeout session after you’d drank too much wine with Shoko and he played with your tits for like, ten minutes, before you claimed you were on your period.
This was uncharted territory.
Even if he had probably explored it a thousand times before.
“Is this okay?” He tentatively asked, like you couldn’t already feel his cock digging into your thigh.
You nodded.
It happened almost automatically.
You wanted to believe this would fix you. Fix everything. Make it all make sense.
And when his lips crashed into you, you kissed him back. He tasted too sweet, his cologne enveloping you in an overpowering cloud as his body pressed against yours. The whole thing felt almost clumsy, unable to even focus on anything when one of his hands was already snaking down your side to pull your shorts down lower on your hips.
The metal of his wedding ring tauntingly rubbing against you with his swift movements.
But you didn’t stop him.
Didn’t say anything, actually. Just let him stick his tongue down your throat while you tried to run your hands along his chest too, feeling the thick muscles of his sturdy frame.
And then he was getting up, stripping off his uniform and tossing it on the floor like he wanted to make it easier for you to touch him. Before you could even process the expanse of annoyingly perfect skin, unmarred and unmarked, he was helping you sit up, tossing off your tank top before positioning himself between your thighs to tug off your shorts.
You felt exposed.
A raw nerve in open air before your breasts were even out, face heating up as you sat there in your bra and panties as he just stared.
“Matching set for me?” He smirked, completely clueless who you were wearing it for. Whose favorite color was a soft shade of green, whose stare didn’t burn when it dragged over your skin.
No.
No.
You swallowed the spit pooling in the back of your mouth, nodding as your lips automatically parted, “Hoped you’d come home early.”
“Thank fucking god,” he grinned, the happiest you think you’d ever seen him as he peeled your panties off, blue eyes glittering at the sight of your pussy. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to cringe at how dramatically he said it, your breath catching in your throat as he lifted your thighs up and hooked your knees over his shoulders.
But then he was burying his face between them, huge hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs possessively as he dragged his tongue up your entrance.
You shut your eyes, let yourself get swallowed by the dark, the sensation of his thick tongue as it worked its way inside you, clawing at the comforter instead of his hair. Fistfuls of soft cotton instead of the short, wispy strands or the soft buzz of his undercut.
It would just make it harder to imagine someone else.
To pretend that you were back on the couch, a blanket covering both of you while you toyed with Shoko’s long hair, gasping her name while she teasingly sucked on your clit. Would she take it slow? Murmur that orgasms were good for the body and brain? Educate you on just how many nerve endings were located on that pretty little bud as she licked it?
“Mm, S-” You had to stop yourself when you realized the vision behind your eyes was still of the pretty brunette whose scent was still clinging to your clothes rather than the man whose tongue was currently trying to make you cum.
“That’s it,” Gojo grunted, his voice deep and rough as it reverberated through to your core completely wrong. “Say Satoru f’me.”
You couldn’t.
“Missed this, baby,” he purred while you told yourself to fucking snap out of it. “Missed you.”
You managed a moan back, thighs trembling as his fingers dug into the pliable muscle, mouth wrapped around your clit to suck on it like it was candy. A little too much teeth, his sharp canines grazing over it just to make you gasp and try to wiggle back from his grip.
But Gojo didn’t let you go.
No, he held on tight, practically rutting into the bed as he messily made out with your pussy.
You tried to focus on the pleasure, on the warmth in your chest and the heat burning under your skin, but it was hard when he was moaning even louder than you were.
“C-can I fuck you?” He groaned, peeking up at you to ask for permission.
And against your better (any) judgement, you were just nodding again.
Desperate to do something to change how things were currently going, to stop feeling so confused and conflicted all the time.
“Yeah,” you softly agreed, and once again, it only took him a couple seconds to change positions, pulling your hip around him to lock your legs behind his back as he tugged down his boxers enough to yank out his cock.
You guessed you could appreciate its appearance. Thick and veiny, the tip a pretty shade of pink, all swollen and leaking. But the idea of it being inside you was enough for regret to bloom in your chest, the dim realization that you were in too deep.
That you both deserved better than whatever this was.
But you laid there, letting it happen anyway.
You didn’t stop him, just bit down on the inside of your cheek as you felt it slip inside you, watching his face scrunch up in near ecstasy as your body sucked him in, operating on muscle memory as he pushed his way past the first ring of resistance until he was making himself fit.
Stretching you out how he liked, moaning your name like a prayer as you counted the number of times the headboard banged into the wall.
“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed, blue eyes flashing open as his cursed energy swelled and soared, his infinity off as he buried himself deep, bottoming out again and again, just messily rutting into you now without any rhythm.
Thrusting faster, his sweaty palms sticking to your thighs as you shut your eyes again, trying not to think about what his fingers were aching to prove as they gripped you hard enough he might leave prints.
“S-Satoru,” you halfheartedly moaned his name, despising your body for not reacting more to the way he was stretching you out, to his fast thrusts, only for his dick to abruptly stall anyway.
He was cursing under his breath, pulling out at the last second to roughly stroke his cock, finishing on your stomach while your eyes fluttered open to stare at his cum on your skin. The lump in his throat bobbed hard, his jaw clenched tight as he immediately started stammering awkward apologies.
How long had it been?
Thirty seconds?
Forty-five?
“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t had sex since y’know, the accident, and it felt wrong to jerk off and-” He scrambled, getting off of you and grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor to start wiping you clean while you tried to sit up.
“It’s fine,” you murmured. “You’re fine.”
You were too.
Right?
He started to stroke his cock again, sloppy and fast, mumbling something about being the strongest as if it could magically make his dick stay hard when it was already trying to soften.
“Give me a minute, I’ll still get you off,” he promised, tossing the now cum-stained clothes back to the ground with his other hand as he started to get back on the bed. But you just slipped your legs underneath the blanket, rolling onto your side with a small shrug.
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, swallowing hard as you stared at a blank spot of the pale blue wallpaper to avoid looking back to see what kind of face he was making at you. “You should go shower. We can get something to eat delivered.”
“But-”
“It’s not a big deal,” you awkwardly muttered. “It’s been a while for both of us.”
You could hear the air fizzing out of his popped pride, ego deflating in the thick pause.
“So, uh, dinner?” You asked, trying to move on before he could insist on eating you out again.
“I, uh, actually was only supposed to be stopping by for a few minutes,” he cleared his own throat, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the bed next to you. Brushing some of your hair back out of your face, fingers practically buzzing as they caressed your cheekbone. “But I’ll order your favorite.”
“Another mission?” You asked, your voice strained as you struggled to capture the feeling bouncing around in your chest. A strange mix of disappointment and anticipation, knots you hadn’t realized were tied tight in your stomach coming undone as you glanced back over your shoulder at him.
Your husband was attractive. Attentive. Affectionate.
So why couldn’t you make yourself care more about his absence?
Why didn’t it ache like it should when he was saying he was about to leave?
Everything was just awful and icky, ice-cold guilt creeping under your skin instead that while Gojo fucked you, kissed you, you were fantasizing about Shoko’s lips instead.
“I’ve gotta go take care of some clan stuff first, but yeah,” he remorsefully confirmed, nodding as his fingers drifted down to your mouth.
You let him lean down and kiss you again. Shut your eyes and even returned with tender pressure of your own, even though some part of you had splintered. Started to accept that you really might not be able to save this marriage before you did something you’d regret.
Maybe you’d regret this instead.
Wake up five years from now with all your memories and emotions fully intact, hating yourself for not staying longer, trying harder. But you didn’t want to risk waiting fifty years and wishing you’d just done it sooner.
Would he understand if you asked him for a divorce?
To see what it was like to separate?
Could you even do it? Find your own place, maybe switch to a different career, a normal one? Working a desk job or something boring that didn’t require you to put your life on the line?
You didn’t want to do this to him. But you couldn’t see any other options where you’d both be happy. Didn’t he deserve someone that loved all of him too?
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he hummed, delivering a gentle peck to the top of your forehead before striding over to the closet. Grabbing a change of clothes from the closet and hurrying to dress himself as you studied the wall, ignoring the blur of movement in the corner of your vision until he started back towards the door.
He left without asking for another goodbye kiss.
And you somehow felt less alone when you were totally by yourself.
Sitting back up in bed, stiffening at the faintly sticky spots left on your thighs and stomach when you threw your legs off the side to stand.
Debating on taking a shower yourself before a gleam of silver drew your attention back to the laptop sitting unused and collecting dust on your nightstand. And a thought popped up, so obvious you nearly scoffed as your feet moved forward on their own, flipping it open as your fingers tapped the keys.
Hitting enter and holding your breath, unsure if it would actually work or-
Welcome.
Of course.
The passcode was Shoko’s birthday.
You almost laughed.
Smiling like an idiot at the screen at the realization you did, in fact, still share something with who you used to be as you started to sort through the files.
You didn’t know what you expected.
A diary?
None of your internet history had been saved on it, and most of the documents seemed to be about missions or receipts from stores or random expenses you saved for one reason or another. No big secret waiting for you to find.
But little clues that stacked up.
Reservations for a vacation for one. Old photos that all seemed to be dated pretty far back. No new snapshots of you and Gojo. No receipts for any men’s items dated around his birthday. But there was a folder labelled Sho.
Photos neatly organized by year, although it seemed like there were less and less as the time went by. But your smile seemed more genuine when it was her arm thrown over your shoulder, her hand placed on your waist than the one you wore the matching gold band with.
You found one taken last year, standing outside a small but pretty brick house you guessed was on the outskirts of the city, squeezing her in a hug while you grinned at whoever was behind the camera, a gift bag dangling over your elbow. The file name was housewarming.
It took a few more minutes of digging to find where she sent the address over email, something inside yourself caving as you found yourself slamming the laptop shut, looking wildly around the room before starting back towards the closet.
Not stopping to think too hard in case you changed your own mind.
Chickened out on following your heart for once.
You didn’t pause to think whether or not she’d even be home, or if she actually still lived there until you were ten minutes into a taxi ride, breathing too fast as you anxiously smoothed the fabric of the dress you’d chosen.
It still felt surreal to leave the penthouse, staring out the window at the passing places, your wallet and phone sitting on your lap as you resisted the temptation to bite at your nails and pick at your cuticles.
Itching to get there and terrified to arrive.
But before you could tell the driver to turn back around, he was parking outside the house from the photo, two cars parked next to each other in the driveway you didn’t recognize, mumbling a thank you as you passed him a tip before you got out. Standing out there as the breeze sent a shiver down your spine, each step that took you closer to Shoko scaring you shitless.
You didn’t even know what exactly you were going to say to her.
Ask if the old you had admitted feelings for her? Confess that the new you wanted her too?
If you were going to get rejected, you still just wanted to get it over with.
If this was going to be the start of a new life, well, then you wanted to be shoving the door open and stepping through the threshold.
You still hesitated outside the door, standing on her mat while your finger froze inches away from the doorbell.
And then you heard the voices from inside.
Shoko’s, and a second one you couldn’t quite place. “I mean, it sounds kinda obvious to me.”
You leaned against the wall, chewing on your lip as you listened in, unable to help yourself when your brain was trying to convince you that you already fucked up. Your stomach twisting into knots as you heard Shoko’s soft sigh through the door..
“Utahime,” she said, all serious and stiff, and you had to swallow the ugly lump bubbling up in your throat at the thought of her talking to your pretty black-haired senior. “I really don’t know what to do.”
You hated hearing her like this. The rare, raw vulnerability in her voice that you knew you weren’t supposed to hear. But even more, you hated that she was showing it to her, going to someone else with her problems like you hadn’t right there earlier. Waiting for her to see that even if you changed, you were still her person first.
Who she was supposed to go to when things went wrong.
You couldn’t hear what Utahime said back, but you could hear Shoko’s low groan, felt it in your core as your breath got stuck in your throat. “She doesn’t even know they were going to get a divorce.”
Oh.
You didn’t think hearing something so earth-shattering could leave you feeling so hollow. Everything scooped out and empty as your brain turned the word over and over again like it had some entirely new meaning now that you knew everything you’d been feeling so awful over for months was exactly what you would’ve chosen with all your memories.
“You should’ve told her,” Utahime scolded her, not exactly strict, just reprimanding her like it was obvious.
“You know Satoru,” she said, exasperated. Exhausted of all these games. “He made me swear not to say anything before I even showed up.”
It wasn’t hatred simmering in your stomach for your husband. Disgust, once again, disappointment that was too thick to swallow, sitting heavy on your tongue when you thought of how much time you wasted because he never told you the truth.
“What an asshole,” Utahime scoffed.
“I don’t think she really loves him,” Shoko mumbled, and your body made the move before your brain did, finger pressing the doorbell to announce your arrival.
The silence was awful.
Not as bad as the thoughts racing around in your head, spinning in the same circles you’d been stuck in for weeks, only strengthened by the discovery you were always destined to be waiting here outside Shoko’s door. Heart pounding against your chest, still beating despite how much it fucking hurt, pulse pounding in your ears as you prayed for her to answer it.
And still, when it swung open, and the brown eyes that hadn’t left your head your whole life locked onto yours, all the words you’d been planning on pouring out didn’t come. Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’, a cigarette between her fingers that she quickly dropped to the wooden floor and crushed despite the fact it wasn’t even lit.
“How did you-”
“I’m, uh, just gonna go,” Utahime excused herself with a little squeal that told you exactly whose side she was on, squeezing past both of you and scurrying to her car, keyring jingling on her finger as she scrambled to leave.
Neither of you said bye. Just stuck staring at each other, the silence saying things you were both scared to confess.
“Um, hey,” Shoko broke it.
“Hi,” you breathed back, swallowing hard as you regained a sliver of your composure. “Your address was in my email.”
“I guess you heard,” she started, talking like she’d already let you down. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her small shorts like you would miss the way her fingers were shaking, her mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Look, you and him-”
“I came here to tell you I want to leave him,” you cut her off before she could feed you more of the same bullshit or any excuses.
“You-”
“I don’t love him,” you half-whispered, an invisible weight abruptly lifting off your shoulders as it hung in the air. Dragging your stare from the shape of her lips to that pretty mole underneath her eyes to your favorite shade of brown, barely a sliver of it ringed around her blown-wide pupils. “I don’t want him.”
“Don’t-” She swallowed hard, stopping herself before she could push you away again. “Don’t say something that you don’t-”
“I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers,” you confessed, not totally sure if it was coming out remotely normal, the words rolling off your tongue anyway after holding in the truth for so long. “I don’t know what happened to us. But I know what I don’t want.”
An asshole who had sex with you after lying about the status of your relationship for months. Who kissed your forehead and fucked around with your feelings and forced your best friend to keep quiet just to keep seeing you.
You still felt guilty. Hints of regret and remorse that clawed at you as you tried to justify the emotional affair you knew you were having right under his nose, even if you were only going to return to his penthouse to pack up your stuff and deliver divorce papers.
“You liked me,” Shoko said as if it was simply inconceivable. As if she never noticed all the times tried to hold her hand or go with her on missions. When you found yourself staring in dressing rooms together when you knew you weren’t supposed to.
“I was worried you didn’t-”
“I liked you,” she suddenly spoke back up, taking a step closer that stole your breath away. Immediately cracking any composure you had in an instant as her fingers laced in between your own and squeezed. “I just wanted you to be happy. I thought Satoru would-”
“How could he ever be better than you?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.
He might be the strongest, but he’d sorta turned out to be the shittiest husband.
Even when he knew you wanted to leave him before, that your marriage was on the rocks, he still didn’t stick around to support you the second time around. Still picked missions over you.
You hoped he wouldn’t blame you for choosing Shoko over him.
For wanting someone who would stay.
You knew you shouldn’t do it, but you still cupped her cheek before you crashed your lips into hers. The wine on her lips overriding the faint hint of smoke hanging on her clothes, her tongue slipping inside to trace along your teeth as she tangled her free hand in your hair.
It felt right.
The connection was comforting, relaxing, your body melting into hers as she drew you in closer, deepening the kiss and about to drag you inside before you both heard it.
“What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”
Shoko jolted back, her hand slipping down to your side before she caught herself and removed it entirely.
“Satoru, it’s-”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?” You turned around, blocking Shoko from his view, your brows furrowed as you scowled at your husband. The man you’d been sleeping next to. Who you just slept with. And okay, perhaps you once gave your heart to – before you decided to take it back.
His blindfold was up, but you were pretty sure his blue eyes were bulging beneath them. His cursed energy practically thrummed thick in the air as he struggled to control it.
“Of course she told you,” he spat, venom in his tone as he took a few fast steps forward. “She just wants to fuck you. Tell me, Shoko did you always want to scissor my wife, or was it-”
“Did you think I’d never find out?” You hissed at him, flinching back as he continued to stride forward, his hand clasping around your wrist only to find yourself back in the penthouse, back in your bedroom, his cum-stained uniform still on the floor.
“You were supposed to stay and everything was supposed to be just fine,” he exclaimed, fingers still digging into your skin as you shook your head at him.
“I’m not fine,” you pointed out. Weren’t you the one with the traumatic head injury? Who lost so much of your life and six more months on top of it because he decided to choose a path he knew you wouldn’t have wanted?
“That doesn’t give you the goddamn right to cheat on me,” he sharply retorted, exhaling hard through his nose as he pulled your body closer to his. About the same distance you were to Shoko before, in some cruel imitation of the moment you shared with her. “And with our friend.”
You had to give it to him.
He knew you well enough to know exactly what strings to tug to make you feel fucking awful. You didn’t want any of this to happen. Didn’t want to be in your own shoes. Didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings no matter how hurt you felt.
“I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t!” You argued back, a hot lump forming in your throat as tears you couldn’t stand started to form at your lashline.
“You couldn’t try for me? Lie for me?” He pressed, his voice raising as you choked back a strangled sound.
Couldn’t he see that you did?
That for months, you tried and tried and tried to love him, when he wasn’t even there most of the time?
“You’re everything to me,” he continued, desperation bleeding through you struggled to find something that would make him understand. “You’ve been everything to me since the day I met you.”
“How can I be everything to you when I’m not even important enough for you to make time for?” You heard yourself ask, although you had the funny feeling it was something you said to him before.
“I take those missions to protect you, y’know, the people we care about, the world,” Gojo argued, as if that was what you wanted from him. “For what? For you to throw away our vows and fuck off with Shoko?”
“It’s not fair,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I didn’t take those vows Satoru. You know I’m not that person anymore, and honestly, I don’t think I will be again."
Staying would only hurt both of you.
Pour salt in a wound that had been bleeding long before you woke up in that hospital bed.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, ripping your wrist free of him as you stepped back.
“Don’t say sorry,” he grimaced, but his blindfold was still on. This distance was still there, being kept at bay even when you were both supposed to be baring your soul. “Say you’re not going anywhere. Say you’ll never see her again. Say anything except-”
He knew you couldn’t.
“I can’t,” you softly murmured.
You didn’t know what the future would hold.
But you didn’t want one without Shoko in it.
“Losing you once was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice,” Gojo pleaded. He tried to grab you again, to pull you in. Make up for his mistakes with his pretty mouth that he couldn’t match with his actions.
You were both messes. He manipulated you. You were about to make out with your mutual friend. You were better off without each other. He might not see it now. But you still hoped one day he would, that he wouldn’t hate you forever for saying goodbye a second time.
“You didn’t do anything to keep me.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3
Synopsis: the party was supposed to be wild and crazy, so you could let loose and have fun, but it wasn't supposed to be so wild and crazy that you don't even remember what happened last Friday night. and definitely not so wild and crazy that you wake up a) with a killer headache, b) in someone else's bed, and c) cuffed to twins?!
now the three of you have to go on a wild goose chase for the person who did this, whilst fighting the insane sexual chemistry vibrating between you and the twins.
what could go wrong?
Warnings: porn with a side of plot, nerdjo and fratjo twins au - twincest (I don't view it as such and that's certainly not what this contains in my opinion but just as a warning so the puritans can back off), threesome/sharing reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hidden sex, the twins are annoying af and have asshole tendencies, both are pierced in different ways, college au/non curse au, too much dirty talk, unprotected sex because it's fiction and it's hot, spit roasting, thigh humping, zipper humping, thigh job, spitting, brief rimming, deepthroating, cunnilingus, pervy behaviour, a little masochism and sadism, choking?/asphyxiation, fanart by @smokeigheh on Insta, not proofread - please let me know if you spot typos or inconsistencies (this is too long for me to care about proofreading)
Word Count: 14k
“Hey, Sato?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I still dreaming or is there a girl’s ass pressed to my woody?”
“Unless we’re sharing the same dream, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not one — she’s drooling on my chest.”
“Is she hot?”
“Don’t be a creep…”
A pregnant pause passes, then he adds, “Yeah.”
“Nice.”
Groaning, your bleary eyes open. Your head is swimming. The pain is dull but powerful, as though hidden behind a layer, angry and wanting to be let out. Bright light through a window almost blinds you. You groan again, burying your head in a hard wall.
Huh?
Your eyes shoot open. You’re laying on someone’s chest. You look up. Dazzling blue eyes stare down at you through a pair of glasses, a brow cocked up. Then you feel it — something hot and heavy slotted between your asscheeks, and a hand gripping your hip.
With a scream, you jolt up, scrambling to get off the bed, only to fall right back onto the mattress when resistance meets your arms.
Two faces fill your vision from above.
Same dazzling blue eyes.
One smirking.
One not.
Both near-mirror copies of the other.
You scream again.
They wince.
“C-clones! You’re clones! Oh my god, please don’t probe me.”
The one on your left laughs so loudly it becomes your turn to wince. “Dude! She thinks we’re aliens!”
The other sighs and adjusts his glasses. “We’re not aliens. We’re twins. Monozygotic. Monoamniotic-Monoamniotic, to be exact.”
Lightly shoving the other by the shoulder, one of them says, “Jeez, don’t get all sciency around a chick. Just say ‘MoMo’, like I’ve been saying.” He turns to you, smiling. “We’re identical twins — I’m Toru, a Marketing student, and this ugly freak is Sato. Engineering. We’re both third years. And you are?”
Why are they acting so casual?
They’re in bed with a complete stranger, who could be a serial killer, and yet they’re introducing themselves to you like nothing’s remotely odd about the situation. Or maybe you’re in bed with serial killers. Hot serial killers, but that’s how they get you.
Unnerved by their matching stares, you stammer out your name, followed by a, “I’m an Anthropology student. Second year. It’s a pleasure to meet you?”
The sentence comes out less a statement and more a question, and you grimace at your unsocial self.
Toru leans forward, grinning. “You’re so polite. How adorable. Makes me wanna just gobble you up.” He mimics the actions of munching on your face, nom noming.
His twin sighs again and lifts his hand up. Yours is brought up with it. All of you eye the thing that clanks and jingles with the movement. Sato drawls, “Instead of flirting with her, why don’t we address the elephant in the room — why the hell are we cuffed together and in his bed?”
That’s when you finally realise you’re not in your own dorm. The room’s much bigger, much more lived in and homely. Heck, the bed itself is bigger than the stiff single that the school provides everyone. Comfier, too. And with someone’s abs plastered all over the covers.
Posters of sporting legends litter the walls, as do posters of rock bands and carelessly stuck on polaroids of one of the twins, or both of them, or people you can only assume to be their friends.
It even smells differently here than in your room; whilst yours smells of academic pressures and manically drunk coffee, this one smells of leftover thrill and aftershave. Clothes litter the floor, bordered by empty beer cans, and a pair of red lacey panties in the corner.
Toru follows your eyes to it, and then hastily clarifies, “It’s not mine — I don’t crossdress or anything.”
Sato rolls his eyes, and snarks, “She knows that, idiot. She’s thinking what a pigsty your room is.” Glancing at you, he adds, “My dumbass brother’s incapable of cleaning up after himself. Judge him freely, he deserves it.”
Ignoring both of them, you lift your arms up, struggling with the new weight and gawk at the pink fuzzy cuffs adorning your wrists. Slowly, you say, “What…the…actual…fuck?”
You’re handcuffed to two strangers.
Two hot strangers who keep women’s underwear in their rooms.
Frantically, you glance down at yourself and release a relieved breath when you confirm that you’re fully dressed in what you remember coming to the party in the first place: a short skirt you borrowed from a friend, a nice top, and beat up Converse that you wouldn’t mind getting beer spilled on. Your phone’s in your skirt pocket, along with your keycard. So all the valuables you brought to your friend’s apartment are still with you. Nothing feels out of place, which you thank god profusely for.
But what happened after the round of pres at your friend?
“I don’t remember a single thing that happened last night,” you voice aloud, frowning. “I don’t remember why we’re cuffed together, or who you two are to me.”
Not a single thing comes to mind — what you drank, who you spoke to, how much you drank, if you did anything crazy, if you lost some kind of dare and had to face punishment by being bound to two guys, and where your friends are.
Sato knits his brows together. “Neither. I only remember helping set up.”
“I don’t remember anything either,” his brother says, attempting to scratch the back of his head with the hand that’s connected to yours, laughing at himself, then finally using his free hand. He shrugs. “But then again, that’s not unusual for me. The best parties are the ones you don’t remember.”
You want to question how that could be possible, but you keep your mouth shut.
“Anyone feel a key on them?” one of the twins asks, inspecting the holes of the cuffs that bind you to him. He looks displeased at the fuzziness of the thing. Your hand hangs limply in the air.
All three of you look, lifting covers, checking inside your clothes, on the desk, under pillows, and nothing.
“Nope!”
“No.”
“I don’t see anything.”
Your heart begins to race, reality sinking in hard and fast and intensifying your headache. “We’re done for. We’re stuck like this forever. We’re going to die like this!”
“Calm down,” Sato deadpans, totally judging you based on how he fights the urge to look you over the rim of his glasses. “We’re not going to die. We just need to figure out who did it to us, where they are, and if they have the key — worse comes to worse, we don’t find them or they don’t have the key, we can just go to the fire station and ask them to cut us out.”
Toru whoops in the hair and ruffles his brother’s hair. The brother in question scowls and shoves the hand away. “Nice one, big bro. Didn’t even think of that; I was on the ‘we’re doomed’ boat.”
That makes sense.
Yeah, there’s no need to panic.
Except, there’s a major issue.
“Guys,” you start, lip trembling, “...I really need to pee.”
The two of them look at each other, then at you, then at the door, then back at each other.
“C-can you hold it?” Toru asks, sounding more frightened about the idea than you.
You shake your head, legs crossed.
And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the toilet in his en-suite bathroom, flanked by two guys, who at least have the decency to look away. One of them whistles awkwardly, and the other taps on his phone.
This is a nightmare. You don’t want to be pissing with an audience, especially not this close. It’s way too embarrassing.
Sato clicks his tongue, pink tinting the tips of his ears. “Why aren’t you going?”
“‘cause it’s weird,” you mutter, shuffling on the seat. The toilet’s kept pretty clean. It looks practically unused, which just makes you feel worse about defiling it.
“You having performance anxiety, Second year?” Toru teases, rocking on the balls of his feet.
He doesn’t need to sound so amused by the idea, you dryly think. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you grumble, “Anyone would if they were in my position.”
“I wouldn’t,” Toru chirps, swinging the hands you two are joint at back and forth absentmindedly. “Hell, I’ll pee between your legs right now to prove it. I’ve got pretty good aim.”
“Please don’t.”
God, this is the most shameful thing that’s ever happened to you. What did you do to deserve this?
Left with no choice, you let the stream go and grit your teeth.
One of them hums approvingly. “Solid stream — bitches with good pussy piss loud as fuck, and it do be sounding like you’re frying chicken.”
Your jaw drops. Aghast, you shake your wrist and smack his own hand against his leg. “Can you not comment on my pee, Toru?”
His twin smacks him upside the head. “Don’t call women bitches.”
He groans. “Does no one get the reference? Ugh, whatever. Just hurry up and wipe. I need to pee too.”
“Oh no.”
Both of your hands are connected to theirs… One of them’s going to have to get between your legs. When you look up at their suddenly stiff backs, you know they realised it too.
Toru whistles low. “Who’s it gonna be, Second Year?”
“Why do I have to choose?” you ask, though you already know the answer. They’re basically asking you who you’re more comfortable with, and oddly, you don’t want to offend either of them. Is this your Sophie’s Choice?
Sato continues tapping away on his phone one-handedly. “Either one of us is fine to do it. It all depends on who you’d prefer — it’s not like we’re actually wiping for you.”
If you really had to choose, then…
Wriggling a specific hand, you shamefully mutter, “Can you do it with me?”
He sighs, and slacks his arm so you can pull your hand towards yourself. The twin has to bend down at the knee slightly, still looking away. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat.
Through the whole thing, you’re cringing, cheeks flushed, and wanting the world to open up and consume you whole. Can this morning get worse?
“Done,” you mumble, making sure no one’s looking at you. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sato mutters.
On the other side, Toru grumbles so depressedly you can practically see a raincloud storming over his head, “Why didn’t you choose me? I’d be a good pussy wiper.”
More rises to your cheeks. You hurriedly pull your pants back up and flush. “No one was asking to wipe anyone’s…ahem. And the fact that you’re so eager is kinda the reason why I didn’t choose you.”
Toru raises his hands, and one of yours, in surrender.
After you, they both take turns peeing. You look away, shutting your eyes tight for good measure. You even hum under your breath to distract from the sounds. Sato, you notice, clears his throat before he goes, whereas Toru mumbles some song lyrics. It sounds like Up by Cardi B.
You hate that you’re hyper aware of every shuffle, every brush against you, every time their knuckles graze yours, and each breath they take.
The twins are hot.
Have you said that already?
Because they are.
Maybe if they were uglier, more normal looking, you wouldn’t be so on edge.
And you know it’s wrong to think like that about strangers, but they are hot. Stupidly so.
They’re the same height, with sharp jawlines and identical signet rings glinting on their pinkies. They’re definitely identical twins, but they look so different from each other, that with or without the glasses, you’d know who was who. Anyone would.
Toru wears a white T-shirt with an arrow pointing upward and downwards ,and the words “Best Seats in the House” printed beneath it, whilst Sato has on glasses and a blue T-shirt layered over a grey long-sleeve, the front patterned with chemical symbols spelling out MoAN.
Toru is broader, his biceps visibly defined beneath the cotton, muscle pressing against the sleeves. The underside of his hair at the back is buzzed. He has a brow piercing. Sato, by contrast, is leaner, his frame slimmer and his hair longer and more shaggy. He’s still quite muscular in comparison to the Engineering students you’ve seen, which isn’t a fair comparison because most of the STEM guys you’ve met look like the stereotype. No offence to them.
Toru wears ripped light wash jeans that hang low on his hips, revealing a Calvin Klein band, and Sato’s the same except his are darker blue. Both jeans hug their asses perf—
No, bad.
Stop noticing things about them.
After you get out of the cuffs, you’re never going to see them again, and it’ll be like this never happened. Don’t get attached. Don’t get too involved. Find the keys and skedaddle!
The three of you wash your hands, taking turns to brush your teeth and wash your face, all awkwardly trying to shuffle with each other. It’s clumsy at first but you do eventually get a rhythm going.
Eventually, you walk back out into the messy room, fresher and cleaner.
“We need to figure out what happened,” Sato states, brows furrowed. “If we got cuffed together during last night’s party, there’s a chance the key’s hanging around the frat house. We should look for it, jog our memories and retrace our steps.”
Toru scratches his stomach, revealing a flash of a white happy trail. His brother catches you looking. He cocks a brow. You snatch your gaze away. Toru says, “We won’t need to do all that — I think I know who did this to us.”
“Who?” you ask, louder than you intended.
He answers, grimacing, “A friend of ours. Sukuna. Well, friend’s a loose term. We’re frenemies, I guess. He’s funny, but he’s not the nicest guy around.”
It’s a vaguely familiar name, but you know you’ve never met a Sukuna before. By the sound of Sato cursing, you get the impression that it’s not the name of a man who you’d be happy to find out has cuffed you to a stranger. And that makes you all the more desperate to get out of the way of whatever rivalry they have going on.
“It’s a prank he likes to pull. He did it to Choso and a lamppost because the guy was giving family weed away for free to some girl, and that’s his literal cousin,” Toru explains. “If we gotta look anywhere, I think we should look at him.”
Smiling, you say, “That’s great! We have a solid plan.”
Sato glances down at you, not looking anywhere near as happy. Adjusting his glasses, he warns, “Sukuna’s an asshole. He’s not gonna be easy to get a hold of. Not to mention, if he did this to us, he must think we’ve done something wrong in his eyes, so he’ll be extra annoying.”
Much more cheerful in comparison, Toru throws an arm around his twin. “Now now, big bro. That’s not the spirit.”
They both look at you; one with a wide grin and the other with a deadpan expression.
“We’ve got an adventure to go on — let’s have some fun.”
.
.
.
“Wait, you’re members of a frat?” you ask, marvelling at the two of them.
What they’d said earlier only registered now, as you’re walking through campus, and now that you think about it, it explains why Toru has a room in the frat house in the first place.
Campus isn’t as busy as it usually is on the weekdays, which is good because it minimises the number of gawking you’re getting. Guess seeing three people cuffed together isn’t a very common occurrence, even in university.
The three of you had decided to track down this Sukuna. Sato looked up something online and informed you that the wanted man’s a hockey player, and the team has practice right now, in preparation for tonight’s game. So you raced out of the thoroughly trashed frat house as soon as you could, wanting to make sure you could catch him, corner him, shake the key out of him all before noon. And before his whereabouts become unknown.
Toru shakes his head, and ruffles your hair. He’s quickly gotten quite familiar with you, not that you mind. “Nah, little lady. Only I am. Frat prez, actually,” he says, nodding proudly. “My brother here just comes along ‘cause he’s a party animal.”
Sato fixes him with a blank look. “I’m not a party animal. I attend these things because someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Mischievously, Toru leans down to whisper in your ear, “He’s lying; he’s worse than me.” Then, he thinks for a second. “You’re not a frequent party goer, are you? I would have definitely seen you around before if you were.”
“No,” you admit. “I’m not a party person. I just went last night because my friends insisted I go to at least one party this year, and after this, I don’t think I’ll be going to another one any time soon.”
Cuffs aside, the hangover you have is no joke and it’s enough to put you off partying forever.
Toru petulantly whines. “No way! Don’t let this one weird experience give you a bad impression — my parties are legendary. You have to come again. I insist; I want to see you all drunk and stupid, and remember it.”
“Don’t peer pressure her,” Sato scolds before addressing you. “You should come over though. Party or no party. We’d definitely like to see you more. We can show you a good time.”
Their joint invite has your cheeks heating up. They just met you and they’ve already decided you were someone they’d want to hang out with again, and yeah, maybe they were just being nice, but it still had you all flustered. Especially because there seemed to be some hidden layer to the words ‘good time’; both of their eyes twinkled.
Or maybe you imagined it.
On the way, about a thousand people stop to say hi to both Toru and Sato. The twins are clearly popular.
It isn’t subtle, either. It’s not the polite nod-in-passing kind of recognition. People actually light up when they see them. Hands clap shoulders. Someone daps Toru up mid-stride. A girl across the quad calls Sato’s name flirtatiously. One even flashes both twins. Toru laughs. Even professors in suits, holding briefcases pause to exchange some words and inside jokes.
Toru grins wide and effortless, tossing out nicknames, bumping fists, slinging an arm around whoever gets close enough. Sato is smoother about it — a smaller smile, a tilt of his head, a few clever words that make people laugh just a second longer than necessary.
No one even does more than glance at you. To their friends, you’re just another girl they’re in some dramatic predicament with.
Between them, overshadowed by their popularity and fame, you feel out of your element. They’re definitely not the kind of people you could just casually befriend, not the kind of guys you would have ever spoken to, could have joined them casually for lunch, or schedule hang outs and know they’ll be there.
They’re just being polite to you, wanting to ease the discomfort of being cuffed to a complete stranger.
Eventually, you reach the rink. You follow them inside, down hallways, past the people working there. You peek through the double doors and see a bunch of guys skating in full gear. It’s loud in the rink, the shape and emptiness of the stands reverberating the shouts and scrapes of skates on ice.
“Let’s go to the locker room whilst they’re there; we can go through his locker and his bag,” Sato suggests.
The locker room?
Where men get changed and swing their dicks around?
Oh hell no.
“Wait— hold on.” You stop short so abruptly they nearly walk into you. Both of them turn, brows lifting in sync. You scramble for composure, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Toru squints. “Why not?”
Because I value my eyesight. Because I don’t need trauma today. Because I enjoy not being arrested.
You cross your arms, attempting dignity. “I can’t just walk into the men’s locker room.” They stare. You gesture vaguely, mortified. “I’m a girl?”
It comes out half question, half plea, like perhaps they’ve temporarily forgotten this extremely relevant detail.
Sato blinks. Toru looks down at you, then back at Sato.
“Oh,” Toru says slowly.
“Yes, oh,” you mutter.
The twins share a look.
Hands grip your wrists, dragging you inside despite your protests. They snicker together. You’re powerless against their strength, and you can’t even grip the doorway to pull yourself away because they’ve got control of your hands. Eyes shut tightly, you fumble in the dark, unable to resist their heavy, six foot tall bodies.
Mustiness hits you as soon as the doors open, and you find your nose scrunching in disgust.
One of them laughs. “No one’s here, Second Year. You’re good to open those pretty eyes.”
You swallow the nervous giggle down. Focus!
Eyes hesitantly open.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating long wooden benches scarred with skate marks and initials carved onto the surface. Open cubbies gape, stuffed to the brim with shoulder pads the size of riot shields, sweat-darkened jerseys, laces tangled in knots, and rolls of white athletic tape unraveling on the floor.
The place’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.
The air is thick — damp cotton, metal, cheap body spray failing miserably to mask the sour, unmistakable musk of hours spent skating in full gear. You’re careful not to touch anything unnecessary, lest you catch something.
“I’ll call his phone,” one of the twins says.
Ringing echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing against the metal benches and cubbies, and dirty towels and clothes haphazardly strewn around. God, men are disgusting.
“Third row down,” the other twin mutters, following the sound.
Your Converse nearly land on a discarded compression shirt, and you jerk back like it might bite. You pass a rack of hockey sticks propped in the corner, tape chewed to shreds at the blades. A laundry bin overflows with damp towels. Someone’s half-empty protein shaker sits uncapped, abandoned, something beige and unidentifiable clinging to the sides.
“Found it,” the other twin says.
The phone vibrates inside an open locker wedged between a pair of shin guards and a crumpled practice jersey. His name is stitched above the number hanging on the hook — red fabric, white lettering, unmistakable.
You hover stiffly behind them, crossing your arms as though that will somehow shield you from the environment.
“See? No naked men swinging anything around,” Toru teases, swaying his hips at you.
“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks hot despite yourself. “This still feels wrong.”
Sato says, “You overthink too much.”
It’s not overthinking, you want to tell him. It’s the plain truth. The girls’ lockers are clean, tidy, and smell much nicer. Here, it feels humid, like you’ve strolled into Satan’s asshole. It’s fine for twins because they probably don’t know how good they could have it on the other side of things, and it’s not like anyone would bat an eye if the hockey team came back and they found them here.
Toru picks up a pair of boxers, making his brows dance at you, then throws it at his brother’s face.
He releases a disgusted sound, swiping it away. “Hilarious.”
They’re both looking. One in the locker, and the other in the bag he pulled out. As they do that, you ask Sato, “So you’re older?”
The twin with glasses nods. “By two minutes — best two minutes of my life.”
Toru says, “Ha. Ha. We both know the best two minutes of your life are when some poor girl lets you hit.”
“Better than your thirty second record.”
You laugh at their petty sibling rivalry. You admire how easily they could talk to each other, and to you, in spite of your situation, of how absurd this all is. It’s a thing to envy, you think.
Pulling his head out of the musty locker, Toru looks down at you with a challenging smile. “You laughing at me, gorgeous? You think I can’t last longer than thirty seconds?”
Emboldened by the friendly atmosphere, you reply, “Proof’s in the pudding, isn’t it? If that’s your reputation, I’m sure there’s some truth to it.”
“Oh yeah?” He tugs, yanking you to his chest suddenly with the arm connected to yours. Hands steady your hips. Forcing your head to crane back to peer up at him, Toru grins down at you wolfishly, using his height advantage to intimidate you. “Care to let me prove you wrong?”
“I-I was just kidding,” you stammer out. “We need to focus and find the key.”
“I looked; couldn’t find it. Knowing how dedicated Sukuna is, he’s probably got it on him,” he responds, much more interested in something else now.
You gulp.
Heat covers your back. When fingers pinch your chin, keeping you from looking back, you realise the hands on your hips aren’t Toru’s. They’re Sato’s.
They’ve got you sandwiched between them, leaving you with nowhere to go. Out of nowhere, the air has turned even more heated, almost suffocating. It renders you dizzy.
Sato whispers in your ear, lips grazing your ear, “Don’t be rude, Anthro. You told him ‘proof’s in the pudding,’ no? You gonna upset my baby brother by turning back on your words?”
The brother in question’s bending down slowly, teasing you by not quite touching your lips. Meanwhile, someone’s nose is running down the length of your neck, sending your hairs standing on edge.
What the hell is happening?
Why are firm hands gripping you, lips brushing your skin, eyes watching your every move, hard bodies squeezing you till you’re panting? And why are you not stopping them? Why are you tingling between your legs?
Noises come from outside.
You all still.
They curse under their breath, scrambling off into the showers.
At the furthest stall, you hide, eyes wide and a hand pressing down on your own over your mouth. Thunderous feet march in. A ruckus enters. The hockey team’s finished with their practice, and you could be caught at any second. Imagine the scandal if they found you between two guys.
Voices bounce off tile and metal lockers, loud and unfiltered.
“Bro, you call that a shot? My grandma could block that.”
“Shut up, you whiffed the puck twice.”
“Suck my balls, Rogers.”
“Gladly, Barnes.”
A bag hits the floor with a heavy thud. Lockers clang open in sharp succession. The sharp scent of sweat and ice drifts through the humid air.
“Who forgot to wash their jersey? It smells like death in here.”
“Pretty sure that’s just you.”
Laughter erupts — loud, careless, echoing. Someone yelps when a towel snaps against skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut as sneakers squeak across tile, as jerseys are peeled off and tossed aside, as the easy, post-practice chaos unfolds only a few feet away. They’re too close. Way too close.
Oh god, they’re all probably butt naked just metres away from you.
How did things manage to go from bad to worse?
“Don’t make a sound,” Toru whispers, panicked. “The hockey guys cannot catch us here; they’re still mad from the time when we filled up their lockers with shaving cream and glitter, which they need to get over. It’s been days.”
“Pretty sure it’s because we’ve taken quite a few of their girlfriends,” Sato says under his breath.
“It’s not even ‘taking’ when they seek us out. Like anyone would say no to puck bunny pussy.”
“You’re both fucking disgusting,” you hiss. They’re just as sleazy as any guy on campus, it’d seem. The only difference is that they hide behind their handsome faces.
You’re leaning on Toru as he presses himself tightly against the tiles, ducking down so they won’t spot his white hair from above the stall, all while Sato’s leaning on you, pushing in so his back won’t protrude.
Packed like sardines, you’re aware of their hard muscles, of their much bigger sizes, and the ridges of their abs. The frat president can probably feel your tits on him, whilst the Engineering student can feel your ass on his crotch. Something hard pokes your stomach at the same time as something equally hard and hot slot right in between your ass cheeks again.
Lord, take me now, you pray, desperate for relief from the humiliation.
A leg slots between yours. You gasp. It’s Toru’s, but one look at his face and anyone would think you’re just imagining it. Don’t move, you tell yourself. Do not start riding his thigh even if you want to.
Sato pushes his hips forward, and consequently yours. You gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice husky in your ear. “Got an itch you wanna scratch?”
Toru flexes his thigh, bumping hard against your clothed slit. You bite back your moan, wholly aware of the boyish laughter and shouting on the other side. He says, “If you gotta scratch, you gotta scratch, right?”
They definitely know what they’re doing. Manwhores like them always know.
Laying it on thicker, the frat president whispers, “Don’t hesitate; use me. Go on, Second year. Make my day.”
The twins are urging you to ride his thigh, pushing and pulling. Neither of them care about getting caught, not really. You had initially thought Toru would be the biggest danger, what with his outgoing and flirtatious personality, but Sato’s just as bad as him; he’s guiding your hips with his own, hand sliding up your leg to creep under your skirt.
They’re twins from hell.
Someone flicks your nipples through your shirt. You slump back onto Sato’s chest, breathing heavily as your hips grind on a muscular thigh.
How did things come to this?
And why are you getting swept up in all of it?
“She’s so pretty, isn’t she, Sato?”
“Stunning,” he replies. His hand tugs you down, making sure you’re grinding real good on his brother’s thigh. “How does her pussy feel?”
“Warm, and getting wetter. Fuck, it’d be so much better if she wasn’t wearing panties.” He directs his words to you, muttering, “How about it, angel? Gonna let me feel your pussy?”
“There’s people,” you gasp out, growing closer and closer to your end. This is so degrading — they’re watching you ride his thigh all on your own, watching you thrust your chest out, and squirm between them like some whore.
One of them smirks. “So if there weren’t people, you’d readily give me access? Dirty girl. Isn’t she dirty, Sato?”
“Downright filthy.”
When you shudder, someone slaps a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your moan. Oh fuck you’re cumming on Toru’s thigh, a man you only met this morning, riding the muscle like it’s your pillow. Tomorrow, when you’re hopefully free and no longer attached to them, you’re totally going to want to never see them again.
Finally, you flop, twitching with the final waves of your orgasm.
Your head’s patted. “Well done. You were very brave.”
You smack it away, and grouch, “That was underhanded, you guys.”
“You enjoyed it, Anthro,” Sato points out, and steps back, steadying you. He peers over, and nods. “Coast’s clear. But that means Sukuna’s gone.”
Simultaneously, your eyes land on the wet spot you left behind on Toru’s jeans. He presses down on it, then sucks the pads of his fingers, winking at you. You look away immediately, wanting to cringe at yourself. Voice shaky, whether from stress or from your orgasm, you wonder, “So what are we gonna do now?”
“We’ll have to ask around for where he’ll be,” Sato replies. “Lay it on him good and intimidate him into giving up this stupid prank of his.”
Frowning, you follow them out of the locker room, adjusting your skirt. “Can’t we just go straight to the fire station? Do we have to go on this wild goose chase?”
Toru fake pouts, and puts a hand over his heart. “You tired of us, little lady? Hate us already? Oh, we’re just terrible, aren’t we, Sato?”
“The worst.”
“No, no,” you hurriedly deny. “It’s not that. You guys are great.”
He beams, stringing his arm over yours and forcing yours to hang loosely from your shoulder.
“Then it’s decided — we’re chasing after our Sukuna goose!”
And once again, you’re left with no choice but to do as they say.
.
.
.
After texting some mutual friends for where Sukuna might be, the three of you wind up at his apartment building. The twins have been trying to get ahold of the man, to no avail. It seems he’s intent on forcing all of you to ride out his cruel prank.
You texted your friends, trying to find out what exactly happened last night that might make this Sukuna person hate you enough to do this. You’re just some random girl, why would you be involved in the beef of some pretty well known guys?
They told you that they didn’t see you much at all during the party, that some time after arriving together, you disappeared and was only seen here and there, dancing and having a pretty good time with — and this is the really surprising part — both the twins, at different times.
Videos and pictures were shared to you: you’d be in the background, always with a drink in your hand, smiling like you’ve never smiled before, and flanked by one of the twins almost all the time. The videos seem to be earlier in the night. No cuffs in sight. There’s definitely videos from later in the night, but the people who took them haven’t woken up yet.
“So we were hanging out a lot last night, huh?”
Sato makes a face that says, guess so, whilst Toru whistles an impressed tune. The latter jokingly says, “We’re meant to be, Second year.”
“Seven of the eleven pictures were of me and her,” his twin points out.
“So? That’s just a one picture difference!”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Her ass on my dick helped me sleep last night,” Toru fires back, clutching your hand and bringing it up to his face so he can lay a kiss on your knuckles with a wink.
Sato yanks you towards him, and you stumble his way in the narrow hallway. He licks the palm of your hand, one upping his brother.
Face burning, you shove both of them back. “Can you guys stop? We need to work out what happened last night — how did we all get so drunk that we don’t remember how we ended up cuffed and in bed together?” Then, you frown. “We…we didn’t sleep together, did we?”
That was actually a question you’ve had since this morning, but you’d shrugged it off as being an impossibility. There’s no way two hot twins would want you, nevermind share a woman. However, after that little stunt in the locker room, you’re starting to wonder.
The frat twin laughs. “That’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Sato?”
“Adorable.”
They’re both laughing at you, and it’s irritating. Aggrieved, you ask, “What’s so funny? I don’t think it’s a ridiculous question to ask considering we woke up in the same bed with no memory of last night.”
Toru lifts his arm, and yours, rustling your hair with your own hand. “Babe, if you slept with me, you’d never forget. Trust.”
“Your mind could forget, sure, but your pussy wouldn’t; she’d still be feeling with me,” Sato says, matter-of-factly. His bright, all-seeing eyes flit down to the apex of your thighs as you walk, and you have to resist the urge to squeeze them together.
Damn.
“Hey, we’re here — 666.” He snickers to himself, thoroughly amused. Toru nudges you. “Fitting, amirite?”
Before he could knock on, you stop him. “What are we gonna do if he’s in? Are you guys going to fight him?”
Sato drawls, “You watch too many movies, Anthro; we’re just going to ask him to give us the key. Sukuna’s an asshole but he’s not the kind to drag a joke on.”
“Yeah, he probably just forgot in the first place,” his twin added.
“Oh.”
That makes sense. There’s no need to get violent. The prank’s not that harmful, you suppose.
They knock. You wait. No one answers.
“Is he not in?”
Toru tries the doorknob. The door opens. You all share a look. That feels pretty fucking ominous, like a trap laid out for you. “We’re not going in, are we?” you ask, looking up and down the hallway in case someone catches you three trespassing, or is it breaking and entering?
Whatever it is, it’s going to end you up in prison.
Lips graze the shell of your ear as someone whispers, “Scared of entering the devil’s domain with us? Think we’re going to eat you up? Hmm?”
“If you behave, we will,” someone else rasps at the back of your neck.
“Stop fucking around,” you reply, flustered by the tingles erupting where they touched you.
A hand presses in at the small of your back, and as the door’s opened, one of them chirps, “In you go, angel!”
You stumble inside, held up from falling only by the dense weight of two men chuckling at the little yelp you release.
The door clicks shut behind you.
For a second, you all just stand there.
Sukuna’s apartment is…exactly what you’d expect, and simultaneously worse — just aggressively, unapologetically male.
A pair of hockey skates sits abandoned by the entrance, laces trailing like shed snakeskin. A duffel bag, half unzipped, spills tape rolls, spare socks, and a mouthguard case onto the hardwood floor. The faint smell of detergent battles unsuccessfully with sweat and something woodsy, his cologne, probably, clinging to the air.
The living room is small but decent — a worn leather couch with a throw blanket tossed carelessly over one arm, a low coffee table cluttered with protein bars, a TV remote, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and a stack of lecture notes weighed down by a puck. His backpack is slumped against the couch, as though it gave up halfway through being put away.
On one wall: framed team photos. A hockey stick mounted horizontally. A couple of medals draped over the corner of the frame, like it hardly matters to him.
The kitchen is visible from where you stand. Open plan. Dishes in the sink. Not stacked to the ceiling, but definitely past ‘I’ll wash them later’ territory. A frying pan left out on the stove. A carton of eggs on the counter. A magnetic whiteboard on the fridge with scribbled practice times and what looks like a grocery list that just says: milk, rice, jerk off 3:37pm.
Weirdly specific, but okay.
You all step further in, handcuffs clinking obnoxiously between you. The fuzz tinkles your wrist every time one of them moves too abruptly, and it’s soothed by the brushing of knuckles and the rubbing of shapes by thumbs.
“Maybe he left the key here,” one twin says, scanning. “Let’s have a look around.”
As a unit, the three of you shuffle around. Drawers are opened. Closed. A quick glance under couch cushions. You check the kitchen counter with your free hand, careful not to knock over the precarious tower of mail.
The apartment is messy but lived-in. No mysterious stains. No broken furniture. Just a college athlete who does not evidently prioritise tidiness.
Then—
Voices. From the hallway. Muffled at first: “…you said you were done with her—”
The three of you freeze.
“And I am,” comes the unmistakable low, irritated drawl.
“Oh really? Explain to me why I found her panties in your car!”
“They’re yours.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wear blue thongs. I only wear white.”
“Ain’t nothing white and pure about you.”
“Fuck you!”
Your stomach drops.
It sounds like a lovers’ quarrel. You don’t know this Sukuna very well, or at all, but you’re one hundred percent sure he would not be fine seeing you guys in his place when he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Keys jangle outside.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
“Closet,” Sato hisses.
You don’t argue.
They yank you down the short hallway toward what you assume is the bedroom. The space is larger than you expect — unmade bed, sheets twisted, a jersey tossed over the desk chair. His cologne bottle sits uncapped near the nightstand. A lamp. A stack of textbooks. A charging cable trailing off the mattress like something that gave up halfway. But there’s no time to be psychoanalysing this man’s bedroom.
The front door opens.
“You said that last time!” the woman snaps, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
You’re shoved toward the sliding closet door. It opens with a soft scrape. Inside: hanging shirts, mostly dark. Hoodies. A winter coat. Shoe boxes stacked on one side. A laundry basket half-full.
“All of us?” you hiss.
“Got a better idea?”
The door slides shut just as footsteps enter the bedroom.
You’re crushed instantly. Back against the wall. Toru in front of you. Sato practically plastered behind. The handcuffs force you closer than is remotely comfortable. Someone’s arm is wedged between your ribs and a stack of shoeboxes. A coat hanger digs into your shoulder. How are you back in this position again?
Outside, the argument spills into the room.
“I’m not doing this,” Sukuna says flatly.
“You never do anything! You just— god, you’re impossible!”
A thud. Maybe something dropped on the bed. You hold your breath. Another thud. The mattress creaks. No, please don’t, you beg.
“You knew what this was,” he says, voice colder now.
“And what is it?” she demands.
Silence stretches. You can feel Toru’s heartbeat through his chest where you’re practically pressed against him. Or maybe it’s yours. The handcuffs shift as someone adjusts their balance. The metal clinks. Loud.
All four of you freeze again.
“…what was that?” the woman asks.
You don’t breathe. Not a single one of you moves.
Sukuna’s footsteps approach. The closet door handle rattles lightly as if tested. Your heart actually stops. Like medically dead stops. Then—
A scoff.
“Probably the pipes,” he mutters dismissively. Footsteps retreat. The argument resumes, lower now. Tense.
Inside the closet, you’re still crammed together like contraband. One twin’s breath ghosts across your temple. “If you make another sound,” he whispers so quietly it barely exists, “I’m framing you as the girl with the blue thong.”
You would elbow him if you had the space. It wasn’t even you!
Instead, you stay very, very still.
Their masculine scents engulf you. One of them smells like tacky aftershave done right, somehow, and the other is clean laundry. Both are intoxicating, as is the heat they exude which has you flushing in the cramped space.
It’s tight and cramped here. You barely have room to breathe, barely have room for your lungs to expand. And you’re pretty sure you’re standing on someone’s foot, though no one complains. As slowly and carefully as you can, you adjust yourself, grimacing at the tightness and darkness in the closet.
“Stop squirming,” Toru pleads. When you glance at him, he’s staring up, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What?”
Sato whispers in your ear, “You’re making him pop a boner. Me too. Nobody tell you it’s rude to get a guy hard and not do something about it?”
“They’re right outside,” you whisper back. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t do anything.”
A thumb flicks your nipple. Your moan is stifled by a hand to your mouth. Toru says, and in the darkness of the closet you can hear his grin, “Oh, but you want to, don’t you. You want to so bad. I bet feeling us up like this, knowing you can get caught, is making your little kitty purr.”
“Little kitty? Seriously?”
“Shut up, Sato. Maybe if you said it more, you’d get laid as often as I do.”
“I get laid plenty, asshole.”
“Shut up both of you,” you fire back at the two of them, ear craning to hear what’s happening outside. There’s no more arguing, which is a good sign, but there’s definitely signs of life, which isn’t a good sign; they’re still here. You can hear talking, hushed and intimate, as well as rhythmic creaking.
Oh no.
“Damn,” Toru says under his breath. “Ryomen’s fucking his girl. Guess I’ll finally be able to settle my bed with Fushiguro — does the psycho last longer than thirty seconds? Any takers?”
No one replies to him.
Through your breathing, you can’t help but listen to the sounds of moaning and groaning. There’s even some slapping involved, and a couple, ‘you like that?’, ‘you’re making a mess all over my cock, you little slut,’ and ‘picking a fight just to cum, you ain’t slick.’
That Sukuna guy is an aggressive one.
“Is it weird to say, given our situation, that I think it’s nice that they’re so in love and can easily resolve their problems?” you say, as quietly as you can.
Both twins snort.
“They ain’t in love, Second year. They’re just horny and toxic, which makes for a great combo. And if I recognise the voice right, then that’s Cassie. She’s a mess, no offence to her. She likes stealing her friend’s man. Great tits though.”
“She’s just another girl in his roster; Sukuna doesn’t date. Not unless pigs are airborn.”
“Oh.”
The three of you are breathing heavily, constantly brushing up against each other. Toru’s shirt is scraping your hardened nipples through your shirt. Your ass is grinding behind you. Hands are gripping your hips under your skirt as another set sneaks under your top, clutching your waist and climbing higher and higher till it’s just about grazing the underside of your tits.
Is it the uninhibited moaning outside?
Or the masculine scent you’re enveloped in?
What’s got you so hot and bothered, squirming between them, whining to be touched?
A hand grips your hip, pulling you back. A hot thing hangs heavy behind you. Your breath hitches. Meanwhile, lips press to your temple, then to your cheek, and finally your lips.
Toru doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He first whispers, “Been wanting to do this since this morning.” Then he kisses you. It’s sweet, soft, and gentle. It gives you butterflies. A metallic thing scrapes your bottom lip, and when you gasp, he’s quick to explain, “Just my tongue piercing, babe. You’ll get used to it. Soon’ll be getting to feel it against your clit, trust.”
Something long and hard slides itself between your thighs. You stiffen.
“What? Did you think I was gonna let my brother have all the fun?” Sato’s hands are gripping your bare hips, pulling you back and forth on his cock, which he ruts right up against your panties, cockhead prodding your clothed clit.
Panicking a little, you voice out, “What if they hear us?”
“You don’t want to be caught, Anthro? You better keep quiet then.”
One of them grope your tits, tweaking the hardened buds through your shirt, carrying your hand with his. You twitch with every flick, every scratch of a nail, and every pinch. Toru swallows your moans, greedily gulping them down. You really are getting used to the tongue piercing; it’s an addictive sensation against your own tongue.
The heat between your legs is almost scalding, and the way it separates your pussy lips, greeting your throbbing clit on its way forward, has your hips working back in tandem.
“Good girl,” one of them mutters.
The veins on the cock are felt by your sensitive skin. God, he’s big. Like really big. Would Toru be big too? Could you take any of their cocks? Both of them? Is that too filthy to think about?
Outside, a feminine voice calls out, “Ngh! Sukuna, right there! Harder, baby, please!”
“Don’t call me baby, you whore. Just take my cock and be quiet.”
You won’t admit it to anyone, but the sounds of skin slapping, headboard banging, and wanton screaming are getting to you. They’re setting the mood, and you’re growing less and less ashamed of the fact that you’re being thighfucked by one of the Gojo twins as the other shoves his tongue down your throat and squeezes your tits.
This is even filthier than in the locker room. More lewd. Obscene.
You’re rubbing yourself all over twins in a closet, hiding, and trespassing whilst the owner of the place is fucking his girl, and they don’t have a clue. If this is how parties end, then you might be inclined to attend another one of theirs.
“S-sato,” you whimper to his brother’s lips, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Fuck, me too.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
Full body shudders wrack you. You clutch Toru’s stupid t-shirt, hips stuttering, and juices soaking your panties. Thighs tightening in pulses with the strain of your muscles, you wring groans from Sato right into your ear.
“Shit, don’t cum all over me,” Toru hastily says, before picking up a random shirt off the hanger and shoving it between your legs just in time as Sato’s cock pulses in waves. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”
“Thanks,” his twin mumbles, lifting your hand to his face. You fix his glasses for him, pushing it back up his nose bridge.
“Where are you going now?” the girl asks, voice slightly muted by the barriers between you and her.
Bed creaking before feet pad on the floor, Sukuna answers, “Gotta stop by the ADP.” Silence. “Alpha Delta Phi? Gojo’s frat? Jesus, do you know anything other than how to bounce on cock? Forget it. I just need to go pick something up. Let yourself out whenever, but don’t be back here tonight. I’m having the boys over.”
“Oh, please, we both know that’s just code for having your other girl over.”
“Well if you know, then why bother playing coy about it. Yeah, I’m fucking other women, just like you’re fucking other guys. I don’t care and neither should you. Take a shower, nap, or whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t be here when I get back.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just did, sweetheart.”
Feet pad away and full silence returns to the room. In the distance, a door shuts. You all breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping.
“What an asshole,” you say, pushing the closet door open for fresh air.
“Told you,” the twins say in unison.
The bed’s been left a mess, with a huge wet patch at the centre that you don’t want to focus too much on. Sato’s tucked himself back in his jeans expertly, and you’d think he’d never taken anything out in the first place.
“Oi, Sato, lift her up for me.”
Sighing, the guy grumbles before lifting you by the back of your thighs. You fall back on his chest, head resting on his shoulder. Legs wide open, Toru kneels between them, grinning up at you. He winks, poking the wet spot you’ve made in your panties.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, startled.
Toru shrugs, pulling your panties aside. He takes a deep inhale, nose skimming and coming back all glossy. “Just wondering what you taste like that. You both got to cum, so it’s only fair I get a little something too, no?”
“It’s logical. Practically a faultless argument,” Sato concurs, leaving a kiss on your heated cheeks to reassure you. “Don’t worry; he won’t bite.” A little hushed and more mischievous, he adds, “Not like me.”
Naturally, that does nothing to wash away the embarrassment of his twin being face to face with your puffy pussy.
His smooth hands soothe the tremor in your thighs. “Just a taste, gorgeous. To tide me over till we make it back to the frat house to catch Sukuna. Besides, I want you to get comfortable with my tongue piercing.”
He pecks your clit, then takes a longer lick of your pussy. You gasp, hands kept down by your sides by their own and unable to push him away. Toru is as unashamed as ever, shoving his whole face in your cunt and forcing squelches out when he tongues your entrance.
“W-we’re going back to the -ngh!- frat house?”
Sato hums, seemingly unbothered by any of what’s going on. It might as well be any other Saturday. “We have to catch him there; I don’t want to spend the rest of my day chasing after him, when I could be buried inside your pussy.”
SLURRRRRP!
You cry out, toes curling.
“So sweet,” the twin down there moans. “You gotta taste her, Sato.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot,” he scolds. “And hurry up.”
“Quit telling me what to do — I like taking my time with good pussy, sorry.”
“Toru!”
Cooing, he mutters an apology to your cunt. “Aw, sorry, babe. Don’t mean to neglect you. Don’t worry, Toru’s here. Toru’s gonna make you feel so good, better than my brother’s tiny ass dick, I promise.”
Said brother scoffs.
But you don’t care about their unnecessary competition. You can only focus on the jolts of electricity zooming from your pussy and exploding in your belly. You’ve never been eaten out so good, and not with a piercing you’re painfully aware rubbing just right through your puffy folds. It rolls against your clit. You moan.
“Feel good?” Toru asks, all smug. “Got the idea from our piercer friend. It’s a real hit with the ladies.”
You frown. “It’s impolite to talk about -hah fuck that’s good- o-other women when you’re between someone’s legs.”
Sato kisses your cheek again, and approvingly inserts, “Put him in his place, baby. Been trying to teach him manners since we were born and he never listens to me. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Quit talking about me like I’m some kind of dog,” Toru grumbles.
“Then quit acting like it,” you bravely snap, possessed by the desperate need to chase another high. “Make me cum already, before I ask your brother to do it instead.”
Another kiss, this time punctuated by a chuckle. “
“Kitty’s got claws. That’s fucking hot.”
Lips wrap around your clit, which is still sensitive from the incessant rubbing of Sato’s cock. That’s why when he finally sucks hard on the little thing, you cum again way too quickly. “Fuck, Toru!”
“Mm, that’s right, baby, ride my face and my tongue.”
Through your writhing and squirming, Sato holds you up, bearing your weight with ease, all while Toru laps up the juices oozing out of your pussy, like a puppy, like a man in a dessert.
That’s three orgasms all in less than an hour. It’s a new record for you, which means your body isn’t used to it. On shaky legs, you’re set down. They hold you up, preventing you from collapsing on the floor.
One of them ruffles your hair. “You did such a great job, Second year. We’re almost at the finish line, think you can manage a slight jog back to the frat house?”
How are they so chill? How can they act like nothing happened? There’s not even a single wrinkle on their shirts, whereas you look and feel like a mess.
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, dazed and still experiencing waves of an orgasm that wasn’t supposed to happen so suddenly.
Sato nods, pulling your panties back into place and patting your pussy. “We know a shortcut — it’ll give us at least fifteen minutes ahead of Sukuna. More if he gets distracted and walks slowly.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
.
.
.
“Oh my god…” you breathe out, staring at your phone. “I was dancing on a table?”
More videos and pictures are surfacing online now that the partygoers are waking up and getting over their splitting headache. And damn it, you wish they hadn’t.
Leaning over, Toru whistles. “That’s fucking hot. It reminds me of when my frat brothers hired strippers for my birthday, except your dancing is so much better.”
You elbow the little kiss up. “We both know that’s a lie. I’m dancing like a drugged up chimpanzee.”
“Like an unstable gas, just shaking about the place,” Sato adds. When Toru and you give him a look, a blush graces his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses and clears his throat. “So he can talk about strippers but I can’t mention anything related to the periodic table?”
That was a slip of his cocky façade, and it brings a smile to your lips.
He rolls his eyes at your look of adoration. Glancing at the screen, he says, “We didn’t have the cuffs then, and that was probably about midnight. Our parties typically end at 3 am, with some people lingering even later. So between then and 3am, Sukuna had slipped cuffs on us.”
“Do you think he drugged us too?” you wonder, speedwalking along the back of a building you’ve never visited on campus. “I mean, I’m just not the type to get black out drunk.”
It’s awful to suggest Sukuna, a man you’ve never met before, would be the type to spike peoples’ drinks, but it would certainly explain things.
Toru shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “I wouldn’t put it past him to slip us something that makes us more susceptible to doing stupid shit. Though, honestly, looking at how I’m twerking on my pledge, Itadori, I don’t think I needed anything more to get black out.”
“That’s just how you are naturally,” his twin snarks.
To that, the frat guy laughs in disbelief. “You’re one to talk considering we have five videos of you writing equations on the entirety of the basketball team’s backs and yapping their ears off about Digimon, which you only do after the eleventh shot. Shots, mind you, you hate but never pass down.”
“Only ‘cause I need alcohol to survive your stupid parties,” Sato fires back.
“Parties you enjoy!”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough, boys. Let’s just agree we all got messy on our own,” you establish, feeling like the two are way too close to tearing each other apart.
When you reach the frat house, Sato opens the door for you. Does no one lock their doors on campus?
You didn’t notice it in your rush to get out of the house earlier, how big and beautiful the house is. It’s old, ornately decorated with impeccable wooden floors and portraits hanging on walls. Of course, there are thongs, bras, streamers, limp balloons, used condoms strung all over the place, and there’s empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol just lying about. But beneath all of the grime of a party done well lies a gorgeous home.
Cleaners flit about the place, collecting trash and mopping floors.
“Perk of living in a frat,” Toru proudly declares, “we never have to clean up after ourselves.”
“That is pretty cool,” you agree.
Sato huffs. “It’s insanely privileged. And intrusive. I much prefer not having strangers constantly leaving their traces in my home.”
The three of you gracefully ascend the stairs, avoiding mysterious wet puddles and stains you didn’t want to think too much about. Sukuna doesn’t seem to be here, so they were right about the shortcut.
“So you live on your own?” you ask him, nodding a thank you to Toru who carries you over a stack of bottles.
“Yeah, but we’re over at each other’s places so often we might as well not be.”
You giggle. “That’s so cute. You two just need to be together all the time, huh?”
Toru punches his brother’s arm over your head. “She’s laughing at us, Sato. She thinks we’re pathetic and psychotically close.”
“I promise, it’s only circumstance that keeps bringing us together,” Sato dryly says. “If I had it my way, I’d have said good riddance to him a long time ago.”
“My sentiment exactly — pretty sure I tried to eat you in the womb and that’s why you’re so ugly.”
A laugh escapes you.
Eventually, you reach their bedroom.
Right back where you started.
Smiling, you say, “It’s funny that we did all that work just to end up back here because Sukuna was always coming by, isn’t it? Quite ironic actually.”
The door shuts behind you.
“Look, Toru,” a dark voice coos, “she doesn’t know she’s about to be fucked an inch of her life.”
“I know,” an equally dark voice agrees. “I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is. Makes me wanna just eat her out till she faints. Think she’ll let me?”
“I think she’s been soaked the whole day and at this point she’ll let us do anything we want…isn’t that right, Anthro?”
The hairs on your arms stand on edge. Two foreboding presences flank you, reminding you that there’s no where you can go that they won’t follow, that you’re stuck with them for good, and that you couldn’t hope to fight them off even if you wanted to. Your panties might as well not be there by how your wetness is trickling down your thighs.
They drag you down onto the bed with them.
Hands make quick work of your clothes: they pull down your skirt, taking your panties with them, they yank your shoes and socks off, and one of them even grabs scissors to cut right through the shirt before you can say anything. The metal grazes your skin, slicing right between your tits.
“Wait, wait,” you yell, overwhelmed by the suddenness of their actions. “Sukuna! Sukuna’s coming.”
Sato says, “Not for twenty minutes — one of my friends said they saw him stop by the Student Council office.”
“Probably going to bother the Prez,” Toru snickers, pressing your panties to his nose and moaning. “Fuck, I love the way your pussy smells. The dirtier the better.”
Heat rises to your cheeks immediately, and you fall back onto Sato’s lap. He licks a stripe up your neck. “My brother’s got weird tastes. Forgive him, angel. He’s just born weird. I like to say I took all the brains in the womb.”
Toru snorts, throwing aside all your shredded clothes. “Sure, let’s pretend I haven’t had chicks crying to me about how you’re so mean to them, asking for me to be the nice twin.”
The three of you kneel on the bed together, cuffs clinking when they clash, the pink fluff tickling skin. They’re both still dressed. You feel Sato’s jeans scratching your skin, the metal zip rubbing right up against your pussy, and Toru’s silly ‘Best Seats’ shirt grazing your nose as he towers over you.
He brings up the hem, biting it, revealing washboard abs. You blink at it.
He says, “Lick it, Second year. Go on.” Hesitating, you run your tongue over his torso, starting from the white treasure trail, over his outie belly button, then his abs, and his chest. Of course he knows he has an impressive body. It’s important he knows you know that too; it’s an ego boost for him. “Such a good girl,” he coos. “I’ll be sure to fuck you real good as a reward.”
“Not until I’m done,” Sato argues. “I’m older so I get first dibs.”
His long fingers are parting your pussy lips, grinding his zipper up and bumping it against your clit. The texture’s weird, and wild, and it has you heaving, no doubt leaving behind your slick all over the metal teeth.
Gripping your face with his free hand, Sato kisses you for the first time. He’s got your neck twisted back, the wetness of your pussy smearing on your skin. There’s no piercing, only a minty taste that you’re obsessed with. It’s messier, filthier, all tongue and spit, so different from how his brother kisses.
You’re dragged back, and lips quickly replace Sato’s. That familiar piercing returns. You’re stolen back again. Then again. And again. They’re fighting over who gets to kiss you. You’re dizzy, breathless, creaming for more.
“Quit taking her,” Toru growls.
“Fuck off,” Sato snarls. “Just sit there and look away. Three’s a crowd.”
“It’s not fair. You’re already getting to fuck her pussy first.”
“Oh? You’re so easy to give up?” He whispers in your ear, all smug, “My brother’s a pushover. Bet it turns you way off, doesn’t it? It’s alright, angel, you can tell him to back off. It’ll just be you and me, won’t that be nice?”
Fingers coat themselves in your pussy juice, rubbing your clit nice and good before pushing inside your pulsing hole. “No, babe, tell the nerd he can fuck off and go research where the clit even is. I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk away from my bed even when the cuffs are off.”
Neither of them will actually give up, no matter what you say, you know that. So you say, “Both of you. I want to be fucked by both of you. Please!”
“She’s so polite. Isn’t she polite, Sato?”
“Perfectly so.”
If someone had told you you’d be shared by twins in a frat house, you’d have called the police for harassment. Now, as you’ve said those words and they sigh and begrudgingly agree to allow the other to be here, you think this was inevitable.
Toru creeps back, working on his zip and freeing his hard cock. A hand shoves your face forward. If it isn’t for Sato holding you up, you’d be face planting into the sheets.
“A-are you sure Sukuna won’t catch us?”
Fingers push in, scissoring your cunt and prepping your walls. They cruelly curl up against your g-spot. “You think she’s trying to piss us off by mentioning another man’s name, Toru?”
“I think it doesn’t matter — she’s gonna forget there’s anyone else outside these walls when I’m through with her.”
Right in front of you, Toru strokes his dick. It’s pale, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. He’s trimmed neatly. There’s even a tattoo on his hip that says ‘Lucky You ;)’
Your mouth waters.
The salty pre is smeared on your lips. He taps it, once, then twice. “Say ahh, babe.”
Behind you, something pokes your pussy. It slides between your thighs again, spreading your juices on your skin. It enters you, inch by inch, slowly, making you feel every bit of him.
At the same time, Toru’s cock pushes through, filling your mouth. Both ends have to stretch wide to accommodate them. Already, you’re overwhelmed, overstimulated, over the fucking moon at being used so lewdly. Your friends are never going to believe how you spent your Saturday, and your future kids will never know just how wild their mother got back in college.
Soon, they bottom out, and it’s a miracle you’ve been able to take both of them at the same time.
“Damn, what a talented fucking mouth,” Toru breathes out, head thrown back. “A star for you, Second year.”
“You should feel her pussy,” Sato grits out, fingers digging into the plush of your ass with the strain of resisting the urge to thrust over and over again in your cunt. “It’s the tightest thing ever.”
His brother groans. “Shut the fuck up, dude. I can’t stand hearing your voice. Respectfully. You’re ruining this for me.”
“Grow up.”
In tandem, they rut back and forth, starting off in small bursts first to let you get used to it, then steadily growing faster and faster. You’re basically being used as as fleshlight, fucked in the way they want, with little regard for how uncomfortably stretched out and twisted you are. And it feels amazing.
But…
Why does Sato’s cock feel so different?
Your cunt clenches down on it. He grunts, then chuckles. “You’re wondering what’s on my dick, aren’t you? It’s a piercing baby. Thought only Toru has one? Didn’t expect it from me, did you? You feel it scraping your walls? Feel me deep inside your perfect pussy?”
And you can. You can feel exactly where he is, how deep he’s in, how satisfied your gummy walls are to feel something so big stretching you out, like a feeding a sacrifice to a hungry god.
You moan around Toru’s dick. He grunts. “Fuck, babe! You’re gonna make me cum early.”
“Pathetic,” Sato mutters. A cold wetness lands with a thwack right on your puckering hole. You jerk. “Relax. Just trust me.” A thumb circles the hole, pushing in only knuckle deep yet it’s more than enough to have you feeling insanely full. “If we had more time, then I’d prep this tight hole to take me. This’ll have to do.”
Sato’s an ass guy?
Are you?
It’s never occurred to you to play in that other hole, though as he hooks his thumb in, you start to think you’ve been missing out this entire time. Toru, on the other hand, is obsessed with your tits. He keeps groping them, flicking the buds so you’ll moan even more around his cock.
Balls are swinging, bumping against your chin and on your clit. The bed squeaks and creaks with the force of their ploughing, headboard slamming against the wall. You wonder if the other frat guys can hear, if they know you’re a slut squirting around a cock as you get rammed by their frat president and his twin brother. It must be a normal occurrence with how whorish they both are.
Your tongue swirls around the unpierced cockhead in your mouth, licking the salty slit. The guy in front of you curses, still biting the hem of his shirt. You can see his abs constricting, the muscles under his tattoo twitching. .
Sato breathily chuckles. “My little brother’s gonna tap out soon, and I’ll have you all to myself.”
Toru pushes back in immediately, not wasting even a single second. You have to breathe through your nose, the walls of your throat squeezing around the hefty intrusion. Whereas Sato’s long, Toru’s thicker — the difference is minute, yet you can tell.
Feeling challenged, Toru scoffs. He taps your cheek. “Tell him he can spank you. Go on.” He pulls out.
You cough, throat hoarse already. “Spank me, Sato. It’s okay, I can take it.”
SMACK!
You scream around Toru’s dick. His hips jerk forward with a groan. The fucker didn’t waste a single second!
“So fucking tight!” He slaps your cheek again, hitting exactly where he had the first time. You moan, pussy pulsing. “You like that? Well, aren’t you a dirty thing.”
It’s a turn-on for Sato, you understand now. It flipped a switch in him, seeing the mark of his hand blooming on your ass; his hips are thrusting harder, hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars and flooding down his cock, which practically rams you mercilessly.
The strength of his thrusting forces your throat to take Toru even deeper, a fact that the frat guy rejoices in as he holds you up by a hand on your tit, groping like he had before. The cockhead’s bumping the back of your throat, no doubt bruising you.
You cum, shuddering, but neither of them seem to care. They only notice the throbbing and rhythmic squeezing of your cunt and throat, groaning and grunting above you.
“Poor nerd,” Toru snickers. “He’s gonna cum so quickly. It’s sad, isn’t it? It’s nice that you’re so charitable, babe.”
“Big talk for a masochist.” The older twin rubs your clit, occasionally pinching the thing just to feel you tighten around him. Darkly, he orders, “Dig your nails into his thigh. All the girls know he’s weak for pain. He even calls the older ones mommy. Sad, isn’t it? Disturbed, even.”
Panicked, he tries to grab your hand before it can grip his thigh through his jeans. But it’s too late. You’re faster. You dig your nails in as hard as you can so he’ll feel it through the material. He whimpers, hips stuttering. “Jesus FUCK!”
Hot cum spurts in your throat. You gag on the salty taste. Tears spring to your eyes.
Sato laughs, yanking you up by the air. Toru’s cock slides out with a pop!
Back flat on his chest, he holds you up with a hand around your throat. It presses in slightly, slowly stopping airflow to your head in intervals, holding enough to make you delirious.
Aggrieved and peeved off for being forced to cum early by a cheap trick, Toru poutily kisses your lips, running that tongue piercing over the seam. He pushes a hand against your belly. You whine, feeling even more of Sato this way. “Let’s see how long either of you lasts like this, cheaters.”
“Fuck off—Christ! Shit!”
It only takes a mere second. It’s more embarrassing than Toru’s premature ejaculation.
At the sudden and impossible tightness, the older twin curses under his breath. White paints your walls. The heat is searing and it pushes you over the edge too.
Quickly, you’re pulled off his dick, which is still spurting. Some cum gets on your face when you’re brought to your back on the bed. They’re manhanding you, positioning you like you’re a ragdoll, like you’re a mere toy for their pleasure. It’s hard to tell where up and down are, left and right, if it’s even the same day.
A cock pushes in, bullying its fat length with no hesitation. The aftershocks wrings out a deeply satisfied moan from Toru, who sinks in balls deep easily. He mutters petulantly, “If her pussy didn’t feel so good, I’d be too disgusted by your spunk all over her to get hard again.”
“Be grateful I’m letting you fuck her at all,” Sato retorts. He removes his glasses, squinting and finding the fogging of the lenses a pain in the ass. As he clears it out with the bottom of his shirt, he adjusts himself over you, obscuring your view of Toru. His heavy cock hasn’t lessened in density. It rests between your tits, soaked and sticky. “Stick your tongue out.”
You do. He makes a noise of approval.
His hands push your tits together, sandwiching his dick. Sato’s shaven. He likes things nice and clean, it’d seem. The metal bars under his cockhead are hot against your skin. You can see them. They look painful.
In between moans, you ask him, “Did the -hngh- piercings hurt?”
He shakes his head, lazily thrusting on your skin. His cock bumps onto your tongue, leaving drops of salty cum. You can taste yourself and him, and it oddly doesn’t disgust you.
Behind his brother, Toru pushes your thighs up, hooking them over his arms. Amused, he says, “He’s lying. He cried after, telling me he regrets it and he wants the piercings taken off. What a little bitch boy.”
“He exaggerates.” But the pink tinting Sato’s cheeks tells a different story.
“Whatever you say, big bro,” Toru muses.
He yanks you back and forth on his cock, not exactly thrusting anymore. You’re back to being used a fleshlight, as a pocket pussy, dragged up and down the veiny length of him. He’s reaching deep, stretching you out even more than his brother did, though he doesn’t reach your cervix as nicely as Sato had. It hardly matters to you. The pleasure’s all the same.
Thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking and rubbing, all while Sato squeezes your breasts tightly around his cock. His veins are prominent too, and they tickle your skin with every thrust. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, teasing the underside where his piercings are every time he reaches your mouth. He throws his hair back, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Fuck, that mouth. Real fucking sinful,” he mutters.
Rocked back and forth, bruised and bullied from top to bottom, fingers digging into sensitive flesh, marking and claiming, with sticky juices drying on your skin and tears dripping down your cheeks from the overstimulation — it’s one orgasm after the other.
“Aw, are you crying?” Sato asks, smirking and not looking the least bit apologetic.
Toru chuckles. “For something so tight and greedy, her pussy’s real weak, don’t you think?”
“The weakest.”
Skin smacks against skin. Juices splash. Puddles grow beneath you. You can taste their cum, feel them and hear and see them everywhere. Even when you close your eyes, the shapes of their cocks are imprinted, practically burnt on your retina. They won’t stop talking, won’t stop commenting on how you tremble and tense around them.
One of them moans pornographically. They both laugh.
“Hear how she moans? You’d think she’s on OnlyFans and she’s trying to rack in the subs. Dirty, dirty girl.”
“She does moan pretty loudly. Squeals like a pig too.”
Toru adds, “Oh and her pussy won’t stop talking back to me. Maybe she wants to debate the collegiate system with me, or give me a glowing review on my dick game.”
“Only you’d lose to a debate with a literal cunt,” Sato says, snorting.
“Oh because you’d win one? That’s what you wanna brag about?”
“I won one when I made her cum like three times on my dick today.”
“Pssh, you’re deluded.”
None of what they say gets to you. You’re too deep in the pleasure, in the euphoric bliss, to properly register what they’re saying. You just want them to keep fucking you, to keep stimulating your entire body. You want this to never stop.
Ankles locked around Toru’s hips, you yank him back, wanting more and more of him. It’s never enough. The hairs at his base tickle your clit before he grinds his pelvis against it. Your eyes roll back.
Sato spits a fat dollop on your tit, barely assisting the glide of his cock, which easily slides between your tits — he just wanted to do that. The sight of you all messy, lips glossy, eyes dazed, causes the corners of his mouth to twitch.
Spitting’s his thing. Panty sniffing is Toru’s.
The more you learn about them, the more your invite to Hell solidifies. They really are twins from the Underworld, just so filthy, so lewd, so damned.
“Fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” one of them groans, barely understandable.
“Pretty fucking tits, prettier fucking mouth,” the other says, eyes flitting between your face and your breasts, undecided where it wants to stay.
All three of you moan at the same time, bodies spasming, and clit and cocks throbbing. Everyone gasps for breath, the air humid and tangy.
Finally…
“Ngh! Sato! Toru!”
Cum spurts on your face, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid getting some in there. They land on your cheeks and nose and tongue. More cum fills up your cunt. All of your juices mix together in a warm concoction.
You’ve never been more full and deeply satisfied. You feel it in your bones, in your souls.
The fluff of the cuffs are soaked with your sweat and cum, the metal clammy. There are marks on your wrists from where they’ve pulled too much or too harshly, and the sting only adds to the pleasure.
Best.
Sex.
Of.
Your.
Life.
Probably best threesome too. Not that you’re planning on having any more.
“Fuck that was good,” Toru says, hands rubbing your thigh and your stomach. He pulls out, and you wince. The emptiness is upsetting, although it doesn’t last very long; his long, slender fingers push the cum leaking out back in, keeping you plugged for a little longer.
“Mm,” Sato agrees, wiping cum from your face only to shove it in your mouth for you to suck off.
“What kind of freaky circus act am I looking at right now?”
Heads flip to the door. You almost get whiplash from how fast you turned.
In the doorway, a pink-haired, heavily tattooed man stands. He doesn’t look disturbed, just amused. His eyes drink in your form, from your face to your tits to your pussy, or as much of your body he can see from where he’s standing anyway.
“Oh hey, Ryomen,” Toru says, not making a move to cover himself or you up. He just stands there between your legs, absentmindedly rubbing your clit. “How you doing?”
“Toru!” you scold, still dazed but thinking more clearly than the other two, that’s for sure. “Ask him about the cuffs.”
Does no one care about your dignity?
Nudity between men might be normal, but it’s certainly not between men and women. Despite that, they’re acting like he just caught you hanging out. No one covers you up. The newcomer doesn't look away. They’re all acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Who you presume is Sukuna finally spots the pink cuffs. He groans. “You got it all dirty. God, I fucking hate you dumbass twins. Came back to pick it up, and this is how you repay the favour? You better get me new ones, Gojos.”
You blink.
Static rings in your ears.
“They…borrowed it from you?”
Sukuna quirks a brow, like he’s surprised you’re daring to speak to him. “Yeah, twin fucker. In exchange for the keys to their garage and whatever car I wanted to drive around for the weekend.” Then he seems to piece something together and laughs mockingly. “Jesus, did they sell you some story about how I cuffed you three together in punishment or something? How dumb can you be?”
Sato huffs. “Watch it, Ryomen.”
“Yeah, another insult from your lips and I’m decking you right across the cheek.”
“Whatever you freaks.” A ping goes off on his phone. Sukuna reads the notification. “Alright, I gotta get going. Get me new cuffs and keep me out of your shit. Don’t even know why you didn’t just get your own.”
Toru chuckles, tension disappearing as though it was never there to begin with, and his fingers still fucking inside you. “Lies sell better when mixed with a little truth.”
Disgusted, Sukuna scowls. “You sound like your nerdy brother. Don’t try to sound smart, Idiot Gojo. It don’t fucking suit you.” His eyes fall back to you. He smirks. “If you get tired of their pasty asses, I’m more than happy to fuck you right. You know where I live.”
He knew you were there?
Seeing the bewildered look on your face, he scoffs. “You all breathe so fucking heavily. You think I wouldn’t sense your stupidity radiating from my closet? I mean, I always knew the two of you were in the closet, but I never knew you’d be in there with a girl. Guess sexuality really is a spectrum.”
“Fuck off, Sukuna,” Sato growls, cock soft now and being tucked right back into his pants.
He waves a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Unlike her, I’m not interested in doing it with twins. I’ll see you weirdos around.”
“Wait!” you call out before he can leave. “The key! We need the key!”
Sukuna rolls his eyes at you.
“You’re slower than you look,” he mutters, exasperated beyond measure. Louder, he says, enunciating hard so you’ll get it, “I. Don’t. Have. It. The twins. Are. Sexual deviants. Who lie. To get pussy. They have the key. They always had it. You think only with your clit or something?”
A pillow gets thrown at him, followed by, “Fuck off, Ryomen.”
With a middle finger aimed at all three of you, he goes back the way he came, leaving you with guilty looking twins who each fish out a small key from their pockets.
“Oh look,” Toru weakly cheers, “we found it. Yay!”
One winces. “Guess we won’t need to go to the fire station.”
Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.
But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?
Is it game over?
Chapter FOUR: Gojo is a thing of the past, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you try to get over him by being under other people, but why does he still keep haunting you? Why can’t he let you go?
Content: angst, fluff and smut all in one chapter, there's alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanism, sex with other people, cameos from other JJK character, not proofread - pls let me know if you spot typos!
Word Count: 11.3k
Chapter THREE - Masterlist
You lied.
You see him sometimes, around campus.
He’s always with friends. Most times friends you’ve met — Yuji, Inumaki, Ijichi, Haibara, even that ‘Sho’ girl — and other times with people you haven’t. Sometimes he doesn’t see you, and he’ll have that bright smile on his face as he talks to people animatedly about something sciency, you’re sure.
And other times, he does.
When that happens, you either turn away fast enough that you don’t get to see his smile drop or see him wear whatever expression you think he’ll have, or you can’t tear your eyes away quickly enough to miss the half hearted wave he gives you.
It’s better when he doesn’t see you, you think. That wave is more crushing than anything he’d say.
Naturally, you’ve blocked him.
You always block guys you’re done with. It gives you peace of mind. Except this guy doesn’t; you wonder all the time if he’s tried contacting you, and what he’s said. Maybe he changed his mind and begged for you to give him another chance, maybe he declared his undying love for you, maybe he’ll vow to dedicate himself to you for the rest of time.
None of those are likely though, because he would have chased after you the first couple times he spotted you on campus. But he hasn’t. Not even once. And you walk away slowly on purpose to give him the opportunity.
He’s never taken it.
“So, it’s over?” Brittany asks, plucking her eyebrows in her vanity, and occasionally looking at you through the mirror. “You ended it with him?”
You’re in her apartment, spread eagle on her bed and staring up at the ceiling wondering why she doesn’t have glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars. Her place smells like vanilla candles and expensive setting spray. Usually you’d fawn over the delicate scent, now you’re left feeling more suffocated.
It’s tradition for you to go crying to her after every heartbreak, but you’re not crying right now. You’re just taking shallow breaths. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Careful not to inhale too deeply in case something inside you splinters.
“Sure,” you say.
She sighs and puts her plucker down. “Babes, you don’t have to pretend you’re okay — I’m not going to gossip to those bitches, or any bitches, you know that.”
Through your lashes, you stare at her. Brittany’s been your friend since you were children. Two girls meant for more than the provincial life you were born in, destined to wear hot pink mini skirts and tight dresses in a conservative town. You’ve followed each other your entire lives — sleepovers, first kisses, college applications half-finished at her kitchen table — and you know her loyalty is to you before any man. You can tell her anything.
Despite that, you still say, “I am okay. He’s just some nerd, I’m gonna be fine, trust me.”
Her pursed lips suggest she won’t be trusting you.
Which is fine.
You’re not exactly trying very hard to convince her — you’re wearing a hoodie and sweatpants for Prada sake. Sure, it’s a sexy pink hoodie and Juicy Couture sweatpants, but the outfit tells the whole story. This is your version of waving a white flag. Hair unstyled. Makeup smudged into yesterday. No armor. She knows you’re devastated, and highkey suicidal, and you can’t bring yourself to pretend otherwise.
You just can’t say it. You can’t say the words, say that for the first time in your life you’re actually experiencing real heartbreak, and it’s robbing you of the ability to breathe.
It hurts.
It hurts a lot.
All the other times don’t even compare. The other times had you moping for a bit, stalking socials until your eyes burned, comparing yourself to whoever the bastard cheated on you with, buying curses from Etsy witches at 2 a.m., and eventually getting over them by getting under someone else. You’d call it empowerment. Reinvention. A glow-up.
This time, however, you don’t do any of those things. You don’t even think about getting revenge. You don’t want to hurt him. It’s not like he said anything wrong to begin with. He was probably right actually; you’re not in love with him. He was just nice and you liked it.
This time you’re just tired.
Bone-deep tired. The kind sleep doesn’t fix. And you so desperately want to sleep the day away, you want to let the paint on your toes crack and peel off, for your acrylics to grow out, lashes to fall off, and for your body to wither away.
“Is there a cute bridge nearby I can jump off?”
Brittany fixes you a blank look. “Not funny.” Then she groans, coming to stand over you and smacks you with a pillow. “Get up. I’m tired of your bad vibes ruining my Me Time. Why don’t you do some retail therapy? That always made you feel better, didn’t it?”
Releasing a heavy breath, you tell her, “I already did. I have boxes upon boxes in my room still unopened. I tried to find happiness at the bottom of a shopping cart, and I’ve dug myself into further debt. It didn’t even make me feel better.”
None of the cute thongs or super high high heels you’ve gotten numbed the pain for even a second. You did look really cute in everything you bought though.
A ping goes off on her phone. She checks it.
Then she slams her hands on the bed, making you bounce. Brittany squeals. You wince.
“Okay, you better wax that hairy, depressed vaj of yours because we’ve got a frat party to sleep our way through tonight.”
“No,” you groan, already feeling the hangover clouding your mind. “I’m not in a partying mood.”
“That’s too damn bad because you’re coming with me and that’s that.”
Surprisingly strong hands roll you off the bed and drag you into the bathroom, and you know you’re going to walk out of here sore and bruised and in tears.
Terrific.
.
.
.
It’s been a while since you’ve been at a party, and you have missed it — the fun songs that get your hips swaying without permission, the sting of alcohol that burns a clean line down your throat and washes any doubts and stress away, and not to mention the hypnotic gyration of bodies that mutes insecurities and self-consciousness for a moment.
The air is thick with sweat, cheap cologne, something sickly sweet, and it feels like slipping back into a skin you used to live in. This is a damn good party, courtesy of Alpha Alpha Alpha and its president, Sukuna Ryomen — the kind of party people talk about all semester, the kind that makes freshmen reckless and seniors nostalgic for the rest of their lives.
Since you left him on read, he hasn’t texted you; he’s not the type to chase. The fact that he reached out at all to begin with would have won you over if you weren’t so in love with—
“Where have you been, doll?”
You grimace at the term of endearment.
You know, without looking back, that the captain of the hockey team has crept up behind you, whispering loudly in your ear so you can hear him over the blaring bass of the music. His firm hands grip your hips, hauling your ass to his front where he grinds his semi unashamedly.
“Around,” you reply, sipping on your cranberry vodka whilst you feel the music course through your veins, a synthetic courage buzzing under your skin.
Scarred lips graze the shell of your ear. “Yeah? Well, I missed ya. Missed this sexy ass and tight pussy. Wanna let me have my fill upstairs, like old times?”
Elbowing him off with a scowl, you say, “No, Fushiguro. Not after you slept with Jeanette before making me suck your dick the same night — that was freaking disgusting, by the way.”
“It was hot for me.”
His annoying laugh catches the attention of people around. Guys give him a nod of recognition and girls bite their lips, and both look him up and down with desire and envy. When they see the hand he has making its way to grope your tit through your thin shirt, the ones who want him and only him snarl before turning away, and the ones that want you too grin knowingly.
This was your life before…him.
Hated for being pretty and popular, and lusted for exactly the same reasons. A month or two ago, you would’ve been high from the attention, dizzy on it, collecting glances everywhere you go. Now you’re just exhausted.
Despite that, you feel some dull thrill growing from where he touches you — a familiar, shallow spark that promises distraction if nothing else.
Lips murmur kisses up and down your neck, hands squeeze your hip and breast, his body presses insistently against yours. Toji has always been a fun time; he knows exactly what he’s doing and has never left you unsatisfied. He’s easy. Predictable. Safe in the way a bad habit is safe.
But you shouldn’t.
You didn’t even want to be at this party, didn’t want to be freshly waxed all over, all shiny and glittery, didn’t want to be dancing or drinking, or groped by some horny asshole who has no sense of loyalty, and you suspect actually likes causing girl drama.
All you wanted was hi— to be alone.
As you’re about to shove him off for good, you catch a flash of white in the corner of your eyes. Your head snaps in the direction, heart lurching stupidly in your chest. Shoulders slump in disappointment soon after.
It’s just someone taking their shirt off.
Of course he’s not here. This isn’t his scene. Plus, it’s Friday night — he’ll be at the games café with his friends, probably laughing about you and your pathetic confession, or building Lego sets and inside jokes, or making new memories in the toilet stall with his working dick.
And even if he was here, what were you going to do? Beg? Apologise? Roll over and flash him your pussy like it was going to convince him you’re good enough to be loved?
“Come on, ma,” Toji mutters. “Lemme make you feel good. I’ll make you forget all about that guy you’ve been with.”
“What guy?” you weakly ask, suddenly feeling lightheaded, like the room has tilted on its axis.
Toji spins you around, gripping the back of your neck to keep you in place as he grins down at you. “The nerd, doll. The rich one. Nora was telling me all about how smitten you were.”
“You mean when she was bouncing on your dick?” you scoff. Who told him he could call Eleanor by a nickname?
He smacks a wet kiss on your glossy lips, leaving behind the wheaty taste of beer. “Nah, ain’t nobody having full conversations when they’re on my dick — she was on my face, which you could be in ten seconds if you follow me upstairs.”
A harsh smack warms your ass cheek.
“Don’t make me wait long.”
With that, he leaves you.
Coldness wafts over your body that not even the warm bodies around you can fill.
Then, you’re having a moment of clarity — you’re standing in the middle of the room with a drink you didn’t ask for, bass rattling your bones, sweat and cheap perfume clinging to the air in a sickly way. Strobe lights slice everyone into fragments. Laughter sounds warped, metallic.
This was your scene, your thing, your routine. Not Lego’s and fantasy movies, gameboards, Mariokart, and good fucking sex that ends in cuddles and kisses. Not slow mornings and shared blankets and someone looking at you like you were more than a spectacle.
Yet, tonight it all feels wrong, like you’re wearing someone else’s skin. Brittany’s off blowing someone’s brains out, you’re sure, and you know she won’t mind if you leave as long as you let her know, and so you keep thinking you’ll leave after one song, after one sip, after one more person tells you how good you look.
You don’t.
Because the moment the beat drops, the ache in your chest dulls just a little. The thoughts that circle his name — his voice, his hands, the way he used to look at you when you laughed like you weren’t performing — get shoved to the back of your skull by flashing lights and bodies pressed too close.
It’s addictive, this numbness. The way strangers’ smiles demand nothing of you. The way dancing lets you pretend you’re still the girl who came here for fun instead of survival. You hate that it works. You hate that you’re already planning the next party, even as you swear this one will be your last.
Because you can pretend as much as you like that you’re no longer the same girl, that you’ve learnt, grown, evolved, but deep down, you know, as much as everyone else does, you will never be more than a cheap thrill.
So, you push your way through the crowd, dumping your drink in some plant that’s probably fake, heading for the wide open door which leads into the night and back home, where it’s safe, where it’s quiet, where he won’t be, and turn right to the stairs.
“Took you long enough,” someone says, smirking and palming his hard-on through his jeans.
Toji’s waiting by the door, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders and mouthing at your neck as someone else eyes you up and down.
“Ryomen,” you say. “Did you have to set a trap for me?”
He pushes off the bed, strolling over to you. Tattooed hands grope your ass, pulling you flush to his front. The frat president of Alpha3 licks the seam of your lips, tickling the surface with his tongue piercing. He rasps, “You’re a flighty thing, sue me.”
The other guy slides his hand up your skirt, squeezing your ass and letting a finger push in under your thong, where you’re still not very wet at all. He curses and spits on his fingers, then rubs it on your pussy. Toji huffs and notes, “She’s been distracted by that Gojo kid, too busy to suck our dicks.”
Sukuna tuts. “Bad girl. You know this pussy likes to be passed around.”
“Quit it with the talking,” you drawl, grabbing both of their dicks to hear them groan and shut the fuck up. “Put your honey where your mouth is.”
They laugh.
“God, you’re fucking stupid. It’s almost a turn off.”
“What do I always say? Let your cunt do all the talking, doll, remember? It’s smarter than you, that’s for sure.”
You roll your eyes. “Is someone gonna eat my pussy or what?”
Toji grunts. “We’re gonna get to that, don’t you worry.”
Falling back on the bed, one holds you by your waist as you come to straddle his lap like you’ve done many times before, and the other settles behind, pinning you between them.
Clothes fall to the floor, and the party downstairs becomes a mere hum through the moans and groans of three bodies joining.
And for the night, you do forget all about him.
.
.
.
“Do you believe in love?”
The blond man slides his gaze back to you as though he’d forgotten you’re lying naked on his bed, messy hair creating a halo around your head on his pillow. He’s tucking himself back in his slacks, zipping it, before buckling the belt he hadn’t even fully removed before he thrusted inside you.
He’s a professor of History. A father. Widowed.
You’ve had a sexual relationship with him since first year, when he met you at a bar and you made up some story about being a working woman at some law firm. He’d taken you back to his place, fucked you in a way not many of the boys from your hometown had ever, and was surprised, to say the least, when he saw you at orientation.
Professor Nanami was kinda disgusted with you, and with himself. He refused to see you for weeks, shrugging you off when you’d cozy up to him in the hallways. But he couldn’t resist you for very long.
Of course not.
How could he when you wore the tightest, shortest skirts around him? When you had foregone bras under your basically see-through tops, batting your lashes and bending over his desk ‘to pick something up on the other side?’
Maybe it was because his wife had just died, or was dying —you didn’t think to ask for the details — or maybe he just really liked you, but you’ve had a consistent relationship ever since he caved and ate you out on his desk. Every Monday evening, his least favourite day of the week, you’d pop by his place and get your back blown out.
Always the same position — prone bone. Your face buried in the pillows, ass hiked up, head occasionally banging against the headboard.
First he eats you out, you blow him, and then he’s inside you.
Like clockwork.
No kissing, not much talking, no staying over.
There used to be a time when you’d push it. When you’d pretend he’d fucked you to exhaustion and you couldn’t lift a single muscle, hoping he’d let you stay just this once, but he was insistent; he’d rustle you awake, a stern look on his face, and with painkillers and a glass of water by the bedside table.
He wouldn’t even let you leave a toothbrush at his place.
It was easy to start things back up with him. You showed up at his office, knocking and with a sultry grin. He pushed his chair back, beckoned you over with two fingers, and you thought he might say something like he missed you or ask where you’ve been. He didn’t. He just guided you down to kneel between his legs.
The rest was history, as they say, which is funny because he’s a History professor!
Nanami runs a hand through his hair.
“Yes.”
You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your palm, watching him button his shirt with the kind of care one would reserve for defusing bombs: each button fastened with intention, each cuff aligned, crisp, controlled, contained. It’s almost military. Or maybe militant. What would S—
Nope. Don’t go there.
Happy to get an answer from him, you enquire, “Did you love your wife?”
He stills at that, but recovers quickly. Clasping his watch on his wrist, he wonders, “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, you know,” you reply as casually as you can, prodding the wet spots left on the bedsheets, “just curious. You never really talk about her.”
“Because the dead should be left where they are.”
There’s no bite in it. Just fact.
You sit up, the sheet slipping to your waist. He doesn’t look. Not out of disgust. Not out of desire. Simply discipline. As if you’re another detail in the room to catalogue and move past. Whereas other guys would have greedily drank up your figure to get fired up for another round. You don’t mind it.
Getting to your feet, you tug on your underwear. You remark, “You’re a History prof — isn’t it your whole thing to not let the dead rest?”
That gets a slight quirk of his lips. “I’m a contrarian.”
“Figures.” You huff. Then, you insist. “So? Did ya?”
Nanami meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. He doesn’t smile when he answers, “With all my heart.”
That doesn’t make you jealous, doesn’t make you sad or angry. It’s just what it is. But it does make you think. Voice quieter, you ask, “How do you know if you love someone? Like, really love them, and not like just be horny for them?”
“Did you meet someone?”
At surface level, it’s conversational. Polite. However, you know from years of office sex and Monday fuckings that Nanami’s not the kind of person to pry; he’s being cautious, worried that you mean him. It almost makes you laugh.
“No, I was just wondering,” you say, trying to comb through your hair.
He hums, handing you your phone.
So predictable.
Men are always so frightened by the prospect of you falling in love with them, as if you’re so fucking terriblem, as if it means you’ll be baby trapping them. And yeah, maybe you are terrible. You’re shallow, dumb, and mean. Maybe he saw that and that’s why he didn’t want you for more than a wet pussy.
But you can’t change who you are at the very rotten core…
Can you?
Soon, you’re being taken to the door, and just as you’re about to leave you look back at him, watching him already closing the door.
“You never answered my question.”
Nanami doesn’t need to ask for clarification to know what question you’re talking about. He pauses for a second, and it’s a rare moment of hesitation you don’t see him take very often at all. The man’s knowledgeable, wise, older. Whatever’s crossing his mind you probably couldn’t ever hope to understand. Perhaps he won’t answer. Perhaps he’ll even scold you for prying.
But he doesn’t.
Staring down at you, he says, “When every minute of every day without them is like dying a thousand deaths without any of the relief, and you can only hope to forget them for a second.”
And the door’s shut in your face.
.
.
.
“Thank you for meeting me again!”
Yuji sits across from you at a cafe on the top floor of the student union building. He’d asked to meet, to treat you to coffee and cake after helping him get a date with a girl.
You wanted to say no. The idea of hanging out with his friend was weird. And you’d been wondering how much he had told them about everything, if he’d told them you were some psycho, and that he never wants to see you again. You thought that Yuji might cuss you out, might call you a dirty whore or something. But he insisted. Pleaded. And you’re not against free things.
“It’s whatever. I’m just glad she said yes after all the work we put in.”
“No, seriously,” he says, pushing the slice of strawberry shortcake toward you like an offering. “You saved my life.”
“That’s dramatic.” You take a bite, thinking about how a certain someone loves sweet things more than you do and he’d devour this in seconds.
“It’s not! Do you know how many times I almost texted her ‘hey’ with four y’s?” He shudders. “You stopped me from ruining everything.”
You snort despite yourself. “You’re welcome for protecting you from yourself.”
He grins, then softens a little. “She said I seemed…thoughtful. That I actually listened to her.”
“Well,” you shrug, stirring your iced latte a little too hard, “you did. Eventually.”
He laughs. “After you made me rewrite that message six times.”
“Seven, actually.”
“Seven,” he concedes easily. Yuji pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m taking her to an arcade this weekend, then we’ll get some boba, walk around for a bit.”
No one’s ever taken you to an arcade or gotten you boba. Is this how nerds date? Is that what he’s doing with some girl right now? Did he ever think about taking you on a date like that? What kind of boba does he like? Probably something insanely sweet and elaborate, he’d convince you to try it despite your complaining, and it’d turn out to be your most favourite thing in the world.
The third floor is busy — cutlery clinking, espresso machines hissing, students drifting past with backpacks and too-loud laughter. You keep your eyes on the condensation sliding down your cup.
A barista calls out a complicated order. A group of girls squeal over something on a phone screen. A tall figure in white passes near the railing and your spine stiffens before you can stop it.
Not him.
Different build. Different posture.
You take a sip of your drink even though it’s gone watery.
Yuji softly says, “He does that too.”
Your eyes dart to him. He hadn’t said his name, and yet your heart’s pounding as if he had. So fucking pathetic. Shuffling in your seat, you say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He’s always looking around every room, looking at whoever walks in through the door, eyeing the crowds. He even smiles when he thinks he sees you, then frowns when it’s someone else,” Yuji elaborates. There’s a bittersweet expression on his face, and you wonder if he wears one too. You pretend your heart doesn’t skip a beat at the thought that he might be searching for you in every face that passes by. “I think he really misses you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” you reply immediately, before your brain could even process the words. Then you sit up, meeting his eyes for the first time since sitting across from the pink-haired guy, who looks so much like some other guy you know. “Yuji, we were never in a real relationship, did he tell you that?”
That furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
So he didn’t.
“It was a deal we made. I won’t go into the specifics,” you say, waving a hand. “But we weren’t actually dating. It was just pretend.”
Yuji shakes his head, leaning forward. “But he was always talking about you, about the things you like, the things you don’t. He’d see clothes in stores and say, oh she’d hate that, or that would suit her. He’d text you all the time and well, I’ve never seen him smile at his phone like that before. Even movies we’d rewatch, he’d talk on and on about what you thought about it or how he thinks you’d hate it, and so he can’t wait to watch it with you. None of that seemed like pretend to me.”
Every word builds the pit in your stomach, growing it bigger and bigger until you feel so heavy you think you could create your own gravitational pull, like someone had once explained the Sun does.
Voice trembling more than you want it to, you deny all of that. “It was pretend. He’s just really good at playing his part. But it’s not like we didn’t get along. He just didn’t lo—” Love me, you wanted to say. Instead, you gulp, and continue, “He just didn’t like me like that.”
The guy shakes his head again. He looks so deeply troubled by the news, and wholly unconvinced.
“I think you’re wrong,” he says, then quickly adds, “respectfully. He’s quieter these days, always wanting to go out, stay at our place, and go to every event possible. He’s always super tired now. I thought it was because you two had an argument; I didn’t know it was because you broke up.”
“We didn’t break up,” you tell him, firmer than you intended it to come out. “We just ended our deal. It’s different.”
“Not to him,” Yuji argues. “He’s clearly miserable. I’ve never seen him so down.”
You sip your drink, gaze flitting away so you won’t see the flashes of memories of a man you can’t see right now in his eyes. Numbly, you say, “He’s just missing the routine we had. He’ll get over it.”
“Can’t you two just make up?”
“No, Yuji. It’s not that simple.”
“It can be.”
Tired of where the conversation headed, you stand up, fixing your skirt. “Thanks for the coffee, and you’re welcome for helping you bag your girl. Good luck, and whatever.”
Then you leave before he can say anything else about him.
Inside the elevator, you slump against the mirror. Your face is reflected back all around you. It’s unnerving to see the dark circles under your eyes and the slight shake in your eyeliner. You snatch your gaze away. Can everyone tell you’re grieving something that was never alive?
A ping warns that the elevator is stopping. Someone gets in, but you’re only looking at the buttons.
“Diapers?”
You freeze.
Beat up converse, blue jeans, white shirt under a blue sweater, full lips, glasses, and white hair.
Your heart drops to the ground floor.
He’s really here.
And it’s just the two of you.
The air feels thinner somehow. The elevator suddenly feels too small. The mirrored walls reflect you from every angle — your stiff posture, his towering frame, the space between you that somehow feels charged.
The doors slide shut with a soft, definitive ding.
You’re trapped.
“What are you doing here?” Satoru asks, smiling widely. He takes a step towards you reflexively, arms rising. You step back. His smile falters, but doesn’t disappear altogether.
Steeling your spine, you reply coldly, “Meeting a friend.”
“Oh.” He leans back against the mirror too, arms crossed. “I was studying. Got a big exam to prepare for. It’s gonna be killer.”
“Cool.”
Your voice comes out flat, but your pulse is screaming. The hum of the lights grows louder. The faint scent of his cologne — clean, annoyingly familiar — threads into your lungs and drags memories behind it.
There’s a tremble in your voice you hadn’t shaken off. Can he hear it? Can he tell you’ve been miserable? Is he rejoicing in it? Does he feel victorious? Validated?
Does he look at you and think, See? You were just confused.
Satoru wonders, “How have you been then? What have you been up to?”
Who the hell does he think he is? How can he possibly talk to you so casually, like you’re long time friends passing each other by?
Inhaling deeply, you let out a tense breath. “Look, we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to be all good with each other. We were strangers to each other before and we’re strangers to each other now. No more and less.”
“No more or less,” he corrects automatically.
“Fuck off.”
You can hear the sheepish smile in his voice when he mutters, “Sorry.”
The elevator shudders lightly as it passes another floor. Then his expression shifts. The brightness dims.
“I was genuinely asking,” he says, softer now. “I really am wondering how you’ve been…” Then, even softer, he adds, “I missed you.”
No no no no no.
He can’t talk to you like that, he can’t say shit like that, he can’t weaken your resolve, he can’t pretend he fucking cares. He doesn’t get to miss you after telling you you mistook gratitude for love. After implying you only wanted him because he was the first man who treated you like you mattered.
Hands shaking, you clench them into fists so he won’t see. “Don’t.”
“I do,” he whispers, insistent. “I haven’t been sleeping much since ‘cause I keep thinking about all the things I said.”
You don’t want to hear this.
You can’t.
You’re supposed to be moving on, accepting that what you had wasn’t real, that it was all just some game. He wasn’t supposed to be here; it’s too soon. You wanted to face him properly, completely unaffected so that he’d never know just how hurt you were.
Satoru steps closer. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was flustered, y’know, like you caught me off guard, and—”
“Stop it, Satoru,” you hiss, whipping around.
Your breath gets caught in your throat.
Fuck he really does look terrible, or as terrible as he can possible look — he has dark circles under his eyes too, his hair looks like he’s been running his hands through them, pulling hard, and he looks even paler than usual. His sweater is fluffier than usual, Converse more scuffed, and there’s a quake in his hands as they twitch.
When your eyes meet, through his glasses his gaze softens. “Oh, baby.”
He’s so close all it takes is one step to cross the distance, to hug him tightly, to yank him down for a kiss and wash everything away. Satoru smells the same as you remember, all clean and fresh, and it’s comforting, reassuring.
The door opens.
“There you are,” a voice says. “Did you bring my clothes back from your place?”
Satoru breaks eye contact first, looking at the newcomer. He releases a breath, combing his hair back. “Hey, Sho. Yeah, I’ve got them.”
It’s her again.
She’s sucking on a lollipop, raising a brow at you. A smile plays on her lips. It’s mocking, like she knows something you don’t.
It’s so easy for them to talk like that, isn’t it? So casual, so natural, like they’ve been dating for years. Did you ever sound like that with him to others? Did people feel jealousy ripping them apart from the inside, threatening to bring them to their knees?
“Good for you, Gojo,” you snark. The words taste acidic. Petty. Beneath even you. But you can’t stop them. “You’re finally using your fixed dick to its fullest.”
“What? No, wait, baby—”
You leave, heels clacking on the polished floor.
Someone calls your name, panicked, but you don’t turn around. Not even when the elevator doors slide shut behind you. Not even when the first tear slips down your cheek. Not even when the sob you’ve been choking back finally breaks free in the empty corridor.
That’s really fucking good for him.
Just perfect.
Peachy.
.
.
.
He’s been trying to contact you.
A TheSmartest_1 had followed you on Insta. It had no profile picture, no other friends, no posts, but you knew who it was immediately. He sent a message. It plainly read: I didn’t sleep with her, her washing machine broke. Pls unblock me.
It no longer matters to you if he did or didn’t; you’ve cried over it enough. Plus, it’s not like you’re some blushing virgin. But still, the thought of it didn’t settle right, and even if he denies it, the damage to your heart has been done.
You set your account to private and removed him.
Then you received an email from one of your professors, talking about how someone had interrupted a lecture shouting your name, and that he had to inform this individual you don’t attend your lectures, which was the cue for him to lecture you about the importance of good attendance and full investment in your education.
It confused you.
Not the scolding. Whatever Satoru’s up to.
A lot.
Why was he looking for you? Why was he trying to reach out? What else did he want? Was his dick broken and he wanted you to slap him back to health? Or did you leave something behind in his apartment?
The old you would have confronted him, asked him what the fuck he wanted, maybe blown him as a parting gift. The you now could only curl up in your bed, staring at the message and feeling tempted to hear him out.
You’re curious, that’s all.
Since the elevator, you’d been crying on and off. You ignored Brittany’s attempts to see you, claiming to have mono, and definitely ignored Eleanor and Jeanette’s accusations of you being pregnant.
You wish you were pregnant. At least then he’d have a reason to stick by you.
It’s not too late to fake it, you suppose.
No, that’s stupid.
No one would believe you’re pregnant with your impeccable figure.
Eventually, everyone’s messages stopped, like they had accepted you’re a shut-in now. You didn’t go to see Nanami on Monday, didn’t seek out Choso for some weed and cunnilingus in the backseat, or Geto for an orgy with his groupies. And it was good.
There’s peace and quiet now.
You can do the bare minimum for your studies, don’t have to do your makeup or shave or even wear anything other than some ratty T-shirt from home you never threw out.
But it also means listening to the voices in your head telling you you’re not good enough for anyone. It means having to bask in the dull clenches of your heart every time you’re reminded of him. It means rolling over in bed and reaching out for a warm body that pulls you in and mutters about how good you smell, and being jolted awake when your arm falls through air.
You can’t even doomscroll anymore; your feed’s been corrupted by videos of people building Lego sets, of film analysis, of all the work the Gojo Foundation has been doing. It’s like everywhere you look he’s there, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Once, you replayed the same video of him attending some event in a suit, with his hair slicked back, and his glasses swapped out for sunglasses, for hours.
When you shut your eyes, the video still played in your mind, like it’d been burnt into your retina.
A ping goes off on your phone.
Lazily, you pick it up and blink through the blur of your eyes, which had gotten used to the darkness of your room. Jeanette sent you a picture, and captioned it: I want the next turn when she’s done with him.
You sit up.
It’s a picture of two people. A man.
Him.
He’s on campus, standing under a veranda as rain pours heavily, holding designer shopping bags — Tiffany, Chanel, Prada — and laughing with a girl.
“No fucking way.”
The covers are thrown on the floor with the speed you jump out of bed, fighting through the sudden lightheadedness that threatens to send you falling, and hurriedly gathering your lipgloss and mini skirt off the floor. The curtains are torn open and the grey sky glares back at you. It’s pouring.
It must have been taken recently, if not just now.
Sheets of rain slam against the windows, blurring the campus into watercolour streaks.
You move fast. Faster than you have in like a month. Shower on. Teeth brushed. Concealer under your eyes to hide the proof that your heart’s been shattered into a million pieces and not even nail glue could fix it back up.
You pick the tightest top you own. The shortest skirt. Something that says you are not the pathetic thing you’ve been rotting into. Lip gloss swiped on. Hair brushed until it shines. Mascara layered thick. You’d rather die than be seen all ugly and disgusting by anyone, least of all him and that skank.
The cold hits instantly when you step outside.
Rain soaks through your clothes within seconds, clinging the fabric to your skin. The mini skirt rides up as wind whips through campus, biting at your thighs. Your shoes splash through puddles with every march you make across the quad.
Students stare, point, laugh. You don’t care.
Your phone is still open to the picture Jeanette sent. You zoom in as you walk. It’s by the Quad, just a little away from the Physics building, where he liked to hang back in his free time to chat to professors in their offices.
The environment starts matching the background of the picture.
You’re here.
And there he is.
Satoru fucking Gojo.
Under the stone veranda outside the humanities building, dry and sheltered, laughing like the world is light. He looks exactly like how he did in the picture, except now that you can see him in all of his glory, you can see there’s even more designer bags hanging off his arms.
You can also see the girl beside him.
It’s Brittany.
Your Brittany.
The girl who held your hair back when you threw up. Who listened to you cry about him. Who promised time will heal all wounds, who said she liked him for you.
It’s really her.
What you’re seeing in front of you, the abomination that it is, is exactly what you expected, yet in your frantic hurry to be near perfect, you’d manage to convince yourself you saw wrong or it looked like her but it wasn’t, or that Jeanette had done something to the picture.
But no, she’s with him. She’s the one he was laughing with, the one that had stopped him from seeking you out. And he’s the reason she stopped texting you to ask if she could see you today or the next day.
The rain pounds down harder, plastering your hair to your face, your mascara threatening to bleed.
He sees you first.
His smile drops instantly. The bags go still in his hand. Brittany follows his gaze, confused. And when she sees you, her eyes widen in panic, in fucking guilt.
“Babe…” she began, but you cut her off.
“What the fuck is this?” you demand. Your hands are shaking. Your entire body’s trembling, whether from the cold or from the delirious fury crackling inside of you, you couldn’t tell.
“Hey—” he starts.
“Shut up.” You don’t even look at him. Your eyes are on her. On your best fucking friend. “How could you?” you scream.
Jeanette, you expected. Eleanor too. But Brittany? Your Brittany, making a man who was never really yours hers?
Were you so unloveable that no one would consider your feelings for even one fucking minute? Was there something genuinely wrong with you? Did you have a corrupting force inside that makes everyone stab their daggers in your back?
Brittany steps forward. “It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” You laugh, hysterical, gesturing wildly at the shopping bags and their general closeness. “You’re on a date. With him. You’re telling me I’m mistaken?”
“It’s not a date,” she insists, exasperated.
Gojo cuts in, “It isn’t.”
“Oh my God, don’t.” Your voice is almost hoarse from how loud you’re shouting over the pounding of the rain, which threatens to send your legs buckling under you from its sheer force. “Do not stand there and pretend like you didn’t ruin me and then move on to her.”
Water drips off your lashes. You’re freezing now, teeth almost chattering, but adrenaline keeps you upright.
Brittany’s hands reach for you. Your glare pins her to where she stands. In spite of that, she sighs and says, “You need to calm down.”
“You listened to me cry about him,” you say, voice cracking completely now. “You told me he was bad for me. You said I deserved better, that I just need therapy. Is this your version of therapy? Sleeping with him?”
Gojo steps forward. “Okay, that’s enough—”
“Stay out of it!” you snap at him. Even now, he’s defending her, choosing to protect her from you, because you’re some big monster in their eyes. You’re the one trampling all over their Happy Ever After.
His jaw tightens.
You’re soaked to the bone. Your fingers are numb. Your arms are goosebumped and aching, legs itchy from the cold. You must look insane — mascara’s running down your face, stinging your eyes.
But you don’t care.
Because they’re dry. Sheltered. Together. And they look so fucking good together, so happy, and it’s you who wiped the smiles off their faces, it’s you who’s disturbing them, ruining their day.
“You’re dead to me,” you say to both of them.
Gojo’s expression shifts at that. Something almost pained flickers there.
But you don’t stay to analyse it. You turn and walk away. No umbrella. No coat. Just the cold and the humiliation and the sound of your own ragged breathing as the sky roars above you.
Marching back the way you came, you pant, rain water dripping inside your mouth. It tastes salty. You don’t see the people looking at you, the phones held up recording everything, and you don’t know if Jeanette had seen everything.
You can’t pretend you don’t care about that, about any of this, because in all the years you’d spent debasing yourself over and over again for a shed of attention from some asshole, you’d never been more hurt, never been more devastated. Whatever was left of your heart has been set on fire, leaving behind ashes. And there were witnesses, videos that’ll remind you of the worst moment of your life.
Who are you going to turn to now?
Who was going to hug you, give you a pep talk, who was going to make you feel like a real person?
Who do you have?
“Wait!”
You turn around, arms tightly hugging yourself. “What the hell do you want?”
Gojo bends over, hands on his knees and gasping for air. His clothes and hair are soaked. He’s not wearing his glasses, yet he peers up at you like he’s never seen you more clearly. Your spine stiffens. “I want to talk, to explain.”
Disgust deepening on your face, you sneer at him. “Spare me. I don’t want to hear every sorry detail.”
“Sordid,” he says, then shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. Habit.”
Straightening, he musters a weak smile, trying to look friendly, reassuring. His bright eyes scan your face, then your body, and his smile drops. “You’re cold,” he notes, then grimaces. “I don’t have a jacket on me; my sweater’s soaked. But you can have it, if you want.”
“Stop!” you screech, stomping your foot and sending puddles around your splattering. “Stop pretending you give a shit. Go back to that fucking bitch and die.”
He leaps forward as you make a move to walk away. Gojo cages you in his arms, keeping you there with him. His heat envelopes you.
You gasp, outraged. “How dare you!”
With a grimace, he says, “I know, I know. Sorry. I just need you to listen to me.”
“I don’t want to,” you grit out.
This is the closest to him you’ve been in a long time. You can feel the familiar hardness of his body, the strength in his arms, the pounding of his heart which matches yours in a perfect rhythm and tempo.
Gojo’s brows are furrowed so hard he forms a deep wrinkle that threatens to become a permanent fixture on his face. “I’m not sleeping with her.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s true,” he insists, body a wall against your resistance. “I ran into her on campus this morning, and I saw an opportunity to reach you, to talk to you — I asked her to help me get you back.”
That stops your squirming.
“I asked her what to do, how I can win you back, make you accept my apology. And she said you’re materialistic; you like gifts. Well, she didn’t want to help me at first. In fact, she screamed some pretty horrible things at me when I first asked, which I deserved. But she eventually quietened down when I said I’d do whatever, no matter the cost.”
It’s true. You do like gifts, but who doesn’t?
And you’re not very happy to hear how she’d been talking about you, like liking gifts was some kind of character flaw. Although…a massive part of you has been calmed upon hearing that they’re not sleeping together. Of course, he could be lying, but Gojo’s not the type. He’s honest, a trait he displayed so brutally you’ve been left picking up the pieces in the wake of his truth.
Regardless, you’re on edge.
He continues, speaking quite fast as though he knows your wrath will resurface and he might lose his chance for good if he doesn’t hurry up, “So we went shopping.”
“All those gifts…they were for me?” you ask, blinking.
A small smile graces his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’m not good at girl shopping, or shopping for anything that’s not a toy, so I really appreciated her expertise.”
“Those are expensive brands,” you note like an idiot, not really knowing what to say. Slowly, your body succumbs to his embrace, unable to help itself.
“I can afford it,” Gojo says simply.
Sighing, you pat his chest. He gets the memo and carefully places you down on your feet. The rain’s still pouring, not as heavy as it was before, but certainly heavy enough that there’s no one out in the park other than you two.
You mutter, “If this is because of what I said in the closet, then I’m sorry — your whole family thing doesn’t actually interest me very much, no offence. It just came out, because I realised you’d never properly invested in me, in our relationship. I’m not trying to use you for your money.”
“I know,” he replies, cradling your face in his soft, wet hands. “I know. I just wanted to do whatever I could to make you give me a chance, at least to apologise properly and explain myself.”
Gojo wipes the water droplets hanging off your fake lashes, and the mascara dirtying your face.
In spite of the weather, his hands are warm. They almost make you forget about everything.
“You don’t have to explain anything. You’re right. About everything,” you say, avoiding those piercing eyes that felt like they could see everything in the limitless void of yours. “We had an agreement: experimental sex, pretending, and absolutely no falling in love. I ruined all of it. I’m sorry I blew it all up. You must have felt so uncomfortable.”
“I was,” he agrees, sadness lacing his voice. “But not because I was mad ‘you blew it up,’ or whatever you’re thinking. I was uncomfortable because you sprung something on me that I hadn’t been thinking about on purpose.”
“What?”
“I love you,” he says.
You shake your head, breath growing shallower and shallower by the second. You try to pry his hands off you. “No, no, stop it.”
“Yes,” Gojo promises, holding your face still and forcing you to look into his eyes, unobscured. “I love you, but I forced myself not to. I abandoned that idea and squashed it down, wayyy down, because it was wrong, because it would make you uncomfortable, because it would push you away. I mean, I didn’t know it then, that it was love, but I knew what I felt for you far exceeded friendship.”
Blood rushes through your head, threatening to drown his voice out. You gulp a sob building in your throat, fighting the urge to run, to deny this is happening. In all the time you’d spent wallowing, replaying everything and imagining all sorts of future scenarios, this never occurred to you.
You never thought he could actually love you.
“That night, in the diner, I sat across from you, watched you drum your pretty nails, bat your long lashes, scowl at every other patron, and I knew I was in trouble,” Gojo says, thumb brushing your cheek absentmindedly. “And when you begrudgingly admitted that you liked fries with the milkshake, all cute and wanting to pretend you didn’t, my heart was basically yours, and it’s stayed yours throughout this whole thing. And it’s still yours now, even if you don’t want it, even if you have someone else’s, even if you’ll just throw it away. Because I don’t care what you do with it — it’s no good to me if it’s not beating for you.”
He opens his mouth to say more, but you’ve heard enough.
Grabbing him by his sweater, you yank him towards you, smashing your lips against his. As lightning flashes above you and thunder soon follows, you lose yourself in his taste, a taste you’d forgotten.
Satoru melts, hands falling from your face to your waist, clutching you closer until your front’s flushed with his, until not an atom separated you from him.
“I do want your heart,” you tell him. “I want to squeeze it, dig my nails into it, stomp on it, and make you feel everything I felt. And I will do what I want with it, because you’re right, Satoru; your heart’s mine, and I’ll scalp every bitch that tries to take it.”
A great, big smile brightens his entire face. The brightest smile you’ve ever seen, the most genuine, most stunning smile. He pecks your lips, once and twice and again, and says, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever had anyone tell me.”
“I can be sweet,” you reply, shrugging.
He nods. “The sweetest.”
Then he laughs, combing his drenched hair back. Satoru parts from you, spinning under the rain with his arms wide open, and eyes shut, basking in the darkness of the clouds. Droplets fly off him, some landing on you.
“I feel like screaming Eureka!” he yells so loud the trees rustle.
You laugh, uncaring of the strange looks people give you two, and actually giving an elderly couple a middle finger whilst he isn’t looking.
When he moves to adjust something on his face and then frown, you finally ask the question you’d been wondering since you saw the picture: “Where are your glasses?”
“Oh, um,” he stammers, sheepish. A pink hue grows on his cheeks. “I left it in one of the bags today, after I went to the opticians to get, um, contacts.”
“Contacts?”
“I don’t know. I thought you’d like me better if I didn’t look so…nerdy. It’s stupid, I know. I was just desperate, I guess.” Then he pauses, peering at you through his white flashes. “Do you like it? It’s kinda itchy on my eyes; I can get used to it though.”
Your thumb brushes over his eyelids. “I like you better with your glasses actually. It’s always fun when they get foggy and you just throw them off so you can eat me out better.”
A grin pulls at his lips. He kisses you again, and mumbles a simple, “Noted.”
“Speaking of bags,” you start, looking around and behind him, “what about my gifts? Where did you put them?”
Satoru blinks, then scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He confesses, “I left them back with Brittany, but I don’t think I actually asked her to wait for me, so there’s a good chance they’ve been taken. I’ll buy it all again. Oh! Wait!”
He fishes in his pocket, fumbling against the soaked and shrunken pockets of his jeans. Metal clings and colourful keychains dangle in the air.
The pink tinting his cheeks darken, as do the tips of his ears. He avoids your eyes. “I had these made when I was out with the guys a while back; I don’t know why I didn’t give it to you sooner — maybe I was just worried you’ll think it’s cringe or something. You can take it as a placeholder in the meantime.”
Snatching it from his hand, you marvel at it with wide eyes.
It’s you two.
No, it’s Toru and his little wife.
Tears well up again.
“No, no,” he says, cradling your face again with a worried expression. “No, baby, I’m sorry. You hate it, don’t you? Of course you do. I mean after what I said, about how they’re just toys—”
You shake your head. “No, Satoru. I love it. I love Toru and his scary wife.”
He smiles, relieved, and whispers against your forehead, “I love them too. I love them so much. And now,” he says, hooking the Lego man on his belt loop and, with your suggestion, hooks the woman on your bra strap because that’s the only place you have to keep her, “they’ll be with us forever.”
“Definitely longer than the end of the school year, right?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes.
Satoru kisses you.
“To infinity and beyond, if I can help it.”
Giggling, you point out, “That sounds like a really long time.”
More kisses are peppered on your face, lips, and neck, and basically anywhere he can reach. He mutters on your wet skin, sounding much more serious and solemn, “Not long enough, if you ask me actually.” He whispers. “Never long enough. No amount of time could make up for what we lost, but I’ll try. By Merlin, I’ll try.”
You brush hair away from his face, realising that the rain had basically disappeared as the sun begins warming your skin some time during your conversation.
“Let’s just start with forever, shall we?”
“Good idea, Diapers.”
.
.
.
“Pastel pink or hot pink, Toru?”
His glossy eyes lazily flit up through his foggy glasses. Tongue completely flat against your puffy clit, his words come out muffled when he answers, “What about something blue?”
You pout, brushing his hair back just so you can bunch it in a tight fist, yanking to get a wince out of him and so he’ll bury his face even deeper into your pussy. “But I wanted a pink set.”
Satoru pets your thigh, lapping up your juices. He says, “Get whatever you want, wifey, just get something in blue too.”
Beaming, you gleefully check out the La Perla lingerie sets you’ve picked out, too excited to wait till they arrived. Ahh, you’re going to look so good in the lace. He definitely won’t be allowed to cum on them, which means he’ll have to cum inside.
Sure, you already have loads of fancy clothes and shoes and bags from him, but what you really like are the lingerie sets. You have finer tastes. Scandalous tastes. Which he appreciates, and is always happy to indulge in. His place and yours are packed full of things he’d bought for you on a whim, and you’re running out of space and occasions to wear any of them. You really should tell him to stop spending money on you, but alas, it brings him joy so you shouldn’t rob him of the pleasure of spoiling you.
It’s a Saturday morning, and he’d woken up first. He couldn’t handle being the only one up, so he woke you up with his lips sucking your clit hard. If he was anyone else, you’d have been pissed to miss on valuable beauty sleep, but he’s your Satoru so whatever.
When you cum, he shoves a pillow under your hips and lines his leaking cock to your pulsing hole, far too impatient to wait for the last waves to subside. Mewling, you chastise him, “You’re in too much of a hurry; a pussy like mine needs to be appreciated in all its glory, Toru.”
“You’re right, baby,” he mutters, kissing your neck. “Always right.”
Every inch he pushes in robs you of more and more air, until you’re completely breathless as he fills you up. It’s always so fucking good. Your legs clamp around his hips, ankles hooking behind his ass and pulling him deeper and deeper. Satoru bottoms out with a groan, whole body trembling.
He leisurely thrusts inside, taking his sweet time to reacquaint himself with your gummy walls.
Humming, you wonder, “Did you dust my orchid?”
Satoru nods, rocking his hips inside in short, shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over again with his flushed cockhead. “Yeah. Lego sets tend to collect dust quite quickly. I -hah- made sure to be careful of any loose pieces, don’t worry.”
“Thank you. You know that took me ages to build, and I chipped one of my nails too.
A grin forms on his swollen lips. He replies, “Don’t have to thank me for anything; I’m always careful with your sets.”
“Oh, that’s right,” you coo, pinching his cheeks. “My boyfriend likes to make himself useful, doesn’t he?”
“He does indeed. He loves making his girlfriend happy.”
“As he should.”
You’re gushing around his fat cock, clinging to him tightly. The morning sunlight’s warming your skin, reminding you that there’s a whole day ahead, and as much as you’d love to, you can’t spend it in bed, or in the shower, against the window, on the kitchen island, the sofa, the coffee table, the—
The point’s clear.
Sharp nails run down his back, no doubt leaving marks on his pale skin. “Mm, Satoru, we might be late for the meeting if we don’t hurry up.”
“Can’t we just skip?” he asks, whining on your chest, and licking the beads of sweat forming down the valley of your breasts.
In a blink of an eye, you have him pinned beneath you, cock still lodged firmly inside your cunt. “Now, now, that’s not very good of you.”
“Punish me then,” he retorts quickly. He had that locked and loaded.
You lightly tap his cheek, moaning in satisfaction when he pulses inside of you. “It’s not a punishment if you like it.”
“Hmm, you’re so smart, baby.”
“Thank you,” you say, giggling.
Satoru smiles up at you through his glasses, eyes full of adoration. Your heart beats so loud you think he might hear it. Grinding in circles, you pick his glasses off his face and slide it on your nose bridge.
“Jeez, how do you even live without these?” The prescription’s high. It’s blurry, already giving you a headache. “You’re sure you’re not actually blind?”
His cock throbs, and his hips buck up, cockhead kissing your cervix. You gasp, steadying yourself on his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grits out.
A sly smile creeps up on your lips. Cooing, you draw a line down his chest, watching the red mark form, staking your claim. “Aw, do you think I’m pretty wearing your glasses, Satoru? Does it make you want to cum inside of my pretty pussy so soon?”
“Yes, yes,” Satoru gasps out. His hands clutch your hips, fingers digging into the slippery skin. “You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty.”
“Well of course I—”
A Marina song blares. Your attention darts to the phone on the bedside table. Rolling your eyes, you lean over to pick it up, dropping back down on his cock with an extra force so he’ll whimper and call out your name. You shush him with a glare, which has no real heat to it.
“Hello?”
“The nerve to be late when you’re the one who invited me here,” a snarky voice says, bored and irritated.
Your hips are still circling on his pelvis, wringing out obscene squeeeeelches! that you hope Brittany doesn’t hear, but you don’t really care either way. You replace the glasses back on his face, finding the thick lenses doing more damage to your eyes than the hours you spend looking at your phone.
Satoru’s panicked eyes meet yours. He whispers, “W-we should stop.”
“Shush,” you mouth at him. Then, louder, you say to her, “Relax, we’re on our way. It’s just traffic-y.”
“Right,” she replies, dragging the word. “You really think I’m gonna buy that when I can literally hear your boyfriend straining not to bust a nut in the background.”
Ah, well, that’s fair — Satoru’s not being very quiet even though he’s trying his best; panting to get some air in his brain so he can think clearly, squirming so he won’t start violently thrusting upwards, and biting his lip as his eyes flit about your body, finding any bit of visual stimulation is killing him.
Not the least bit apologetic, you say, “Whoops.”
“Whatever, whore. Just get over here already. Some greasy loser is eyeing me up, and I’m so bored I’m actually considering it.”
You laugh. “Oh, that’s just Ian. Don’t mind him. Although, I think you’d really like Dave, the barista.”
“Ew, he’s ugly,” she screeches.
Desperate to cum already, you hurriedly say, “We’ll talk more later. Byeee.”
Grinning down at your boyfriend, you throw your phone somewhere. The malevolent glint in your eyes makes him gulp, and throb. “You’ve got ten minutes to make me cum two more times. You got it in you, Six Eyes?”
Satoru chuckles, cheeks flushed and hands pulling you down so he can reach your lips. “Hell yeah, baby.”
The ten minutes become thirty, and you end up a whole hour late to the meeting.
The bustle of the cafe on a Saturday morning slams into you in full force. A table full of people sit up straighter when they see you both. Some of them wave, one gives you a finger you reflect right back to her.
“Hey guys!”
Your boyfriend pulls a chair back for you, and you thank him with a kiss to his cheeks that some gush at, and another gags at. That makes you kiss him on his lips to pull another gag out before sitting down and giving them all a fake, apologetic smile.
You pop a gum in your mouth to wash the taste of cum from your mouth lest Brit smells it and gives you hell. “So sorry we’re late. We just had car troubles.”
Satoru nods, arm thrown over the back of your chair, hand resting on your shoulder. “Yeah, was a very bumpy ride. Sorry guys.” You squeeze his thigh, fighting the urge to laugh with him.
Opposite you, Brittany gives a disbelieving look. “You guys are disgusting, I hate you both.”
“Tuna mayo.”
“Why, what happened?” Haibara asks, blinking.
Beside him, Ijichi adjusts his glasses and mumbles, “I believe they’re lying about being late because of traffic.”
“We were having sex and lost track of time,” you confess with no shred of guilt.“Sue us.”
Some of the guys blush.
This isn’t the first time you’ve been late to a meeting with your friends; it happens so often they’ve actually started giving you the wrong time so you’d show up on time, and yet it almost never works. You’ve become one of those repulsive couples in movies that you roll your eyes at, and it’s the greatest thing ever. Because if there’s anything you like more than orgasms, it’s making other people jealous.
Yuji, awkwardly wanting to move on, claps his hands, scanning the big table with a growing glimmer in his competitive eyes. He announces, “Everything’s set up, we’re all here — I think we’re ready to go.”
Unsure, your bestie inspects the little pieces and the board in front of her. She asks, “None of this makes sense to me. What exactly am I supposed to do?”
Satoru proudly boasts, “Since my wifey here won the last game, I think she should do the honours of breaking your virginity.”
“Gross,” the two of you say in unison, fighting back smiles when your eyes meet.
As everyone’s eyes land on you, you pick up your piece, twirling it between manicured fingers. When you sense everyone growing tiresome with the wait, you finally say, “It’s simple. I roll. I pick a card and make a move based on what it says. And then I inevitably get targeted because apparently I’m ‘too strategic’.”
“You are too strategic,” Yuji argues, already narrowing his eyes at you as though he’ll be able to see into your mind and anticipate your next underhanded move. “Last time you built an entire alliance just to wipe me out for no reason.”
“It’s called foresight,” you reply primly.
“It’s called manipulation,” Haibara corrects — not as an insult, on the contrary, it seems like a compliment. “But you’re right, Itadori! We need to stop her reign of terror.”
“I concur.”
“Bonito flakes.”
Jaw dropping, you scoff. “Oh so now it’s okay to gang up on people? Real honourable, you guys.”
“Don’t worry, wifey. I’ll protect you,” the man beside you promises.
“You’re the first one I’m eliminating,” you say, matter-of-factly. Since you learnt the rules of the game, he’s stopped going easy on you, stopped setting things up so you could win. Now, he’s an enemy. “I’d rather lose than let you win.”
Under your hand, something grows. His eyes sparkle when he realises you know, but he’s not ashamed at all. He never is; he’s just happy his dick is working.
Satoru can’t help himself; he pinches your chin and drags you over to give a kiss on your lips. He deepens it despite the playful complaints the whole table gives about ‘not rubbing it in’ and ‘getting a room’. When he parts, he’s chewing and leaning back in his chair like nothing happened.
That sly bastard…
Waving a hand in your face to grab your attention, Brittany asks with a lot of attitude, “Cool, but how do I win?”
You smile, leaning back in your chair too. Head resting on his shoulder and playing with the keychain on his belt, you tell her, “It’s not about winning, Brit, you silly goose.”
Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head, a smile growing in your hair.
mdni. what happens when you hook up with the wrong twin?
pairing: nerd!gojo x f!reader x frat!gojo
a/n: art by @smokeigheh !!
you wanted satoru gojo bad.
like, every waking thought was filled with daydreams of what his glasses would look like all fogged up if you rode his face until those pretty pink lips of his were glossy with your slick, sort of bad. pining hard enough to have pinterest boards dedicated to what domesticity with him would look like. wishing you were wrapped up in those bulky arms he hid under digimon hoodies practically every day, snoozing against his chest in his dorm room.
but despite sitting directly next to him in organic chemistry, he didn't seem capable of seeing past the thick rim of his glasses to notice you. too busy studying fucking atoms and fiddling with his pencil to pay attention to the girl desperately aching for him to say her name.
praying to be partnered with him on projects, half-debating on asking him for help with papers or studying, contemplating engineering a meet-cute just for the chance to talk to him.
showing up to frat parties because you heard his brother was the president of one just on the slim chance he'd stop by.
it wasn't your fault you didn't know they were twins.
you felt like a fucking moron when you were five shots deep and let the liquid courage convince you to confess to your huge crush when you thought you spotted him, tapping on the broad back of a beautiful white-haired boy and blurting out, "um, i think i'm in love with you."
it took you half a second to realize your mistake.
the tattoo on his bicep. the annoying shirt with arrows drawn towards his mouth and dick proudly proclaiming he was a two-seater. the piercing on his left eyebrow.
but he just grinned, a blindingly brilliant smile curling up on his lips as he cocked his head to the side. "oh yeah?"
you should've said nevermind.
his hand was already slipping over your hip though, grazing higher until it settled on your waist, drawing you in until your chest was nearly touching his. and when you glanced down at those pale, thick fingers, you could nearly pretend they were his.
"wanna go up to my room?" he offered, low and husky, in a voice eerily similar to the one you loved to listen to rattling on about equations and stoichiometry.
shrugging your shoulders as you held your breath, wondering just how much they had in common as you mumbled, "uh, sure?"
if you couldn't have the real thing, couldn't this be close enough?
and when his head was between your thighs, your fingers tangled in his soft hair and your eyes shut tight, you could almost believe it was him. his deep moans reverberating through you, his thumb digging into your ass to hold you close so he could drag his tongue in-and-out all slow and sloppy, swirling it around like he was trying to drive you insane.
god, you didn't even know his name.
but you guessed it was fair when he'd forgotten to ask for yours too.
making you cum with his mouth, his tongue painting pretty patterns over it while you grinded down against him, crying out his last name instead while you tugged at his scalp. and the second your shivering subsided, he was picking you up by your waist and pinning your thighs up to your chest, pushing you into a mean mating press like he was the one in love with you.
you didn't think your gojo had dick piercings.
but you were not about to complain.
his mouth falling open in pretty little pants, your heartstrings pulling tight at the way his face scrunched up in pleasure as he rutted desperately into you. fucking you hard and fast, filling you up as his grip tightened on your thighs, crashing his lips against yours in a messy kiss like you couldn't taste yourself on his tongue.
those piercings of his rubbing against you just right, the friction making your head feel all warm and fuzzy as your vision blurred with white and blue. body aching and brain scrambling, guilt and lust coiling together into a tight ball in your core, pressure building until you were on the precipice of a second climax.
maybe he wasn't the one you wanted, but the one you needed.
or maybe you were just a hopeless fool waiting and wishing for someone to see you. to need you.
and okay, maybe pulling out with two seconds to spare and spilling his cum all over your trembling thighs and his sheets wasn't the most romantic, but wasn't it still something?
his big blue eyes all wide and watering with want? white brows pinched together and mouth hanging open in low moans?
you'd probably be touching yourself to the image for weeks. clinging to the memory of how it felt to be so stuffed, how his thick veins and ridges dragged along your walls like he was made for you.
"that was-" he started, all raspy, almost like he tired himself out.
"yeah, uh, thanks," you awkwardly squeaked, growing more self-conscious by the second when he started to climb off of you, bending over to show off his perky ass as he picked up his discarded boxers to wipe off his cock and clean you off. "i think i should, um-"
"stay the night," he finished the sentence for you, offering a lopsided smile that made your stomach flip.
"don't you have a party to get back to?" you softly asked, heat crawling up towards your face as you shuffled off of his bed, covering yourself up with your arms as you snagged your discarded panties.
"nah," he grinned. "rather spend it in here."
"why?" you asked without thinking, feeling your nose scrunch up in confusion as his hand slid back over your bicep. he was humming some song under his breath, happy. you hated how easy it was to see that bright gleam in his eyes without any glasses to block them. or well, how it reminded you that this was wrong.
"wanna hear all the reasons you fell in love with me."
shit.
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
pairings. bowser!sukuna x princesspeach!reader x mario!satoru
summary. you’ve been “kidnapped” by sukuna again—but the castle’s luxurious, you’re not exactly restrained, and every time satoru storms in to “rescue” you, you’re a little less willing to leave. they think they’re fighting over you… but you’ve always liked being in the middle.
content warnings. 7.1k words (super mario if it was peak), explicit sexual content, threesome, sukuna tops satoru AND YES THEY KISS yay!, power imbalance, possessive behavior, jealousy themes, bratty reader, light dubcon/kidnapping roleplay, oral sex, fingering, face sitting, creampie, spit sharing, degradation and praise kink, voyeurism, competitive bickering during sex, mild humiliation, overstimulation, spit roasting, lowkey dom-ish reader?, emotional manipulation played for comedy, lowkey crack so don't take this super srs.
author's note. got violently high last night and watched the super mario movie w my boyfie then this was born (my excuse to write yaoi)
you don’t know how this keeps happening, except you do. it’s always the same: the soft pull of teleportation magic or whatever the fuck he calls it now, the slow blink of disorientation, and then pink silk sheets or marble floors or a three-person bath sunk into the center of the room like a stage.
the castle is always the same, too—lavish in a way that feels intentional, like it’s been redecorated for you, like someone keeps hitting “reset” and changing the theme just enough to pretend it’s not a pattern.
last time it was rose petals. the time before that, champagne on ice. this time it’s cherries. purple and cold and split in half like he knew you’d complain about the seeds. there’s a gold tray floating nearby, embossed with little star motifs that glow faintly when the steam rolls over them.
“open,” he says, and of course you fucking do.
the bath is hot enough to sting. the steam’s curling your hair at the edges. your face is tight with that honey-clay-fancy-shit mask he special ordered from the capital, some absurd royal apothecary with a logo shaped like a mushroom crown, and there are cucumbers on your eyes that you didn’t ask for but now can’t remove without effort, so here you are.
dripping wet. blind. mouth open. being hand-fed by the most dangerous man in the empire. again.
this isn’t a rescue mission. it’s a spa day.
there’s a small brass bell by the tub, too. he told you it was decorative. you rang it once. servants appeared instantly. you’ve never touched it again.
and yet—if satoru gojo kicks down the castle door one more time while you’re soaking in a three-foot-deep lavender salt bath, you are going to commit an act of treason yourself.
“chew princess,” sukuna says lazily, and you chew, because arguing while topless in cucumber-blindness never works out in your favor. his fingers graze your lips. cold and wet. it doesn’t feel like a fruit offering. it feels like a game. a game you’re pretty sure he keeps winning on purpose.
“i should lock the door this time,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “fucking idiot’s probably already scaling the south wall.”
you snort. inelegant. a sound unbecoming of a captive princess. “you say that every time.”
“and every time, you let him ruin our date.”
you flick one cucumber slice off. barely crack an eye. he’s sprawled by the edge of the bath, arm balanced on the porcelain, hair up, chest bare, tattoos coiling, like this is his personal brothel and you’re the treat he summoned.
there’s a throne in the corner of the room you’ve never seen him sit on. he prefers this instead. he pops a cherry into his own mouth and chews like he invented the concept of pleasure. he probably thinks he did.
“i wouldn’t call it a date,” you mutter, and he tilts his head.
“you’re naked. i’m feeding you. he’s jealous. feels like a date.”
somewhere far below, a pipe groans as magic reroutes through the castle, like it’s bracing for impact.
you roll your eyes and sink deeper, the water sloshing over your collarbones. the tub is too big. the room is too warm. the air smells like fruit and whatever spell he always sneaks in when he thinks you’re not paying attention—the one that makes your legs feel floaty and your mouth dry. the one that makes you stay.
“he’s not jealous,” you lie.
sukuna laughs like you’re adorable. or pathetic. you’re not sure which one is worse.
you hear the splash before you realize he’s serious.
one thick leg, then the other. the water sloshes violently like the bath itself is trying to escape, and you almost lose one of the cucumbers off your eye again, but you don’t move—won’t give him the satisfaction. you lay there, blank-faced, toes wrinkling, cucumber-blind and bath-drunk while the warlord of five provinces and serial homewrecker of your peace slides into the tub like he fucking owns it.
because he does. because this castle was built to keep people out, and redesigned to keep you in.
“you have no boundaries,” you mumble, voice thick from heat and honey-mask goo and emotional exhaustion.
he hums. does not disagree. doesn’t say anything at all, actually—just settles in at the foot of the tub, lounging like it’s a throne, arms spread along the rim like he’s posing for a painting, and stares at you like he’s about to ruin something again.
you’re pretty sure this is how he waits between boss fights.
"this was supposed to be me time,” you mutter. more for yourself than him.
“it is,” he says, “i’m here.”
like that helps.
somewhere, a distant alarm chimes once. not loud. not urgent. just enough to say someone has entered the level.
you feel him hook one finger under your ankle and drag your leg toward him slow, indulgent, like he’s hauling in a catch, like your foot is a prize he won. the water parts, slick against your skin, and suddenly it’s his lap your heel’s resting in. he starts. thumb to arch. palm to sole. pressure applied just shy of pain. and you hate him for how good it is immediately.
"relax," he says, all fake-softness and amused mockery, "you act like i’ve never touched you before."
“you’ve never touched my feet before.”
he squeezes the ball of your foot just right and makes you groan through gritted teeth. “maybe that’s your problem. ungrateful. high-strung. too busy pretending you don’t love it here to let yourself enjoy anything.”
"i enjoy silence."
"never met a brat who didn’t lie for sport."
you hate that he's good at this. hate that you didn't know he could be good at this. hate that you’re not stopping him. that the bath is still hot, that his hands are still rough, that your other foot is already twitching in anticipation and he hasn't even touched it yet.
“yeah,” he mutters, low and satisfied, “there it is.”
"if you're gonna rub my feet like this every time, you should just kidnap me more often," you mutter, trying to sound bored and failing spectacularly.
"princess," he says, digging his thumbs in deeper, "you say that like you're not the one who keeps showing up."
his hands drift.
not immediately. he massages your other foot like he’s not planning anything—like he’s just being generous, like the ache melting from your calves isn’t calculated, like the bath isn’t a trap he set and walked straight into with a hard-on and a god complex.
but then his thumbs start creeping up. past your ankles. into your shins. up the backs of your calves where your skin’s the most sensitive. and you're still laid out, stretched and floaty, letting it happen. he's rubbing slow, like he has all night, like no one's coming to save you.
which they aren’t.
not yet.
you’ve been here enough to know the stages: the soak. the rubdown. the corruption. the bonus round.
his hands slide higher. up to your knees. your thighs. a palm braces against the bend of one leg and eases it open under the water, like that’s normal, like this is a trust exercise and not the prelude to filth. your cunt clenches like it knows what’s coming and wants to pregame the panic.
"i don't think this is in the massage manual," you say, voice dry, throat hotter than the bathwater.
he doesn’t answer. just leans forward. plants one lazy kiss on the inside of your knee like you’re something worshipped. like you’re a feast. like he’s already decided how you’ll taste.
and you—god help you—you don’t stop him.
you should. you know that. you should sit up and slap him and demand to be returned to your kingdom of overpriced skincare and mediocre royal suitors. but instead you let your legs fall a little wider. let him shift forward in the water. let him hook your knees over his shoulders like he’s done this before—has done this before—and let him drag you down the sloped edge of the bath until your ass is half out of the water and his mouth is hovering right there.
"say please,” he says, because of course he does. “go on. be cute for me.”
he grins, and then—boom.
the door slams open with enough force to shake steam off the walls.
the lock was enchanted. doesn’t matter. the hero always finds a way.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER—!”
you don’t even lift your head. just sigh, high and long and put-upon, like your favorite face mask just got interrupted by a meteor. again.
“hello, satoru,” you say flatly. “nice of you to warp in after the cherries this time.”
there’s a faint squelch behind him as the castle seals the pipe he must’ve dropped out of. the scent of ash and ozone lingers in the air.
sukuna laughs. satoru is already halfway into the bath chamber with his stupid sword glowing and his white hair damp from rain and his eyes wide and horrified like he just walked in on a war crime.
and to be fair, he kind of did.
your legs are still over sukuna’s shoulders. your throat is still tight. your cunt is still pulsing like a fire alarm. and sukuna doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t retreat. just flicks his tongue out once, once, against the softest, most humiliating spot of you—as punctuation.
“oh,” he says, lazily. “you’re early.”
“you kidnapped her again,” satoru snaps, storming fully into the room like he pays the rent here, like he didn’t just walk in on you spread open in a royal bath.
“i invited her,” sukuna says.
“you never asked—”
“she never says no.”
“he’s got you under a spell,” satoru gasps, like this isn’t the eighth fucking time. “he’s—he’s doing something to you. you would never stay here willingly—”
“she asked for a refill,” sukuna says, not even glancing up from your inner thigh. “and a massage.”
“that’s not what this looks like.”
you bolt upright, peel the other cucumber slice off your face, dripping and humiliated and pissed off in five different directions now.
“oh my god,” you mutter, voice raw from heat and water and the whiplash of almost getting your pussy eaten into the astral plane. “both of you—shut the fuck up.”
sukuna doesn’t move. still lounging. big and broad like a final boss screen, steam curling around his tattooed chest like smoke from a fire-breath trigger, gold rings glinting at his fingers like coins from a chest you weren’t supposed to open. his shoulders are sharp. his jaw sharper. there’s something beast-shaped about the way he takes up space—even wet and lazy in the bath, he looks like he could wreck half the kingdom if you gave him a reason.
you shove sukuna off and stand. the bathwater crashes back into place. you step out, dripping, glistening, glowing with leftover soap and fresh vengeance, and snatch your robe off the heated hook like you’re the only adult in this cursed castle.
“you’re not rescuing me,” you snap at gojo, tying the sash. “you’re not corrupting me,” you shoot at sukuna. “you’re both just horny and dramatic and in love with the sound of your own arguments.”
satoru sputters. “i—i care about you—”
“you want to win me,” you correct. “like a sword duel or a fucking cake contest.”
“not everything is about your pussy,” sukuna drawls from the water, licking your taste off his lips like a challenge.
his tongue is sharp when it flicks out, forked at the tip like some kind of demon king parody of affection. his eyes glow just slightly—red and cruel—like he’s gearing up for his next form. like if you say the wrong thing, he’ll shift. claws, maybe. a shell. something ancient that drags you into him no matter how many times you run.
the castle hums again, and for a second, you swear the tub jets pulse in sync with your heartbeat.
“but you always make it about that,” you bite back. “so what’s the truth, huh? one of you wants to save me. the other wants to ruin me. but both of you are stuck in this dumb, pathetic tug-of-war and i’m the only one smart enough to say it.”
they’re both quiet now. dripping. wet. steaming in different ways.
you cross your arms.
“you don’t want to fight over me.”
you pause. drop your voice.
“you want to share.”
the silence is heavy.
you step forward, slow. drip across the floor. eyes locked on satoru first, then sukuna. neither of them flinch. neither of them breathe.
“and maybe if you two would stop acting like enemies and admit what you really want,” you murmur, “you’d both get to cum.”
sukuna stands.
and god, it’s a final boss animation.
he rises from the bath like he was spawned, not born—huge and horned at the shoulders with muscle and menace, black tattoos flaring like molten paths across his chest, glowing faintly gold under the water like lava veins. his aura crackles. the air bends. if he roared, you’d flinch. if he laughed, you’d cum. his dick is out like it belongs on a pedestal, and you’re not entirely convinced it doesn’t breathe fire.
you stare. satoru stares harder.
"what the fuck are you doing," satoru blurts, instinctively taking a step back like the sheer audacity is contagious.
“what’s it look like?” sukuna shrugs, climbing out completely, no towel, no shame, not even a flicker of modesty. he walks across the marble like he was born to stalk enemies and lovers barefoot and naked in his own castle. “i’m giving the lady what she asked for.”
he even leaves scorch marks in the water where he stood. not literal ones. just hot enough that your skin remembers them.
“she said kiss,” satoru says, face full panic, eyes full don’t make this real. “not—whatever this is.”
“you scared?” sukuna smirks. “it’s not gay if it’s for her.”
“that’s literally the most gay justification I’ve ever—”
“do you want to fuck her or not?” sukuna snaps, suddenly louder, stepping into his space, wet and steaming and mean. “because if we’re gonna fuck her, we’re doing it my way.”
he’s close enough now to smell like fire. not smoke. fire. heat from the source. it clings to him like sweat, like magic, like a dragon-shaped threat that decided it wanted you instead of treasure.
satoru's mouth opens. closes. twitches at the corners like he’s trying to glitch out of the conversation entirely. like if he blinks fast enough, he’ll wake up in a normal situation where he hasn’t just been pressured into gay chicken by the demon lord of wet arrogance.
"this is coercion," satoru mutters.
"this is teamwork," sukuna corrects.
you lean against the wall. robe loose. "tick-tock," you sing, "someone kiss someone or i’m going back in the bath, alone."
sukuna doesn’t break eye contact.
he steps in closer.
his hand curls around the back of satoru's neck, slow and tight like a threat dressed in silk. satoru flinches. exhales. and stares at sukuna’s mouth like it’s a moving target.
“just a kiss,” sukuna murmurs, voice low. “then you can pretend you hated it.”
his fangs flash. not cute little vampire points. canine. beast. prehistoric.
you’ve seen him bite before. once, during a sparring match, a rival ended up with puncture marks through enchanted armor. that rival never came back.
satoru doesn’t mean to do it. that’s what he’ll tell himself later.
he didn’t want to. didn’t plan to. didn’t lean in.
sukuna did. sukuna always does.
but his mouth is right there—wet and hot from the bath, and his hand’s already on satoru’s neck like he owns it, like he could snap it or kiss it or both—and there’s something about the way he says just a kiss that makes it feel like a dare.
so satoru folds.
he doesn’t tilt his head, doesn’t breathe, just stands there frozen while sukuna leans in—and kisses him like he’s trying to win something.
and fuck, does he.
it’s not sweet. not gentle. not curious.
it’s filthy.
it’s tongues first, lips second. teeth clacking, spit everywhere, heat rolling off both of them like a second bath was summoned just from the sheer friction of hate-fucking a kiss into place. satoru grunts, shocked and breathless and already grabbing at sukuna’s arm like he’s going to shove him off, like he should, but his hand stays. fingers digging into wet muscle, other hand on sukuna’s hip like maybe he needs to keep him steady, like maybe he wants more leverage.
sukuna groans into it. obscene. hands everywhere—cupping satoru’s jaw, dragging down his ribs, gripping his waist and pulling like he wants to fuse them. he kisses like it’s combat. like he’s breaking satoru’s mouth in. like he wants you to watch.
and you do.
robe open. chest heaving. eyes wide and wet and locked on the way satoru’s knees are buckling slightly, the way he breathes like he forgot how to, the way he moans when sukuna sucks his tongue just to be mean.
satoru gasps. sukuna doesn’t let him go.
hand in his hair now. tongue deep in his mouth. hips angled forward like if this keeps up he’s going to grind on him, and maybe he is, maybe that’s the point, maybe he wants to be rutting up against his rival’s thigh while you stand there wet and smug and choosing which one of them you’re gonna ride first.
when sukuna finally pulls back—strings of spit between them, both of them flushed and panting and glassy-eyed like they just got head in a thunderstorm—he laughs.
"see?" he pants, mouth red. “teamwork.”
satoru stares at him. you stare at them. no one says anything for a second.
“again,” you say, eyes bright, mouth sticky-sweet with command. “this time—on my bed. chop chop.”
you clap your hands once, like they’re stable boys and you’re the duchess of debauchery, and then turn on your heel like you expect to be followed.
they do. of course they do.
sukuna grabs a towel off the bath hook like it’s a weapon and slings it low over his hips, still smirking, still red in the mouth like he just fed on something divine. the towel looks absurdly small on him. more like a concession than coverage. like if he flexed wrong it’d be gone.
sukuna follows last. heavy footsteps that make the stone beneath the rugs shift like the castle’s recalibrating for his weight. every torch along the corridor flares brighter as he passes, flames bending inward like they recognize their source. the air stays warmer behind him, heat lingering like a warning sign you ignore on purpose.
you lead them barefoot through the hallway, robe swinging open, dripping water on the tile floors of the castle like a trail of sins you dare someone to mop up. the room you step into is ridiculous. all blush pink and soft textures and filigree mirrors. a bed so fluffy it looks like it would absorb a body whole. silk pillows with lace trim. a plush throw with your initials embroidered in gold thread.
sukuna scoffs. satoru blinks. you climb up onto the mattress like a throne.
“both of you,” you say, voice light, like you’re calling dogs to heel. “on your knees.”
they hesitate. for half a second. then obey.
sukuna throws the towel. satoru swallows like his soul’s leaving his body. and then they’re there—crawling up the edge of the bed, one on each side, eyes locked on your legs like they’re being drawn in by gravity.
you spread them.
you don’t even have to say it. they both move at the same time.
sukuna’s mouth goes to your inner thigh, tongue dragging slow and cruel up the softest skin, teeth brushing just enough to make you jolt. satoru kisses the other side, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s trying to cancel out every filthy thing sukuna’s ever done to you with sweetness.
but it’s not about balance. it’s about devastation.
their mouths meet in the middle.
tongues brushing. lips sticky. spit mixing against your cunt like you’re the altar and they’re fighting for prayer rights. one sucks your clit. the other fucks you with his tongue. and then they switch. again and again. passing you back and forth like a dare, like a game, like if one of them makes you cum first it means something bigger than it should.
sukuna groans when you grab his hair. satoru moans when your thighs twitch around his ears. neither of them can breathe and neither of them care. they’re loud. messy. competitive. syncing up without meaning to.
you whimper. they grunt. you twitch. they dig in deeper.
you are dripping. soaking the sheets. arching into both of them like a spoiled royal, and they like it. they want it. they want to make you cum while staring at each other across your cunt just to prove they can do it better.
and you? you let them.
of course you do.
they’re exactly where they belong.
it hits you all at once, the way you’re being devoured, the way their tongues never stop, the way sukuna grips your thighs like he’s trying to carve his name into the bones underneath while satoru makes these fucking noises like he’s praying into your cunt. they don’t stop. they don’t breathe. they act like this is the final round of a competition neither of them wants to lose.
and you let them go until your hips stutter, until your fingers clutch the sheets, until your voice breaks in that perfect little way that makes them both glance up like they just heard the bell ring.
“switch,” you gasp.
they blink.
“want both of you,” you breathe, dragging one arm behind you, looking over your shoulder, “in me. now.”
it’s not a request. it’s a fact.
and god, do they scramble.
sukuna grabs your hips first. of course he does. palms you like he’s measuring the curve for fit, like he’s already imagining the drag of his cock inside you. satoru moves to the front, eyes wide and stunned and already hard like he knew this was coming and still wasn’t ready.
“on your knees,” you murmur, breath shallow, voice fucked-out and full of authority you didn’t earn but own anyway. “both of you.”
you turn over. press your face into the pillows. arch your back like an offering.
you feel sukuna’s cock drag through your folds first—slow, like he wants you to remember every inch. and satoru’s in front of you now, hand in your hair, cock flushed and leaking and twitching under your breath.
"open up, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just before you do. and then his cock is pushing past your lips, warm and salty and soaked, like he’s been ready to fuck your throat since the moment you told them to kiss.
sukuna sinks in at the same time.
you choke around satoru’s cock the moment sukuna bottoms out.
both of them groan. like your body was built for this. like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to ruin you together.
you can’t breathe.
you don’t want to.
there’s no rhythm, just need. sukuna’s hips slap against your ass, unforgiving, relentless, fucking you deep like he owns you. satoru holds your head like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart if he lets go, fucking your mouth with this desperate, whimpering pace like he’s sorry but also not stopping.
it’s spit. and heat. and suction. it’s tears down your face and drool down your chin and the brutal, gorgeous fullness of being used by both of them at once. your hands grip the sheets. sukuna’s fingers dig into your waist. satoru moans when you gag, tells you you’re doing so good, so fucking good, fuck—just like that.
you are choking. soaking.
and you never want it to end.
you can feel them in stereo.
sukuna buried in your cunt, hips snapping like a weapon, groaning every time you clench down like your pussy’s trying to keep him. satoru fucking your throat in short, desperate thrusts, hand curled tight in your hair, saying your name like a prayer he’s breaking on.
you’re dripping. crying. choking. perfect.
you don’t even have to look up to know they’re watching each other. you can feel it—the tension, the breathless, biting rivalry still simmering under all the moaning. they’re trying to pretend this isn’t what it is.
you ruin it.
you pull your mouth off satoru’s cock with a wet gasp, drool stringing from your lip to the head of him, your voice wrecked and raw and still smug when you gasp:
“kiss again.”
satoru blinks. panting. flushed to his ears.
sukuna doesn’t stop fucking you.
“she likes it,” he pants, slamming into you harder. “go on. be a good boy. give her a show.”
satoru groans. confused. humiliated. hard as fuck.
“what, you don’t want to kiss me when your dick’s in her throat?”
you swallow him again on instinct, just to watch him twitch. he gasps.
“you’re such an asshole,” satoru pants.
“then kiss me like you mean it.”
and he does. god, he does.
it’s brutal. hot. confusing and primal and way too much spit, but their mouths crash together over your body like it’s a battlefield, like they’re using each other’s tongues to claim you without saying it out loud.
you’re drooling around satoru’s cock again, the moan in your throat vibrating against him as sukuna fucks into you harder, deeper, one hand tangled in satoru’s white hair now, pulling him in to keep the kiss going.
they’re kissing over you while you’re getting fucked within an inch of your life.
spit and teeth and groans, tongues sliding, lips parted, their bodies rutting into yours at perfect opposite angles and still finding the time to moan into each other’s mouths like it’s a contest.
your cunt is clenching so tight it makes sukuna swear, low and hot, like he’s about to break.
and you? you’re soaking the sheets.
you wanted this. all of it.
and now you’re watching them fall apart for you. together.
you pull off satoru’s cock again with a gasp—spit trailing down your chin, your cunt dripping down your thighs, breathless and soaked and ready to be worshipped—and you look up at him like you’re about to give him his final test.
but before you can say a word, sukuna speaks behind you.
“lay down.”
and satoru does.
no hesitation. no backtalk. just drops back onto the mattress like his bones dissolved, like the command short-circuited something in his brain. his cock bounces against his stomach, red and wet and aching, and he looks up at you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks.
sukuna catches your wrist. leans in close.
“sit on his face.”
he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s inevitable.
and you move like you were waiting to be told.
satoru blinks up at you, already sprawled on the mattress, already halfway gone, cock flushed and twitching, lips wet from the last time he kissed sukuna like he forgot how to hate him.
“wait,” he breathes. “what are you—”
you crawl up. your knees land on either side of his head, and you hover—just long enough for him to look right at your pussy, glistening and dripping and open for him, so close he could lick it without moving.
“what are you…” he tries again, voice cracking now. “what are you doing—”
and then you sit.
his tongue doesn’t even wait.
it lunges.
like he can’t help it. like you just landed on a pressure point and released something primal. he groans—loud—mouth already open, tongue licking up your slit like he’s parched, like he’s sorry, like he’ll make up for every mistake he’s ever made if you just keep grinding down like that.
you moan. roll your hips. grab the headboard for balance.
and in front of you—you hear sukuna laugh.
a hand wraps around your waist. the other grabs satoru by the hip.
“don’t stop licking,” sukuna mutters again. “or i stop fucking.”
“wait—what—” satoru tries, voice muffled under your pussy, tongue still twitching, mouth still moving, breath already shaking.
sukuna doesn’t wait.
he never does.
sukuna grabs a fistful of satoru’s ass like he owns it. spreads him open. wide. rough. mean. just enough to make satoru twitch under you like he knows what’s coming and it’s already too much.
“you wanna eat her out so bad?” sukuna growls, breath hot across your spine. “do it with my cock in you.”
you hear it more than you see it.
the spit.
wet. thick. dragged right from the back of his throat and hawked down directly onto satoru’s hole like it’s a claim. loud and disrespectful, like he’s not even trying to be subtle about it, like this hole was made for him, and he’s just taking back what was already his.
it lands with a wet splat, stringy and hot.
satoru moans into your pussy. like it turned him on. like he hates that it did.
“fucking tight,” sukuna mutters, spreading his cheeks wider with both hands now, spit glistening on that perfect pink ring, watching it flex like it’s trying to run and take at the same time.
you don’t stop grinding. your thighs are shaking. your cunt’s soaked. satoru’s tongue keeps twitching under you like he can’t focus, like he’s trying to eat you out while processing the spit sliding down his crack, pooling where he’s already so sensitive it hurts.
sukuna spits again. harder.
watches it drip down. watches it stick.
then he lines himself up.
no warning.
just one filthy, stretched-out second of silence—then the slick, press of the head of his cock right against that spit-slick hole.
satoru gasps. tries to lift his hips. can’t. you’re on his face. sukuna’s got his ass spread wide like a fucking offering plate.
then sukuna starts to push.
you feel the way satoru shakes beneath you. feel the tremble in his hands on your thighs. feel the moan rip out of his chest and into your cunt, his tongue fluttering against your clit like he doesn’t know if he’s overwhelmed or about to cum untouched or both.
sukuna hisses through his teeth. forces himself deeper. grabs satoru’s hips and pulls him down onto his cock like he’s shoving the last piece of something perfect into place.
“fuck,” sukuna grits. “you feel that, princess? this tight little bitch clenching around me while he eats you out?”
you moan. it’s not a word anymore. not even a sound with meaning. just a shudder dragged from your ribs because satoru won’t stop licking, won’t stop moaning into your pussy while sukuna ruins him from behind like he was made for it.
sukuna leans in.
his hand comes up your spine, slow and steady, and then across your chest, fingers rough and wet from satoru’s skin, trailing up to your jaw to pull your mouth to his. he’s panting. flushed. still thrusting into satoru in long, brutal strokes. and then he kisses you.
wet. loud. hungry.
he kisses you like he owns the air between your teeth. like he wants to eat the sounds right out of your throat. you kiss him back with your whole body—mouth sticky, tongue filthy, your hips grinding harder on satoru’s face because you want him to feel it while sukuna devours your mouth.
“look at him,” sukuna growls, breaking the kiss, voice wrecked. “fuck, look.”
he grabs your chin. turns your head down.
and you do.
satoru’s face is soaked in your slick. lips swollen. nose shiny. tongue still out. his eyes are wet, desperate, fluttering like he’s already on the edge. you can feel his moans inside you, against you, vibrating straight up your spine.
you slide off his mouth slowly. his lips chase you for a second—instinct—but you’re already shifting down, dragging your cunt over his chest, your hands planted on either side of his face. sukuna keeps fucking him, cock slamming in deeper, rhythm rougher now that you’re watching.
you lean in.
satoru gasps, eyes wide, and you kiss him.
you kiss him like he’s already lost, like the only thing left is how thoroughly. your mouth is still wet from him, from sukuna, from everything, and when your tongue slides in he makes this broken little sound in his throat like he didn’t expect you to want him after all that.
you do.
your hand slips down between your bodies. wraps around his length. he’s hot and slick and so hard it’s almost embarrassing, like he’s been holding himself together on sheer adrenaline and your approval alone. you jerk him slow at first, thumb brushing the slit just to feel him twitch.
he moans into your mouth.
and that’s when his hands come up—hesitant for half a second, like he’s checking if he’s allowed—and then he pinches your nipples between his fingers, not mean. not gentle. just enough to make you gasp against his lips and grind your hips down without realizing you did it.
“fuck,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at him.
he looks wrecked. pupils blown. mouth open. chest heaving. still being fucked, sukuna’s hips snapping in a rhythm that never stops, never slows, like a reminder that satoru doesn’t get to forget where he is or what he’s being used for.
you jerk him harder now. faster. wrist flexing. spit-slick sounds filling the room. he whines—actually whines—and pinches you again, thumbs rolling like he’s trying to hold onto something, like the sensation is the only thing anchoring him.
“don’t stop,” he says, voice cracked, stupid, desperate.
you smile.
“i wasn’t planning to.”
you kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, teeth bumping, tongues sliding, your hand working him steadily while sukuna fucks him deep enough to make his whole body rock. he’s trapped between it all—your mouth, your hand, sukuna’s cock—and it shows. his breathing is wrecked. his hips keep trying to thrust up into your grip even though he can’t go anywhere.
you pull back just enough to look at him again.
then you shift.
not fully. not yet. just enough to line yourself up, to let the head of him brush against you, to feel that hot, stupid pressure that makes his breath catch and his fingers dig in harder.
“look at you,” you murmur. “so fucked out already.”
his eyes flutter.
and you start to climb.
you do it like it’s yours to take. like his cock belongs to you, and you’re just coming back for it. you slide up and over him, knees planted firm on either side of his hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other still slick and wrapped around his shaft. you line him up. tease. not because he needs it—but because he can’t do anything about it.
you’re dripping.
you’re still open from earlier, still twitching, still needy, and the second the head of his cock catches on your entrance, you feel him twitch under you.
“fuck—” satoru pants, voice high. “please—i—”
you cut him off with a moan of your own.
and then you sink.
slow. tight. wet.
you feel every inch. you make him feel it. the way you clench down just to see his jaw lock. the way his breath stops in his throat halfway through. he tries to lift his hips—instinct—but he’s still full of sukuna, still being fucked, still being used, and he can’t do shit except take it.
you bottom out.
his eyes roll back.
you sit fully on him, hands planted on his chest, the weight of your body and the stretch of his cock and sukuna’s cock inside him making him shake like he’s about to cum untouched.
and sukuna—he grunts behind you, still buried in his ass, pace faltering just slightly.
“fuck, look at him,” he growls. “he’s gonna cum just from this.”
you roll your hips. slow.
satoru chokes on a moan.
“you like that, huh?” you murmur, leaning in close, your cunt pulsing around him. “being split open, used like a toy.”
he nods. once. quick. like he’s ashamed to admit it out loud. like it’ll make it worse if he says yes and you believe him.
his mouth opens. nothing comes out.
sukuna fucks into him harder.
your whole body jolts from the force of it, your hips sliding down, satoru’s cock pressing deeper inside you just as he lets out this little choked-off gasp against your mouth, like he doesn’t know how to hold it anymore. his hands are trembling where they cling to your waist, his chest rising too fast under yours, his eyes wide and wet and full of it—heat and pressure and disbelief. he’s shaking. so are you.
you kiss him again. open-mouthed and soaking in it, tongue messy, noses bumping, the two of you completely unraveling against each other while sukuna ruins him from behind.
“he’s gonna cum,” sukuna grits out from somewhere close, the sound of skin on skin louder now, sharper, his hand gripping your waist again, fucking into satoru like he can’t stop even if he wanted to. “he’s gonna fucking cum like this. you feel him?”
you do.
you feel everything. the way satoru’s cock kicks inside you, leaking and twitching, every muscle in his stomach flexing like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. the way his moans have gone quiet now—small, desperate, breathless little exhalations against your cheek like he can’t catch a full one anymore. he’s crying a little. you think. or sweating. or just overwhelmed. it doesn’t matter. he’s close. you can feel it in your spine.
you grind down on him harder. not even bouncing anymore—just moving in slow, tight circles, keeping him deep, dragging out the friction, letting the rhythm build slow and cruel and perfect while sukuna keeps fucking into his ass like he owns it.
your voice breaks before you mean it to.
“cum,” you whisper. not loud. not sweet. just necessary. like a spell you know will work.
and he does.
so hard it punches a sound out of him that he’s never made before. his whole body spasms under you, legs shaking, back arching off the bed like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. his cock throbs inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep while you’re still pulsing around him, still grinding down, still clenching like you need it to keep going just a second longer.
it’s enough.
your orgasm hits like a wave slamming into concrete.
you shake. full-body. your mouth open but no sound coming out now, not really, not when you’re gushing around him, cunt fluttering, thighs locking up around his waist like you’re trying to drown him in it. your head drops to his shoulder. you don’t even know if you’re breathing.
behind you, sukuna groans. it’s low. fucked-out. the sound of a man hitting the edge with no brakes.
he grabs your hips—hard—and drives into satoru one last time, deep enough to shove satoru back up into you, your body jolting on top of him as sukuna growls and spills inside him with a hiss.
you can feel it. the way satoru flinches. the heat. the mess. the way he groans through it, lips brushing your jaw, body still twitching.
nobody moves.
sukuna stays there, cock still buried in satoru’s ass, chest pressed against your back, breath ragged. satoru is wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut, lips wet and open. your body’s still twitching. your cunt still fluttering every time he shifts under you, too sensitive now, too full.
you don’t say anything.
you just stay like that.
you roll your hips once more. slow. indulgent. squeeze him just to feel him twitch. sukuna hasn’t pulled out yet. satoru’s cock is soft inside you now, slick with his own cum and sweat and whatever’s still leaking out of him from behind. everyone’s breathing hard. everyone’s quiet.
you blink down at him. stretch your spine. adjust your hips like you’re just getting comfortable.
“you’re both so easy it’s disgusting.”
satoru twitches. sukuna snorts.
“the fuck does that mean,” satoru wheezes, voice cracked, hands still shaking on your thighs. “i just got spitroasted for like an hour—”
“and you liked it,” you mutter, already reaching for the nearest towel. “you fucking loved it.”
“she’s not wrong,” sukuna grins, pulling out of him slow, messy, mean, one hand dragging down your spine like he knows he’s about to say something that’ll start another fight. “you were moaning like a little bitch the whole time.”
“you kissed me first,” satoru snaps.
“you came while i kissed you,” sukuna snaps back.
satoru’s whole body jerks like someone slapped him with a wet cloth. “i came because she was riding me—”
“with my cock inside you,” sukuna interrupts, smug. “say it slower.”
“that’s not—no—that’s not what happened, you manipulated the timing—”
“oh my god,” you groan, flopping back against the mattress. “are you seriously arguing about whether or not that was gay now?”
“it wasn’t,” satoru insists immediately. “it was about her.”
“you tongue-fucked me.”
“you grabbed my face.”
you blink at the ceiling. “you literally moaned into each other’s mouths while i came. like.”
“okay but that’s not gay, that’s—” satoru starts, voice a little too high.
“oh my god,” you mutter, flat on your back now, towel draped over your stomach, one hand over your eyes. “can you both shut the fuck up.”
they don’t.
you know they won’t.
satoru’s already gesturing with one limp arm, trying to make a point about tongue placement and emotional sabotage. sukuna’s flexing like he didn’t almost fall over two minutes ago. you’re pretty sure there’s still cum drying on the sheets. no one’s moving.
“guess we have to go through this again.”
the room goes quiet.
you peek through your fingers.
they’re both staring at you.
satoru’s mouth is open like he forgot how to argue. sukuna tilts his head, eyes already darkening again.
pairings. bowser!sukuna x princesspeach!reader x mario!satoru
summary. you’ve been “kidnapped” by sukuna again—but the castle’s luxurious, you’re not exactly restrained, and every time satoru storms in to “rescue” you, you’re a little less willing to leave. they think they’re fighting over you… but you’ve always liked being in the middle.
content warnings. 7.1k words (super mario if it was peak), explicit sexual content, threesome, sukuna tops satoru AND YES THEY KISS yay!, power imbalance, possessive behavior, jealousy themes, bratty reader, light dubcon/kidnapping roleplay, oral sex, fingering, face sitting, creampie, spit sharing, degradation and praise kink, voyeurism, competitive bickering during sex, mild humiliation, overstimulation, spit roasting, lowkey dom-ish reader?, emotional manipulation played for comedy, lowkey crack so don't take this super srs.
author's note. got violently high last night and watched the super mario movie w my boyfie then this was born (my excuse to write yaoi)
you don’t know how this keeps happening, except you do. it’s always the same: the soft pull of teleportation magic or whatever the fuck he calls it now, the slow blink of disorientation, and then pink silk sheets or marble floors or a three-person bath sunk into the center of the room like a stage.
the castle is always the same, too—lavish in a way that feels intentional, like it’s been redecorated for you, like someone keeps hitting “reset” and changing the theme just enough to pretend it’s not a pattern.
last time it was rose petals. the time before that, champagne on ice. this time it’s cherries. purple and cold and split in half like he knew you’d complain about the seeds. there’s a gold tray floating nearby, embossed with little star motifs that glow faintly when the steam rolls over them.
“open,” he says, and of course you fucking do.
the bath is hot enough to sting. the steam’s curling your hair at the edges. your face is tight with that honey-clay-fancy-shit mask he special ordered from the capital, some absurd royal apothecary with a logo shaped like a mushroom crown, and there are cucumbers on your eyes that you didn’t ask for but now can’t remove without effort, so here you are.
dripping wet. blind. mouth open. being hand-fed by the most dangerous man in the empire. again.
this isn’t a rescue mission. it’s a spa day.
there’s a small brass bell by the tub, too. he told you it was decorative. you rang it once. servants appeared instantly. you’ve never touched it again.
and yet—if satoru gojo kicks down the castle door one more time while you’re soaking in a three-foot-deep lavender salt bath, you are going to commit an act of treason yourself.
“chew princess,” sukuna says lazily, and you chew, because arguing while topless in cucumber-blindness never works out in your favor. his fingers graze your lips. cold and wet. it doesn’t feel like a fruit offering. it feels like a game. a game you’re pretty sure he keeps winning on purpose.
“i should lock the door this time,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “fucking idiot’s probably already scaling the south wall.”
you snort. inelegant. a sound unbecoming of a captive princess. “you say that every time.”
“and every time, you let him ruin our date.”
you flick one cucumber slice off. barely crack an eye. he’s sprawled by the edge of the bath, arm balanced on the porcelain, hair up, chest bare, tattoos coiling, like this is his personal brothel and you’re the treat he summoned.
there’s a throne in the corner of the room you’ve never seen him sit on. he prefers this instead. he pops a cherry into his own mouth and chews like he invented the concept of pleasure. he probably thinks he did.
“i wouldn’t call it a date,” you mutter, and he tilts his head.
“you’re naked. i’m feeding you. he’s jealous. feels like a date.”
somewhere far below, a pipe groans as magic reroutes through the castle, like it’s bracing for impact.
you roll your eyes and sink deeper, the water sloshing over your collarbones. the tub is too big. the room is too warm. the air smells like fruit and whatever spell he always sneaks in when he thinks you’re not paying attention—the one that makes your legs feel floaty and your mouth dry. the one that makes you stay.
“he’s not jealous,” you lie.
sukuna laughs like you’re adorable. or pathetic. you’re not sure which one is worse.
you hear the splash before you realize he’s serious.
one thick leg, then the other. the water sloshes violently like the bath itself is trying to escape, and you almost lose one of the cucumbers off your eye again, but you don’t move—won’t give him the satisfaction. you lay there, blank-faced, toes wrinkling, cucumber-blind and bath-drunk while the warlord of five provinces and serial homewrecker of your peace slides into the tub like he fucking owns it.
because he does. because this castle was built to keep people out, and redesigned to keep you in.
“you have no boundaries,” you mumble, voice thick from heat and honey-mask goo and emotional exhaustion.
he hums. does not disagree. doesn’t say anything at all, actually—just settles in at the foot of the tub, lounging like it’s a throne, arms spread along the rim like he’s posing for a painting, and stares at you like he’s about to ruin something again.
you’re pretty sure this is how he waits between boss fights.
"this was supposed to be me time,” you mutter. more for yourself than him.
“it is,” he says, “i’m here.”
like that helps.
somewhere, a distant alarm chimes once. not loud. not urgent. just enough to say someone has entered the level.
you feel him hook one finger under your ankle and drag your leg toward him slow, indulgent, like he’s hauling in a catch, like your foot is a prize he won. the water parts, slick against your skin, and suddenly it’s his lap your heel’s resting in. he starts. thumb to arch. palm to sole. pressure applied just shy of pain. and you hate him for how good it is immediately.
"relax," he says, all fake-softness and amused mockery, "you act like i’ve never touched you before."
“you’ve never touched my feet before.”
he squeezes the ball of your foot just right and makes you groan through gritted teeth. “maybe that’s your problem. ungrateful. high-strung. too busy pretending you don’t love it here to let yourself enjoy anything.”
"i enjoy silence."
"never met a brat who didn’t lie for sport."
you hate that he's good at this. hate that you didn't know he could be good at this. hate that you’re not stopping him. that the bath is still hot, that his hands are still rough, that your other foot is already twitching in anticipation and he hasn't even touched it yet.
“yeah,” he mutters, low and satisfied, “there it is.”
"if you're gonna rub my feet like this every time, you should just kidnap me more often," you mutter, trying to sound bored and failing spectacularly.
"princess," he says, digging his thumbs in deeper, "you say that like you're not the one who keeps showing up."
his hands drift.
not immediately. he massages your other foot like he’s not planning anything—like he’s just being generous, like the ache melting from your calves isn’t calculated, like the bath isn’t a trap he set and walked straight into with a hard-on and a god complex.
but then his thumbs start creeping up. past your ankles. into your shins. up the backs of your calves where your skin’s the most sensitive. and you're still laid out, stretched and floaty, letting it happen. he's rubbing slow, like he has all night, like no one's coming to save you.
which they aren’t.
not yet.
you’ve been here enough to know the stages: the soak. the rubdown. the corruption. the bonus round.
his hands slide higher. up to your knees. your thighs. a palm braces against the bend of one leg and eases it open under the water, like that’s normal, like this is a trust exercise and not the prelude to filth. your cunt clenches like it knows what’s coming and wants to pregame the panic.
"i don't think this is in the massage manual," you say, voice dry, throat hotter than the bathwater.
he doesn’t answer. just leans forward. plants one lazy kiss on the inside of your knee like you’re something worshipped. like you’re a feast. like he’s already decided how you’ll taste.
and you—god help you—you don’t stop him.
you should. you know that. you should sit up and slap him and demand to be returned to your kingdom of overpriced skincare and mediocre royal suitors. but instead you let your legs fall a little wider. let him shift forward in the water. let him hook your knees over his shoulders like he’s done this before—has done this before—and let him drag you down the sloped edge of the bath until your ass is half out of the water and his mouth is hovering right there.
"say please,” he says, because of course he does. “go on. be cute for me.”
he grins, and then—boom.
the door slams open with enough force to shake steam off the walls.
the lock was enchanted. doesn’t matter. the hero always finds a way.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER—!”
you don’t even lift your head. just sigh, high and long and put-upon, like your favorite face mask just got interrupted by a meteor. again.
“hello, satoru,” you say flatly. “nice of you to warp in after the cherries this time.”
there’s a faint squelch behind him as the castle seals the pipe he must’ve dropped out of. the scent of ash and ozone lingers in the air.
sukuna laughs. satoru is already halfway into the bath chamber with his stupid sword glowing and his white hair damp from rain and his eyes wide and horrified like he just walked in on a war crime.
and to be fair, he kind of did.
your legs are still over sukuna’s shoulders. your throat is still tight. your cunt is still pulsing like a fire alarm. and sukuna doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t retreat. just flicks his tongue out once, once, against the softest, most humiliating spot of you—as punctuation.
“oh,” he says, lazily. “you’re early.”
“you kidnapped her again,” satoru snaps, storming fully into the room like he pays the rent here, like he didn’t just walk in on you spread open in a royal bath.
“i invited her,” sukuna says.
“you never asked—”
“she never says no.”
“he’s got you under a spell,” satoru gasps, like this isn’t the eighth fucking time. “he’s—he’s doing something to you. you would never stay here willingly—”
“she asked for a refill,” sukuna says, not even glancing up from your inner thigh. “and a massage.”
“that’s not what this looks like.”
you bolt upright, peel the other cucumber slice off your face, dripping and humiliated and pissed off in five different directions now.
“oh my god,” you mutter, voice raw from heat and water and the whiplash of almost getting your pussy eaten into the astral plane. “both of you—shut the fuck up.”
sukuna doesn’t move. still lounging. big and broad like a final boss screen, steam curling around his tattooed chest like smoke from a fire-breath trigger, gold rings glinting at his fingers like coins from a chest you weren’t supposed to open. his shoulders are sharp. his jaw sharper. there’s something beast-shaped about the way he takes up space—even wet and lazy in the bath, he looks like he could wreck half the kingdom if you gave him a reason.
you shove sukuna off and stand. the bathwater crashes back into place. you step out, dripping, glistening, glowing with leftover soap and fresh vengeance, and snatch your robe off the heated hook like you’re the only adult in this cursed castle.
“you’re not rescuing me,” you snap at gojo, tying the sash. “you’re not corrupting me,” you shoot at sukuna. “you’re both just horny and dramatic and in love with the sound of your own arguments.”
satoru sputters. “i—i care about you—”
“you want to win me,” you correct. “like a sword duel or a fucking cake contest.”
“not everything is about your pussy,” sukuna drawls from the water, licking your taste off his lips like a challenge.
his tongue is sharp when it flicks out, forked at the tip like some kind of demon king parody of affection. his eyes glow just slightly—red and cruel—like he’s gearing up for his next form. like if you say the wrong thing, he’ll shift. claws, maybe. a shell. something ancient that drags you into him no matter how many times you run.
the castle hums again, and for a second, you swear the tub jets pulse in sync with your heartbeat.
“but you always make it about that,” you bite back. “so what’s the truth, huh? one of you wants to save me. the other wants to ruin me. but both of you are stuck in this dumb, pathetic tug-of-war and i’m the only one smart enough to say it.”
they’re both quiet now. dripping. wet. steaming in different ways.
you cross your arms.
“you don’t want to fight over me.”
you pause. drop your voice.
“you want to share.”
the silence is heavy.
you step forward, slow. drip across the floor. eyes locked on satoru first, then sukuna. neither of them flinch. neither of them breathe.
“and maybe if you two would stop acting like enemies and admit what you really want,” you murmur, “you’d both get to cum.”
sukuna stands.
and god, it’s a final boss animation.
he rises from the bath like he was spawned, not born—huge and horned at the shoulders with muscle and menace, black tattoos flaring like molten paths across his chest, glowing faintly gold under the water like lava veins. his aura crackles. the air bends. if he roared, you’d flinch. if he laughed, you’d cum. his dick is out like it belongs on a pedestal, and you’re not entirely convinced it doesn’t breathe fire.
you stare. satoru stares harder.
"what the fuck are you doing," satoru blurts, instinctively taking a step back like the sheer audacity is contagious.
“what’s it look like?” sukuna shrugs, climbing out completely, no towel, no shame, not even a flicker of modesty. he walks across the marble like he was born to stalk enemies and lovers barefoot and naked in his own castle. “i’m giving the lady what she asked for.”
he even leaves scorch marks in the water where he stood. not literal ones. just hot enough that your skin remembers them.
“she said kiss,” satoru says, face full panic, eyes full don’t make this real. “not—whatever this is.”
“you scared?” sukuna smirks. “it’s not gay if it’s for her.”
“that’s literally the most gay justification I’ve ever—”
“do you want to fuck her or not?” sukuna snaps, suddenly louder, stepping into his space, wet and steaming and mean. “because if we’re gonna fuck her, we’re doing it my way.”
he’s close enough now to smell like fire. not smoke. fire. heat from the source. it clings to him like sweat, like magic, like a dragon-shaped threat that decided it wanted you instead of treasure.
satoru's mouth opens. closes. twitches at the corners like he’s trying to glitch out of the conversation entirely. like if he blinks fast enough, he’ll wake up in a normal situation where he hasn’t just been pressured into gay chicken by the demon lord of wet arrogance.
"this is coercion," satoru mutters.
"this is teamwork," sukuna corrects.
you lean against the wall. robe loose. "tick-tock," you sing, "someone kiss someone or i’m going back in the bath, alone."
sukuna doesn’t break eye contact.
he steps in closer.
his hand curls around the back of satoru's neck, slow and tight like a threat dressed in silk. satoru flinches. exhales. and stares at sukuna’s mouth like it’s a moving target.
“just a kiss,” sukuna murmurs, voice low. “then you can pretend you hated it.”
his fangs flash. not cute little vampire points. canine. beast. prehistoric.
you’ve seen him bite before. once, during a sparring match, a rival ended up with puncture marks through enchanted armor. that rival never came back.
satoru doesn’t mean to do it. that’s what he’ll tell himself later.
he didn’t want to. didn’t plan to. didn’t lean in.
sukuna did. sukuna always does.
but his mouth is right there—wet and hot from the bath, and his hand’s already on satoru’s neck like he owns it, like he could snap it or kiss it or both—and there’s something about the way he says just a kiss that makes it feel like a dare.
so satoru folds.
he doesn’t tilt his head, doesn’t breathe, just stands there frozen while sukuna leans in—and kisses him like he’s trying to win something.
and fuck, does he.
it’s not sweet. not gentle. not curious.
it’s filthy.
it’s tongues first, lips second. teeth clacking, spit everywhere, heat rolling off both of them like a second bath was summoned just from the sheer friction of hate-fucking a kiss into place. satoru grunts, shocked and breathless and already grabbing at sukuna’s arm like he’s going to shove him off, like he should, but his hand stays. fingers digging into wet muscle, other hand on sukuna’s hip like maybe he needs to keep him steady, like maybe he wants more leverage.
sukuna groans into it. obscene. hands everywhere—cupping satoru’s jaw, dragging down his ribs, gripping his waist and pulling like he wants to fuse them. he kisses like it’s combat. like he’s breaking satoru’s mouth in. like he wants you to watch.
and you do.
robe open. chest heaving. eyes wide and wet and locked on the way satoru’s knees are buckling slightly, the way he breathes like he forgot how to, the way he moans when sukuna sucks his tongue just to be mean.
satoru gasps. sukuna doesn’t let him go.
hand in his hair now. tongue deep in his mouth. hips angled forward like if this keeps up he’s going to grind on him, and maybe he is, maybe that’s the point, maybe he wants to be rutting up against his rival’s thigh while you stand there wet and smug and choosing which one of them you’re gonna ride first.
when sukuna finally pulls back—strings of spit between them, both of them flushed and panting and glassy-eyed like they just got head in a thunderstorm—he laughs.
"see?" he pants, mouth red. “teamwork.”
satoru stares at him. you stare at them. no one says anything for a second.
“again,” you say, eyes bright, mouth sticky-sweet with command. “this time—on my bed. chop chop.”
you clap your hands once, like they’re stable boys and you’re the duchess of debauchery, and then turn on your heel like you expect to be followed.
they do. of course they do.
sukuna grabs a towel off the bath hook like it’s a weapon and slings it low over his hips, still smirking, still red in the mouth like he just fed on something divine. the towel looks absurdly small on him. more like a concession than coverage. like if he flexed wrong it’d be gone.
sukuna follows last. heavy footsteps that make the stone beneath the rugs shift like the castle’s recalibrating for his weight. every torch along the corridor flares brighter as he passes, flames bending inward like they recognize their source. the air stays warmer behind him, heat lingering like a warning sign you ignore on purpose.
you lead them barefoot through the hallway, robe swinging open, dripping water on the tile floors of the castle like a trail of sins you dare someone to mop up. the room you step into is ridiculous. all blush pink and soft textures and filigree mirrors. a bed so fluffy it looks like it would absorb a body whole. silk pillows with lace trim. a plush throw with your initials embroidered in gold thread.
sukuna scoffs. satoru blinks. you climb up onto the mattress like a throne.
“both of you,” you say, voice light, like you’re calling dogs to heel. “on your knees.”
they hesitate. for half a second. then obey.
sukuna throws the towel. satoru swallows like his soul’s leaving his body. and then they’re there—crawling up the edge of the bed, one on each side, eyes locked on your legs like they’re being drawn in by gravity.
you spread them.
you don’t even have to say it. they both move at the same time.
sukuna’s mouth goes to your inner thigh, tongue dragging slow and cruel up the softest skin, teeth brushing just enough to make you jolt. satoru kisses the other side, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s trying to cancel out every filthy thing sukuna’s ever done to you with sweetness.
but it’s not about balance. it’s about devastation.
their mouths meet in the middle.
tongues brushing. lips sticky. spit mixing against your cunt like you’re the altar and they’re fighting for prayer rights. one sucks your clit. the other fucks you with his tongue. and then they switch. again and again. passing you back and forth like a dare, like a game, like if one of them makes you cum first it means something bigger than it should.
sukuna groans when you grab his hair. satoru moans when your thighs twitch around his ears. neither of them can breathe and neither of them care. they’re loud. messy. competitive. syncing up without meaning to.
you whimper. they grunt. you twitch. they dig in deeper.
you are dripping. soaking the sheets. arching into both of them like a spoiled royal, and they like it. they want it. they want to make you cum while staring at each other across your cunt just to prove they can do it better.
and you? you let them.
of course you do.
they’re exactly where they belong.
it hits you all at once, the way you’re being devoured, the way their tongues never stop, the way sukuna grips your thighs like he’s trying to carve his name into the bones underneath while satoru makes these fucking noises like he’s praying into your cunt. they don’t stop. they don’t breathe. they act like this is the final round of a competition neither of them wants to lose.
and you let them go until your hips stutter, until your fingers clutch the sheets, until your voice breaks in that perfect little way that makes them both glance up like they just heard the bell ring.
“switch,” you gasp.
they blink.
“want both of you,” you breathe, dragging one arm behind you, looking over your shoulder, “in me. now.”
it’s not a request. it’s a fact.
and god, do they scramble.
sukuna grabs your hips first. of course he does. palms you like he’s measuring the curve for fit, like he’s already imagining the drag of his cock inside you. satoru moves to the front, eyes wide and stunned and already hard like he knew this was coming and still wasn’t ready.
“on your knees,” you murmur, breath shallow, voice fucked-out and full of authority you didn’t earn but own anyway. “both of you.”
you turn over. press your face into the pillows. arch your back like an offering.
you feel sukuna’s cock drag through your folds first—slow, like he wants you to remember every inch. and satoru’s in front of you now, hand in your hair, cock flushed and leaking and twitching under your breath.
"open up, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just before you do. and then his cock is pushing past your lips, warm and salty and soaked, like he’s been ready to fuck your throat since the moment you told them to kiss.
sukuna sinks in at the same time.
you choke around satoru’s cock the moment sukuna bottoms out.
both of them groan. like your body was built for this. like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to ruin you together.
you can’t breathe.
you don’t want to.
there’s no rhythm, just need. sukuna’s hips slap against your ass, unforgiving, relentless, fucking you deep like he owns you. satoru holds your head like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart if he lets go, fucking your mouth with this desperate, whimpering pace like he’s sorry but also not stopping.
it’s spit. and heat. and suction. it’s tears down your face and drool down your chin and the brutal, gorgeous fullness of being used by both of them at once. your hands grip the sheets. sukuna’s fingers dig into your waist. satoru moans when you gag, tells you you’re doing so good, so fucking good, fuck—just like that.
you are choking. soaking.
and you never want it to end.
you can feel them in stereo.
sukuna buried in your cunt, hips snapping like a weapon, groaning every time you clench down like your pussy’s trying to keep him. satoru fucking your throat in short, desperate thrusts, hand curled tight in your hair, saying your name like a prayer he’s breaking on.
you’re dripping. crying. choking. perfect.
you don’t even have to look up to know they’re watching each other. you can feel it—the tension, the breathless, biting rivalry still simmering under all the moaning. they’re trying to pretend this isn’t what it is.
you ruin it.
you pull your mouth off satoru’s cock with a wet gasp, drool stringing from your lip to the head of him, your voice wrecked and raw and still smug when you gasp:
“kiss again.”
satoru blinks. panting. flushed to his ears.
sukuna doesn’t stop fucking you.
“she likes it,” he pants, slamming into you harder. “go on. be a good boy. give her a show.”
satoru groans. confused. humiliated. hard as fuck.
“what, you don’t want to kiss me when your dick’s in her throat?”
you swallow him again on instinct, just to watch him twitch. he gasps.
“you’re such an asshole,” satoru pants.
“then kiss me like you mean it.”
and he does. god, he does.
it’s brutal. hot. confusing and primal and way too much spit, but their mouths crash together over your body like it’s a battlefield, like they’re using each other’s tongues to claim you without saying it out loud.
you’re drooling around satoru’s cock again, the moan in your throat vibrating against him as sukuna fucks into you harder, deeper, one hand tangled in satoru’s white hair now, pulling him in to keep the kiss going.
they’re kissing over you while you’re getting fucked within an inch of your life.
spit and teeth and groans, tongues sliding, lips parted, their bodies rutting into yours at perfect opposite angles and still finding the time to moan into each other’s mouths like it’s a contest.
your cunt is clenching so tight it makes sukuna swear, low and hot, like he’s about to break.
and you? you’re soaking the sheets.
you wanted this. all of it.
and now you’re watching them fall apart for you. together.
you pull off satoru’s cock again with a gasp—spit trailing down your chin, your cunt dripping down your thighs, breathless and soaked and ready to be worshipped—and you look up at him like you’re about to give him his final test.
but before you can say a word, sukuna speaks behind you.
“lay down.”
and satoru does.
no hesitation. no backtalk. just drops back onto the mattress like his bones dissolved, like the command short-circuited something in his brain. his cock bounces against his stomach, red and wet and aching, and he looks up at you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks.
sukuna catches your wrist. leans in close.
“sit on his face.”
he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s inevitable.
and you move like you were waiting to be told.
satoru blinks up at you, already sprawled on the mattress, already halfway gone, cock flushed and twitching, lips wet from the last time he kissed sukuna like he forgot how to hate him.
“wait,” he breathes. “what are you—”
you crawl up. your knees land on either side of his head, and you hover—just long enough for him to look right at your pussy, glistening and dripping and open for him, so close he could lick it without moving.
“what are you…” he tries again, voice cracking now. “what are you doing—”
and then you sit.
his tongue doesn’t even wait.
it lunges.
like he can’t help it. like you just landed on a pressure point and released something primal. he groans—loud—mouth already open, tongue licking up your slit like he’s parched, like he’s sorry, like he’ll make up for every mistake he’s ever made if you just keep grinding down like that.
you moan. roll your hips. grab the headboard for balance.
and in front of you—you hear sukuna laugh.
a hand wraps around your waist. the other grabs satoru by the hip.
“don’t stop licking,” sukuna mutters again. “or i stop fucking.”
“wait—what—” satoru tries, voice muffled under your pussy, tongue still twitching, mouth still moving, breath already shaking.
sukuna doesn’t wait.
he never does.
sukuna grabs a fistful of satoru’s ass like he owns it. spreads him open. wide. rough. mean. just enough to make satoru twitch under you like he knows what’s coming and it’s already too much.
“you wanna eat her out so bad?” sukuna growls, breath hot across your spine. “do it with my cock in you.”
you hear it more than you see it.
the spit.
wet. thick. dragged right from the back of his throat and hawked down directly onto satoru’s hole like it’s a claim. loud and disrespectful, like he’s not even trying to be subtle about it, like this hole was made for him, and he’s just taking back what was already his.
it lands with a wet splat, stringy and hot.
satoru moans into your pussy. like it turned him on. like he hates that it did.
“fucking tight,” sukuna mutters, spreading his cheeks wider with both hands now, spit glistening on that perfect pink ring, watching it flex like it’s trying to run and take at the same time.
you don’t stop grinding. your thighs are shaking. your cunt’s soaked. satoru’s tongue keeps twitching under you like he can’t focus, like he’s trying to eat you out while processing the spit sliding down his crack, pooling where he’s already so sensitive it hurts.
sukuna spits again. harder.
watches it drip down. watches it stick.
then he lines himself up.
no warning.
just one filthy, stretched-out second of silence—then the slick, press of the head of his cock right against that spit-slick hole.
satoru gasps. tries to lift his hips. can’t. you’re on his face. sukuna’s got his ass spread wide like a fucking offering plate.
then sukuna starts to push.
you feel the way satoru shakes beneath you. feel the tremble in his hands on your thighs. feel the moan rip out of his chest and into your cunt, his tongue fluttering against your clit like he doesn’t know if he’s overwhelmed or about to cum untouched or both.
sukuna hisses through his teeth. forces himself deeper. grabs satoru’s hips and pulls him down onto his cock like he’s shoving the last piece of something perfect into place.
“fuck,” sukuna grits. “you feel that, princess? this tight little bitch clenching around me while he eats you out?”
you moan. it’s not a word anymore. not even a sound with meaning. just a shudder dragged from your ribs because satoru won’t stop licking, won’t stop moaning into your pussy while sukuna ruins him from behind like he was made for it.
sukuna leans in.
his hand comes up your spine, slow and steady, and then across your chest, fingers rough and wet from satoru’s skin, trailing up to your jaw to pull your mouth to his. he’s panting. flushed. still thrusting into satoru in long, brutal strokes. and then he kisses you.
wet. loud. hungry.
he kisses you like he owns the air between your teeth. like he wants to eat the sounds right out of your throat. you kiss him back with your whole body—mouth sticky, tongue filthy, your hips grinding harder on satoru’s face because you want him to feel it while sukuna devours your mouth.
“look at him,” sukuna growls, breaking the kiss, voice wrecked. “fuck, look.”
he grabs your chin. turns your head down.
and you do.
satoru’s face is soaked in your slick. lips swollen. nose shiny. tongue still out. his eyes are wet, desperate, fluttering like he’s already on the edge. you can feel his moans inside you, against you, vibrating straight up your spine.
you slide off his mouth slowly. his lips chase you for a second—instinct—but you’re already shifting down, dragging your cunt over his chest, your hands planted on either side of his face. sukuna keeps fucking him, cock slamming in deeper, rhythm rougher now that you’re watching.
you lean in.
satoru gasps, eyes wide, and you kiss him.
you kiss him like he’s already lost, like the only thing left is how thoroughly. your mouth is still wet from him, from sukuna, from everything, and when your tongue slides in he makes this broken little sound in his throat like he didn’t expect you to want him after all that.
you do.
your hand slips down between your bodies. wraps around his length. he’s hot and slick and so hard it’s almost embarrassing, like he’s been holding himself together on sheer adrenaline and your approval alone. you jerk him slow at first, thumb brushing the slit just to feel him twitch.
he moans into your mouth.
and that’s when his hands come up—hesitant for half a second, like he’s checking if he’s allowed—and then he pinches your nipples between his fingers, not mean. not gentle. just enough to make you gasp against his lips and grind your hips down without realizing you did it.
“fuck,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at him.
he looks wrecked. pupils blown. mouth open. chest heaving. still being fucked, sukuna’s hips snapping in a rhythm that never stops, never slows, like a reminder that satoru doesn’t get to forget where he is or what he’s being used for.
you jerk him harder now. faster. wrist flexing. spit-slick sounds filling the room. he whines—actually whines—and pinches you again, thumbs rolling like he’s trying to hold onto something, like the sensation is the only thing anchoring him.
“don’t stop,” he says, voice cracked, stupid, desperate.
you smile.
“i wasn’t planning to.”
you kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, teeth bumping, tongues sliding, your hand working him steadily while sukuna fucks him deep enough to make his whole body rock. he’s trapped between it all—your mouth, your hand, sukuna’s cock—and it shows. his breathing is wrecked. his hips keep trying to thrust up into your grip even though he can’t go anywhere.
you pull back just enough to look at him again.
then you shift.
not fully. not yet. just enough to line yourself up, to let the head of him brush against you, to feel that hot, stupid pressure that makes his breath catch and his fingers dig in harder.
“look at you,” you murmur. “so fucked out already.”
his eyes flutter.
and you start to climb.
you do it like it’s yours to take. like his cock belongs to you, and you’re just coming back for it. you slide up and over him, knees planted firm on either side of his hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other still slick and wrapped around his shaft. you line him up. tease. not because he needs it—but because he can’t do anything about it.
you’re dripping.
you’re still open from earlier, still twitching, still needy, and the second the head of his cock catches on your entrance, you feel him twitch under you.
“fuck—” satoru pants, voice high. “please—i—”
you cut him off with a moan of your own.
and then you sink.
slow. tight. wet.
you feel every inch. you make him feel it. the way you clench down just to see his jaw lock. the way his breath stops in his throat halfway through. he tries to lift his hips—instinct—but he’s still full of sukuna, still being fucked, still being used, and he can’t do shit except take it.
you bottom out.
his eyes roll back.
you sit fully on him, hands planted on his chest, the weight of your body and the stretch of his cock and sukuna’s cock inside him making him shake like he’s about to cum untouched.
and sukuna—he grunts behind you, still buried in his ass, pace faltering just slightly.
“fuck, look at him,” he growls. “he’s gonna cum just from this.”
you roll your hips. slow.
satoru chokes on a moan.
“you like that, huh?” you murmur, leaning in close, your cunt pulsing around him. “being split open, used like a toy.”
he nods. once. quick. like he’s ashamed to admit it out loud. like it’ll make it worse if he says yes and you believe him.
his mouth opens. nothing comes out.
sukuna fucks into him harder.
your whole body jolts from the force of it, your hips sliding down, satoru’s cock pressing deeper inside you just as he lets out this little choked-off gasp against your mouth, like he doesn’t know how to hold it anymore. his hands are trembling where they cling to your waist, his chest rising too fast under yours, his eyes wide and wet and full of it—heat and pressure and disbelief. he’s shaking. so are you.
you kiss him again. open-mouthed and soaking in it, tongue messy, noses bumping, the two of you completely unraveling against each other while sukuna ruins him from behind.
“he’s gonna cum,” sukuna grits out from somewhere close, the sound of skin on skin louder now, sharper, his hand gripping your waist again, fucking into satoru like he can’t stop even if he wanted to. “he’s gonna fucking cum like this. you feel him?”
you do.
you feel everything. the way satoru’s cock kicks inside you, leaking and twitching, every muscle in his stomach flexing like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. the way his moans have gone quiet now—small, desperate, breathless little exhalations against your cheek like he can’t catch a full one anymore. he’s crying a little. you think. or sweating. or just overwhelmed. it doesn’t matter. he’s close. you can feel it in your spine.
you grind down on him harder. not even bouncing anymore—just moving in slow, tight circles, keeping him deep, dragging out the friction, letting the rhythm build slow and cruel and perfect while sukuna keeps fucking into his ass like he owns it.
your voice breaks before you mean it to.
“cum,” you whisper. not loud. not sweet. just necessary. like a spell you know will work.
and he does.
so hard it punches a sound out of him that he’s never made before. his whole body spasms under you, legs shaking, back arching off the bed like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. his cock throbs inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep while you’re still pulsing around him, still grinding down, still clenching like you need it to keep going just a second longer.
it’s enough.
your orgasm hits like a wave slamming into concrete.
you shake. full-body. your mouth open but no sound coming out now, not really, not when you’re gushing around him, cunt fluttering, thighs locking up around his waist like you’re trying to drown him in it. your head drops to his shoulder. you don’t even know if you’re breathing.
behind you, sukuna groans. it’s low. fucked-out. the sound of a man hitting the edge with no brakes.
he grabs your hips—hard—and drives into satoru one last time, deep enough to shove satoru back up into you, your body jolting on top of him as sukuna growls and spills inside him with a hiss.
you can feel it. the way satoru flinches. the heat. the mess. the way he groans through it, lips brushing your jaw, body still twitching.
nobody moves.
sukuna stays there, cock still buried in satoru’s ass, chest pressed against your back, breath ragged. satoru is wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut, lips wet and open. your body’s still twitching. your cunt still fluttering every time he shifts under you, too sensitive now, too full.
you don’t say anything.
you just stay like that.
you roll your hips once more. slow. indulgent. squeeze him just to feel him twitch. sukuna hasn’t pulled out yet. satoru’s cock is soft inside you now, slick with his own cum and sweat and whatever’s still leaking out of him from behind. everyone’s breathing hard. everyone’s quiet.
you blink down at him. stretch your spine. adjust your hips like you’re just getting comfortable.
“you’re both so easy it’s disgusting.”
satoru twitches. sukuna snorts.
“the fuck does that mean,” satoru wheezes, voice cracked, hands still shaking on your thighs. “i just got spitroasted for like an hour—”
“and you liked it,” you mutter, already reaching for the nearest towel. “you fucking loved it.”
“she’s not wrong,” sukuna grins, pulling out of him slow, messy, mean, one hand dragging down your spine like he knows he’s about to say something that’ll start another fight. “you were moaning like a little bitch the whole time.”
“you kissed me first,” satoru snaps.
“you came while i kissed you,” sukuna snaps back.
satoru’s whole body jerks like someone slapped him with a wet cloth. “i came because she was riding me—”
“with my cock inside you,” sukuna interrupts, smug. “say it slower.”
“that’s not—no—that’s not what happened, you manipulated the timing—”
“oh my god,” you groan, flopping back against the mattress. “are you seriously arguing about whether or not that was gay now?”
“it wasn’t,” satoru insists immediately. “it was about her.”
“you tongue-fucked me.”
“you grabbed my face.”
you blink at the ceiling. “you literally moaned into each other’s mouths while i came. like.”
“okay but that’s not gay, that’s—” satoru starts, voice a little too high.
“oh my god,” you mutter, flat on your back now, towel draped over your stomach, one hand over your eyes. “can you both shut the fuck up.”
they don’t.
you know they won’t.
satoru’s already gesturing with one limp arm, trying to make a point about tongue placement and emotional sabotage. sukuna’s flexing like he didn’t almost fall over two minutes ago. you’re pretty sure there’s still cum drying on the sheets. no one’s moving.
“guess we have to go through this again.”
the room goes quiet.
you peek through your fingers.
they’re both staring at you.
satoru’s mouth is open like he forgot how to argue. sukuna tilts his head, eyes already darkening again.
