Kemy🦝

NSFW +18 mdi • she/her • cis latina woman • 18 years old • writer

[kannyelle]

Minhas Obras !❄️¡

﹆๑ ⌕𓂅ଘ⌕ഒ✧𓍼 𓂅ǂ⋆ ✧ꕤꕤ﹅

Smuts Cisboy !❄️¡

Happy Birthday Curly! ▪︎ Oneshot aniversário do Harry

The General’s Son ▪︎ Louis amante (hiatus)

Smut H!inter !❄️¡

Oh My God! Did You Call Me Cookie? ▪︎ Oneshot da Livraria

[xxlorinmower]

snowleopard!gojo I need him begging and bred brooo

art by: me! repost with credits, lorin mower on all platforms!

[crescent-canine]

@belimah @death-warden LOOK AT OUR BOY!!!

[victuuriaa]

Study session gone wrong 😇

[naomiiocha]

FRAT!JO!!! FRAT!KUNA!! FLASH US!!!!! (Definitely was not an excuse to draw abs)

[gubrillaz]

had to do this animation meme with these two gays

[stsgcalendar]

And then they are together again.🪷💞

[sukunastoenailclippings]

Look at the handplacement alone 🏮

[sukunastoenailclippings]

Use headphones 🎧 😭

[sugurudefend3r]

this was my favorite tiktok trend, Andrew in Drag by the Magnetic Fields

edit by me ez <3

[suguruamp]

animation test!

[sukunastoenailclippings]

Back please I wanna be loud 😭🧁

[gojosbf]

the sashisu pose

[kannyelle]

shoko looks hot as ever, suguru is mom's coded and satoru more fruity (how?)

[indiewritesxoxo]

MAN EATER!

you have one rule. never get attached. so how come you're torn between five guys you fucked...and the one man who doesn't want you?

synopsis: men are easy. they only ever wanted to get their dick wet anyway. so what's wrong with you beating them at their game? making pretty promises and turning into a phantom the second things looked like they might get serious? it had never been a problem before. until you meet the one guy on campus who doesn't want to play.

pairing: multiple jjk!men x bimbo!reader (choso-centric)

content: mdni, smut + angst, occasional fluff, COLLEGE AU, slower build, lots of piv sex, condoms and creampies (but reader's on birth control), fingering, oral sex, messy relationships, ghosting, reader sleeping around, denying feelings, crushes, pining, reader's roster will include gojo, geto, sukuna, toji + nanami), reader is lowk a villain lol, more tags to be found in individual chaps

a/n: the voices won lol first chap should be out in january btw also the art is by @1amglow + div by

DIARY OF A WHORE!

entry 01 entry 02...

DIARY OF A LOSER!

entry 01 entry 02...

comment to be tagged <3

[kannyelle]

finally, a reader who represents me 100% because it's obvious that if I were in JJK's universe I would be very worried about which one would crack me during the weekdays

[nizhspo]

pairing: sukuna ryomen x f!reader

content: 18+, scotty doesn't know, cheating trope, lots and lots of car sex.

sukuna ryomen hates a lot of things.

he hates when his job sticks him on dishwashing duty because they’re short-staffed, so much so that he’s made a habit of walking out the second it happens, apron tossed onto the counter, jaw set tight as he refuses to do anything else until someone else gets shoved into the back. 

he hates mornings that start too early and end too late, especially the ones where his mom makes him walk yuji to the bus stop, insisting he’s too young to go alone even though sukuna was doing it in second grade and yuji is already in fucking middle school.

he hates teachers who talk down to him when he doesn’t turn assignments in on time, the way they insist on provoking him instead of speaking to him like he’s a fucking human, and how the moment he finally snaps and raises his voice, they send him straight to the principal’s office like the outcome was decided before he ever opened his mouth.

he hates the house he grew up in, too. the thin walls, the creaking floors, the way his mom apologizes for things that were never her fault. 

he hates his stepdad’s voice when it gets sharp, hates the neighbors who keep bringing bedbugs back into the building, hates watching garbage bags full of their already-limited belongings get hauled to the curb like loss is routine.

but there is nothing in this entire world that sukuna has hated more, across all eighteen years of his life, than satoru gojo.

sukuna hates everything about satoru gojo. 

he hates his too-bright white hair, hates his stupid loafers and pastel polos, hates the way he wears sunglasses indoors like he’s some kind of celebrity dodging paparazzi instead of a high school student like everyone else, hates the expensive car his dad bought him the second he turned sixteen, hates the performative niceness he puts on whenever he’s talking to someone with less money than him, and he especially fucking hates the way gojo assumes ownership over every room he walks into, appointing himself leader without asking, talking over people like their opinions are optional, and treating loyalty like something he’s automatically owed.

he’s particularly hated satoru ever since seventh grade, ever since the day he “accidentally” stepped on the new shoes sukuna got after winter break, a gift his mother had paid for by working nearly every night, scraping together money while his stepdad contributed absolutely nothing, as usual.

sukuna still remembers the way satoru’s mouth had curved into mock surprise, the lazy little “oops” that didn’t mean shit at all, the way his foot lingered just long enough to grind the sole into the pavement.

something in sukuna snapped.

he saw red and lunged before anyone could pull him back, fists swinging, breath burning in his chest, and in the chaos of the fight he heard the truth spill out of satoru’s mouth, words sharp and careless and cruel. 

he remembers the way he sneered, the way satoru laughed and said he should be grateful for his “goodwill outfits,” the way he talked about sukuna like he was charity instead of a person, like poverty was a punchline instead of a fact of life.

sukuna hates that memory most of all.

he hates how the fight ended with a bloody nose and nothing else, and how satoru’s parents still insisted on pressing charges anyway, dragging sukuna and his mother through nearly a year of court proceedings over something that happened between two middle schoolers.

he hates remembering his mom renting dress clothes they couldn’t afford just to sit in a courtroom and look respectable, hates the humiliation of it, hates how easily satoru’s family wielded money and lawyers and threats.

he hates that the charges were dropped near the end, brushed off with a comment about having a “change of heart,” like the damage hadn’t already been done, like sukuna wasn’t already marked by it.

some things never leave you; satoru gojo, for example, never did.

so yes, sukuna hates everything about satoru gojo, with one singular exception; a minute detail about him that refuses to be entirely unbearable, something that might even qualify as satoru’s most redeeming quality if sukuna were ever inclined to admit it.

you.

you, and your hair that always seems to smell like the expensive, floral shampoo his mother could never justify buying. 

you, and your hands that are always stained with blue ink from the way you grip your pens too tight during shifts. 

you, and the way you look in that stiff, polyester waitress uniform, making a five-dollar apron look like something satoru would buy on a whim at a boutique.

sukuna hates almost everything, but he has never been able to find the energy to hate you.

he still remembers the day of your interview. he had been leaning against the back door, watching through the grime-streaked window as you sat at a booth with the manager. he could see the way you fidgeted with your hands under the table, your fingers twisting together in a nervous braid while you tried to look brave. 

yuki had stepped out for a cigarette break, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling as she watched you through the glass.

"look at her," yuki had snickered, tapping ash onto the pavement. "princess won't last a day. she'll cry the first time a trucker sends back his eggs for being too runny."

sukuna didn't even look at her. he just kept his eyes on the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "maybe you're just pissed because she’s actually got a soul left to crush," he’d muttered, his voice a low, jagged scrape. "unlike you, who's been bitter since the nineties."

he’d ignored the middle finger she threw his way, already focusing back on you.

even before you knew he worked in the kitchen, he would watch you from the kitchen pass during your first two weeks. you were far too soft-spoken for a place as loud and greasy as this diner. 

his jaw would tighten every time he saw a customer start to snap about a cold side of fries or a late refill. the second they would raise their voice, your teeth would find your lower lip, gnawing at the skin until it’s raw and pink. it made him want to vault over the counter and shove the dish sprayer down their throat, but you always handled it with that quiet, frantic dignity of yours.

you prided yourself on being the fastest at counting change, your fingers flying over the register as you murmured the totals under your breath, a small, private victory in a day full of manual labor.

it had been like this since long before the diner, though.

he remembered ninth grade math—the year he spent more time in the principal’s office than in a desk. after the two-week suspension from yet another fight, he had come back expecting to be failing every unit. instead, he found a stack of neat, organized notes slipped into his locker, written in your loopy, careful handwriting. you hadn’t said a word to him about it. you just kept your head down and let him pass the class.

on the slow shifts, when the lunch rush died down and the only sound was the hum of the industrial fridge, you played games with him. you slipped discarded receipts through the kitchen pass—the little window that separated his world of steam and grime from yours—with a single 'o' marked in the center. you always insisted on being 'x,' and he always let you, his large, scarred hand moving the pen with a gentleness he didn't use for anything else.

he’d even had a crush on you in eighth grade, a secret, burning thing that made his chest ache. 

he had spent weeks staring at the back of your head, thinking you were the prettiest girl in the entire school. he would have asked you to the formal dance, too, if he’d had anything to wear besides a hand-me-down flannel and jeans with holes in the knees. he had stayed home instead, imagining you there, probably dancing with some faceless boy who deserved you.

he had assumed you were still that girl—the one who didn't talk to guys, the one who lived in her own quiet world. he thought you were untouched by the loud, arrogant boys of their town. 

he believed that until two months ago, when he walked out for his break and saw a sporty, silver BMW idling at the curb; watched you climb out of the passenger seat, and for a second, he saw satoru gojo’s obnoxious, grinning face behind the wheel.

the air had left sukuna’s lungs in a rush of pure, cold venom— surely you couldn’t be entertaining that asshole.

it was confirmed an hour later as you were reaching up to tie your hair back, the collar of your uniform shifting just enough to reveal it—a dark, unmistakable red mark blooming just under the curve of your jaw. a hickey. a brand.

satoru gojo didn't just have the money, the cars, and the easy life. he had you, too. and he probably didn't even know how lucky he was.

sukuna had expected it to be a once or twice thing, one of those hookups satoru was infamous for. satoru was equally as reckless with the way he ran through women as he was with his cars, leaving a trail of broken hearts and dented fenders in his wake without ever looking back. 

he figured you would be another name on a long, meaningless list, a temporary distraction before satoru got bored and moved on to the next bright, shiny thing. but satoru gojo, for all the things he was, was seemingly not an idiot, because he didn’t let you go. 

hell, the asshole even went and made you his girlfriend.

you never talked about satoru at work. you kept your personal life locked away, shielded by that soft-spoken nature of yours, never offering up details about where you went after your shifts or who you spent your weekends with. 

sukuna wouldn’t have even known you were in a relationship if it weren’t for the familiar, irritating sound of satoru's tires squealing in the distance every time he dropped you off. the screech of expensive rubber on asphalt became a trigger for the bile that rose in sukuna’s throat.

the only other times he saw you together were brief glimpses in the school hallway. he’d see satoru, his tall, lean frame looming over you, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as he walked you to class. satoru would be laughing, head tilted back, while you looked up at him with that quiet, attentive expression that sukuna used to think was reserved for your math notes.

sukuna couldn’t believe it—there was no way someone like you would be with someone like satoru gojo. satoru was everything you weren't: loud, arrogant, and shallow. 

he lived for the day he would see that silver BMW stop coming around, for the moment satoru would inevitably screw up. but as the weeks turned into months, the tires kept squealing, and the hand stayed on your back.

and every time sukuna saw a new mark on your neck, sukuna’s hatred for gojo grew into something sharper, something more dangerous. it was a slow-burning poison, one he had to swallow every time he watched you walk back into the kitchen to grab a tray, looking far too innocent for the reality of who was touching you.

…

it was a tuesday, the kind of dead afternoon where the air in the diner felt heavy and unmoving, thick with the smell of old coffee and fryer oil, the only sound the slow, rhythmic thrum of the ceiling fan overhead. the lunch rush had come and gone, leaving behind sticky tables, half-wiped counters, and a quiet that made everything feel suspended, like time itself had decided to take a smoke break.

sukuna was in the kitchen, leaning his shoulder against the stainless steel counter by the pass, arms crossed tight as he stared down at a crumpled math packet that looked like it had survived a small war. the pages were bent, corners torn, pencil smudges ground into the paper from where he’d erased too hard. his jaw was set, eyes narrowed, like the worksheet had personally insulted him.

“you’re going to burn a hole through that paper if you keep glaring at it,” you murmured, your voice carrying easily through the open window of the pass, soft and calm, a sharp contrast to the way his thoughts were grinding. 

you’d appeared on the other side without him noticing, wiping down a stray mustard bottle with a rag, movements methodical and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world.

sukuna let out a jagged huff of air and shoved the packet closer to the edge of the counter, the paper scraping against steel.

“it’s garbage,” he snapped. “kamo is a bitch. she marked the whole back page wrong because i didn’t ‘show the work’ the way she wanted. i got the right answers. what the fuck does it matter how i got there?”

you leaned in, resting your elbows on the counter, eyes scanning the mess of equations. the corner of your mouth twitched, and before you could stop it, a small, unintended snicker slipped out.

“sukuna,” you said gently, amusement threading through your tone, “you skipped like four steps on every problem. she probably thinks you used a photo-math app.”

“i don’t need an app to do basic calculus,” he growled, but the bite didn’t land the way it usually did. something about the sound of your laugh sanded down the edge of his anger. “but if i don’t pass the final, i’m not walking at graduation, and my mom is gonna lose her mind.”

you chewed on your lower lip, gaze flicking from the paper back up to his face, eyes warm in a way that made his chest feel tight.

“i could help you,” you said after a beat. “if you want. i still have my old binders from last year. we could go over the steps kamo is so obsessed with.”

he stilled.

for a second, the diner faded out completely. all sukuna could see was you, standing there in your uniform, sleeves rolled up, fingers faintly stained blue from ink. he searched your face for something ugly, for pity or condescension, for that look people sometimes got when they thought they were doing him a favor.

there was nothing. just your usual steady gaze, open and sincere.

“seriously?” he asked.

“yeah.” you shrugged, like it was obvious, like helping him didn’t even register as a big deal. a small, genuine smile tugged at your mouth. “why not? i’m already doing the work anyway. are you free sunday afternoon? i’ve got community service on saturday mornings, so sunday is better.”

something twisted in his chest, dry and aching. of course you had weekly community service. he pictured you shelving books at a library or walking dogs at a shelter, patient and kind, doing good quietly without needing anyone to notice. the image made his throat feel tight.

he cleared it, eyes dropping to your hands, to the faint smudges of ink on your fingers. “sunday,” he repeated.

then, before he could stop himself, before he could talk his way out of it, the thought that had been rotting in his brain for months slipped free.

“you sure your boyfriend’s not gonna be mad?”

the words hung there, heavy. it was the first time he’d ever acknowledged satoru out loud, the name pressing into the space between you like a bruise.

your expression shifted, genuine surprise flashing across your face as your eyebrows lifted. your hands went still on the counter, rag forgotten. for a moment, you looked like you’d completely forgotten satoru existed in this little bubble of stainless steel and fluorescent light.

“how did you…” you started, then trailed off, glancing away for half a second, then back at him, your voice quieter when you spoke again. “well. i’m sure i don’t have to tell him it’s you.”

something dark and triumphant sparked in sukuna’s gut. he nodded slowly, fingers tracing the edge of the kitchen pass. 

he knew exactly why you wouldn’t tell him. satoru hated sukuna with a deep, inherited kind of fury, the sort that came from a rich boy who once realized money couldn’t solve everything. satoru would lose his mind if he knew you were spending hours alone with the one person he couldn’t buy off.

“fine,” sukuna said, voice low.

he hesitated, posture stiffening as his mind flashed with the image of his house. peeling wallpaper. the lingering smell of grease. the cramped living room where privacy didn’t exist. embarrassment crawled up his spine.

“can we…” he paused, jaw tightening. “do it at your place?”

you blinked, a little taken aback, then nodded easily, like the answer had never been in doubt. “yeah, that’s fine. i have a golden retriever, though. are you okay with dogs?”

that dry ache settled in his chest again.

of course you had a golden retriever. a dog that was probably as well-behaved and soft as its owner.

"fine," he repeated, already imagining the pet hair he'd have to lint-roll off his only decent hoodie. "sunday. your house. just text me the address."

"i will," you said, already reaching for a receipt to scribble it down. as you handed it through the pass, your fingers brushed his—just a ghost of a touch—and sukuna felt the spark of it all the way up his arm. "see you then, sukuna."

…

sukuna’s pickup looked wrong the second he pulled up to the curb.

the rusted red body sat low and uneven, paint chipped down to bare metal in places, a jagged scar against the smooth, clean line of your neighborhood. the lawns were trimmed. the sidewalks uncracked. driveways held cars that looked washed on purpose. he shut the engine off and let it rattle itself into silence, hands lingering on the steering wheel as the weight of every dent and creak settled in his chest.

your house was bigger than his; that much was obvious. but somehow, it wasn’t loud about it.

there were no iron gates, no dramatic columns, no looming sense of ownership over the block. it looked lived-in, warm, the kind of place where the lights stayed on because someone was always home, where the walls probably remembered laughter instead of shouting.

he barely had time to brace himself before the door opened.

you stood there in sweats and an oversized hoodie, sleeves swallowing your hands, glasses slipping a little down your nose. your hair was pulled back in a messy tie that looked accidental and perfect at the same time. your face was bare, no gloss, no mascara, nothing to soften or sharpen what was already there.

his breath caught.

you didn’t look like the girl from the diner or the classroom. you looked softer somehow, real in a way that knocked the wind out of him. he might have stood there staring like an idiot if something large and golden hadn’t slammed into his legs a second later.

your dog barreled into him with unfiltered enthusiasm, tail wagging like it might take flight.

“sorry!” you laughed, grabbing the collar and hauling the dog back with practiced ease. “he’s a lot.”

“it’s fine,” sukuna grunted, steadying himself, heart pounding harder than it ever had in a fight.

you stepped aside to let him in, and the house smelled clean, faintly sweet, like laundry detergent and something baking earlier in the day. family photos lined the hallway walls, mismatched frames, years layered on top of each other. 

birthdays. holidays. a younger version of you missing a few teeth, smiling into a camera like the world was kind.

you caught him looking and smiled, a little sheepish.

“my sister has a girl scout meeting today,” you said as you led him upstairs. “they’re hosting, so it’s gonna get… girl scout loud.”

he huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.

when you opened your bedroom door, something in him went tight and still. the room felt private in a way that made his chest ache. 

fairy lights draped softly over the headboard, glowing low even in the afternoon light. polaroids were pinned to the walls, you with friends, arms thrown over shoulders, faces flushed and happy. everything was neat without feeling staged, warm without trying too hard.

then he saw them: two photos of satoru taped neatly above the vanity.

just two, but enough to punch the air out of his lungs.

satoru’s arm around your shoulders in one, grin wide and careless. satoru kissing your cheek in the other, your head tipped back in laughter. 

sukuna’s jaw clenched before he could stop it. he wondered how many times gojo had stood where he was standing now, how many times he’d stretched out on that bed, expensive clothes wrinkling your sheets, loud presence filling a space that felt like it should’ve stayed quiet.

the thought made heat crawl up his spine.

“you can sit at the desk,” you said, pulling him out of it. “i’ll be right back. i’m just gonna grab a chair from my sister’s room.”

he nodded, dropping his bag down a little harder than necessary, eyes flicking back to the photos once more before he forced himself to look away.

the hours blurred.

without a manager hovering or customers snapping their fingers, you were different. looser. sharper. you explained things slowly, patiently, never talking down to him, never sighing when he asked the same question twice. 

you leaned over the desk when you pointed at equations, shoulder brushing his, and every time you smiled, it felt deliberate even when it wasn’t.

at school, sukuna was the guy who took a minimum of two "bathroom breaks" just to escape the boredom of math, but with you, the three hours passed in what felt like minutes. you were a natural at tutoring—patient, encouraging, and surprisingly funny. you were witty and sharp, and he found himself leaning into the desk, hanging on every word.

he couldn't help but stare whenever you smiled. it became a game to him; how he started dropping corny joke after corny joke, half-insulting the textbook and half-mocking his own mistakes just to hear you laugh. when you finally checked the time, you both jumped.

"oh my god," you whispered, eyes wide. "we're twenty minutes over. i didn't even realize."

sukuna looked at the clock, then back at you. for the first time in his life, he didn't want to leave a math lesson.

…

the study sessions became the secret architecture of sukuna’s weeks, the only part of his existence that didn't feel like a grit-toothed endurance test. the routine set in with a domesticity that felt dangerous: the rusted red truck parked two blocks over to avoid the neighbors' gossip, the golden retriever waiting at the door, and the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom. 

he started bringing you little things—a specific soda he’d noticed you sipping at the diner, or a bag of the expensive jerky he’d swiped from the stockroom because he remembered you saying you skipped lunch. it was his way of paying rent for the space he was taking up in your life, even if he’d never admit it.

but soon, once a week wasn't enough to satisfy the hunger that had started to grow in the pit of his stomach. he started inventing reasons to see you—half-baked excuses about a pop quiz or a formula he "just couldn't get"—and you, ever the "good" girl, always found a way to squeeze him in. 

you’d meet him in the cramped break room at the diner, sitting on milk crates while the smell of old grease hung in the air, or you’d slip into the passenger seat of his truck for thirty minutes before your shift started. 

he relished in the secrecy of it. he loved that he was a hidden line in your daily schedule, a secret debt you were paying in time that rightfully belonged to satoru. he loved knowing that while gojo was likely taking you to five-star dinners or beach houses, you were sitting in a rusted-out truck with him, sharing a lukewarm soda and talking about trigonometry.

he even started bringing yuji along once he realized how much you adored him after the day he’d been forced to bring yuji along because his mom had to pull a double shift. he had been braced for your judgment, certain you’d see the loud, energetic middle-schooler as another burden of his messy life. instead, you had beamed, sitting on the floor of the diner’s back office with yuji and teaching him card tricks. 

sukuna had watched from the doorway, chest tight, realized that you didn't just tolerate his world—you fit into it. and after that, he’d watch, both baffled and secretly softened, as you helped his little brother with his own homework or laughed at yuji’s ramblings about middle school drama. 

using yuji as a shield was low, even for him, but it worked. it gave him a reason to see you that had nothing to do with math and everything to do with the way you looked when you were being kind.

he started to learn the small things satoru likely never noticed, details that didn’t announce themselves and therefore never asked to be claimed. he learned that you took your coffee with too much sugar, stirred until the spoon clinked against the mug and left faint rings on the surface. he learned the way you hummed under your breath when you were thinking hard, a quiet, unconscious sound that slipped out when you didn’t realize you were doing it. he learned how your eyes traced the scars on his knuckles without flinching, lingering with a kind of careful curiosity that felt closer to reverence than judgment.

somewhere along the way, the tutoring stopped feeling like it had its own purpose. it became an excuse, a shape you both agreed to step into, a reason to sit too close and let silences stretch. the air between you thickened until it felt almost tangible, heavy with something unspoken and electric, charged enough to make his skin prickle and itch, like he was standing too near a live wire and choosing not to move. it became obvious that others had noticed too, like during friday’s double shift, when the diner air hung heavy with the smell of burnt coffee and floor cleaner.

the manager had already barked at you twice to "stop flirting" through the kitchen pass. sukuna had been mid-sentence, complaining about a physics lab, when the man’s voice boomed from the office, telling you both that if he wanted someone to stand around and look pretty, he’d hire a mannequin.

you’d jumped, your face instantly hot as you scurried off to refill a napkin dispenser, but the damage was done.

later, while you were in the back stocking the heavy gallon jugs of ranch, yuki leaned against the industrial fridge, blowing a bubble with her gum that popped with a sharp crack. she leaned in, her eyes trailing down to the high collar of your uniform.

"so," yuki started, her voice a low drawl. "was it the grease monkey who gave you that mark on your neck? honestly, i didn't think he had it in him to be that... marking."

sukuna had been right there, hauling a crate of potatoes into the walk-in. he stopped dead, his fingers digging into the plastic, his jaw set so tight his teeth ached. 

"no," he grunted, the word sounding like a threat. "wasn't me."

yuki blinked, her eyebrows shooting up as she looked between his bitter, dark expression and your wide-eyed silence. "huh," she muttered, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across her face. "who would’ve thought. i guess i owe choso twenty bucks. he bet me you were finally getting some from the help."

she sauntered off, leaving a vacuum of heavy, suffocating silence in her wake. sukuna didn't look at you. he just stared at the crate of potatoes like he wanted to crush every single one of them. 

it was the reminder he didn't need: satoru’s mark, satoru’s girl, satoru’s world.

it was moments like that where the illusion—the false bubble the two of you had created in the quiet of your bedroom or the privacy of his truck—was popped by the ever-persistent reminder of your boyfriend. it was a nagging, physical weight in sukuna’s chest. no matter how you looked at him, no matter how much he was sure that you felt the same pull he did, he began to convince himself you’d never actually give in.

that wasn't the type of person you were. you were the girl who did the right thing, and to sukuna, it started to feel like a form of torture—you were so close he could smell your shampoo, yet always just out of reach behind the wall of your own loyalty.

after too many nights spent shoulder to shoulder, it began to wear on him. he’d sit there while you traced the ink on his arms, your touch light as a feather as you asked absentmindedly which ones hurt, which ones had meaning, and which ones were just there. you’d linger on the jagged lines, your eyes soft, and he’d have to grit his teeth to keep from grabbing your hand and demanding you choose.

then the shift would end, and the illusion would shatter. he’d watch you walk out to that familiar silver bmw idling out front, the headlights cutting through the dark like a spotlight on his own failure. he didn’t like feeling used. he didn’t like being the "distraction" or the rough-around-the-edges break you took from the expensive, polished world of satoru gojo. leaving your house half-hard and incredibly frustrated was becoming a routine he was starting to loathe.

so, he slowly gave up.

he went back to being the old sukuna—the one who didn't care, the one who was too busy to be bothered. the study sessions that used to happen three or four times a week were strictly reserved for sunday afternoons now, and even those were hit or miss. he’d spend the afternoon sleeping off a double shift instead, sending a dismissive sorry forgot text three hours late without a hint of a real apology.

at the diner, the kitchen pass became a wall again. conversations were no longer soft or lingering; they were reserved for business, sharp and short. he stopped dropping the corny jokes. he stopped leaning against the counter to watch you count change.

he could tell you noticed. through the window, he’d see you trying to catch his gaze, your eyebrows furrowing in that concerned, quiet way of yours. 

you’d hover near the pass a second too long, looking as if you were waiting for him to say something—anything—while you gnawed on your lip. it was the look of someone who had lost a comfort they didn't realize they were addicted to, and sukuna, bitter and tired of being second best, just kept his head down and scrubbed the dishes until his knuckles were raw.

the day you’d finally confronted him, it was late, the kind of hour where the diner lights hummed too loud and every sound felt amplified by exhaustion. the overhead fluorescents cast everything in a sickly yellow, reflecting off stainless steel and scuffed tile. the air was thick with floor wax and old grease, the kind of smell that never really left no matter how many times they mopped.

you found him in dry storage.

the room was narrow and cramped, shelves packed tight with towers of paper napkins, boxes of plastic cutlery, industrial-sized cans of tomatoes stacked three high. there was barely space to stand without brushing something. sukuna was leaning back against one of the shelves, clipboard in hand, shoulders tight, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking in his cheek. he looked like he was holding himself together by force alone.

“are you avoiding me?”

your voice came out quieter than you meant it to, swallowed by the walls and the hum of the building. still, it landed like a shove.

sukuna didn’t look up. he flipped a page on the clipboard with unnecessary force, paper snapping under his fingers.

“i’m working,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, like it scraped on the way out.

you swallowed and stepped further inside. the door swung shut behind you with a soft, final thud, sealing the two of you in. the sound made your stomach tighten.

“you haven’t looked at me in three days, sukuna,” you said. your hands curled at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “you didn’t show up sunday. you didn’t even text me back.” you hesitated, then pushed on, heart pounding. “if i did something to upset you, just say it.”

that finally got his attention.

he lifted his head slowly. his expression didn’t look angry. it looked flat, bored in a way that stung far worse. one dark eyebrow arched, his gaze sliding over you with deliberate detachment, like he was inspecting something already decided.

“excuse me?” he asked, voice edged with mock confusion. “upset? i work in the kitchen, and you’re a waitress. we’re at work. what is there to be upset about?”

your chest tightened.

“don’t do that,” you whispered. your pulse thudded in your ears, loud enough to drown out the hum of the lights. “we were fine last week.” you took another step toward him, shoes squeaking faintly against the floor. “we were—”

“we were what?”

he turned fully then, dropping the clipboard onto a crate with a loud, echoing clatter. he leaned back against the shelving, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the movement pulling the fabric of his hoodie tight. his eyes were dark, unreadable, fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“studying?” he continued, voice sharp. “is that what you call it?”

you flinched despite yourself. 

“you know it’s more than that.” the words came out steadier than you felt.

“i know it’s a waste of my time,” sukuna shot back. he dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching at the ends like he wanted to rip something out. there was a jagged edge to his laugh, humorless and brittle. “i’m not interested in being the guy you come to when you’re bored of being with your boyfriend. go find satoru. i’m sure he’s got a shiny new car or some bullshit to show you.”

“it’s not like that,” you said, barely louder than a breath. you stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, the tension coiled tight in his frame. “i just… it’s not that easy to change everything.”

“it’s actually real easy.” his voice dropped, flattening into something dangerous. he stepped forward, closing the distance until you had to tilt your head back to look at him. the space felt charged, claustrophobic, every breath shared.

“you either want to be with him, or you want to be here,” he said, his face inches from yours, his eyes darting with a jagged sort of loathing toward the collar of your uniform. "i’m done watching you walk in here every other day with a fresh mark on your neck like you're his property." he let out a sharp, breathy sound that was nowhere near a laugh. "i’m not sitting in that truck anymore just to be the guy who cleans up the mess satoru leaves behind. i'm not your therapist, and i'm definitely not his runner-up."

“you think i don’t want to be here?” you shot back, your voice cracking with anger and something close to panic. “you think i’m not thinking about you the whole time i’m with him?”

sukuna let out a short, harsh laugh, shaking his head like he’d expected nothing else. “then do something about it,” he said. “or go back to your ‘perfect’ boyfriend and leave me out of it.”

he turned away with a scoff, angling back toward the crates. it was a dismissal so final it felt like a door had been slammed in your face, leaving you standing in the cold draft of his exit.

the part of you that had always been good—the girl who was careful, who followed rules and kept the peace—knew you were supposed to walk away. 

you were supposed to go back out front, pick up a damp rag, and wipe down counters until the feeling in your chest went numb. you were supposed to pretend your hands weren’t shaking and accept that sukuna was right. you had a boyfriend. you had no business being upset with him for refusing to be your secret anymore.

you stood there, your face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the cramped storage room and everything to do with the sheer, jagged anger bubbling up in your throat. 

part of you was being unbelievable, you knew that. but wasn’t he, too? he was the one who had let the tension build for months; he was the one who had invited you into his space, only to throw it back in your face the second it became real.

and satoru… satoru wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t terrible either. 

yes, he was loud, he was self-absorbed, and half the time you felt like an accessory to his life—a pretty girl to sit in the passenger seat of the car his father bought him—but he wasn't bad. he was kind to you in his own shallow way, even if he didn't truly see you, and you knew, deep down in the dark parts of your mind you tried to ignore, that sukuna was not better.

that half of sukuna’s interest in you was rooted in his pure, unadulterated disdain for satoru. it was in the way he looked at the silver of his BMW, the way he sneered at satoru’s name like it was a slur. part of this was a game to him—a way to win a war that had started long before you ever entered the picture.

you were a trophy. a prize to be stolen.

but as you watched the back of his hoodie, the way his shoulders were bunched with tension, you realized you didn't care about being a prize. 

if he was using you to be selfish, why couldn’t you be selfish, too?

why did you have to be the only one who played by the rules while everyone else took what they wanted?

the frustration of the secrets, the stolen looks, and the heat that had been building since ninth grade finally snapped the last thread of your restraint.

you reached out, your fist bunching into the thick, dark fabric of his hoodie, and yanked him back toward you with a strength you didn't know you had. sukuna stumbled back, his eyes widening in a flash of genuine shock. you didn't give him time to recover. you stood on your tiptoes, your fingers white-knuckled in his clothes, and crashed your mouth against his.

sukuna went rigid. for a heartbeat, he was as still as a statue, his hands hovering in the air as the sheer, desperate pressure of your lips against his registered. then, a low, guttural sound broke from the back of his throat—a groan that sounded like a surrender. his hands came up, his large palms sliding down to your waist and hauling you flush against him until there wasn't a breath of air left between you.

t was as if he was trying to kiss the memory of satoru out of your system, trying to overwrite every touch, every laugh, and every brand that arrogant bastard had ever left on you. he wanted to taste the part of you that didn't belong to high-school royalty, the part that was messy and dark and belonged only to him. 

his tongue slid against yours, demanding and possessive, and when you made a small, muffled sound of surrender against his lips, sukuna knew.

he backed you up, his boots heavy on the linoleum, until your spine hit the steel shelving with a sharp clatter of tomato cans. he didn't care. he pinned you there, his body a solid, burning weight against yours. 

one hand moved from your waist to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the curve of your throat—the place where those marks always sat. he kissed you like he was starving, like he was trying to swallow your very breath.

the world outside the storage room—the hum of the diner, the clink of silverware, satoru’s waiting car—ceased to exist. there was only the rough texture of his tongue, the heat of his skin, and the frantic, syncopated rhythm of two hearts beating in a space they weren't supposed to share.

you kissed him back with a feverish, uncharacteristic hunger, your fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, your mind finally quiet for the first time in months. you were breathless, air becoming a luxury neither of you could afford. when he finally pulled back, just an inch, the silence of the room was filled with the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

your lips were swollen, stained a deep, kiss-bitten red, and your cheeks were flushed with a heat that made your skin tingle. sukuna’s eyes were dark, roaming over your face with a predatory, satisfied intensity. he looked at your mouth, then up at your eyes, a slow, jagged smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lower lip. "so," he rasped, his voice a low, triumphant vibration. "you still think it’s 'not that easy'?"

…

when you left, sukuna watched the storage room door swing shut, the faint click of the latch sounding like a starter pistol in the ringing silence. he leaned back against the steel shelving, his chest still heaving, the metallic taste of you and the faint tang of your lip gloss lingering on his tongue. 

he’d seen the way you scrambled to fix your hair, the frantic way you’d tried to smooth out the wrinkles in your uniform with trembling hands, and that look in your eyes—wide, dark, and utterly shattered by guilt.

he was sure he’d won. he’d felt the way you came apart under his mouth, the way you’d nearly climbed him like a tree just to get closer. 

he walked back to the kitchen with a predatory swagger, convinced that by tomorrow morning, satoru gojo and his stupid ass silver BMW would be a memory and you’d be standing at his locker, finally done with the charade.

but nothing in sukuna’s life had ever been that easy.

the next morning at school was a slow-motion car crash. he was leaning against the lockers, eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd, waiting for the moment you’d walk in alone. instead, the double doors swung open and there you were—tucked firmly under satoru’s arm. gojo was laughing, probably some loud, obnoxious story about his weekend, his hand splayed possessively over the small of your back. 

your eyes met sukuna’s for one brief, agonizing second; your pupils blown wide, a flash of pure terror crossing your face before you schooled your expression into something blank and stone-cold. you looked at the floor, at your shoes, at anything but the boy who had had his hands up your shirt less than twelve hours ago.

the bile rose in his throat, hot and bitter. but then, three minutes into first period, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

can we talk? after school? back lot?

he spent the whole day imagining the rejection. he had his defense ready, his walls up and reinforced. when he saw you walking toward his rusted red truck in the far corner of the lot, looking frantic and checking over your shoulder every five seconds, he rolled down the window and let out a harsh, dry sound.

“let me guess—” he started, his voice dripping with the armor of his own spite. “it was a mistake. you were caught up in the moment. satoru is such a great guy and you just can’t—”

you didn't let him finish. you reached through the open window, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss that tasted like desperation and salt.

before he could even process the shift, you were opening the heavy truck door and climbing over the center console, ignoring the gear shift poking at your thigh as you scrambled into his lap. 

you weren't talking. you weren't explaining. you were just there, your hands buried in his hair, your body trembling against his in the cramped cab.

sukuna didn't waste another second on words. his hands already under your skirt, his fingers hooked into the elastic of your underwear and pulling them aside with a brutal lack of patience, your "good girl" mask seemingly gone with the ring of the last bell.

the second his fingers slid into you—slick, hot, and already yielding—your head fell back against the headrest with a sharp, broken gasp. the sound was like discovering a goldmine. he watched your face as he worked two fingers deep inside you, his thumb grinding against you with a rhythmic, punishing pressure. 

your hair was stuck to your forehead with sweat, your lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and you were making these soft, high-pitched whimpering sounds that made the blood roar in his ears.

you weren't just taking it; you were chasing it. you were grinding down on his hand, your eyes rolled back, all that middle-class poise and church-girl modesty melting away into a puddle on his truck seat, and when you finally came, it was violent—your body locking up, your fingers digging into his shoulders until his skin broke, your voice muffled against the crook of his neck as you sobbed out a quiet, wrecked moan.

and then, just like that, the bubble popped. you sat up, your face pale and your breath hitching. you used the rearview mirror to fix your hair, tucking it behind your ears until you looked like the girl in the satoru gojo photos again. you got out of his truck without a word, the silence in the cab suddenly heavy and suffocating as you straightened your skirt with trembling hands. you were already starting to walk away, your head down and your pace hurried, before you abruptly turned back and tapped on his window.

sukuna rolled it down, his expression a jagged mess of confusion and lingering heat. his brain was still foggy, thick with the echoes of your moans and the way you’d just come apart in his lap. 

he looked at you, waiting for the apology, the "never again," the shattering of the glass—but instead, you just bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes.

"i'll see you sunday?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, as sukuna, ever the fucking dumbass, just sat there. 

his dick was still tenting his pants, his fingers were still damp with the slick, salt-sweet taste of you, and his pulse was still thundering in his ears. he should have said no, he should have told you to go to hell. instead, he just nodded, a slow, numb movement of his head.

"yeah," he rasped. "sunday."

he watched as you turned and ran off, disappearing toward the other side of the lot to meet with your boyfriend, leaving him alone in the truck with the scent of you on his skin and the taste of his own stupidity in his mouth.

he supposed it was better to have some of you than none of you?

it didn't matter what you did with satoru gojo after that. because every sunday, like clockwork, the same script played out. satoru still believed the "church" excuse you’d fed him months ago—the pure, sweet irony of it making sukuna laugh out loud sometimes. 

while satoru pictured you kneeling in a pew, eyes closed in pious prayer, you were actually kneeling on the floor of sukuna’s truck. he’d shoved the passenger seat all the way back, creating a cramped, dark sanctuary where the only light came from the dim glow of the dashboard.

you were good—terrifyingly good. it wasn't the tentative, shy way he’d imagined a girl like you would handle him; it was hungry and deliberate, sukuna watching you through heavy, hooded lids, his head lolling back against the headrest as your mouth worked over him. the sounds were wet and rhythmic, a soft, slick suction that echoed in the quiet cab. he could feel the heat of your throat, the way you didn't shy away even when he pulsed, and the sensation was so intense it felt like it was hitting him right in the pit of his stomach.

god, if this is how satoru is living, then maybe he really does have it all, sukuna thought, the realization hitting him with a jagged edge of envy. if this was what satoru woke up to, or what he went to sleep with, sukuna could almost understand why the bastard walked around like he owned the sun.

but then he’d look down at the way your fingers were buried in his thighs, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, teary eyes while his cock was buried deep in your throat, and the envy would turn into a sick, twisted pride. 

he always tried to save face, gripping the armrest so hard the plastic creaked, biting back the raw grunts and groans that threatened to spill out. he didn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much power you had over him, but when your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, his hips almost always bucked involuntarily, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat despite his best efforts.

it was filthy. it was perfect. you were filthy. you were perfect.

when he finally came, he would watch, mesmerized, as you took every drop, your waterline turning pink and teary from the depth of him, and when you would finally pulled away, your mouth slick and filled with his salt, a thin, silver string of spit still connecting your bottom lip to the crown of him, you looked wrecked—utterly debased and beautiful.

sukuna couldn’t help but stare at you, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. he was a fucking goner.

he took you in the work parking lot with the engine still idling, in the back of the school lot under the shadow of the bleachers, and once—the riskiest, most delicious time—right outside your own house in the middle of the night. satoru had been away at some leadership conference, and sukuna had pinned you against the side of his truck, the metal cold against your back while he was hot and heavy between your legs.

he watched you try to keep your moans down, your eyes darting toward your parents' darkened windows, and he felt a sick, triumphant thrill. 

satoru might have the car, the expensive watches, and the official title, but sukuna had the sounds you only made in the dark. he had the way you shuddered when he whispered filthy things in your ear. he had the truth of you.

satoru didn't know. and sukuna was going to make sure it stayed that way for as long as he could keep his hands on you.

he relished every moment he bumped into the smug bastard in the hallways. satoru would look at him with that characteristic, lofty amusement, his eyes hidden behind those designer shades as if sukuna were nothing more than a stain on the floor he was forced to walk over. 

gojo would offer a lazy, two-finger wave or a condescending pat on the shoulder if they were close enough, acting like he had everything over sukuna—completely and utterly clueless that it was his girlfriend being fucked senseless by the very guy he thought so little of.

there was one specific afternoon at the diner that sukuna replayed in his head like a favorite movie. satoru had swung by to drop off a textbook you’d forgotten in his car, looking entirely too polished in a white button-down that probably cost more than sukuna’s truck.

sukuna was leaning against the kitchen pass, his arms crossed, a smudge of grease on his cheek and his eyes narrowed. satoru spotted him through the window, and that familiar, annoying twinkle of amusement lit up his eyes.

"still back there, ryomen?" satoru drawled, leaning against the counter and flashing a grin that was way too bright for a greasy diner. "man, i don't know how you do it. the smell of old fries and desperation would've killed me by now. it’s a good thing someone like you is around to do the heavy lifting, though. keeps the world clean for the rest of us, right?"

you were standing right there, your hand hovering over the textbook satoru had just set down. your face went pale, your fingers twitching.

sukuna didn't even blink. he just let out a low, dry chuckle, his gaze shifting from satoru’s face to yours—lingering just a second too long on your mouth.

"yeah, satoru. i'm real good at cleaning up," sukuna replied, his voice like velvet over gravel. "it's funny, though. you'd be surprised how much dirt people manage to hide even when they look 'clean' on the outside. but don't worry—i make sure to get into all the spots you seem to miss."

satoru just laughed, completely missing the subtext, his ego too big to even imagine a world where he was the punchline. "good man. keep up the hard work."

but you didn't miss it.

sukuna saw the exact moment the words hit you, your entire body freezing, shoulders going rigid as you stared at the counter. you knew exactly which "spots" he was talking about. you knew the way his hands felt when they were buried in you, the way his voice sounded when he told you to forget satoru's name. 

satoru patted the counter one last time and walked out, the bell above the door chiming with a cheerful ring that felt like a joke.

sukuna just stayed there, watching you through the glass. he watched the way you finally exhaled, a shaky, trembling breath, before you tucked the book under your arm and hurried toward the back.

satoru didn't know—but you sure as hell did, and that was so much better.

…

the windows of the van were completely opaque, slick with condensation that blurred the world outside into a dark, grey nothingness. you were pressed face-first against the cool glass, your knees digging deep into the cracked seat as sukuna loomed behind you. 

his hands were clamped onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a bruising, possessive grip that anchored you as he drove into you with a steady, punishing rhythm.

"fuck, kuna… right there," you managed to choke out, your forehead thumping against the glass as a wave of heat rolled over you. your fingers were clawing at the headrest, your back arched, and every time he hit that specific, aching spot, your toes curled against the seat.

then, the sharp, upbeat ringtone of your phone pierced through the humid silence of the truck.

the sound was like a bucket of ice water. you froze, your muscles locking up around him as your eyes went wide, reflecting in the dark glass of the window. sukuna didn't stop, but he slowed down, his chest huffing against your back as he leaned over to look at the screen lighting up on the dashboard.

satoru's face was grinning back at him from the caller ID.

"shit," you hissed, reaching out with a trembling hand to grab the device.

sukuna let out a low, dark chuckle against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and smelling of mint. he didn't pull out. instead, he stayed buried deep inside you, his hands migrating from your waist to your hips to hold you still. you swiped the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you were sure satoru would hear it through the speaker.

"h-hey baby," you breathed, trying desperately to steady the ragged, heavy hitch of your lungs.

sukuna stayed perfectly still for a second, watching you with a predatory intensity. you couldn't hear satoru’s exact words, but the low, cheerful vibration of his voice hummed against your ear, sounding so oblivious and bright that it made your stomach flip with a fresh wave of guilt.

you went to respond, your mouth open to say mhm, but sukuna chose that exact moment to slowly, agonizingly sink back into you.

"m-mhm," you stuttered, your voice breaking as your internal walls fluttered and spasmed around him. a long, shaky exhale left your lips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to moan.

sukuna was being relentless. he began to move again—not with the fast, driving force from before, but with a slow, grinding thrust that felt twice as deep. he was watching the back of your head, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he felt the way you were struggling.

you twisted your head back, shooting him a frantic, watery glare, but he just leaned down and grabbed your waist, pulling you back even harder against him. his other hand reached around, pressing flat against your lower stomach to feel the solid, rhythmic slide of himself moving inside you.

"you okay?" satoru’s voice crackled, sounding a little more focused now. "you sound out of breath."

"y-yeah," you gasped, your voice trembling as sukuna hit a shallow, sensitive angle. "i'm okay. my mom is... she's making me take nobara's bike out of s-storage so she can go with her—” you paused taking a deep, shuddering breath, “—her troupe. and the stuff is... um, it's heavy."

on the other end, satoru let out a light, airy chuckle. he said something else—something about seeing you later, something about how hard you always worked—while sukuna’s thumb began to work in circles against your hip bone, his rhythm picking up speed.

"okay, love you, bye!" you blurted out, the words tripping over each other in your rush to end the call.

you hit the end button and threw the phone onto the seat, spinning around as much as the cramped space would allow to curse him out. "sukuna, you fucking—"

your words were cut off by his mouth crashing against the side of your neck. he didn't let you finish, his hands hooking under your thighs to lift you up and pin you against the side of the vehicle as he drove into you with a renewed, frantic energy.

"shhhhh," he murmured against your skin, his voice a dark, vibrating command as you let out a string of soft, broken ahs against his shoulder. "he doesn't know, remember? keep it that way."

…

and that was how things would usually go—a cycle of high-stakes risk and jagged, heavy heat.

sometimes you’d show up with a fresh mark on your neck, a pale, fading hickey from satoru that acted like a red cape to a bull. sukuna wouldn't even say a word about it; he’d just stare at it with a dark, simmering possessiveness before pinning you down and kissing right over it, his teeth grazing your skin until his own brand had completely overwritten the other. 

he fucked you harder on those days, his movements filled with a silent, vengeful energy that left you shaking for an hour afterward, your legs feeling like lead and your mind a complete, static-filled mess.

he relished in the way you’d have to fix your makeup in his cracked side-mirror, the way you’d have to scrub the scent of him off your skin before going home, and the way you still couldn't look him in the eye at the diner the next morning. 

he loved that he was the secret that was slowly eroding your "good girl" foundation, the one thing in your life that satoru's money and family and lawyers could never touch.

you were his. even if the world didn't see it, even if you were still wearing satoru’s promise ring, even if you still sat in that silver BMW every single morning. sukuna had the parts of you that mattered. he had the truth.

and even after all that, satoru still didn’t know.

tags: @cursedkisss @momoloverr

[getorade]

the bet

synopsis: nerdjo overhears his brother making a bet that he can get you into his bed- now he has to decide on how to tell you, or if you'll beat him to the punch. pairing(s): nerdjo x fem!reader x fratjo c.w. & w.c.: 5k - :: plot :: more plot :: smut with plot :: p in v :: happy ending :: fratjo gets humiliated

satoru knew how his playboy brother, satori was. he really did. he knew him better than anyone else- they both did, as much as they fought to deny the allegations.

satoru was the younger twin of the two, his nose shoved into a textbook with his glasses sliding down his nose every few seconds.

while satori was the frat god, he liked to call himself who was sleeping with a new girl every other night and getting drunk or high at every single party.

satoru wasn't meant to hear the conversation happening in the other room, all he was doing was bringing some notes over to the frat house that satori surprisingly asked for with midterms coming up that weren't so important until their parents threatened not to pay for his tuition if he failed one more time.

i guess it becomes important when the only way you can get girls is the title you have behind your name with being a frat president.

all he could hear was laughs when he stepped through the door until geto's voice finally cracked through the humor. "you couldn't get with her even if you paid her."

"you wanna put money on that?" satori. of course, using money and bets like no other. "guaranteed, i could have her on a date by friday at 6 and my bed by 7."

satoru had no idea who they were talking about, all he knew was that his skin was crawling from listening to his brother make bets and gambles on women like they were simple property that he could buy, fuck and toss back into the gutter.

before he could bear to hear anything else disgusting fly from their lips, he adjusted his glasses and knocked on the entry wall, finally snapping their attention from their meaningless conversation.

satori's head snaps over at the sound before his eyes light up at his younger twin and satoru is already sure, confident even- that it isn't because he's holding the notes to his name keeping of 'president'.

"took you long enough, yeah?" satori says, covering it as a joke but really he's just an ungrateful little shit.

"i was studying." satoru isn't one to hold back his punches, at least not with satori. he knows ball when it comes to his brother. "i actually believe in passing exams, not just when a title is threatened."

"what titles do you have again?" satori's eyes narrow when asking the question. "i don't think 'nerd' is exactly a panty dropper"

satoru couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes at that comment or the fact that geto was holding back the laughter of a hyena but before he can make a comeback, satori is already talking again.

"hey, you know that girl in your physics class? real pretty eyes with the- the- the hair?" satori asks, waving his hands in gestures towards his eyes and hair.

satoru lets out a huff before pleasing him with an answer. "they all have pretty eyes and they all have hair, satori. do you care to be anymore vague?"

"i dont know! the girl who sits right behind you."

oh.

her.

you.

"what about her?" there is a hesitation in satoru's voice. what would satori want with you?

satoru internally recoils at his own thought. what wouldn't satori want with you? you were pretty, beautiful even with a smile that always met your eyes and one of the softest voices he's ever heard. you were an angel in disguise, he'd already convinced himself of that.

satori snatches the notes from satoru's hands before his thoughts can trail him away any further. "do you have her number?"

god, he wishes he did.

"no and even if i did, which i dont. why would i give it to you?"

"i should've known better than to ask you, what girls numbers do you have in your phone besides our mothers?"

that finally got a reaction from geto, finally cracking at the expense of satoru with a snort.

satoru rolls his eyes, ignoring the anger bubbling inside his chest before walking back towards the front door. "i want those notes back, don't let anything happen to them."

"i'll protect them with my life."

sure he will.

the weekend passed slowly after leaving the frat house, satoru's phone being pinged every few minutes by satori asking for more notes or why some notes were missing, and further asking about you.

"can you get me her number?" "i'll text you what to say to her, i know you'll have no idea." "i need her number." "i have $500 on this, help big bro 'tori out."

satoru doesn't remember muting his texts. he was tired of his brother trying to get with women on the pretense of money and bets alone and not actually wanting to get to know them and building a happy relationship with them while satoru believed women should be worshiped and prized.

as if satoru and satori didn't even look alike, all that was different was the fact that satoru wore glasses and satori didn't. big difference, apparently.

****

monday rolled around in a blur, there were no more texts from satori when his eyes finally pried open at the sound of his alarm.

satoru rolled towards the blaring sound before slamming his arm down on his snooze button before swinging his legs around and placing his feet into his slippers resting right beside him on the floor.

satoru would see you today, he always does. sitting right behind him in class, catching whiffs of your perfume every few minutes. it was always a fruity scent, strawberry's or coconut seemed to be your favorites- the thought of it alone causes his heart to speed up just barely before his chest is quickly constricted by the thought of satori seeing you too.

he should tell you. you're too sweet for your own good, always trying to see the best in people, never doubting anyone. you probably wouldn't have a single negative thought on satori stopping you in-between classes to coax you into a date just to be spreading your legs for him hours later on friday.

satoru stretches his arms above his head with a groan before finally standing to get ready in hopes to make it to class before he has to squeeze through the student body just to make it in one piece.

his thoughts don't leave him as he prepares for class, trying to figure out what to say to you, wondering how he can explain how his brother is a slob who just wants women for his own pleasure and release.

the walk to class from his dorm was quick, dodging bodies left and right in the hall and the few couples he mentally gagged at who already had their tongues down each others throats at eight o'clock in the morning.

what he didn't expect to see when he rounded the corner to walk into physics was you shoving satori away from your personal space.

"stay the fuck away from me you freak!" you shouted right into the face of satori, cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

you were already turning and walking away when satori shouted back to you, causing every head to turn towards the commotion . "i made reservations! i even asked utahime what you liked so i knew where to take you!"

pathetic and desperate.

your steps slowed before coming to a stop, turning around to face him, feet away now but eyes narrowed in on him like laser beams.

"i don't want your reservations- just how your parents didn't want a fucked up 2 piece," you cut back, your tone is cold and icy but not a single ounce of hesitation in your voice. "be more like your brother and less like a disappointment, maybe you'll finally make mommy and daddy proud."

the hall is filled with "ooohs" and cackles as you walk away, not turning around this time not even when you hear satori grumbling something under his breath about money being lost out on.

satori's eyes land on his brother, narrowing in before speed walking in his direction like a man on fire.

"you told her something, didn't you?" ah. there it is. always blaming it on someone and never himself.

satoru sighs and pushes his glasses back up before answering. "i didn't tell her anything." it's not a lie, he didn't utter a single word to you. "word just. . .gets around about you."

"what is that supposed to mean?" satori questions, the disbelief in satori's voice is astronomical, as if he doesn't know he's slept with half of the campus and word doesn't get around.

"it means that not every girl on campus wants to sleep with you. . .or even be within a few feet of you, apparently."

satori doesn't give satoru the satisfaction of a reply before stomping down the hall, opposite direction of where you went.

as if he would want a reply. he could barely even tolerate his brother more than half of the time. he thought he was disgusting, even more so confident on the fact that he was carrying some form of std from the pill bottle he caught a glimpse of once when visiting.

whatever. satoru adjusted his bag before finishing his walk into physics class where he's gonna hear the same monotone voice talking about energy, forces and electricity like he doesn't know about it all already, correcting his professor from time to time without shame.

stepping inside of the room, there you were. same spot as always, one seat directly behind him. you appeared calmer now, relaxed with that half smile you always wore on your face. nothing like the look you had just minutes ago when you were shouting in his brothers face, humiliating him in front of everyone.

satoru moved to his seat, sitting down and pulling out what he needed before waiting on the professor to come in. and there it was, that whiff of your perfume filling his nose. it was different today, more floral smelling than the fruity ones you'd typically wear.

not that he was noticing, of course.

satoru felt the lightest touch on his shoulder before a warm breath hit the back of his neck, sending a chill down his spine.

"hey. i'm sorry for about yelling at your brother," you whisper to him, your tone is almost regretful. probably feeling guilty about seeming mean and making his brother the joke of the hallway. "i should've controlled myself better."

satoru leans back a little in his seat to whisper back to you, catching a glimpse of your eyes when he turns his head. "don't be, he's a pig."

your eyes widen just slightly before letting out the smallest sound that sounded a lot like a giggle. "i've heard too much about him, he was coming on strong, like a desperate puppy. . .and he smelled like whiskey." you say in disgust.

satoru is about to whisper something back when the door is swung open and the professor walks in, already looking like he's regretting every decision he's ever made, especially applying for this job where he teaches students where half of them aren't even paying attention.

apparently, you're one of those students today.

you've always had the softest crush on satoru. constantly sitting behind him, wishing you could just drag your fingers through his pearly white hair. you wish you could drag them along other unholy things.

you didn't think he was interested in you like that, you were more than sure on it. throughout "knowing" each other, he had barely looked at you unless you were asking for a spare pencil or notes that you missed the teacher saying because you were too entranced by him.

little did your sweet self know, he'd been watching you for a while now and wishing he could just man up long enough to ask for your number to again, build the courage to ask you out. something his brother didn't have the brains to do with any female.

the lecture drones on for another hour before everyone is finally being dismissed, nobody paying attention to the professor when he tells them to study for the pending exam on friday, except maybe satoru. no surprise.

satoru notices you're already gone from the class when he finally prys his eyes and ears away from the professors last second spew.

he wants to take his shot, he really does.

his feet are already moving in the direction you walked off in before he can talk himself back from it, weaving through bodies again from other classes being released and filling the halls.

he thinks he's completely lost you until he turns the corner and sees you at the far end of the hall.

what is he even supposed to say to you? how do you get a girls number? maybe he really should've taken satori up on his offer for those tips a while back.

no. no. no. he'll think of something, anything- satoru pulls a pencil from his backpack quickly finishing the distance between the two of you.

"hey!" satoru calls out, voice barely shakey as he forces to stabilize it.

this is going to go poorly, he's sure of it.

you turn to find satoru walking up to you, his frames sliding down his nose with a shy smile coming to greet his lips. the sight makes your heart pound a little faster.

"hi satoru, everything okay?"

"uh. yeah, you forgot this." satoru holds up the pencil in shakey between two shakey fingers.

you bite your lip to suppress the grin that's fighting to escape before you actually do take the pencil, his pencil- from his hands. you didn't even use a pencil today, only a pen.

"thank you- that's, uhm..kind of you." you say sweetly, there is a hint of disappointment in your tone that you hope he doesn't catch.

but he does. of course, the observant nerd catches everything.

you're about to walk away again when his hand lands on your shoulder. "could i. . .get your number?" satoru? asking for your number? you swear the world stopped spinning even just for a minute.

satoru notices your hesitation before quickly trying to cover it up in a panic. "if thats not okay, dont worry about it! i don't want to make you-"

"no! no, it's okay, promise." you rush out before pulling your phone from your pocket and passing it into his hands. "just put your number in my phone, i'll text you later."

and that's exactly where it all started after he quickly placed his number in, not actually believing that you'd even send him a text. but you did.

you and satoru had been texting the entire week, sharing stupid meme's or it was mainly you asking if he had any notes from class because you weren't focusing again. eyes locked in on his hands that you noticed grew larger with veins when he'd fist his hand around whatever he decided to write with.

you wish his hands would wrap around your-

"young lady! are you paying attention?" your professor calls out, dragging every eye in the classroom into your direction. "the exam is about to start and i am giving out instructions, it's best you pay attention."

"oh. uh- yeah, sorry!" you stammer out in embarrassment. "please, continue."

you notice satoru's shoulders shaking just barely in front of you, earning himself a light punch to the back. you two had grown close in the short period of time. you learned he was easy to talk to and not some stuck up asshole nerd who used his parents money to his advantage, he would actually make jokes, mainly at his own expense or his brothers but he was funny. and sweet.

the buzzer went off indicating the exam had started and it was time to laser focus in. no more thoughts of him. not right now. not when your grade depended on him and not thoughts of his cock that you wish he'd pound into you with until your legs were shaking and sore.

the exam passed faster than you expected before the professors voice sliced through the quiet, telling everyone to put their pencils aside and that he would be around to pick them up.

while you waited for him to slowly make it to your desk to gather the paper, you couldn't stop yourself and you didn't want to. you lean forward, whispering to satoru. "hey, do you wanna come watch a movie tonight?"

there was a singular beat of hesitation before: "yeah, what movie?"

"do nerds still like star wars?" you ask playfully, already knowing the answer. it's not like he hasn't mentioned it six thousand times.

there's a huff with his signature grin that makes your toes curl in on themselves. "the return of the jedi- or the deal is off."

you bite back a laugh as the professor finally grabs your paper so you can leave. "deals on." you whisper back before standing to leave.

the nerves in your stomach tighten at the thought of him being in your dorm room, that close, that type of closeness where you could just- no. relax.

you have to at least shave first before the unholy thoughts take over.

you rush back to your dorm, not even waiting for another word from satoru before locking yourself in the bathroom.

"okay. okay, okay, this is okay- he's just going to be here to watch a movie, that's all." you whisper to yourself. why are you so nervous? he's so gentle, so warm.. so so fuckable.

you quickly undress and hop into the shower, mentally preparing to shave every crevice of your body, exfoliating every inch of your skin and using your best smelling body soaps.

you step out after about 30 minutes, chest heaving slightly. you really forgot the work it takes to put into an everything shower.

you're in the middle, well, you're finishing blow drying your hair when you notice the time- 5:57pm. satoru is supposed to be there at 6pm and he's always on time. for everything.

and there it is. 2 firm knocks landing on your door. three minutes early. that fucker. he would show up early for star wars, wouldn't he?

you turn off your blow dryer, thanking the heavens that you were actually able to finish drying your hair so you didn't look like a waterboarded rat before bolting to the door.

"you got this, turn the knob." you pep talk yourself, heart pounding faster before turning the knob to show satoru on the other side. dressed in plain blue jeans and a black tee. well, that's a little different from his vests.

"hi"

"hi"

"uh-" you step back a little to open the door more. "you can come in, the movie is already in, if you want to start it."

satoru steps in and hands you a small purple baggy. "this is for you. just a small bag of candy- i always see you sneaking these between classes."

he noticed that? your heart swells at the thought of you being watched. . .wait, should that concern you? no. no. he's pretty, it doesn't matter.

you give him a soft smile, pulling the candy out and popping it open. "thank you, that's so sweet of you" god. you just wanna pounce on him for a bag of candy. you hate him for making you so weak.

you and satoru settle on the bed once he starts the movie. close, probably too close, you can smell the exact cologne he put on. sauvage by dior.

the little things you notice are cute. how his fingers rub against each other during the tense scenes, how his eyes focus in when it gets to a fight scene.

"they're preparing to confront the galactic empire." satoru whispers, eyes not leaving your television.

you can't hold back anymore, you're wet alone from watching his hands, his fingers and seeing the veins in his hands bulge out more than they do in class.

"have you ever fucked a girl?"

oh. that really did just come out like that.

satoru blinks before turning his head to look at you. "what?"

well, can't go back on it now. "have you ever had intercourse. . .with a female?"

"uhm-"

you trail your fingers along the hem of his collar, leaning in enough that your breathe fans over his lips. "y'know, sticking your cock inside of a girls-"

"i know what you mean." satoru chokes out, cheeks glowing red in embarrassment of being put on the spot. "uh- yeah, i have."

you blink, truth be told you're a little surpised and satoru can see it all over your face.

"satori," he starts, already regretting the story before it starts. "he hooked me up with one of his friends before coming to college. . .im clean, i mean- i promise."

why are you not surpised at the fact satori would do something like that.

"you haven't had sex with anyone since then?" you ask him, not wanting to embarrass him any further but leaning in more boldly to place light kisses along his neck.

"uh- no, no i haven't"

"do you want to?"

satoru's answer doesn't come in words, just him grabbing your face to pull your mouth onto his. everything heats up quickly after that, tongues fighting for dominance while broken moans are shared between bitten lips.

satoru pulls back from the kiss, looking you in the eyes through his now tilted frames. "are you sure you want to? with me?"

you bite your lip before grinding your hips into his. "yeah, i only want you 'toru"

that's all he needs to hear before he's removing his glasses and slamming his lips back onto yours.

you reach down tugging on the end of his shirt before he's pulling it off in a hurry and you doing the exact same in return, you didn't bother with a bra after your shower, leaving you bare chested in front of him.

his breath catches hard the second your bare tits press against his chest. skin on skin after all the layers feels obscene in the best way. satoru’s hands are everywhere- greedy, reverent, shaking just enough to betray how badly he’s been thinking about this.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, “you’re so- you’re perfect.”

"so are you."

one palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to memorize every bone of your vertebrae, while the other cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple once, twice, then pinching just hard enough to make you moan and gasp into his kiss.

you can already feel how hard he is through his jeans- thick, insistent, twitching every time your hips roll against his. begging to be freed.

the movie in the background long forgotten now, just the barely heard sounds of light sabers clashing, ewoks screeching- but it might as well all be static to you in this moment.

your fingers fumble only for a second at the button of his jeans before it pops open.the zipper comes down with a soft rasp that feels deafening under the muffled blaster fire and john williams score leaking from your tiny dorm tv. satoru’s breath hitches when your knuckles graze the straining outline of him through the denim.

he lifts his hips to help you- impatient and greedy and you drag both jeans and black boxer briefs down his thighs in one rough motion. his cock springs free, thick and flushed dark red at the tip, already glistening with pre-cum that beads at the slit and slowly slides down the underside of his cock. the sight makes your mouth water and your core clench around nothing.

“fuck,” satoru exhales, voice cracked. his hands flex against your hips like he’s trying not to grab too hard. “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

you don’t answer with words. instead you wrap your fingers around him- hot, velvet-hard, pulsing- and give one slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip causing his whole body to jerk forward in motion.

“shit- wait, wait- ” he gasps, but his hips buck into your fist anyway, chasing the friction.

you smear the leaking pre-cum down his length with your thumb, circling the sensitive ridge under the head until his abs clench and his thighs tremble. he’s so responsive it’s addictive- every twitch, every choked sound, every time the pretty blue of his eyes goes glassy and unfocused.

you never would've guessed.

you shift forward on your knees, straddling his lap properly now. the damp heat between your legs brushes the underside of his cock and he whimpers, actually whimpers, high and desperate.

“‘toru,” you murmur against the shell of his ear, letting the wet tip of him nudge at your folds, slipping through your slick without pushing in yet. “you’re shaking.”

“‘cause you’re fucking dripping on me,” he grits out. one hand flies up to grip the back of your neck, keeping your foreheads pressed together. “can feel how wet you got just from jerking me off. you want it that bad?”

you answer by rocking your hips forward, letting his cock slide along your slit, coating him until he’s shiny with your juices. the head catches on your clit with every pass and you both moan- yours softer, his broken and loud enough that you’re suddenly glad your roommate is away for the weekend.

“say it,” he pants, voice gravel-rough, different than you've ever heard from him. “tell me you want my cock inside you. right now. while Luke’s out there fighting jabba’s goons.”

you laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a whimper quickly as you flip the both of you over, notching him at your entrance and starting to sink down.

the stretch is filthy- slow at first, then faster as your body remembers how much it wants him. inch by thick inch he fills you until your ass meets his thighs and he’s buried to the hilt. you both freeze for a heartbeat, breathing each other’s air.

satoru’s hands clamp onto your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “oh my god,” he chokes. “you’re- so fucking -nghh- tight. warm.”

you clench around him on purpose just to hear the strangled noise he makes before you start moving.

slow rolls at first- lifting until only the head is inside, then dropping back down, feeling every vein, every ridge drag against your walls. his eyes roll back; long fingers dig into your ass, spreading you open a little wider like he wants to feel even deeper.

“harder,” he begs after only a minute. “please- baby, fuck me like you mean it.”

you plant your hands on his chest for leverage and start riding him as requested- hard, wet slaps of skin on skin that drown out the movie. his cock hits that spot inside you over and over until your thighs burn and your rhythm stutters.

your moans filling the air, the smell of sex becoming an overpowering smell.

satoru suddenly sits up, arms banding around your back, mouth crashing into yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. he thrusts up to meet every downward grind, fucking into you with sharp, hungry snaps of his hips.

“gonna come so fast,” he warns against your lips, voice wrecked. “been thinking about this- about you- for fucking months. you feel too good- too wet- fuck- ”

you reach between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast little circles while he pounds up into you.

“come with me,” you gasp. “please, want to feel you fill me up inside-”

that does it for him.

his rhythm falters, hips slamming up once, twice- before he buries himself as deep as he can go and comes with a long, guttural moan that vibrates through your chest. you feel the hot pulses of him spilling into you, the way his cock kicks and throbs, and it tips you over the edge right after him. your walls clamp down hard, milking every drop while your vision whites out and pleasure crashes through you in brutal waves.

for several heartbeats you just cling to each other, panting, sweaty, still joined.

you both collapse together onto the bed, tangled in the sheets and each other. satoru pulls you closer, glasses still long forgotten, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer into his chest like he never wants to let go. his heartbeat thumps under your ear, grounding you in the moment, this moment with him.

"you're amazing," he whispers, his long fingers tracing lazy shapes on your back. "i can't believe this is real."

you smile before pressing a gentle kiss onto the nape of his neck. "it is and it's perfect."

he reaches for the remote, turning the volume up as the end credits roll over the screen with a chuckle. "next time, we'll actually watch the movie."

"next time?"

"yeah-" his tone is warm and his eyes full of promises he would keep. "every time. with you."

your heart swells warmly at his words and snuggle deeper into his chest, content in the quiet warmth with the nerd you've always had the softest spot for. knowing this is only the beginning.

© dollhousesinner - please do not copy or feed to ai. ꒰taglist - or comment to be added꒱ nerd art by inkyck // frat art by arans.mind

[lemonbarb]

( say thank you ) perv!nerd!satoru x bully!reader 

tw: minors dni, bullying, foul language, dub-con, fem anatomy, nsfw, slight dacryphilia, pervert satoru, panty stealing, harassment, use of the word bitch, black mail, non-consensual recording

synopsis: in which nerdjo has simply had enough of your shit and decides to give you more than just your math homework.

“Ew, why is it sticky?” You sneer as you snatch your essay from Satoru’s hand- haughtily holding the page between your index and thumb as you examine the foreign splotches. “Oh, uh…” He begins with a nervous cough, “Must’ve spilled something on it, sorry.” You acknowledge him with a pointed glare for a bit too long and his cheeks begin to burn. Had you figured him out? “I-I said I was sorry-“ The sound of you angrily slamming the paper into your binder cuts him off, “I-I s-said I was s-sorry!” You mock, and your friends laugh from somewhere behind you. “Don’t let it happen again, freak.” 

Satoru doesn’t say anything else as he watches you saunter off to join the stuck up bitches you call your friends. He can’t help but glance at your ass, a tiny smirk stretching across his lips as you brush your hair from your face using the same hand you’d used to hold the paper. You were so fucking dumb- and so fucking hot. That ‘sticky substance’ wasn’t just a spill, it was his pent up anger towards you released onto your English essay, and you were none the wiser. 

“Y’know, he’d be kinda cute if he took those stupid glasses off.” Your friend, yawns as you approach, “Yuck Emi, have some standards.” You grimace, “If you wanna try and fuck some good grades out of him, be my guest. Just don’t tell me the details.” She scoffs at you, “Trust, I’ve already tried. Seems like he’s a little preoccupied if you catch my drift.” Emi shoulders you with raised brows and you squint. 

I mean, of course he had a crush on you- who didn’t? He’s lucky you even acknowledge that he exists. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t fuck him at least once? I heard that nerds pack a punch.” Yuki laughs and you grin meanly, purposefully raising your voice, “Dude he’s probably a virgin loser like the rest of his weirdo friends , if I fucked him I’d be doing him a favor.” They snicker and quickly change the topic to whatever party was happening this weekend. As you wait for them to finish packing their things, you can’t fight the urge to glance back at Satoru. You expect to find him buried in his book, but instead, he’s looking directly at you. Your eyes widen slightly before you sneer in his direction, not bothering to look back as you leave the auditorium.

You don’t acknowledge Satoru until a few days later when it’s time for him to give you your next assignment. He’s hunched over a piece of paper, scribbling wildly when you approach and slam your hand on his desk. He jumps so hard that he knocks his glasses off- he tries to grab them, but you're quicker. “Tsk tsk. Where’s my math homework?” He doesn’t look at you, only gazes down at his lap, “Hey. I’m talking to you.” Satoru glances up finally, baby blues on display as he blinks towards you and then, his glasses. 

“I-it’s done, I just…I was in a rush this morning so I accidentally left it in my dorm.” Your brows furrow in annoyance, “I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Before he can reply, you drop his glasses on the floor, and the clatter makes the room go quiet. “Go on. Pick them up.” You smirk, and he slowly bends down, cheeks bright red in embarassment. Before he can grasp the thin mental however, your foot comes down on the frames and a snap! follows. 

Meanly, you twist his thin wire frames into the linoleum floor and haphazardly kick the pieces to where he kneels. He can only look up at you with wide eyes as you lean down.

“I’m going to come by your dorm later, and you better fucking have what I asked for, got it?” You don’t wait for his answer as you snatch your bag up and walk away- your skirt lifting slightly and giving him a glimpse of your cute frilly panties. He’s never been angrier, more turned on, and he fights the urge to ask you what the fuck your issue is. He’d never been unkind to you, hell, he was the one that showed you around when you got lost your first day. You weren’t mean then, in fact, he’d go as far as to say you were sweet. It wasn’t until you got around those idiots you call friends that you started to change. 

Satoru decides then as he picks up the broken pieces of his glasses that he’s going to teach you what it feels like to be bullied. He can’t stop the perverted smile that stretches across his face. 

You come to his dorm at exactly 7pm sharp, your knocks coming fast and annoyed. He whips the door open and you’re stopped in your tracks. He’s not in his usual baggy sweater, instead he sports a white tank top and loose sweats- his hair is slightly damp from what you assume was a shower. Satoru looks a lot bigger in this light, towering over you now that he wasn’t hunched over with the weight of his and your text books on his back. 

“Wow, guess you’re not a total bean pole. Could’ve fooled me.” You jab as you give him a once over , he leans against the door frame and acknowledges you silently. You blanch. “Ugh, stop being weird and give me my fuckin’ homework, asshat.” You sneer up at him and cross you arms. You miss the way he blatantly stares at your tits before ushering you inside. “Gotta look for it- got it mixed up with my stuff so it’ll take a minute. You can sit.” 

With a sigh, you enter his room and shut the door softly behind you. It was awkward to be around him in such a personal setting- made him seem a little too human. You almost felt…bad, but that didn’t last long because from where you sat, you noticed a very very familiar pair of lace pink panties. Your lace pink panties? 

You squint. It was entirely possible that those belonged to some other girl, but your pair had gone missing not too long ago, and it was peculiar that it’d only happened once Satoru started using the same laundry room as you. Plus, who’d wanna touch him anyway? “Y/n?” You’re shaken from your trance by his voice, “What?” You didn’t like the lack of confidence you answered with, but he didn’t seem to mind as he held out a stack of paper towards you. 

“Here.” You roll your eyes and go to snatch the papers from him as you stand, but his grip is too strong. “Y’know..” He starts, “You could say thank you.” You’re shocked for a split second before you sneer up at him, “Just give me my fucking homework.” He holds it out of your reach as you try and grab it. “Where are your manners, Y/n?”  You swallow heavy, very uncomfortable by the sudden change in dynamic. The proximity between you didn’t help. He steps forward and you step back until you’re cornered. 

“Not so confident now, hm?” He whispers as he towers over you, his gaze dark. You can do nothing but stare, unsure of how to react. “I’m…gonna go.” You try to b-line towards the door, but a strong arm around your waist pulls you back. “Tsk. Not so fast, I’m not done with you yet.” You try to push him off, but just as easily as he discards your homework, he pushes you onto his bed. 

“W-what are you doing!?” You stutter and he laughs, “W-what are you doing?!” He mocks you as you thrash in his grip. “I’m just teaching you how to be grateful, brat.” He sighs, fingers running up your exposed thigh and towards your underwear. You freeze as his thumb brushes along your clothed cunt, his smile widening as he regards the slick between your thighs. 

“What’s this?” He taunts, you buck. “Get the hell off of me!” Satoru only holds you tighter, “I don’t think I will.” And he doesn’t, his assault between your thighs only becomes more prevalent, and your nails digging into his arms doesn't stop him. Just as soon as he’s started, he stops- stepping back and leaving you unraveled on his bed; a wet spot on your panties.

You sit up quickly, eyes watery as you regard him with a sneer. “What’s your fucking problem!?” You hiss, and he hums, “I could ask you the same thing.” Your brows furrow and you clamp your thighs shut in embarrassment. “Listen. It’s nothing personal-“ You start, but he cuts you off. “Oh but it is personal. Real personal.” Your heart slams against your ribcage as he slips his tank off, followed by his sweatpants. 

You gulp at the noticeable bulge in his boxers, “P-please,” you beg and he laughs meanly, roughly grabbing your ankles as he drags you toward him. “You’re gonna have to beg better than that.” You don’t realize that you’re crying until the saltiness of your tears hits your tongue. “Y’know, you can do this willingly, or,” He hooks a finger into the band of your skirt, “I can just let the superintendent know about your behavior. Let her know how you’ve been cheating on tests and harassing your peers.” Your lip wobbles pathetically and Satoru can’t help the way his boxers tighten. 

“They’d never believe you, y/n. So the choice is yours.” You say nothing for a long time, gaze downcast in horror. You could hardly believe that he was blackmailing you, and in a deep, twisted way, it was almost admirable how he’d lured you right into his trap. A gentle, impatient slap to your thigh brings you back, and slowly you allow him to take purchase between your legs. “Smart girl.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Now strip.” 

It isn’t until he’s balls deep inside you that you realize how devastating your situation has become. He’s got you in all fours, cheek pressed into the mattress as he pounds away at your cunt. You’ve cum more times than you can count, but he’s nowhere near done. “Say you’re sorry.” Satoru grunts from above you, one hand tangling itself in your hair while the other holds you in place so you can’t run from him. 

“Hmgh- I’m s-sorry!” You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as he slaps your ass, hard. “Not good enough. Make me believe it.” He pants from above you and you can’t help but sob, “I-I’m sorry, Satoru, I’m sorry! Please-“ He pulls out and flips you onto your back, quickly plunging back into your creamy pussy with no restraint. He’s got your wrists pinned above your head now, and you can already tell that the marks he’s given you will be impossible to cover with makeup. 

“Say thank you.” He growls and you wince in embarrassment, words nearly incomprehensible as you cum around his dick again- head whipping side to side as you slur out a mix of “I’m sorry” , “thank you,” , and “I wont do it again.” Honestly, he doesn’t believe you, but god, he could listen to you beg forever. In fact… 

A sudden flash is what makes you finally open your eyes, and you nearly choke when you’re met with Satoru’s phone camera. He’s recording. “Say it right, pretty girl. I want to hear you nice and clear.” He’s grinning like a mad man, and you shake your head no, but a rough thrust reminds you that the sooner you comply, the sooner it’ll end. 

“I…I’m s-sorry for treating you the way I have, S’toru- thank you f-for taking care of me, f-for helping me pass all m-my classes!” You groan as he grabs your chin and forces you to look into the lense, “tell them whose dick you’ve been cumming on.” He snarls as you utter his name, “And whose fuckin’ pussy is this?” Again, you indulge him and you gasp as he cums. It's white hot, and his load is so huge that you can feel your belly bulge. 

He cleans you up after, gets in the shower with you and washes your body- slips you into one of his tshirts and tucks you into his bed. It isn’t until you’re wrapped tightly in his arms that you speak again. “Can…I leave?” He tuts, “No…you’ll stay here where I can keep an eye on you. Oh, and I don’t want you hanging out with those friends of yours anymore- they’re a bad influence.” You can only lay there, knowing that until you could delete that video and get rid of the evidence, you had to bend at his whim.

In the weeks after, your mean girl attitude had done a complete 360. You and Satoru walk through campus hand in hand now, and your ex-friends won’t even look in your direction anymore. On the bright side, your grades have never looked better, and now you’re on track to graduate a year early with Satoru.

[gwonty]

Warnings: NSFW🔞, inmate!Sukuna, anal sex, reader is Sukuna’s prison bitch, he uses you like a toy, reader is a fem woman disguised as a man in prison, power play, dub con-ish (he’s quite rough), overstimulation, idk this is a very long fic

The guard guiding you to your cell snorts when you ask if you’ll have your own space. You can’t exactly explain to him that you’re a woman disguised as a man and need your privacy. Perhaps you’re in over your head.

You gulp as you peek around the loud prison. Large men stare as you pass by. It’s clear they’ve made this place like home, clothes lines full of laundry, some playing card games, comfy slippers, lounging on the tables or mingling about.

“Here you are,” the guard stops in front of an open cell, rolling out his hand, “your penthouse suite.”

It looks like a stale dorm room for the most part. Two metal single beds, a metal toilet, two desks. And zero privacy.

Your supposed cellmate is doing pull ups on a makeshift bar in the middle of the room. His large bare, tatted back faces you, bulging arms, baggy sweatpants, and a head of pure pink hair. He’s grunting with every pull up, but they still seem chillingly effortless.

The guard leans his shoulder against the doorway. “Ryomen,” he whistles loudly as if to get a bull’s attention. “Got a new friend for you.”

Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.

Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.

You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.

“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”

You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’

The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.

The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.

“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.

You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.

You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.

After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.

You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.

You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.

You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.

Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.

You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.

You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.

It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.

“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.

You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.

Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.

“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”

“Oh, I—”

“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.

Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.

Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”

He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.

It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.

Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.

You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’

You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.

You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.

He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.

You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.

With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.

You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.

__________________

Lights out, 9:10 pm.

You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.

“Quit. Moving.”

You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.

“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.

He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.

You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?

“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.

You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.

“Thank you.”

You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.

He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.

You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.

You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”

He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.

Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.

Things are just okay, you think.

That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.

After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.

Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.

Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.

Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.

They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.

Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.

Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.

You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.

Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.

You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.

You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.

His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.

You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.

“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”

Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.

You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.

“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”

You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.

“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”

A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.

You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.

You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.

“Now kneel.”

A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.

You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.

“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.

Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.

“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”

Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.

A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.

Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.

You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.

“Did I say you could speak?”

You gulp.

“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”

You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.

“Lick the floor.”

Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.

“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”

Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.

Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.

The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.

He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”

Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.

“Speak.”

“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.

He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.

“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.

“Have a little crush on me?”

You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”

He stands. “Why are you here?”

“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.

He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”

You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.

“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.

“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.

He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.

You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.

Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.

________________

Later, 11:25 am.

Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.

That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.

You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.

“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.

You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.

You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”

“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”

Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)

You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.

“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.

“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”

A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.

Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.

You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.

“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”

“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.

“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.

The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.

“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”

His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”

Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?

You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”

“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”

“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”

You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.

“Deal?”

You clench your eyes shut and nod.

He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.

___________

You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.

Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.

As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.

A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.

It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.

You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”

He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.

“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”

Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”

He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.

You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.

You have to prep.

The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.

Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.

You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.

About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.

At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.

You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.

You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.

He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.

“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.

“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.

“Right here.”

You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”

He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”

You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.

He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.

You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)

“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.

You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”

He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.

You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.

“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”

“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.

He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”

You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.

“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”

He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”

His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.

You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.

He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.

“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”

You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”

He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.

“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”

“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.

You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.

“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.

It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.

Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.

“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.

You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.

“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”

Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.

You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.

“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.

Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.

You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.

You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.

He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”

That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.

“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.

Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.

Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?

That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.

You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”

He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.

You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”

He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.

He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.

He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.

After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.

“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.

“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.

“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”

You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.

But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.

You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.

But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.

He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.

You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.

“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.

“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”

You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.

“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”

He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.

“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’

“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”

He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.

You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.

He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.

You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.

You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.

_______

You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.

Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.

He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.

He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”

You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”

You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.

He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.

“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.

The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.

He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.

“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.

_____________

Sometime in the middle of the night, Your cell.

Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.

One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?

Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?

You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.

And ask for it, he does.

You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”

His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.

He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”

Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”

What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.

You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”

“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”

“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”

You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.

“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.

He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.

Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.

He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.

You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.

“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.

That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.

Still, you don’t open your legs.

He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.

You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.

You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.

You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.

“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.

He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.

He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.

Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.

“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.

You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.

“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?

He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.

As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.

“Holy shit.”

You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.

“Why are you here?”

He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.

“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.

He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”

He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.

“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”

Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.

“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”

You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.

“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”

“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.

He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.

“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”

He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.

You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.

His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”

You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.

You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”

He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.

“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”

He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”

You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.

“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.

He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.

Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.

“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.

He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.

“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.

Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.

“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.

“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.

You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.

He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.

He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.

“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”

“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”

You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”

He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.

“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”

You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.

“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”

“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.

He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”

Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”

He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.

Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.

You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.

“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.

He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.

You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.

He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.

Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.

He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.

“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.

Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.

It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.

“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.

He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.

He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.

“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.

“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”

He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.

You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?

“Can we fuck first?”

He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.

Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.

You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.

The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.

Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.

Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.

“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”

You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.

“Can’t you bring it to me?”

He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”

You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.

“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”

You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.

“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.

Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.

“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.

You smile.

Oh. This’ll be fun.

______

SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?

Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!

Huge thanks to @specialgradefckr for giving me soo many ideas that I used for this fic— I love yew sm I wanna eat you. Please check out their page. They have delicious writing