Kozume

My service are for male readers 🎼🗝️

[yanderefarm]

Sweet vanilla sex with Achilles, gentle touch and slow thrusts with the caveat that I remind him repeatedly that it doesn’t matter how much he wants to be hurt, this is for my pleasure and not his. A perfect punishment for my sweet boy

here u go as promised 💞

cw;; crying, mentions of violence but no actual violence, marathon sex, messy sex

Achilles's hands reached to remove your jacket as they did every day. Always his ritual of quiet reverence, helping you peel away all the layers of reality and revealing only your true self to be his. But tonight you bat his hands away, tonight you don't want to see his almost emotionless servitude. He's quick to heed your physical command and he stands there with his hands by his side like a statue.

You turned to him and pressed your hands against his chest. Guiding him backwards into a wall with a soft thump. You can see the anticipation in his eyes, the expectation of pain and discipline in those soft periwinkle eyes. He expects if you're having a bad day then you'll take out your frustrations and if you're having a good day you'll reward him with suffering. Such an arrogant man to assume that you'll give him exactly what he wants, always. You reach up to cup his cheek and watch him almost move into the touch. He expects your hand to come down on him with a stinging slap.

You lean into him and capture his lips, soft with no bite to it just the earnest need to feel him. Achilles is slow, almost hesitant to lean into it but eventually he wraps his arms around your neck. The kisses turn more sloppy as you press him further into the wall. Soon your home is filled with the wet sound of your mouths meeting and your wife's small moans. He doesn't admit it but he loves moments like this too, he likes being kissed and adored like a human being only for you to take it all away in a few minutes.

You have no intention of taking it away though. Not tonight. You drag your mouth away from him, saliva dripping from his lips and down his chin. You tug his arm gently to the bedroom and he obediently follows like a dazed puppy. The moment you're both inside you push him down to the bed with a playful smile on your face. Again you see the anticipation in his eyes, how he thinks you'll turn on him.

"Achilles, love, I want to play a game."

If he had a tail it would be wagging right now, surely. His head perks up and he looks at you like you hung the stars. "Yes, beloved? Any game you want I'm eager to-"

You shush him before he begin his rambling. "The game is.. The absence of pain. I want to watch you squirm and whimper as pleasure mounts and you never get your release of pain."

He swallows hard with a pathetic look in his eyes. "You're not going to..?"

"No. I'm not going to hurt a hair on your head. I'm going to be so gentle." Your hands begin removing your shirt.

"Did.. Have I..." It's cute watching his head try to make sense of what's happening.

"You didn't do anything wrong, necessarily.... I just don't like you acting like you know what's coming. You expect me to come home every day, beat you stupid, fuck your unconscious body, and then dump you on the floor next to my bed to sleep. It's not a routine I hate but... You just expect to get exactly what you want. I hate that arrogance. You should know better."

Before he had the opportunity to get too upset about your light scolding you climbed on top of him.

Soon your bodies were wrapped together in a tangle of limbs, his hands gripping onto your body to ground himself while you teased his body. Your mouths were meeting with hot sloppy kisses, and every time you let him breathe you'd leave wet trails of hickeys across his body. His legs were suspended in the air, toes curling and thighs gripping onto you tight. His eyes were big and wet as they looked at you with love and desperation.

Your fingers were pumping into his tight hole while another hand lazily stroked his hard cock. It felt good, of course it felt good. You were gracing him with this pleasure and he should be so happy and content but he was getting overwhelmed. His nails dug into your back as you brought him so close to the edge, he was trying to physically hold himself back from cumming. But you didn't stop, you didn't even pretend to edge him a little bit you just whispered in his ear to cum and he did. His legs were shaking as his cum spilt across his stomach.

You started to praise him, call him good boy, when you noticed he was crying. He was still shaking, entire body overwhelmed with emotions.

"M sowry im s-sorry m so b-bad... m so bad... didn't mean to.. m" He whimpered through tears.

You stopped in your tracks. "Achilles... Love? Look at me."

You watched his fuzzy tearful eyes try to focus on you. "Good boy. Take a deep breath. I'm right here."

He took a moment to take a proper breath while you pet his hair.

"Goodness you'd think now I'm torturing you. Silly man."

"Sowry..."

"Shh you're ok. Achilles... I'm not mad at you. I want to fuck you and kiss you and hold you like lovers do." You pet his hair as he took more shakey breaths.

"It's overwhelming.... s-so much.." He gave a little hiccup.

"You're so cute... It feels good. Its ok to feel good. Ok?"

He nodded and you brushed his tears away.

"Silly man."

Once he had taken a few more breaths and calmed down you went back to kissing his neck and body.

You pressed his thighs against his chest and lined your cock up with his pretty hole, his knees hooked on your shoulders as he looked up at you with his pathetic face. You were throbbing watching him try to hold in his tears underneath you like this. You pressed forward, cock sliding in with ease to his perfect hole, like his body was made just to take you. His hands clawed desperately to hold onto you even though it meant folding himself in half. It made your job easier, you held him tight as you began to thrust your hips at a good pace. There was no point working up to it, both of your bodies knew each other without needing guidance. You could fuck him as hard as you wanted and he would lay there taking it.

Achilles was moaning and crying your name with a wet voice. You were grunting his praise, how he was perfect, how he was made for you. Your bodies joined in a cacophony of wet slapping. It was overwhelming, sounds of love laid bare between you. You slammed your hips particularly hard into his and he let out a loud sob, his toes curling as more of his cum spent in between your bodies. You praised him as his velvety walls tightened around your cock trying to milk you. He dragged your head down to kiss him full and deep as you followed his orgasm with your own. Your mouths joined in a sloppy mess of saliva and teeth as you pumped him full of cum. Only stopping your thrusts once you stopped spilling your seed.

"I love you Achilles." You assured him with another gentle kiss.

"mmng- Love y-you-" His head was so clearly fuzzy and those eyes were too wet and dizzy to be looking at you with anything but adoration.

You felt your cock twitch at his pathetic face and you began your thrusts again.

[cloudyzeusy]

JJK characters getting fingered in public

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pairings: ftm! gojo - nanami - sukuna - choso X top male reader note: any comments or reblogs are appreciated warning: ftm, risky, public fingering, exhibitionism, overstimulation

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CHOSO

The train was packed during rush hour, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder as it rattled through the city tunnels. Choso stood near the back, one hand gripping the overhead rail, his usual dark clothing blending into the crowd. Tall, pale, and quiet, he looked like just another tired commuter- head slightly bowed, bangs falling over his eyes, expression unreadable.

No one noticed the way his legs were parted just enough.

You stood directly behind him, chest to his back, one arm looped casually around his waist like you were steadying him against the train’s sway. Two thick fingers were already buried deep in the slick, fluttering heat of his cunt, pumping slow and steady with every rock of the carriage.

Choso’s breath hitched softly, barely audible over the rumble of the train and the murmur of passengers. His free hand clenched tighter around the rail until his knuckles turned white. 

Every curl of your fingers sent sparks racing up his spine, his slick walls clenching greedily, coating your hand in warm, slippery heat that threatened to trickle down his thighs.

“Easy,” You whispered against the nape of his neck, voice for him alone. “Just breathe.”

He bit his lip hard, bangs hiding his burning face as he stared at the floor. The stretch felt overwhelming in the best way, turning his usually calm mind into static. A sudden lurch of the train shoved more bodies closer, forcing your fingers deeper. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped before he could swallow it.

Your fingers never paused scissoring gently, then pressing firm against that sweet spot with ruthless accuracy. “You’re soaked through already,” oYu murmured, lips grazing his ear. “Does it excite you? Knowing anyone could notice how wet your pretty cunt is getting on a crowded train?”

“D-Don’t…” His whisper was hoarse, barely there. But his body answered for him, hips rocking back the smallest fraction, walls fluttering wildly around your intrusion and sucking you deeper.

You added a third finger, filling him fuller. Choso’s grip slipped on the rail for a heartbeat; he recovered by pressing his forehead to his arm, hiding behind the curtain of his black hair as another soft, needy sound slipped free.

As the train slowed for the next stop and passengers shifted in a chaotic wave, you curled your fingers harder, thumb flicking rapidly over his clit while thrusting deep and fast. His thighs trembled violently, pressing inward around your wrist in a futile bid for control.

The pressure coiled unbearably tight in his belly. A thin trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth before he licked it away, face flaming with embarrassment.

“Come on,” You breathed, pressing a secret kiss to his skin. “Let go for me. Stay quiet like a good boy.”

His whole body locked up. His cunt spasmed in helpless, rippling waves, clamping down tight as a sudden rush of warm, thick slick gushed over your fingers and soaked his underwear. 

A high, broken whine tried to escape he just about strangled it into a shaky cough, burying his face deeper into his sleeve while his legs shook so hard he relied on the press of bodies and your support to stay upright.

You stroked him gently through every aftershock, drawing it out until he was twitching and oversensitive, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

When it finally faded, Choso sagged back against you, cheeks crimson, eyes glassy when he peeked over his shoulder.

His voice was a raw, barely audible whisper, thick with shame and lingering heat.

“You’re so cruel.”

The movie theater was dimly lit, the latest action flick droning on with explosions and gunfire that barely registered over the low hum of the crowd. Satoru Gojo sat slouched in the back row trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. His long legs were spread wide, one arm casually draped behind your seat. The popcorn was forgotten in his lap under the thin jacket he’d draped there for cover. 

GOJO

Beneath that jacket, his uniform pants hung open just enough. Your hand had found its way inside long ago, two fingers sliding through his already dripping folds and sinking deep without ceremony. He’d jolted at the first touch, covering it with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, but now he was barely holding it together. 

Two of your fingers were buried deep, curling slow and deliberate against that spongy spot inside him that made his thighs twitch. His walls fluttered around you, ridiculously wet already, the obscene little squelch barely audible under the movie's soundtrack but loud enough in his own ears to make his pale cheeks burn.

Your fingers curled lazily, stroking that sensitive ridge inside him with practiced ease. Every slow drag made fresh heat pulse through his core, his slick coating your knuckles in warm, slippery trails. The faint, wet slicks were lost under the movie’s soundtrack, but Satoru heard them loud and clear. They made his pale cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Having fun pretending to watch the movie?” You murmured close to his ear, thumb grazing his swollen clit in slow, teasing spirals.

He forced a breathy laugh, voice cracking. “It’s… okay. Effects could be better.” The words came out too airy when you scissored your fingers, opening him wider. His free hand dug into the armrest, plastic creaking under his grip.

To the couple a few seats away, he probably looked like he was just whispering commentary. Up close, though, his lashes fluttered wildly and a thin sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re making such a mess already. Feel how easily my fingers slide? Bet you’d love it if someone turned around right now.”

“Shut it-” he hissed, but the protest dissolved into a muffled whine as you added a third finger, stretching him fuller. His hips twitched forward despite himself, chasing the pressure while his pride fought to stay still. The thrill of it all- the strongest reduced to a slick, trembling wreck in public- sent another rush of warmth flooding around your hand.

Your thumb pressed firmer circles against his clit, matching the steady pump of your fingers. Satoru’s chest heaved under the jacket, breathing ragged. When you curled harder, hitting that perfect spot dead-on, a sharp, needy sound almost escaped. He quickly turned it into a cough, face burning crimson.

“Gonna fall apart right here, Satoru? With the whole theater none the wiser?” you teased, pressing a fake-innocent kiss to his jaw.

That pushed him over. He buried his face against your shoulder, biting down on your collar to smother the broken moan that tore free. His cunt clenched in violent, fluttering waves, gushing hot and messy over your fingers as his orgasm ripped through him. Long legs shook under the jacket, toes curling tight in his shoes while sparks danced behind his closed eyes.

You kept stroking him through every pulse, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. When it finally ended, he sagged against you, panting softly, his pussy still giving weak little flutters around your soaked digits.

The movie rolled on, the rest of the crowd oblivious.

Satoru lifted his head just enough to shoot you a watery, half-lidded glare, cheeks flushed and lips glossy. A shaky, cocky grin tugged at his mouth anyway.

“Credits better have a sequel to this… or I’m dragging you to the next showing."

NANAMI

The office floor was dim and quiet after hours, only a few distant keyboard clicks breaking the silence. Kento Nanami sat ramrod straight at his desk, crisp shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, typing awat under the glow of his monitor. You perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that the wooden panel hid everything below.

Your hand had disappeared beneath the desk ten minutes ago, slipping past his loosened belt and into the front of his slacks. Two fingers were currently buried deep inside his cunt, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm while your thumb traced lazy patterns over his swollen clit .

Nanami’s typing had grown noticeably slower, keys pressed with more force than necessary. His hazel eyes stayed fixed on the screen jaw clenched tight, but the slow creep of color up his neck betrayed hi. Every curl of your fingers against his front wall made his slick walls flutter and squeeze, coating your hand in warm, creamy arousal that was starting to drip down between his thighs and onto the leather chair.

“Focus on your report, Kento,” You murmured under your breath, voice low enough that only he could hear. You added a third finger without warning, stretching him open as you thrust deeper.

His breath caught sharply. “This is very inappropriate,” He muttered, his voice strained, forcing his fingers back to the keyboard. One hand gripped the desk edge until knuckles paled, trying to ground himself himself while his cunt fluttered and squeezed, pulling your fingers in greedily with every slow thrust.

The quiet, slippery sounds of your fingers working through his wetness blended with the distant hum of the AC. One wrong move, one loud moan , and someone could easily catch you guys.

You leaned closer, pretending to look at his monitor. “Listen to that. You’re absolutely soaked. Imagine if someone walked over right now and saw how desperately you’re leaking for me.”

A shaky exhale slipped from him. His thighs quivered under the desk, pressing together briefly before parting again to give you more room. The shame of it twisted hot in his gut, mixing with the building pleasure until he couldn’t tell which fueled the other. His pussy clenched hard around your fingers, another rush of slick making the glide smoother, messier. The risk- the thought of a coworker wandering over while he was stuffed full and leaking- made his stomach twist with equal parts shame and heat. 

Your thumb pressed firmer, rubbing tight circles in time with your thrusting fingers. Nanami’s breathing turned shallow and precise, chest rising in tight, silent bursts. Nanami’s hips gave the tiniest rock forward, chasing the friction even as his pride screamed at him to stay still. His breathing grew shallower, chest rising and falling in controlled, silent bursts. 

“Close?” You whispered, lips brushing his ear while you pretended to discuss work.

He gave the barest nod, lashes lowering as his eyes fluttered half-shut before he  clamped down around your fingers. 

His entire body tensed, as his cunt clamped down hard around your fingers in pulsing waves. Warm, thick slick gushed over your hand, soaking his underwear and the front of his slacks in a messy flood that would definitely leave a stain. His thighs quivered violently under the desk, toes curling inside his polished shoes while he stared blankly at the screen, jaw locked tight to trap every whimper inside.

You worked him through it with slow, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until he was twitching and oversensitive, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his brow. Only then did you ease your fingers out, wiping them discreetly on the inside of his thigh before fixing his clothes with careful hands.

Nanami remained still for a long moment, breathing heavily through his nose, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused on the half-finished report. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and edged with that familiar mix of irritation and reluctant satisfaction.

“I’m going to need a new chair.” He paused, then added under his breath, barely audible:“And you’re staying late to help me clean this up.”  

His hand brushed against yours under the desk, fingers lingering just a second too long. A clear promise of exactly how he planned to repay you once the last coworker left.

Lanterns swayed overhead, casting shifting red and gold light across the packed festival street. Vendors shouted, crowds laughed. Sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb with his murderous expression, tattoos stark against his skin, expression of arrogant boredom.

SUKUNA

No one could have guessed what was happening beneath the loose layers of his robes.

You had pulled him into a narrow alley between two stalls moments ago. Now two thick fingers pumped ruthlessly into his cunt, curling and scissoring while your thumb ground hard against his throbbing clit. The risk was deliciously stupid as hundreds of mortals were mere feet away, you both only had fabric and proximity keeping the secret.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His thighs trembled faintly, and every slow curl of your fingers made his slick walls flutter and squeeze around you like a vice.

A group of festival-goers walked past laughing loudly. Sukuna’s breath hitched, turning into a low growl he barely masked as a scoff.

“Pathetic humans,” He muttered, voice rougher than usual, deeper. The words were meant to sound dismissive, but they came out strained when you twisted your fingers just right, , dragging firmly over that sensitive bundle inside him.

You leaned in “Feel that? You’re leaking like you were made for this. The mighty King of Curses, getting finger-fucked in a crowd of ants.”

His lips peeled back in a sneer that faltered as you forced a third finger inside, stretching his greedy heat wider. “Insolent-” The insult cut off into a strained grunt. His hips jerked forward once, involuntarily, chasing the brutal stretch while his free hand curled into a fist at his side, nails biting skin.

Heat coiled low and vicious in his belly. His clit pulsed under your thumb’s relentless pressure. Another surge of people flowed by; Sukuna’s eyes flashed with feral warning even as his walls spasmed violently, sucking your fingers deeper, juices soaking into the fabric between his legs.

“Close already?” You taunted softly against his neck. “Going to make a mess right here? Let them all see the great Sukuna falling apart like a desperate whore?”

His lips curled into a sneer, but it faltered when you added a third finger, stretching his tight, greedy cunt wider. “Watch your tongue, brat,” He hissed, but the threat lacked its usual bite considering it was up to you to get him off. His hips rocked forward the tiniest amount, chasing the thick intrusion as his pussy clenched hard, creamy arousal making every thrust wet and obscene.

His head tipped back slightly, crimson eyes glazing as the orgasm tore through him like a released curse. His cunt seized around your fingers in brutal, rhythmic contractions, flooding your hand with thick, hot release that dripped messily down his thighs. 

You milked him through every powerful wave, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, chest heaving. When the tremors finally eased, Sukuna straightened, glaring down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, voice a venomous rasp barely audible over the festival din.

“You arrogant little worm- I should tear that hand off.”

But the way his cunt still fluttered weakly around your fingers, reluctant to let them go, told a very different story.

[yvesainted]

GIVING FTM!JJK CHARACTERS THEIR FIRST CREAMPIE [PT. 1]

focus: gojo, nanami, geto & choso

tags: creampie, degradation kink, praise kink, breeding kink, hair pulling, finger sucking, daddy kink & sir kink, dumbification, feminization & pet names (hon, baby), squirting & creaming, riding, mating press, overstimulation, mentions of marathon sex, p spanking, brat taming, established relationships (some), some fluff. (and hints of sugar baby choso).

wc: 4k

a/n: omg the devil works but i work HARDER! i’ve got way too many ideas, and i need some way to get them out, so here this is!!! i don’t use ai, i just love me some commas and quotations. also, heavy overuse of italics and i learned how to do gradient lmao.

GOJO SATORU.

“Oh, fuck!”

The obscene sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the living room, a slick plap! that would be enough to make just about anyone get hard. The sounds of the television show you had both sat down to watch being simple background noise that neither of you could be bothered to pay attention to.

Large hands gripped thin hips, hard enough that you knew you’d leave even more marks across Satoru’s pale skin. But the man wouldn’t mind. I mean, just look at him. There he was above you, snowy locks bouncing as he eagerly raised himself up and down using his knees and letting gravity drop him right back down onto the dick he’d been dreaming about since he left for his mission. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” With every bounce, his creamy hole clenched you so tight that your hips tilted up, pushing a desperate yelp out of Gojo’s mouth.

“Yeah? It’s that good?” The condescending tone you’re going for works, making Gojo clench and gush a little more around you, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink as he fucked himself completely stupid on you. Satoru had been fiending for a taste of you all day. Even while battling curses & arguing with the higher ups, your dick plagued his mind throughout the morning and straight into the afternoon. And finally, he was getting a taste of every thick inch you had to offer him.

“D-Don’t tease me! I really n-need this.” But his begging was only a cherry on top of the cake, your hands wandering up to grip his waist while one drifted up further, a digit pressing against his saliva slick bottom lip. “Aw, is that right? You been thinking about this all day, baby?” The slut nods, gorgeous eyes having turned into rings of blue from his dilated pupils. Like it was natural, his lips parted to let you guide that finger into his mouth, the warm heat enveloping it.

His pace never stops, the squelch of his pussy being spread open like music to your ears as he forces himself down, even rolling his hips a few times so he could grind his swollen clit down on your pelvis, and feel every last inch of dick deep inside his belly. “What else have you been thinking about, hm?” Your shaft was gleaming with a mix of his juices and your own precum, a sight that makes you squeeze Gojo’s hips again, unable to resist the urge to yank him down.

He mewls around your finger, eyes rolling back with bliss. In his fucked out stage, he lets the words come out around your finger all slurred and saliva packed, “Your cum…” His stupid little expression makes you chuckle, continuing to help him bounce up and down a bit, “Oh, really? We can arrange that.” Your hand holds his hip again, ready to lift him off of you to give him what he’s been craving, but he grips your wrist and slams back down, forcing a moan out from both of you. “Satoru, fuck–”, “In me.”

His words stun you into silence, both of you stopping to stare at the other. Those pretty blues were shining with tears, the skin on your finger wrinkling from the moisture from his saliva, and both of you so aroused it hurt. But that didn’t mean you weren’t in your right mind, “What?” Gojo drops down onto his elbows, both positioned at either side of your head as an expression of genuine pleading drowns his features. “Been thinking about it all day, all month. I want it. I really fucking want it.”

You stare up at him, wide eyes as he begins to move his hips again, rolling them down against you, letting moans of pleasure drift into your ears, face contorting from the blissful pressure of your tip against his g-spot. And carefully, you let your hands grip his hips, slowly beginning to thrust up into that pliant body again.

It only takes two minutes for the both of you to get back to furiously fucking, balls clapping against Satoru’s ass, arms wrapped around him to hold him against your chest like a doll. And he takes all of it, practically screaming his enjoyment into your skull, leaking so much that it was making a sticky mess between you and leaving a puddle on the couch.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Your own voice comes out as a low mewl, one hand unable to help moving down to squeeze his pale ass, basically bouncing him and down on your dick by yourself. He reaches back, gripping your wrist as his body trembles like a leaf, “Y-You keep hitting it. You’re hitting it! Right fucking there!” It filled you with pride knowing you could turn him into this. This slut that drooled all himself just for your dick. Nobody else’s.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” You already knew the answer, didn’t mean your cock didn’t throb when he responded with an erratic nod, tears sliding his cheeks as his own tights began to shake. Just in time, as you could feel the heat of your own release building in the pit of your gut. You just needed a little push. “C’mon, I didn’t fuck you that stupid, did I?”

Gojo can’t be bothered to hide his face in embarrassment anymore, letting his forehead press against your temple as the words flow out in a slurring stutter, “So good. You make my pussy feel so good! It loves you!” The words finish in a drawn out whine, cunt clenching tight around you as his own orgasm begins to take.

The tightness of his walls was driving you insane, your own thrust becoming sloppy as that heat intensified, your stomach clenching with the slide of his warm cunt, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna fill this cunt up,” He nods, body shaking in anticipation. His dreams are gonna come true right here and now, “Where’s it going?”

“In me.” Satoru whimpers out, body tensing up completely when your dick strikes his sweet spot again, making his eyes roll back. He wants to wait and cum with you, but his body could give less of a shit as spurts of slick coats your cock, making a wet mess that you fuck him through anyway, relentless in your pursuit of pleasure, “Where?”

“In me!” His moan shaped into a squeal, overstimulation making his vision haze over, eyes crossing as you slam into him one last time, holding him in place so he can’t escape. “Good boy,” You moan out, hips jolting as your own release overwhelms you, the first spurt of hot cum erupting so deep inside Satoru that he’s afraid he’ll cum again. It’s so deep inside you, his lids fluttering, body melting on top of you. So hot, and full, the warmth of your cum in his tummy grounded him.

NANAMI KENTO.

“What’d you say, Ken?” To anyone else, it would seem like the simplest of questions. One Kento could usually answer with nothing but a few words. But right now, just making any noise besides drawn out moans was like pulling teeth, and admiring what he said to you just a few minutes earlier made him want to hop out of a window and not the arms of a special grade.

He hadn’t even meant to say it, really. It was the heat of the moment.

On his knees, face buried in one of those decorative pillows you’d gotten from the store, back arched up as you drilled into him from behind. Every ruthless thrust had his juices churning within his cunt like butter, a creamy froth coating your cock and dripping down the inside of his pale and trembling legs.

Nanami was already embarrassed enough as it is while you spoke praise above him, muttering “So wet for me,” and “Got the tightest little pussy” like he was some needy whore. Which unfortunately for him, he turned into once you fucked him good and hard enough. Something you loved using to your advantage.

The pleasure made his brain melt from his ears, and made his lips loose. And one particularly hard thrust that hit just right has him groaning loudly, mouthing against the pillow as his thoughts slip loose, “Fuck, Da-fuck!” He just barely gained his awareness back, feeling his cheeks flush like a tomato as he realized what word just slipped out. The slight attempt to save himself didn’t work, a hand moving to the front of his neck, pulling his face up from the pillow.

Next to Kento, panting from working up a sweat, a cruel smirk worked it’s way onto your face that let him know he was in so much fucking trouble now, “I’m sorry, what was that?” The innocent confusion in your tone didn’t fool him, but his tries at squirming in your grasp seemed to do nothing but make you tighten your hold on his neck. Which made him feel something he wasn’t ready to explore just yet.

“Nothing, forget about that. Why’s you stop—” “Cause you said something.” You were persistent, too persistent, and saw right through his attempts at changing the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You chuckle, eyes tracing the tense line of his jaw, as if to reassure yourself of something. “That’s too bad,” The hand lets go of his neck, Nanami’s blonde head falling back against the pillow with a light thump. “We’re just gonna have to make you say it, aren’t we?”

And here he was now, body laid flat against the bed, as his legs had collapsed from under him. Fists clenching the sheets so tight he was scared they might rip, and a haze over his vision as his eyes tried their best not to cross from the fucking he was getting. It didn’t help that your cock was practically punching his stomach from the inside, veins and ridges pressed up against slick, creamy walls. He couldn’t think, not at all. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Every pump was calculated, your nose pressed against the side of his head, repeating the same questions, “C’mon, Ken, say it again. You know you want to.” The mocking drawl makes him gush around your shaft, clenching and spasming as you worked his pussy to its limit. But he knew you, he knew you wouldn’t stop until you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, he lifts his face from the pillow, breezy whines leaving him flushed red as he pleaded with you for mercy, “Don’t make me say it. Don’t—” your hand wraps around his neck again, pulling him back into an arch, forcing him to meet your gaze head on. You could feel the way your grip had him basically strangling your dick with his walls, but that would be something for another time. For now…

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” And he doesn’t hesitate to nod the best he can, a gleaming strand of drool on the side of his chin catching your attention momentarily, “I-I’m so close…” He muttered, already knew where this was going before you even had to finish your sentence. So instead, you lean down, nose pressed against Kento’s cheek, “Say it.” And this time, he knew you weren’t asking.

Pretty, pearly teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, eyes rolling back to flutter shut from the humiliation of it all. It comes out a low whimper, body trembling in both anticipation and even a little fear as he finally utters the words you were so hell-bent on hearing. “Daddy.” And your cock twitches so hard it makes Nanami gasp.

Suddenly, his face meets the pillow again, but with a hand at the back of his neck pressing him down. One moment, you’re sliding out til just the tip is inside, and the next the headboard is slamming into the wall with each thrust. Nanami’s moans turn into muffled yelps of pure bliss, so thankful his face is buried into the pillow below, otherwise your neighbors would’ve been in for an even ruder awakening. But fuck if he even cared anymore.

It’s like you’re trying to carve your shape into his fucking guts, forcing his body to memorize every vein and bump on your dick with his insides. Which was gonna be so sore by the time you slid out of him. But judging by how his face is getting all sticky from his own drool, you seem to be doing quite the job.

“Again.” Nanami’s head is turned to the side, gasping for air with each pump, a slick and sloppy noise coming from deep within as you slide out, only to force yourself back inside. Nanami’s juices were making a mess. “Say it again.” You command, voice beginning to tremble slightly. And embarrassment no longer matters to the blonde, who lets the moan ease out like it’s natural. “Daddy. Daddy, fuck…”

And it was like a wave washes over you both. Yelps and whines of a pleasure he could feel in his bones were fucked out of Kento, the hand at the back of his neck making sure he took every last bit of it. “That’s right. Good boy, taking Daddy’s cock like this.” Oh, shit, that made him clench so hard. And you chuckle, strained as your hips slam down without mercy, “You like that shit, Ken? You feelin’ it?” One of your hands moves to slip underneath him, feeling on the little area below his belly button, moaning when the bump brushed against your fingers. “Yeah, you are. So deep, aren’t I? I could breed you like this.”

“Mhm—Ah!” A punishing thrust shakes him to his core, your tip striking his g-spot like a bullseyes. Hazel eyes cross slightly before his lids slam shut, teeth so desperately wanting to bite down on the fabric of the pillow for something, anything, to stabilize him. “Aren’t I?” The low growl in your voice makes his insides melt, gasping against the damp pillow when he feels that heat building at the bottom of his stomach, “Yes! Yes, you are—God!”

A tongue laps at the pointed top of his earlobe, groaning with every thrust, lightning going up Kento’s spine as you hit something in him like clockwork, “Who is?” Kento wants to call you cruel, or rebel, but all he can do is hold back tears of bliss as he melts into the sheets, “Daddy is. He’s so deep in me…” Unknowingly, Nanami seals your fate with his next words, groaning out against the pillow he’s practically crushing to his chest, “He’s in my tummy…”

Hazel eyes widen when a sudden flood of something rushes through him, warm and thick against his walls, coming out with every twitch of your dick. You just came inside his pussy. Your body falls over him, pressing his hips down against the bedding, making his clit grind against the sheets unintentionally. And that does it, sending Kento over the edge with a gurgle, his creamy essence coating your shaft in a thick mess that slides down his folds to make a mess on the sheets. Both of you writhing on the ruined bedding, a quiet moment.

Which is interrupted by a hand swatting your hip as Nanami groans out, playful irritation in his voice, “Idiot. You couldn’t hold out a little longer?” He can’t believe this was how you cum inside him for the first time.

GETOU SUGURU.

Getou was quite the brat in your eyes. But who wouldn’t agree? He walked around like he owned the place alongside Satoru, he played with people’s feelings like they were toys to be tossed away, and he made your fucking blood boil without having to do anything but send you a smile that said ‘you’re so funny’ anytime you showed a reaction to it.

You wanted—needed to put him in place. Somebody had to. So when you saw him on campus again, you gave him a proposition you knew he couldn’t refuse—take your ‘virginity’. You pulled the innocent guy look off well, even as he giggled with a smug expression all the way to your dorm room. He wasn’t gonna be laughing for long, anyway.

He was so easy to pin down after he stripped for you, panties sticking to his crotch with a wetness that made you hadn’t expected to see. Suguru immediately tried to take control, snapping his fingers and rolling his eyes whenever you tried to get on his level. But once you got his knees pinned to his shoulders, and his cunt wrapped tight around your dick, he had no room to complain amongst the desperate little yells that were being pounded out of him with every thrust.

Slick, pretty folds envelop you with every stroke, his gushing insides leaving a sheen of frothy cream on your shaft every time all 8 inches of your cock push those walls apart. The sight makes you chuckle, hands squeezing the back of his knees tight whenever he tries to squirm out from underneath you, “Already making a mess, aren’t we? I thought you were supposed to teach me?”

The smugness in your voice doesn’t go over Getou’s head, his hands gripping one of the pillows underneath his head, trying not to let his brain melt when your dick brushes against his g-spot again and again with the kind of precision that no virgin should have. Violet eyes—with a watery sheen—glare up at you. “Fucking a-asshole. Y-you lied-”, His words turn into a keen when you slam inside again, rolling your hips to grind against that spot that makes his head tip back, saliva running down the side of his chin, “Shut that fucking mouth for one.”

And what can Suguru do but obey? His ankles were at his ears, toes curled tight from every stomach clenching thrust, and the squelching noise his pussy made left his ears pink. God, imagine if someone saw this. Saw the strongest sorcerer (except for Gojo Satoru, of course) on campus getting used like a slut, folded like a fucking pretzel. “Fuck…” Is all he can manage to say, eyes unfocused.

But you? You were on Cloud 9. The mean, bratty boy behind you was replaced with a whore straight out of your imagination. Soaking wet with every thrust, head tipped back with a blissed out look on his cute face, and a series of high pitched whines you force out of him as you begin to pick up the pace, making the couch rock and creak beneath you.

Hands move to grip your thighs, trying to stop your thrusts. God, it felt like every last one of them was buried inside his chest, rocking a whine out that’s so embarrassing it makes his face turn cherry red. He couldn’t do this, “Can’t—I can’t—” A palm comes down hard against his cunt, making his body tense from the sudden mix of sharp pain and pleasure. “A-Ah!” Another smack, right against his clit.

“Yeah, you can.” Suguru tries to squirm away, unable to see you smirking above him as you let slap after slap rain down on his poor little cunt, feeling him squeeze you like a vice every time you do it. The black haired man is left panting underneath you, every hit making him gush around your dick like a fucking fountain. “C’mon, aren’t you the Strongest?” What are you doing to him? What’s happening?

Why does it feel so goddamn good?

“You telling me the strongest can’t take a dick?” Oh, fuck. Fuck. “Fucking slut, don’t pass out on me—” The last hit against his pussy makes violet eyes cross, head tipping back as he squeezed your dick so tight you were almost forced into an abrupt stop.

Spurts of slick squirt out around your cock, Getou’s body shaking like a leaf as he cums his brains out, mouth open in a silent ‘O’, mind melted within his skull. And that seemed to be all you yourself could take as well.

Your own eyes roll back, bottoming out with a quick thrust as a supernova bursts behind your eyes, cock throbbing inside of Getou as spurts of thick & creamy cum coat his walls like it belonged there. There was so much of it that it even started leaking out around your shaft, only adding to the mess underneath him on the couch.

Both of you wanna think, wanna make a good quip. But both of you were completely fucked out.

KAMO CHOSO.

He can’t take anymore. He’s gonna die.

Minutes and hours have mashed together, turning into an incomprehensible mess with every slide of your girth into his puffy, swollen pussy. The middle of his thighs are a wet mess of his own juices and release. But he can’t even remember how many times he’s cum already. Or just how long he’s been screaming out his pleasure, just long enough that his voice has grown hoarse.

His back aches, his stomach hurts, and his lips are bitten raw from trying to hide his moans. Which you didn’t allow.

He’s gonna fucking die.

And he was gonna go out like this. Crying like a bitch into the bed beneath him, mascara and foundation leaving stains on the sheets that would take forever to wash out, body rocking forward when you snap your hips against his reddened asscheeks. If someone found his body like this, who was gonna possibly explain what happened to him? What’s gonna go on his tombstone?

‘Here lies Kamo Choso, loving brother of 10, who died from being fucked to tears.’ Such a sad way to go out.

But you? Oh, you seemed to be having an amazing time. Your pace never once slowed down, even through every toe-curling orgasm you gave Choso. Again and again, hand on the middle of his back to keep his ass arched up and lower body pressed down into the bed. He couldn’t grind against the sheets for a faster orgasm, he couldn’t touch himself, all he could do was cream around your dick again and again like clockwork.

A strained sob drifts from Choso’s mouth, hands gripping anything in sight to cling onto, to try and escape the mind-melting pleasure that was threatening to break him into little pieces, “Please, sir. Please, I can’t take anymore—” Another thrust, all those girthy inches pressing his swollen walls apart with no effect, fucking another desperate whine from his lips. “I fucking can’t!” His legs were trembling, your hands on his hips the only thing keeping him held up.

“Mm, but I think you can, hon.” That voice, the one that’s been in all his dreams and the one that was currently making him want to bang his head on a wall. Because as you’ve done the whole night, you show no mercy, pistoning forward once more, making a mess of the cream costing your dick, letting it churn inside Choso like you were trying to make butter. “I think you will.”

“Sir, I-I’ll do anything–Ah!” A hand wraps around one of his pigtails, yanking his head back to lift it off the bed, showing the mess you made of the pretty boy beneath you. Tear streaks ruining his perfect makeup, a drool string connecting from his mouth to the sheet he was chewing on. “Careful, Choso. Making promises like that is what got you here.”

And you were right. Promise after promise of ‘I’ll do whatever you want if you get me this’ and ‘Please, I’ll do anything’ had finally caught up to him, leaving him in the pathetic position he was in right now. Because now, he couldn’t keep his last promise.

‘I’ll let you cum in me if you get—’

Your other hand grabs his other pigtail, yanking Choso up until he is forced to rest on his elbows with his chin on the bed, aching back arched in a way that lets you slip in so deep that it felt like you were in his belly. Thrust after thrust had his swollen clit throbbing painfully with arousal, knees ready to crumble from exhaustion. You were relentless, simply using his soaked hole like it was a fleshlight. Not that he hated it.

“Mm! B-But I meant it!”

The grip you have on his hair leaves him defenseless, neck aching from the angle he’s pulled back in, “I s-swear! E-every word, sir…” The desperation in his voice seemed to finally be breaking through to you, your hips twitching just a little when you thrusted in again. “I want it…” You chuckle, but don’t respond, continuing to ram into him over and over, making his body tense up when he feels you brush against his g-spot again. Choso’s mouth opens to release a whine, “Please, sir! Just cum already!”

The corner of your lips raise into a smirk, heart swelling at the adorable sound of Choso’s desperate pleas. You didn’t even have to speak, letting the boy’s words dissolve into teary begs for mercy, “Cum! Cum! Fuck, just cuuum!” Pearly teeth grit, feeling your dick throb against his walls, veins and ridges pressed all up inside of him, making him drool. A sudden groan leaves you when you feel those gummy walls clench hard around your cock, the sensation repeating as Choso moans out, brain leaking from his ears, “Cum, please. Please, please, please—”

Aww, he was tightening up for you. How sweet. You were always such a sucker for the boy, so your body couldn’t help giving him exactly what he was asking for. It only took a few more pumps before you slammed back inside, watching his puffy little hole spasming around you as your own release washes over you, hands gripping this pigtails like handlebars.

Choso is so happy you can’t see his face, feeling his eyes unfocus when that rush of heat floods his insides, hips rolling as you fill up every inch of his hole like it belongs there. And fuck, maybe it does. “Thank you…” He mutters, body collapsing against the bed when you let go of his now messy hair, instantly turning into jelly against the sheets.

You’re talking above him, probably words of praise and admiration, but his eyelids were so heavy, and he was tired. It only took 8 more seconds for him to knock out.

art by: YozoraAjisai, thatsallitchief.

[burgojo]

BLOOD IN THE WINE. SUKUNA / M!READER

summary. sukuna once collected a great many things, but none have ever been so important as the fox spirit that captivated him. so consumed by his love, he offered it a deal: live only for him, and sorcerers will never touch its beloved forest again. something twisted along the way.

wc. 15.3k (THICK FIC FOR A THICK MAN YKWIM)

tags. smut | top reader, bottom sukuna, husbands!reader/kuna, slightly tsundere kuna (hes soo possessive). true form sukuna!!! curse/fox spirit!reader, reader is of a similar height (~8ft or whatever sukuna is idk). smut takes place in the heian era, the rest is modern day; lore part includes kenjaku + his squad of curses. reader calls sukuna 'my lord', sukuna calls reader 'fox'. blood, sexy cannibalism (? sukuna receiving), praise + minor degradation, oral w his stomach mouth, come eating, hickeys/biting, riding, missionary, edging (sukuna; kinda? hes just stubborn), multiple orgasms, creampie

notes. as requested, the reader character has "golden eyes" and "long hair". he's a kitsune/inari okami based character bc i starting writing this when white fox came to marvel rivals and i was like "yo i wanna turn into a big fox too"

[ requested (+2) ]

At the bottom of a lake in a national park sits a towering stone statue of an Asura – the three-faced, six-armed demigods who revelled in war and hungered insatiably for worldly pleasures. Two hands are clasped in prayer; four reach for the heavens. The forests are dense, the mountains tall, and the waters dark and cool.

Most scholars estimate the statue to be particularly ancient – something like one thousand and five hundred years, around the time Buddhism was introduced to Japan. Its size, however, begets questions: why so large for such a new religion? Who made it? Why at the bottom of a lake? Why this lake? How is it still almost perfectly preserved, with such little water damage or natural erosion?

It was a local oddity, a mystery of ancient times. Its purpose – to scare, to protect, to be worshipped – was debated. Kenjaku, however, knows better.

It is a door. An entrance to a long-forgotten tomb.

Now, draining an entire lake is a mammoth task. Luckily for him, whoever crafted the statue also made it a lock. It will open via a specific pulse of cursed energy, shaped sharp and terrible like a blade rather than a key. However, time has eroded the statue's memory of its proper shape – with a determined-enough battering ram, any door will open. Kenjaku is that ram.

It's magical, watching the lake drain into some strange contraption at the raised circular base at the bottom of the statue. It looks like a grate. Soon enough, the roar of the water subsides, and the dark hollow of the lake, punched deep in the earth, is like the gods' very own kitchen sink.

Kenjaku's eyes flicker to the dark dome above. The veil conceals everything for now, but discretion would be awfully difficult to keep if he finds out there's no way to restore the lake to proper, well, lake-hood. Sorcerers would come sniffing in an instant.

At the bottom of the lake, he enters the revealed stone doors, probably fifteen or twenty feet tall. They waited, newly open, for him once he'd bypassed the lock, grinding open slowly once he reached them.

His steps echo in the vast, dark cave system. The soft plink of water drips into clear pools somewhere in the distance. His breath clouds in front of him, the air cold and damp, as he descends stairs carved into the dark stone. The stairs go down and down, then up and up, the long winding passages broad enough to fit three cars side by side.

Torches line the walls, hammered into place with black iron that fans out in the shape of spider lilies. They crackle to life as he nears them, their red flames licking the centres.

Eventually, he comes across another set of open stone doors. Two black braziers sit on either side, throwing crimson light on the walls and darkening the shadows. He lifts a hand to one of the braziers as he passes, fascinated as the flames flicker harmlessly around his bare fingers. The fire feels only as hot as the steam over a boiling pot of pasta.

None of this is for him specifically. There is no kindling in the braziers, no oil in the torches – this is a falling line of dominoes, with stored cursed energy instructed to follow a set of actions the moment the lake drained. It is unique. It is ancient. It is... ingenious.

Beyond the second set of doors, the cave system opens up into a vast, gaping cavern. Through a gap in the ceiling, pale moonlight cuts diagonally through the darkness, a cone of light falling upon a rocky formation in the centre of the cavern. A cleared path curves up to a point, and mirroring its curve above is a massive stalactite. Perhaps the points of each had touched, once, into a single form, but no longer. Water drips from the tip into a blooming patch of translucent blue flowers that stretches around the base of the rock all the way to his feet, so pale they seem to glow in the moonlight.

He glances down near the doors. At the edge of the field of flowers is a knee-height collection of drawings etched in stone and painted with flaked paint. He bobs down, brushing his fingers over the stone.

The linework is sloppy, unsteady. The paint trails outside of the lines. Humanoid figures dance around a spider-lily brazier – sit peacefully around a roasted boar – stand knee-deep in a river catching fish. His fingers trail over the last scene. Two figures are in the water, one tall and one small, but there's a third on the banks, watching under a tree. It has four arms. The face has been erased with time.

He stands again. He walks up the path, flowers sprawling on either side, and finds a tall, still figure slumped gently at the top, like a throne.

Ancient silks pool around its wrists and feet, trailing through the flowers. Any colour it once had has since faded, the cloth now bone-white. It still, however, retains its shimmery lustre, with a sheen like crushed pearls.

Kenjaku steps closer, brushing his bangs over his ear as he reaches into his pocket and extracts his phone, glancing at a picture of an ancient painted scroll from his private library. He lifts his phone up to the figure, glancing between them, and hums.

"All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."

A thousand years have passed and your skin is still supple, smooth, though ashen with death. No blood runs through you now. Your hands rest open in your lap, cupped loosely, as if awaiting offerings. Your hair is romantically long, tucked behind your ear and over your shoulder, and despite how soft they look, your lips lack colour.

Even standing at the end of your robes, more than a metre away from the bottom of your moonlit throne, Kenjaku still has to look up slightly – you are tall, definitely beating his current body, six-foot-something as it is. No, you are larger than that. God-tall. Easily worshipped, he thinks – easily feared.

He steps closer, carefully manoeuvring around the white silk pooling around his shoes. In your hands is an intricate golden brooch, inlaid with four almond-shaped rubies that haven't dulled with time. It rests delicately in your palms, and your head is tilted towards it – perhaps it was the last thing you ever saw. Careful not to disturb the rest of you, he reaches for it.

Your hand shoots forward and wraps around the entirety of his forearm, dragging him in. Your grip is bruising, strong enough to shatter stone.

Silhouetted by darkness, your eyes glow a ghostly silver, pupils completely milky-white. Your lips nearly touch his as you pull him ever so slightly closer, fingers twisting punishingly around his arm. Your breath is cold against his lips.

"A corpse..." you whisper, a raspy, rattling breath, "should be left well alone."

Kenjaku doesn't move. He doesn't try to. Even dead, your presence is electrifying, your touch like a live wire straight to the nerves. His lungs constrict, and his heart pounds in his chest with something more than wonder.

Even like this, you still manage to surprise him.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes reflecting with an eerie catlike glow in the shadows of your features. Slowly, your grip loosens, and you release his arm – gently, softly, as if you're giving it back to him. Mechanically, your gaze lowers to the brooch in your palm, and you lean back, cupping it once more. Your hand closes around the brooch; the crimson jewels glitter between your long fingers. You close your eyes, and stillness returns to the dark cavern.

Kenjaku grabs his wrist, rubbing it more out of habit than anything. His own touch is a balm from the icy burn of yours. He mutters, "So dramatic."

You don't move.

"My way would have been easier. Centralised. I have to go out of my way to bring you back – but you were always a rebellious one, weren't you?"

He reaches for the brooch again. You grab his wrist – again. Just like before, there is no life in it. Nothing real. This is all just automatic reflex, instinct preserved in limbo, as unconscious and unthinking as the decay of meat and muscle – a natural, predetermined pattern of reactions to certain stimuli.

"What a bother," he murmurs, twisting his arm out of the corpse's grasp. "But if I were you, I suppose I'd want to keep a face like this, too."

He leans down, inspecting your lowered face. You have intimidatingly beautiful features – noble, strong. Uniquely elegant.

He reaches up, his face tilted towards yours. His fingers brush your ice-cold cheek – his palm is tiny in comparison.

Part curse, part god. A once-simple soul entangled deeply, cosmically, with another's. A bond that transcends eras, lives, and perhaps the very realm of the earth.

You don't stir. Why, he wonders? Is it the brooch that acts as the catalyst? Is your corpse protecting it?

Kenjaku draws back, lifting his phone again and scanning his annotations printed on a PDF file of scrolls. The photos are clearly taken with a phone camera on a library table rather than being scanned in archive quality, but they’re serviceable.

There's a highlighted note on a poem with beautiful calligraphy, its author gone uncredited. It accompanies a landscape scene of the lake he's standing under, the inky shape of the hills and mountains almost identical to when he viewed it over a nearby cliff.

Lucent blooms settle

Beneath sleeping mountains' light—

Silk's argent embrace

He hums. Incredibly profound.

It's a winter poem. 'Sleeping mountains' – that's the seasonal word, the kigo. His thoughts dart between fragments of information as he taps his chin thoughtfully, beginning to pace languidly back and forth. If only you'd trusted him enough with the key yourself – he'd had to scrounge through countless charred villages and museum archives just to find these clues, a task that spanned centuries. You were very good at hiding things. Unfortunately for him, only one being in existence has ever held that key, and they were currently… indisposed.

Winter. Cold. The corpse is cold. 'Lucent blooms' – that definitely has to be referencing these strange flowers, some rare variety he's never seen anywhere else. 'Light'… Moon? The moon's out right now. A full moon, if that changes things. Or it could be the light bouncing off the white peaks of the surrounding mountains. 'Embrace'. Embrace what? Fancy talk for just enjoying the natural view?

He clicks his tongue with a sigh.

Silk, his mind supplies helpfully. His gaze swings back to the god-corpse resting before him and the snow-white silk, still defiantly gleaming despite the passing aeons. An idea sparks in his mind.

Slowly, he crouches, inspecting the flowers and plucks the largest one from the fresh soil. The white petals are slender, soft as velvet and luminous under the moonlight. He glances at his phone, rereading the poem two more times. He places the flower in the cup of your open palms.

He waits. He watches.

The corpse's fingers twitch.

They close stiffly around the flower, pulling it close. With a slow, steady inhale, the corpse's eyes flutter open.

No longer are they that milky death-white, lacking the natural pinkness at the corners of the eyes and in the veins of the sclera. The irises are now gold, molten gold, and as bright and brilliant as the dawn.

There is a figure in front of you: dark-clothed, blurry with countless years of your dreamless oblivion.

"Uraume…?" Your voice is a low, husky breath. You close your eyes, one hand lifting briefly towards your aching, throbbing temple. The gold brooch tips from your palm, landing soundlessly in your lap.

"Not quite."

You blink, brow slightly furrowed. Your vision clears. There is a man in front of you – a sorcerer, judging by the controlled silvery shimmer that threads itself through his very being. His face is unfamiliar. But his energy is…

You take in his serene expression, the knowing gaze that borders on condescension… and the stitches across the forehead.

"You are not Uraume," you murmur – barely. Your lip curls with distaste. He has to strain to hear over the ambient noise, the low hum of the earth and the whisper of wind through stone. Your voice comes low, a death rattle cold enough to chill bones. "Leave, brain. You are not welcome here."

"Such little gratitude to an old friend," he replies with a smile. "Would it kill you to call me by my name?"

"Which one have you stolen now? This body…" You tilt your head, surveying him. "It is a recent acquisition."

"Yes – Geto Suguru," he says rather joyfully, touching his stitched forehead in a caricature of shyness. "You may call me such, if you like."

"I will not." You lower your gaze, scooping up the brooch and closing your fingers over it. The metal is cool against your skin – your sense of touch is returning to you. You can feel the intricate patterns of the gold and the hard angles of the jewels under your thumb. "Why do you wake me?"

"My plans are coming to fruition. I assumed you would want to be there for them."

You trace the white petals of the freshly-plucked flower in your palm. An offering – but given by the wrong hands. "If I had any interest in your 'plans', I would have accepted your proposal back then. So, before I snap every bone of your borrowed body and drink its marrow while you watch, I ask again: why do you wake me?"

He lifts his hands in surrender, but his smile sharpens. "Ryomen Sukuna has returned."

Your fingers stop drawing circles into the petals. Your breath catches. "What…?"

"Indeed. I'll give you a moment to check for yourself."

You can sense it. You feel him. It's faint, but something tugs at the base of your ribs, a sharp longing that has your eyes widening. He's unmistakable. You would recognise him anywhere – you would know him blind.

But if he has returned, why is it this brain stands before you, and not him? You promised you would wait for him. You would wake for him. To be awoken by this thing instead feels like a sickening betrayal. Your grip tightens on the flower, its petals crushed in your palm.

You… should kill him.

"Thinking of ending me?" His grin widens. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, I am the tip of the spear when it comes to restoring the King of Curses to his full strength. Removing me from the equation would obstruct his return to power."

"Would it?" You cup the brooch instead, letting the broken flower petals flutter to your feet. "You are such a confident little bug."

"Well-earned, I'd say." Kenjaku flutters a few fingers in the air casually as he speaks. "If it pleases you, I know a place where you can stay to recuperate while I gather the remaining number of Sukuna's fingers. I'm sure you'll be well enough by then to participate in my plans, should you change your mind."

"I have no desire to partake in your games. It is all posturing and strutting about – no substance." You glance up, leaning back. "Now leave before I peel every nerve out of that hideous brain of yours. You interrupted my beauty sleep."

He smiles back, infuriatingly composed. "As you wish. But I can't, in good faith, go without mentioning something. You might be interested to see that I have… this." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a wooden box completely wrapped in paper seals. Despite them, dark cursed energy radiates off of it in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke humans into a terrified, sobbing paralysis. It pulses like a heartbeat. He shakes it, and something rattles within.

Your amusement vanishes. You stiffen.

He watches your reaction keenly. "This is one of the two. Join me and I'll help you retrieve the other. Luckily for us, I just so happen to know exactly where it is."

Your eyes flash. "Are you threatening me?"

"It's more of a bargain, but I digress. Is the threat of a heart attack on a cosmic scale enough to entice you over, Your Grace?"

You gaze at him with an expression as readable as stone. Your gaze darkens. "You are a fool if you believe I'll ever make promises to a brain."

"A smart fool. I know you and Sukuna are impossibly attached to each other. How long will it take you to rewrite the rules of your 'hibernation' again? A year? Ten years? His current vessel is giving him grief, so it may take him a while to retain control long enough to find you. Help me gather his fingers and you'll have him back in a flash."

You say nothing.

"How long has it been?" you ask, finally, glancing around you. "How long has that bastard made me wait?"

"A thousand years, give or take."

Your grip tightens on the brooch. A long, heavy silence falls.

"Very well," you mutter, tracking him like prey as he steps away, inspecting the flowers and your silk robes as if you're some sort of museum exhibit. Your lips press together with disgust as he smiles and clasps his hands, a glint in his eyes that states he already knew your answer before you said a word. At least for now, you're weakened, so you'll oblige, but you promise yourself you'll enjoy spilling him across the stone one day. "Do what you must."

—

A child is running around your feet. It is small, with mismatched eyes and long blue-grey hair. You stare at it.

"This is not Uraume."

Kenjaku chuckles, watching from his seat by the table. He lifts a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "Uraume is busy searching for Sukuna's fingers. Why? Missing them?"

You cross your arms, tugging your billowing sleeves away from the grabby hands of the tiny... curse. Undeterred, it crawls under the hem of your trailing robes, folding them over its shoulders like a cape. You lift your gaze. "You said they were here."

"I said they were awake," he corrects. "If you care so much, why don't you send out your Bat-Signal, call them over?"

"My what?" you frown. "If you mean that I should signal my presence to them, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Only Sukuna created that sort of bond. I did not like the idea of being... tracked."

He hums, sipping his tea. "Always so independent. Uraume will be back soon, I wager. In the meantime, why don't you introduce yourself, Mahito?"

The child at your feet looks up and beams, brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes. The dark stitches across his skin stretch with his smile. "I'm Mahito!" he chirps. "I can touch souls!"

"That's... very nice," you say, tugging your robes to stop them from catching and pulling at his dark stitches. You glance between the pair, eyes sliding up to Kenjaku's forehead. "Is it another one of yours?"

Kenjaku lets out a barked laugh, placing his tea on the table. "No. He was born of human hatred. He's quite young – not even a year old, I believe."

"Oh. I suppose that's better." You observe the youngster for a moment as he plays with the charms hanging from your sash, particularly absorbed with a small jade fox.

"Excuse me?" He almost sounds offended. "Why is it better that he's not my child?"

You ignore him, turning to the little curse. "Mahito, do your stitches hold you together, as his do? Or are yours just to make you look even more adorable?"

He lights up. "Geto! You hear that? He thinks I'm adorable!" He turns back to you, grinning. "I don't know, mister! I don't think I'll fall apart without them, but I haven't been pulled apart yet."

"I see." You pat his head. "Let's keep it that way."

"Okay!" He grasps your kimono and follows you to the table, where a dozen old scrolls and stolen inventory files lie neatly organised. You pick up the nearest folder, finding inside a printed report of 'Sukuna's Finger: Left Index'. You trace the image of it, your gaze softening ever so slightly.

Mahito isn't tall enough to see what's in your hands, let alone over the edge of the table. He huffs in annoyance and shoots up in height, shaking out his newly lengthened limbs, and grabs your elbow, shoving himself beneath your arm. He is now comfortably chest-height with you.

"Oh, just looking at these again. Geto always looks at these. So, you two were, like, married, right?" he says, tilting his head straight up to look at you at an angle impossible for human necks. "Was he any good as a wife?"

"It was a covenant," you correct, turning the page. "And yes. He was very good."

"Wow," he giggles, grabbing a scroll and unrolling it flat across the table. "Then what was the covenant about? How'd you meet? Did he try to kill you?"

You glance down at your robes, white as moonlight. A small smile tugs at your lips. "That's a boring story, Mahito."

"I don't believe that for a second! I mean, I'm not doing anything important. Let me decide if it's boring or not," he says, immediately ditching the scroll he'd just opened to take up half the library table. "Tell me, tell me!"

"Are you sure? I might not be the best storyteller. My mind is still a little foggy with sleep."

"It's okay. I just wanna know how someone like Sukuna caught the attention of someone as pretty as you, mister." He stares up at you with wide, sparkling eyes.

"If you insist." You chuckle.

"I do!"

"Very well. Long ago, I lived in a forest," you begin, touching the photo of Sukuna's finger. Even Kenjaku shifts slightly, eyes downcast towards his research but his ear tilted towards you. "It was a great, ancient place, spanning across many mountains. It was my home, and I protected it well for many years – until one day, humans came stumbling through it, shouting and trampling and carrying torches. There were too many to fight off, coming from all directions. Dealing with one group left another unchecked. They set my home on fire; that fire raged for two weeks."

You grab a chair and settle down into it, and Mahito quickly takes a seat at your feet. "Hanami hates when humans do that," he says wisely, nodding.

"They do it often, those wretched things – no consideration for the innocent creatures caught in their paths. That day, they were looking for someone: someone who'd made his latest home in my forest, and who they called the King of Curses. I didn't think much of the title. I'd never heard of the man before, so I wondered why they cared so much about him. Curious, I sought him out. I don't know why the sorcerers struggled to find him – he was loud and brutish, every step like an earthquake, every blow shaking the heavens. Unfortunately, before I could confront the barbarian disrupting my peace, the sorcerers fighting him attacked me as well. Mahito, what colour do you think gods bleed?"

He cups his chin thoughtfully. "Mine's red, but most other curses are purple. Hm... You seem different. Maybe gold, like your eyes?"

You smile evenly. "Clever guess. After I slaughtered those sorcerers, I found this supposed 'king' standing back and watching me, letting me do all the hard work. It infuriated me. He barges into my home, destroys my quiet, and now he doesn't lift a single finger to drive off the enemies he brought to my door? He had twenty of them. Surely he could spare one. But he refused, so clearly, I had no choice but to chase him off like a feral dog to take his invaders with him. For three days and three nights, we fought until we reached a stalemate. He could not touch me in a way that mattered. I could not keep him down."

A sigh flutters past your lips as you rest your head on your palm, propping your elbow on the table. "Finally, he stopped. He called me mesmerising, said that I'd enchanted him with how I fought like it was a dance, but that he wouldn't leave and wouldn't help with the humans unless offered something in return. You who steal my moonlight for your silks! he accused me. I will kill every sorcerer who threatens this forest only if you dance for me alone, forever."

Mahito hangs onto your every word, leaning forward slightly. His round, mismatched eyes shine with fascination.

"And so, Ryomen Sukuna, the mighty and undefeated King of Curses, became my darling little guard dog. The end." You wave a hand, your white sleeve gleaming in the light, and laugh at Mahito's dumbfounded expression. "Why the look? Did you expect more?"

"You skipped the middle part!" he complains, crossing his arms. "That's the best part. I wanna hear how you responded to his bargain!"

You think of Sukuna's flushed face and parted lips, all four ruby eyes half-lidded and trained on you. You think of taking him then and there in the forest clearing, the grass and trees bleached bone-white from the heat of your clash, with his sturdy thighs bracketing yours as he gripped his weapons stabbed into the soil for balance.

"No," you hum, smiling. "No, dear, you don't."

—

Mahito quite likes you. Hanami approves of your paternal care of the forest you claimed as your own, and little Dagon is still too young to do much except get carried around by Mahito so they can listen to your stories together. These are facts that bother the volcanic cursed spirit, Jogo, a surprising amount.

"He lies as easily as breathing," Jogo says gruffly, his single Cyclopean eye narrowing in your direction as you spin tales out of Sukuna's triumphs over ten-thousand-strong armies. Mahito is small at the moment, legs crossed in the sand of Dagon's beachy domain – his eyes shine brighter when you briefly make reference to your own formidable strength. Sukuna is a fairytale, just a collection of words – you are tangible, real, and to his mind, more interesting for it.

Kenjaku smiles calmly. "Is that why you don't get along?"

"Cursed spirits should be authentic! Real! The fox hides his true feelings and plays games to manipulate things in his favour. That's cowardly," he grumbles. "Striking from the shadows is reserved for the weak."

"Ah, but you forget that he faced off against Sukuna in his prime and managed to walk away. He's anything but weak. Open, honourable duels just aren't his cup of tea." Glancing across the beach, he watches Mahito clamber into your lap, childlike interest bright on his face as he reaches up and touches the brooch pinned high on your lapel. You hide it with your hair most of the time, sweeping it forward over your shoulders. Kenjaku watches as you sit him across your knee and let him touch it, but you grasp it firmly so he can't steal it away. "Once Sukuna fully incarnates, don't mention such thoughts to him. He's very touchy when it comes to what's his, so if you know what's good for you, keep your mouth closed."

Jogo harrumphs. "Fine. Doesn't matter to me. Why'd you wake him up before Sukuna's incarnation, anyway? He hasn't done anything yet except make a fanboy out of Mahito."

"Oh, just think a little bit harder," Kenjaku cajoles. "We know Sukuna's vessel is trained by Gojo Satoru and they're both residing at the Tokyo jujutsu school, yes? If Sukuna's as possessive as I remember, knowing his fox has returned and is waiting for him will fuel his desire to incarnate as soon as possible. Right now, there are still a dozen fingers out there, so he isn't rushing to consume them. I want to change that."

His eye narrows. "You… want to send him to the school."

"Bingo," he replies cheerfully.

"That'll get him killed."

"Oh, please. Stop underestimating him. He's very good at his certain brand of violence. Besides..." he hums as he settles back in the chair, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes with a serene smile. "Don't you think it would be funny?"

—

Yuji trudges blearily towards the open training fields of the campus, rubbing his eyes. His uniform is crinkled, and his socks are probably two different colours. He can't remember. He's always been unnaturally hardy, but over the last two weeks, Sukuna has been exceptionally loud and restless inside his head, and every lapse in attention was enough to let him manifest a mouth or eye with disturbing ease. Nights were even worse, and Yuji worriedly relayed to his teacher how Sukuna was able to take control of his entire body just because he crashed so hard it felt like blacking out. He'd jerked himself awake with his hand on the doorknob, but that wasn't a risk he was willing to take every night.

Satoru had lost much of his flippant attitude at his confession. His smile faded for a beat too long before it returned, and he simply asked Yuji to meet up with him the next day to 'train'. Train what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but honestly, he'd trust the man if he told him to walk off a cliff blindfolded.

"You're a weak, pathetic little gnat and always will be. You think your 'training' will amount to anything? Give in. Give up."

If Yuji smacks the side of his head with any more force, he'll give himself a concussion. "You're straightforward today," he mutters. "Usually you like to try to manipulate me more."

"What is there to manipulate when you've got the brains of a brick?" Sukuna drawls. His voice echoes in his skull like a pounding bassline with none of the fun involved.

"You're a real jerk, man."

He chuckles then, deep and sinister. "Every time you consume a part of me, you lose more of yourself. Can you imagine that, of not knowing where I begin and you end?"

Something red flashes into Yuji's peripherals. He blinks, pausing on the edge of the training field along the path, right next to the dense forest that circles the campus.

A small red fox halts in the middle of the path in front of him, thick fluffy tail swaying low behind it. It blinks slowly, its yellow eyes fixated on him. Its red-orange fur is glossy, and its soft white throat is as pale as snow.

"Hey, buddy," Yuji coos, voice pitching higher subconsciously. "Aw. You're just the fluffiest, aren'tcha?"

The fox stares at him, small paws tapping the ground. It turns and patters further along the path for a few steps, then pauses and looks over its shoulder expectantly with uncannily clever eyes.

"Whoa," he mumbles, brows knitting slightly. "Is it just me, or does that fox look like it wants me to follow it?"

The response is instantaneous. "Do it, brat."

"Well, now I don't want to," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms. "Can't you literally read my thoughts? I was going to do it to kill time, since Gojo-sensei isn't here yet, but you saying that really messed me up."

"What the hell do you think I gain out of following a damn animal?"

"I dunno. What if it's a cursed spirit or something? What if you're trying to get me killed – again?"

"It is not. I can assure you, it is not." He sounds almost impatient. "But say it was. Look at the size of the thing. Kick it and you'd exorcise it. Now go. It's leaving."

Yuji groans, reluctantly jogging after the quick little fox. He supposes Sukuna's right, though – he's on campus, and he saw Principal Yaga walking through the halls just a few minutes earlier, so he at least has someone to run to if anything goes sideways.

Besides... something within him burns with curiosity. Not a vestigial remnant of Sukuna, either. Something uniquely his own.

With a half-second pause and a glance back, the fox veers left into the trees. It vanishes amongst the shrub almost immediately. Yuji scrambles to track it. "Ah, damn it…! Doesn't everybody say not to follow foxes in forests? The second things look fishy, I'm getting outta here."

For the first time in weeks, Sukuna is dead silent. Yuji ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing behind him to see the light of the path quickly dimming with every step. The fox seems to be leading him in a straight line, which will be great for sprinting his way back to safety if he even so much as hears a twig snap.

The fox's pace quickens, white-tipped tail held high like a flag. Yuji steps over a nest of thick, gnarled roots, almost trips on a spiky bush, and looks up. He freezes.

There, in a small patch of sun behind a large evergreen tree, is a pure white fox the size of a large dog. Several smaller red foxes surround it, jumping about or resting in the patch of sunlight. What seems like a mother and her kits play slightly further away to give the yipping, wrestling babies some room. The white fox watches them with particular care.

"Whoa... Cute," Yuji whispers, dazed. He lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes glistening. "So cute…"

At his words, the large white fox turns its head in his direction. Its eyes are not just yellow – they seem to glow with an unnatural flash that lingers even after it passes through the light into the shadows. It rises to all fours and steps slowly, predatorily, towards him.

Stepping out from behind the tree, it reveals nine long, gleaming white tails, held up high and proud.

The fox that led Yuji here scampers towards it, lowering its head in what seems like deference. The white fox glances at it once, and the red one stands and trots off to join another curled up in the roots of a tree.

The white fox approaches slowly, strong and sinewy. It blinks with eyes almost human, the pupils dilating as it scans his figure. The nine – nine! – tails puff up and give a little quiver, before calming down into a slower – though faster than earlier – side-to-side sway.

It comes even closer, near enough to pet if he lifted his hand. His fingers twitch. Its fur looks impossibly soft and white, like a cloud in animal form. It churrs quietly as it lifts its head towards his outstretched palm.

Wait, outstretched?

He snaps out of it with a sharp gasp. He turns swiftly on his heel and takes a single step forward.

"Leaving so soon?"

He freezes with a strange tugging in his soul – was that his? – that commands him to turn. Eyes wide, expression fixed in place, he slowly inches back around. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze travels up, up, up.

Standing before him is a beautiful man, taller than anything he's ever seen – taller than Nanamin, taller than Gojo-sensei, taller than Panda. He wears long robes that flow like a silver river, gleaming so brightly he looks like a fallen star, and a soft wind plays with his sleeves and hair. His expression is almost kind.

Almost.

"Goodness. Even a thousand years later, you still manage to drag me into the filth of your messes," you say, your voice a soothing wash of silk over river-smoothed stone. A pair of red foxes curls around your ankles, leaping over your trailing robes.

Yuji takes a step back.

"Well?" you ask, tilting your head. "Nothing to say, husband?"

Yuji squeaks, lifting his hands defensively. "Huh? What? No, you must be mistaken, I-I'm not – um—"

His jaw clicks shut as you step closer, extending a hand. How can you be more beautiful up close? You gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "He even looks like you, Sukuna. I have not seen you so young in a long, long time."

A crushing pressure presses down on his lungs, not unlike Gojo-sensei's when he lifts his blindfold. He wants to move. Needs to move. He's going to die if he stays still for even a second longer.

You lean down slightly, molten-gold eyes trained on his. Against his own will, his eyes flick down to the ruby-studded brooch peeking out from beneath your hair. Something dark and foreign rumbles against his very soul – like the purr of a large cat.

"Brat." Sukuna's deep voice cuts through his incoherent thoughts. "Let me take over."

What? he thinks, halfway to panic because a really, really pretty man is holding his face and isn't breaking eye contact. No! I'm not doing that! No way!

"You think you can fight him and win?" He scoffs. "That's a special-grade curse you're looking at, you know – slips past your defences like moonlight, a cruelty so beautiful you would thank him if he danced on your corpse. He made rivers run red with human blood for days."

WHAT? he thinks, fully panicking.

Oh, god. Oh, dear god. He wonders if he can summon his trusty teacher if he screams his name loud enough.

"You should come with me, child," you whisper with a smile, those golden eyes glinting. You kneel, moving closer, and Yuji squeaks as you look up at him. The scent of sweet petrichor curls around him – cool, gentle, like a secret not meant to be shared. "I won't hurt you... not a hair on your head. Come."

Your offered hand looks so inviting…

"No!" he blurts out, jerking back. "He said you like human blood, a-and dancing on people's corpses! I don't trust you at all!"

"Do you think sweet animals would sleep around my feet if I were so savage? You'd trust the word of a demon over mine, pup?"

"I..." He hesitates. "F-For this, yeah! He sounded proud. He's never proud of anything, so he can't be lying."

Your lips part slightly before pressing together. Your eyes, once so gentle, narrow. "Sukuna... You're ruining things again with your big mouth. I travelled all this way just to be foiled by my own husband – typical."

You turn Yuji's face, staring at the scar-like line below his eye. "You speak to the child, yet you hide from me. Does it please you to pretend I'm not here? Coward."

Foreign indignance bubbles up inside him. Yuji swallows.

You wait. One second. Two.

Your expression darkens and you rise to your feet, not so much dropping Yuji's face as pushing him away. He steps back, touching his jaw where your fingers once were. Something lingers, painless but crackling like Pop Rocks against his skin.

"Fine," you murmur, like a dull wave against the shore, as you turn your back to him. Your voice is impassive, but the forest responds to your mood as physically as a bushfire. Trees shudder. Flowers shrink away. The foxes stop playing. "Stay silent. Stay spineless. Just don't come crawling to me after, begging for forgiveness."

You lift your head at the brief flaring of heavy, malicious, familiar cursed energy that soaks into the forest around you.

At once, with more urgency than ever before, black markings bloom across Yuji's skin. His features sharpen minutely, his nails lengthen and blacken, and he runs a hand through his hair and sweeps it up off his forehead. With a slow, silent exhale, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and shoves his hands into his pockets, tipping his chin up as he regards your figure with eyes that are finally his own.

Emotion burns like red-hot charcoal in his chest. Sharing a body with a teenager was annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Forced to watch through the brat's eyes as you touch him, hold him, even going so far as to kneel before him to make yourself smaller, he despised the way he felt his vessel's heartbeat quicken, how the kid's thoughts turned into jumbled mush the moment you gave him a playful nickname.

Maybe he should tear out the brat's eyes before he gives his body back. Maybe he should rip his heart out again just for the pleasure of crushing it in his fist, knowing that regenerating another meant that the new one would never have raced for you.

You turn. Your expression changes – softens, almost.

"Sukuna," you say quietly.

He says your name slowly. It's almost reverential, his four eyes trailing over your body. His crimson gaze is greedy, drinking you in. You have changed very little – you still wear the kimono he gifted you, tailored and as expensive as ten thousand mercenaries. The hem has frayed slightly, trailing over the ground, but every silver thread still carries the faint thrum of his original cursed energy – a mark, a claim, which you once wore with preening pride, teasing him for his quick jealousy. You have kept it steady, meticulously keeping him alive quite literally on your sleeve.

His lips part. "You're… awake."

"I am." Your eyes narrow. "Not by your hand."

He crosses his arms. Two, not four. "No."

"Why not?"

He pauses, assessing your mood. You stand perfectly still, now taller than him by a significant margin. He thought he'd hate it more than he does. Regardless, you have yet to grab him and sew him into a rock-weighted sack to toss in a lake, so he supposes it could always be worse.

"The brat is an anomaly," he replies, his lower set of eyes glancing down at his vessel's body with a sneer. His upper pair remain trained on you. "I was… suppressed."

"Suppressed," you repeat. You lift your chin and stare down at him. "I thought I married the King of Curses. The strongest."

He bristles slightly. "You did," he snaps, his voice deepening. "I am."

Silence falls. Your cursed energy ripples outward, and as the foxes begin to play again, as if he weren't even there, he knows he is free to speak. You have cloaked his presence, letting his energy merge with yours – as a creature of lies and illusions, nature's guardian god, your cursed energy feels more natural than most, as essential and unremarkable as rain and earth. You've given him a few minutes of secrecy.

"Hm." You step towards him, beckoning with an outstretched hand. He meets you in the middle, and you gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "You look young, Sukuna. I have not seen you like this in a long, long time."

"Do you prefer it?" he asks, his tone flat with boredom – but he never blinks, tracing your features, printing them into the backs of his eyelids. The weight of his gaze slips lower – to your lips and then to your robes, tantalisingly open from the chest to the navel. His tongue swipes over his lower lip. Your waist is cinched with a wide silk belt, pinned with several draping chains of pearls and jewels. Little charms of glossy jade hang from your sash.

"Don't be jealous." You tilt your head as you blink slowly down at him, curiously tracing his features with your hand. "You are so small now, beloved… It hurts my neck to look you in the eye."

He huffs, but says nothing. You let go of his face and turn to pick up one of the foxes darting around your ankles, which paws at your clothes like a fussy toddler wanting to be picked up. Sukuna almost steps forward to force himself back into your line of sight, to keep your attention solely on him. He satisfies himself by walking half a step behind you, his sleeve brushing yours as you take a seat on a fallen log, the bark blanketed in soft moss. The hems of your robes spill across the deep green grass like a pool of stars.

You place the little fox in your lap, and it curls up in the crook of your arm. Its yellow eyes follow Sukuna as he moves. Expectantly, you gesture to a boulder beside you and murmur, "Sit with me a while."

When he doesn't so much as twitch, your eyes narrow slightly.

"Sit."

He sits.

You lean back, satisfied. You spend a long, silent, suffocating moment watching him, unblinking, in the way cats watch birds.

The mother fox begins to pick her kits up and place them near your feet, one at a time – back and forth, until all six of them are roughhousing a few steps away. Sukuna doesn't try to hide his distaste when a pair of them roll too hard and land on top of your pooling hem. You, however, relax at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips as the mother trots off to a quiet, shady tree nearby and promptly curls up and closes her eyes.

Children are all the same, regardless of species.

Atop the boulder, Sukuna sits with one knee up and his cheek in his palm. His shoulders are loosely sloped, his hands open and loose, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's bored of the company. But you do know better. One set of eyes is always, always, trained on you.

"So," he drawls. "I'm sitting. There. Now what?"

You eye him. "Someone's testy these days… Eager to get away, are you?"

"I—" He exhales sharply. "No. Just aware of time. The brat's supposed to be meeting with his mentor soon. I don't know how long I have you for."

"Ah. That would be the newest Gojo boy I've heard so much about, yes? The only one in recent years to have both the Six Eyes and Limitless?"

"Yeah. That one." He clenches a fist. Loosens it. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Hm." You stroke the fox's brow gently with your knuckle. It curls up more comfortably. "Do you believe I would lose?"

His lips thin into a line. "No. He will become far too interested in you."

"Of course you would think so. Sharing me with anyone else is, to you, worse than death." The fox shifts in your arms, and you can feel its breaths – the steady expansion of its ribs, the inner workings of the heart. Meat and bone. Even Sukuna, next to you, is the same – now in a stolen body, yes, but he was still flesh and blood when he had four arms and four eyes. You, on the other hand, won't leave a corpse to feed the earth.

Inhaling sharply, you turn to Sukuna, suppressing the emotion that still rakes its claws across your heart when you remember he lied to you. I will be there when you wake, he'd murmured when his temples were frosty with time. He'd pushed a folded piece of paper into your hand, containing a short poem in his elegant script. Your sleep may leave you weakened. Until you regain your strength, I will keep you safe.

How humiliating it had been to stumble in front of Kenjaku, of all people. You had once been a force of nature, the only thing the merciless King of Curses ever took counsel with – the only thing strong enough to bend in his wake without breaking. None of that mattered when you were forced to walk with a hand against the wall to keep your balance.

"How do you know the Six Eyes will take an interest in me?" you ask, voice deceptively even. "Even if he were, what does it matter? I am yours, not his."

His fingers twitch at your last sentence. It almost makes you smile; even after all this time, he remains a possessive little creature.

"Sometimes I can see through the brat's eyes," he replies, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gojo Satoru has already taken an interest in you. Over the decades, cursed spirits by your tomb began to concentrate, but their numbers were recently lowered to near zero. The sorcerers suspect one of my fingers was consumed by a curse which razed everything else. They're investigating my history with the area."

"It is always you who causes trouble for me. No one else. Only you." You sigh. "Does the boy know you watch?"

He shakes his head. "The file was open when the boy glanced at it. He didn't even read the title."

"I see," you say. Then, quieter: "Is he aware of us right now?"

"No."

The pause that follows is thick with anticipation. Sukuna watches as you brush your hair over your shoulder, his body turning towards you ever so slightly as if to make himself look larger, to show himself off. Look at me, his posture demands. Look at me and no one else.

You look away.

"I see now that you cannot leave," you say, watching the kits at your feet pounce playfully at each other. "This… displeases me."

"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel."

You're supposed to be angry with him – for lying, for leaving, for a dozen little things you scrounge up in ancient memories just to be petty. But you almost smile, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest that passes as your kind of love.

He opens his mouth. You stiffen and hold up a hand, all humour vanishing from your expression.

"Wait," you murmur, eyes darting around. "Something has changed."

A beat after you, Sukuna feels it, too: a loud, careless rush of cursed energy, emanating from an infinitely-condensed point near the main gates of the campus. A radar, of sorts.

It crackles over him harmlessly, moving on without notice. You place the fox in your arms aside as you rise to your feet, turning to him with a complicated expression.

"Someone has come looking. I can't keep you hidden while revealing your vessel. This is... This is where we must part ways." Your gaze flits over him as you step closer. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. "I can't say meeting you here made me happy. But... I missed your presence," you admit quietly, "and this assuages that, somewhat. Even if you are still as much of a bastard as you used to be."

He folds his arms tighter over his chest.

You continue, "Worry not. I will wait. After all, what is a few years to a millennium? However… you must promise me something in return for my patience."

He eyes you warily. "What is it?"

Leaning down, you grasp his chin. You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the overwhelming energy, pausing, then kneel in the grass and trace the marks along his cheek. A small smile graces your features, as soft and familiar as the night.

"Come for me the moment you are free. Depending on my mood, I may even offer you a dance," you tease. "You always liked that, didn't you?"

"Of course, I'm not a savage," he drawls, though his voice lacks its usual disdainful bite. He shifts his weight. "Fine. Deal."

"Good. Very good." You draw him closer, your fingertips brushing the soft underside of his chin. All four of his eyes flicker down to your lips. "My good boy…"

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, as light as satin. For Sukuna, however, it is a grave insult – he grabs your collar and yanks you closer, turning his head so that his lips meet yours instead of his cheek.

He feels your lips curve up against his. They part, and you whisper his name against his skin.

—

"Beloved."

A silky voice, a soft touch. Somewhere in the distance, birds call to each other in the verdant canopies. Your fingers trail over his broad chest, and you prop your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pressed warm and solid against his back. He shifts – not to push you off, but to examine your expression.

You are smiling. Not that beautiful, terrifying show of teeth and tongue, but a small, playful one, reserved for him alone.

"What is it?" he mutters, ink brush hovering over the paper. "Weren't you teaching Uraume to use a bow?"

"I was," you agree, head bobbing. Silver glitters in your hair, woven through it like the river of heaven through the sky – treasured gifts from a man who cares little for personal adornment, but whose gaze always lingers a little longer, a little hungrier, when you drape yourself in his spoils.

"And?" he prompts, turning back to his half-finished poem. Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his dark grey haori, tracing the edge of the cloth. "Finish your sentences, fox."

"Patience. I was getting there. I sent Uraume out to run some errands – when you ask me to craft you weapons, you really don't understand how much you're asking of me. My list was... substantial." Those golden eyes of yours dilate slightly as you tilt your head, staring at the side of his face. You bring your lips to his neck, kissing the skin just below his jaw. "I tire of the heat of the forge. I missed you."

His skin flushes with heat as your touch grows heavier, less fleeting. You press on his shoulder, turning him towards you, and you smile, fanged, as your eyes drift to the grinning mouth splitting his stomach. You lower your hand, pressing your thumb to the sharp points of its teeth, and it laps lightly at your fingers like an eager little pet, saliva thick and viscous.

"You've missed me, too, I see," you hum, playing with its tongue. "Put down the brush." You lean in, licking the shell of his ear. His stomach-mouth kisses your palm, licking your hand into it. "It has been some time since I've touched you, my lord. I will fix that right away."

"You are interrupting my private time, fox," he grumbles, though he doesn't push you away. "Don't try to twist your desires as if it's my fault. You are insatiable."

"You're the one who wanted me all to yourself," you huff, the shimmer of your silken pearly robes pooling around you as you pluck the brush right out of his hand. You wear so much fabric – sometimes he wonders how you can stand to lug it all around. Translucent white ribbons loop around your arms and across your back, shimmering with silver threads. "Do you also blame your stomach for rumbling when you starve?"

Giving up on his poem, he turns to you fully. "What do you want, then? To eat me?"

"Oh, can I?" You lean forward with a half-lidded glance, leaning into his touch when he raises one hand to drape over your shoulders. "I would love that."

"Only if you remove your clothes."

You tilt your head, pointed canines digging into the softness of your lips as you bite back a smile. "So eager. Who's the one with the 'desires' now, hm?"

He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, fox. It keeps the cloth clean. You will whine to me later if there are bloodstains."

"I would not."

All four eyes gaze blankly at you. You click your tongue and remove your hand from his stomach, much to its obvious displeasure – its lips twist, corners tugging down.

"Fine. No eating, then. Best to save room for dinner, anyway." You lean in, lips brushing his with a teasing smile. He busies two of his arms with straightening the inkwell and his half-full page of hemp paper – the third props himself up, and the last is wrapped possessively around your shoulders. "Perhaps you can sate another hunger of mine, beloved? I'll accept it as an apology for denying me a proper meal."

"Apology—?" he snarls, head whipping towards you. He glares. "What am I apologising for, you insolent fox—"

He is sufficiently silenced by a kiss.

You are not rough in the traditional sense. Just... bitey. Your canines dig into his lower lip, breaking skin, and he grunts softly as your tongue glides over the slick, coppery blood, pushing it into his mouth. He can feel your smile as you lick his tongue.

You part with a quiet smack, twisting in his hold to settle between his sturdy thighs. You press your forehead against his, stealing fleeting kisses between groans that seem to leave him more breathless than not.

"I know my lord is a generous and compassionate man," you murmur, your chest brushing his. "Sate my hunger. Offer me salvation."

Bare skin to bare skin, he can feel the strength taut in your muscles, the easy steadiness of your body. Despite your preference for twice as much fabric as necessary and all things shiny and luxurious, you are, at heart, just as much a fighter as he. Foxes are still predators, regardless of their glossy coats.

"Am I?" Sukuna nearly growls. His hand around your shoulders lifts to the nape of your neck, closing around delicate bone and muscle. He pulls you closer with a jerk, fingers digging into the soft spot beneath the corner of your jaw. His eyes roam your features, his blood tinting your grinning lips rosy. "Maddening pest. Think you can tell me what to do? You belong to me."

"Naturally," you reply with that same smile. "You always give in, anyway. Rather embarrassing, isn't it? A big, strong man like yourself, bending over backwards to please this little fox... or bending forwards, really. You're obsessed with me."

Nothing about you is little. You're the only thing he's ever met able to look him in the eye.

Sometimes he thinks you hover a few inches off the ground when you stand next to him, just so he has to tilt his head up to meet your playful gaze. But it isn't like he has any real proof; your robes obscure your feet, and you are constantly moving, fluttering about his shoulders in those ridiculous clothes, so it's difficult to get an accurate reading. It isn't as if you'd ever tell him, either.

"Come, now," you purr, fingers dipping into his stomach mouth again. It immediately licks your fingers inward, pulling them closer. "Ah... At least some part of you wants me. I'd almost resigned myself to using my own hand to get off."

His grip tightens around your neck. His eyes flash. "You will not. Your pleasure belongs to me."

"Yes, yes, as always. But you weren't giving me many options, my lord." You pout, stroking the tongue lapping contentedly at your hand. "Why can't you be more like this one? It's always happy to see me. You just call me names."

"That is also part of me, fox." Two of his eyes flicker down to it, watching the way you caress even his most monstrous parts with the same affection you offer the rest of him. Something unsettling curls around his heart. "Its sentiments are my own."

Your smile brightens. "Oh, I knew you loved me, Sukuna! Even if you'd rather pull out your own teeth than admit it."

He rolls his eyes and grabs you with two arms, another pulling at your sash and loosening it. You wear nothing beneath – typical of you, greedy creature – and your cock bobs as he releases it from its confines. He hums, low and rumbly in his chest.

Spitting in his hand, he grabs it and begins to stroke you, all four eyes trained on the pleased expression on your face. You thrust into his palm, one of your hands lifting to cup his thick chest and squeezing. Your saliva-slick thumb rolls over his tawny nipple, pinching and tugging, and you swallow his groan, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You nibble at his neck, sucking bruises into his tanned skin. He twists his wrist, his hand heavy with the weight of you. The size is nothing to scoff at. When he glances up, you're already looking at him, smirking knowingly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, pumping you faster, tugging roughly at the sensitive skin. Your smile falls as you whine pitifully, hips jolting forward. Your thick tip leaks.

"Sukunaaa," you gripe, "not so rough..."

"Shut up." His grip tightens as you groan directly into his ear, hot breaths fanning his neck. His skin prickles, a warm shiver threatening his perfect poise as you moan his name in a lazy drawl. His breathing grows heavy. "You... wanted this."

"So cruel." Suddenly, you press against him, closing the distance between your torso and his. You gaze through half-lidded eyes as you rut against the heat of his body, your tip brushing the lips of his grinning stomach. It opens wide, waiting.

He glares at you. Gently, you lean in, threading your fingers through his hair. You mouth at his jawline, tracing a path up, and you smile at the way his lips part naturally. You kiss him, feather-light.

Finally, mutely, he lets go of your cock, and you are free to move. He rests back on two hands, his thighs like iron around you as you press your hips forward into the mouth of his stomach. It closes immediately around you, more eager than you are, and its wide tongue laps at your length as you lazily fuck into it.

Sukuna's breath hitches violently. He tips his head back slightly but his eyes never leave yours, his expression as impenetrable as stone.

You shift, throwing your legs over his to straddle him. His eyes widen slightly as you push your cock deeper into the furnace-like heat of him, his muscles tensing under your touch. Your balls smack his stomach-mouth's lower lip as you grip his shoulder, your robes slipping around your broad shoulders. Thick muscle ripples beneath your skin as you lower your forehead to press against his.

"Good boy," you husk, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. "That feels good, doesn't it?"

Two of his hands shoot up to grip your waist as you stuff your cock deep inside him, reaching the spongy back of his second mouth. His lips part, eyes fluttering against his will, and you chuckle as he fumbles with your clothes, pulling them away from your thighs so they don't get in the way. He's careful to keep his sharp teeth away, and his lips keep a tight suction around your thick cock. His palm ghosts over your chest and stomach, almost reverential. His eyes are dark as they take in the sight of your length vanishing into him.

You croon as you yank his hair, forcing him to look at you rather than your dick. "Answer me, my lord. Does this feel good? Is it my cock that makes your cheeks flush so?"

His teeth bare in a snarl as you cup his hot face, but it's all posturing. He swallows his insults, knowing you are just as petty and would happily force him to sit there and watch as you stroked yourself to completion.

"Yes," he mutters.

You cock your head. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

Your dick slams into him. He lets out a low growl. "Yes!" he snarls, his bruising strength on your hips making your skin dip. His long nails dig into your skin. "Fuck!"

His arm threatens to buckle under his weight. His second mouth isn't meant for this sort of thing – it sucks and slobbers on your cock messily, less coordinated than the one on his face. Or maybe it's just as coordinated but it feels too good – making him lose his mind, turning him into a greedy, cock-obsessed whore. It salivates, strings of drool connecting your cock to his lips, as he buries his head in your shoulder. Soft, heavy grunts escape him with every rough thrust, deep oval rolls of your hips making his stomach tense up.

"Good answer," you whisper, amused. He shudders almost imperceptibly as you grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet your loving gaze. "Don't hide, Sukuna. I want to watch you while I use you."

He bares sharp teeth, face twisted in a grimace. "Whatever. Just finish quickly. I have other things to do."

"Like what?" You withdraw slightly, wrapping a hand around your length and stroking lazily. His fingers dig into your skin, slipped beneath your many layers and preventing you from backing up any farther. You smile as you lower your forehead to his, your hair a curtain of privacy around you – that smile is sickeningly fond. You murmur, "I don't think you're busy at all. I think you just want me to fight for your attention – as you do for mine."

You're either very trusting or very stupid when you push your cock back into the mouth of his stomach. He considers it for a split second. The idea is simple – bite down and you'll stop goading him. But then he thinks about your easily-given affection, and he thinks about difficult bloodstains in your white sleeves, and he discards the idea entirely.

Two of his hands travel up your sides – cupping your ribs, callused fingertips bumping up your spine. He watches silently, enraptured, as your body moves with more urgency. All that beauty collides with a physical superiority that he cannot ignore. Your hand in his hair stops him from looking away – you're barely trying, too busy chasing pleasure like the gluttonous thing you are, but he really does have to work to even tilt his head down.

Not that he'd want to look away, anyway. Perhaps it was a shame you were a curse, invisible to most humans – you could solve ten wars by supper with a face like that.

Or maybe it was better this way. More of you is his alone.

His muscles flex under his skin as you press deeper with a rumbled groan, your seed spilling across the mouth's slick tongue. It devours you, tongue swirling around your length, mouth hot and sloppy and oh-so starved. You close your eyes and sink into the furnace-warmth of his embrace, threateningly close to burning – close, but never there.

"How does it feel?" you murmur breathlessly, ever-curious about his physiology. Most of the time he dismisses your questions with a grunt, but sometimes, when he's softer, he'll divulge an answer or two. Now, as he stares unblinkingly up at you with lidded crimson eyes, you figure he's the latter.

Sukuna's lips part as he closes his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. He rests his head against your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed against the side of your neck, and releases a heavy exhale that's more like a groan. His grip tightens on you as your tip rubs the soft back of his mouth with a particularly desirous thrust.

"Deep," he rumbles, tone brusque. He licks his lips, pressing them against the skin of your collarbone. "Very deep."

"Good?" you ask, tilting your head to allow him better access. Wordlessly, his teeth sink into your flesh to satiate his instinct to gnaw and gnash, but not enough to break skin. White clothes, still worn.

"Yes." His sharp nails leave marks in your skin. "Acceptable."

You laugh and kiss him hard. You cup his cheek – the side with the bony growths, the monstrous eyes – and pull him deeper into the kiss, stroking the thick dark line across his bicep and eventually the daintier ones along his jaw. You kiss him with both hands on his cheeks like some delicate thing you aren't, and his skin prickles as if licked by fire.

Lazily, the mouth of his stomach laps up your come, its lips and tongue glazed in a thick white gloss. It dribbles down his lower stomach, soaking into the waist of his dark hakama. You drag your fingers through the sticky mess, coating them in it, and press two fingers into his mouth – the one on his face.

He takes them without complaint, a low rumble escaping him, and he curls his tongue neatly to lick up every drop. You press against his teeth, his tongue, stroking the delicate back of his throat, but your beloved is second to none and he doesn't so much as twitch, let alone gag. You pull them away with a slick pop and you chuckle affectionately as he stares up at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly.

He licks his lips, shining with saliva. "My turn."

He tosses you to the floor – you go down easily, a smile on your face as you gaze up at him, haloed by your own hair. He throws a leg over your middle and leans down to kiss you. He grabs your neck instead of cupping your cheek, but for him, they're one and the same.

Two of his hands tear off his trousers. Properly, too – none of that awkward shimmying, nor the time-wasting stepping-out of trouser legs. Sukuna, as he does a lot of things, does it brutishly: two handfuls of cloth yanked in opposite directions. The fabric comes apart as easily as paper.

You tut, though you can't help appreciating every inch of skin revealed to you. Your hands roam down his waist to his massive thighs, grabbing and squeezing wolfishly as you go. "You will run out of clothes at this rate."

He cocks his head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. Easier access."

He huffs, not quite a chuckle, as you grab his heavy cock and smear your own slick come against his skin. You stroke him languidly, being polite – for once – by not mentioning how wet he already is when all you've done is use him. "You are a dog."

"Fox," you correct, watching hungrily as he tugs off his haori and tosses it aside. "As you are fond of reminding me."

"In spirit," he concedes, not quite agreeing. He places his hands near your head, and despite his barbaric nature, he is careful not to pin down your hair. He reaches down between his thighs and lines up your cock with his entrance, though you are quick to grab his wrist.

"No oil?" you ask, lifting a brow.

Impatiently, one of his hands brushes you off. "Do not tell me what to do."

Without another word – without fanfare, without flourish – he sinks hilt-deep onto your cock.

Your eyes slide shut as you smack your head against the floor, the sheer heat of him threatening to melt you. Your hands slide higher, brushing his lower set of pectoral muscles. Lost in the bliss of his body, it takes you a moment to register his own hand lifting to grab yours. He holds your palm against his chest as he begins to move, the solid weight of his body dropping again and again onto your lap.

He would not be Sukuna if he were not gluttonous. So, he holds you, rides you, and leans down to kiss you, all at once – and you do nothing to encourage moderation. You entwine your fingers with his, caress his waist, and nip at his lower lip to provoke him into giving you more.

More. It was always more with you. More, more, more…

The suffocating heat of his body is nothing new. You have taken him a thousand times, but you'll never grow tired of it. He is addictive, and you should be pleased you are the only thing his blood has ever run hot for. No concubine has made him feel the way you do.

He grinds onto your cock, the heavy muscle of his thighs clenching around your hips. You throb inside him, sticky precome slicking up his insides and easing his movements. You lick your lips as you grab his thigh, fingers bruising his skin as you grip him and roll his ass deeper onto your cock. You even use the shallow lift of his hips to make the next thrust harder, rougher, deeper.

His heavy cock jolts, slapping your stomach wetly. You grin with sharp teeth as you wrap your hand around it once more, pumping his length from root to tip in time with every roll of his hips. He hisses as a thick bead of liquid dribbles down his glans. His tip is dark red, and you press your thumb into the slit of it, smearing his slick down his pulsing length.

You stroke him faster, making him grunt. He chases your hand, his own tightening into fists near your head. His sharp nails dig into his palms, drawing blood.

What a silly little dear he is. Four hands and not one of them feels as good as yours around his cock.

He pants and growls as he bounces in your lap, muscles flexing as he slams harder onto your fat cock. The wet sounds of your cock squelching in his ass, of his skin meeting yours, are obscene and violent – perfect for a man like him. Hot pleasure shudders up his spine as your cock kisses that spot inside him which makes his dick pulse hotly, a spurt of partially-clear liquid shooting across your knuckles. You smirk as you swipe it up and smear it down his length. Your thumb rolls over his slit and drags down the prominent vein on the underside roughly, as if you're trying to smooth it flat.

He drops his hips, putting his full weight on your cock. He rocks back and forth. You drag your lower lip between your teeth as you toss your head back, and your groan of pleasure sinks into his brain like your claws into flesh. His dick twitches, his balls tightening as he watches your heaving chest and gazes into your dilated pupils.

"You ride cock like a seasoned whore, my lord," you whisper, chuckling as he clenches around you in annoyance. "Nowhere else can I find someone who takes it as easily as you do."

He clicks his tongue, squeezing punishingly around you. You grunt as his tight, gummy walls stroke your slick cock. "Of course I am the only one. You are twice the size of a man. Your cock would break them."

You smile up at him, your eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

His eyes flash. His lips curl into a sneer as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, nails digging into your skin.

"You have me," he growls, grip tightening. "Speak nothing of others."

He would pulverise bone had you been weaker, but as it stands, all it does is pin you down, the warmth of his palm against your skin making your cheeks heat up. You bite back a smile. You adore it when he glares at you. There's a red flush to his cheeks that he steadfastly ignores.

You squeeze his ass, hand roaming back over his thigh. Playfully, you pinch the thick black line circling his leg. "Is my lord jealous?"

He bares his teeth with a low growl that sounds more animal than man. Your cock throbs. His glare deepens.

You smirk, smug as always, and go as far as to slap his ass, which makes him jolt in shock as the sound cracks like a whip in the room. His glare returns, this time with a roll of all four of his eyes, and he presses you punishingly into the tatami mats. His hole, hot and slick, swallows your cock with ease.

"Fox," he hisses.

"My lord," you reply with a smile. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel your pace slipping."

"Do not test my patience. I will leave you here with nothing."

The threat is an empty one – you know he desires this as much as you. The mouth of his stomach drools, thick and wet, as your cock punches so deep he swears he can feel it at the back of his throat. You both know he would never leave you unattended when he could watch himself be your undoing.

Despite it, Sukuna looks pleased with himself when you offer a begrudging silence. His stomach mouth grins widely as your dick pulses with newfound hunger. Your eyes slide shut as your cock carves a path through the slick heat of his insides, again and again, until his body learns your shape. Your tip leaks, thick and sticky, and he lets out a harsh exhale, his own cockhead dripping with every pump of your hand.

He chases the slick ring of your fist, his low grunts mixing with your unabashed groans as he rides you closer and closer to your shared climaxes.

He barely blinks as he watches your high peak – he has to swallow roughly before he salivates like some barbarian. Your come bursts creamy and thick inside him, hot as lava, and heat rushes up from his chest to his head as he admires the way you groan his name and thrust up sloppily into him. All that natural grace of yours is tainted with the pleasure you take in his body – you are unwound, undone, by a savage like him.

Then you flip him over, throwing him to the floor as if he weighs nothing. He lands with a huff, opening his mouth to complain, but his words die in his mouth as you begin to drill into him, burying your head in his neck and breathing him deep. Every slick clap of skin on skin has your seed leaking out of his stretched hole, white and creamy, and it smears his ass and thighs with each brutal thrust of your hips.

He lets out a sound like a cornered animal. "Fox," he snarls, nails tearing at the floor as your cock demands every lick of his attention. He struggles to keep his voice even. "You – hah – you damned insatiable fox—"

"Insatiable?" you purr. "You haven't come yet. I'm being a good husband and making sure you do."

His hole slurps you up like some vulgar pussy. The filthy volume of come inside him makes every pump of your hips sound like you're in a brothel. Your claws sink into the meat of his ass as you fold him up – crimson blood beads along his skin, and he twitches as your teeth part skin and muscle to mark up the side of his throat. You pull back with a breathless groan that settles deep into his ear, listening to the slick churning of your scarlet tongue as you lick his blood from your teeth and lips.

You dive in again but he tangles his hand in a fistful of your hair, halting you half an inch from his scalding skin. You growl, eyes gleaming, with teeth stained red.

He jolts as your cock slams into his abused prostate, barely able to subdue his shout into a low moan.

"White," he mutters, jaw clamping to silence himself. "No chewing."

Your lips press together in a pout but you settle for lapping at the bite mark, your hips pumping hungrily against his ass. You suppose he's right – taking a chunk out of him always makes you surprised at the amount of blood that spurts out, no matter how many times you do it. But he just bleeds so beautifully – you can hardly control yourself.

Your head is foggy with lust. You press yourself into him, burying your face in the other side of his neck so you aren't tempted to take a quick bite. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his jaw, lips brushing the black markings that decorate his honeyed skin.

"Sukuna," you breathe, two of your fingers pushing into the mouth of his stomach. You can still feel the creaminess of your own release on its lips. You stroke its tongue and a low, magnificently beastly sound escapes him as his head tips back. The bite mark on his neck bleeds more profusely, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat.

"Don't—" He groans as you push one thigh higher, pinning it to your shoulder. It is heavy, with muscle like steel. "Slow—"

"What was that?" You drag your inhumanly long tongue against his calf with a wicked grin, leaning forward. He grits his teeth at the vulnerability of the position. "'Slow down', did you say? Can't my king handle a little roughhousing?"

His cock twitches visibly at the title. You laugh at him, your pace never slacking, and you press a kiss to his calf on your shoulder.

"You're holding back," you say, amused. You angle your hips, thrusting up to kiss that sweet spot inside him, and you delight in the way his back arches for half a second before he corrects himself and glares at you. "My lord, it'll be easier on you if you come. I'll stop trying so hard."

"Shut it."

He hates the way you use his hard-won titles like pet names. Such little respect. If you were anyone else, you'd be cleaved into tiny cubes before you could finish laughing, but then he would have no dancer and his days in your forest would be silent and boring.

You press your finger to his leaking slit. He clenches his jaw. Stubborn. Still, his swollen cock jolts as you grind into him, adjusting yourself above him to fuck him harder, deeper – one way or another, you'll get it out of him.

Suddenly, your pace quickens, and the sound echoes off the walls. The weight behind every thrust jostles his body and he curses you like a war cry, two of his hands grabbing you as the other two hold him up. You lick your lips at the sight of his flushed skin and the sweat beginning to collect at his temple and across his collarbones.

You can't help it. You swoop down and drag your tongue over his chest, and the tang of his sweat mixing with blood makes your head spin with desire. He groans, deep and throaty. Your hips clap against his ass hard enough to make him shout out, and as your teeth sink into the unmarred side of his neck and bite all the way down, he comes with a humiliated, thunderous roar.

You moan desperately into his skin as you follow him over the edge, his clenching insides achingly hot and tight. You fill him up with lazy thrusts, and he twists his hand in your hair so hard you feel lightheaded. He yanks you off his bleeding neck with a growl – you hang from his fist with a drunken grin and ruby-stained teeth, your jaw working slowly. Blood drips down your chin.

He can feel the cold sting of the air against his exposed meat and veins, a neat little scoop taken out of his shoulder. It annoys him that his cock throbs at the feeling, and his chest heaves as he pushes your grinning face away. His face is hot.

"You… Tch. I told you not to chew," he grumbles, healing it with a roll of his massive shoulder. He goes to wipe off the blood dripping down his chest but you beat him to it, cleaning him up with your tongue. You use the moment to mouth at his nipple, tongue laving across it, and pop off before he can smack you away.

You chuckle as your tongue slides over your front teeth, your voice rich and husky. You wipe your chin, smearing it. "But you liked it, Sukuna. It pulled such pretty sounds out of you."

"I—" He clicks his tongue, breath catching slightly as you pull your cock out of him with a slick, sticky pop. His thighs twitch as you grab his messy length and coat your fingers in his release, pumping him twice before lifting your hand and admiring the white glaze sticking between your fingers. He watches silently as you push two fingers into your mouth with a pleased groan, then lap up the rest when it drips down your wrist.

"Finish your sentences, my lord," you tease, tossing his own words back into his face. He rolls his eyes as you pause to suck your ring finger clean. "Maybe I should bite you more often. You taste like bliss. Come, now – tell me how much you enjoyed that."

Chest still heaving, Sukuna sits up straighter, widening his legs to fit you comfortably between his thighs. You kneel there – lazy, satisfied, practically glowing. Your robes pool around you like scattered starlight as you wait for his answer.

"You are impertinent, troublesome, and spoilt," he sighs, voice a low rumble. "But fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, you will not do it again. Today."

You wilt like an abandoned flower. "Why?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, heavy and possessive. He reaches up and swipes his thumb over a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth, and you press your lips to the pad of his finger, licking it up. "There is blood on your clothes."

You glance down to where he points at your sleeve. Your eyes widen and Sukuna braces himself. On cue, you grab his arm and begin to complain directly into his ear, nails digging into his freshly-healed shoulder.

"Sukuna – what is wrong with your body? Why does it bleed so much? My sleeve was nowhere near your neck! Look at what you've done – do you know how hard it is to ensure the cloth washes white and not pink? You ask so much of me – entertain you, keep this estate hidden, smith you a dozen weapons from myths and fables – which is ridiculous, I say, do you know how difficult it is to create cursed tools? – and all I ask in return is to not bleed on me, yet here you are, bleeding on me, like some—"

You are cut off with his lips on yours. You stiffen slightly in surprise, then melt into it, leaning in and tilting your head. He groans softly as your tongue curls with his, your hand lifting to twist in his hair. You smooth it off his forehead, tracing his hairline with a light touch, and he pulls you closer with three hands. The last one cups your hand on his face.

He pulls away to breathe. You sit back on your heels, pupils swallowing up the gold of your irises. You blink slowly as you steal another kiss, lips smacking halfway to indecency again. He leans back before you can drown yourself in him and try to push him back to the floor – a very unseemly place to do such things, in his opinion.

He lifts a brow. "Calm, yet?" he asks, absently pulling the collar of your robes over your shoulder.

"Enough," you acquiesce, watching him move over to grab his discarded haori near his table. He shrugs it on, his lower pair of arms not letting go of your body. You smirk. So jealous, even when nothing threatens to take you away.

"That is better than nothing."

"Mm." You crawl closer and walk your fingers up his arm. "Write me a poem, beloved."

His eyes snap up. He bares his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to dissuade you. His grip tightens on your hip. "What?"

"A poem," you say with infinite patience. "Whichever type you prefer. I know you enjoy praising me through poetry – my face, my sorcery, how I 'revel in the fires of your chaos'! Oh, yes, I've read a few of those volumes you've made, pushed to the back of your drawers." You smile, a dark edge to it, as you meet his glare unflinchingly. "This time, I want no secrecy – I want to observe your artistic process. Perhaps I will forgive you for staining my clothes if it is sufficiently flattering."

"Why are you rummaging through my quarters?" he scoffs. "Those poems are not for you."

"So you say. You refer to me in everything but name. If you truly wanted to keep them secret, you would've burnt them." You shift to sit beside him, leaning forward to pull the paper and inkwell towards the edge of the table. "Go on. Write."

He rolls his eyes. He adjusts to sit sprawled, lazy, one arm resting upon his knee and two around you. It brings a smile to your face. He was always terribly voracious for your attention, like a feral animal you feed once and cannot escape. No matter how he feels, no matter the company, he would always bend to your whim.

You grab his thigh, pawing at the meat of him like a kneading cat, and you almost laugh aloud when he pointedly tosses the hem of his haori over his cock. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sliding your palm up to the crease of his thigh, and cast your gaze down to the paper, the poem from earlier half-complete.

"'Kitsunebi'?" you muse, tilting your head. "Foxfire. Not for me, you said?"

He exhales sharply, shooting you a warning glance. In response, you pluck the brush from its resting place and smile sweetly as you grab his hand and push it into his palm.

How ridiculous it is that he must hide his belongings in his own home. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you and your curiosity. Instead, he simply lowers his gaze and rolls the brush tip in the black ink.

—

When Sukuna opens his eyes from the kiss, you have already begun to pull away, to step back – and he is reminded of his physical limitations once more.

"Greedy," you chuckle, swiping your thumb over your lower lip. "Go now – let the boy have his body back. Perhaps I will see you again. Follow my foxes; they will lead you to me."

Something compels him to speak. "And you?" he murmurs lowly. "I refuse to waste my time searching for a dead spirit."

Will you be safe? The question is unsaid but clear as day. You hum.

"If I can hide from you, I can hide from anyone. Rest assured, no one but you will ever spill my blood." You step behind him, pushing him towards the school campus. "And… Sukuna?"

"What?"

"I really did miss you."

He turns, but in your place is a nine-tailed white fox, silent and watchful. Your ears flick. After a lingering second, you rise from your haunches, curling around him and batting his side with your tails, before slipping away and leaping into the treeline to vanish completely into the forest's shadows.

His skin prickles with the fading remnants of your cursed energy. He clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. Your cloak will not last much longer, and he can sense the brat waking up. He presses his fingers to his lips, savouring the memory of your sharp, sweet warmth.

He closes his eyes, already feeling his control over his incumbent vessel lapsing. He spends his last moments of autonomy replaying the moment his lips touched yours, a moment a thousand years in the making.

Moonlit silk, ribbons of stars, a smile sharp enough to cleave bone. The world fades to soundless oblivion.

[burgojo]

BLOOD IN THE WINE. SUKUNA / M!READER

summary. sukuna once collected a great many things, but none have ever been so important as the fox spirit that captivated him. so consumed by his love, he offered it a deal: live only for him, and sorcerers will never touch its beloved forest again. something twisted along the way.

wc. 15.3k (THICK FIC FOR A THICK MAN YKWIM)

tags. smut | top reader, bottom sukuna, husbands!reader/kuna, slightly tsundere kuna (hes soo possessive). true form sukuna!!! curse/fox spirit!reader, reader is of a similar height (~8ft or whatever sukuna is idk). smut takes place in the heian era, the rest is modern day; lore part includes kenjaku + his squad of curses. reader calls sukuna 'my lord', sukuna calls reader 'fox'. blood, sexy cannibalism (? sukuna receiving), praise + minor degradation, oral w his stomach mouth, come eating, hickeys/biting, riding, missionary, edging (sukuna; kinda? hes just stubborn), multiple orgasms, creampie

notes. as requested, the reader character has "golden eyes" and "long hair". he's a kitsune/inari okami based character bc i starting writing this when white fox came to marvel rivals and i was like "yo i wanna turn into a big fox too"

[ requested (+2) ]

At the bottom of a lake in a national park sits a towering stone statue of an Asura – the three-faced, six-armed demigods who revelled in war and hungered insatiably for worldly pleasures. Two hands are clasped in prayer; four reach for the heavens. The forests are dense, the mountains tall, and the waters dark and cool.

Most scholars estimate the statue to be particularly ancient – something like one thousand and five hundred years, around the time Buddhism was introduced to Japan. Its size, however, begets questions: why so large for such a new religion? Who made it? Why at the bottom of a lake? Why this lake? How is it still almost perfectly preserved, with such little water damage or natural erosion?

It was a local oddity, a mystery of ancient times. Its purpose – to scare, to protect, to be worshipped – was debated. Kenjaku, however, knows better.

It is a door. An entrance to a long-forgotten tomb.

Now, draining an entire lake is a mammoth task. Luckily for him, whoever crafted the statue also made it a lock. It will open via a specific pulse of cursed energy, shaped sharp and terrible like a blade rather than a key. However, time has eroded the statue's memory of its proper shape – with a determined-enough battering ram, any door will open. Kenjaku is that ram.

It's magical, watching the lake drain into some strange contraption at the raised circular base at the bottom of the statue. It looks like a grate. Soon enough, the roar of the water subsides, and the dark hollow of the lake, punched deep in the earth, is like the gods' very own kitchen sink.

Kenjaku's eyes flicker to the dark dome above. The veil conceals everything for now, but discretion would be awfully difficult to keep if he finds out there's no way to restore the lake to proper, well, lake-hood. Sorcerers would come sniffing in an instant.

At the bottom of the lake, he enters the revealed stone doors, probably fifteen or twenty feet tall. They waited, newly open, for him once he'd bypassed the lock, grinding open slowly once he reached them.

His steps echo in the vast, dark cave system. The soft plink of water drips into clear pools somewhere in the distance. His breath clouds in front of him, the air cold and damp, as he descends stairs carved into the dark stone. The stairs go down and down, then up and up, the long winding passages broad enough to fit three cars side by side.

Torches line the walls, hammered into place with black iron that fans out in the shape of spider lilies. They crackle to life as he nears them, their red flames licking the centres.

Eventually, he comes across another set of open stone doors. Two black braziers sit on either side, throwing crimson light on the walls and darkening the shadows. He lifts a hand to one of the braziers as he passes, fascinated as the flames flicker harmlessly around his bare fingers. The fire feels only as hot as the steam over a boiling pot of pasta.

None of this is for him specifically. There is no kindling in the braziers, no oil in the torches – this is a falling line of dominoes, with stored cursed energy instructed to follow a set of actions the moment the lake drained. It is unique. It is ancient. It is... ingenious.

Beyond the second set of doors, the cave system opens up into a vast, gaping cavern. Through a gap in the ceiling, pale moonlight cuts diagonally through the darkness, a cone of light falling upon a rocky formation in the centre of the cavern. A cleared path curves up to a point, and mirroring its curve above is a massive stalactite. Perhaps the points of each had touched, once, into a single form, but no longer. Water drips from the tip into a blooming patch of translucent blue flowers that stretches around the base of the rock all the way to his feet, so pale they seem to glow in the moonlight.

He glances down near the doors. At the edge of the field of flowers is a knee-height collection of drawings etched in stone and painted with flaked paint. He bobs down, brushing his fingers over the stone.

The linework is sloppy, unsteady. The paint trails outside of the lines. Humanoid figures dance around a spider-lily brazier – sit peacefully around a roasted boar – stand knee-deep in a river catching fish. His fingers trail over the last scene. Two figures are in the water, one tall and one small, but there's a third on the banks, watching under a tree. It has four arms. The face has been erased with time.

He stands again. He walks up the path, flowers sprawling on either side, and finds a tall, still figure slumped gently at the top, like a throne.

Ancient silks pool around its wrists and feet, trailing through the flowers. Any colour it once had has since faded, the cloth now bone-white. It still, however, retains its shimmery lustre, with a sheen like crushed pearls.

Kenjaku steps closer, brushing his bangs over his ear as he reaches into his pocket and extracts his phone, glancing at a picture of an ancient painted scroll from his private library. He lifts his phone up to the figure, glancing between them, and hums.

"All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."

A thousand years have passed and your skin is still supple, smooth, though ashen with death. No blood runs through you now. Your hands rest open in your lap, cupped loosely, as if awaiting offerings. Your hair is romantically long, tucked behind your ear and over your shoulder, and despite how soft they look, your lips lack colour.

Even standing at the end of your robes, more than a metre away from the bottom of your moonlit throne, Kenjaku still has to look up slightly – you are tall, definitely beating his current body, six-foot-something as it is. No, you are larger than that. God-tall. Easily worshipped, he thinks – easily feared.

He steps closer, carefully manoeuvring around the white silk pooling around his shoes. In your hands is an intricate golden brooch, inlaid with four almond-shaped rubies that haven't dulled with time. It rests delicately in your palms, and your head is tilted towards it – perhaps it was the last thing you ever saw. Careful not to disturb the rest of you, he reaches for it.

Your hand shoots forward and wraps around the entirety of his forearm, dragging him in. Your grip is bruising, strong enough to shatter stone.

Silhouetted by darkness, your eyes glow a ghostly silver, pupils completely milky-white. Your lips nearly touch his as you pull him ever so slightly closer, fingers twisting punishingly around his arm. Your breath is cold against his lips.

"A corpse..." you whisper, a raspy, rattling breath, "should be left well alone."

Kenjaku doesn't move. He doesn't try to. Even dead, your presence is electrifying, your touch like a live wire straight to the nerves. His lungs constrict, and his heart pounds in his chest with something more than wonder.

Even like this, you still manage to surprise him.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes reflecting with an eerie catlike glow in the shadows of your features. Slowly, your grip loosens, and you release his arm – gently, softly, as if you're giving it back to him. Mechanically, your gaze lowers to the brooch in your palm, and you lean back, cupping it once more. Your hand closes around the brooch; the crimson jewels glitter between your long fingers. You close your eyes, and stillness returns to the dark cavern.

Kenjaku grabs his wrist, rubbing it more out of habit than anything. His own touch is a balm from the icy burn of yours. He mutters, "So dramatic."

You don't move.

"My way would have been easier. Centralised. I have to go out of my way to bring you back – but you were always a rebellious one, weren't you?"

He reaches for the brooch again. You grab his wrist – again. Just like before, there is no life in it. Nothing real. This is all just automatic reflex, instinct preserved in limbo, as unconscious and unthinking as the decay of meat and muscle – a natural, predetermined pattern of reactions to certain stimuli.

"What a bother," he murmurs, twisting his arm out of the corpse's grasp. "But if I were you, I suppose I'd want to keep a face like this, too."

He leans down, inspecting your lowered face. You have intimidatingly beautiful features – noble, strong. Uniquely elegant.

He reaches up, his face tilted towards yours. His fingers brush your ice-cold cheek – his palm is tiny in comparison.

Part curse, part god. A once-simple soul entangled deeply, cosmically, with another's. A bond that transcends eras, lives, and perhaps the very realm of the earth.

You don't stir. Why, he wonders? Is it the brooch that acts as the catalyst? Is your corpse protecting it?

Kenjaku draws back, lifting his phone again and scanning his annotations printed on a PDF file of scrolls. The photos are clearly taken with a phone camera on a library table rather than being scanned in archive quality, but they’re serviceable.

There's a highlighted note on a poem with beautiful calligraphy, its author gone uncredited. It accompanies a landscape scene of the lake he's standing under, the inky shape of the hills and mountains almost identical to when he viewed it over a nearby cliff.

Lucent blooms settle

Beneath sleeping mountains' light—

Silk's argent embrace

He hums. Incredibly profound.

It's a winter poem. 'Sleeping mountains' – that's the seasonal word, the kigo. His thoughts dart between fragments of information as he taps his chin thoughtfully, beginning to pace languidly back and forth. If only you'd trusted him enough with the key yourself – he'd had to scrounge through countless charred villages and museum archives just to find these clues, a task that spanned centuries. You were very good at hiding things. Unfortunately for him, only one being in existence has ever held that key, and they were currently… indisposed.

Winter. Cold. The corpse is cold. 'Lucent blooms' – that definitely has to be referencing these strange flowers, some rare variety he's never seen anywhere else. 'Light'… Moon? The moon's out right now. A full moon, if that changes things. Or it could be the light bouncing off the white peaks of the surrounding mountains. 'Embrace'. Embrace what? Fancy talk for just enjoying the natural view?

He clicks his tongue with a sigh.

Silk, his mind supplies helpfully. His gaze swings back to the god-corpse resting before him and the snow-white silk, still defiantly gleaming despite the passing aeons. An idea sparks in his mind.

Slowly, he crouches, inspecting the flowers and plucks the largest one from the fresh soil. The white petals are slender, soft as velvet and luminous under the moonlight. He glances at his phone, rereading the poem two more times. He places the flower in the cup of your open palms.

He waits. He watches.

The corpse's fingers twitch.

They close stiffly around the flower, pulling it close. With a slow, steady inhale, the corpse's eyes flutter open.

No longer are they that milky death-white, lacking the natural pinkness at the corners of the eyes and in the veins of the sclera. The irises are now gold, molten gold, and as bright and brilliant as the dawn.

There is a figure in front of you: dark-clothed, blurry with countless years of your dreamless oblivion.

"Uraume…?" Your voice is a low, husky breath. You close your eyes, one hand lifting briefly towards your aching, throbbing temple. The gold brooch tips from your palm, landing soundlessly in your lap.

"Not quite."

You blink, brow slightly furrowed. Your vision clears. There is a man in front of you – a sorcerer, judging by the controlled silvery shimmer that threads itself through his very being. His face is unfamiliar. But his energy is…

You take in his serene expression, the knowing gaze that borders on condescension… and the stitches across the forehead.

"You are not Uraume," you murmur – barely. Your lip curls with distaste. He has to strain to hear over the ambient noise, the low hum of the earth and the whisper of wind through stone. Your voice comes low, a death rattle cold enough to chill bones. "Leave, brain. You are not welcome here."

"Such little gratitude to an old friend," he replies with a smile. "Would it kill you to call me by my name?"

"Which one have you stolen now? This body…" You tilt your head, surveying him. "It is a recent acquisition."

"Yes – Geto Suguru," he says rather joyfully, touching his stitched forehead in a caricature of shyness. "You may call me such, if you like."

"I will not." You lower your gaze, scooping up the brooch and closing your fingers over it. The metal is cool against your skin – your sense of touch is returning to you. You can feel the intricate patterns of the gold and the hard angles of the jewels under your thumb. "Why do you wake me?"

"My plans are coming to fruition. I assumed you would want to be there for them."

You trace the white petals of the freshly-plucked flower in your palm. An offering – but given by the wrong hands. "If I had any interest in your 'plans', I would have accepted your proposal back then. So, before I snap every bone of your borrowed body and drink its marrow while you watch, I ask again: why do you wake me?"

He lifts his hands in surrender, but his smile sharpens. "Ryomen Sukuna has returned."

Your fingers stop drawing circles into the petals. Your breath catches. "What…?"

"Indeed. I'll give you a moment to check for yourself."

You can sense it. You feel him. It's faint, but something tugs at the base of your ribs, a sharp longing that has your eyes widening. He's unmistakable. You would recognise him anywhere – you would know him blind.

But if he has returned, why is it this brain stands before you, and not him? You promised you would wait for him. You would wake for him. To be awoken by this thing instead feels like a sickening betrayal. Your grip tightens on the flower, its petals crushed in your palm.

You… should kill him.

"Thinking of ending me?" His grin widens. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, I am the tip of the spear when it comes to restoring the King of Curses to his full strength. Removing me from the equation would obstruct his return to power."

"Would it?" You cup the brooch instead, letting the broken flower petals flutter to your feet. "You are such a confident little bug."

"Well-earned, I'd say." Kenjaku flutters a few fingers in the air casually as he speaks. "If it pleases you, I know a place where you can stay to recuperate while I gather the remaining number of Sukuna's fingers. I'm sure you'll be well enough by then to participate in my plans, should you change your mind."

"I have no desire to partake in your games. It is all posturing and strutting about – no substance." You glance up, leaning back. "Now leave before I peel every nerve out of that hideous brain of yours. You interrupted my beauty sleep."

He smiles back, infuriatingly composed. "As you wish. But I can't, in good faith, go without mentioning something. You might be interested to see that I have… this." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a wooden box completely wrapped in paper seals. Despite them, dark cursed energy radiates off of it in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke humans into a terrified, sobbing paralysis. It pulses like a heartbeat. He shakes it, and something rattles within.

Your amusement vanishes. You stiffen.

He watches your reaction keenly. "This is one of the two. Join me and I'll help you retrieve the other. Luckily for us, I just so happen to know exactly where it is."

Your eyes flash. "Are you threatening me?"

"It's more of a bargain, but I digress. Is the threat of a heart attack on a cosmic scale enough to entice you over, Your Grace?"

You gaze at him with an expression as readable as stone. Your gaze darkens. "You are a fool if you believe I'll ever make promises to a brain."

"A smart fool. I know you and Sukuna are impossibly attached to each other. How long will it take you to rewrite the rules of your 'hibernation' again? A year? Ten years? His current vessel is giving him grief, so it may take him a while to retain control long enough to find you. Help me gather his fingers and you'll have him back in a flash."

You say nothing.

"How long has it been?" you ask, finally, glancing around you. "How long has that bastard made me wait?"

"A thousand years, give or take."

Your grip tightens on the brooch. A long, heavy silence falls.

"Very well," you mutter, tracking him like prey as he steps away, inspecting the flowers and your silk robes as if you're some sort of museum exhibit. Your lips press together with disgust as he smiles and clasps his hands, a glint in his eyes that states he already knew your answer before you said a word. At least for now, you're weakened, so you'll oblige, but you promise yourself you'll enjoy spilling him across the stone one day. "Do what you must."

—

A child is running around your feet. It is small, with mismatched eyes and long blue-grey hair. You stare at it.

"This is not Uraume."

Kenjaku chuckles, watching from his seat by the table. He lifts a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "Uraume is busy searching for Sukuna's fingers. Why? Missing them?"

You cross your arms, tugging your billowing sleeves away from the grabby hands of the tiny... curse. Undeterred, it crawls under the hem of your trailing robes, folding them over its shoulders like a cape. You lift your gaze. "You said they were here."

"I said they were awake," he corrects. "If you care so much, why don't you send out your Bat-Signal, call them over?"

"My what?" you frown. "If you mean that I should signal my presence to them, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Only Sukuna created that sort of bond. I did not like the idea of being... tracked."

He hums, sipping his tea. "Always so independent. Uraume will be back soon, I wager. In the meantime, why don't you introduce yourself, Mahito?"

The child at your feet looks up and beams, brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes. The dark stitches across his skin stretch with his smile. "I'm Mahito!" he chirps. "I can touch souls!"

"That's... very nice," you say, tugging your robes to stop them from catching and pulling at his dark stitches. You glance between the pair, eyes sliding up to Kenjaku's forehead. "Is it another one of yours?"

Kenjaku lets out a barked laugh, placing his tea on the table. "No. He was born of human hatred. He's quite young – not even a year old, I believe."

"Oh. I suppose that's better." You observe the youngster for a moment as he plays with the charms hanging from your sash, particularly absorbed with a small jade fox.

"Excuse me?" He almost sounds offended. "Why is it better that he's not my child?"

You ignore him, turning to the little curse. "Mahito, do your stitches hold you together, as his do? Or are yours just to make you look even more adorable?"

He lights up. "Geto! You hear that? He thinks I'm adorable!" He turns back to you, grinning. "I don't know, mister! I don't think I'll fall apart without them, but I haven't been pulled apart yet."

"I see." You pat his head. "Let's keep it that way."

"Okay!" He grasps your kimono and follows you to the table, where a dozen old scrolls and stolen inventory files lie neatly organised. You pick up the nearest folder, finding inside a printed report of 'Sukuna's Finger: Left Index'. You trace the image of it, your gaze softening ever so slightly.

Mahito isn't tall enough to see what's in your hands, let alone over the edge of the table. He huffs in annoyance and shoots up in height, shaking out his newly lengthened limbs, and grabs your elbow, shoving himself beneath your arm. He is now comfortably chest-height with you.

"Oh, just looking at these again. Geto always looks at these. So, you two were, like, married, right?" he says, tilting his head straight up to look at you at an angle impossible for human necks. "Was he any good as a wife?"

"It was a covenant," you correct, turning the page. "And yes. He was very good."

"Wow," he giggles, grabbing a scroll and unrolling it flat across the table. "Then what was the covenant about? How'd you meet? Did he try to kill you?"

You glance down at your robes, white as moonlight. A small smile tugs at your lips. "That's a boring story, Mahito."

"I don't believe that for a second! I mean, I'm not doing anything important. Let me decide if it's boring or not," he says, immediately ditching the scroll he'd just opened to take up half the library table. "Tell me, tell me!"

"Are you sure? I might not be the best storyteller. My mind is still a little foggy with sleep."

"It's okay. I just wanna know how someone like Sukuna caught the attention of someone as pretty as you, mister." He stares up at you with wide, sparkling eyes.

"If you insist." You chuckle.

"I do!"

"Very well. Long ago, I lived in a forest," you begin, touching the photo of Sukuna's finger. Even Kenjaku shifts slightly, eyes downcast towards his research but his ear tilted towards you. "It was a great, ancient place, spanning across many mountains. It was my home, and I protected it well for many years – until one day, humans came stumbling through it, shouting and trampling and carrying torches. There were too many to fight off, coming from all directions. Dealing with one group left another unchecked. They set my home on fire; that fire raged for two weeks."

You grab a chair and settle down into it, and Mahito quickly takes a seat at your feet. "Hanami hates when humans do that," he says wisely, nodding.

"They do it often, those wretched things – no consideration for the innocent creatures caught in their paths. That day, they were looking for someone: someone who'd made his latest home in my forest, and who they called the King of Curses. I didn't think much of the title. I'd never heard of the man before, so I wondered why they cared so much about him. Curious, I sought him out. I don't know why the sorcerers struggled to find him – he was loud and brutish, every step like an earthquake, every blow shaking the heavens. Unfortunately, before I could confront the barbarian disrupting my peace, the sorcerers fighting him attacked me as well. Mahito, what colour do you think gods bleed?"

He cups his chin thoughtfully. "Mine's red, but most other curses are purple. Hm... You seem different. Maybe gold, like your eyes?"

You smile evenly. "Clever guess. After I slaughtered those sorcerers, I found this supposed 'king' standing back and watching me, letting me do all the hard work. It infuriated me. He barges into my home, destroys my quiet, and now he doesn't lift a single finger to drive off the enemies he brought to my door? He had twenty of them. Surely he could spare one. But he refused, so clearly, I had no choice but to chase him off like a feral dog to take his invaders with him. For three days and three nights, we fought until we reached a stalemate. He could not touch me in a way that mattered. I could not keep him down."

A sigh flutters past your lips as you rest your head on your palm, propping your elbow on the table. "Finally, he stopped. He called me mesmerising, said that I'd enchanted him with how I fought like it was a dance, but that he wouldn't leave and wouldn't help with the humans unless offered something in return. You who steal my moonlight for your silks! he accused me. I will kill every sorcerer who threatens this forest only if you dance for me alone, forever."

Mahito hangs onto your every word, leaning forward slightly. His round, mismatched eyes shine with fascination.

"And so, Ryomen Sukuna, the mighty and undefeated King of Curses, became my darling little guard dog. The end." You wave a hand, your white sleeve gleaming in the light, and laugh at Mahito's dumbfounded expression. "Why the look? Did you expect more?"

"You skipped the middle part!" he complains, crossing his arms. "That's the best part. I wanna hear how you responded to his bargain!"

You think of Sukuna's flushed face and parted lips, all four ruby eyes half-lidded and trained on you. You think of taking him then and there in the forest clearing, the grass and trees bleached bone-white from the heat of your clash, with his sturdy thighs bracketing yours as he gripped his weapons stabbed into the soil for balance.

"No," you hum, smiling. "No, dear, you don't."

—

Mahito quite likes you. Hanami approves of your paternal care of the forest you claimed as your own, and little Dagon is still too young to do much except get carried around by Mahito so they can listen to your stories together. These are facts that bother the volcanic cursed spirit, Jogo, a surprising amount.

"He lies as easily as breathing," Jogo says gruffly, his single Cyclopean eye narrowing in your direction as you spin tales out of Sukuna's triumphs over ten-thousand-strong armies. Mahito is small at the moment, legs crossed in the sand of Dagon's beachy domain – his eyes shine brighter when you briefly make reference to your own formidable strength. Sukuna is a fairytale, just a collection of words – you are tangible, real, and to his mind, more interesting for it.

Kenjaku smiles calmly. "Is that why you don't get along?"

"Cursed spirits should be authentic! Real! The fox hides his true feelings and plays games to manipulate things in his favour. That's cowardly," he grumbles. "Striking from the shadows is reserved for the weak."

"Ah, but you forget that he faced off against Sukuna in his prime and managed to walk away. He's anything but weak. Open, honourable duels just aren't his cup of tea." Glancing across the beach, he watches Mahito clamber into your lap, childlike interest bright on his face as he reaches up and touches the brooch pinned high on your lapel. You hide it with your hair most of the time, sweeping it forward over your shoulders. Kenjaku watches as you sit him across your knee and let him touch it, but you grasp it firmly so he can't steal it away. "Once Sukuna fully incarnates, don't mention such thoughts to him. He's very touchy when it comes to what's his, so if you know what's good for you, keep your mouth closed."

Jogo harrumphs. "Fine. Doesn't matter to me. Why'd you wake him up before Sukuna's incarnation, anyway? He hasn't done anything yet except make a fanboy out of Mahito."

"Oh, just think a little bit harder," Kenjaku cajoles. "We know Sukuna's vessel is trained by Gojo Satoru and they're both residing at the Tokyo jujutsu school, yes? If Sukuna's as possessive as I remember, knowing his fox has returned and is waiting for him will fuel his desire to incarnate as soon as possible. Right now, there are still a dozen fingers out there, so he isn't rushing to consume them. I want to change that."

His eye narrows. "You… want to send him to the school."

"Bingo," he replies cheerfully.

"That'll get him killed."

"Oh, please. Stop underestimating him. He's very good at his certain brand of violence. Besides..." he hums as he settles back in the chair, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes with a serene smile. "Don't you think it would be funny?"

—

Yuji trudges blearily towards the open training fields of the campus, rubbing his eyes. His uniform is crinkled, and his socks are probably two different colours. He can't remember. He's always been unnaturally hardy, but over the last two weeks, Sukuna has been exceptionally loud and restless inside his head, and every lapse in attention was enough to let him manifest a mouth or eye with disturbing ease. Nights were even worse, and Yuji worriedly relayed to his teacher how Sukuna was able to take control of his entire body just because he crashed so hard it felt like blacking out. He'd jerked himself awake with his hand on the doorknob, but that wasn't a risk he was willing to take every night.

Satoru had lost much of his flippant attitude at his confession. His smile faded for a beat too long before it returned, and he simply asked Yuji to meet up with him the next day to 'train'. Train what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but honestly, he'd trust the man if he told him to walk off a cliff blindfolded.

"You're a weak, pathetic little gnat and always will be. You think your 'training' will amount to anything? Give in. Give up."

If Yuji smacks the side of his head with any more force, he'll give himself a concussion. "You're straightforward today," he mutters. "Usually you like to try to manipulate me more."

"What is there to manipulate when you've got the brains of a brick?" Sukuna drawls. His voice echoes in his skull like a pounding bassline with none of the fun involved.

"You're a real jerk, man."

He chuckles then, deep and sinister. "Every time you consume a part of me, you lose more of yourself. Can you imagine that, of not knowing where I begin and you end?"

Something red flashes into Yuji's peripherals. He blinks, pausing on the edge of the training field along the path, right next to the dense forest that circles the campus.

A small red fox halts in the middle of the path in front of him, thick fluffy tail swaying low behind it. It blinks slowly, its yellow eyes fixated on him. Its red-orange fur is glossy, and its soft white throat is as pale as snow.

"Hey, buddy," Yuji coos, voice pitching higher subconsciously. "Aw. You're just the fluffiest, aren'tcha?"

The fox stares at him, small paws tapping the ground. It turns and patters further along the path for a few steps, then pauses and looks over its shoulder expectantly with uncannily clever eyes.

"Whoa," he mumbles, brows knitting slightly. "Is it just me, or does that fox look like it wants me to follow it?"

The response is instantaneous. "Do it, brat."

"Well, now I don't want to," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms. "Can't you literally read my thoughts? I was going to do it to kill time, since Gojo-sensei isn't here yet, but you saying that really messed me up."

"What the hell do you think I gain out of following a damn animal?"

"I dunno. What if it's a cursed spirit or something? What if you're trying to get me killed – again?"

"It is not. I can assure you, it is not." He sounds almost impatient. "But say it was. Look at the size of the thing. Kick it and you'd exorcise it. Now go. It's leaving."

Yuji groans, reluctantly jogging after the quick little fox. He supposes Sukuna's right, though – he's on campus, and he saw Principal Yaga walking through the halls just a few minutes earlier, so he at least has someone to run to if anything goes sideways.

Besides... something within him burns with curiosity. Not a vestigial remnant of Sukuna, either. Something uniquely his own.

With a half-second pause and a glance back, the fox veers left into the trees. It vanishes amongst the shrub almost immediately. Yuji scrambles to track it. "Ah, damn it…! Doesn't everybody say not to follow foxes in forests? The second things look fishy, I'm getting outta here."

For the first time in weeks, Sukuna is dead silent. Yuji ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing behind him to see the light of the path quickly dimming with every step. The fox seems to be leading him in a straight line, which will be great for sprinting his way back to safety if he even so much as hears a twig snap.

The fox's pace quickens, white-tipped tail held high like a flag. Yuji steps over a nest of thick, gnarled roots, almost trips on a spiky bush, and looks up. He freezes.

There, in a small patch of sun behind a large evergreen tree, is a pure white fox the size of a large dog. Several smaller red foxes surround it, jumping about or resting in the patch of sunlight. What seems like a mother and her kits play slightly further away to give the yipping, wrestling babies some room. The white fox watches them with particular care.

"Whoa... Cute," Yuji whispers, dazed. He lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes glistening. "So cute…"

At his words, the large white fox turns its head in his direction. Its eyes are not just yellow – they seem to glow with an unnatural flash that lingers even after it passes through the light into the shadows. It rises to all fours and steps slowly, predatorily, towards him.

Stepping out from behind the tree, it reveals nine long, gleaming white tails, held up high and proud.

The fox that led Yuji here scampers towards it, lowering its head in what seems like deference. The white fox glances at it once, and the red one stands and trots off to join another curled up in the roots of a tree.

The white fox approaches slowly, strong and sinewy. It blinks with eyes almost human, the pupils dilating as it scans his figure. The nine – nine! – tails puff up and give a little quiver, before calming down into a slower – though faster than earlier – side-to-side sway.

It comes even closer, near enough to pet if he lifted his hand. His fingers twitch. Its fur looks impossibly soft and white, like a cloud in animal form. It churrs quietly as it lifts its head towards his outstretched palm.

Wait, outstretched?

He snaps out of it with a sharp gasp. He turns swiftly on his heel and takes a single step forward.

"Leaving so soon?"

He freezes with a strange tugging in his soul – was that his? – that commands him to turn. Eyes wide, expression fixed in place, he slowly inches back around. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze travels up, up, up.

Standing before him is a beautiful man, taller than anything he's ever seen – taller than Nanamin, taller than Gojo-sensei, taller than Panda. He wears long robes that flow like a silver river, gleaming so brightly he looks like a fallen star, and a soft wind plays with his sleeves and hair. His expression is almost kind.

Almost.

"Goodness. Even a thousand years later, you still manage to drag me into the filth of your messes," you say, your voice a soothing wash of silk over river-smoothed stone. A pair of red foxes curls around your ankles, leaping over your trailing robes.

Yuji takes a step back.

"Well?" you ask, tilting your head. "Nothing to say, husband?"

Yuji squeaks, lifting his hands defensively. "Huh? What? No, you must be mistaken, I-I'm not – um—"

His jaw clicks shut as you step closer, extending a hand. How can you be more beautiful up close? You gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "He even looks like you, Sukuna. I have not seen you so young in a long, long time."

A crushing pressure presses down on his lungs, not unlike Gojo-sensei's when he lifts his blindfold. He wants to move. Needs to move. He's going to die if he stays still for even a second longer.

You lean down slightly, molten-gold eyes trained on his. Against his own will, his eyes flick down to the ruby-studded brooch peeking out from beneath your hair. Something dark and foreign rumbles against his very soul – like the purr of a large cat.

"Brat." Sukuna's deep voice cuts through his incoherent thoughts. "Let me take over."

What? he thinks, halfway to panic because a really, really pretty man is holding his face and isn't breaking eye contact. No! I'm not doing that! No way!

"You think you can fight him and win?" He scoffs. "That's a special-grade curse you're looking at, you know – slips past your defences like moonlight, a cruelty so beautiful you would thank him if he danced on your corpse. He made rivers run red with human blood for days."

WHAT? he thinks, fully panicking.

Oh, god. Oh, dear god. He wonders if he can summon his trusty teacher if he screams his name loud enough.

"You should come with me, child," you whisper with a smile, those golden eyes glinting. You kneel, moving closer, and Yuji squeaks as you look up at him. The scent of sweet petrichor curls around him – cool, gentle, like a secret not meant to be shared. "I won't hurt you... not a hair on your head. Come."

Your offered hand looks so inviting…

"No!" he blurts out, jerking back. "He said you like human blood, a-and dancing on people's corpses! I don't trust you at all!"

"Do you think sweet animals would sleep around my feet if I were so savage? You'd trust the word of a demon over mine, pup?"

"I..." He hesitates. "F-For this, yeah! He sounded proud. He's never proud of anything, so he can't be lying."

Your lips part slightly before pressing together. Your eyes, once so gentle, narrow. "Sukuna... You're ruining things again with your big mouth. I travelled all this way just to be foiled by my own husband – typical."

You turn Yuji's face, staring at the scar-like line below his eye. "You speak to the child, yet you hide from me. Does it please you to pretend I'm not here? Coward."

Foreign indignance bubbles up inside him. Yuji swallows.

You wait. One second. Two.

Your expression darkens and you rise to your feet, not so much dropping Yuji's face as pushing him away. He steps back, touching his jaw where your fingers once were. Something lingers, painless but crackling like Pop Rocks against his skin.

"Fine," you murmur, like a dull wave against the shore, as you turn your back to him. Your voice is impassive, but the forest responds to your mood as physically as a bushfire. Trees shudder. Flowers shrink away. The foxes stop playing. "Stay silent. Stay spineless. Just don't come crawling to me after, begging for forgiveness."

You lift your head at the brief flaring of heavy, malicious, familiar cursed energy that soaks into the forest around you.

At once, with more urgency than ever before, black markings bloom across Yuji's skin. His features sharpen minutely, his nails lengthen and blacken, and he runs a hand through his hair and sweeps it up off his forehead. With a slow, silent exhale, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and shoves his hands into his pockets, tipping his chin up as he regards your figure with eyes that are finally his own.

Emotion burns like red-hot charcoal in his chest. Sharing a body with a teenager was annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Forced to watch through the brat's eyes as you touch him, hold him, even going so far as to kneel before him to make yourself smaller, he despised the way he felt his vessel's heartbeat quicken, how the kid's thoughts turned into jumbled mush the moment you gave him a playful nickname.

Maybe he should tear out the brat's eyes before he gives his body back. Maybe he should rip his heart out again just for the pleasure of crushing it in his fist, knowing that regenerating another meant that the new one would never have raced for you.

You turn. Your expression changes – softens, almost.

"Sukuna," you say quietly.

He says your name slowly. It's almost reverential, his four eyes trailing over your body. His crimson gaze is greedy, drinking you in. You have changed very little – you still wear the kimono he gifted you, tailored and as expensive as ten thousand mercenaries. The hem has frayed slightly, trailing over the ground, but every silver thread still carries the faint thrum of his original cursed energy – a mark, a claim, which you once wore with preening pride, teasing him for his quick jealousy. You have kept it steady, meticulously keeping him alive quite literally on your sleeve.

His lips part. "You're… awake."

"I am." Your eyes narrow. "Not by your hand."

He crosses his arms. Two, not four. "No."

"Why not?"

He pauses, assessing your mood. You stand perfectly still, now taller than him by a significant margin. He thought he'd hate it more than he does. Regardless, you have yet to grab him and sew him into a rock-weighted sack to toss in a lake, so he supposes it could always be worse.

"The brat is an anomaly," he replies, his lower set of eyes glancing down at his vessel's body with a sneer. His upper pair remain trained on you. "I was… suppressed."

"Suppressed," you repeat. You lift your chin and stare down at him. "I thought I married the King of Curses. The strongest."

He bristles slightly. "You did," he snaps, his voice deepening. "I am."

Silence falls. Your cursed energy ripples outward, and as the foxes begin to play again, as if he weren't even there, he knows he is free to speak. You have cloaked his presence, letting his energy merge with yours – as a creature of lies and illusions, nature's guardian god, your cursed energy feels more natural than most, as essential and unremarkable as rain and earth. You've given him a few minutes of secrecy.

"Hm." You step towards him, beckoning with an outstretched hand. He meets you in the middle, and you gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "You look young, Sukuna. I have not seen you like this in a long, long time."

"Do you prefer it?" he asks, his tone flat with boredom – but he never blinks, tracing your features, printing them into the backs of his eyelids. The weight of his gaze slips lower – to your lips and then to your robes, tantalisingly open from the chest to the navel. His tongue swipes over his lower lip. Your waist is cinched with a wide silk belt, pinned with several draping chains of pearls and jewels. Little charms of glossy jade hang from your sash.

"Don't be jealous." You tilt your head as you blink slowly down at him, curiously tracing his features with your hand. "You are so small now, beloved… It hurts my neck to look you in the eye."

He huffs, but says nothing. You let go of his face and turn to pick up one of the foxes darting around your ankles, which paws at your clothes like a fussy toddler wanting to be picked up. Sukuna almost steps forward to force himself back into your line of sight, to keep your attention solely on him. He satisfies himself by walking half a step behind you, his sleeve brushing yours as you take a seat on a fallen log, the bark blanketed in soft moss. The hems of your robes spill across the deep green grass like a pool of stars.

You place the little fox in your lap, and it curls up in the crook of your arm. Its yellow eyes follow Sukuna as he moves. Expectantly, you gesture to a boulder beside you and murmur, "Sit with me a while."

When he doesn't so much as twitch, your eyes narrow slightly.

"Sit."

He sits.

You lean back, satisfied. You spend a long, silent, suffocating moment watching him, unblinking, in the way cats watch birds.

The mother fox begins to pick her kits up and place them near your feet, one at a time – back and forth, until all six of them are roughhousing a few steps away. Sukuna doesn't try to hide his distaste when a pair of them roll too hard and land on top of your pooling hem. You, however, relax at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips as the mother trots off to a quiet, shady tree nearby and promptly curls up and closes her eyes.

Children are all the same, regardless of species.

Atop the boulder, Sukuna sits with one knee up and his cheek in his palm. His shoulders are loosely sloped, his hands open and loose, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's bored of the company. But you do know better. One set of eyes is always, always, trained on you.

"So," he drawls. "I'm sitting. There. Now what?"

You eye him. "Someone's testy these days… Eager to get away, are you?"

"I—" He exhales sharply. "No. Just aware of time. The brat's supposed to be meeting with his mentor soon. I don't know how long I have you for."

"Ah. That would be the newest Gojo boy I've heard so much about, yes? The only one in recent years to have both the Six Eyes and Limitless?"

"Yeah. That one." He clenches a fist. Loosens it. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Hm." You stroke the fox's brow gently with your knuckle. It curls up more comfortably. "Do you believe I would lose?"

His lips thin into a line. "No. He will become far too interested in you."

"Of course you would think so. Sharing me with anyone else is, to you, worse than death." The fox shifts in your arms, and you can feel its breaths – the steady expansion of its ribs, the inner workings of the heart. Meat and bone. Even Sukuna, next to you, is the same – now in a stolen body, yes, but he was still flesh and blood when he had four arms and four eyes. You, on the other hand, won't leave a corpse to feed the earth.

Inhaling sharply, you turn to Sukuna, suppressing the emotion that still rakes its claws across your heart when you remember he lied to you. I will be there when you wake, he'd murmured when his temples were frosty with time. He'd pushed a folded piece of paper into your hand, containing a short poem in his elegant script. Your sleep may leave you weakened. Until you regain your strength, I will keep you safe.

How humiliating it had been to stumble in front of Kenjaku, of all people. You had once been a force of nature, the only thing the merciless King of Curses ever took counsel with – the only thing strong enough to bend in his wake without breaking. None of that mattered when you were forced to walk with a hand against the wall to keep your balance.

"How do you know the Six Eyes will take an interest in me?" you ask, voice deceptively even. "Even if he were, what does it matter? I am yours, not his."

His fingers twitch at your last sentence. It almost makes you smile; even after all this time, he remains a possessive little creature.

"Sometimes I can see through the brat's eyes," he replies, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gojo Satoru has already taken an interest in you. Over the decades, cursed spirits by your tomb began to concentrate, but their numbers were recently lowered to near zero. The sorcerers suspect one of my fingers was consumed by a curse which razed everything else. They're investigating my history with the area."

"It is always you who causes trouble for me. No one else. Only you." You sigh. "Does the boy know you watch?"

He shakes his head. "The file was open when the boy glanced at it. He didn't even read the title."

"I see," you say. Then, quieter: "Is he aware of us right now?"

"No."

The pause that follows is thick with anticipation. Sukuna watches as you brush your hair over your shoulder, his body turning towards you ever so slightly as if to make himself look larger, to show himself off. Look at me, his posture demands. Look at me and no one else.

You look away.

"I see now that you cannot leave," you say, watching the kits at your feet pounce playfully at each other. "This… displeases me."

"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel."

You're supposed to be angry with him – for lying, for leaving, for a dozen little things you scrounge up in ancient memories just to be petty. But you almost smile, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest that passes as your kind of love.

He opens his mouth. You stiffen and hold up a hand, all humour vanishing from your expression.

"Wait," you murmur, eyes darting around. "Something has changed."

A beat after you, Sukuna feels it, too: a loud, careless rush of cursed energy, emanating from an infinitely-condensed point near the main gates of the campus. A radar, of sorts.

It crackles over him harmlessly, moving on without notice. You place the fox in your arms aside as you rise to your feet, turning to him with a complicated expression.

"Someone has come looking. I can't keep you hidden while revealing your vessel. This is... This is where we must part ways." Your gaze flits over him as you step closer. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. "I can't say meeting you here made me happy. But... I missed your presence," you admit quietly, "and this assuages that, somewhat. Even if you are still as much of a bastard as you used to be."

He folds his arms tighter over his chest.

You continue, "Worry not. I will wait. After all, what is a few years to a millennium? However… you must promise me something in return for my patience."

He eyes you warily. "What is it?"

Leaning down, you grasp his chin. You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the overwhelming energy, pausing, then kneel in the grass and trace the marks along his cheek. A small smile graces your features, as soft and familiar as the night.

"Come for me the moment you are free. Depending on my mood, I may even offer you a dance," you tease. "You always liked that, didn't you?"

"Of course, I'm not a savage," he drawls, though his voice lacks its usual disdainful bite. He shifts his weight. "Fine. Deal."

"Good. Very good." You draw him closer, your fingertips brushing the soft underside of his chin. All four of his eyes flicker down to your lips. "My good boy…"

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, as light as satin. For Sukuna, however, it is a grave insult – he grabs your collar and yanks you closer, turning his head so that his lips meet yours instead of his cheek.

He feels your lips curve up against his. They part, and you whisper his name against his skin.

—

"Beloved."

A silky voice, a soft touch. Somewhere in the distance, birds call to each other in the verdant canopies. Your fingers trail over his broad chest, and you prop your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pressed warm and solid against his back. He shifts – not to push you off, but to examine your expression.

You are smiling. Not that beautiful, terrifying show of teeth and tongue, but a small, playful one, reserved for him alone.

"What is it?" he mutters, ink brush hovering over the paper. "Weren't you teaching Uraume to use a bow?"

"I was," you agree, head bobbing. Silver glitters in your hair, woven through it like the river of heaven through the sky – treasured gifts from a man who cares little for personal adornment, but whose gaze always lingers a little longer, a little hungrier, when you drape yourself in his spoils.

"And?" he prompts, turning back to his half-finished poem. Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his dark grey haori, tracing the edge of the cloth. "Finish your sentences, fox."

"Patience. I was getting there. I sent Uraume out to run some errands – when you ask me to craft you weapons, you really don't understand how much you're asking of me. My list was... substantial." Those golden eyes of yours dilate slightly as you tilt your head, staring at the side of his face. You bring your lips to his neck, kissing the skin just below his jaw. "I tire of the heat of the forge. I missed you."

His skin flushes with heat as your touch grows heavier, less fleeting. You press on his shoulder, turning him towards you, and you smile, fanged, as your eyes drift to the grinning mouth splitting his stomach. You lower your hand, pressing your thumb to the sharp points of its teeth, and it laps lightly at your fingers like an eager little pet, saliva thick and viscous.

"You've missed me, too, I see," you hum, playing with its tongue. "Put down the brush." You lean in, licking the shell of his ear. His stomach-mouth kisses your palm, licking your hand into it. "It has been some time since I've touched you, my lord. I will fix that right away."

"You are interrupting my private time, fox," he grumbles, though he doesn't push you away. "Don't try to twist your desires as if it's my fault. You are insatiable."

"You're the one who wanted me all to yourself," you huff, the shimmer of your silken pearly robes pooling around you as you pluck the brush right out of his hand. You wear so much fabric – sometimes he wonders how you can stand to lug it all around. Translucent white ribbons loop around your arms and across your back, shimmering with silver threads. "Do you also blame your stomach for rumbling when you starve?"

Giving up on his poem, he turns to you fully. "What do you want, then? To eat me?"

"Oh, can I?" You lean forward with a half-lidded glance, leaning into his touch when he raises one hand to drape over your shoulders. "I would love that."

"Only if you remove your clothes."

You tilt your head, pointed canines digging into the softness of your lips as you bite back a smile. "So eager. Who's the one with the 'desires' now, hm?"

He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, fox. It keeps the cloth clean. You will whine to me later if there are bloodstains."

"I would not."

All four eyes gaze blankly at you. You click your tongue and remove your hand from his stomach, much to its obvious displeasure – its lips twist, corners tugging down.

"Fine. No eating, then. Best to save room for dinner, anyway." You lean in, lips brushing his with a teasing smile. He busies two of his arms with straightening the inkwell and his half-full page of hemp paper – the third props himself up, and the last is wrapped possessively around your shoulders. "Perhaps you can sate another hunger of mine, beloved? I'll accept it as an apology for denying me a proper meal."

"Apology—?" he snarls, head whipping towards you. He glares. "What am I apologising for, you insolent fox—"

He is sufficiently silenced by a kiss.

You are not rough in the traditional sense. Just... bitey. Your canines dig into his lower lip, breaking skin, and he grunts softly as your tongue glides over the slick, coppery blood, pushing it into his mouth. He can feel your smile as you lick his tongue.

You part with a quiet smack, twisting in his hold to settle between his sturdy thighs. You press your forehead against his, stealing fleeting kisses between groans that seem to leave him more breathless than not.

"I know my lord is a generous and compassionate man," you murmur, your chest brushing his. "Sate my hunger. Offer me salvation."

Bare skin to bare skin, he can feel the strength taut in your muscles, the easy steadiness of your body. Despite your preference for twice as much fabric as necessary and all things shiny and luxurious, you are, at heart, just as much a fighter as he. Foxes are still predators, regardless of their glossy coats.

"Am I?" Sukuna nearly growls. His hand around your shoulders lifts to the nape of your neck, closing around delicate bone and muscle. He pulls you closer with a jerk, fingers digging into the soft spot beneath the corner of your jaw. His eyes roam your features, his blood tinting your grinning lips rosy. "Maddening pest. Think you can tell me what to do? You belong to me."

"Naturally," you reply with that same smile. "You always give in, anyway. Rather embarrassing, isn't it? A big, strong man like yourself, bending over backwards to please this little fox... or bending forwards, really. You're obsessed with me."

Nothing about you is little. You're the only thing he's ever met able to look him in the eye.

Sometimes he thinks you hover a few inches off the ground when you stand next to him, just so he has to tilt his head up to meet your playful gaze. But it isn't like he has any real proof; your robes obscure your feet, and you are constantly moving, fluttering about his shoulders in those ridiculous clothes, so it's difficult to get an accurate reading. It isn't as if you'd ever tell him, either.

"Come, now," you purr, fingers dipping into his stomach mouth again. It immediately licks your fingers inward, pulling them closer. "Ah... At least some part of you wants me. I'd almost resigned myself to using my own hand to get off."

His grip tightens around your neck. His eyes flash. "You will not. Your pleasure belongs to me."

"Yes, yes, as always. But you weren't giving me many options, my lord." You pout, stroking the tongue lapping contentedly at your hand. "Why can't you be more like this one? It's always happy to see me. You just call me names."

"That is also part of me, fox." Two of his eyes flicker down to it, watching the way you caress even his most monstrous parts with the same affection you offer the rest of him. Something unsettling curls around his heart. "Its sentiments are my own."

Your smile brightens. "Oh, I knew you loved me, Sukuna! Even if you'd rather pull out your own teeth than admit it."

He rolls his eyes and grabs you with two arms, another pulling at your sash and loosening it. You wear nothing beneath – typical of you, greedy creature – and your cock bobs as he releases it from its confines. He hums, low and rumbly in his chest.

Spitting in his hand, he grabs it and begins to stroke you, all four eyes trained on the pleased expression on your face. You thrust into his palm, one of your hands lifting to cup his thick chest and squeezing. Your saliva-slick thumb rolls over his tawny nipple, pinching and tugging, and you swallow his groan, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You nibble at his neck, sucking bruises into his tanned skin. He twists his wrist, his hand heavy with the weight of you. The size is nothing to scoff at. When he glances up, you're already looking at him, smirking knowingly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, pumping you faster, tugging roughly at the sensitive skin. Your smile falls as you whine pitifully, hips jolting forward. Your thick tip leaks.

"Sukunaaa," you gripe, "not so rough..."

"Shut up." His grip tightens as you groan directly into his ear, hot breaths fanning his neck. His skin prickles, a warm shiver threatening his perfect poise as you moan his name in a lazy drawl. His breathing grows heavy. "You... wanted this."

"So cruel." Suddenly, you press against him, closing the distance between your torso and his. You gaze through half-lidded eyes as you rut against the heat of his body, your tip brushing the lips of his grinning stomach. It opens wide, waiting.

He glares at you. Gently, you lean in, threading your fingers through his hair. You mouth at his jawline, tracing a path up, and you smile at the way his lips part naturally. You kiss him, feather-light.

Finally, mutely, he lets go of your cock, and you are free to move. He rests back on two hands, his thighs like iron around you as you press your hips forward into the mouth of his stomach. It closes immediately around you, more eager than you are, and its wide tongue laps at your length as you lazily fuck into it.

Sukuna's breath hitches violently. He tips his head back slightly but his eyes never leave yours, his expression as impenetrable as stone.

You shift, throwing your legs over his to straddle him. His eyes widen slightly as you push your cock deeper into the furnace-like heat of him, his muscles tensing under your touch. Your balls smack his stomach-mouth's lower lip as you grip his shoulder, your robes slipping around your broad shoulders. Thick muscle ripples beneath your skin as you lower your forehead to press against his.

"Good boy," you husk, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. "That feels good, doesn't it?"

Two of his hands shoot up to grip your waist as you stuff your cock deep inside him, reaching the spongy back of his second mouth. His lips part, eyes fluttering against his will, and you chuckle as he fumbles with your clothes, pulling them away from your thighs so they don't get in the way. He's careful to keep his sharp teeth away, and his lips keep a tight suction around your thick cock. His palm ghosts over your chest and stomach, almost reverential. His eyes are dark as they take in the sight of your length vanishing into him.

You croon as you yank his hair, forcing him to look at you rather than your dick. "Answer me, my lord. Does this feel good? Is it my cock that makes your cheeks flush so?"

His teeth bare in a snarl as you cup his hot face, but it's all posturing. He swallows his insults, knowing you are just as petty and would happily force him to sit there and watch as you stroked yourself to completion.

"Yes," he mutters.

You cock your head. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

Your dick slams into him. He lets out a low growl. "Yes!" he snarls, his bruising strength on your hips making your skin dip. His long nails dig into your skin. "Fuck!"

His arm threatens to buckle under his weight. His second mouth isn't meant for this sort of thing – it sucks and slobbers on your cock messily, less coordinated than the one on his face. Or maybe it's just as coordinated but it feels too good – making him lose his mind, turning him into a greedy, cock-obsessed whore. It salivates, strings of drool connecting your cock to his lips, as he buries his head in your shoulder. Soft, heavy grunts escape him with every rough thrust, deep oval rolls of your hips making his stomach tense up.

"Good answer," you whisper, amused. He shudders almost imperceptibly as you grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet your loving gaze. "Don't hide, Sukuna. I want to watch you while I use you."

He bares sharp teeth, face twisted in a grimace. "Whatever. Just finish quickly. I have other things to do."

"Like what?" You withdraw slightly, wrapping a hand around your length and stroking lazily. His fingers dig into your skin, slipped beneath your many layers and preventing you from backing up any farther. You smile as you lower your forehead to his, your hair a curtain of privacy around you – that smile is sickeningly fond. You murmur, "I don't think you're busy at all. I think you just want me to fight for your attention – as you do for mine."

You're either very trusting or very stupid when you push your cock back into the mouth of his stomach. He considers it for a split second. The idea is simple – bite down and you'll stop goading him. But then he thinks about your easily-given affection, and he thinks about difficult bloodstains in your white sleeves, and he discards the idea entirely.

Two of his hands travel up your sides – cupping your ribs, callused fingertips bumping up your spine. He watches silently, enraptured, as your body moves with more urgency. All that beauty collides with a physical superiority that he cannot ignore. Your hand in his hair stops him from looking away – you're barely trying, too busy chasing pleasure like the gluttonous thing you are, but he really does have to work to even tilt his head down.

Not that he'd want to look away, anyway. Perhaps it was a shame you were a curse, invisible to most humans – you could solve ten wars by supper with a face like that.

Or maybe it was better this way. More of you is his alone.

His muscles flex under his skin as you press deeper with a rumbled groan, your seed spilling across the mouth's slick tongue. It devours you, tongue swirling around your length, mouth hot and sloppy and oh-so starved. You close your eyes and sink into the furnace-warmth of his embrace, threateningly close to burning – close, but never there.

"How does it feel?" you murmur breathlessly, ever-curious about his physiology. Most of the time he dismisses your questions with a grunt, but sometimes, when he's softer, he'll divulge an answer or two. Now, as he stares unblinkingly up at you with lidded crimson eyes, you figure he's the latter.

Sukuna's lips part as he closes his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. He rests his head against your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed against the side of your neck, and releases a heavy exhale that's more like a groan. His grip tightens on you as your tip rubs the soft back of his mouth with a particularly desirous thrust.

"Deep," he rumbles, tone brusque. He licks his lips, pressing them against the skin of your collarbone. "Very deep."

"Good?" you ask, tilting your head to allow him better access. Wordlessly, his teeth sink into your flesh to satiate his instinct to gnaw and gnash, but not enough to break skin. White clothes, still worn.

"Yes." His sharp nails leave marks in your skin. "Acceptable."

You laugh and kiss him hard. You cup his cheek – the side with the bony growths, the monstrous eyes – and pull him deeper into the kiss, stroking the thick dark line across his bicep and eventually the daintier ones along his jaw. You kiss him with both hands on his cheeks like some delicate thing you aren't, and his skin prickles as if licked by fire.

Lazily, the mouth of his stomach laps up your come, its lips and tongue glazed in a thick white gloss. It dribbles down his lower stomach, soaking into the waist of his dark hakama. You drag your fingers through the sticky mess, coating them in it, and press two fingers into his mouth – the one on his face.

He takes them without complaint, a low rumble escaping him, and he curls his tongue neatly to lick up every drop. You press against his teeth, his tongue, stroking the delicate back of his throat, but your beloved is second to none and he doesn't so much as twitch, let alone gag. You pull them away with a slick pop and you chuckle affectionately as he stares up at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly.

He licks his lips, shining with saliva. "My turn."

He tosses you to the floor – you go down easily, a smile on your face as you gaze up at him, haloed by your own hair. He throws a leg over your middle and leans down to kiss you. He grabs your neck instead of cupping your cheek, but for him, they're one and the same.

Two of his hands tear off his trousers. Properly, too – none of that awkward shimmying, nor the time-wasting stepping-out of trouser legs. Sukuna, as he does a lot of things, does it brutishly: two handfuls of cloth yanked in opposite directions. The fabric comes apart as easily as paper.

You tut, though you can't help appreciating every inch of skin revealed to you. Your hands roam down his waist to his massive thighs, grabbing and squeezing wolfishly as you go. "You will run out of clothes at this rate."

He cocks his head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. Easier access."

He huffs, not quite a chuckle, as you grab his heavy cock and smear your own slick come against his skin. You stroke him languidly, being polite – for once – by not mentioning how wet he already is when all you've done is use him. "You are a dog."

"Fox," you correct, watching hungrily as he tugs off his haori and tosses it aside. "As you are fond of reminding me."

"In spirit," he concedes, not quite agreeing. He places his hands near your head, and despite his barbaric nature, he is careful not to pin down your hair. He reaches down between his thighs and lines up your cock with his entrance, though you are quick to grab his wrist.

"No oil?" you ask, lifting a brow.

Impatiently, one of his hands brushes you off. "Do not tell me what to do."

Without another word – without fanfare, without flourish – he sinks hilt-deep onto your cock.

Your eyes slide shut as you smack your head against the floor, the sheer heat of him threatening to melt you. Your hands slide higher, brushing his lower set of pectoral muscles. Lost in the bliss of his body, it takes you a moment to register his own hand lifting to grab yours. He holds your palm against his chest as he begins to move, the solid weight of his body dropping again and again onto your lap.

He would not be Sukuna if he were not gluttonous. So, he holds you, rides you, and leans down to kiss you, all at once – and you do nothing to encourage moderation. You entwine your fingers with his, caress his waist, and nip at his lower lip to provoke him into giving you more.

More. It was always more with you. More, more, more…

The suffocating heat of his body is nothing new. You have taken him a thousand times, but you'll never grow tired of it. He is addictive, and you should be pleased you are the only thing his blood has ever run hot for. No concubine has made him feel the way you do.

He grinds onto your cock, the heavy muscle of his thighs clenching around your hips. You throb inside him, sticky precome slicking up his insides and easing his movements. You lick your lips as you grab his thigh, fingers bruising his skin as you grip him and roll his ass deeper onto your cock. You even use the shallow lift of his hips to make the next thrust harder, rougher, deeper.

His heavy cock jolts, slapping your stomach wetly. You grin with sharp teeth as you wrap your hand around it once more, pumping his length from root to tip in time with every roll of his hips. He hisses as a thick bead of liquid dribbles down his glans. His tip is dark red, and you press your thumb into the slit of it, smearing his slick down his pulsing length.

You stroke him faster, making him grunt. He chases your hand, his own tightening into fists near your head. His sharp nails dig into his palms, drawing blood.

What a silly little dear he is. Four hands and not one of them feels as good as yours around his cock.

He pants and growls as he bounces in your lap, muscles flexing as he slams harder onto your fat cock. The wet sounds of your cock squelching in his ass, of his skin meeting yours, are obscene and violent – perfect for a man like him. Hot pleasure shudders up his spine as your cock kisses that spot inside him which makes his dick pulse hotly, a spurt of partially-clear liquid shooting across your knuckles. You smirk as you swipe it up and smear it down his length. Your thumb rolls over his slit and drags down the prominent vein on the underside roughly, as if you're trying to smooth it flat.

He drops his hips, putting his full weight on your cock. He rocks back and forth. You drag your lower lip between your teeth as you toss your head back, and your groan of pleasure sinks into his brain like your claws into flesh. His dick twitches, his balls tightening as he watches your heaving chest and gazes into your dilated pupils.

"You ride cock like a seasoned whore, my lord," you whisper, chuckling as he clenches around you in annoyance. "Nowhere else can I find someone who takes it as easily as you do."

He clicks his tongue, squeezing punishingly around you. You grunt as his tight, gummy walls stroke your slick cock. "Of course I am the only one. You are twice the size of a man. Your cock would break them."

You smile up at him, your eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

His eyes flash. His lips curl into a sneer as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, nails digging into your skin.

"You have me," he growls, grip tightening. "Speak nothing of others."

He would pulverise bone had you been weaker, but as it stands, all it does is pin you down, the warmth of his palm against your skin making your cheeks heat up. You bite back a smile. You adore it when he glares at you. There's a red flush to his cheeks that he steadfastly ignores.

You squeeze his ass, hand roaming back over his thigh. Playfully, you pinch the thick black line circling his leg. "Is my lord jealous?"

He bares his teeth with a low growl that sounds more animal than man. Your cock throbs. His glare deepens.

You smirk, smug as always, and go as far as to slap his ass, which makes him jolt in shock as the sound cracks like a whip in the room. His glare returns, this time with a roll of all four of his eyes, and he presses you punishingly into the tatami mats. His hole, hot and slick, swallows your cock with ease.

"Fox," he hisses.

"My lord," you reply with a smile. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel your pace slipping."

"Do not test my patience. I will leave you here with nothing."

The threat is an empty one – you know he desires this as much as you. The mouth of his stomach drools, thick and wet, as your cock punches so deep he swears he can feel it at the back of his throat. You both know he would never leave you unattended when he could watch himself be your undoing.

Despite it, Sukuna looks pleased with himself when you offer a begrudging silence. His stomach mouth grins widely as your dick pulses with newfound hunger. Your eyes slide shut as your cock carves a path through the slick heat of his insides, again and again, until his body learns your shape. Your tip leaks, thick and sticky, and he lets out a harsh exhale, his own cockhead dripping with every pump of your hand.

He chases the slick ring of your fist, his low grunts mixing with your unabashed groans as he rides you closer and closer to your shared climaxes.

He barely blinks as he watches your high peak – he has to swallow roughly before he salivates like some barbarian. Your come bursts creamy and thick inside him, hot as lava, and heat rushes up from his chest to his head as he admires the way you groan his name and thrust up sloppily into him. All that natural grace of yours is tainted with the pleasure you take in his body – you are unwound, undone, by a savage like him.

Then you flip him over, throwing him to the floor as if he weighs nothing. He lands with a huff, opening his mouth to complain, but his words die in his mouth as you begin to drill into him, burying your head in his neck and breathing him deep. Every slick clap of skin on skin has your seed leaking out of his stretched hole, white and creamy, and it smears his ass and thighs with each brutal thrust of your hips.

He lets out a sound like a cornered animal. "Fox," he snarls, nails tearing at the floor as your cock demands every lick of his attention. He struggles to keep his voice even. "You – hah – you damned insatiable fox—"

"Insatiable?" you purr. "You haven't come yet. I'm being a good husband and making sure you do."

His hole slurps you up like some vulgar pussy. The filthy volume of come inside him makes every pump of your hips sound like you're in a brothel. Your claws sink into the meat of his ass as you fold him up – crimson blood beads along his skin, and he twitches as your teeth part skin and muscle to mark up the side of his throat. You pull back with a breathless groan that settles deep into his ear, listening to the slick churning of your scarlet tongue as you lick his blood from your teeth and lips.

You dive in again but he tangles his hand in a fistful of your hair, halting you half an inch from his scalding skin. You growl, eyes gleaming, with teeth stained red.

He jolts as your cock slams into his abused prostate, barely able to subdue his shout into a low moan.

"White," he mutters, jaw clamping to silence himself. "No chewing."

Your lips press together in a pout but you settle for lapping at the bite mark, your hips pumping hungrily against his ass. You suppose he's right – taking a chunk out of him always makes you surprised at the amount of blood that spurts out, no matter how many times you do it. But he just bleeds so beautifully – you can hardly control yourself.

Your head is foggy with lust. You press yourself into him, burying your face in the other side of his neck so you aren't tempted to take a quick bite. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his jaw, lips brushing the black markings that decorate his honeyed skin.

"Sukuna," you breathe, two of your fingers pushing into the mouth of his stomach. You can still feel the creaminess of your own release on its lips. You stroke its tongue and a low, magnificently beastly sound escapes him as his head tips back. The bite mark on his neck bleeds more profusely, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat.

"Don't—" He groans as you push one thigh higher, pinning it to your shoulder. It is heavy, with muscle like steel. "Slow—"

"What was that?" You drag your inhumanly long tongue against his calf with a wicked grin, leaning forward. He grits his teeth at the vulnerability of the position. "'Slow down', did you say? Can't my king handle a little roughhousing?"

His cock twitches visibly at the title. You laugh at him, your pace never slacking, and you press a kiss to his calf on your shoulder.

"You're holding back," you say, amused. You angle your hips, thrusting up to kiss that sweet spot inside him, and you delight in the way his back arches for half a second before he corrects himself and glares at you. "My lord, it'll be easier on you if you come. I'll stop trying so hard."

"Shut it."

He hates the way you use his hard-won titles like pet names. Such little respect. If you were anyone else, you'd be cleaved into tiny cubes before you could finish laughing, but then he would have no dancer and his days in your forest would be silent and boring.

You press your finger to his leaking slit. He clenches his jaw. Stubborn. Still, his swollen cock jolts as you grind into him, adjusting yourself above him to fuck him harder, deeper – one way or another, you'll get it out of him.

Suddenly, your pace quickens, and the sound echoes off the walls. The weight behind every thrust jostles his body and he curses you like a war cry, two of his hands grabbing you as the other two hold him up. You lick your lips at the sight of his flushed skin and the sweat beginning to collect at his temple and across his collarbones.

You can't help it. You swoop down and drag your tongue over his chest, and the tang of his sweat mixing with blood makes your head spin with desire. He groans, deep and throaty. Your hips clap against his ass hard enough to make him shout out, and as your teeth sink into the unmarred side of his neck and bite all the way down, he comes with a humiliated, thunderous roar.

You moan desperately into his skin as you follow him over the edge, his clenching insides achingly hot and tight. You fill him up with lazy thrusts, and he twists his hand in your hair so hard you feel lightheaded. He yanks you off his bleeding neck with a growl – you hang from his fist with a drunken grin and ruby-stained teeth, your jaw working slowly. Blood drips down your chin.

He can feel the cold sting of the air against his exposed meat and veins, a neat little scoop taken out of his shoulder. It annoys him that his cock throbs at the feeling, and his chest heaves as he pushes your grinning face away. His face is hot.

"You… Tch. I told you not to chew," he grumbles, healing it with a roll of his massive shoulder. He goes to wipe off the blood dripping down his chest but you beat him to it, cleaning him up with your tongue. You use the moment to mouth at his nipple, tongue laving across it, and pop off before he can smack you away.

You chuckle as your tongue slides over your front teeth, your voice rich and husky. You wipe your chin, smearing it. "But you liked it, Sukuna. It pulled such pretty sounds out of you."

"I—" He clicks his tongue, breath catching slightly as you pull your cock out of him with a slick, sticky pop. His thighs twitch as you grab his messy length and coat your fingers in his release, pumping him twice before lifting your hand and admiring the white glaze sticking between your fingers. He watches silently as you push two fingers into your mouth with a pleased groan, then lap up the rest when it drips down your wrist.

"Finish your sentences, my lord," you tease, tossing his own words back into his face. He rolls his eyes as you pause to suck your ring finger clean. "Maybe I should bite you more often. You taste like bliss. Come, now – tell me how much you enjoyed that."

Chest still heaving, Sukuna sits up straighter, widening his legs to fit you comfortably between his thighs. You kneel there – lazy, satisfied, practically glowing. Your robes pool around you like scattered starlight as you wait for his answer.

"You are impertinent, troublesome, and spoilt," he sighs, voice a low rumble. "But fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, you will not do it again. Today."

You wilt like an abandoned flower. "Why?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, heavy and possessive. He reaches up and swipes his thumb over a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth, and you press your lips to the pad of his finger, licking it up. "There is blood on your clothes."

You glance down to where he points at your sleeve. Your eyes widen and Sukuna braces himself. On cue, you grab his arm and begin to complain directly into his ear, nails digging into his freshly-healed shoulder.

"Sukuna – what is wrong with your body? Why does it bleed so much? My sleeve was nowhere near your neck! Look at what you've done – do you know how hard it is to ensure the cloth washes white and not pink? You ask so much of me – entertain you, keep this estate hidden, smith you a dozen weapons from myths and fables – which is ridiculous, I say, do you know how difficult it is to create cursed tools? – and all I ask in return is to not bleed on me, yet here you are, bleeding on me, like some—"

You are cut off with his lips on yours. You stiffen slightly in surprise, then melt into it, leaning in and tilting your head. He groans softly as your tongue curls with his, your hand lifting to twist in his hair. You smooth it off his forehead, tracing his hairline with a light touch, and he pulls you closer with three hands. The last one cups your hand on his face.

He pulls away to breathe. You sit back on your heels, pupils swallowing up the gold of your irises. You blink slowly as you steal another kiss, lips smacking halfway to indecency again. He leans back before you can drown yourself in him and try to push him back to the floor – a very unseemly place to do such things, in his opinion.

He lifts a brow. "Calm, yet?" he asks, absently pulling the collar of your robes over your shoulder.

"Enough," you acquiesce, watching him move over to grab his discarded haori near his table. He shrugs it on, his lower pair of arms not letting go of your body. You smirk. So jealous, even when nothing threatens to take you away.

"That is better than nothing."

"Mm." You crawl closer and walk your fingers up his arm. "Write me a poem, beloved."

His eyes snap up. He bares his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to dissuade you. His grip tightens on your hip. "What?"

"A poem," you say with infinite patience. "Whichever type you prefer. I know you enjoy praising me through poetry – my face, my sorcery, how I 'revel in the fires of your chaos'! Oh, yes, I've read a few of those volumes you've made, pushed to the back of your drawers." You smile, a dark edge to it, as you meet his glare unflinchingly. "This time, I want no secrecy – I want to observe your artistic process. Perhaps I will forgive you for staining my clothes if it is sufficiently flattering."

"Why are you rummaging through my quarters?" he scoffs. "Those poems are not for you."

"So you say. You refer to me in everything but name. If you truly wanted to keep them secret, you would've burnt them." You shift to sit beside him, leaning forward to pull the paper and inkwell towards the edge of the table. "Go on. Write."

He rolls his eyes. He adjusts to sit sprawled, lazy, one arm resting upon his knee and two around you. It brings a smile to your face. He was always terribly voracious for your attention, like a feral animal you feed once and cannot escape. No matter how he feels, no matter the company, he would always bend to your whim.

You grab his thigh, pawing at the meat of him like a kneading cat, and you almost laugh aloud when he pointedly tosses the hem of his haori over his cock. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sliding your palm up to the crease of his thigh, and cast your gaze down to the paper, the poem from earlier half-complete.

"'Kitsunebi'?" you muse, tilting your head. "Foxfire. Not for me, you said?"

He exhales sharply, shooting you a warning glance. In response, you pluck the brush from its resting place and smile sweetly as you grab his hand and push it into his palm.

How ridiculous it is that he must hide his belongings in his own home. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you and your curiosity. Instead, he simply lowers his gaze and rolls the brush tip in the black ink.

—

When Sukuna opens his eyes from the kiss, you have already begun to pull away, to step back – and he is reminded of his physical limitations once more.

"Greedy," you chuckle, swiping your thumb over your lower lip. "Go now – let the boy have his body back. Perhaps I will see you again. Follow my foxes; they will lead you to me."

Something compels him to speak. "And you?" he murmurs lowly. "I refuse to waste my time searching for a dead spirit."

Will you be safe? The question is unsaid but clear as day. You hum.

"If I can hide from you, I can hide from anyone. Rest assured, no one but you will ever spill my blood." You step behind him, pushing him towards the school campus. "And… Sukuna?"

"What?"

"I really did miss you."

He turns, but in your place is a nine-tailed white fox, silent and watchful. Your ears flick. After a lingering second, you rise from your haunches, curling around him and batting his side with your tails, before slipping away and leaping into the treeline to vanish completely into the forest's shadows.

His skin prickles with the fading remnants of your cursed energy. He clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. Your cloak will not last much longer, and he can sense the brat waking up. He presses his fingers to his lips, savouring the memory of your sharp, sweet warmth.

He closes his eyes, already feeling his control over his incumbent vessel lapsing. He spends his last moments of autonomy replaying the moment his lips touched yours, a moment a thousand years in the making.

Moonlit silk, ribbons of stars, a smile sharp enough to cleave bone. The world fades to soundless oblivion.

[stainedkai]

making them squirt for the first time

Tags & Warnings:

Male Reader.

Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, 69, Overstimulation, Squirting, LOTS OF SQUIRTING, Dominant Reader, Teasing, Praise, Begging, Humiliation, Brat Taming, Pinned Wrists, Desk Sex, Furniture Sex, slight misogyny (naoyas part), feminization.

featured: toji , gojo , geto , choso , naoya , mahito

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toji. f

You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.

"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.

You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.

His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.

Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.

Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.

The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.

You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.

"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."

His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."

You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.

"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."

You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."

He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.

"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."

You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.

He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.

"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.

satoru .g

The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.

He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.

"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."

You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.

He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.

Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.

"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.

Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.

He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.

Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.

"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"

You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.

"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."

"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.

He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.

"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."

choso. k

You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.

"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"

You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.

Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.

"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.

The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.

"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."

He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.

Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.

"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.

Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.

The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.

All Choso could do was lay there and pant.

Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.

He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.

You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.

"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."

A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.

"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.

Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.

Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.

"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."

mahito

You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.

"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"

His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.

Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."

You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"

"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.

Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.

The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.

"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.

Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.

Then, the tension finally snapped.

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.

The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.

Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.

He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.

You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.

"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."

A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.

"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."

"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.

Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.

"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."

suguru. g

You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."

He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.

But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.

He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.

"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."

His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.

You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.

He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"

But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.

Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.

"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.

He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.

Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.

Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.

The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."

A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.

"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.

Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.

His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.

"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."

naoya. z

The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.

"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.

You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.

The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.

"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.

"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"

He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.

"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.

"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"

He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.

He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.

"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"

Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."

"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."

Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"

"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."

"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."

Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.

"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."

"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."

"Shut up!" he barked, though he immediately arched his hips back up against you, practically begging for the contact. "Just... just do it! Please, damn you!"

[yvesainted]

GIVING FTM!JJK CHARACTERS THEIR FIRST CREAMPIE [PT. 1]

focus: gojo, nanami, geto & choso

tags: creampie, degradation kink, praise kink, breeding kink, hair pulling, finger sucking, daddy kink & sir kink, dumbification, feminization & pet names (hon, baby), squirting & creaming, riding, mating press, overstimulation, mentions of marathon sex, p spanking, brat taming, established relationships (some), some fluff. (and hints of sugar baby choso).

wc: 4k

a/n: omg the devil works but i work HARDER! i’ve got way too many ideas, and i need some way to get them out, so here this is!!! i don’t use ai, i just love me some commas and quotations. also, heavy overuse of italics and i learned how to do gradient lmao.

GOJO SATORU.

“Oh, fuck!”

The obscene sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the living room, a slick plap! that would be enough to make just about anyone get hard. The sounds of the television show you had both sat down to watch being simple background noise that neither of you could be bothered to pay attention to.

Large hands gripped thin hips, hard enough that you knew you’d leave even more marks across Satoru’s pale skin. But the man wouldn’t mind. I mean, just look at him. There he was above you, snowy locks bouncing as he eagerly raised himself up and down using his knees and letting gravity drop him right back down onto the dick he’d been dreaming about since he left for his mission. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” With every bounce, his creamy hole clenched you so tight that your hips tilted up, pushing a desperate yelp out of Gojo’s mouth.

“Yeah? It’s that good?” The condescending tone you’re going for works, making Gojo clench and gush a little more around you, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink as he fucked himself completely stupid on you. Satoru had been fiending for a taste of you all day. Even while battling curses & arguing with the higher ups, your dick plagued his mind throughout the morning and straight into the afternoon. And finally, he was getting a taste of every thick inch you had to offer him.

“D-Don’t tease me! I really n-need this.” But his begging was only a cherry on top of the cake, your hands wandering up to grip his waist while one drifted up further, a digit pressing against his saliva slick bottom lip. “Aw, is that right? You been thinking about this all day, baby?” The slut nods, gorgeous eyes having turned into rings of blue from his dilated pupils. Like it was natural, his lips parted to let you guide that finger into his mouth, the warm heat enveloping it.

His pace never stops, the squelch of his pussy being spread open like music to your ears as he forces himself down, even rolling his hips a few times so he could grind his swollen clit down on your pelvis, and feel every last inch of dick deep inside his belly. “What else have you been thinking about, hm?” Your shaft was gleaming with a mix of his juices and your own precum, a sight that makes you squeeze Gojo’s hips again, unable to resist the urge to yank him down.

He mewls around your finger, eyes rolling back with bliss. In his fucked out stage, he lets the words come out around your finger all slurred and saliva packed, “Your cum…” His stupid little expression makes you chuckle, continuing to help him bounce up and down a bit, “Oh, really? We can arrange that.” Your hand holds his hip again, ready to lift him off of you to give him what he’s been craving, but he grips your wrist and slams back down, forcing a moan out from both of you. “Satoru, fuck–”, “In me.”

His words stun you into silence, both of you stopping to stare at the other. Those pretty blues were shining with tears, the skin on your finger wrinkling from the moisture from his saliva, and both of you so aroused it hurt. But that didn’t mean you weren’t in your right mind, “What?” Gojo drops down onto his elbows, both positioned at either side of your head as an expression of genuine pleading drowns his features. “Been thinking about it all day, all month. I want it. I really fucking want it.”

You stare up at him, wide eyes as he begins to move his hips again, rolling them down against you, letting moans of pleasure drift into your ears, face contorting from the blissful pressure of your tip against his g-spot. And carefully, you let your hands grip his hips, slowly beginning to thrust up into that pliant body again.

It only takes two minutes for the both of you to get back to furiously fucking, balls clapping against Satoru’s ass, arms wrapped around him to hold him against your chest like a doll. And he takes all of it, practically screaming his enjoyment into your skull, leaking so much that it was making a sticky mess between you and leaving a puddle on the couch.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Your own voice comes out as a low mewl, one hand unable to help moving down to squeeze his pale ass, basically bouncing him and down on your dick by yourself. He reaches back, gripping your wrist as his body trembles like a leaf, “Y-You keep hitting it. You’re hitting it! Right fucking there!” It filled you with pride knowing you could turn him into this. This slut that drooled all himself just for your dick. Nobody else’s.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” You already knew the answer, didn’t mean your cock didn’t throb when he responded with an erratic nod, tears sliding his cheeks as his own tights began to shake. Just in time, as you could feel the heat of your own release building in the pit of your gut. You just needed a little push. “C’mon, I didn’t fuck you that stupid, did I?”

Gojo can’t be bothered to hide his face in embarrassment anymore, letting his forehead press against your temple as the words flow out in a slurring stutter, “So good. You make my pussy feel so good! It loves you!” The words finish in a drawn out whine, cunt clenching tight around you as his own orgasm begins to take.

The tightness of his walls was driving you insane, your own thrust becoming sloppy as that heat intensified, your stomach clenching with the slide of his warm cunt, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna fill this cunt up,” He nods, body shaking in anticipation. His dreams are gonna come true right here and now, “Where’s it going?”

“In me.” Satoru whimpers out, body tensing up completely when your dick strikes his sweet spot again, making his eyes roll back. He wants to wait and cum with you, but his body could give less of a shit as spurts of slick coats your cock, making a wet mess that you fuck him through anyway, relentless in your pursuit of pleasure, “Where?”

“In me!” His moan shaped into a squeal, overstimulation making his vision haze over, eyes crossing as you slam into him one last time, holding him in place so he can’t escape. “Good boy,” You moan out, hips jolting as your own release overwhelms you, the first spurt of hot cum erupting so deep inside Satoru that he’s afraid he’ll cum again. It’s so deep inside you, his lids fluttering, body melting on top of you. So hot, and full, the warmth of your cum in his tummy grounded him.

NANAMI KENTO.

“What’d you say, Ken?” To anyone else, it would seem like the simplest of questions. One Kento could usually answer with nothing but a few words. But right now, just making any noise besides drawn out moans was like pulling teeth, and admiring what he said to you just a few minutes earlier made him want to hop out of a window and not the arms of a special grade.

He hadn’t even meant to say it, really. It was the heat of the moment.

On his knees, face buried in one of those decorative pillows you’d gotten from the store, back arched up as you drilled into him from behind. Every ruthless thrust had his juices churning within his cunt like butter, a creamy froth coating your cock and dripping down the inside of his pale and trembling legs.

Nanami was already embarrassed enough as it is while you spoke praise above him, muttering “So wet for me,” and “Got the tightest little pussy” like he was some needy whore. Which unfortunately for him, he turned into once you fucked him good and hard enough. Something you loved using to your advantage.

The pleasure made his brain melt from his ears, and made his lips loose. And one particularly hard thrust that hit just right has him groaning loudly, mouthing against the pillow as his thoughts slip loose, “Fuck, Da-fuck!” He just barely gained his awareness back, feeling his cheeks flush like a tomato as he realized what word just slipped out. The slight attempt to save himself didn’t work, a hand moving to the front of his neck, pulling his face up from the pillow.

Next to Kento, panting from working up a sweat, a cruel smirk worked it’s way onto your face that let him know he was in so much fucking trouble now, “I’m sorry, what was that?” The innocent confusion in your tone didn’t fool him, but his tries at squirming in your grasp seemed to do nothing but make you tighten your hold on his neck. Which made him feel something he wasn’t ready to explore just yet.

“Nothing, forget about that. Why’s you stop—” “Cause you said something.” You were persistent, too persistent, and saw right through his attempts at changing the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You chuckle, eyes tracing the tense line of his jaw, as if to reassure yourself of something. “That’s too bad,” The hand lets go of his neck, Nanami’s blonde head falling back against the pillow with a light thump. “We’re just gonna have to make you say it, aren’t we?”

And here he was now, body laid flat against the bed, as his legs had collapsed from under him. Fists clenching the sheets so tight he was scared they might rip, and a haze over his vision as his eyes tried their best not to cross from the fucking he was getting. It didn’t help that your cock was practically punching his stomach from the inside, veins and ridges pressed up against slick, creamy walls. He couldn’t think, not at all. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Every pump was calculated, your nose pressed against the side of his head, repeating the same questions, “C’mon, Ken, say it again. You know you want to.” The mocking drawl makes him gush around your shaft, clenching and spasming as you worked his pussy to its limit. But he knew you, he knew you wouldn’t stop until you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, he lifts his face from the pillow, breezy whines leaving him flushed red as he pleaded with you for mercy, “Don’t make me say it. Don’t—” your hand wraps around his neck again, pulling him back into an arch, forcing him to meet your gaze head on. You could feel the way your grip had him basically strangling your dick with his walls, but that would be something for another time. For now…

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” And he doesn’t hesitate to nod the best he can, a gleaming strand of drool on the side of his chin catching your attention momentarily, “I-I’m so close…” He muttered, already knew where this was going before you even had to finish your sentence. So instead, you lean down, nose pressed against Kento’s cheek, “Say it.” And this time, he knew you weren’t asking.

Pretty, pearly teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, eyes rolling back to flutter shut from the humiliation of it all. It comes out a low whimper, body trembling in both anticipation and even a little fear as he finally utters the words you were so hell-bent on hearing. “Daddy.” And your cock twitches so hard it makes Nanami gasp.

Suddenly, his face meets the pillow again, but with a hand at the back of his neck pressing him down. One moment, you’re sliding out til just the tip is inside, and the next the headboard is slamming into the wall with each thrust. Nanami’s moans turn into muffled yelps of pure bliss, so thankful his face is buried into the pillow below, otherwise your neighbors would’ve been in for an even ruder awakening. But fuck if he even cared anymore.

It’s like you’re trying to carve your shape into his fucking guts, forcing his body to memorize every vein and bump on your dick with his insides. Which was gonna be so sore by the time you slid out of him. But judging by how his face is getting all sticky from his own drool, you seem to be doing quite the job.

“Again.” Nanami’s head is turned to the side, gasping for air with each pump, a slick and sloppy noise coming from deep within as you slide out, only to force yourself back inside. Nanami’s juices were making a mess. “Say it again.” You command, voice beginning to tremble slightly. And embarrassment no longer matters to the blonde, who lets the moan ease out like it’s natural. “Daddy. Daddy, fuck…”

And it was like a wave washes over you both. Yelps and whines of a pleasure he could feel in his bones were fucked out of Kento, the hand at the back of his neck making sure he took every last bit of it. “That’s right. Good boy, taking Daddy’s cock like this.” Oh, shit, that made him clench so hard. And you chuckle, strained as your hips slam down without mercy, “You like that shit, Ken? You feelin’ it?” One of your hands moves to slip underneath him, feeling on the little area below his belly button, moaning when the bump brushed against your fingers. “Yeah, you are. So deep, aren’t I? I could breed you like this.”

“Mhm—Ah!” A punishing thrust shakes him to his core, your tip striking his g-spot like a bullseyes. Hazel eyes cross slightly before his lids slam shut, teeth so desperately wanting to bite down on the fabric of the pillow for something, anything, to stabilize him. “Aren’t I?” The low growl in your voice makes his insides melt, gasping against the damp pillow when he feels that heat building at the bottom of his stomach, “Yes! Yes, you are—God!”

A tongue laps at the pointed top of his earlobe, groaning with every thrust, lightning going up Kento’s spine as you hit something in him like clockwork, “Who is?” Kento wants to call you cruel, or rebel, but all he can do is hold back tears of bliss as he melts into the sheets, “Daddy is. He’s so deep in me…” Unknowingly, Nanami seals your fate with his next words, groaning out against the pillow he’s practically crushing to his chest, “He’s in my tummy…”

Hazel eyes widen when a sudden flood of something rushes through him, warm and thick against his walls, coming out with every twitch of your dick. You just came inside his pussy. Your body falls over him, pressing his hips down against the bedding, making his clit grind against the sheets unintentionally. And that does it, sending Kento over the edge with a gurgle, his creamy essence coating your shaft in a thick mess that slides down his folds to make a mess on the sheets. Both of you writhing on the ruined bedding, a quiet moment.

Which is interrupted by a hand swatting your hip as Nanami groans out, playful irritation in his voice, “Idiot. You couldn’t hold out a little longer?” He can’t believe this was how you cum inside him for the first time.

GETOU SUGURU.

Getou was quite the brat in your eyes. But who wouldn’t agree? He walked around like he owned the place alongside Satoru, he played with people’s feelings like they were toys to be tossed away, and he made your fucking blood boil without having to do anything but send you a smile that said ‘you’re so funny’ anytime you showed a reaction to it.

You wanted—needed to put him in place. Somebody had to. So when you saw him on campus again, you gave him a proposition you knew he couldn’t refuse—take your ‘virginity’. You pulled the innocent guy look off well, even as he giggled with a smug expression all the way to your dorm room. He wasn’t gonna be laughing for long, anyway.

He was so easy to pin down after he stripped for you, panties sticking to his crotch with a wetness that made you hadn’t expected to see. Suguru immediately tried to take control, snapping his fingers and rolling his eyes whenever you tried to get on his level. But once you got his knees pinned to his shoulders, and his cunt wrapped tight around your dick, he had no room to complain amongst the desperate little yells that were being pounded out of him with every thrust.

Slick, pretty folds envelop you with every stroke, his gushing insides leaving a sheen of frothy cream on your shaft every time all 8 inches of your cock push those walls apart. The sight makes you chuckle, hands squeezing the back of his knees tight whenever he tries to squirm out from underneath you, “Already making a mess, aren’t we? I thought you were supposed to teach me?”

The smugness in your voice doesn’t go over Getou’s head, his hands gripping one of the pillows underneath his head, trying not to let his brain melt when your dick brushes against his g-spot again and again with the kind of precision that no virgin should have. Violet eyes—with a watery sheen—glare up at you. “Fucking a-asshole. Y-you lied-”, His words turn into a keen when you slam inside again, rolling your hips to grind against that spot that makes his head tip back, saliva running down the side of his chin, “Shut that fucking mouth for one.”

And what can Suguru do but obey? His ankles were at his ears, toes curled tight from every stomach clenching thrust, and the squelching noise his pussy made left his ears pink. God, imagine if someone saw this. Saw the strongest sorcerer (except for Gojo Satoru, of course) on campus getting used like a slut, folded like a fucking pretzel. “Fuck…” Is all he can manage to say, eyes unfocused.

But you? You were on Cloud 9. The mean, bratty boy behind you was replaced with a whore straight out of your imagination. Soaking wet with every thrust, head tipped back with a blissed out look on his cute face, and a series of high pitched whines you force out of him as you begin to pick up the pace, making the couch rock and creak beneath you.

Hands move to grip your thighs, trying to stop your thrusts. God, it felt like every last one of them was buried inside his chest, rocking a whine out that’s so embarrassing it makes his face turn cherry red. He couldn’t do this, “Can’t—I can’t—” A palm comes down hard against his cunt, making his body tense from the sudden mix of sharp pain and pleasure. “A-Ah!” Another smack, right against his clit.

“Yeah, you can.” Suguru tries to squirm away, unable to see you smirking above him as you let slap after slap rain down on his poor little cunt, feeling him squeeze you like a vice every time you do it. The black haired man is left panting underneath you, every hit making him gush around your dick like a fucking fountain. “C’mon, aren’t you the Strongest?” What are you doing to him? What’s happening?

Why does it feel so goddamn good?

“You telling me the strongest can’t take a dick?” Oh, fuck. Fuck. “Fucking slut, don’t pass out on me—” The last hit against his pussy makes violet eyes cross, head tipping back as he squeezed your dick so tight you were almost forced into an abrupt stop.

Spurts of slick squirt out around your cock, Getou’s body shaking like a leaf as he cums his brains out, mouth open in a silent ‘O’, mind melted within his skull. And that seemed to be all you yourself could take as well.

Your own eyes roll back, bottoming out with a quick thrust as a supernova bursts behind your eyes, cock throbbing inside of Getou as spurts of thick & creamy cum coat his walls like it belonged there. There was so much of it that it even started leaking out around your shaft, only adding to the mess underneath him on the couch.

Both of you wanna think, wanna make a good quip. But both of you were completely fucked out.

KAMO CHOSO.

He can’t take anymore. He’s gonna die.

Minutes and hours have mashed together, turning into an incomprehensible mess with every slide of your girth into his puffy, swollen pussy. The middle of his thighs are a wet mess of his own juices and release. But he can’t even remember how many times he’s cum already. Or just how long he’s been screaming out his pleasure, just long enough that his voice has grown hoarse.

His back aches, his stomach hurts, and his lips are bitten raw from trying to hide his moans. Which you didn’t allow.

He’s gonna fucking die.

And he was gonna go out like this. Crying like a bitch into the bed beneath him, mascara and foundation leaving stains on the sheets that would take forever to wash out, body rocking forward when you snap your hips against his reddened asscheeks. If someone found his body like this, who was gonna possibly explain what happened to him? What’s gonna go on his tombstone?

‘Here lies Kamo Choso, loving brother of 10, who died from being fucked to tears.’ Such a sad way to go out.

But you? Oh, you seemed to be having an amazing time. Your pace never once slowed down, even through every toe-curling orgasm you gave Choso. Again and again, hand on the middle of his back to keep his ass arched up and lower body pressed down into the bed. He couldn’t grind against the sheets for a faster orgasm, he couldn’t touch himself, all he could do was cream around your dick again and again like clockwork.

A strained sob drifts from Choso’s mouth, hands gripping anything in sight to cling onto, to try and escape the mind-melting pleasure that was threatening to break him into little pieces, “Please, sir. Please, I can’t take anymore—” Another thrust, all those girthy inches pressing his swollen walls apart with no effect, fucking another desperate whine from his lips. “I fucking can’t!” His legs were trembling, your hands on his hips the only thing keeping him held up.

“Mm, but I think you can, hon.” That voice, the one that’s been in all his dreams and the one that was currently making him want to bang his head on a wall. Because as you’ve done the whole night, you show no mercy, pistoning forward once more, making a mess of the cream costing your dick, letting it churn inside Choso like you were trying to make butter. “I think you will.”

“Sir, I-I’ll do anything–Ah!” A hand wraps around one of his pigtails, yanking his head back to lift it off the bed, showing the mess you made of the pretty boy beneath you. Tear streaks ruining his perfect makeup, a drool string connecting from his mouth to the sheet he was chewing on. “Careful, Choso. Making promises like that is what got you here.”

And you were right. Promise after promise of ‘I’ll do whatever you want if you get me this’ and ‘Please, I’ll do anything’ had finally caught up to him, leaving him in the pathetic position he was in right now. Because now, he couldn’t keep his last promise.

‘I’ll let you cum in me if you get—’

Your other hand grabs his other pigtail, yanking Choso up until he is forced to rest on his elbows with his chin on the bed, aching back arched in a way that lets you slip in so deep that it felt like you were in his belly. Thrust after thrust had his swollen clit throbbing painfully with arousal, knees ready to crumble from exhaustion. You were relentless, simply using his soaked hole like it was a fleshlight. Not that he hated it.

“Mm! B-But I meant it!”

The grip you have on his hair leaves him defenseless, neck aching from the angle he’s pulled back in, “I s-swear! E-every word, sir…” The desperation in his voice seemed to finally be breaking through to you, your hips twitching just a little when you thrusted in again. “I want it…” You chuckle, but don’t respond, continuing to ram into him over and over, making his body tense up when he feels you brush against his g-spot again. Choso’s mouth opens to release a whine, “Please, sir! Just cum already!”

The corner of your lips raise into a smirk, heart swelling at the adorable sound of Choso’s desperate pleas. You didn’t even have to speak, letting the boy’s words dissolve into teary begs for mercy, “Cum! Cum! Fuck, just cuuum!” Pearly teeth grit, feeling your dick throb against his walls, veins and ridges pressed all up inside of him, making him drool. A sudden groan leaves you when you feel those gummy walls clench hard around your cock, the sensation repeating as Choso moans out, brain leaking from his ears, “Cum, please. Please, please, please—”

Aww, he was tightening up for you. How sweet. You were always such a sucker for the boy, so your body couldn’t help giving him exactly what he was asking for. It only took a few more pumps before you slammed back inside, watching his puffy little hole spasming around you as your own release washes over you, hands gripping this pigtails like handlebars.

Choso is so happy you can’t see his face, feeling his eyes unfocus when that rush of heat floods his insides, hips rolling as you fill up every inch of his hole like it belongs there. And fuck, maybe it does. “Thank you…” He mutters, body collapsing against the bed when you let go of his now messy hair, instantly turning into jelly against the sheets.

You’re talking above him, probably words of praise and admiration, but his eyelids were so heavy, and he was tired. It only took 8 more seconds for him to knock out.

art by: YozoraAjisai, thatsallitchief.

[lieutnt]

Trans!simon being bred and squirting 🫡that is all

bullseye

Trans!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male Reader Summary: You try and make Simon squirt as many times as you can. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Mating press, squirting, breeding.

He can feel the pleasure bubbling belly-deep, the wet slap, slap, slap bouncing off the walls as you fold him in half, pressing his legs into his shoulders as you piston your hips, fucking your cock into him seamlessly, his pussy sucking you in greedily.

You’ve fucked him countless times, but he’s never felt so full, felt so wet, and as his orgasm approaches it feels different, like it’s building to something he’s never experienced before. 

He’s too in his own head to warn you, too lost in the pleasure to say anything, and with just a few more thrusts he’s gushing, clear fluid squirting out and coating your thighs, splashing up to your abdomen as he moans lowly, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head with the pleasure of relief as he twitches underneath you, hips jerking as if pulled by an invisible force.

His pussy clenching around you becomes secondary as what just happened settles in your brain. Eyes wide with awe as you watch him come down from his high, chest heaving with breaths until he’s mostly recovered. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, eyes glossy with pleasure meet yours as he lifts his head. There’s a beat of silence before you laugh in disbelief, “That was fucking hot.”

Simon grumbles, legs falling to land either side of you up as you lean back, and he cringes internally when he begins to feel the dampness on the sheets under his ass, damp with him. His head falls back as you grin at him like the cat who caught the canary, sighing as you press yourself against him again, placing an exaggerated wet, smacking kiss to his lips before teasing the edge of his jaw, down his throat. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, confused by your sudden bout of affection.

You gently rock your hips, letting Simon feel how much you still ache for him, cock twitching inside. “I want to see if you can do it again,” you explain between lavishing his neck with kisses. You don’t move any faster than a slow rolling pace, giving Simon time to think. 

He exhales through his nose heavier than normal at your movement, pleasure stirring again. He barely manages to speak his agreement, “Yeah, ok-” before he’s interrupted with you pinning his legs back and beginning heavy thrusts, cock dragging against his insides that has his head growing fuzzy, pleasure building each time you strike as deeply as you can.

Simon clings to your arms as each thrust rocks his body, the clenching of his pussy around your cock sending pleasure sizzling through your veins. You can hear his almost silent moans and ah, ah, ah, with each thrust as a similar feeling builds inside Simon- a big buildup that needs release, and this time, his brain manages to scramble together a warning, “Fuck, I-I think it’s gonna-”

“Yes, yes, let it all out,” you encourage, his pussy sloppy and rapidly bringing you to your own orgasm. 

His orgasm tears through his body, head thrown back in a final moan as another wave rushes out, coating your body in further wetness. It’s enough to push you over the edge, a hearty groan pouring from your chest as you spill inside him, cock kicking with each pulse as his insides are streamed with white. Simon’s convulsions milk you until he’s overflowing, your spend leaking out around your cock and streaming down. 

You stay interlocked after, chests heaving with exertion until discomfort settles in, your bodies covered in fluids and drenched in sweat. With Simon pinned you move first, settling back on your heels as you draw out, eyes unable to look away as you catch sight of Simon’s pussy, shining with a mixture of your cum and his release, twitching as white begins to slowly trickle out. 

Your body moves before you can think, two fingers gathering up what’s leaking out and pushing it back inside, a hiss coming from Simon who picks his head up to look at you. “Better not let any of it go to waste, yeah?”

[hurlingdown]

                       S!NK YOUR TEETH IN

synopsis. when toji, the omega outcast of the zenin clan, is given to you, the leader of a rival clan, you consummate with him in a public mating ritual, showing the elders who exiled him just how perfectly breedable of an omega they had let go. wc. 4.0k

tags. top alpha! reader, bottom omega! toji. reader has a cock, toji has a pussy. public ritualistic mating, exhibitionism, breeding, knotting, rough vaginal sex, tit-fondling, dumbification, creampie, fingering, mating bites, huge cock, degradation & praise. talk of pregnancy and lactation. mentions of past abuse, degradation (not the sexy kind), prejudice against omegas. reader starts off sweet and ends up being a little mean. made up ritual & clan traditions.

a/n. the number of times i’ve rewritten this is astronomical. i hope you enjoy!

Toji knelt before the Moon on the steps of the sacred temple, waiting. Time and gravity pressed tender bruises into the bend of his knees, and fresh ache flowed into the soles of his feet. Tonight, he knew, would be the longest of nights. 

There was no man worthy of such worship, he bitterly thought. And yet there he was, presented like a spoil of war to the leader of another clan, his hands bound together and pressed to the small of his back while his former clanmates howled throughout the night like unruly beasts. 

But Toji wasn’t a spoil of war, was he? In fact, he was the opposite—a jest disguised as a gift to humiliate, to embarrass the recipent. An omega with the bulk of an alpha. How lowly. 

He was certain that the alpha coming to the temple tonight to receive his gift would think the same. But regardless, he would own Toji—body and soul. He would sink his teeth into the glands of his neck and claim him as a slave, or he would ravage him for one night, muzzled and bound, before tossing him aside.

Toji didn’t want to think. Lately, thinking had done him no good. Thinking of the inevitable only served to paralyze him, made his knees buckle, made his lungs seize and choke on heavy breath, made his will weak and heart unsteady. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking solace from the fairness of the night and the Moon herself. 

The drums had started a while ago. 

Or—that was what it sounded like—the staff and torch of every man and warrior hammering against the softness of the earth, driving up sand and dust, what started as a cacophony of sounds gradually reconstructing into fire and rhythm and heartbeat. 

They were calling for someone. Yearning for their echoing cry. 

And the day it came, it might as well cue the apocalypse. It would be the end of Toji. 

Except…

You were nothing like he had imagined. 

“Omega,” a soft croon travelled from within the temple. Quiet, yet steady—low. Demanding his attention, his answering warble. 

Toji resisted the urge to raise his head and answer, despite the sudden, terrifying need to bare his neck and whimper, to submit to the faceless alpha before him. 

Toji had expected to be taken by force by a hand clamped onto his sensitive nape, scruffing him like all filthy omegas deserved to be held, dragged up the stairs against his will and thrown into the temple. 

Not the gentle guidance of a curled finger lifting his chin… to meet the most brilliant pair of golden eyes he had ever seen. 

“I was calling for you,” you murmured. Soft. Forgiving. So unlike every alpha he’d ever seen. “Why haven’t you answered my call, omega?” 

Toji couldn’t breathe. 

A mocking sneer came from behind, a full body shudder immediately surging its way into his bones, halting the sense of comfort that your unexpected… mercy? kindness? provided him. 

“I see you’re examining our gift to you, Chief.” 

You only smiled kindly. 

“How kind of you to bring me a gift, Naobito.” You paused, gazing down at Toji, before resting a hand on his cheek, watching as he couldn’t help but nuzzle into the cup of your palm, clearly starved for gentle touch. 

“Well? How do you like it, Chief?” 

“He’s certainly… extravagant.” 

Toji couldn’t keep the scowl off his face even if he tried—he could tell you were lying. There was nothing extravagant about him, with his scarred skin and thick bulk that made him unseemly of an omega, the picture of crass and shame. 

You tilted your head in confusion at the sudden sour dip in his sweet scent, the strange stillness in his body language. “What’s wrong? Did you not like the term I used, omega?” You had meant it with every fibre of your being. The omega was beautiful. Extravagant, like you said—a jewel blessed by the moon. 

Toji frowned harder, keeping his mouth shut despite his displeasure. He had learned to do so the hard way for far too many times—the scar slashing across his face was solid proof of that. There wasn’t any room for an omega to butt in when any alpha was speaking—much less the pack alpha himself. 

“Extravagant is one way to word it,” Naobito sniggered, “though I’d suggest we use the term low-bred.” 

Toji was indifferent at this point, used to having nasty insults hurled at him to berate him for the impropriety of his body, but what took him by surprise was how tense you had gotten from one single word of the other alpha, his instincts immediately sending out warning signals to soothe and pacify, not in fear of your anger but in distinct worry for your well-being. 

“Low-bred,” you repeated, “you say?” 

“Yes,” the old pack alpha affirmed. “Low-bred is right. Only a low-bred omega would ever dare to betray the fate the Moon goddess has ordained for him and turn himself into the beast that he truly is.” 

“And pray tell, has the Moon goddess herself granted you the authority to define a creature of her creation with such an undignified term?” 

Naobito raised his eyebrows, undaunted by your sharp tongue—years of experience had given him the composure of an old fox. 

His lips stretched into a smile, revealing a pair of grotesque yellow fangs. “The Chief has peculiar tastes.” 

“The Chief,” you smiled contemptuously, “worships the Moon goddess with respect, as does the rest of our clan, unlike certain dissemblers.” 

Naobito growled. 

Faith and religion were sensitive waters to tread into for any clan. 

The head priest coughed awkwardly, breaking the uneasy silence. 

“It is time, my liege. The hour that the Moon favours has come.” 

You gazed down at the omega, still bound on his knees, jaw cradled in your palm, now slightly more relaxed—how many hours had it been since he had been forced to kneel and pray? 

“What is your name, favoured one?” 

Toji glanced up at you, dark blue boring into golden. 

“Fushiguro,” he said. “Fushiguro Toji.” 

You hummed. How interesting. “Not Zenin?” 

“No,” Toji muttered lowly. “I am… pariah. An outcast. I am not one of them.” He nearly spat the last part out, something akin to manic glee in his eyes. 

“Pariah,” the foreign word rolled off your tongue like silk. “What a pretty name for something they detest so much.” You stroked his hair almost lovingly. “But not for long, Toji. Tonight, as the goddess favours it, you will be mine.” 

Toji shivered involuntarily, this time not in fear as he had priorly with Naobito, but an unexpected, all-consuming feeling of heat shooting straight into his lower belly. At that moment, he recognized just how dangerous of an alpha you were, to have an omega like him—one that repulsed alphas with the entirety of his being—wanting to get on his knees for you and have you take him mercilessly, right here right then, pheromones dripping out uncontrollably like peach syrup and golden honey, flooding the air like a dammed up river unleashed. 

“Unbind him, Suguru,” you ordered, and Toji whined in arousal. “No omega of mine will ever be leashed.” 

Mine, the alpha says. Toji’s heart fluttered despite himself. I will become his omega, like it was written in the fucking stars. What the hell? 

Was this what it felt like to freely belong? 

Toji was then helped to his feet, his hands swiftly untied, a flask where a sweet-smelling liquid was fed to his lips. He tensed, wary, but your steady gaze boring into his almost immediately rid him of any suspicions. 

“Drink,” the head priest—Suguru, offered kindly. “You must be parched. It is water from the sacred fountain.” 

A blessing of fertility, he registered, his breath hitching. One that would induce a heat so potent that would make conception simply inevitable. There was no going back from this. By the end of the night, he was to be taken and bred by you before the waxing gibbous Moon, your seed flowing into his womb—and by sunrise, he would be pregnant with your pups. 

Toji closed his eyes, nodding once and opening his mouth, allowing the sweet fluid to slake his dried throat, before the flask was taken away from him, a silk cloth pressed to his lips to clean him. 

There was a very specific order to these things. 

“Favoured one,” Suguru said. “The Chief waits for you.” 

You had disappeared up the stairs and onto the altar while he was distracted, leaving behind a thick trail of your scent. Toji followed it blindly, desperately, heat burning an electric path down his spine and spilling heavily into his nether regions, a slow whine ushered out from his parted lips. 

He stood at the entrance on wobbly legs and took you in. “Alpha,” he allowed himself to pant out, for the first time of the night. “A-alpha, where…” 

You were beautiful and bare under the moonlight. All of you was soon to be his, just as he would be yours. 

“Come, my omega,” you gently shushed the omega’s unsure warbling, patting your lap and smiling at him. “Let us forget everything around us. Tonight, there is only me and you, and the goddess, who will watch me fuck you on my cock until you are swollen and pregnant with the fruit of her blessing.” 

Toji could feel his omega purring, giddy from your promises, a slickness trickling down his thighs, evident through the sheer fabric of his robe. He trudged over to where you were sitting, shakily positioning himself on your warm lap. His knees bracketed your hips, resting comfortably on the soft material of the furs and bedding laid all over the ground, the perfect cocoon for lovemaking all night. 

You were cooing at him. Pressing tender kisses to the pulse of his wrists, soothing at the abrasions the ropes had left behind like he was something precious, something to be treasured. 

Toji had previously thought he was not going to survive the night, but now, he only wished the night would last forever. 

“What are you thinking, my sweet?” you crooned at him. 

The omega flushed prettily, glancing down at his slick-dampened robes. “My clothes,” he whispered. “They are uncomfortable, alpha.” 

You regarded him with a playful tone. “Is that so?” you responded. 

Toji nodded, a pout forming on his lips—something he would have never done in the presence of another. You made it hard for him to act normal. You were the strangest alpha he had ever met. 

Trepidation began to build when you remained silent for a few moments. 

The disrobement was often violent. That was what he had seen happen to other omegas in his clan, more often than not with an alpha that they had never seen before prior to that night. Stripped bare of their dignity, and forced to submit and take whatever they were given. 

“May I?” was a question that Toji would have never even considered to hear. 

He nodded then, almost desperately, as you chuckled and pried his white robe fully apart, fully unveiling his body for the first time to the cold of the night. 

“You are so wet,” you commented, one finger brushing up the entrance of his pussy, gathering slick before lightly pushing at his clit, making him shudder and cry out. “I doubt we will be needing any extra lubricant.” 

“No,” Toji agreed. Fuck, he needed you inside of him, this instant. You were far too patient for an alpha, far too gentle, far too kind. He leaned back and spread his legs, revealing his sopping cunt, hoping to entice you into taking him. 

Your eyes darkened, zeroing in onto his soaked folds, spread out like a flower of the flesh. 

“Alpha,” he whined, the heat making it hard to speak coherently, “I’m ready. I-I need you.” 

You sneered. “Pretty omega needs an alpha to breed him? Plug his pussy full of seed until he is heavy with pups?” 

“N-not just any alpha,” Toji panted. “I want you. Only you. Your pups, alpha.” 

You held back a whimper at his words and the sight of his cunt clenching needily combined, wanting nothing more than to fulfil your promise and fuck him into the nest until the omega was seeing stars, helplessly clinging onto your shoulders and screaming your name with every thrust. 

But you also knew that it was far too early for that. You wanted to take your time with him. Savour him. Let him understand that he wasn’t just a toy for your pleasure tonight, but everything and more. 

“Not now, Toji,” you muttered softly, stroking his cheek, and sighed in dismay when the omega began to tear up, evidently consumed by his heat and seeing your words as a form of rejection. “Please, don’t cry.” 

“Y-you do not want me,” he gasped out wetly, “You are just like the rest of them. You do not see me as an omega, do you? You think—” he paused, before frowning and accusing, “you think I am low-bred.” 

Rage flickered in your gaze, and Toji could feel another wave of slick pouring out of his aroused cunt, baring his neck with a soft whimper to appease you. 

“Never say that about yourself again,” you snarled. “Or else I’ll just have to show you exactly how well-bred of an omega you are.” 

“But you stopped.” Toji huffed. “Why did you stop? Am I not enough for you?” 

You could feel your frustration boiling over. “If you still think that this is not enough, look at me.” Your cock stood proudly between your thighs, heavy and girthy with the flushed head dripping with arousal, the base starting to swell with knot. “Do you not see what you have done to me, omega?” 

Toji bit back a whine. Fuck. That huge thing was going to split his cunt apart, and he couldn’t wait. 

“Then what.” 

“I want you to show me,” you challenged, resting back against the pile of soft furs. “Show me what you can do, omega. Fuck those pretty fingers into your little pussy and get yourself ready for my cock.” 

Toji whimpered. His fingers weren’t small, but your cock was way, way larger. It would take at least four of them to properly stretch himself out, and goddess, was he impatient. Biting his lip, he inserted the first two fingers with ease, the abundance of slick making the glide smooth, wet and easy, waiting until he had them pushed almost all the way in before he started to slowly scissor them, panting softly at the movement. 

“So hot, Toji,” you purred. “Keep going, pretty. Show me you’re worthy of taking my knot. My pups. The perfect omega for me to breed.” 

The sight before you was a piece of heaven itself. The omega was struggling to fit the third finger in, even with how much he was slicking up—what an arrogant little thing, offering to take your knot when he could barely fit a few fingers into his tight virgin hole. 

“Alpha,” Toji panted, starting to rock his hips down onto his fingers, clumsy and inexperienced but nonetheless the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. “I-I’m… almost… there…!” 

“You are doing so good,” you cooed. “Just a little more, baby.” You were seconds away from grabbing your cock and jerking yourself off to completion, but how could you ever, when the prettiest, slickest pussy you had ever seen was right in front of you, waiting to be bred with your cum? 

Toji hissed out victoriously as he pushed the fourth finger in alongside the rest inside the wet mess of his cunt, stretching it out almost obscenely. He glanced at you expectantly, a smug smile on his face as though he were expecting a reward. 

“Well? Am I worthy of your knot now, alpha?” he sneered. 

What he didn’t expect was how quickly you manhandled him onto his hands and knees, making him arch his back until he was properly presenting himself to you, his pussy fully facing you, gaping widely and dripping with sweet-smelling slick for the taking. 

He gasped and whined, sensitive cunt clenching as you blew air over it, dutifully admiring the efforts your omega made in preparing himself for you. 

“Good omega,” you crooned, pressing a tender kiss to the hood of his clit, making him shiver. “You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” 

Toji wasn’t sure why he chose that moment to rebel, even with the sweltering heat and arousal clouding his consciousness. “Liar,” he whispered. 

You growled, rocking your hips forward harshly, the girth of your cock rutting against the crevice of his wet pussy, the sudden stimulation making him cry out. 

“Look at me,” you growled out. “Look at me as I fuck my cock into you, and tell me I am a liar.” 

Toji tilted his head to stare back at you, panting heavily. 

You sneered. “I wish you could see yourself right now, because there is no way someone will see this—and hear this—and call you anything other than an omega bitch.” 

Before Toji could even ask anything about what he was supposed to be hearing— 

You had positioned yourself and rammed your cock into his cunt in one smooth go, and Toji screamed. 

“Fuck,” he wailed loudly as he came, whimpering as you thrust right back in, rough hands grabbing carelessly at the thick of his hips, slamming him back onto your cock whenever he tried to crawl away from the oversensitivity. There were sure to be countless bruises by the time morning came—if it ever did, with the way you were fucking him so ruthlessly into the nest, taking away his every breath. 

“Alpha, puh-please!” he begged, tears of pleasure filling his eyes, his instincts going haywire with the only coherent thought being to let himself be bred, to carry your pups like the good omega you told him he was. “W-want your babies, want them in me so f-fucking bad, please.” 

“No,” you snarked, refusing to cum—a punishment, Toji knew, for the words he had negligently said, and the omega whimpered in frustration. 

“Please!”

“No. Not until you admit what you are.” 

“Alpha,” Toji cried out, frame shaking as he came again, slick leaking out of his pussy in messy slops with each slap of your hips against the reddened back of his thighs. 

You growled. “Admit it.” 

“A g-good omega,” Toji panted. “Yours.” 

“What else is there?” 

“P-prettiest thing you have ever- ever seen, alpha.” 

You hummed your approval. It was impressive that he could still manage to string together words, despite how hard you were pounding into him from behind. 

“I need an even better answer, baby.” You sneered, nipping meanly at his ear. “Something that sums up the above. Tell me. What’s a fertile and pretty omega like you good for a pack alpha like me?” 

Toji whimpered. He knew the answer you wanted—it was right in front of him. A burst of elation filled him at the prospect, and he found himself growing even wetter, if that was possible. 

“I’d be a good… a good breeding bitch for you,” he slurred. “And I’d let you fuck your knot into me anytime and anywhere you want, put a clan of pups into my s-stupid little cunt.” 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Fuck,” you cursed, letting out a breathless laugh. “You are really something, aren’t you.” And that old bastard had dared to insult him. Was he blind? Were they all blind? 

You reached under Toji’s chest to cup his full breasts, squeezing and massaging them, making him jerk in your grip, cunt fluttering around your swollen cock with a wet sob. 

“Even your tits are perfect,” you jibed on, “They would look so good, swollen and heavy with milk to feed the pups I am going to put in your belly. Is there a single part of your body that isn’t breedable, Toji?” 

Toji mindlessly shook his head, whimpers and moans fucked out of him with each snap of your hips, his eyes hazy and unfocused as you pumped your cock into him, threatening to breach his womb with how deep and hard your thrusts were. “N-no,” he whined, “I’d let you fuck my t-tits, alpha. Get them fat and full too, like how you’re going to make my t-tummy.” 

You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. Your pretty thing really was gone, wasn’t he. To think he had been so shy and guarded just a few moments ago. He was truly unrecognizable now—his low, threatening voice turning into high-pitched moans, the scowl on his face wiped off and replaced with a look of pure ecstasy. 

“Naobito!” you growled out, a deranged grin on your face. “Is this the omega you were calling low-bred? The one you were berating for his appearance?” 

There was a flush on the elder’s face as he quickly hid it—either from embarrassment or from the fact that he, too, had reached a shaky hand into his robes to relieve himself, much like the rest. 

“Why,” you drawled, pushing Toji up so that his back was pressed flush to your chest, exposing his limp, fucked-out body to the crowd, “You lot seem to be enjoying it as much as I am. It is a shame that you will never have him, for the ways you have treated him.” 

Tonight, and for the rest of the days forever, Toji would be yours. 

With a snarl, you sunk your teeth fully into your omega’s neck as Toji let out a warbling cry, head tilting back to allow you full access to his nape as you thrusted upwards once more into his trembling body, just enough to pop the swell of your knot into his tight cunt, properly stuffing him and locking the two of you together. 

“I feel so full,” Toji mumbled as you pulled back to shift the two of you into a position that would allow the warm cum to slowly flow into his womb. “Feel you—right here, alpha.” He rubbed at his tummy, over the slight distension caused by the thickness of your knot. 

You had to hold yourself back from biting him again. 

“Yeah? Feels good, right?” you cooed, kissing the wound on his neck, one hand protectively cradling the belly of your new mate, as though he were already swollen with pup. Toji nodded sleepily, resting against your shoulder and letting out soft little trills, one hand joining yours to rest on his stomach. 

The ritual was over, but the Zenins were still in your territory. If it were up to you, you would have their hands and tongues cut off for the vile things they have done and said to Toji. 

But this wasn’t your decision to make. 

“Luna,” you murmured softly to your mate. “My sweet Luna.” 

Toji blinked in confusion at the strange term of endearment, before his eyes widened with realisation. 

You gestured to his former clan, now encircled by warriors of your own, the stench of fear and bloodthirst weighing heavy in the air like a thick fog. 

“They await your orders, Toji.” 

The crazed glint in your omega’s eyes had never been more telling. 

masterlist!

[nickgoesinsane]

being the manager for a demon boy band is not for the weak…

“Guys, you’re on in six.”

Your first mistake? Going into the dressing room by yourself. Forgot about the Buddy System™ that you, yourself, made up. For your own protection, of course.

Second mistake? Not keeping your eyes on them the entire time. You should always have eyes on all of them.

You glanced at your tablet once — count it, once — and you got yanked into the room, the door slamming shut. Your tablet is gone and so is your phone, vanished to the couch in the corner.

“Good evening, Manager.” Jinu greets you in a sweet sounding voice, all of them gathered around you like a bunch of sharks that just scented blood in the water.

“Hello…” You say, slowly, warily glancing at their coy expressions. The lock clicks, with Baby giving you a smug, sharp toothed grin. “So,” you look away, clap your hands together while trying to sound unaffected, “you have six minutes before you go on stage.”

“Six minutes, wow,” Baby mocks, pushing off the door to join the others in crowding you.

“I think six minutes is enough,” Abby shrugs, his eyes bright yellow and his grin spelling trouble.

Romance nods, glossy bottom lip caught between his teeth as he gets in close. He’s warm and smells like the flowery shampoo that sponsored them. “We can do a lot in six minutes.”

You go to say something, anything, and whatever it was just dies the second they all move— latching on to whatever exposed skin they can, pawing at your clothes.

You manage to free a hand, tangle your fingers into Jinu’s hair and give a little feeble tug with your human strength. He pops off the skin of your throat with a wet sound, lets out a drunken sounding chuckle as he looks at you through his lashes.

The patterns have made their way all up their faces, bright and jagged and alive. The human facade is gone.

“You’re fine,” He coos at you, like you’re a skittish thing he wants to keep cuddling. Wickedly sharp claws fiddle with the buttons of your shirt, and someone’s nose runs along the other side of your neck.

“You should relax, Manager,” Mystery’s soft voice murmurs, his clawed hands massaging the tension from your shoulders.

Baby lets out a victorious little noise in the back of his throat when he manages to wiggle his hand into your pants, fingers wrapping around your cock to give you a squeeze.

Your grunt is swallowed up by Abby’s lips. His fangs nip at your bottom lip, his clawed hand squeezing your jaw to open your mouth. His tongue delves in the second your teeth unclench, laving over yours with a satisfied groan.

Mystery’s helping Baby tug your pants down, and one of them is nibbling at the vein on your hip. Sucking bruises to match the ones forming on your throat and jaw.

“Can’t wait to have you inside me again,” Romance whispers hotly into your ear, claws ghosting over the trail of hair leading down.

The timer on your phone shrieks, startling all of you into stillness. It’s time for the show to start— ten thousand fans waiting for them in the sold out stadium.

The door’s unlocked, and each of the boys presses a kiss to your cheek as they depart. All perfectly composed, like they weren’t actively defiling you a moment ago.

Your lips are kiss swollen, your hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled to hell, your pants low on your hips— and you’re uncomfortably hard.

“We’ll see you after the show, Manager.” Jinu says sweetly, waving, before they walk down the corridor.

You scream into your hands.

[hurlingdown]

                   DEAL WITH THE DEVIL !? ☆

synopsis. in a fit of jealousy, suguru makes a deal with the devil. in exchange for being the only one you would ever fuck, he would have to become a sleeve tailor made for your cock. in other words, your very personal whore. wc. 4.2k

tags. top! reader, sub! geto. reader is a dilf. brat! suguru, brat tamer! reader. hardcore dom/sub. rough anal sex, orgasm denial, switching positions (riding, missionary, doggy), sir kink, mixture of degradation & praise kink, dacryphilia, age difference, objectifying, heavy use of whore, pillow princess learns how to ride dick, cum-eating, spit kink, jealousy, subspace, blowjob, yandere! geto undertones, possessiveness.

a/n. suguru gets railed within an inch of his life. good things happen.

“I bet you had plenty fun out there,” Suguru slurred, “dancing with that pretty ‘gal. Probably forgot all about me, too—the two of you were lost in your own little world.” 

Suguru slouched over you to rest his head in the crook of your neck, thighs straining where they bracketed your hips. You could feel his every heated breath against the protrusion of your jugular vein, the sweat of his palms seeping into your skin, burning a path down to hell wherever they went. The awkward shift of his muscles as he raised himself with difficulty, only to plummet down harshly. 

There was no rhythm in the ride. No patience. No tenderness in the way he touched you, branded you with him. Suguru was pissed at you, and you knew it. 

“Suguru,” you moaned, sweaty hands settling on his hips, trying to help him ride, but he swatted your hands away every time you so touched him. At this rate, both of you were going to wake up with bruises tomorrow—and not the kind that felt good. “Fuck, baby, you’re hurting yourself. Let me.” 

He only shook his head, shivering. “Why should I,” he scoffed, “when you don’t even want me. You only want—whatever this is. You only want to fuck a hole. So here I am. A hole for you.” You could tell he was biting his lip, another shudder wracking through his body, and the sight tore into you like a contusion, making you throb. “You can close your eyes and imagine it’s her you’ve got your cock in. She’s prettier, anyway, older than me, too—maybe you’d enjoy it better.” 

“You know that’s not true,” you reasoned, swallowing down a groan as he clenched around you with a ferocity, like he wanted it to hurt. “I only danced with her because you- you were ignoring me in the first place. Please, baby. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t—don’t you fucking baby me.” Suguru lifted his head, a glare so full of hurt that it dug into you like a jagged blade. “We’re not even a thing. Y-you don’t want to make us a thing.” He swallows harshly, before muttering, “Legal enough for a few good fucks, but too young for anything real.” 

The underlying accusation made you bristle. You had never protested anything beyond this point—but this was just unfair to you. You didn’t want to make the two of you a thing? Was he fucking serious? And—too young for anything real? How many times have you reassured him that it didn’t matter to you? 

“I believe the reason why you were ignoring me in the first place,” you kept your voice quiet and steady, “was because I brought us up and like a brat, you didn’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk, Suguru. It’s never the right time to talk for you. And now you think, after I go off dancing with someone else to take my mind off the headache you’ve given me, you can act all jealous like I fucked them in front of you.” 

You knew you were going to regret your next words, but at that moment, the immature desire to teach him a lesson overshadowed any sense of rationality. The anger, the disbelief, everything made it harder to think. And you were only human. 

Suguru glowered at you almost childishly, daring you to finish. 

“And maybe I really should, next time,” you continued. “Since you don’t think I’m making any effort. Maybe someone else will appreciate it.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispered. 

You frowned. “Suguru—” 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” 

“Suguru,” you snapped. “Don’t raise your voice at me.” 

He froze up at your sudden switch in tone, something darker, more guttural. Something you only used when you were talking to an unruly brat in the bedroom. Suguru slowly raised his head in confusion. “What?” 

“I know you’re pissed,” you muttered. “But don’t forget whose cock you’re sitting on, right now. If you want to bring this up while we’re having sex, go ahead, but stick to the rules.” 

 “Are you fucking serious—” 

You snapped your hips up, and he moaned, a pretty, tremulous sound. Suguru turned his head to glare at you weakly, half-panting already. It was funny how you could almost reduce him to a dog in heat with merely an inch of control. 

“Yes,” you affirmed. “Now, you can either get off, throw your little tantrum, and walk out of this relationship forever; or you can be a good boy and deal with this reasonably. Which one is it?” 

He parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue, but you only levelled him with an unimpressed look. He huffed, stubbornly glancing away. 

“Well? Suguru?” 

“... Keep going,” he scowled, cheeks flushing. You blinked at him in amusement, not even bothering to bite down the snark that filled your expression at his wishful words. He frowned. “What? Move already.” 

“Oh, no. I’m not gonna do the work for you,” you drawled, hands crawling up his thighs to give them a taunting little squeeze. “See, you didn’t want to let me help you, earlier—I guess you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.” You paused, smiling at him. “Ain’t that right?” 

“Fuck you,” he spat. 

“You sure you want to keep that attitude tonight, Suguru?” 

A shiver climbs up his spine, and he shakes his head after a reluctant moment. He knew the consequences of misbehaviour. How you could take him over your lap and make him count every strike, keep him deprived of cock until he was crying and slobbering, begging for something, anything, to replace the ache of emptiness inside him. 

… And he also knew what those hands could do if he behaved himself properly. 

“I’ll be your good boy,” Suguru mumbled. “Fuck me? Please?” 

His hands curled into fists on your shoulders, and he glanced at you, almost expectant. Your hands continued to travel upwards, rubbing slow circles onto the jut of his hipbones, making him sigh in bliss. How easy it was for him to accept your affection as a sign of forgiveness. Too easy, even. 

“Let’s see how good you do by yourself, first.” 

His gaze snapped to yours in defiance, the look of a spoiled brat—and you wanted to break it. You wanted to see him sob and whimper and moan as pounded into his twitching hole, rough, violent, the way that made his eyes roll back in ecstasy and mouth part in hoarse, pleasured screams. 

“But I’ve said please already,” Suguru retorted. “You can’t expect me to—” 

“Last I remember, I gave you two choices, Suguru. You took the second one. This is the second one.” 

“Fucking asshole,” he snarled. “Fine.” 

“Language,” you chastised, but Suguru paid no mind, elbows slung over your shoulders to cage you in a half-hug, shifting on his knees to get better leverage. He rolled his hips—the way you had taught him to before, forward, go down, backward, go up. Slow circular motions that smushed your cock, in just the right angle, against the throbbing gland nesting inside him, soft moans leaving his lips. It was nothing like the careless violence before. 

This was so much better. 

“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” Your annoying voice rang, almost a lullaby in the way it made his eyes fall lidded, a whine building at the back of his throat. His body was so attuned to receiving pleasure—it made a whole difference when the reigns were in his hands, now. Fuck. If only you could take him already.

It was good, just bearably so, for a few minutes. Suguru struggled to gain rhythm, rocking down with a little more meaning, just to feel you slide in a little deeper each time, reaching all the dirty places inside his body no one else ever could. He tried to focus on movement and control, instead of getting lost in the way your girth would massage his taut walls, as though telling him to ease up already. 

He scowled. None of this would be a problem if you weren’t so damn difficult. And stingy. 

“Shit,” he cursed, pressing his forehead against the solid grill of your shoulder. “I’m n-not gonna, hnnn, make it if you don’t… don’t d-do something.” 

Suguru could feel the tension in his hamstrings with every slow bounce, the heat curling in his distended abdomen, a tell-tale sign that he was close to teetering over the edge. He could feel your thighs flexing beneath his, and clearly it felt good for you, too, so why, why won’t you just stake your claim on his insides already and turn him into a helpless, sobbing mess, like you always do? 

“Go ahead. I never said you couldn’t come.” 

Fuck that. Of course he wanted to fucking cum—just not like this. Not when you were merely holding him like he were nothing more than another toy, built for your pleasure. Suguru could be good. He could play as your pretty little whore. Hell, he would let you use him wherever and whenever you wanted to. But there was one condition to all of this generosity. 

You were his. 

And if you were going to treat him nothing more like a fleshlight you had rented from a sex shop, something to be borrowed and returned and tossed aside, then he wasn’t going to take it quietly. 

This wasn’t fair to him, not at all. You were being unfair. 

“Look at me,” he grit out. “Look at what you’re doing to me.” 

Suguru grabbed your hand, rubbing your palm against his sticky crotch until your fingers loosely wrapped around his length, a desperate moan spilling out from him as he rutted into your grasp. It was good, but not enough. Hardly. He wanted your hands on every part of him that they could reach. He wanted more. 

To his surprise, you didn’t snap at him for breaking the rules; that, or use your age, size or his willingness to your advantage. Your grip only tightened on his twitching cock, choking a whine out of him. He lifted his head to glance at you with heady eyes, shivering at the interest in your gaze. 

It only spurred him on. 

“This,” he slurred, resting a hand on his slightly swollen stomach, “is yours.” He lifted his hips and moved his hand lower, lower, prodding at the slick-coated length that emerged underneath him with the pad of his forefinger. “Now this… this is mine. You understand?” 

Your breath hitched, arousal building rapidly at his sultry words. This was new, and not bad at all. If this was the game he wanted to play… you supposed you could play along, for now. Just to let him have his fill of fun. 

“They can look at it, touch it, even take pictures of it… but I own the only two holes that you can be inside of. Ever.” Suguru knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t bear to ride something that didn’t belong to him—something that had been tainted by the filth of your other toys. He continued, “I can play by your rules. Be your good whore. Shut up when you tell me to. But play by mine, too.” 

“Greedy,” you snarked. “But fine.” 

He looked pleased at your easy acceptance. 

“Good. Now look at m-me, properly, when I cum on your cock.” 

You kept your word, letting him take the lead. It was obvious he was still getting used to steering with the reigns so unceremoniously thrust into his hands, but fuck, was it hot. You stroked him, your touch rough but still reverent, thumb digging into his beading slit at times, making him cry out as he rode you with renewed vigour. 

“Both hands on me,” he ordered, before hastily adding, “please.” 

He didn’t tell you where, so you put your fingers in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you panted, almost losing yourself in the way he fluttered around you tirelessly, soaking you up and taking you in. The rhythm of his bounce. The sensual roll of his hips. The obscene whimpers and shudders that sent vibrations into your body whenever he fucked himself a little too good. You loved it all. You wanted it all. If this was what you were getting in exchange for a little rule-breaking, then you would do it a thousand times over. 

Suguru was gasping, thighs twitching, moaning senselessly and drooling around your fingers, and you knew he was about to break from the pressure. Oh, well. He did a good run, for his first time. 

You let go of his cock, and he nearly screamed out in frustration. 

“No, fuck, no, no, no—” 

“But what?” you hummed, and Suguru wanted to wipe that innocent smile off your face with violence. “You said you’d cum on my cock, darling. I don’t see why you need my hands on you.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” he snapped. What was wrong with you? Weren’t you edging yourself, too? Wasn’t it painful for you, to be denied of release? You were being so frustrating. 

“I played by your rules, sweets.” You pressed a tender kiss to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he let out a helpless shiver. “This cock right here?” You nudged upwards to force your cockhead against his stomach walls, earning you a filthy whine. “All yours. But don’t forget. You promised to be my whore in exchange for that. Now, we don’t condone breaking promises, do we?” 

“N-no, but it doesn’t explain why you had to stop—” 

“Because I wanted to.” You let a small smile creep onto your face, relishing in the glazed look in his eye, the quiver in his bottom lip, as though he were about to cry. “Whores don’t order their owner around… unless it’s for the entertainment of their owner, of course. And right now, I’ve gotten terribly bored of it.” 

Suguru looked positively dumbfounded. But if that meant you were going to finally do something about it instead of sitting there, then he wasn’t going to argue with you. He let you maneuver him onto his back pliantly, almost coy in the way he glanced up at you through his lashes, spreading his legs for you. 

How could anyone expect him to want to protect his dignity when you looked at him like that? He wasn’t even prey, to you—something much, more lowly. An object, your possession. A confection to be devoured. You had let him at a glimpse of the power you held over him, and fuck, did it feel great to have you bending to his every whim, stroking his cock for his pleasure for once, but this… this was nothing but not a deal with the devil. True sovereignty was never in his hands. It was all an illusion. 

But if his only purpose would be reduced to a sleeve for your cock to fit into, merely for your pleasure and entertainment, then Suguru would get you so addicted to him, you’d prefer him over any other drug. 

“Please,” he begged, glossy eyes peering at you, “sir.” 

You smiled. “What do you want, Suguru?” 

“I-I want,” he said, half short of a whine, “w-want you- to take control. Please.” 

“Thought you were enjoying yourself, love.” 

Suguru knew what you wanted. To recognise his new identity—something inferior to you. Something that needed to depend on you to survive. 

“I- am- but, mmph, my legs h-hurt.” The glance he gave you, then, sent a shock straight into your chest. He breathed out a quiet confession, the killer blow, “I need you to put me in my place, sir. Please.” 

Your grin grew crooked, hands finally settling on the thick of his hips for the perfect leverage to thrust, and Suguru knew, then, that he had fucking won. 

The first smack of your hips against his ass had him keening. It stung, especially how he was bruised all over from riding you too hard, earlier—but the sharp zing of pleasure coursing through him made up for it a hundred times over. He wrapped his arms around your neck needily, fingers curling into your hair to keep you close, as close as you could be with your cock stuffed inside him. 

“Sir!” he sobbed, legs going around your hips as he trembled in ecstasy, moaning, gasping for breath, because finally, fucking finally, you were here in his arms, giving hell to his insides just the way he liked it. “Yes, yes, mmh, yes, sir—” 

All he could do was breathe. 

“So loud,” you cooed. “Poor thing.” 

“C-can't help- mnh, it,” Suguru whimpered, his body jerking weakly with every thrust. He squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, sobbing with pleasure as you took him again and again, the weight and heat of your body pinning him down completely, consummately, caging his lithe one, and he loved it. “W-wanted this- for soo long. You- always f-fuck me so- good, sir.”  

“Yeah? Why were you so stubborn, then?” you leered down at him, “Being all tough, snapping at me—acting like you had it. You really had your fun, didn’t you.” 

“‘m so- sorry,” he moaned, eyes rolling back. “W-won’t do i-it again.” 

Your smile grew wider at that. “What a good whore,” you sighed in appreciation, tilting his head by the chin to examine his tear-streaked face. “Pretty, too. Not all whores look pretty when they cry. You’re one of a kind, Suguru.” 

“Sir- you’re- ah, haa, t-thank you, sir,” he panted, whimpering as you pinched one of his nipples, “‘s all ‘cause- of y-you, sir. you make- make me feel- s-so good.” 

“Good to know.” You smoothed a hand over the red and purple blossoming on his pecs from the assault you had subjected them to, your sweat dripping onto his body with every jostle and thrust. “Now shut up for a bit and take it, yeah?” 

Suguru nodded frantically, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at you. He was getting close again, the excitement in his belly churning tenfold in this new position that had him feeling every sensation of you pulsing inside him, now that he didn’t need to divert his attention elsewhere. Fuck. He couldn’t even remember why he was mad at you in the first place. He cried out as you thrusted meanly, cock grating against his prostate, his legs tightening around your waist in reflex. 

And then you pulled out with a devilish smirk. 

Suguru sobbed out, voice breaking in parts, the sound loud and desperate. “Please, s-sir. I- I was going- I was about to- ” 

“I know,” you crooned. “Told you to shut up, didn’t I?” 

He nodded pliantly, but he couldn’t hold in a whimper, soft and needy. You couldn’t help but admire the sight beneath you, despite the pain-pleasure inside you of yet another ruined orgasm—his eyes were shiny with tears, skin flushed prettily and bruised around the chest and waist, back arched as he desperately tried to get you to move. 

“Turn around for me, sweet thing.” You pressed a kiss to his wet cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you can do that. You were so good for me just now, baby… I’m so proud of you. I’m sure a teensy little more is nothing to you, mm?” 

Suguru nodded again, rolling onto his stomach sluggishly. He was getting tired, stars drifting past with every slow, dreamy blink, body drained by the way you fucked it like it was something unbreakable. 

He pressed his face into your pillow, inhaling sharply at the scent of your musk filling his every breath, whining as you gripped his hips and tugged him backwards, the head of your cock rubbing against his puffy rim. There was nothing, absolutely nothing else worth his attention on at the moment, the world fading to a trifling blur under your touch. 

The only sounds he could hear were your heavy pants against his shoulder blades, the chanting of fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me in the distant back of his mind, making his insides melt with the desire to be taken. There was no more Suguru. There was only a hole in his place. 

He could feel his eyes drooping, soft breaths luring him to sleep, but out of the cloud of smoke and haze, you were there, a steady presence behind him, the warmth of your calloused palms branding his hips and thighs guiding him back to reality. 

“Let’s remind ourselves,” you husked, your voice wrapping around him like a warm blanket of safety amid the static. “Who are you to me, Suguru?” 

He breathed out a moan, then answered without thinking. “Yours- only yours.” 

“Specifics, baby. Let’s try again.” 

He tried to shift back onto you—even an inch would do, with how desperate he was, but your hand on his hip held him in place. You huffed out a laugh as he turned his head to frown cutely at you. “Your- your property,” he tried again. “Your plaything.” 

“Better,” you praised, “but they’re not what I’m looking for. What else?” 

Suguru knew what you wanted to hear, but he just couldn’t recall at that moment—it was too much, the edging, the scent of you everywhere, the exhaustion, the hot sweaty press of your chest against him, your big hands on his body, your cock rubbing between his thighs. All of it was making his head blank. 

He whimpered helplessly, wanting to turn to you for help, but you kept him in that same humiliating position, as though it were a common whore you were breeding and not him—

“Whore,” he gasped. “I’m your whore.” 

You grinned, then, sharp and pleased, and Suguru could almost cry at the relief he felt. “And what do good whores do, mm?” 

He sobbed, “Good whores take what they’re given… and say thank you.” 

“Good,” you repeated, breathless. “Very good, Suguru.” 

You positioned yourself properly this time, tapping the head of your cock wetly against his entrance just to hear him whine, before entering him with a heavy, careless thrust—to the very brim. 

Suguru buried his face into the pillow, practically screaming. He fisted the bedsheets, head swimming with the sudden burst pleasure overwhelming his senses, the pleasure of being taken, used, like property you had paid for; the pleasure of you picking him, of all people, to be the one you wanted to play with. All the toys in the aisle and you had chosen him. 

He’d gladly be your personal whore. 

“Now,” you prompted with a drawl, “what do we say, mm?” 

“T-thank you, sir,” Suguru whined, “Thank you so- soo much.” 

“Well done,” you breathed, carding a hand through his long, silky hair—before pulling it back into a makeshift pony tail and yanking him up by it, roughly. You ignored his startled whine, taking a second to admire the shape of your cock jutting out from his now exposed abdomen—before towing him backwards, slowly, until his back settled against your chest. 

You could feel his frame quivering against yours. Where was his confidence? The attitude, the jealousy? Guess you had fucked him so good he had forgotten everything else but his only purpose in life—to offer up his holes for your pleasure. 

“Open up, whore,” you whispered. 

Suguru didn’t need to be told twice. He fluttered his lashes, parting his lips for you, breath hitching as you collected a ball of spit, letting it drizzle slowly, obscenely, from your mouth to the waiting hole beneath you. You snapped his jaws shut, making sure you heard the audible swallow before you let go. 

“Thank you,” he whimpered. You smiled. You had such a good-mannered whore. 

He snivelled when he felt a hand enclose his cock—the poor thing so hard it was almost purple, lovingly stroking him. Tears slid down his cheeks freely as soft moans and pants spilled unbidden. He sobbed out brokenly, body jerking in your arms as his cock gave a weak, helpless spurt, the orgasm washing over him in cathartic waves. 

“T-thank you,” he panted, glancing up at you with pretty, moist eyes. 

Suguru only let out a feeble whine as you slowly slid out of him, clenching and gaping from the emptiness, placing him back on all fours. He clutched the sheets with trembling hands as something wet tapped on his cheek, and he opened his mouth without much thought. 

“My pretty whore,” you praised, and put your cock in his mouth. The warm gush of cum down his throat had him choking out a beautiful sound of gratitude. 

Suguru had been stupid to think he could ever get the upperhand in a deal with the devil. But that was all he was now, wasn’t he? A stupid, pretty whore, only ever good for taking cock. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, with a mouthful of cum and more trickling down the side of his chin. 

Maybe he was always meant to be like this. 

Maybe what he needed was your guidance, all along.

masterlist!

[hurlingdown]

                          TRICK? OR DICK⁠? ⁠

synopsis. when choso dresses up as little red riding hood for a halloween party, what he doesn’t expect is his campus crush, you, to show up as the big bad wolf. “so, which one is it, little red? trick? or dick?” wc. 3.1k

tags. top! reader, bottom! choso. reader has a cock. little red riding hood!choso, big bad wolf!reader. roleplay sex, anal sex, predator/prey dynamics, pet names (mr wolf, little red, pup), crossdressing, exhibitionism, belly bulge, rimming, slut-shaming, dry humping, creampie, male squirting. sex, tension and fluff at a 50/40/10 ratio

a/n. had sooo much fun writing this. happy late halloween & enjoy <3

Choso hadn’t even considered the possibility of you attending the same Halloween party. That meant that him dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood—and you showing up as the Big Bad Wolf—was pure coincidence. 

Or fate, as Yuki had phrased, wearing an annoying smirk. 

He hadn’t wanted to dress up, much less go to a party. Staying at home, curled up on the couch with salted popcorn and a marathon of slasher films, sounded infinitely more appearling. But according to the forces of the universe, being a college student meant that socializing was inevitable. Before he could protest, he’d been shoved into a room with a short red dress, thigh-highs, and a handful of accessories, then manhandled into the back of a car. 

And now here he was—dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. 

Or rather, an alternate version of the tale where she had gotten lost on the way to her grandmother’s house and joined an emo rock band instead. The fit was complete with a basket of candy he held in one arm, watching as the love of his life paraded his Big Bad Wolf costume across the room. Okay. Maybe that wasn’t part of the story. 

He sighed defeatedly, leaning back against the wall. 

You were enjoying yourself, of course. That charming wolfish grin, paired with twin sharp canines flashing whenever you laughed a little too hard. Choso wondered if they were prosthetics or if they were always that sharp. He wondered what it felt like to have them sink into his shoulder. Would you bite him gently? Or tear him apart, like the wolf in the original tale? 

“Hey.” 

Choso blinked. 

And promptly started sputtering. “What,” he managed, brilliantly. “Hello?” 

You chuckled at his flustered state. His big, tired eyes—outlined with pretty purple—stared up at you like he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. 

“Hello,” you greeted him back, sweetly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice… we kind of match?” 

Choso’s ears burned red. “Ah. I—I noticed that, too.” If he didn’t know any better, he would think you were flirting with him. Suggesting the two of you matched, like you weren’t talking about costumes but something deeper. Bad for his heart. 

“Heard from your friends that you hate parties,” you continued with a smile, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “So I was surprised to see you here—as Little Red Riding Hood, no less.” 

Choso swallowed. You’d asked about him? Why had no one told him about this? 

“I was forced to come,” he admitted. “I wasn’t really planning on showing up. But now that I’m here, it’s not too bad.” He glanced at you shyly, and you swore you could feel your heart flutter. 

You nodded. “Wasn’t really much of a party person either, but after the first few ones, you just get used to the noise and crowd. Best part, though?” You let your gaze trail over him——the red lace corset cinched his waist perfectly, the petticoat beneath that little red dress, the skin-tight thigh highs and black heeled boots. Definitely not a biblically accurate Little Red Riding Hood. “You get to stare at a pretty guy all night.” 

Choso was certain he looked like a blushing mess by now. Were you flirting? Or was this just how you talked to everyone? It wouldn’t stray too far from his perception of you—you were objectively gorgeous, charismatic, a social butterfly. 

He found himself pouting a little at the thought. 

But then, a warm palm gently cupped the side of his face, and Choso let out a small sound of surprise as you brushed a tender thumb over his cheek. 

“Sorry,” you murmured sheepishly. “Just… wanted to let you know, in case you still didn’t get it. I wanted to come over here and talk to you the moment you got here.” 

Choso covered your clawed hand with his own, lips still pursed in that maddening pout. It drove you crazy with desire. “Just another ‘pretty guy’ you stare at during parties?” he whispered. 

“No,” you choked out. “I… I don’t know why I said it like that. Was trying to tell you that you looked pretty. I don’t really stare at people. Not unless they’re you.” 

Choso tried not to crack a smile at your flustered rambling. Somehow, it made you all the more endearing—like a wolf with the mannerisms of a puppy. 

“Not unless they’re me,” he echoed, teasing. “Mr Wolf… have you been stalking me?” 

You visibly swallowed. Mr Wolf. That was… fine. Great, even. You could handle that. 

“Not stalking,” you denied with a shaky laugh. Sure, you’d asked around about him. Tried to find out more about ‘the brooding guy with the permanent bored expression and signature purple eyeshadow’. Maybe you’d looked him up online, but everyone did that. “All I’m saying is, you’ve had my attention for a long time.” 

“Since the moment I walked into those woods?” 

For a swift second, you were taken aback. His eyes were wide. Hopeful. Like a little lamb begging to be devoured. And who were you to refuse? 

“Can you blame me?” you countered. “I was hungry, and you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.” 

Choso flushed. “S-sorry. You don’t have to play along—” 

“I want to,” you blurted, almost desperate. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Choso whispered. He could feel his heart running a marathon in his chest, the blood hot in his ears. It felt like delirium—like prey sprinting through the forest with a bloodthirsty wolf hot on its heels. And the worst part was, he wanted to be caught. 

“I need to know your boundaries,” you murmured. “What I can do… and what I can’t.” 

“Touch me,” Choso gasped, voice wrecked. “You can do anything—anything—as long as it feels nice.” 

You wasted no time in getting your hands on him. A knee slid between his thighs, pinning him to the wall as your hands claimed his waist. “I can do that,” you promised, grinning when he choked back a whine, struggling not to rut down against your leg. “Fuck, Little Red. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.” 

He looped his arms around your neck, pulling you closer with hazy eyes. “Tell me, please? I want to know.” 

Your grip tightened, thumbs digging into the softness of his hips, the swell of his thighs. “The second I saw you skipping through the woods in that little red dress of yours, I wanted to devour you. Chase you until you lost your breath, a pliant mess under me. Wanted to see what you were hiding under that skirt. 

Choso’s breath hitched—almost a whimper. “I wouldn’t let you catch me so easily, Mr Wolf.” 

“And yet here you are, in my arms,” you taunted, adjusting your leg so that it was pressed up against the hard heat of his cock. “Doesn’t look like you’re running away from me, does it?” 

A gasp of pleasure tore from him as his forehead tipped forward to rest on your shoulder. The weight of gravity was a cruel thing—every squirm for relief only resulted in him rutting harder against you instead of relieving the pressure on his crotch. 

“You tricked me,” he accused, voice trembling. “Told me you knew the way to Granny’s. Liar.” 

“Why would a wolf do favours,” you chuckled, squeezing his hips, “when he could have a feast instead, silly?” 

Choso whined, lips curving into an unhappy pout at being called silly. He wasn’t silly. You just had that effect on him, Big Bad Wolf or not. “I could bring you food,” he offered weakly, despite the hungry gaze telling him it was futile. “I could share with you some of my lunch.” He gestured to the abandoned candy basket. 

“I don’t want your lunch, Little Red.” Your teeth scraped his earlobe. “I want you. Don’t you get it?” 

Tears welled in his eyes as he shook his head, and you wanted to coo at the sight, nearly breaking character. You watched as he writhed against you, biting his lip to stifle the noises bubbling up. He was so close, and you knew it. 

“I’ll let you eat me,” Choso panted, “on one condition, Mr Wolf.” 

That intrigued you. “Name it.” 

Trembling fingers dragged you down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Make me come.” 

Your breath stuttered—but there was no time to think, only to obey. 

You took a firm grip on his hair, wrenching his head to the side to expose his neck—as though you were going to sink your teeth there, claim him as yours. Choso whimpered in surprise but bared his neck further, a silent plea of want. 

“Needy little slut,” you snarled, teeth grazing his pulse. “Rutting against me like this. Bet you’d love it if I bent you over right here—fucked you open in the dirt.” 

His climax crashed into him like a storm. He collapsed forward into your arms, a choked cry muffled into your shoulder as you held him throughout the aftershocks. You didn’t even bother to retract your knee, letting it stay pressed against his twitching, oversensitive cock, right where it belonged. 

“Choso?” you whispered. 

A whimper. 

“I can’t hear you, baby.” 

He burrowed into your chest, petulant. “‘M not repeating it.” 

“Say something else?” 

A beat. Then, muffled but unmistakable: “You’re mean.” 

Your eyes widened in panic. Was that too much? “I’m sorry, I know we didn’t—” 

“No.” He placed a gentle palm on your chest, halting your words. Right over where your beating heart was. “I meant, you’re mean, and I loved it.” 

When he looked up, his eyes were glassy, wrecked—hungry with lust. 

You hadn’t expected the intensity of it. 

“Take me upstairs,” he almost begged. “Please, please…”  

Fuck. “Alright.” 

You hauled him through the crowd, ignoring the wolf-whistles in your wake as you made your way up the stairs, barging into the first empty room with only one thing on your mind. You were going to fuck him so good he would be trembling with pleasure by the time you were done with him. 

Choso was sprawled on the bed, a panting, pliant mess as he patiently waited for you to return to him after locking the door. 

“Kiss me,” he whined once you got close enough, and he had every right to—because how dare you not kiss him? He wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you on top of him, whining as you mouthed messily at his neck before finally crashing your lips against his—all teeth and tongue, the filthy kiss he’d been aching for all night. 

You kissed him like you were sin, and he was absolution. Like the last mercy before the devouring. 

When you pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, he chased it blindly, pouting when you held him back with a gentle hand to his chest. “Turn around,” you ordered, voice rough. “Gonna eat you out.” 

There was no hesitation. Choso nodded, scrambling onto all fours with his chest pressed to the pattress, ass raised just for you. He should feel filthy, exposed, vulnerable. But strangely, he felt nothing of the sort. Only want, as you pressed even closer, your hot breath ghosting over the sensitive back of his thighs as you flipped up his skirt. 

A shiver wracked him you slowly pried his cum-stained panties to the side, baring him to the cold air. “Pretty,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his twitching hole. 

Choso whined. 

You licked a broad stripe all the way perineum to his needy hole, before lightly dipping your tongue inside, just to watch him squirm. “Stay still,” you muttered. “Are you going to be a good boy and let me play with you?” 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, pup. I’ll be so good for you.” 

Pup. 

He knew exactly how to drive you crazy. And he was going to use that to his every advantage, wasn’t he? 

You growled, nuzzling into his cheeks before finally burrowing your way inside, eating him out with vigour. Beneath you, he was a writhing mess, panting and whining as you devoured him from behind like a wolf digging into the tender belly of its prey. 

“Please, please, please,” he sobbed, “W-want your fingers in me, pup.” 

“Thought you were gonna be good for me, baby.” 

He nodded tearfully. “I’ve been good. Just… want you.” 

You sighed in feigned exasperation, your fingers digging into his hips as you pulled away. “Little Red wants to play?” 

“Yes,” Choso whined. “Want you to play with me so bad, Mr Wolf.” 

“You sure you can take me?” You opened up the bedside drawer, taking out a bottle of lube, before pouring a generous amount on your fingers. “Aren’t you too arrogant?” 

“I can!” he protested, pushing his ass towards you in desperation. “You can p… punish me if I can’t. I won’t mind.” 

“No,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Of course you won’t mind. A slut like you would probably enjoy it.” 

Choso’s eyes widened, but before he could say anything, deny it—you pushed a finger inside his hole, admiring the way it clenched around you needily. 

“I’m not a slut,” he whispered. 

“No?” you goaded him on, pushing another finger inside. “You think I didn’t notice, Little Red? You strutting around in the woods in this little dress of yours. You were trying to seduce me into fucking you, weren’t you?” 

He whined, shaking his head. “No,” he gasped as you curled them—barely grazing the spot that would make him see stars. “I’m n-not, would never!” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you continued, adding a third one to the stretch once you deemed him loose enough. “You know the way to your Granny’s place perfectly. You weren’t lost. You didn’t need directions. You were just hungry for cock.” 

“Please,” Choso cried, as you pressed the pads of your fingers against his prostate, making him shudder with pleasure. “Fuck me a-already…” 

“Admit that you’re a slut,” you sneered, mean. “Admit that you walk around the woods pretending to be lost in this slutty little dress of yours, looking for wolves to fuck.” 

“Not just any wolf,” he gasped. “Only you. ‘M a slut for you.” 

You pulled out your fingers, barely giving him a second of reprieve before you unzipped your pants, lined yourself up and pushed your cock into his spasming hole—all in one smooth thrust. 

Choso sobbed with pleasure as you bottomed out, rough hands massaging the fat of his hips. You pulled out until only the tip was inside before brutally thrusting into him again, the slap of your hips against his loud, filthy and wet. 

He should’ve known that he was no match for you from the moment he caught your eye. 

How would prey like him ever escape a virile predator like you? 

“S-so good,” he choked out, whimpering as you leaned back to spit at his hole, the sticky glob intermixing with the lube, creating a messy slop inside his tummy. “‘S wet and m-messy.”

“Yeah?” you panted. Your hips felt like they were moving of their own accord—blindly thrusting into the wet, warm heat of his cavern, carving out a place for your cock, pound by pound. “That good, baby?” 

“Yeah,” he huffed out. “Wanna s-see your face, please…” 

You paused, pulling out before you flipped him over, settling between his eagerly splayed-out thighs. His dress was crumpled and racked up to his waist, his eyes glazed over with tears of pleasure. You wasted no time in pushing in again, this time paying extra attention to every detail in his expression—the scrunching up of his eyebrows as he struggled to take the stretch, the way his lips fell open in a lewd moan as you thrusted forward. 

Choso was beautiful. 

“Pretty,” he whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’re so p-pretty.” 

You leaned down to smother his lips with yours, drinking in his noises. You couldn’t get enough of him. He was too good for you, in a way that was bad for your heart. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” you muttered breathlessly into his ear. “Fuck a knot into you, if I could.” 

“Please,” he sobbed. “Wanna feel you here, pup.” He grasped your wrist with a trembling hand before pressing your warm palm against his naked stomach. You could feel yourself moving inside him—every push and pull of heat and slop, burrowing your way into his insides. 

He shuddered and cried out as you wrapped a hand around his cock, thumbing messily at the slit. “No,” he protested, “‘m too close, no, no—” 

“Come for me,” you whispered, more of a plea than anything. “Want you to let go of yourself and come, pretty thing.” 

Choso shook his head, gasping for air. “I can’t, pup, feels w-weird—” 

“Want you to be dirty,” you growled, every pound and thrust aimed at his sweet spot as he cried and writhed in your arms. You squeezed his cock. “Make as much of a mess as you want.” 

Choso nearly jackknifed off the bed as he came with a shout—ropes of cum squirting from his cock, painting your chest and his stomach with white. 

“Fuck, baby, you squirted—” you gasped out as his hole gripped you like a vice, your orgasm hitting you like a hurricane, black spots flooding your vision as you groaned in pleasure. “Choso!” 

He whimpered as you filled his hole with cum, the sticky slop combined with the girth of your soft cock making him dizzy with fullness. He whined as you collapsed on top of him, blanketing him with warmth. 

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“Pup?” he asked sleepily. 

You blinked an eye open. “Mm? Want me to pull out?” 

Choso shook his head. “No, I just…” he trailed off, before whispering, “I want you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Don’t think I can get it up to another round right now, baby,” you joked weakly. 

“‘M not talking about that,” he mumbled. “Want you, want all of you.” He trailed his fingers up the skin of your back, before settling into your messy hair, gently sifting through the strands. 

“Want you too,” you whispered back. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve wanted you for a long time. Want to be The Wolf to your Little Red. Or just us. Anything is okay.” 

Choso smiled at that, warmth blossoming in his chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Happy Halloween, pup.” 

“And you, too,” you chuckled. “Oh, and before I forget. Trick? Or dick?” 

masterlist!

[hurlingdown]

                       S!NK YOUR TEETH IN

synopsis. when toji, the omega outcast of the zenin clan, is given to you, the leader of a rival clan, you consummate with him in a public mating ritual, showing the elders who exiled him just how perfectly breedable of an omega they had let go. wc. 4.0k

tags. top alpha! reader, bottom omega! toji. reader has a cock, toji has a pussy. public ritualistic mating, exhibitionism, breeding, knotting, rough vaginal sex, tit-fondling, dumbification, creampie, fingering, mating bites, huge cock, degradation & praise. talk of pregnancy and lactation. mentions of past abuse, degradation (not the sexy kind), prejudice against omegas. reader starts off sweet and ends up being a little mean. made up ritual & clan traditions.

a/n. the number of times i’ve rewritten this is astronomical. i hope you enjoy!

Toji knelt before the Moon on the steps of the sacred temple, waiting. Time and gravity pressed tender bruises into the bend of his knees, and fresh ache flowed into the soles of his feet. Tonight, he knew, would be the longest of nights. 

There was no man worthy of such worship, he bitterly thought. And yet there he was, presented like a spoil of war to the leader of another clan, his hands bound together and pressed to the small of his back while his former clanmates howled throughout the night like unruly beasts. 

But Toji wasn’t a spoil of war, was he? In fact, he was the opposite—a jest disguised as a gift to humiliate, to embarrass the recipent. An omega with the bulk of an alpha. How lowly. 

He was certain that the alpha coming to the temple tonight to receive his gift would think the same. But regardless, he would own Toji—body and soul. He would sink his teeth into the glands of his neck and claim him as a slave, or he would ravage him for one night, muzzled and bound, before tossing him aside.

Toji didn’t want to think. Lately, thinking had done him no good. Thinking of the inevitable only served to paralyze him, made his knees buckle, made his lungs seize and choke on heavy breath, made his will weak and heart unsteady. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking solace from the fairness of the night and the Moon herself. 

The drums had started a while ago. 

Or—that was what it sounded like—the staff and torch of every man and warrior hammering against the softness of the earth, driving up sand and dust, what started as a cacophony of sounds gradually reconstructing into fire and rhythm and heartbeat. 

They were calling for someone. Yearning for their echoing cry. 

And the day it came, it might as well cue the apocalypse. It would be the end of Toji. 

Except…

You were nothing like he had imagined. 

“Omega,” a soft croon travelled from within the temple. Quiet, yet steady—low. Demanding his attention, his answering warble. 

Toji resisted the urge to raise his head and answer, despite the sudden, terrifying need to bare his neck and whimper, to submit to the faceless alpha before him. 

Toji had expected to be taken by force by a hand clamped onto his sensitive nape, scruffing him like all filthy omegas deserved to be held, dragged up the stairs against his will and thrown into the temple. 

Not the gentle guidance of a curled finger lifting his chin… to meet the most brilliant pair of golden eyes he had ever seen. 

“I was calling for you,” you murmured. Soft. Forgiving. So unlike every alpha he’d ever seen. “Why haven’t you answered my call, omega?” 

Toji couldn’t breathe. 

A mocking sneer came from behind, a full body shudder immediately surging its way into his bones, halting the sense of comfort that your unexpected… mercy? kindness? provided him. 

“I see you’re examining our gift to you, Chief.” 

You only smiled kindly. 

“How kind of you to bring me a gift, Naobito.” You paused, gazing down at Toji, before resting a hand on his cheek, watching as he couldn’t help but nuzzle into the cup of your palm, clearly starved for gentle touch. 

“Well? How do you like it, Chief?” 

“He’s certainly… extravagant.” 

Toji couldn’t keep the scowl off his face even if he tried—he could tell you were lying. There was nothing extravagant about him, with his scarred skin and thick bulk that made him unseemly of an omega, the picture of crass and shame. 

You tilted your head in confusion at the sudden sour dip in his sweet scent, the strange stillness in his body language. “What’s wrong? Did you not like the term I used, omega?” You had meant it with every fibre of your being. The omega was beautiful. Extravagant, like you said—a jewel blessed by the moon. 

Toji frowned harder, keeping his mouth shut despite his displeasure. He had learned to do so the hard way for far too many times—the scar slashing across his face was solid proof of that. There wasn’t any room for an omega to butt in when any alpha was speaking—much less the pack alpha himself. 

“Extravagant is one way to word it,” Naobito sniggered, “though I’d suggest we use the term low-bred.” 

Toji was indifferent at this point, used to having nasty insults hurled at him to berate him for the impropriety of his body, but what took him by surprise was how tense you had gotten from one single word of the other alpha, his instincts immediately sending out warning signals to soothe and pacify, not in fear of your anger but in distinct worry for your well-being. 

“Low-bred,” you repeated, “you say?” 

“Yes,” the old pack alpha affirmed. “Low-bred is right. Only a low-bred omega would ever dare to betray the fate the Moon goddess has ordained for him and turn himself into the beast that he truly is.” 

“And pray tell, has the Moon goddess herself granted you the authority to define a creature of her creation with such an undignified term?” 

Naobito raised his eyebrows, undaunted by your sharp tongue—years of experience had given him the composure of an old fox. 

His lips stretched into a smile, revealing a pair of grotesque yellow fangs. “The Chief has peculiar tastes.” 

“The Chief,” you smiled contemptuously, “worships the Moon goddess with respect, as does the rest of our clan, unlike certain dissemblers.” 

Naobito growled. 

Faith and religion were sensitive waters to tread into for any clan. 

The head priest coughed awkwardly, breaking the uneasy silence. 

“It is time, my liege. The hour that the Moon favours has come.” 

You gazed down at the omega, still bound on his knees, jaw cradled in your palm, now slightly more relaxed—how many hours had it been since he had been forced to kneel and pray? 

“What is your name, favoured one?” 

Toji glanced up at you, dark blue boring into golden. 

“Fushiguro,” he said. “Fushiguro Toji.” 

You hummed. How interesting. “Not Zenin?” 

“No,” Toji muttered lowly. “I am… pariah. An outcast. I am not one of them.” He nearly spat the last part out, something akin to manic glee in his eyes. 

“Pariah,” the foreign word rolled off your tongue like silk. “What a pretty name for something they detest so much.” You stroked his hair almost lovingly. “But not for long, Toji. Tonight, as the goddess favours it, you will be mine.” 

Toji shivered involuntarily, this time not in fear as he had priorly with Naobito, but an unexpected, all-consuming feeling of heat shooting straight into his lower belly. At that moment, he recognized just how dangerous of an alpha you were, to have an omega like him—one that repulsed alphas with the entirety of his being—wanting to get on his knees for you and have you take him mercilessly, right here right then, pheromones dripping out uncontrollably like peach syrup and golden honey, flooding the air like a dammed up river unleashed. 

“Unbind him, Suguru,” you ordered, and Toji whined in arousal. “No omega of mine will ever be leashed.” 

Mine, the alpha says. Toji’s heart fluttered despite himself. I will become his omega, like it was written in the fucking stars. What the hell? 

Was this what it felt like to freely belong? 

Toji was then helped to his feet, his hands swiftly untied, a flask where a sweet-smelling liquid was fed to his lips. He tensed, wary, but your steady gaze boring into his almost immediately rid him of any suspicions. 

“Drink,” the head priest—Suguru, offered kindly. “You must be parched. It is water from the sacred fountain.” 

A blessing of fertility, he registered, his breath hitching. One that would induce a heat so potent that would make conception simply inevitable. There was no going back from this. By the end of the night, he was to be taken and bred by you before the waxing gibbous Moon, your seed flowing into his womb—and by sunrise, he would be pregnant with your pups. 

Toji closed his eyes, nodding once and opening his mouth, allowing the sweet fluid to slake his dried throat, before the flask was taken away from him, a silk cloth pressed to his lips to clean him. 

There was a very specific order to these things. 

“Favoured one,” Suguru said. “The Chief waits for you.” 

You had disappeared up the stairs and onto the altar while he was distracted, leaving behind a thick trail of your scent. Toji followed it blindly, desperately, heat burning an electric path down his spine and spilling heavily into his nether regions, a slow whine ushered out from his parted lips. 

He stood at the entrance on wobbly legs and took you in. “Alpha,” he allowed himself to pant out, for the first time of the night. “A-alpha, where…” 

You were beautiful and bare under the moonlight. All of you was soon to be his, just as he would be yours. 

“Come, my omega,” you gently shushed the omega’s unsure warbling, patting your lap and smiling at him. “Let us forget everything around us. Tonight, there is only me and you, and the goddess, who will watch me fuck you on my cock until you are swollen and pregnant with the fruit of her blessing.” 

Toji could feel his omega purring, giddy from your promises, a slickness trickling down his thighs, evident through the sheer fabric of his robe. He trudged over to where you were sitting, shakily positioning himself on your warm lap. His knees bracketed your hips, resting comfortably on the soft material of the furs and bedding laid all over the ground, the perfect cocoon for lovemaking all night. 

You were cooing at him. Pressing tender kisses to the pulse of his wrists, soothing at the abrasions the ropes had left behind like he was something precious, something to be treasured. 

Toji had previously thought he was not going to survive the night, but now, he only wished the night would last forever. 

“What are you thinking, my sweet?” you crooned at him. 

The omega flushed prettily, glancing down at his slick-dampened robes. “My clothes,” he whispered. “They are uncomfortable, alpha.” 

You regarded him with a playful tone. “Is that so?” you responded. 

Toji nodded, a pout forming on his lips—something he would have never done in the presence of another. You made it hard for him to act normal. You were the strangest alpha he had ever met. 

Trepidation began to build when you remained silent for a few moments. 

The disrobement was often violent. That was what he had seen happen to other omegas in his clan, more often than not with an alpha that they had never seen before prior to that night. Stripped bare of their dignity, and forced to submit and take whatever they were given. 

“May I?” was a question that Toji would have never even considered to hear. 

He nodded then, almost desperately, as you chuckled and pried his white robe fully apart, fully unveiling his body for the first time to the cold of the night. 

“You are so wet,” you commented, one finger brushing up the entrance of his pussy, gathering slick before lightly pushing at his clit, making him shudder and cry out. “I doubt we will be needing any extra lubricant.” 

“No,” Toji agreed. Fuck, he needed you inside of him, this instant. You were far too patient for an alpha, far too gentle, far too kind. He leaned back and spread his legs, revealing his sopping cunt, hoping to entice you into taking him. 

Your eyes darkened, zeroing in onto his soaked folds, spread out like a flower of the flesh. 

“Alpha,” he whined, the heat making it hard to speak coherently, “I’m ready. I-I need you.” 

You sneered. “Pretty omega needs an alpha to breed him? Plug his pussy full of seed until he is heavy with pups?” 

“N-not just any alpha,” Toji panted. “I want you. Only you. Your pups, alpha.” 

You held back a whimper at his words and the sight of his cunt clenching needily combined, wanting nothing more than to fulfil your promise and fuck him into the nest until the omega was seeing stars, helplessly clinging onto your shoulders and screaming your name with every thrust. 

But you also knew that it was far too early for that. You wanted to take your time with him. Savour him. Let him understand that he wasn’t just a toy for your pleasure tonight, but everything and more. 

“Not now, Toji,” you muttered softly, stroking his cheek, and sighed in dismay when the omega began to tear up, evidently consumed by his heat and seeing your words as a form of rejection. “Please, don’t cry.” 

“Y-you do not want me,” he gasped out wetly, “You are just like the rest of them. You do not see me as an omega, do you? You think—” he paused, before frowning and accusing, “you think I am low-bred.” 

Rage flickered in your gaze, and Toji could feel another wave of slick pouring out of his aroused cunt, baring his neck with a soft whimper to appease you. 

“Never say that about yourself again,” you snarled. “Or else I’ll just have to show you exactly how well-bred of an omega you are.” 

“But you stopped.” Toji huffed. “Why did you stop? Am I not enough for you?” 

You could feel your frustration boiling over. “If you still think that this is not enough, look at me.” Your cock stood proudly between your thighs, heavy and girthy with the flushed head dripping with arousal, the base starting to swell with knot. “Do you not see what you have done to me, omega?” 

Toji bit back a whine. Fuck. That huge thing was going to split his cunt apart, and he couldn’t wait. 

“Then what.” 

“I want you to show me,” you challenged, resting back against the pile of soft furs. “Show me what you can do, omega. Fuck those pretty fingers into your little pussy and get yourself ready for my cock.” 

Toji whimpered. His fingers weren’t small, but your cock was way, way larger. It would take at least four of them to properly stretch himself out, and goddess, was he impatient. Biting his lip, he inserted the first two fingers with ease, the abundance of slick making the glide smooth, wet and easy, waiting until he had them pushed almost all the way in before he started to slowly scissor them, panting softly at the movement. 

“So hot, Toji,” you purred. “Keep going, pretty. Show me you’re worthy of taking my knot. My pups. The perfect omega for me to breed.” 

The sight before you was a piece of heaven itself. The omega was struggling to fit the third finger in, even with how much he was slicking up—what an arrogant little thing, offering to take your knot when he could barely fit a few fingers into his tight virgin hole. 

“Alpha,” Toji panted, starting to rock his hips down onto his fingers, clumsy and inexperienced but nonetheless the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. “I-I’m… almost… there…!” 

“You are doing so good,” you cooed. “Just a little more, baby.” You were seconds away from grabbing your cock and jerking yourself off to completion, but how could you ever, when the prettiest, slickest pussy you had ever seen was right in front of you, waiting to be bred with your cum? 

Toji hissed out victoriously as he pushed the fourth finger in alongside the rest inside the wet mess of his cunt, stretching it out almost obscenely. He glanced at you expectantly, a smug smile on his face as though he were expecting a reward. 

“Well? Am I worthy of your knot now, alpha?” he sneered. 

What he didn’t expect was how quickly you manhandled him onto his hands and knees, making him arch his back until he was properly presenting himself to you, his pussy fully facing you, gaping widely and dripping with sweet-smelling slick for the taking. 

He gasped and whined, sensitive cunt clenching as you blew air over it, dutifully admiring the efforts your omega made in preparing himself for you. 

“Good omega,” you crooned, pressing a tender kiss to the hood of his clit, making him shiver. “You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” 

Toji wasn’t sure why he chose that moment to rebel, even with the sweltering heat and arousal clouding his consciousness. “Liar,” he whispered. 

You growled, rocking your hips forward harshly, the girth of your cock rutting against the crevice of his wet pussy, the sudden stimulation making him cry out. 

“Look at me,” you growled out. “Look at me as I fuck my cock into you, and tell me I am a liar.” 

Toji tilted his head to stare back at you, panting heavily. 

You sneered. “I wish you could see yourself right now, because there is no way someone will see this—and hear this—and call you anything other than an omega bitch.” 

Before Toji could even ask anything about what he was supposed to be hearing— 

You had positioned yourself and rammed your cock into his cunt in one smooth go, and Toji screamed. 

“Fuck,” he wailed loudly as he came, whimpering as you thrust right back in, rough hands grabbing carelessly at the thick of his hips, slamming him back onto your cock whenever he tried to crawl away from the oversensitivity. There were sure to be countless bruises by the time morning came—if it ever did, with the way you were fucking him so ruthlessly into the nest, taking away his every breath. 

“Alpha, puh-please!” he begged, tears of pleasure filling his eyes, his instincts going haywire with the only coherent thought being to let himself be bred, to carry your pups like the good omega you told him he was. “W-want your babies, want them in me so f-fucking bad, please.” 

“No,” you snarked, refusing to cum—a punishment, Toji knew, for the words he had negligently said, and the omega whimpered in frustration. 

“Please!”

“No. Not until you admit what you are.” 

“Alpha,” Toji cried out, frame shaking as he came again, slick leaking out of his pussy in messy slops with each slap of your hips against the reddened back of his thighs. 

You growled. “Admit it.” 

“A g-good omega,” Toji panted. “Yours.” 

“What else is there?” 

“P-prettiest thing you have ever- ever seen, alpha.” 

You hummed your approval. It was impressive that he could still manage to string together words, despite how hard you were pounding into him from behind. 

“I need an even better answer, baby.” You sneered, nipping meanly at his ear. “Something that sums up the above. Tell me. What’s a fertile and pretty omega like you good for a pack alpha like me?” 

Toji whimpered. He knew the answer you wanted—it was right in front of him. A burst of elation filled him at the prospect, and he found himself growing even wetter, if that was possible. 

“I’d be a good… a good breeding bitch for you,” he slurred. “And I’d let you fuck your knot into me anytime and anywhere you want, put a clan of pups into my s-stupid little cunt.” 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Fuck,” you cursed, letting out a breathless laugh. “You are really something, aren’t you.” And that old bastard had dared to insult him. Was he blind? Were they all blind? 

You reached under Toji’s chest to cup his full breasts, squeezing and massaging them, making him jerk in your grip, cunt fluttering around your swollen cock with a wet sob. 

“Even your tits are perfect,” you jibed on, “They would look so good, swollen and heavy with milk to feed the pups I am going to put in your belly. Is there a single part of your body that isn’t breedable, Toji?” 

Toji mindlessly shook his head, whimpers and moans fucked out of him with each snap of your hips, his eyes hazy and unfocused as you pumped your cock into him, threatening to breach his womb with how deep and hard your thrusts were. “N-no,” he whined, “I’d let you fuck my t-tits, alpha. Get them fat and full too, like how you’re going to make my t-tummy.” 

You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. Your pretty thing really was gone, wasn’t he. To think he had been so shy and guarded just a few moments ago. He was truly unrecognizable now—his low, threatening voice turning into high-pitched moans, the scowl on his face wiped off and replaced with a look of pure ecstasy. 

“Naobito!” you growled out, a deranged grin on your face. “Is this the omega you were calling low-bred? The one you were berating for his appearance?” 

There was a flush on the elder’s face as he quickly hid it—either from embarrassment or from the fact that he, too, had reached a shaky hand into his robes to relieve himself, much like the rest. 

“Why,” you drawled, pushing Toji up so that his back was pressed flush to your chest, exposing his limp, fucked-out body to the crowd, “You lot seem to be enjoying it as much as I am. It is a shame that you will never have him, for the ways you have treated him.” 

Tonight, and for the rest of the days forever, Toji would be yours. 

With a snarl, you sunk your teeth fully into your omega’s neck as Toji let out a warbling cry, head tilting back to allow you full access to his nape as you thrusted upwards once more into his trembling body, just enough to pop the swell of your knot into his tight cunt, properly stuffing him and locking the two of you together. 

“I feel so full,” Toji mumbled as you pulled back to shift the two of you into a position that would allow the warm cum to slowly flow into his womb. “Feel you—right here, alpha.” He rubbed at his tummy, over the slight distension caused by the thickness of your knot. 

You had to hold yourself back from biting him again. 

“Yeah? Feels good, right?” you cooed, kissing the wound on his neck, one hand protectively cradling the belly of your new mate, as though he were already swollen with pup. Toji nodded sleepily, resting against your shoulder and letting out soft little trills, one hand joining yours to rest on his stomach. 

The ritual was over, but the Zenins were still in your territory. If it were up to you, you would have their hands and tongues cut off for the vile things they have done and said to Toji. 

But this wasn’t your decision to make. 

“Luna,” you murmured softly to your mate. “My sweet Luna.” 

Toji blinked in confusion at the strange term of endearment, before his eyes widened with realisation. 

You gestured to his former clan, now encircled by warriors of your own, the stench of fear and bloodthirst weighing heavy in the air like a thick fog. 

“They await your orders, Toji.” 

The crazed glint in your omega’s eyes had never been more telling. 

masterlist!

[hurlingdown]

                          TRICK? OR DICK⁠? ⁠

synopsis. when choso dresses up as little red riding hood for a halloween party, what he doesn’t expect is his campus crush, you, to show up as the big bad wolf. “so, which one is it, little red? trick? or dick?” wc. 3.1k

tags. top! reader, bottom! choso. reader has a cock. little red riding hood!choso, big bad wolf!reader. roleplay sex, anal sex, predator/prey dynamics, pet names (mr wolf, little red, pup), crossdressing, exhibitionism, belly bulge, rimming, slut-shaming, dry humping, creampie, male squirting. sex, tension and fluff at a 50/40/10 ratio

a/n. had sooo much fun writing this. happy late halloween & enjoy <3

Choso hadn’t even considered the possibility of you attending the same Halloween party. That meant that him dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood—and you showing up as the Big Bad Wolf—was pure coincidence. 

Or fate, as Yuki had phrased, wearing an annoying smirk. 

He hadn’t wanted to dress up, much less go to a party. Staying at home, curled up on the couch with salted popcorn and a marathon of slasher films, sounded infinitely more appearling. But according to the forces of the universe, being a college student meant that socializing was inevitable. Before he could protest, he’d been shoved into a room with a short red dress, thigh-highs, and a handful of accessories, then manhandled into the back of a car. 

And now here he was—dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. 

Or rather, an alternate version of the tale where she had gotten lost on the way to her grandmother’s house and joined an emo rock band instead. The fit was complete with a basket of candy he held in one arm, watching as the love of his life paraded his Big Bad Wolf costume across the room. Okay. Maybe that wasn’t part of the story. 

He sighed defeatedly, leaning back against the wall. 

You were enjoying yourself, of course. That charming wolfish grin, paired with twin sharp canines flashing whenever you laughed a little too hard. Choso wondered if they were prosthetics or if they were always that sharp. He wondered what it felt like to have them sink into his shoulder. Would you bite him gently? Or tear him apart, like the wolf in the original tale? 

“Hey.” 

Choso blinked. 

And promptly started sputtering. “What,” he managed, brilliantly. “Hello?” 

You chuckled at his flustered state. His big, tired eyes—outlined with pretty purple—stared up at you like he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. 

“Hello,” you greeted him back, sweetly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice… we kind of match?” 

Choso’s ears burned red. “Ah. I—I noticed that, too.” If he didn’t know any better, he would think you were flirting with him. Suggesting the two of you matched, like you weren’t talking about costumes but something deeper. Bad for his heart. 

“Heard from your friends that you hate parties,” you continued with a smile, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “So I was surprised to see you here—as Little Red Riding Hood, no less.” 

Choso swallowed. You’d asked about him? Why had no one told him about this? 

“I was forced to come,” he admitted. “I wasn’t really planning on showing up. But now that I’m here, it’s not too bad.” He glanced at you shyly, and you swore you could feel your heart flutter. 

You nodded. “Wasn’t really much of a party person either, but after the first few ones, you just get used to the noise and crowd. Best part, though?” You let your gaze trail over him——the red lace corset cinched his waist perfectly, the petticoat beneath that little red dress, the skin-tight thigh highs and black heeled boots. Definitely not a biblically accurate Little Red Riding Hood. “You get to stare at a pretty guy all night.” 

Choso was certain he looked like a blushing mess by now. Were you flirting? Or was this just how you talked to everyone? It wouldn’t stray too far from his perception of you—you were objectively gorgeous, charismatic, a social butterfly. 

He found himself pouting a little at the thought. 

But then, a warm palm gently cupped the side of his face, and Choso let out a small sound of surprise as you brushed a tender thumb over his cheek. 

“Sorry,” you murmured sheepishly. “Just… wanted to let you know, in case you still didn’t get it. I wanted to come over here and talk to you the moment you got here.” 

Choso covered your clawed hand with his own, lips still pursed in that maddening pout. It drove you crazy with desire. “Just another ‘pretty guy’ you stare at during parties?” he whispered. 

“No,” you choked out. “I… I don’t know why I said it like that. Was trying to tell you that you looked pretty. I don’t really stare at people. Not unless they’re you.” 

Choso tried not to crack a smile at your flustered rambling. Somehow, it made you all the more endearing—like a wolf with the mannerisms of a puppy. 

“Not unless they’re me,” he echoed, teasing. “Mr Wolf… have you been stalking me?” 

You visibly swallowed. Mr Wolf. That was… fine. Great, even. You could handle that. 

“Not stalking,” you denied with a shaky laugh. Sure, you’d asked around about him. Tried to find out more about ‘the brooding guy with the permanent bored expression and signature purple eyeshadow’. Maybe you’d looked him up online, but everyone did that. “All I’m saying is, you’ve had my attention for a long time.” 

“Since the moment I walked into those woods?” 

For a swift second, you were taken aback. His eyes were wide. Hopeful. Like a little lamb begging to be devoured. And who were you to refuse? 

“Can you blame me?” you countered. “I was hungry, and you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.” 

Choso flushed. “S-sorry. You don’t have to play along—” 

“I want to,” you blurted, almost desperate. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Choso whispered. He could feel his heart running a marathon in his chest, the blood hot in his ears. It felt like delirium—like prey sprinting through the forest with a bloodthirsty wolf hot on its heels. And the worst part was, he wanted to be caught. 

“I need to know your boundaries,” you murmured. “What I can do… and what I can’t.” 

“Touch me,” Choso gasped, voice wrecked. “You can do anything—anything—as long as it feels nice.” 

You wasted no time in getting your hands on him. A knee slid between his thighs, pinning him to the wall as your hands claimed his waist. “I can do that,” you promised, grinning when he choked back a whine, struggling not to rut down against your leg. “Fuck, Little Red. You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.” 

He looped his arms around your neck, pulling you closer with hazy eyes. “Tell me, please? I want to know.” 

Your grip tightened, thumbs digging into the softness of his hips, the swell of his thighs. “The second I saw you skipping through the woods in that little red dress of yours, I wanted to devour you. Chase you until you lost your breath, a pliant mess under me. Wanted to see what you were hiding under that skirt. 

Choso’s breath hitched—almost a whimper. “I wouldn’t let you catch me so easily, Mr Wolf.” 

“And yet here you are, in my arms,” you taunted, adjusting your leg so that it was pressed up against the hard heat of his cock. “Doesn’t look like you’re running away from me, does it?” 

A gasp of pleasure tore from him as his forehead tipped forward to rest on your shoulder. The weight of gravity was a cruel thing—every squirm for relief only resulted in him rutting harder against you instead of relieving the pressure on his crotch. 

“You tricked me,” he accused, voice trembling. “Told me you knew the way to Granny’s. Liar.” 

“Why would a wolf do favours,” you chuckled, squeezing his hips, “when he could have a feast instead, silly?” 

Choso whined, lips curving into an unhappy pout at being called silly. He wasn’t silly. You just had that effect on him, Big Bad Wolf or not. “I could bring you food,” he offered weakly, despite the hungry gaze telling him it was futile. “I could share with you some of my lunch.” He gestured to the abandoned candy basket. 

“I don’t want your lunch, Little Red.” Your teeth scraped his earlobe. “I want you. Don’t you get it?” 

Tears welled in his eyes as he shook his head, and you wanted to coo at the sight, nearly breaking character. You watched as he writhed against you, biting his lip to stifle the noises bubbling up. He was so close, and you knew it. 

“I’ll let you eat me,” Choso panted, “on one condition, Mr Wolf.” 

That intrigued you. “Name it.” 

Trembling fingers dragged you down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Make me come.” 

Your breath stuttered—but there was no time to think, only to obey. 

You took a firm grip on his hair, wrenching his head to the side to expose his neck—as though you were going to sink your teeth there, claim him as yours. Choso whimpered in surprise but bared his neck further, a silent plea of want. 

“Needy little slut,” you snarled, teeth grazing his pulse. “Rutting against me like this. Bet you’d love it if I bent you over right here—fucked you open in the dirt.” 

His climax crashed into him like a storm. He collapsed forward into your arms, a choked cry muffled into your shoulder as you held him throughout the aftershocks. You didn’t even bother to retract your knee, letting it stay pressed against his twitching, oversensitive cock, right where it belonged. 

“Choso?” you whispered. 

A whimper. 

“I can’t hear you, baby.” 

He burrowed into your chest, petulant. “‘M not repeating it.” 

“Say something else?” 

A beat. Then, muffled but unmistakable: “You’re mean.” 

Your eyes widened in panic. Was that too much? “I’m sorry, I know we didn’t—” 

“No.” He placed a gentle palm on your chest, halting your words. Right over where your beating heart was. “I meant, you’re mean, and I loved it.” 

When he looked up, his eyes were glassy, wrecked—hungry with lust. 

You hadn’t expected the intensity of it. 

“Take me upstairs,” he almost begged. “Please, please…”  

Fuck. “Alright.” 

You hauled him through the crowd, ignoring the wolf-whistles in your wake as you made your way up the stairs, barging into the first empty room with only one thing on your mind. You were going to fuck him so good he would be trembling with pleasure by the time you were done with him. 

Choso was sprawled on the bed, a panting, pliant mess as he patiently waited for you to return to him after locking the door. 

“Kiss me,” he whined once you got close enough, and he had every right to—because how dare you not kiss him? He wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you on top of him, whining as you mouthed messily at his neck before finally crashing your lips against his—all teeth and tongue, the filthy kiss he’d been aching for all night. 

You kissed him like you were sin, and he was absolution. Like the last mercy before the devouring. 

When you pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, he chased it blindly, pouting when you held him back with a gentle hand to his chest. “Turn around,” you ordered, voice rough. “Gonna eat you out.” 

There was no hesitation. Choso nodded, scrambling onto all fours with his chest pressed to the pattress, ass raised just for you. He should feel filthy, exposed, vulnerable. But strangely, he felt nothing of the sort. Only want, as you pressed even closer, your hot breath ghosting over the sensitive back of his thighs as you flipped up his skirt. 

A shiver wracked him you slowly pried his cum-stained panties to the side, baring him to the cold air. “Pretty,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his twitching hole. 

Choso whined. 

You licked a broad stripe all the way perineum to his needy hole, before lightly dipping your tongue inside, just to watch him squirm. “Stay still,” you muttered. “Are you going to be a good boy and let me play with you?” 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, pup. I’ll be so good for you.” 

Pup. 

He knew exactly how to drive you crazy. And he was going to use that to his every advantage, wasn’t he? 

You growled, nuzzling into his cheeks before finally burrowing your way inside, eating him out with vigour. Beneath you, he was a writhing mess, panting and whining as you devoured him from behind like a wolf digging into the tender belly of its prey. 

“Please, please, please,” he sobbed, “W-want your fingers in me, pup.” 

“Thought you were gonna be good for me, baby.” 

He nodded tearfully. “I’ve been good. Just… want you.” 

You sighed in feigned exasperation, your fingers digging into his hips as you pulled away. “Little Red wants to play?” 

“Yes,” Choso whined. “Want you to play with me so bad, Mr Wolf.” 

“You sure you can take me?” You opened up the bedside drawer, taking out a bottle of lube, before pouring a generous amount on your fingers. “Aren’t you too arrogant?” 

“I can!” he protested, pushing his ass towards you in desperation. “You can p… punish me if I can’t. I won’t mind.” 

“No,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Of course you won’t mind. A slut like you would probably enjoy it.” 

Choso’s eyes widened, but before he could say anything, deny it—you pushed a finger inside his hole, admiring the way it clenched around you needily. 

“I’m not a slut,” he whispered. 

“No?” you goaded him on, pushing another finger inside. “You think I didn’t notice, Little Red? You strutting around in the woods in this little dress of yours. You were trying to seduce me into fucking you, weren’t you?” 

He whined, shaking his head. “No,” he gasped as you curled them—barely grazing the spot that would make him see stars. “I’m n-not, would never!” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you continued, adding a third one to the stretch once you deemed him loose enough. “You know the way to your Granny’s place perfectly. You weren’t lost. You didn’t need directions. You were just hungry for cock.” 

“Please,” Choso cried, as you pressed the pads of your fingers against his prostate, making him shudder with pleasure. “Fuck me a-already…” 

“Admit that you’re a slut,” you sneered, mean. “Admit that you walk around the woods pretending to be lost in this slutty little dress of yours, looking for wolves to fuck.” 

“Not just any wolf,” he gasped. “Only you. ‘M a slut for you.” 

You pulled out your fingers, barely giving him a second of reprieve before you unzipped your pants, lined yourself up and pushed your cock into his spasming hole—all in one smooth thrust. 

Choso sobbed with pleasure as you bottomed out, rough hands massaged the fat of his hips. You pulled out until only the tip was inside before brutally thrusting into him again, the slap of your hips against his loud, filthy and wet. 

He should’ve known that he was no match for you from the moment he caught your eye. 

How would prey like him ever escape a virile predator like you? 

“S-so good,” he choked out, whimpering as you leaned back to spit at his hole, the sticky glob intermixing with the lube, creating a messy slop inside his tummy. “‘S wet and m-messy.”

“Yeah?” you panted. Your hips felt like they were moving of their own accord—blindly thrusting into the wet, warm heat of his cavern, carving out a place for your cock, pound by pound. “That good, baby?” 

“Yeah,” he huffed out. “Wanna s-see your face, please…” 

You paused, pulling out before you flipped him over, settling between his eagerly splayed-out thighs. His dress was crumpled and racked up to his waist, his eyes glazed over with tears of pleasure. You wasted no time in pushing in again, this time paying extra attention to every detail in his expression—the scrunching up of his eyebrows as he struggled to take the stretch, the way his lips fell open in a lewd moan as you thrusted forward. 

Choso was beautiful. 

“Pretty,” he whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’re so p-pretty.” 

You leaned down to smother his lips with yours, drinking in his noises. You couldn’t get enough of him. He was too good for you, in a way that was bad for your heart. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” you muttered breathlessly into his ear. “Fuck a knot into you, if I could.” 

“Please,” he sobbed. “Wanna feel you here, pup.” He grasped your wrist with a trembling hand before pressing your warm palm against his naked stomach. You could feel yourself moving inside him—every push and pull of heat and slop, burrowing your way into his insides. 

He shuddered and cried out as you wrapped a hand around his cock, thumbing messily at the slit. “No,” he protested, “‘m too close, no, no—” 

“Come for me,” you whispered, more of a plea than anything. “Want you to let go of yourself and come, pretty thing.” 

Choso shook his head, gasping for air. “I can’t, pup, feels w-weird—” 

“Want you to be dirty,” you growled, every pound and thrust aimed at his sweet spot as he cried and writhed in your arms. You squeezed his cock. “Make as much of a mess as you want.” 

Choso nearly jackknifed off the bed as he came with a shout—ropes of cum squirting from his cock, painting your chest and his stomach with white. 

“Fuck, baby, you squirted—” you gasped out as his hole gripped you like a vice, your orgasm hitting you like a hurricane, black spots flooding your vision as you groaned in pleasure. “Choso!” 

He whimpered as you filled his hole with cum, the sticky slop combined with the girth of your soft cock making him dizzy with fullness. He whined as you collapsed on top of him, blanketing him with warmth. 

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

“Pup?” he asked sleepily. 

You blinked an eye open. “Mm? Want me to pull out?” 

Choso shook his head. “No, I just…” he trailed off, before whispering, “I want you.” 

Your heart stuttered. 

“Don’t think I can get it up to another round right now, baby,” you joked weakly. 

“‘M not talking about that,” he mumbled. “Want you, want all of you.” He trailed his fingers up the skin of your back, before settling into your messy hair, gently sifting through the strands. 

“Want you too,” you whispered back. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve wanted you for a long time. Want to be The Wolf to your Little Red. Or just us—anything is okay.” 

Choso smiled at that, warmth blossoming in his chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Happy Halloween, pup.” 

“And you, too,” you chuckled. “Oh, and before I forget. Trick? Or dick?” 

masterlist!

[godjustkys]

“𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑹.”

SYNOPSIS: robert doesn’t care about the age difference. not at all.

CHARACTER: male reader x robert chase

NOTE: I AM SORRY THAT I UPLOADED THIS LATE. I WRITE THESE AS I GO AND I HAVE SOME SORT OF MESSED UP LIFE THAT SOMETIMES LIKE TO FUCK WITH ME. OKAY. LET’S JUST FOCUS ON ROBERT HERE, YES?

kinktober masterlist .

WC: 1,2k

WARNING: age gap,, older!reader,, exhibitionism,, praise,, workplace sex,, unprotected sex,, sex on the desk ;D,, needy!robert,,

a small gasp left robert’s lips as he shifted, sitting on your desk. “you’re—rough.” he murmured, his hands digging into the fabric of your coat, right on your biceps. your lips pressed against his jaw, neck, nipping lightly, careful not to leave a mark. “and you’re—” you started but you got cut off.

“younger? yeah, heard you grumbling about it yesterday. when you were ‘alone’ in the—ah... lab.”

“i’m too old for this—” you paused, your hands untucking his dress shirt from his pants. “too old for you.”

robert’s breath caught as your fingers brushed the skin just above his waistband. he leaned in, close enough that his nose almost brushed yours. “then stop,” he whispered, though the way his hands gripped tighter told the opposite.

you kissed him again, slower this time, your mouth pushing into his with the kind of hunger you hadn’t felt in years. he tasted of coffee and mint, warm and a little desperate. his hands slid from your arms up to your collar, tugging at the lapels like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted you closer or wanted the coat gone entirely.

the office felt suffocatingly small, the hum of fluorescent lights above barely covering the muted voices outside. he shifted back on the desk, pulling you with him, his thighs parting just enough for you to stand between them. the angle pressed his hips forward against yours, and the small, shaky sound he made into your mouth nearly undid you.

“this—” you broke the kiss, your forehead pressing against his, trying to ground yourself. “this isn’t smart.”

he let out a soft laugh, breathless. “i’m not looking for smart right now.”

your hands moved up under his shirt, palms spread over the heat of his stomach, the faint tremor in his muscles answering your touch. you pushed the fabric higher, exposing pale skin to the chill of the room. he hissed in a breath but didn’t stop you, his fingers already working at the buttons of your coat.

you could hear someone walking down the hall—shoes clicking, a door shutting somewhere nearby. robert stiffened for a second, then exhaled hard, eyes fluttering closed when your thumb brushed over his ribs.

“you like the risk?” you murmured against his ear, low, rough, your lips grazing the shell.

“yeah,” he whispered back, his voice breaking a little on the word. “yeah, i do.”

your mouth trailed down the side of his neck, slow, deliberate, each kiss making him shiver. his hand slid up the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you close as though he didn’t care if the whole damn hospital knew.

he tilted his head back, giving you more space, breath catching in soft stutters when your teeth grazed sensitive skin. you held yourself back from leaving marks, biting down on the need, but the sound he made when you sucked lightly at his collarbone almost made you lose restraint.

his shirt was bunched up now, your hands roaming freely over his torso, every muscle shifting under your touch. you felt his pulse hammering when your fingers traced lower, skimming the line of his pants again. he broke into a soft, needy sound, muffled when he bit his lip hard.

“don’t—” he gasped, his voice rougher now, “don’t stop.”

your breath came hot against his throat, your own restraint unraveling as his body pressed so willingly against yours. the office door was still unlocked. anyone could walk in. and yet neither of you moved to fix it.

your hand finally slipped past his waistband, the barrier gone, and robert’s whole body arched against you, a sharp, bitten-off sound escaping before he could stop it. his grip on your coat turned bruising, fingers digging in like he needed something to anchor him.

“god—” he choked, his forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and shaky. “damn it..” you kissed him hard to swallow the sound of his voice, your mouth moving against his with the same urgency your hand worked below, on his cock. his hips jerked up into your touch, desperate, barely controlled.

the desk under him creaked as he shifted, pulling you in until there was no space between you. every shallow gasp from him, every tremor, hit you deep, made your own restraint fray.

——————————

your pants were pulled down just to the midway of your thighs. that was all you needed, to be fair. your cock deep inside robert, slowly thrusting into him. he was leaning on his elbows, still on your desk, face scrunched up. he was entirely focused on not making a single sound.

outside, a laugh echoed down the hall, too close. you froze for a half-second, but robert’s hand grabbed at you, whispering, breathless and desperate. “don’t you—dare stop now.”

the words broke you. he sat up and leaned against you. you pulled at his hips to get him off the table just slightly so you could shove your cock deeper. you moved with more insistence, and he broke apart under it—small, strangled sounds muffled against your shoulder, his whole body trembling as you held him through it. his hand fisted in your shirt until the fabric stretched tight, his breath uneven, hot against your neck. you could feel his pulse racing, the sharp rise and fall of his chest pressed to yours. “stay quiet, baby.” you reminded him softly.

robert keened, pressing his face further into your shoulder. he was so pathetic.

“doin’ a good job.” you praise breathlessly, fingers digging into his flesh. yeah, you might’ve jinxed it. as soon as you said that, robert got louder, groaning and whimpering, squirming restlessly in your hold. his hole clenched around you desperately, as if trying to suck you in, milk you dry. “jesus—” you mutter, surprised by his sudden sensitivity. before you could even say another word, he let go of you and laid his back on the desk, his hair splaying out on the wood.

“d—deeper. please.” he whined quietly with an adorable frown on his face. you gave him a small incredulous look, raising an eyebrow. “harder. ghhh—faster. this’s—it’s not enough.” robert added, shutting his eyes tightly, his hands moving up to hold onto the edge of the table.

you should’ve protested, shouldn’t have listened to him or his breathy little pleads. but god, you were a weak man for robert. with a tiny sigh, you shift, one hand moving to pull robert’s pants down just a little more. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you bottom out completely and stay still for a moment, watching robert intently. a content moan of pleasure and relief leaves his mouth. you ease him into it, into the rougher, faster pace.

when robert came untouched, his thighs were trembling, limp against the table. he had to muffle his moans against his forearm. at one point, you had clamped your hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

his shirt was half-pushed up and hanging loose. his lips were red, swollen, his hair mussed where your hands had been. he looked at you with something that wasn’t just lust—it was hunger, yes, but threaded with something softer, something that made your chest tighten.

“you just fucked me on your desk. still gonna say you’re too old for me?” he asked quietly, voice rough, a little hoarse, breathless.

[349kj]

— ✧ thinking about kryptonian!reader and dick grayson...

dick's sprawled out on your bedsheets, a long leg hooked over your shoulder, body bent in half in a manner only possible for dick grayson, while you pound into him from above. you’re only using a fraction of your power, but for him, it feels like you're pulverizing and then sewing his insides back together at the same time.

every time you harshly thrust into dick’s wet hole, he lets out an embarrassing half moan, half wheeze, but it doesn’t seem to deter you, keeping up your steady strokes. 

“fuck,” dick cries out, when a particularly hard thrust makes your cock hit his prostate directly. he moves one of his hands braced up against the headboard down to a sensitive, stiff nipple. he twists and tugs at it hard enough to make his mouth drop open in pleasure and moan out loudly again. dick’s hole is messy and puffy and frothily white from your past three or four (and fuck, he’s so gone he can’t even remember how many times you came in him) loads. 

you pant heavily above him, and the look on your face is worth the nasty bruises he’ll probably have on his hips where you’re gripping them tightly (you’re lucky he loves you because that is going to make patrolling tonight such a bitch).

the wet plap! of your thighs and his ass colliding is downright fucking obscene, and holy shit, that’s probably one of the hottest things he’s ever heard. 

dick clenches down on your cock, making you groan. you remove one of your hands from his hips to cup his cheek, leaning down to sloppily kiss his open mouth. it’s more of a wet, messy gliding of lips than it is a kiss, but it’s hot as fuck and dick’s going to come soon so he doesn’t care. 

one of your hands moves from his hip to smack his ass. dick’s eyes roll up into the back of head, and he gasps in surprise. 

“you like that, baby?” you pant. 

“fuck yeah, i love it,” dick groans back. 

he cries out when you do it again, this time with your other hand. “mm, I love this pretty hole,” you groan, “it’s all mine, right? my hole to do whatever I want with.” 

“s… shit, yeah, s’all fucking yours, baby... oh, god, fuck me…”

“yeah? you want me to fuck you? fuck you so hard that you forget your own damn name?” your pounding speeds up, and your strokes grow shorter. dick automatically grinds down onto you to meet your thrusts. you reach down between your sweat slick bodies and tug at dick’s throbbing cock. dick’s abdomen tenses up, and he can feel his orgasm approaching.

he nods dumbly, now unable to make any sounds other than moaning and whimpering. you withdraw the other hand on his hip to grasp the headboard roughly, allowing yourself more leverage to fuck dick harder–something that didn’t even seem possible at this point. 

“f–fuck, i love you so much, dick,” you moan out uncharacteristically loud, and dick fucking loses it. 

he comes with a shout, back arching up and painting long stripes of thick, white cum across both of your stomachs. “love you…” he murmurs over and over as he rides out his orgasm on your cock.

your mouth drops open in pleasure as you continue to thrust sloppily into dick, hand above him on the headboard squeezing down harder. the burn of overstimulation is painful yet at the same time feels so good, but dick doesn’t have the energy to let out anything except for satisfied sighs and low gasps. 

he feels your hips stuttering to a stop, pressing into him as close as you could. hot, thick liquid floods inside of dick, and he gasps, tears pricking at his eyes. you keep thrusting in and out of dick, slower now, riding out the rest of your orgasm. distantly, dick hears the sound of wood splintering and cracking above him. 

with furrowed brows and a dazed expression, dick looks up and holy shit. 

you broke his headboard. 

wood sticks up and out underneath your hand, and dick, momentarily forgetting your invulnerable skin, winces at the thought of never ending splinters. you wouldn’t have even noticed in your fucked out and hazy mind, but dick suddenly going quiet makes your brows furrow in confusion and you look up as well. 

you gape and snatch your hand away from dicks headboard, looking down at dick with a pout and a guilty expression.

“shit, baby i’m sor–” dick cuts you off, a hand rising to snake around your neck and pull you down into a proper kiss. it’s slow and gentle now that the heat of the moment is gone, your lips moving with dicks automatically, as if you had done this a thousand times before–because you had.

you break away slightly, enough to murmur against his lips, “i’m sorry, i’ll buy you a new one.”

dick smiles and shakes his head. “it’s ok, you don’t have to,” he whispers back.

you sigh and pull completely away from dick, slowly sliding out of him with a wet pop. dick winces at the uncomfortable feeling in his ass as you flop down on your stomach beside him. 

you both lie in silence for a moment before you sigh and get up, heading towards the bathroom. dick absentmindedly appreciates the view of your ass as you walk away. 

you come back a little bit later with a wet washcloth and you begin cleaning dick and yourself up. once you’re done, you toss the washcloth in the general direction of the dirty laundry hamper (you miss by the way, which dick slightly cringes at). 

laying down on the bed again, this time on your back. you turn toward dick and he knows what you're about to say before you even open your mouth. dick sits up and leans over you, pressing his lips against yours again in a sweet kiss. he draws back and grins lazily at you. 

“it’s ok,” he says again. “don’t worry about it.” 

you frown but keep quiet. dick notices your eyes starting to flutter shut. 

“tired?” he asks.

you nod and hum, eyes finally shutting.

dick lays back down next to you on his side, hooking a leg over your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. he sighs heavily as he adds buy new headboard to his mental to-do list.

— ✧ first time writing smut guys kinda scared 🙈

[hydroj1ns]

// hate-fucking venti

imagine venti pissing you off so much so that you drag him to a nearby inn and have your way with him.

at first, he goaded you on, even when you threw him onto the bed and stripped him, feigning confidence.

but his teasing and sly remarks have long been drowned out by the plap plap plap sounds of your hips smacking against the supple skin of venti’s ass as you fuck him. every time you withdraw from his hole, there’s a visible stickiness from the mix of your fluids and his.

as you pound him into the mattress like no tomorrow, venti moans with every rough stroke that has your cock hitting places inside him that have never been reached before. you can’t get enough of the man underneath you; the brat had been teasing you for so long, he was practically begging for you to put him in his place.

after you make him arch his back and shift his ass up for a better angle, you drape yourself over his body and begin sucking dark marks into the porcelain skin of his nape and the smooth slope of his shoulders. you admire your work— the bloom of bruises was a pretty contrast against his otherwise unblemished skin.

as you approach your climax, you growl in his ear. your rough, desperate voice makes venti shudder and his cock dribble against the sheets in anticipation for your load. with one final thrust, you grip his hips in a bruising hold against yours, ensuring that he receives your cum.

venti feels the hot, sticky semen flooding his insides, as well as the pulsations of your cock as it releases every spurt. the sensation has him coming with you, hole tightening and milking you for all you have.

when the two of you are finished, you collapse onto venti’s sweaty body, his lithe frame dwarfed by you. you can feel some of your semen leaking from where you are connected, a white ring of your spend forming on the rim of his hole. part of you wanted to stuff it back in, or even give the man another load.

even though you hated the annoying bard, you have to admit that his body receives you well. the two of you fit like a glove, no matter how much he irritates the hell out of you. maybe you should consider fucking him again.