ಇ . . . superboy-prime yaps while fucking you silly !
"no, oh my god, babe," he chuckles, hot mouth kissing the column of your neck so sweetly, letting his mumbled info-dump seep into your skin. "see, togruta and twi'lek appendages have completely different functions—"
you moan, soft and unsteady and all too susceptible to the way his cock sits so snugly in you. he rocks into your heat, seemingly unaffected by the way you gasp and flutter when he brushes the spot that makes your head spin and your pussy squelch like one of the eldritch monsters he loves.
and he just keeps talking.
he presses his flushed cheek to yours. sinks the thick fingers of his left hand into the plush of your thigh, plays with your slick, throbbing clit with his right thumb. casually lets a smirk play on his stupid, cute mouth—you can feel the impression of his dimple—as his voice dips into gravel against the shell of your ear:
"twi'lek lekku are prehensile and have some limbic cortex function, so physiological expression of emotion and language—"
sharp need coils tighter in your belly, making you whimper into the warmth of his neck. "mm, c—"
"shh, i know, baby," clark rasps, letting the hand on your thigh travel up and press firmly below your navel. you feel all of him, every ridge and vein, slipping out a pitched sound caught between a choked groan and a squeal.
he continues, though this time thrusting a little more urgently, thank god. "and togruta lekku are connected to their montrals, which—fuck, you just got so tight—ah, are used for echo-locative purposes because their species is carnivorous..."
"'m gonna cum, clark," you pant, eyes squeezing shut as the pads of your fingers press against his scarred, sculpted chest desperately. he hums, nosing your cheek and flicking your swollen bundle of nerves like a joystick.
"okay, okay, 'm sorry," is the hushed, completely unapologetic reply. clark's cock lets the filthy, wet sound of him plunging in and out of your cunt speak for his mouth, which is sucking a new hickey into your shoulder.
still, you can tell that he wants to talk—the tense line in his broad, muscular shoulders says so.
"that's it, that's it, c'mon sweetheart, give it to me..."
you cum on his cock with a choked cry, senses dimming as your system sharpens on the overwhelming pleasure spilling from your core, the rhythmic clench of your walls around him.
"shit, shit," he whimpers, syllables spilling out of his mouth as he starts to rut into you with renewed vigor, chasing his own orgasm and pushing you deeper into his batman-patterned sheets. "okay, lemme explain reverse cursed technique before i bust."
it started out of nowhere. you were at a pub one evening, a little tipsy from your previous drinks ; when a man came up to you and blalantly made you understand that he wanted a little company for the night. his name was john from what he told you. he was tall, arms tattoed and most importantly very handsome, he for sure knew how to talk to a woman.
you decided to give him a chance and bring him to your place that was closer. he was really not what you expected, he talked like a caring gentleman back at the pub, but the second you entered your apartment, he immediately pushed you on the couch and ripped off your underwear. he roughly manhandled you, and you let him do it.
after multiple orgasms on the sofa, he picked you up and proceeded in your bedroom. he took you harshly in doggy style, your cheek flat against your mattress. you were a babbling mess as his balls rapidly met your ass cheeks, his hands firmy gripping your hair to make you stay in place. you could hear his gruff voice behind you, however you were too far gone to decipher what he was saying to you.
when you woke up next morning he was gone, you found a scratch of paper on your bedside table, his number.
that's how your first night ended, it was the beginning of it.
it’s been a few months now, and you noticed a change in john’s attitude. he doesn’t leave immediately after you fall asleep anymore, you always find him sleeping soundly next to you in the morning, he even made you breakfast once.
he always pays for you when you meet at the pub, even when you order takeout, he never said anything about it ; you never questioned it either.
the most shocking one was how he acted in bed, the 'fuckin’ slut' turned into 'takin’ me so well, luv'. the way he couldn’t help but put his lips on your skin, lips as he fucked you. or how he gently brushed strands of hair off your sticky face when you were completely cock drunk.
but what really made you realize that everything changed was when you woke up at 3am, your phone buzzing. you grabbed it and got slightly stunned by the screen light 'Jonathan' proudly showing on it. you frowned, price was on a deployment since a few weeks now, was he okay ? you heard his gruff voice when you picked up, "i don’t know why i called you, luvie" a faint sight escaped his lips, "do you miss me?" it was his way to say that he did. you chuckled softly, and price felt his heart squeeze at the other end of the line.
you stayed on the phone quite a long time, before you heard someone call him.
"i need t'go now" he inhaled, "can’t wait to see ya, doll"
You first meet him in a live-drawing class, something to get you back into art after you'd fallen out of touch with the demands of your job. Soap followed you out the door and practically begged for you to let him paint you.
At first you didn't believe it because...really? You saw his work. He paints, well, pretty people. People who make your heart pound. Not...gritty everyday people, the nicer term for ugly.
Then he says "please? you're the most beautiful thing I've seen, an' I haven't been able to paint for weeks! C'mon, just an hour or two?"
And...well...you sympathize with the artists block. So you agree, just an hour or two.
An hour turns into five, turns into chatting and coffee and a painting that makes you look so completely dazzling you cry right in front of him. From them on it's only natural you two become closer. More than a muse, moving in together.
Your apartment has never been so full of pictures of yourself. In swimwear, at the shops, smiling and laughing. The more...evocative ones are only hung up in the bedroom.
Soap makes you feel like your body is art. You spend hours looking between the paintings and yourself, trying to see the way he sees. When he's off on missions, too embarrassed to do it when he's around.
And then he comes back.
And the person they give you...isn't johnny.
Sure, he looks like johnny, and he smiles so wide at you when you see him. But...he's self-conscious now, reserved. He can hardly walk and he yells at you the first time you offer to cut his steak for him.
When johnny paints, the canvas is a scribbled mess of colours. Nothing is recognizable. Like the bullet went in and scrambled up all the thoughts in his head. You find torn up paper and canvas in the trash. You find his paints and his snapped brushes and all his supplies and you fish them out, salvage what you can.
Soap cries when he walks into the kitchen and finds one of his scribbled drawings on the fridge, proudly displayed next to his perfect rendition of you from a few months back.
Soap will never be able to draw again, not really, but he keeps painting. Like a shark, he has to keep moving or he may drown.
You keep every one. The war stole so much of your johnny. You refuse to let it keep any more.
Johnny Soap Mactavish who swats your hand away from your pussy as you try to save any form of dignity that you still might have.
“Dont cover her up, Bonnie.”
His thumb spams the camera button, taking sloppy shots of what you imagine to be an even sloppier pussy after how desperate youve become.
“Cant we just do it normally? Why do you always gotta take pictures?” You fight the urge to ruin his shots, knowing youd only prolong his little photo shoot if you impeded.
He snaps a few more, fingers scissoring you open to catch the puffy and cute pink of your obscene hole before tossing the phone aside. “Needae restock before the next mission. You know I can’t be without this cutie for too long,” he says as his fingers curl nastily into you, pulling out a high pitched mewl.
You don’t know why you had asked. You knew had the sex drive of a rabbit in heat and he made sure you were aware of it, sending you pictures of cum dribbling down his shaft and fist after pumping himself to his favorite photo album that hes so carefully curated (with your help of course).
Now Johnny is a generous man- so much in fact that when he sees his poor teammates suffering with the same pent up frustration that he once had, he has the brilliant idea to share the wealth. It’s not uncommon for 2 or 3 men to huddle around his phone, eyes glued onto the way your pussy stretches to accommodate three of soaps fingers as he scoops out his cum lodged deep inside you.
And if the mission extends for longer than most, soap will receive a surprise video of you lamely humping his pillow with his name on your tongue. Your soft and delicate voice contrasts with the filthy pool of arousal that soaks the pillow. That video is on repeat till every man’s dick is limp.
He was sure you wouldn’t mind. You were an empathetic gal at the end of the day and he knew youd feel for his fellow mates.
Tags: [reupload][mlw][mdnr][tim's 19-20][oral (m! receiving)][handjob][servicedom!reader][cowgirl][reverse cowgirl][doggy style][msub][loss of virginity][strangers to lovers][ball sucking][nipple sucking][raw][drool][ass play]
AN. What the actual fuck. Like, legitimately. What the fuck.
Tim knows it's pretty pathetic to lose his virginity on a dating app but he also knows that tonight's the only night he'll have free time for a good long while.
Which is why he left the cave, barely with a thought in his mind other than to get laid. So much so that he forgets about the communication device stuffed into his ear, since he was, still technically, on duty.
But pussy first.
And besides, he needs to lose it before 20 otherwise he needs to legally change his name to Phil McCrack. The bet being courtesy of Jason, and Tim lets out a huff of a breath, readjusting his hoodie for what could only be the 8th time before he stares up at the door of your apartment.
Homemade dinner, a movie and sex.
That's all that's on the itinerary for tonight.
A jittery hand lifts and Tim pensively knocks on the pinewood. Anxious, excited, all the same but the preparedness seems to melt away when you pull open the door, hair pulled back and eyes staring up at him, and Tim swallows. Loud.
He's not prepared.
He isn't prepared at all.
You don't look like your picture.
You catfished him.
Your eyes are brighter in real life, he gets to watch the sweet smile take place on your lovely face, instead of just being limited to it being captured in pixels and he gets to see the way your head tilts at him, carefully giving him a once over before you step out of the way, letting him into the cozy apartment.
He's more nervous than he'd like to let on.
Tim wipes his palms on his sweatpants, shifting awkwardly on his feet before following you into the kitchen, watching intently as you slip on oven mitts, pulling out the cast iron tray from the oven and Tim stares at the large, homemade pizza.
Overflowing cheese, sweet red sauce peeking out along the crusts and pepperoni scattered so generously. And he lets out a shaky breath.
"It looks really good," Tim compliments softly, looking down at you with those pretty eyes as you give him a sweet smile, slicing the pizza into 8, setting 4 slices on his plate and 4 on yours.
"4 slices?" Tim questions softly and you simply nod your head.
"I can't take your virginity and send you home hungry. That's just a dick move."
Tim plants himself on the cushion next to you, sneakers discarded at the door, sock-covered feet tucked beneath him as he eats, occasionally glancing towards you but ultimately keeping his gaze on the TV.
He doesn't wanna ask about the ad about the lady in the corner of the screen, a Matilda that feels lonely.
"You're a lot more quiet than I thought." You hum softly, your voice breaking the peaceful yet awkward silence, and you glance at Tim from the corner of your eye. He likes the way you watch him.
Like a bug under a microscope and he shifts in his seat, the fabric of his sweatpants pulling tight against some parts of his lean muscles as he makes himself more comfortable.
"I'm... Not really sure how this works. In all the things I've seen... It's usually just like, a meet and... Well, you know." Tim awkwardly shifts again, taking another bite of his pizza and his lashes flutter at the peppery cheese that fills his mouth and absentmindedly, you reach forward, wiping a smudge of cheese away from the corner of his mouth.
And Tim's heart rate skyrockets.
"Well, if you don't feel comfortable at the end of the night, we don't have to do anything. I'm not gonna force you." You reassure him sweetly, licking the cheese from your thumb before you continue eating, your attention on the cartoon in front of you. And Tim nods his head, muttering a soft 'okay' before he continues eating.
Tugging the edge of his hoodie down to hide his downright throbbing cock, and he tries to continue eating, chewing with the occasional glance at your expression.
Lips glistening with the sheen of fatty food, your cheeks puffed with the way you eat and tresses framing your face in the prettiest way. You've got such... Distinct features, perfect lips and the slope of your nose makes him groan inwardly at the thought of your nose tucked in the fleshy spot between the base of his cock and his full, almost swollen balls. The way you'd inhale his musk, dragging your tongue along the sensitive flesh.
And Tim coughs.
Desperate to clear away those thoughts and he looks back at his plate. He's only managed to put away 2 and a half slices, whereas your plate's empty.
And something about that, just makes his cock twitch, a thick bead of precum rolling down his base and he feels the way it forms a wet spot on his boxers.
"So, you said you're in college?" Tim hums, elbows braced on the countertop, his attention locked on yours as you indulge in his caffeine addiction as though you've done it a million times before. Practiced motions, a lowered gaze as you move around your kitchen with the comfort he's only ever seen Alfred hold in a kitchen but his gaze remains locked on your hands.
Dainty and manicured nails grasping a froggy mug, your nails tapping against the glazed ceramic as you stir, the muscles in your forearm flexing ever so slightly and Tim's surprised when he doesn't paint the inside of his boxers at the sight of your tongue running across your teeth when you place the mug in front of him.
"Yeah, I'm in college. I'm doing a literature degree." You state with a sweet hum, opening a cabinet and pulling out a bag of cookies, opening it up and placing it between the two of you.
Your kitchen isn't lit too brightly, downlights that have a dimmer switch that sets the room in a lovely, low light. Intimate and sweet, as you take a bite of a cookie, crumbs dotting your lips before you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip.
And the action is downright sinful.
Devious.
Malicious.
Nefarious.
The list goes on and on.
"You said you intern at Wayne Enterprises?" You hum softly, and Tim nods his head, taking a sip of his coffee and God, his cock's twitching as the taste burns his tongue in the best way possible.
Rich, earthy with the strongest aroma.
Tim's barely paying attention as you speak, his eyes locked on your pouty and perfect lips as you speak before he interjects.
"I'm ready for sex, please."
The desperate quiver in his voice, alongside the abruptness, makes you let out a snort of laughter. "Are you ready... Like... Biologically?" You question, your head tilting in that way that makes his mind melt and he nods sheepishly.
"Yeah. I've been ready for almost 2 hours."
"Shit, shit, shit." Tim's chest heaves, his long, inky lashes fluttering as he feels the way you stroke him so sweetly, your hand wrapped around his flared base, lips pressing sloppy kisses all along his glistening cock. Beads of precum drip down, pooling at his heavy sack and Tim's elegant digits card through your hair, undoing your hairtie and sliding the vibrant red elastic on his wrist, opting for playing with your hair instead.
And Tim's sure he's fucking dying when you're wrapping those soft, plush lips around his flushed tip, beads of translucent fluid filling your tongue and your hand continues to squeeze his base, his hips jerking and twitching. And Tim lets out a breath, moans slipping past his lips as his back arches.
"Fuck, that's so good..." Tim stutters, his plump, pink bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the sounds.
And Tim's eyes widen, his head tossing back and he lets out that deep, long groan as his fingers fist in your hair.
Your mouth leaves his cock, globular rivulets of saliva coating his tip before you fist it, your soft palm twisting over the sensitive flesh as you gently stroke his cock, the ball of your nose pressed against his cock as your tongue curls against the swell of his balls.
And Tim pushes your face deeper, forcing you to inhale that musky, smoky scent that makes you so dizzy, your cunt throbbing between your pressed together thighs. And he whimpers sheepishly.
"God, keep— keep doing that, please..."
Tim begs so sweetly, feeling the way you thumb at his slit, forcing out gooey beads of clear as you tilt your head, tongue curling around his sack and Tim feels his cock twitch. Before he whines, swatting at your hand before he urges you to pull away.
"I— I'm gonna come too quickly if—... If you keep doing that..." Tim's ears burn with embarrassment, cock twitching and leaking copious amounts of precum and you let out a soft snort of laughter.
"I don't mind." You reassure softly, leaning upwards to press a sweet kiss against the curve of his jaw.
"It's your first time. You don't have to impress me."
Tim doesn't know how to answer that, simply shifting and scooting back, while you find purchase straddling one of his thighs, clothed cunt grinding against the thick muscle, hard and rigid beneath you as you gently stroke his cock.
Tim leans back on his palms, his head tipping back as you press soft, lingering kisses against the soft, milky skin of his neck. Your kisses are wet, sticky with his precum and your saliva, your hand moving to card through his obsidian strands, while the other traces along the bulging veins of his cock.
It's too much.
Way too much.
Fuck, it's way too much.
And Tim whines, nails digging into the sheets and creasing the pale green comforters beneath his palms as his hips jerk, jets of pearly cum making a mess of your hand and you smear the creaminess all around his cock, a ring forming at the base.
Tim doesn't know what to do.
If he's supposed to pull your hand away, if he's supposed to cry, if sex is supposed to be the next step but tears are forming on his lash line, his face flushing and sweat forcing strands of his bangs to cling to his forehead.
And he whimpers so sweetly when you pull your hand away from him, pressing the sweetest kiss against his temple before pushing his hair out of his face.
"Where do you want me?" You ask him softly, tongue trailing along the shell of Tim's ear and he shivers, biting his bottom lip to stifle that shaky breath.
"On top... Please."
Tim's basically a pillow princess.
Hands bracketing your hips, fingers digging into the fat and his eyes remain locked on where your perfect pussy swallows his length, slick and squelchy sounds ringing out alongside the ambiance of the Gotham city rain.
"Fuck, you're so tight."
Tim groans softly, brows knitting into a pinched frown and his eyes lift, brilliant and teary diamond blue eyes stare, gaze locked on the sight of your chest, bouncing in tandem with the your hips bounce. The fleshy globes of your ass repeatedly smack against his thighs, the warmth of your cunt fits him snugly and he whines underneath you.
You're warm. You're tight. You're so wet, and your slick drips down his veins with each grind of your hips.
"You're so fucking deep..." You breathe out with a moan, breathy voice and hazy eyes because you didn't expect him to stretch you out this good.
And Tim doesn't know what sort of sick, twisted mist blankets his brain, but the drool that trickles down his lips do nothing to cool him from the lusty heat that urges him to lean forward, his tongue dragging along one of your pert buds and the action pulls tingles from your brain. You lean forward, one hand moving to grab the headboard, nails leaving scratches along the painted wood as your hips grind and roll.
Tim's hips are weak as they thrust up into you, uncoordinated and sloppy, so weak as his entire mind is consumed with the action of his tongue swirling and teasing your nipples. He's drooling, slobbering all across your chest but the sloppiness of his motions just makes him more endearing.
"Ohhh, you're so fucking pretty." You croon to him gently, fingers scratching at his hair and tugging him closer to your chest.
The air between the two of you are charged with the sense of sexual tension being explored, alongside sticky and messy sex, and the smell of coffee on your mingled breaths. And Tim doesn't waste time pulling away from your oversensitive and abused nipples, before leaning forward, his tongue meeting yours in a heated kiss that would leave pornstars envious of the amateurish moments.
Hands paw at the fat of your ass and fingertips dig into whatever flesh they can find, and Tim's eyes roll back in his head when your hips roll, the tip of his cock buried in your gummy walls while his shaft is exposed to steamy air of your bedroom.
Tim feels the way he throbs inside you, slick and precum mixing into a debauched cocktail that leaves his pelvis glistening in a sheen that matches your pretty cunt, your pillowy pussy lips glossy with the mess.
"Fuck me harder— shit, fuck me harder." Tim whimpers and whines, his attention lowering to the way your hips slam down on his, and he feels like the air's being pulled out of his lungs. Especially with the way gummy walls pull him in, all the way to the depths of your cunt.
Tim can barely form a coherent thought when you turn around, your back facing him and he gets to watch that devious arch from up close and he gets to watch the fat of your ass bounce off his hips. And it's... Hypnotic.
It leaves him wondering if your ass is sentient and Tim's hands move to grip the plump cheeks, spreading them apart to watch the way you take him all the way. And his eyes lift just a bit, and he's staring that pretty, neat and puckered hole down. Before he bites his bottom lip, turning his attention towards you for the briefest moment but you're too cockdrunk to have a coherent thought in your head.
And he licks his thumb, covering the pudgy digit in saliva before he begins to circle your winking, furled rim and he nearly screams at the way you clamp down on him.
And you're coming before you even fucking know it, bucking like a wild, desperate horse, your hips rolling like you're on a mechanical bull and Tim's finger slips past the threshold.
And then, when your brain's muddled and rendered useless enough for you to be pliable, he's fucking you.
He's found himself on his knees, your face pushed into the mattress and your back arched so sluttily as you let him rut into you mindlessly, one hand pressing down at the middle of your back, forcing your arch to deepen.
Your hair's a tangled mess and those rosy lips are parted and letting out the sluttiest whines and praises.
And Tim's finally found something better than his top three wants in life:
Cracking a case.
Coffee.
Bruce's approval.
And he's finding that better thing in the most unorthodox of ways: rearranging the insides of a college girl two years older than him. Bullying his fat cock into your sloppy cunt as praises pour from your lips, your words so honeyed and your pussy so syrupy.
"Good boy."
"Fuck me harder."
"Just like that."
All push him towards the edge and Tim's hips become frantic, blunt nails digging into your hips as he nears his orgasm at a rate that makes his body shiver and shudder, skin prickling with goosebumps and droplets of sweat running down his muscles.
"Where do I—"
"Anywhere you want."
And Tim's hips stutter, cum filling your cunt to the brim and his hips twitch, using you to milk him empty before pulling out and he falls back against the headboard, hazy eyes watching the way pearly cum trickles down your folds, pooling between your knees.
"You know...." You pant softly. "I didn't know you had a hearing aid..."
You shift, moving to sit on your haunches before turning to face Tim, plopping down and your naked form melts against his, and his arms fold over you on instinct.
"What— what... do you mean?" He murmurs lazily and you reach up, tapping the device in his ear.
Shit.
୨✮ৎ────────୨✮ৎ────────୨✮ৎ
"Good job, Red Robin."
"Yeah, Tim." Jason snickers. "Keep doing a good job. Just. Like. That."
Synopsis: in which your roommate can only be woken up with your tongue inside her
Warning: cnc, somnophilia, consensual deal, perv!reader?, fem!reader, lesbianssss, cunnilingus, reference to thigh grinding, non curse au, college au, breast play, belly press technique, Shoko art by @_3aem on X, not proofread
Word Count: 2.7k
Roommate!Shoko who is a deep sleeper and has been known to miss classes because she just won’t get the fuck up. Her body does as it pleases; she wakes up on her own time, usually hours later, scratching her head and yawning.
“Morning, sexy.” She plops her entire body weight upon your back, then nuzzles the crook of your neck, and mumbles, “I missed my brunch plans with Dumb and Dumber again. They’re gonna be so mad. You’ll protect me, won’t you?”
“Why can’t you just wake up?” you ask in concern, pretending you can’t feel her tits on your back.
“Because you’re not in my arms,” she replies.
“Ha. Ha.”
Roommate!Shoko pats your ass before she goes over to the counter to make coffee. “I’ve always been like this, but I used to have my parents physically dragging me out of bed. Guess I need a special touch.”
It’s gotten so bad that her friend, Gojo, has offered you a lot of money to get her out of the apartment on time.
And you’re not one to turn down money.
So you devised a plan to capitalise on this. You tried banging pots and pans, leaving ten alarms so that they blare all at once, shaking her, yelling right in her ear — nothing. She will not budge. She will not flinch.
She will not wake the hell up.
So it’s clear that by ‘special’ she doesn’t mean violence, because you’ve rained attacks on her with her pillow many times and it never did anything but tire you out.
Until, one day, you discovered, by complete accident, that there’s a foolproof way to get her up and alert: orgasms.
It really was an accident.
You were trying to wrangle her out of bed, and changed so that when she did wake up, she could rush out of the apartment instead of wasting time trying to pick an outfit. It was thoughtful. Smart. Genius!
But she never makes anything easy for you.
Her body fought against your attempts, wanting to cling to the comfortable mattress and stay in the warm comforts of her blanket. In all the wriggling and fighting, your thigh ended up between hers, lodged firmly to the apex.
You realised too late what was happening; you still fought and fought, and was accidentally grinding your thigh to her pussy. It only became apparent to you what a horrible mistake you had made and what an unfortunate position you were in when her arms locked around your torso to keep you in place as she subconsciously humped your leg.
Then her body was spasming. She was moaning in your ear, leaving a warm wetness on your skin.
Within seconds, she was awake and confused as to what you were doing above her, all flustered and aghast.
You didn’t want to tell her what happened, out of embarrassment. In fact, you vowed to take it to your grave. But the money dropped in your account, with a note that said, thx for working miracles, from The Strongest. And for the first time in months, maybe even years, you were able to splurge.
So, guilt-ridden and fully prepared to go to jail, you explained.
Roommate!Shoko hummed, arms and legs crossed. She eyed you through her long lashes before a devious smile pulled at her lips. “So, you molested me in my sleep and woke me up.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” you argued, cringing. “But, yeah, I guess. I promise it was an accident though!”
She cradled your cheek and tenderly pressed a kiss to the other. “It’s alright. I’m actually quite grateful we found a solution to my sleeping problem.”
A beat of silence passed.
“What?”
Casually, she strutted off and jumped on the sofa. She patted the seat next to her as she said, “You want money, I want to wake up on time. Sounds pretty simple to me. Do what you gotta do, and we don’t have to talk about it after. It’ll be our little secret.”
Things spiralled soon after.
A routine formed.
Every morning, varying the time based on what she had going on that day, you would sneak into her room, checking she’s asleep.
Today is no different.
The door opens to your touch. You step in.
Roommate!Shoko lies over her covers, on her stomach, dressed in only her panties and a big T-shirt that belongs to Geto. You sigh. There’s 20 minutes before she has to get to her feet and wash up if she wants to make it on time for a lecture. A med student really cannot afford to be missing any classes and lectures, so you never understood why she doesn’t take care of herself better.
Being the one to make sure she can make good on her promises and graduate with a degree has become your responsibility. The burden is heavy. It’s not like you have nothing going on in your life.
At this point, however, when you’ve earned thousands and are swimming in money because she’s friends with a rich kid, you can’t complain.
With a little groan, you flip her on her back.
Still nothing.
“Jeez, Sho,” you mutter, “I could throw you down a flight of stairs and you’d still be snoring.”
You trail your fingers over her bare thigh, until they skim the hem of her grey Calvin Klein panties. It’s one of your favourites. Maybe she knows that, maybe she doesn’t. Who’s to say if she gets herself into positions that pushes her gorgeous ass out on purpose, if she wears clothes she knows you can’t get enough of?
Parting her legs for her, you hum as you press an indent on her clothed slit. It surprises you every time how squishy her pussy lips are. Her hips jolt. You easily find her clit, rubbing in gentle circles, just the way she likes at first.
Roommate!Shoko stirs.
You lie on your stomach on the bed, keeping her legs spread. The mattress drips. The bed frame creaks. Does she wake up?
Of course not.
Her thighs are smooth and soft; they’re nice to lay on when you’re watching movies together. They’re even nicer to rest your cheek on when you’re up close and personal with her panties. Your nose nudges the cute little bump where her clit is, inhaling her sweet scent.
A wet spot has formed at the gusset — grey panties show it so easily. Giggling a little, you press a kiss to the darker spot. You lick the faint taste of her off your lips. Not even a second later, you’re suckling on the fabric. “Mm, Sho. I can already taste you,” you tell her, even though she can’t hear.
Roommate!Shoko releases a low moan. When you peek up, she’s still asleep. Her lips are parted, her breathing’s steady, eyes closed. Although, you do spot a light dusting of pink on her cheeks and the way her two middle fingers, which rests upon her pillow, twitches.
All good signs.
With 15 minutes left to go, you decide to up the ante; pulling her panties to the side, you’re met with her puffy lips, which have grown shiny with her juices. The heat radiating has you growing dizzy.
It’s silly really, how you’re more affected than her.
There’s always a mix of feelings inside you every time you do this: guilt because she has no idea exactly what you do to her, excitement because she has no idea that you take the initiative to suck on her clit, and disappointment because she has no idea and cannot return the favour.
After each time, you send her off or you leave first, you’re always left with an itch you have to scratch, on your own. You’ve wondered many times how nice it would be to have her between your legs, to feel her slender fingers in you and sinful mouth on you.
Of course, you know this is wrong, that this arrangement isn’t healthy or ethical, but it’s for her own good. It’s simply a bonus that this isn’t much of a sacrifice to make because you’ve always had a fat crush on your smart, witty, sexy as sin roommate, with her slender legs, wide hips, slutty waist, and huge tits.
Speaking of…
A hand creeps up. You grope one of her breasts over her shirt. Fat pudge between your fingers. Her nipple is hard, poking your palm. You run a blunt nail down the little bud. Her back arches. Like clockwork.
Roommate!Shoko loves to have her tits played, especially over the top, where the friction and the texture of her shirt adds a special kind of thrill.
Right on cue, a fresh wave of pussy juices oozes out of her, dripping down the plumpness of her ass. You collect it on the tip of your tongue, then bury it back inside her. Warm, gummy walls clench around the wet appendage. Above you, another moan resounds. It shoots straight through your body. Your own pussy reacts.
Even in her sleep she’s so hot.
“Don’t worry, Sho,” you chirp. “I’ll have you awake soon.”
You lick a fat stripe up her slit.
Her juices are sweet and tangy, with a distinct taste of her. It’s intoxicating. Her internal heat and your breath creates a humid mix that has your and her clit throbbing seemingly in tandem. You greedily lick as much of her as you can, making sure to flick her cute button on your way up.
“Mmm.”
Roommate!Shoko’s shuffling now, writhing slowly. Her breathing’s grown irregular, deeper, face more flushed. One leg wrestles itself from your grip. It throws itself over your shoulder, bending to push your head even closer. Soothing, you brush her heated flesh.
In her sleep, her pelvis rocks up. It’s subconsciously grinding her whole pussy on your face, seeking the tip of your nose to satisfy her needy clit. That’s fine with you — you can shove your tongue inside her pussy and curl it against the rough texture near the entrance in the meantime.
Both of your hands are squeezing and massaging her tits, wanting to hear more sleepy moans and groans from her pretty lips. You could play with them for hours. They’re a work of wonder. She’s always pressing them against your back, your arms, in your face. Sometimes you think she does it on purpose. Perhaps you hope she does.
Lewd sounds are being wrung out by your mouth, which has become an expert in her body by now: squelches, slurrrrps, and the sticking of skin with the messiness of her wetness spreading itself all over your cheeks, chin, her inner thighs.
You look at the alarm clock on her bedside table.
4 minutes.
How time flies when you’re having fun.
“Alright, Sho. You’re gonna need to cum for me,” you tell her, slapping the side of her tit to watch it bounce. She gasps.
Since she hasn’t woken up yet, her bladder’s probably full. And everyone knows the best time to touch yourself is when you need to pee. She’s not an exception.
You press a hand down on her lower belly as you wrap your swollen lips around her clit. At the same time that you apply pressure, you suuuuckkk! it hard.
Roommate!Shoko’s hips jerk. They threaten to pull away from you. You hold her body down, mercilessly devouring her cunt with increasing hunger. The pulsing of her clit and the clenching of her insides have intensified. She’s close. Really close.
“N-no,” she breathes out. “Nghhh, gonna -hah- gonna…”
She’s throwing her head side to side, eyes shut tight, and low moans turning into louder groans and whines.
Finally, her body tenses.
A ferocious climax tears right through her.
You hold her firmly as she cums, lapping incessantly at the juices overflowing, threatening to stain her bedsheets. Your hips hump the bed, overwhelmed by the tightness of her thighs which clamp around your bed, trying to suffocate you, undecided between wanting to push you away or pull you in.
There’s barely any stimulation. It’s frustrating. Infuriating. Maddening. Maybe you should try scissoring with her. Would she mind?
The clock reads that there’s only a minute to spare. Sloppy work.
Knowing that any second now, she’ll be waking up, you give her quick licks around to clean her up. Then you move her panties back into place. Right as the alarm goes off, you’re standing to your feet.
Roommate!Shoko’s eyes flutter open.
She grips a breast in one hand and her pussy with the other, wanting to calm the aches you’re sure as she’s still feeling the tremors of pleasure in her system.
“Morning, Sho.”
Her eyes dart to you. She lets her body go. If she’s embarrassed she’s been caught grinding into the heel of her palm, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she gives you a lazy smile. “Mmm, hi, gorgeous. You know how I love when you’re the first thing I see in the mornings.”
Even freshly woken up, she’s a flirt.
Taking her hand, you pull her to a sitting position. She runs a hand through her hair and exhales. “Man, whatever you did, you did really well. I feel so light. Mm, my pussy’s tingling.”
“We don’t talk about it, remember?”
Roommate!Shoko bites her lip, and, with a smirk, raises her arms in surrender. “Of course. My bad.”
Her hands grip your hips. You find your body being used as leverage so that she can get to her feet. You’re chest to chest now. Her hard nipples scrape yours. You fight the urge to moan right in her face. Pelvis to pelvis too; you feel the heat of her pussy through your shorts. You wonder if she feels yours.
Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, she purrs, “You always take such good care of me, don’t you, roomie?”
“Anything to afford rent,” you say.
With a yawn, she side steps you to head to her en-suite bathroom. “Don’t I know it? Well, I appreciate you coming into my room everyday to make sure I wake up to my alarm. You go above and beyond. You’re the best. I love you, babe.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You fall to her bed. Partly because your knees are weak, because your pussy’s still throbbing and you need some friction, and partly to hide the wet spot that’s formed on her sheet.
At the doorway, she pauses.
Turning her head to look at you, she gives a wry smile. That’s all the warning you get before she’s shrugging her shirt and panties off. You get an eyeful of pale skin and curves you want to take a bite of.
“Shoko!”
Roommate!Shoko looks at you with innocent, bambi eyes. “What’s wrong? We’re both girls.”
“It doesn’t matter,” you splutter, looking away even though you really want to look. And occasionally looking back, as though you can’t help it. “Where are your manners?”
The girl’s shameless.
Truly, utterly shameless.
A normal person would be ashamed that they have to be eaten out by their roommate to wake up. A normal person wouldn’t be undressing right in front of their roommate. But then again, a normal person wouldn’t be eating their roommate out for money either.
She rolls her eyes. “My manners?” she repeats. “Where are yours?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Roommate!Shoko runs a finger across her lips and says, “Got a little something there.”
Face flushing, you hurriedly wipe away her juices from your lips and chin. Oh god, that is humiliating. How long had that been there? Why didn’t she say anything sooner?
She laughs. “You know, you’re allowed to try different methods to wake me up, right?”
“Oh.” A twinge of disappointment hits you. Frowning a little, you ask, “You want me to go back to wafting smelling salts under your nose? That did seem to work for a little bit.”
Roommate!Shoko shakes her head. “No, babes, I’m saying you should let me have something sweet once in a while. Switch it up here and there, y’know? Have some fun for yourself.” With a grin that’s all sorts of bad for your heart rate, she adds, “I don’t bite.”
Sukuna doesn’t even kick his shoes off. He’s wrecked after three brutal hours of squats, deadlifts, and whatever else he’s been forcing down his throat to feed this insane bulk. He just drops onto the couch like a goddamn mountain giving up. The frame creaks loud under all that new mass. Tank top soaked black with sweat and clinging to every thick slab of his chest. Sweat dripping down the column of his neck. Those gray sweats stretched in an obscene way over thighs that have doubled in size, heavy and veined and still pumped from the session. Shoulders so wide they swallow half the damn couch. Traps eating his neck. Quads bulging so thick the cushions sink deep beneath him.
He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.
“Fuck… long day, brat. Don’t start with the attitude.”
But you’re already staring, eyes glued to him like you physically can’t look away. Your mouth goes dry. Heat coils tight and insistent low in your belly.
God, when did he get this big?
The thought hits you like a slap. You’ve seen him every day, felt him every night, but somehow you never really clocked it—the way the bulk has crept up on him over the last few months, slow and relentless. Every extra pound of muscle he’s shoved down his throat has turned him into this solid, immovable wall of a man. And now, sprawled out like this, exhausted and heavy, chest still rising and falling in deep pulls, radiating that sharp, clean post-gym heat… it’s like seeing him for the first time. The sheer size of him hits different. Shoulders swallowing half the couch. Thighs spread so wide they force space around him. Everything about him feels bigger, denser, more.
It short circuits your brain completely.
You move before the thought even finishes forming.
You slide between his spread thighs, knees sinking into the carpet, hands gliding up the thick, sweat-hot muscle under the gray fabric. The density under your palms makes your breath hitch. Solid, unyielding, like touching warm stone carved into the shape of a man.
Sukuna’s eyes crack open slowly, heavy-lidded. One dark brow lifts.
“Brat?”
“I want it,” you breathe against his thigh, fingers already hooking into the waistband of his sweats and tugging downward. “Please… let me suck you off. You look so fucking big right now”
Sukuna lets out a low, rough sound, half laugh, half groan, the exhaustion in it doing nothing to dull the filthy edge. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice gravelly and wrecked. “So fucking greedy you can’t even let me breathe first.”
His fingers slide into your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, grounding, while you yank the fabric down far enough. His cock springs free—thick, heavy, flushed dark, already half-hard and twitching from the lingering pump. You make a soft, desperate noise in your throat and lean in, lips parting wide to take the head, tongue swirling slow and wet.
Even if the gym didn’t change this part of him, the sheer size of everything else, the wide shoulders, the dense slabs of muscle, the way those tree-trunk thighs tense under your palms, makes it feel like too much. You push forward anyway, choking yourself on him, spit slicking your chin as you bob, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper until your nose brushes the soft skin above the base.
Those massive quads flex hard under your hands, still hot and twitching from the workout, pure bulk and power radiating through the fabric you haven’t even fully pulled down.
“Fuck,” Sukuna rasps, head tipping back against the couch, hips giving the tiniest involuntary roll. “That’s it. Suck your man while he’s still pumped and filthy from the gym. Good little thing.”
You lose yourself in it. Messy, eager, throat working around him, drool dripping, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. Until his grip tightens in your hair and his patience finally cracks.
Two big hands grip your ass and haul you up in one smooth motion.
Right there on the same couch he just sank into, he flips you onto your back, folds you in half so fast your knees press tight to your shoulders in a deep, ruthless mating press. The cushions dip hard under the combined weight, your hips right on the edge, legs splayed wide, pussy completely bare and dripping for him.
He lines up and pushes in slow. One long, unrelenting slide that doesn’t stop until he’s buried balls-deep.
The stretch feels different now, heavier, fuller. All that new bulk presses down on you like a living wall: thick, sweat-slick pecs crushing against your tits, carved abs grinding slow and hard into your stomach, those massive thighs locking your legs back so tight you can’t twitch. His quads are so huge they swallow the backs of your thighs completely, pinning you open and helpless right there on the worn cushions.
“Fuck,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked as he bottoms out. “Still so goddamn tight even under all this extra mass. Look at you taking every pound I’ve put on.”
He doesn’t ease up. He just fucks. Deep, heavy strokes that drive home with the full weight of his frame behind every thrust. The couch groans and creaks beneath you both. Wet slaps fill the room, skin on skin, relentless. Sweat rolls from his neck and drips onto your cheek, your collarbone. One hand clamps around the back of your knee, keeping you folded. The other slides up to wrap loosely around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, grounding, letting him lever even deeper.
“You feel that?” he pants, hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles so every new inch of bulk presses you deeper into the cushions. “ Gonna keep you folded exactly like this every damn day after the gym. Right here on this couch until your pussy remembers exactly how big I’ve gotten.”
You’re shaking, nails scraping uselessly down the hard planes of his back, legs trembling in his unyielding grip. The constant grind of his pelvis against your clit is merciless. His sheer size pins you flat, chest crushing yours, breath stolen with every roll of his hips until there’s nothing left but the wet heat and the overwhelming pressure of him.
“Come on,” he growls, voice rough and frayed at the edges even as exhaustion bleeds through. His pace turns brutal, hips snapping forward so hard the couch frame protests with every thrust. “Come for me, brat. Show me how much you love your man getting big.”
You break with a shattered cry, walls fluttering and clamping down around him so tight his rhythm falters for a second. A low, guttural groan rips out of him as he follows—hot, thick spurts flooding you deep, so much it spills out around his cock even while he stays buried inside, still twitching under the weight of his own bulk.
He doesn’t pull out.
He just stays there, folded over you, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, heavy chest rising and falling against your own. A living wall of muscle keeping you pinned to the ruined cushions.
After a long, hazy moment he leans down and presses a slow, filthy kiss to your mouth, tongue lazy and claiming. Then he rolls his hips once—just once—enough to drag a broken whimper out of you.
“Shower,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked and low. “Then round two.”
a/n: idk if u can tell but i'm gonna be posting about him A LOT
you were a virgin. well, for a reason. it was rooted in puritan traditions as well as an idealistic personal choice of wanting your first to be with someone you marry.
“this isn’t sex. so don’t worry” satoru flashed a puerile smile, showcasing his milk white canine teeth which dug in to his spit glossed lips.
his cock, colored in a deeper shade of wisteria with protruding veins woven around, slid on the thin layer of your dampened panties. your thighs were parted with his obstinate hands, both knees pressed right on the mattress; having you in full view.
your cotton panties, were too wet, clinging on to you—even more so, due to him caressing and pressing it on your skin with the help of his shaft to vividly showcase the lining of your pussy.
“relax cutie, this is within the rules” albeit, it actually wasn’t.
clearly not at all. but all you could do was let out indecent whimpers of bittersweet pleasure. satoru’s idea of celibacy was simple. anything but the intercourse—which was totally wrong but oh well. “come on, baby. don’t be shy”. his cheeky cadence trapped you in a profane dichotomy; left you teetering between a rebuke or an allowing of him to continue his orgasmic torture.
“’toru, mhm, n–no..” puny protests scrambled from your mouth earning a teasing chuckle from him. “haah—please” but it all simply met with complete disregard.
satoru’s bulky tip, a muted smudge of a pastel pink, was already salivating. a string of thick pre-cum on his slit, dispersed itself on the wetness of your panties. “hm, you sure say no but you are dripping for me” he uttered through clenched teeth, rubbing the underside of his length on to your clothed folds. “yeah, feel this huh?”.
a hedonistic smiled etched on to his porcelain face, the corner of his lips formed a torpid crescent. mischievously, his pale fingers guided himself in between your folds, his dick grinding itself between your puffed labia. “fuck, you seriously do grip like a damn virgin”.
he squeezed the bulbous head of his cock, his speed increasing with needy pantings. sweat beads laid artistry of webs on his forehead, temple and neck. his pearl luminescent face was flush with a spread of crimson from pure need and want.
his eyes had drooped, jaw tightened as he stretched the hem of your panties upwards till your naval. the movement caused the fabric to thin out—you could feel him. clearly. tangible even with the barrier of your soaked panties.
you let out a visceral moan when his tip nudged your clit with a soft, slow kiss. his cockhead traced the outline of your cunt, palpating red to stuff you full with his cum soiled dick.
“fuck, wonder what it’d be like inside this tight virgin pussy.” his lilt slowed, sensual as if aching with yearn. his blue-flamed orbs darkened in to a softer grey, half-lid, staring directly at you. “you ever wonder that, sweetie? this huuuge dick slowly filling you up, right inside this sweet little spot. would go all the way in yeah. mhm… ever think of so?”
“thinking about me bottoming out. you know what that is baby? every inch of me inside of you. inside your wet cunt. hmm, takin’ your virginity, corruptin’ every bit of your innocence.”
and there it was. with a few more incessant rubs against your outline, he spurted out thick loads of pasty-like cum on to you. his hand made sure milk all of it out, whorishly rubbing the cream all over your covered hole, giving your wet pussy a few slaps. “see, kept my word. didn’t i? no sex” an audacious statement formed with a complacent grin.
this wasn’t supposed to be.
the deal was simply to see what a penis looked like. not to have your best friend fuck you through your panties.
heavily inspired by a porn vid i saw ages ago on a sketchy website but oh boy—pantyfucking is so underrated
the first mistake was that the dorm room door wasn’t locked. the second mistake was assuming anyone would ever see 𝓨𝓾𝓳𝓲 𝓘𝓽𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓲 like this.
to the world, especially to people like nobara and gojo, yuji was sunshine incarnate. a sweet golden retriever with fists. he was so earnest and loud. the type of person who blushes at dirty jokes and apologizes more than finding excuses.
right now he was nothing like that.
you were beneath him, pressed into the mattress of his bed. his large frame loomed over you while his cock stretched your pussy wide open. his thrusts were unrelenting and unforgiving. you couldn’t think. you could barely breathe, also because his large hand was wrapped around your throat - tight enough to remind you who was in charge.
your pulse fluttered under his palm as you gasped his name. his warm eyes had turned dark with intent as he fucked you into submission.
“eyes on me,” he ordered.
you knew when he used that voice that he meant business. so, you obeyed. as a reward his thumb shifted to your windpipe, and applied pressure. heat coiled low in your stomach at how effortlessly he controlled the pace, the rhythm, even your breathing.
you were so close, and then— the door swung open.
“yuji, have you heard—”
you didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was. the sheer stunned vacuum of energy gave it away. yuji didn’t move, nor flinch, his hand still rested on your throat.
there was a long, fragile pause.
“what. the. hell. am i looking at?” nobara shrieked.
gojo, for once, didn’t have a witty comment ready. his blindfold hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head screamed theatrical disbelief. “yuji?” he drawled slowly. “is that you? or did sukuna finally decide to redecorate your personality?”
you were frozen and expected fully that yuji would scramble off and turn red. he did no such thing. his gaze flicked lazily toward the door, utterly unimpressed. “we’re busy.”
nobara made a strangled noise. “busy?!”
it felt almost grounding when yuji’s fingers tightened around your throat. even now he was protective as his body shielded yours completely.
“close the door,” he added calmly. “and knock next time.”
gojo’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again theatrically. nobara looked like she had just watched a puppy grow fangs. “since when do you—” she started.
yuji didn’t raise his voice when he held their gaze with an intensity that made even gojo pause. “out.”
there was something in his expression that said this wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a performance. this was his space and his girl.
gojo slowly pushed the door closed with one long finger. “fascinating,” he muttered. “our little golden retriever bites.”
the door clicked shut and the silence returned. yuji exhaled softly, gaze immediately returning to you. the hardness in his eyes melted a fraction. but his dominance stayed.
“sorry,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw now. “where were we?” you swallowed as your pussy clenched tightly around his swollen cock. he smiled slightly. “right,” he whispered as he leaned down. “i was about to show you who owns this body.”
Ryomen “beefin’ with my chick while I’m in jail” Sukuna.
A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away
Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.
Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).
He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.
Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.
To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.
You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.
Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.
Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.
He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.
Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.
𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸
Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.
There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.
“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”
Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.
“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”
“Maybe.”
The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.
“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”
A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!
You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”
He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.
Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds.
He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.
He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.
He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?
He’s excited. Very. In many ways.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.
Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.
God, he’s missed you.
“You’re staring.”
“..you’re breathing.”
“Yes, that tends to happen.”
His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.
He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.
Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.
He likes you a lot.
The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.
Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.
His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.
He can’t be bothered to care.
He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.
Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.
“Hold still, woman.”
“I am holding still, you dolt–”
There’s a sharp crack!
All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.
Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.
Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.
“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”
“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”
He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”
Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.
Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.
Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.
It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.
The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.
Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.
Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.
“..say you love me.”
Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.
“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”
His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.
Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.
You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.
“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”
Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.
Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –
“..missed this pussy.”
He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.
But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.
Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.
When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.
Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.
He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.
––––
Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–
.
Where the hell are you?
Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.
Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.
DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–
You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.
“Hi,” you sniff.
His eye twitches.
“Woman.”
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.
Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.
He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.
“You told me you were seeing someone.”
You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”
“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”
“Our apartment.”
“Same difference.”
You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.
Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.
What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.
It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.
And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?
You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.
“There is no guy,” you snort.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”
“You know where the apartment is.”
“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”
You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.
It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.
“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”
He glares down at you. You smile back.
And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.
“You big baby.”
Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.
Still, the itch never leaves.
Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.
“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”
You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.
Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.
But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.
toji is big — in more ways than one. towering height at over six feet, shoulders so broad and wide, and his build is thick. it’s obvious he works out and puts in the time to get himself to look the way he does.
and you, his sweet girlfriend, love it more than anyone else. maybe a little too much, but you’ve never been one to be ashamed of how much you enjoy your boyfriend. which is why toji isn’t surprised that you like his physique so much, if anything it adds one more thing to his list of ways to tease you. it’s a win-win, for both of you.
he loves that you’re proud of him, loud in your ways of showing others—and him, that you’re obsessed with him. he feels a great sense of pride every time you cling to him in public or when he catches glimpses of you texting your friends about how damn hot he is.
but what he loves the most is when you’re under him, pupils dilated. if you look close enough, he can see them contorted into heart shapes, all the more proving how much you love the position he puts you in: encaged under his big frame, like he’s protecting you from the world.
you’re looking down, eyes set on the tip of his cock teasing your slit, promising you things that make your head light from all the nasty thoughts racing through it. just like the rest of him, his cock is thick. it stretches you out in ways your fingers could never comprehend, and it’s more times than not where you go dumb on it. toji sees the way you’re focused on his cock, a smirk forming on his face.
he grabs you by the chin and makes you look at him, planting a kiss on your cheek. “ready, doll?” he asks, earning an eager and desperate nod from you. he smiles softly, teasing your clit with the head of his cock before slowly putting it in.
“f-fuck..” you hiss. although you’ve been together for years at this point, taken his dick more times than you could count, it seems like he grows every time. you could never get used to it, and honestly? that’s probably one of the best parts.
toji hums, watching the way your mouth drops in awe, eyebrows furrowing and eyes closing as the stretch burns you, in a good way. he loves this part, watching you slowly take him in.
“god—fuck… ‘ji, i can’t,” you whine, shaking your head. he smirks, feeling the way you clamp around him, knowing that you’re exactly where you want to be. he doesn’t respond to you, only allowing you to mumble on about how big he is like you do every time. “so fucking big, so big,” your hands fly to his shoulders, nails gripping onto them as you spread your legs wider, hoping to feel more of him.
“you’re my good girl, right?” toji stops, cock halfway in. you get wetter the more of him he puts in, cunt starting to soak him. you nod, “then take it. it’s okay,” he says softly, resuming. you cry, shaking your head as it becomes too much.
“fuck, no—i can’t!” you’re desperate, and toji starts to become more feral as he feels you clenching around him nonstop. “i’m cumming—fuck i’m cumming!”
and you do, all over him, while he’s not even all the way in.
fratboy satoru gojo is a sore loser for your pūssy ; 18+
“please, baby, just let me” satoru lamentably pleaded, desperation clung on to his tenor. his feverish cheeks, tinged a delicate crimson on the snowy skin, rested itself on the plumpness of your bare thighs, scorching his golden mark on it. his reprehensible whimpers of agony and intense need was narrowing all the routes of your five senses. “please– i’ll be good, just one taste.”
if his fraternity brothers found out, that their frat’s vice president was ignominiously reduced on to his knees, all because he wanted to have a taste of his girl’s raw cunt— then there would’ve been a hellish discourse upon the matter.
satoru gojo, who would commence parties of bright lights and foreign liquors. satoru gojo who would gulp down burns through his throat too easily, claiming ‘light work, no reaction’ even after seven shots of tequila. satoru gojo who called girls by their wrong names after waking up naked next to their shy faces, breaking their golden hopeful hearts so cruelly— now, was on his knees, in front of the campus’ shy girl, who was just as cruel as he was.
your legs were impeccably open, wide and candid, panties down to the ankle which satoru had been merely allowed to discard. the sight of your tempting pussy had satoru letting out a pathetic moan already as he kneaded himself through his grey sweats. he was so needy. so damn pathetic.
just to trace your glistening folds with the tip of his brute tongue. just to spittle and rub your clit bud by skillfully flattening of his tongue. simply just to eat you out, incessantly and ardently.
just for a lick, a taste of your juices.
“baby, please, please. let me. just a taste. i promise, i’ll be good. i’ll be so good to you” his begging fell to deaf ears. you had slipped on your panties, back into position, shielding your sweet glory away from him.
“then, now, do you believe me that i wasn’t with sukuna last night?” you batted your lustrous eyelashes, a sweet smile conquering your face. it was a lie, you were with sukuna last night.
satoru had been questioning you on it relentlessly, suspicious, but now— “yes, yes, yeah baby. i, shit, sorry. i’m such a dumbfuck for not trustin’ ya. of course i believe ya, doll”.
honestly, he had it all planned. like always.
you were supposed to be just another girl who he shared white sheets with. just another girl who would moan his name while he mumbled a made up one for you. just another girl for him to smile at, fuck once and play with but instead, he was the one getting played. by you. the shy, quiet girl.
the shy girl whose weeping friends had slept with satoru, and deliriously wanted him to suffer for breaking their lovelorn hearts. the shy girl who had taken a grievous vow to break, the egocentric frat king, satoru’s heart.
the campus’ shy girl was truly cruel. worse than satoru. because she was the only one to beat him at his own game.
saw this ss on insta and immediately thought of (frat) gojo lol
Boyfriend!Sukuna had some odd habits, you were bound to find out about them after moving in together. They’re not deal breakers, of course, just… odd.
To be completely honest, you don’t even notice them at first. A lot of the times, they’re things you don’t remember until hours, or even days later. But there was one thing that made you stop in your tracks, questioning if the sight before you was even real.
What was nice about sharing a home with him was that he clean. Maybe even cleaner than you. Wiping the sink down after using it. Putting things back where they belonged almost mindlessly. If the laundry basket was full, he’d load up the washer without a second thought. No questions asked. No complaints made.
You loved that about him. You also loved watching him at times. It’s been a couple months since you’ve moved in, but watching him act so domestic never fails to move you in a way. There was something so sweet about knowing that making room for you in his life was never a difficult task.
So when you watch him separate the clothing in the basket, loading the colored items first, there’s a subtle smile on your face.
Until you catch him sniffing your panties.
The way he’s so casual with it, too. It makes you think he doesn’t even realize that he’s taking his time to smell them either— lace pressed right up against his nostrils.
You really shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always been kinda nasty like that. Hell, he told you to spit in his mouth the other day when you were riding him on the couch.
“What are you doing?” you ask, more perplexed than anything.
“What?” He stills, your black lace panties still held against his skin. At first, he looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But being the man he is, he smiles, and turns it around on you. “Is there something wrong with sniffin’ my girls panties now?”
“What? No? I never said that,” you say, erupting into laughter.
“You didn’t have to. Look at the face you’re making right now, you’re looking at me like I’m some fuckin’ freak,” he argues, feigning offense with the little pout slowly growing on his face.
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, right,” he grumbles, tossing the thin material into the washer. "You should be thanking me for washing your clothes right now, not kink shaming me for something everyone does."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone," he continues to double down. "Unless you're some weirdo that doesn't like the way your girl smells."
"I see," you continue to fight a smile. "Glad to know you're enjoying yourself right now."
"I am," he scoffs, plucking another pair from the pile, enoying the way your face drops from what he says next. "Now fuck off— it's not fun when you're around and judging me for something I caught you doing last week. Yeah. You're not slick, sweetheart— get your filthy ass the fuck out of here."
Boyfriend!Sukuna had some odd habits, you were bound to find out about them after moving in together. They’re not deal breakers, of course, just… odd.
To be completely honest, you don’t even notice them at first. A lot of the times, they’re things you don’t remember until hours, or even days later. But there was one thing that made you stop in your tracks, questioning if the sight before you was even real.
What was nice about sharing a home with him was that he clean. Maybe even cleaner than you. Wiping the sink down after using it. Putting things back where they belonged almost mindlessly. If the laundry basket was full, he’d load up the washer without a second thought. No questions asked. No complaints made.
You loved that about him. You also loved watching him at times. It’s been a couple months since you’ve moved in, but watching him act so domestic never fails to move you in a way. There was something so sweet about knowing that making room for you in his life was never a difficult task.
So when you watch him separate the clothing in the basket, loading the colored items first, there’s a subtle smile on your face.
Until you catch him sniffing your panties.
The way he’s so casual with it, too. It makes you think he doesn’t even realize that he’s taking his time to smell them either— lace pressed right up against his nostrils.
You really shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always been kinda nasty like that. Hell, he told you to spit in his mouth the other day when you were riding him on the couch.
“What are you doing?” you ask, more perplexed than anything.
“What?” He stills, your black lace panties still held against his skin. At first, he looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But being the man he is, he smiles, and turns it around on you. “Is there something wrong with sniffin’ my girls panties now?”
“What? No? I never said that,” you say, erupting into laughter.
“You didn’t have to. Look at the face you’re making right now, you’re looking at me like I’m some fuckin’ freak,” he argues, feigning offense with the little pout slowly growing on his face.
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, right,” he grumbles, tossing the thin material into the washer. "You should be thanking me for washing your clothes right now, not kink shaming me for something everyone does."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone," he continues to double down. "Unless you're some weirdo that doesn't like the way your girl smells."
"I see," you continue to fight a smile. "Glad to know you're enjoying yourself right now."
"I am," he scoffs, plucking another pair from the pile, enoying the way your face drops from what he says next. "Now fuck off— it's not fun when you're around and judging me for something I caught you doing last week. Yeah. You're not slick, sweetheart— get your filthy ass the fuck out of here."
When John and his wife decided to get married, he didnt have the rank or the money that he had now. He was a private, making shit pay and she worked at a little book store raking in just enough to cover the bus fee it took her to get there.
So when it was time to get her a dress, they both knew that the bridal shops were not an option. But he still took her, watched her face with each one that she put on. Each one they couldn't afford. And then they got to a certain dress.
She stepped out and John's jaw dropped, she looked stunning. He watched her face split into a beautiful smile when she saw herself. Something that looked like the sun after a tornado, or the smoke clearing after a firefight. It made his stomach do something funny.
"This is made by a local designer." The sales lady says as she tugs at the silk and fixes the veil they've put on her head. "£1,200.00 is what we're asking. Which is really a steal for a piece like this." He watched her face fall and he knew he had to get the money.
"I'll get the dress." He promises her when they get back into the car. She looks over with a soft, almost broken look.
"No, it's okay." She insists with a smile, but it doesnt quite reach her eyes like when she had on the dress. "I can get one from the thrift." God, she was so sweet, too sweet sometimes for her own good.
John works his ass into the dirt, taking risky missions and working long hours. Most days he didnt even see her unless it was when he was crawling into bed and she's already asleep. Every long night, every bruise, scrape and scar put him closer to that fucking dress and that smile.
---
"Is is a puppy?" She asked when he handed her the flat white box.
"If it's been ran over."
"Fair point." She murmurs as she lifts the lid and stares at the dress neatly tucked away in it. He can see it, the shock, the almost guilt realizing why he's been away so much. Her throat bobs as tears swell in her lash line and he immediately wraps his arms around her smushing the dress between them.
"Why are you crying, lovie?" He murmurs into the crown of her hair as he rubs at her back feeling the shudders in her shoulders. It takes her a minute to answer.
"You took all those extra hours for me. Got shot at for me. I feel like I don't deserve it." She blubbers into his chest. He tuts softly against her hair.
"Getting shot at is my job." He whispers low and soft "And you have never looked more beautiful than you did in that dress, how could I not get it for you?
"But John-" She insists
"Don't but John me, I'd steal the fucking Mona Lisa if you asked me too." He chuckles softly "Now go try it on." He pushes her away gently with a swat at her ass.
