୧ ‧₊˚ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 and his poor... exhausted manager ⋅ ✰
the worst part about being satoru gojo’s PR manager isn’t the scandals. it’s the fact he knows how to use his tongue
MDNI ✰ oral (fem receiving) ✰ a lot of pussy eating in here... ✰
art creds to @/narutoss.ramen. all dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/pixopix
2.1k words
You sighed deeply as you scrolled through the latest disaster on your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face in the back of the sleek black SUV. Another night, another scandal. As his personal PR manager for the past two years, you’d become an expert at spinning chaos into manageable headlines. But tonight’s mess was particularly sticky.
The tabloids were exploding with photos of Gojo at an exclusive club in Tokyo, shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by three models and what looked suspiciously like cocaine on a glass table. The headlines screamed: Gojo Satoru’s Wild Night: Actor or Party Demon?
Your fingers flew across the keyboard, drafting the official statement you’d already sent to the press an hour ago: “Mr. Gojo was attending a private charity event and the images have been taken out of context. He remains committed to his fans and upcoming film projects.”
You rubbed your temples. Gojo had more scandals than some celebrities had followers. Drunken karaoke brawls, leaked videos of him making out with co-stars, rumors of underground fight clubs where he used his “sorcerer” persona from his most recent series for show, and the endless parade of women. Yet the public loved him. The blue-eyed menace was box office gold, and his supernatural charm made him untouchable.
The car door opened. Gojo slid in beside you, all long limbs and effortless arrogance. His white hair was messy, those striking blue eyes hidden behind his usual black sunglasses. He flashed that infuriating grin.
“Missed me, princess?” he drawled, leaning back against the leather seat.
“You’re late,” you said flatly, not looking up from your tablet. “And you smell like vodka and that strong ass cologne.”
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s my signature scent. Want a closer whiff?”
You ignored the flutter in your stomach. This was the game you two played. He caused fires. You put them out. And somehow, over time, the tension between you had grown thicker than the NDA you made every woman he slept with sign.
“Three models, Satoru? Really? The video is trending. I had to call in every favor with the tabloids to kill the worst angles.”
He shrugged, stretching his long legs until his thigh pressed against yours. “They were just fans. Harmless fun.”
“Harmless doesn’t get you trending for all the wrong reasons.” You finally met his gaze—or what you could see of it. “This is the fourth scandal this month. I’m running out of ways to make you look like a misunderstood genius instead of a chaotic himbo.”
Gojo’s grin widened. He reached over and plucked the tablet from your hands, setting it aside. “You’re so good at your job, though. That’s why I keep you around.”
His voice dropped, playful but edged with something darker. Heat. “And because I like rewarding my best girl.”
Your breath caught. This wasn’t new. After particularly brutal clean-ups, Gojo had a habit of “thanking” you in ways that blurred every professional line. You told yourself it was just stress relief. A transaction. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his chaotic world that actually mattered—made it dangerous.
The driver raised the partition without being asked.
Gojo’s hand slid onto your knee, long fingers tracing slow circles. “C’mere. Let me show my appreciation.”
“Backseat of a car, Satoru?” you muttered, but your body was already betraying you, thighs pressing together. "Really?"
“Private enough.” He tugged you onto his lap with that effortless strength, your pencil skirt riding up as you straddled him. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the fabric. “You’ve been working so hard for me. Cleaning up my messes. Dealing with my shit. Don’t you deserve a treat?”
You shivered as he pushed his sunglasses up, revealing those glowing blue eyes.
His mouth found your neck first, hot and teasing, sucking lightly just below your ear while he loosened your blouse. “Let me eat that pretty pussy, baby. Been thinking about it since the club. Nothing tastes better after a long night of damage control.”
You gasped as he lifted you, maneuvering you until your back was against the opposite seat and he was on his knees between your legs. The man who commanded screens and sold out arenas was kneeling for you. Gojo pushed your skirt higher, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs with deliberate slowness.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Already wet for me. My perfect little manager.”
He spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely in the dim light of the car. His breath ghosted over your core, making you twitch. Then his tongue—hot, wet, and devastating—dragged a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You moaned, hand flying to his white hair. Gojo hummed in satisfaction, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, like cleaning up his scandals was worth every second of this reward. His tongue circled your clit with precision, then dipped lower, pushing inside you teasingly before returning to suck gently on that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Satoru—” you whimpered, hips rolling against his face.
He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devoured you. The obscene sounds filled the car: wet slurps, your desperate gasps, his low groans of approval.”
“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your folds, lips shiny with your arousal. “Better than any model. Sweeter than revenge. This is what I want after every fuck-up. Your legs around my head while I make you cum.”
Two long fingers slid inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking harder while his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm. The coil in your belly tightened fast.
You came with a cry, thighs trembling around his ears as pleasure crashed through you. Gojo didn’t stop, licking you through it, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and oversensitive.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was soaked and smug. “That’s one. Think you can handle more before we get to the hotel?”
The pattern repeated over the next few weeks, each scandal bigger than the last.
First came the leaked audio of Gojo trash-talking a rival actor during a press junket. You spent three days negotiating with studios and issuing apologies. That night, in his penthouse overlooking Tokyo, he laid you out on his massive bed and spent nearly an hour between your thighs. He edged you mercilessly—long, slow licks followed by fast flicks of his tongue—until you were begging. When you finally came, he kept going, making you squirt for the first time while laughing softly against your pussy.
“You’re so good at making me look innocent,” he praised, chin glistening. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”
Then there was the nightclub fight video. Gojo had “accidentally” flipped a table on some guy who’d gotten handsy with one of his female co-stars. The internet called it assault. You called it a PR nightmare. After three all-nighters and a carefully crafted statement about “self-defense,” Gojo rewarded you in his private jet on the way to a premiere.
He had you bent over the leather couch, skirt flipped up, face buried between your cheeks from behind. His tongue fucked into you while his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles. The altitude and the thrill of being so high up made everything more intense. You came twice before landing, legs shaking so badly he had to carry you off the plane.
Each time, the rewards grew more intense. Gojo was insatiable when it came to you. He loved how composed you were in public—cool, professional, the one who tamed his chaos—and how completely you fell apart for him in private.
One particularly bad week culminated in a leaked sex tape rumor (thankfully fake, but the damage was done). You worked miracles to kill the story. That evening, Gojo didn’t even wait for the car to leave the underground garage of his building.
He dropped to his knees right there, pushed you against the hood of his expensive car, and ate you out like a man starved. Cars drove past on the street level above, but down here it was just the two of you. His tongue was merciless, fingers deep inside you, curling and scissoring while he sucked your clit until you saw white. You came so hard you nearly slid off the hood. He caught you, laughing that rich, cocky laugh.
“My perfect girl,” he whispered, kissing your inner thighs. “I make the messes. You clean them. And I make you scream.”
Months passed. The dynamic deepened.
You stopped pretending it was just rewards. Gojo started showing up at your apartment unannounced, glasses off, eyes soft in a way the public never saw. He’d pull you into his lap on the couch, not always for sex. Sometimes just to talk—about the pressure of being watched all of the time, the loneliness of fame, how your steady presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But the sex... the sex was still his favorite way to say thank you.
One night after he’d been caught leaving a love hotel with a famous idol (another fabricated story you’d dismantled), he took you to his bedroom and spent the entire night worshipping you. No rushing. He stripped you slowly, kissing every inch of skin until he reached your core. Then he settled in for a long session.
Gojo’s tongue traced every fold, savoring you. He alternated between gentle licks and harsh sucks, fingers pumping deep while he whispered filthy praise.
“Love how you get so wet for me. Love knowing all those scandals are worth it because I get to bury my face in this sweet pussy afterward. You own me, you know that? The world thinks I’m theirs, but this—” he licked a broad stripe up your center, “—this is mine.”
You came three times that night. Once on his tongue, once on his fingers while he sucked your clit, and once riding his face as he lay back and let you use him. By the end, you were a trembling, blissed-out mess, and Gojo looked happier than he did after any movie premiere.
The latest scandal was the worst yet.
A video surfaced of Gojo in a very compromising position at an afterparty—him, two women, and enough evidence to suggest an orgy. The internet was in meltdown. Sponsors were threatening to pull out. Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
You worked for 48 hours straight, barely sleeping. When you finally dragged yourself to his penthouse to deliver the good news (crisis mostly averted), Gojo was waiting.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you inside, locked the door, and dropped to his knees in the foyer.
“No more work tonight,” he said, voice rough. He pushed your legs apart right there against the wall, yanked your panties aside, and dove in.
His mouth was urgent, almost desperate. Tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit, hands gripping your ass to pull you harder against his face. He moaned like he was the one receiving pleasure, the vibrations making your knees buckle.
You clutched his hair, moaning his name as he devoured you. This wasn’t just a reward anymore. This was need. Hunger. Possession.
He made you cum twice standing up, then carried you to the bedroom and did it again with you on his face. By the time he finally let you rest, your voice was hoarse and your thighs were sticky with his saliva and your releases.
Gojo pulled you against his chest afterward, fingers gently stroking your back.
“I know I’m a handful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’d burn every scandal into existence if it meant you’d keep letting me do this.”
You laughed weakly, exhausted but content. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. But I’m yours, baby.”
In the quiet afterglow, with the city lights twinkling outside, you realized something. You didn’t just clean up his messes anymore.
You were part of them. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Deep in an overgrown valley, far from human stupidity and sorcerer politics, you kept a tiny shrine. Just moss-coated stone, swaying lilies on the lake, and enough silence to drown an entire war. Peace. Blessed, beautiful peace.
Or…it was peace.
Until certain men started treating your sanctuary like it was some kind of cursed Airbnb.
Which is exactly why you opened your eyes the night someone bled on your doorstep.
You didn’t even bother rising at first, you just sensed it—an intruder crouched at the red torii, aura fractured, heartbeat too calm for someone dying. Only one idiot you knew perfectly matched that contradiction.
“Dabura Karaba,” you sighed, still lying sideways on your tatami. “If you die on my floor, I’ll throw you into the lake myself.”
A low voice answered, raspy with pain: “…Good evening to you too.”
You finally sat up, sliding the shoji open with a flick of your finger. Moonlight spilled over him—blood streaked down his side, his expression painfully neutral, as if apologizing for inconveniencing your night.
He bowed slightly. The bow you hated, because it always meant he was hurt. “May I…come in?”
“Only because you ask nicely,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him in by force anyway. Warm blood hit your wrist. “What happened?”
He blinked, slow. “I was ambushed.”
“By?”
“Someone loud. And annoying.” A beat. “…Your favorite type, apparently.”
You shot him a flat look. His lips barely twitched.
You patched him up with the same ease you would arrange flowers. He watched you with that annoyingly calm gaze the whole time, silent but overflowing with unspoken thanks.
When you wiped the last smear of blood from his jaw, he murmured, “I knew you were hiding out here. I wasn’t sure you’d let me in again.”
You shrugged. “I like quiet, not solitude. And you don’t disturb anything.”
A breath of something warm passed between you.
Which, naturally, was the exact moment the air cracked open outside.
Footsteps. Heavy, arrogant, familiar. Then a scoff.
“Oh, wonderful.” you muttered. “The universe sends me a migraine.”
Dabura closed his eyes knowingly. “You really should put up a boundary.”
“I did. He bites through them.”
The door slid open without permission.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a storm that learned how to smirk. Muscles cut from violence, eyes gleaming with that feral delight he only got when inconveniencing you personally.
“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes landing on Dabura slumped by your knee. “I leave you alone for a century and you start collecting strays.”
Your jaw clenched. “Get off my property.”
Sukuna stepped inside anyway, the tatami whining under his weight. His gaze dropped to Dabura’s bandaged ribs. “Oh? You’re bleeding on her floor? How brave.” He clicked his tongue. “She hates that.”
“I cleaned it,” Dabura said calmly, not bothering to look up.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly. Then laughed. “Shit, you’re so boring. How does she tolerate you?”
You stood up, palm flat on Sukuna’s chest, pushing him back even though your strength barely mattered. “Why are you here?”
He leaned into your touch shamelessly. “To pay a visit.”
“No.”
“To bother you.”
“No.”
His grin sharpened. “…To fuck you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Dabura exhaled through his nose, which for him was the equivalent of a dramatic eye-roll.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked down. “You again. Why are you always here when I want her alone?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Why are you always here when she doesn’t?”
You choked back a laugh. Sukuna did not. “Listen carefully, little stone statue,” Sukuna said, stepping closer. “She and I have unfinished business.”
“She and I,” Dabura replied, just as soft, “have a peaceful house. You’re the disturbance.”
Sukuna froze. His jaw ticked. “No one calls me that.”
“I just did.”
The silence was electric. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Both of you shut up.”
Sukuna clicked his tongue. “He’s getting bolder. Is it because you let him stay here? Hm?” He leaned close to your ear, voice low and wicked. “Or because you let him sleep in that little room near yours?”
Your pulse spiked. Dabura’s eyes sharpened, barely—like a blade unsheathed an inch.
“You’re injured,” he said to Sukuna. “Your right shoulder.”
Sukuna glared at him. “Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m not. I’m stating facts so she doesn’t waste time on you.”
“Oh, look at that,” you muttered, “my two worst decisions talking.”
Sukuna stepped closer, crowding you. “I don’t mind sharing your shrine,” he murmured. “But I won’t be polite about it.”
“You’ve never been polite in your life.”
Dabura rose to his feet despite the pain. “You’re disturbing her peace,” he said.
“And?”
“And she lets me stay because I don’t.” Dabura added.
Sukuna bared his teeth. “Are you implying she prefers you?”
“I’m implying,” Dabura replied, “that she doesn’t prefer noise.”
You burst out laughing before you could stop yourself.
Sukuna snapped his attention to you. “Oh? You’re laughing at him now?”
“No,” you said, wiping your eyes, “I’m laughing because the two of you are ancient terrors of the world and somehow behave like jealous teenagers.”
Sukuna blinked. Dabura looked away, a faint flush coloring his ears.
You stepped between them, hands on both chests—one calm, one heaving with irritation. “Listen carefully,” you said. “I took Dabura in because he needed shelter.”
Your fingers slid up Sukuna’s collarbone. “And you..I tolerate because you’re too stubborn to die.”
Sukuna grinned. Dabura sighed. You continued: “If either of you wants to cause trouble in my shrine, at least do it quietly.”
Sukuna leaned in, breath brushing your lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “I can be very, very quiet when I want to.”
Behind you, Dabura’s dry voice cut in, “That’s a lie.”
You snorted again.
Sukuna’s glare sharpened. “Say that again.”
Dabura looked at him, “You’re loud.”
“LOUD—?!”
You shoved your palm over Sukuna’s mouth. “Enough,” you hissed.
He licked your hand. You jerked it back. “Disgusting.”
“Delicious,” he corrected.
Dabura muttered, “This is exhausting.”
You finally exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Both of you,” you said, “sit down.”
Sukuna smirked. Dabura obeyed immediately.
And you realized—you might actually be in hell.
But tonight?
Tonight the quiet shrine in the middle of nowhere was full of tension, heat, wounded gods, and the exact kind of trouble you secretly lived for.
And peace, unfortunately, would have to wait.
“Come with me,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over Dabura’s wrist. “I’ll clean it fully, sweetheart.”
The word slipped out naturally, warm, familiar, the way you always said it when he looked more hurt than he admitted.
Dabura didn’t even blink. He just nodded, eyes softening like he’d been waiting for you to take charge.
Behind you, from the kitchen, came the unmistakable crunch of bone. You didn’t bother turning. “Sukuna, that was wrapped for a reason.”
A low grunt. “He shouldn’t taste this good if you didn’t want me to eat him.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you muttered, tugging Dabura gently toward the inner room.
“…I’m not—” Another crunch. “Okay, maybe I am.”
Dabura followed quietly, steps steady despite his wounds. He didn’t complain, didn’t posture. He never did. That’s what you liked about him—he let you handle him without ego.
You sat him down on the wooden floor beside your futon, kneeling between his knees as you peeled away the last blood-soaked wrap.
He winced, not dramatically, just a subtle tightening of the jaw.
You looked up at him. “Tell me if it stings.”
“It will,” he said, deadpan. “You never dab anything. You scrub.”
You snorted. “Maybe I enjoy hearing you hiss a little.”
His eyes flicked down to yours. “I know,” he said softly.
Something warm pulled in your chest. Another crunch echoed from the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake,” Sukuna growled. “You’re petting him now? Really?”
“I am treating a wound,” you called back.
“Looks like petting.”
Dabura blinked once, then murmured in the same calm tone he always used when insulting Sukuna, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
A wooden spoon clattered against your counter as Sukuna choked on outrage. “I am not jealous—”
“Shh,” you interrupted, pressing a fresh cloth to Dabura’s side. He sucked in a sharp breath and your hand immediately steadied. “Sorry, babe.” Your thumb brushed slow, soothing circles into his skin. “Almost done.”
He watched you like you were something holy. Something safe.
“It’s fine,” Dabura whispered. “Your hands never hurt.”
Behind you came a disgruntled scoff. “Oh, Come on—”
You held up one finger without looking back. “I swear to the heavens, Sukuna—make one more noise and I’ll kick you into the lake to cool off.”
Silence.
Dabura’s breath eased. He lowered his head slightly, just enough that his forehead hovered inches from yours—asking without asking.
You leaned in and let your foreheads touch, feeling the grounding calm of him seep into you.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I always feel better when you’re the one caring for me.”
Your chest tightened. “Good,” you said softly. “Because you’re staying here until you recover.”
He nodded once. Obedient, trusting, comfortable.
From the kitchen, Sukuna muttered under his breath, “I hate both of you.”
You smiled. Dabura didn’t. But his hand slid over yours, slow and warm and deliberate.
He sat down near the kitchen threshold, water dripping from his hair and tracing the deep lines of markings across his bare chest. The horns framed his face like something born out of old myth—dangerous, regal, and very obviously not intimidated by the King of Curses leaning against your counter.
Sukuna eyed him up and down with an expression halfway between amusement and disgust.
“Horns,” he scoffed. “Really? You like horns now?”
Dabura didn’t even bother lifting his head. “Wow.”
Flat. Perfectly deadpan. An answer meant to irritate Sukuna purely by refusing to react.
You stepped behind Dabura and wrapped a towel over his wet hair, ruffling it with deliberate affection, like handling an oversized, battle-scarred dog who only lets you manhandle him.
“Yeah,” you said lazily, glancing back at Sukuna. “I can hold onto them when I ride him.”
Dabura’s breath hitched but only faintly. His mouth almost twitched upward, that near-smile he never showed anyone except you. He leaned subtly into your hands as you towel-dried his hair, head lowering so you didn’t have to reach.
His hand rose without hesitation, settling warm and confident on your thigh. You didn’t stop him.
Sukuna, however, snapped to attention like someone just spit on his throne. “Tch.”
A sharp, disgusted sound—masking something else entirely.
You rubbed Dabura’s hair one last time, intentionally rough, pushing it back from his forehead just to tease him. He lowered his gaze, lashes half-mast, and squeezed your thigh once—a quiet, controlled acknowledgement of you.
Sukuna’s aura spiked so sharply the air thickened. “You dare to touch her in front of me?” he growled, stepping away from the counter.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t even look at him.
He kept his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing once along your skin like a claim he didn’t need to voice.
You finally turned toward Sukuna, face blank. “…Are you stupid?”
Sukuna’s eyes widened—just a fraction. You had seen that look before: the moment his pride took a direct hit.
A slow, threatening smile curled on his mouth. “Say that again.”
“No,” you said. “You heard me the first time.”
Dabura’s voice slid into the tension, low and quiet, “She is not yours.”
Sukuna snapped his attention back to him instantly. “Then what makes you think she’s yours?”
Dabura finally looked up. Eyes sharp as a blade kept in perfect condition. “…She put her hands on me,” he said, tone even. “You can imitate power, Sukuna. You can’t imitate being chosen.”
Sukuna’s smile vanished.
Your shrine fell silent. You placed your hand over Dabura’s, still on your thigh, and squeezed once.
Sukuna’s breath stuttered. Just enough for you to notice. “Touch her again,” Sukuna murmured, voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “and I’ll remove your arm.”
Dabura didn’t blink. “I believe she would remove yours first.”
You smirked.
Because both of them were right. And neither of them could handle it.
You stood up from beside Dabura, his hand sliding from your thigh as you moved. Sukuna’s eyes followed you like a predator tracking movement, jaw ticking, shoulders tense.
You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him. Then you poked his chest. Hard. “Let’s review,” you said calmly.
“One: you kicked my door in.” Poke. Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched.
“Two: you annoyed me.” Another poke.
His aura flared hot, warning, instinctive but you didn’t stop.
“Three: you mocked the horns I like.” Poke. His lip curled.
“And four,” you stepped even closer, head tilted, “you ate my leftover sorcerer.”
Sukuna sneered. “He was stale.”
“That is NOT the point.”
Sukuna leaned down, eyes narrowing, voice low and sharp as broken bone. “You’re awfully brave today.”
Behind you, Dabura shifted slightly, not threateningly, not impulsively, just ready. Unbothered, observing.
The still water to Sukuna’s wildfire.
You ignored Sukuna’s attempt at intimidation completely.
“So,” you said, poking his chest one last time, “What are you doing here?”
His grin faltered. Not much. Just enough that you caught it. He hated being asked that. Hated needing a reason. Hated that you demanded one.
His fingers curled at his sides. “…Visiting,” he growled.
“Wrong answer.”
A pause. His eyes darkened.
“Checking on you,” he snapped, then immediately scowled as if furious with himself for saying it out loud.
Dabura exhaled through his nose—barely audible, but absolutely judgmental.
Sukuna glared past you at him. “What was that?”
Dabura, perfectly calm, “Nothing.”
You turned your head slightly. “That sounded like something.”
“It wasn’t,” Dabura said flatly.
Which only irritated Sukuna more, because Dabura didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bow his head, didn’t show an ounce of fear.
Sukuna returned his attention to you, shoulders tight, expression somewhere between frustration, jealousy, and refusal.
He stepped closer, chest brushing your fingertip. “You want a reason?” he asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp. “Fine.”
His eyes lingered on your lips. Then your throat. Then the hand you’d just laid on Dabura minutes earlier.
“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’ve been letting someone else get too close.”
Dabura’s gaze sharpened. Yours did too. Sukuna continued, teeth bared in a half-snarl, half-confession he didn’t want to make, “And it pisses me off.”
“Does it?” you smirked, chin tilting up.
His grin widened into something wicked. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping low, “it does.”
“Mhm.”
You dragged your gaze slowly over his features, purposefully unimpressed.
“Too bad you’re not the only big guy with good features.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. Dabura has horns.”
Sukuna’s face contorted. “Yes! He has horns, woman.”
You clicked your tongue. “Yeah. Horns. A third eye. Funny markings. Don’t act like you don’t have four eyes, four arms, and funny markings too.”
Sukuna opened his mouth—then paused. Because you were right. Painfully right.
You stepped even closer, voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “I have a type.”
Behind you, Dabura spoke, tone flat, perfectly timed, as if dissecting the situation with cold logic: “She likes monsters.”
Sukuna snapped toward him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dabura blinked slowly. “I noticed.”
Your smirk deepened.
Sukuna dragged his gaze back to you, jaw flexing, teeth grinding together as he tried to process being compared to someone else.
“You’re choosing him because he has accessories?” Sukuna demanded, gesturing vaguely at Dabura’s horns like they were a personal insult. “This is ridiculous. I’m the stronger one. The more dangerous one. The more—”
You interrupted, tapping his chest twice. “Sukuna. Sweetheart. Strength was never the deciding factor.”
Dabura murmured under his breath: “She likes calm.”
Sukuna snapped, “Be quiet.”
You raised a brow at Sukuna. “…You hear how loud you are right now?”
He froze. Because yes—he was loud. Again. And Dabura wasn’t even sweating.
He sat there shirtless, wet hair dripping, horns gleaming, quietly existing, and somehow that alone was undermining the King of Curses.
You stepped back from Sukuna just enough to look him in the eyes. “You fit my type.” You gestured to Dabura without looking. “So does he.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened into something primal, territorial, and deeply offended. “So I’m competing with that?” he spat.
Dabura tilted his head. “You approached her. Not me.”
Sukuna growled, “I’ll tear your horns off.”
You sighed. “You can eat yourselves alive,” you said, brushing past Sukuna’s shoulder like he wasn’t the most feared curse to ever exist. “I’m going to sleep.”
Silence cracked through the shrine.
Neither man moved.
You didn’t look back—just slid your door open and disappeared into your room, leaving them both standing in your kitchen like two disasters you refused to babysit another second.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Outside? War.
Sukuna blinked once, slowly, like someone had just stolen the punchline he prepared. “She did not just—”
Dabura rose to his feet, water still dripping from his hair, towel sliding off one broad shoulder. “Yes. She did.”
Sukuna turned on him immediately. “Did I ask you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you speaking?”
Dabura looked him dead in the eyes. “Because you won’t stop.”
Sukuna scoffed, stepping closer, aura snarling around him. “You think I’m going to let her walk away after that?”
“You’re not letting her do anything,” Dabura said flatly. “She chose to leave.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched. He glanced toward your closed door—once, fast, like he wanted to tear it off its hinges.
But he didn’t move. Because if he followed you now, after you dismissed him?
That would mean he was obeying you. Instead he growled, “She thinks she can just go to sleep while we’re—”
“Yes,” Dabura said. “Because she’s tired.”
Sukuna whipped around, rage tightening his expression. “Tired of what?”
Dabura blinked slowly, that quiet patience that always made Sukuna look more unhinged by comparison. “Of you.”
Sukuna’s hand twitched—ready to summon claws, tear something, destroy anything that wasn’t you. And still—He didn’t go after you. He didn’t dare. So instead he spat, “Fine. Let her sleep.”
Sukuna glared. After a long moment, he snarled: “She better not be sleeping on you.”
Dabura didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to.
The quiet confidence in his posture said everything.
Sukuna stalked out into your garden like a banished storm, the earth cracking faintly under his steps, the koi scattering as if they knew better than to swim near him when he was sulking.
Good. Let him cool down outside.
Inside your room, the silence felt like warm silk. A soft knock tapped on your doorframe. “…May I come in?”
You didn’t have to sense him. His calm aura was unmistakable.
“Yeah,” you sighed, shifting the blanket up for him. “But don’t bleed on my sheets.”
Dabura stepped in with that effortless, quiet strength of his. He moved with a grace that made the entire shrine feel smaller.
“And don’t poke my eye out either,” you added.
He huffed something that might actually qualify as a laugh.
“I would never.”
You rolled your eyes but lifted the blanket anyway. He slid onto the futon beside you, careful, fitting his body around yours like he’d memorized the shape of sleeping next to you.
He wasn’t warm like Sukuna, who radiated heat like a furnace.
Dabura ran cooler—comfortable and solid.
You melted into him instantly. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you subtly closer. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then you leaned up to kiss his jaw, feeling it tense under your lips.
You felt more than heard the quiet vibration in his chest. Not a purr. Just contentment restrained by dignity.
Outside, a rock cracked under Sukuna’s heel. Dabura’s lips brushed your hair. “He’s so annoyed,” Dabura whispered, amusement feathering his tone.
“Yes he is,” you whispered back, snickering into his collarbone.
A pause. Then, softer: “It’s amusing,” Dabura murmured. “Seeing him so emotional.”
“It is.” You grinned into his skin. “But he’s hot when he’s mad.”
Dabura exhaled silently—the closest he ever got to laughing aloud. “That too,” he whispered.
You both shook with silent laughter and outside in the garden, Sukuna snapped a stalk of bamboo clean in half.
You buried your face more against Dabura’s throat.
He held you tighter, fingers stroking the back of your shoulder with slow, steady movements, completely unbothered by the King of Curses pacing angrily outside your sanctuary like a jealous beast.
The door slammed open so hard the frame protested.
Sukuna filled the entrance like a calamity, jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck, the air around him vibrating with the kind of rage only wounded pride could summon.
“Move over,” he snapped, voice low and dangerous. “I am not doing this.”
You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t.
Instead you snickered and buried your face deeper into Dabura’s neck, teeth grazing his skin in a playful bite meant solely to make the situation worse.
It worked.
Dabura inhaled quietly, muscles shifting under you, the faintest curl of a smile threatening his normally stoic mouth.
Sukuna looked like he might spontaneously combust. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarled, stepping fully into the room.
Dabura lifted his head just slightly, eyes half-lidded, voice soft but not submissive in the slightest. “She wishes to sleep.”
Sukuna barked a laugh. “Oh, she wishes to—? Listen to me, you horned ornament—”
You cut him off by tightening your hold on Dabura’s shoulders and biting him again. Dabura exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
Sukuna’s eye twitched so violently it could’ve counted as a separate attack technique. “Are you taunting me?” he demanded.
You finally lifted your head from Dabura’s neck, giving Sukuna the laziest smirk you could muster.
“I would never,” you lied.
Sukuna took one long step toward the bed, aura crackling.
Dabura didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just tightened his arm around you slightly, subtle but unmistakably protective.
Sukuna’s voice dropped even lower. “Move over,” he repeated, each syllable vibrating with restrained violence. “I’m not watching you cling to him like that.”
You raised a brow. “You watching is a you problem.”
“It’s everyone’s problem,” Sukuna shot back.
Dabura murmured, quiet as a blade sliding into its sheath: “You are welcome to sit. Not to demand.”
Sukuna’s glare could have shattered stone. But Dabura stayed calm, steady, warm at your back—everything Sukuna wasn’t in this moment.
You stretched out luxuriously against Dabura, just to drive the point home.
Sukuna growled. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’m getting in that bed.”
You blinked. Dabura blinked. Sukuna kicked off his sandals and climbed in on the opposite side of you with the worst attitude known to mankind.
He glared at you. Then at Dabura. Then at the blanket you refused to share. “Move,” Sukuna demanded.
“No,” you and Dabura said simultaneously.
Sukuna clenched his jaw so hard it cracked. And somehow—somehow—that was still not the worst part.
The worst part was that he stayed.
You kissed Dabura’s cheek, a soft brush of lips that barely registered on his skin but burned in Sukuna’s peripheral vision.
Then you stretched out onto your back like a queen entertaining herself with dangerous pets, sighing dramatically.
“Whimsical and fun,” you mocked aloud, voice syrupy with fake wonder.
Sukuna glared.
You turned your head toward him, fingers lazily sliding over his chest—over ink, muscle and heat.
“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” you purred, eyes half-lidded. “Please just never leave my bed again.”
Sukuna looked like he was physically restraining himself from shoving you down and proving a point. Instead, he muttered: “Tch.”
You rolled to your side to face him fully.
Behind you, Dabura shifted closer with silent precision, his bare chest brushing your back, one arm slipping around your lower waist like he’d claimed it before you even asked.
The weight of him behind you, cooler than Sukuna, but solid, grounding, ever-present—felt deliberate. Like he was reminding you he was still here.
Sukuna’s voice broke through, low and lethal: “If he touches my dick, I bite your head off.”
You smirked. “Mine? Why mine?” you asked sweetly, tracing the edge of his jaw with one finger, then dragging it slowly down the markings on his neck. “I’d love to watch you touch each other.”
Sukuna growled. A real sound, deep in his chest. “No.”
You leaned closer, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw, voice a whisper of heat against his skin. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.”
Behind you, Dabura’s hand flexed. Then slowly, very slowly—tightened on your waist.
“Oh?” You turned your head just slightly, back still pressed to his chest. “You’d like that too, huh?”
Dabura huffed something close to a laugh, more breath than voice but his hand did begin to slide lower across your stomach.
You felt every inch of it.
Sukuna watched it happen with fury burning in every line of his face. “I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Dabura’s palm skimmed lower, just under your navel now. A pause. A test. You tilted your hips slightly back into him—permission without a word.
He breathed out slowly behind you.
Sukuna was fuming—silent now, jaw locked, one hand flexing on the sheets like he was seconds from tearing through both of you just to reassert his place in the room.
You smiled against Sukuna’s neck. “Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”
“Fucking better not,” he growled, eyes locked on Dabura’s hand.
Dabura, behind you, only chuckled low in your ear.
His hand moved slowly over your stomach, his palm cold, fingertips tracing lines with perfect control. He touched like he thought ahead, like he already knew how your body would react.
No fumbling. No nerves. Just quiet, measured possession.
Your breath hitched once. That was all it took to encourage him further. His hand trailed lower. Not greedy. Not impatient. Just claiming.
And while he explored, your own hand drifted over Sukuna’s chest—because he was there, glaring silently, shirtless and carved like a curse weapon, muscles flexing with tension.
He didn’t say anything at first. Let you touch him. Let your fingers map the ridges of his chest, his neck, the ink that wrapped down his arms.
You admired all of him—the impossible height, the mass of four arms coiled like restrained violence, the marks that pulsed with cursed energy beneath your palm.
The sheer size of him. The pressure of being near him.
And, of course, his problems hidden under that hakama, both of which you were fully aware of, fully familiar with, and fully imagining at the same time Dabura’s hand slid lower.
Sukuna didn’t even look at you. Not at first. He just turned his back, throwing the blanket slightly off as he rolled to face the wall like a sulking titan. Like some massive, furious, scolded child who didn’t want you to see how affected he really was.
You grinned.
Then you let go of Dabura’s wrist and leaned over, pressing yourself to Sukuna’s back. Your leg curved around his thigh. Your arm slid over his waist and your hand cupped his crotch.
You squeezed. Just once. Firm and slow. He jerked slightly, jaw clenching, muscles twitching. “You know, Sukuna…” you purred in his ear, lips ghosting the edge of his neck, “Dabura has a split tongue.”
Silence. Tense. Hot. Then your tone dipped into a taunt:
“Wouldn’t you like that?”
Behind you, Dabura exhaled faintly—still touching you, still calm, still present.
Sukuna’s hands gripped the bedding like he might rip straight through the floor. His voice, when it came, was low and violent: “Get your hand off me.”
You smiled into his skin. “Why? You’re hard.”
His back tensed more. All four arms flexed once.
“And you’re jealous,” you whispered.
“I am not jealous,” he growled.
You dragged your hand again—slow, with just enough pressure to feel him twitch. He was already halfway there. And you knew it. “You’d let him suck you off,” you whispered, biting his shoulder lightly. “If I told you to.”
“No,” Sukuna snarled—but it cracked. Just a little.
Dabura, behind you, murmured with maddening calm: “If she told you to, you would.”
You choked on a laugh.
Sukuna shot up in bed, turning his head toward you both with a snarl but he didn’t shove you off. Didn’t push Dabura away.
He just sat there—muscles trembling, cocks straining under your palm, and refusing to admit how badly he wanted all of it.
The heat in the room was thick now. Not just from bodies, but from the raw imbalance of power—the way you lay on your side, both hands wrapped around Sukuna’s twin cocks, stroking slow, uneven, teasing.
The way Dabura’s chest pressed flush against your back, both of his arms coiled around your middle, hands exploring your skin like he was reading scripture he already memorized.
Sukuna was shaking. Not from weakness.
From rage. From the humiliation of this, being pleasured by you while watched by another man. Not just watched—spoken to. Directed. Analyzed.
He was on his side, facing you, panting through his teeth like every second of this was killing him.
Dabura’s voice, low and soft behind you, brushed your ear like silk-laced poison. “Go slower,” he murmured, guiding your wrists with light pressure.
“Not too tight—he likes control, but he breaks when it’s taken from him.”
You exhaled a breathless laugh, licking your bottom lip.
Sukuna’s teeth were bared. “You think I’ll let this—”
“You already are,” Dabura cut in smoothly.
Your grip around Sukuna’s cocks shifted—just the way Dabura instructed. He twitched in your hands.
“See?” Dabura whispered. “He hates this.”
You smiled. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”
Sukuna snarled, jaw flexing hard enough to crack. Dabura kissed the back of your shoulder. His voice dipped lower, filthy but still calm. Almost clinical.
“Stroke the bottom one slower,” he whispered, fingers sliding over your navel now, dipping lower. “He’s more sensitive there. It drives him mad.”
You obeyed.
Sukuna groaned—a raw, furious sound like something scraped from the pit of his throat.
He wanted to throw you down, dominate you, erase Dabura’s presence entirely.
But your hands stayed wrapped around him. And Dabura’s voice stayed in your ear. “He’s close already,” Dabura murmured. “All that pride, and nothing to show for it.”
Sukuna was trembling now. “Shut the fuck up—”
Dabura didn’t stop. “Poor thing,” he whispered over your skin, fingers now between your thighs, barely touching. “You want me to help?”
Sukuna glared at him with murder in his eyes.
And Dabura—calm, dangerous, fully hard now against your ass, held that stare over your shoulder and asked:
“You want me to hold her open for you?”
A beat.
“Would that help?” His tone stayed polite. Too polite. “Would that make it easier, Ryomen Sukuna?”
Sukuna snapped. Not forward. Back. He grabbed your wrist, yanked your hands off his cocks with a growl that shook the walls. His claws dug into the sheets, teeth gritted so hard they ached.
“Touch me again,” he snarled, eyes glowing, “and I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll forget his name.”
Dabura chuckled behind you. “Come up, lovely,” he said softly.
There was no force in it—just certainty.
He pushed himself up and settled back against the headboard, posture relaxed, confident, entirely in control. When he pulled you over his lap, it felt natural, inevitable. Your back pressed to his chest, his legs spreading slightly to make room.
For Sukuna. Just in case.
Dabura adjusted you with deliberate care, guiding your thighs over his own, grounding you there like you belonged. One hand slid under your thigh, steady and warm; the other stayed possessive and slow, reminding you exactly where you were.
You exhaled, breath hitching despite yourself. Dabura didn’t rush. He never did.
“My offer stands,” he said calmly, eyes lifting to Sukuna over your shoulder.
Sukuna hadn’t moved. He was rigid, coiled, eyes burning as he watched Dabura arrange you like something precious and dangerous at the same time. Every line of his body screamed restraint—rage sharpened by want.
Dabura’s thumb traced a slow, maddening line, voice dipping just enough to be cruel. “You want to sulk,” he continued evenly, “or you want your ego back?”
Silence stretched. Sukuna’s jaw flexed. His teeth ground together. “You think this is about my ego?” he snarled.
Dabura hummed thoughtfully, fingers never stopping. “No,” he said. “I think it’s about control.”
Your head tipped back slightly against Dabura’s shoulder. You smiled. “And you hate losing it,” you murmured toward Sukuna.
That did it.
Sukuna came closer, presence flooding the room again, heat rolling off him in waves. He loomed there, furious and magnificent, eyes flicking between Dabura’s hand, your expression, the way you sat so comfortably claimed.
“You’re enjoying this,” he growled at you.
“Immensely,” you replied.
Dabura’s arm tightened subtly around you, protective and provocative all at once.
“She invited you,” he said to Sukuna, tone almost kind. “I’m simply…accommodating.”
Sukuna laughed once. “You don’t accommodate,” he said. “You provoke.”
Dabura finally smiled. “Only when it works.”
Dabura’s arm around your waist held you steady as he slid two fingers into you, firm but slow—like a man unbothered by anything, not even the furious legend standing three feet away. His palm curved perfectly between your thighs, guiding the movement like a ritual.
Your breath hitched. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth parting, lashes fluttering.
And the whole time? You never broke eye contact with Sukuna.
Face locked in a mixture of rage, need, and disbelief that you were letting someone else do this while he watched.
You didn’t flinch. You just reached out and grabbed him.
One of them.
His breath caught. His whole body jerked once like something sharp had struck through his spine.
“Get between my legs,” you said flatly.
A command. Not a request. For a moment, he didn’t move—too many thoughts crashing through the warped temple of his pride.
Then, slowly, furiously, he leaned forward and of course, the first thing this stupid man did was threaten. His eyes, glowing and violent, locked onto Dabura like he might tear out his throat for breathing the same air as you.
Dabura didn’t even blink.
He just pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, keeping his grip firm on your waist—then reached over with the most casual shit-eating grin you’d ever seen, and slid those same fingers straight into Sukuna’s mouth.
“Taste what you miss.”
Silence. Sukuna froze. His jaw flexed. He glared at Dabura like he might kill him in nine ways and still bring him back for a tenth. He didn’t suck. Didn’t bite. Just glared and gave you the filthiest, most betrayed side-eye with all four eyes.
You choked on a laugh.
“Oh? No?” Dabura said, voice mock-polite. His fingers glistened in the low light. “What a shame.”
He licked them clean. Slowly. Still holding direct eye contact with Sukuna.
Sukuna twitched like he might detonate.
Your hand squeezed his cock once. “Poor thing,” you murmured. “Outnumbered again.”
Sukuna’s hands slammed into the mattress on either side of your legs, caging you in, eyes locked on Dabura as if trying to set him on fire by will alone. “You think I’ll let you play with me like this?” he growled.
“No,” you purred.
Dabura’s hands slid to your thighs. He opened your legs wider for him.
The movement was deliberate enough that Sukuna felt it like a challenge. Like an invitation he didn’t want—but absolutely couldn’t refuse.
Sukuna looked up at you with the most offended, betrayed expression you’d ever seen on an ancient curse. All four eyes burning with accusation.
A silent, how dare you.
And still—He knelt between your legs. “I will kill you both,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked, already losing.
He adjusted you again, tilting you just enough, just cruelly enough, to make Sukuna’s breath hitch. One hand firm at your hip, the other guiding without asking.
“Stay with the top one,” Dabura said softly, sweet as poison.
Sukuna growled, lining himself up, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. “I will destroy this bed,” he snarled at you. “And you.” Then his gaze snapped to Dabura. “And you will regret this.”
Dabura smiled. “That’s fine.”
Then he pushed you forward. Just enough.
Your breath broke into a moan before you could stop it. Sukuna answered with a rough groan of his own, teeth bared, body going taut beneath your hands like he was hanging on by instinct alone.
Dabura’s grip tightened—satisfied. Not jealous. Watching. For now.
“You’re unbearable,” Sukuna hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome,” Dabura murmured.
You were caught between them, pulse racing, fully aware that this was a mistake, a war crime, and the best decision you’d made in centuries.
It felt criminally good.
Sukuna had you fully caged between his four arms, hips slamming into you with brutal rhythm, bracing himself with one set of hands gripping the headboard—splintering it by degrees—and the other slipping possessively to your thighs.
He shoved Dabura’s hands aside like he was reclaiming you inch by inch.
Dabura didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.
He just wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, holding you there—like he had no intention of letting go, no matter how hard Sukuna fucked you forward into him.
You felt every inch of both of them.
Sukuna’s rhythm was punishing.
And Dabura—he breathed quietly, every inhale brushing warm against your ear, every exhale timed perfectly with the way your body ground back against the obvious hardness pinned under you. He didn’t move. Just let it happen.
Sukuna’s bottom cock, caught between you and Dabura’s lap, slid helplessly between your bodies—completely useless in the position.
It twitched once, trapped, frustrated, hot as hell and utterly denied.
Dabura felt it. Of course he did.
You moaned, head dropping back into his shoulder, breath ragged. Sukuna growled, low and violent, his fingers bruising your thighs now. “Fuck—you’re the one making it worse,” he snarled at Dabura. “She’s rubbing on me because of you.”
Dabura let out a soft, maddening sound—half a laugh, half something filthier. “Not my fault you’re built inefficiently,” he murmured.
“You want me to tear that smirk off your face?”
“You’d have to pull out first,” Dabura said smoothly. “And we both know you won’t.”
You gasped at that—whether from Sukuna’s thrust, or the vicious tension between them, you didn’t even know.
Sukuna slammed in deeper, teeth gritted, jaw clenched like he was hanging on to his sanity by seconds.
Dabura held you tighter. His mouth brushed your neck. “You’re so good like this,” he whispered, just for you. “Soft and wrecked. You should see yourself.”
You whimpered.
Sukuna snapped. One hand left the headboard and grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you to look forward—at him. “You look at me when you fall apart,” he snarled. “Not him.”
Dabura smirked, lips pressed against your shoulder, utterly unbothered. “That’s not what she was doing a minute ago.”
“Keep talking,” Sukuna growled, rhythm brutal again. “I’ll make you watch her come all over me.”
Dabura’s fingers brushed lower. “Maybe I’ll make her do it first.” His voice was soft. Too soft. “Let me take care of you too.”
He said it with that same calm authority he used for killing—low and deadly sweet—like the idea of pleasuring Sukuna wasn’t terrifying, but mildly amusing.
Sukuna snarled under his breath, still buried inside you, all four arms bracing or gripping or trembling from the sheer violence of his own restraint.
But Dabura didn’t wait for permission. He never needed it.
One of his hands slid down between your thighs, right where Sukuna was thrusting into you and found your clit with surgical precision. The pressure was slow, perfect, maddening.
You twitched in his lap. Sukuna groaned through gritted teeth.
Dabura’s cock, not human in the slightest—long, ridged, alien in its movement—shifted beneath you and slid lower. Around. Forward.
It coiled around Sukuna’s lower cock, slick and smooth and deliberate, wrapping and twisting in perfect rhythm with your movement.
Sukuna shuddered.
He looked down in disbelief as Dabura jerked him off—without touching him, just using his own strange, pulsing body. The way his cock slid against Sukuna’s length was obscene—slow, teasing, designed to drive him insane.
“You—” Sukuna gasped.
Dabura kissed your neck like it was nothing. “You’re doing good,” he whispered—to Sukuna.
Smug. Deadly. Completely in control.
“Keep that pace,” Dabura murmured, his fingers circling your clit with slow, brutal confidence. “Just like that. She’s so close, can’t you feel it?”
Sukuna growled but his hips stuttered. Because he could.
Dabura’s cock twisted tighter. You whimpered. “She clenches when you angle left,” Dabura added, voice lower. “There. You feel that?”
Sukuna bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll come first.”
You cried out, torn between them, devoured between violence and control. Sukuna slammed deeper, groaning, head dropping forward. And Dabura just whispered, “Make her finish, Sukuna.”
Your body arched.
“Right on your cock. Come on.” He added.
Sukuna growled through his teeth—“Fucking hell—”
Dabura’s grip tightened. Their rhythm matched.
Your breath shattered. You cried out, shaking, as Sukuna followed you into it, choking on a moan, his jaw locked and entire body wracked with the kind of climax he’d never admit broke him a little.
Dabura sighed like he’d just cleaned up someone else’s mess.
Dabura slid back just enough to free himself from the chaos, calm even as Sukuna’s release streaked across him—warm, messy proof of what he’d just orchestrated.
He didn’t rush. He never rushed.
He lined himself up with quiet precision as Sukuna finally pulled away from you, breath ragged, eyes burning, both of them still shaking from what they’d just been dragged through.
“Won’t be long, lovely,” Dabura breathed, voice low and intimate, fingers adjusting you with deliberate care.
You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast. “You close already?” you whispered.
“I am.”
That honesty hit harder than any growl.
You shifted forward instinctively, legs straddling him as you leaned away from his chest, body arching toward Sukuna instead. The movement drew a sharp breath from both of them.
Sukuna caught you instantly.
One hand closed around your throat, just enough to hold you there, to remind you who was watching. His grin was feral, satisfied, wicked.
Both of his cocks still slick, still dripping, still twitching with residual heat. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face. “Can’t even stand on your own.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your hips from behind, grounding you, steady and unhurried. “She’s perfect,” he said calmly. “Let her be.”
Sukuna’s thumb tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. “You going to break for him,” he said, almost amused. “Or for me?”
You smiled through it. “Both,” you whispered.
Dabura exhaled behind you, low and satisfied. And Sukuna laughed.
Dabura’s grip was bruising your hips now as you moved—grinding in that rhythm he couldn’t handle much longer. His composure was cracking, but even now he held it together. Barely.
You were straddling him in reverse, thighs burning, hands gripping his legs for balance, body arched forward into—
Sukuna.
Who still had one hand around your throat, holding you upright like a trophy between monsters. He leaned in and kissed you, rough and claiming, swallowing every moan you let slip for Dabura beneath you.
And you were moaning now. Because the shape of Dabura’s cock, those patterns, those shifting, inhuman ridges—were stroking all the wrong places perfectly. Too deep. Too good. Too much.
You whined into Sukuna’s mouth.
Dabura groaned behind you, low and wrecked. His hands gripped harder, holding your rhythm like his life depended on it.
Your walls tightened again. Too close—again.
Sukuna pulled back from your mouth, breath hot, eyes wild, cocks still twitching between your bodies like he hadn’t even begun to calm down.
He looked down at you, then back at Dabura—grinning like a beast. “Mhm…give him that,” Sukuna chuckled, deep and dangerous. “Come on. He earned that.”
Dabura’s breath hitched. One last thrust up into you. His jaw clenched. His fingers dug in as he broke. Spilling into you as his whole body shuddered beneath you.
You cried out for him, head falling forward—right into Sukuna’s chest, mouth open, shaking with your own release. Again.
Sukuna laughed against your ear, low and feral. “You look so good when someone else ruins you,” he murmured. “Almost makes me jealous.”
Dabura’s hands slid up your sides, still trembling, still holding you like you were his.
You were panting now—spent, ruined, caught between chaos and stillness.
Dabura tilted his head back against the headboard, chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths. His eyes were half-lidded, damp hair clinging to his temples, one hand still resting on the side of your ass like it belonged there.
You had no bones left.
You slumped forward, face-first into Sukuna’s chest, arms loosely wrapping around his waist with the grace of a body tossed from a cliff.
Your cheek pressed against his skin, hot, sweaty, still humming with cursed energy and he caught you automatically. Two of his arms circled you tight, the other two just hanging there, as if not sure what to do after nearly killing a bed with raw power and ego.
“For the record,” Sukuna muttered, voice still rough, “I still can’t stand you, asshole.”
Dabura huffed a dry laugh, lazily rubbing his palm over your lower back. “I made you cum really good, huh.”
His smirk could’ve shattered kingdoms. Sukuna rolled his eyes hard enough you felt it in his chest. You just laughed, dead, wheezing, face still pressed into him. It made Sukuna grin like the bastard he was.
You were covered, sore, dripping, and pinned between the two most annoying forces in existence.
And unfortunately…it wasn’t that bad. But here you were.
Cradled by a curse with four arms and an ego problem. Spoon-fed comfort by a horned nightmare with a split tongue and zero shame.
You weren’t sure if this counted as divine punishment or the best decision you’d ever made.
Probably both.
You’d figure it out later. For now? You were tired. Held.
And, unfortunately…They were both staying the night.
Fuck.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, scoffing at your choice of literature, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:
is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?
EPILOGUE - this marks the end of the librarian!nanami fic. thank you so much for keeping up and for reading. you all have the patience of saints. your love and support for this series means the world to me, and I will forever be grateful to each and every one of you for loving this version of Nanami. I love you all.
Warnings: no spoilers (contains smut, fluff, and angst) :)
Word Count: 5.3k
Canto IV - Masterlist
“Oh, Kento,” you whisper, hugging your coat tighter around yourself. “I wish you could be here.”
Leaves crunch under your boots. You bury your face a little deeper in your scarf.
Campus smells the same as you remembered it. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold air, damp bark, something faintly sweet from all the coffee shops that have popped up on and around the area.
So much is familiar, and of course it is — things don’t change that much, even if it has been years since you graduated. The same oak tree everyone used to fight over in the summer stands tall. Same hedges, same brick walls, and cobblestones. Same mascots and crests plastered on banners and plaques.
But, as you’d expected, things are different too. New faces, naturally. A wing was added to the Psychology building after the department received greater funding for their contribution to mental health research. The old noticeboards have gone digital, glowing screens cycling through events you can’t decipher. You don’t see many older professors; you wouldn’t be able to tell who’s a professor and who’s not anymore when professors and students have grown closer in age.
“Time really does fly, huh?”
In spite of any changes, however, you still feel right at home here. The steps you took from building to building are embedded in the soil. The phantom of your laughter echo in the halls, overlapping with generations before and after you. Even if you graduated a while back, you’ll always be a child of academia.
Although you’re elated to be back, you can’t help but feel melancholy.
A trip down memory lane doesn’t feel right without one of the people that took prime real estate, after all.
It just isn’t the same.
“Stop ignoring me.”
Shuddering, you sigh wistfully. “It’s like I can still hear him.”
“You can kill me in your mind all you like,” the voice begins, dryly, “it doesn’t change the fact that you know I’m right; Kindles cannot ever be superior to a good, old, physical book.”
You scowl, and turn to look back at the man trailing behind you. “They say wisdom comes with age but you’re proving them all wrong, aren’t you, babe?”
Kento’s rubbing his glasses clean from the slight fog that’s made the lenses difficult to see through. His cheeks are ever so slightly pink from the cold, and they’re the only markers that he’s bothered by the weather. Unlike you, who’s missing the warmth of Malaysia. He barely even tanned.
He reminds you, “We’re the same age, my love.”
“Yeah, well, I wear it better,” you respond haughtily.
Sliding his glasses back on, he blinks a couple times before hastening his steps to reach your side. He holds your hand in his and tucks it into his pocket, where a handwarmer lies waiting. A thumb rubs your knuckles. Kento smiles to himself. “I’m inclined to agree on that front.”
“Okay, so you can also agree with me about how Kindles are a fine alternative to physical books. I really don’t know why you look down on them so much — they’re so practical. You can have multiple books all in one place, they’re smaller and more portable than a book, they weigh much less, and you can adjust the font and page colours. They’re more accessible, Ken. You need to get with the times.”
He nods. “I see your points, and I’m not saying Kindles are to be scoffed at. I simply mean that, if given the choice and you have no accessibility needs, one ought to choose physical copies, and support the ever-dying paper industry.”
“You mean the paper industry that’s killing trees?”
Kento glances down at you. “Are you arguing that the manufacturing of Kindles has zero environmental impact?”
It’s a trap, you recognise it. He’s trying to bait you. It’s not going to work.
Squeezing his hand, you tug him to the direction you want to take him: down the scenic route as opposed to the shorter path to your destination. He doesn’t put up a fight.
Casually, you say, “No, of course not. Everything has a carbon footprint. But it’s all about minimising your impact, and decreasing the number of books, and pages, that have to be printed in favour of having them digitally available, supports that. I don’t think you can argue against the point that Kindles are more environmentally friendly than physical copies.”
“So being environmentally conscious and friendly is the goal. That’s your main point? It’s the underlying reason for any decision you make regarding what you read and in what medium you read it in?”
Without waiting for a response, Kento continues, “Would you say owning three Kindles, two more than you really need, is environmentally friendly? And if so, what would your response be to me pointing out that since you bought your first Kindle, barring the fact that you bought two more, the rate at which you purchase physical copies hasn’t decreased.”
In a flash, you yank him inside a random building. It’s in the process of renovation. The alumni newsletter said it’s going to be a ‘Wellness Centre’, whatever that means.
There’s no one here. The lights aren’t even on. Only the natural light from the gloomy sky lights the hall full of caution tapes and unemptied boxes.
You shove Kento against the wall and kiss him.
His hands fall upon your waist reflexively.
Lips move together so easily, so comfortably that you grow dizzy already. There’s nothing careful about the way he kisses you. No measured distance, no polite hesitation. Just heat, and the sharp edge of something that could be likened to deep satisfaction.
Kento exhales against you, fingers tightening at your waist to anchor himself. Your hands curl into his coat, tugging him closer and closer still, until there’s no space left between you at all.
Every breath, every shift, every small sound echoes back at you.
A thigh of his parts yours. The apex of yours meets it unhesitatingly. You’re wearing jeans, and despite the layers between you, you can feel the hardness of his muscular thigh. Your hips grind down on him with a gasp.
“Distracting me with your body?” he breathes out. “This must be an admittance of defeat.”
Your hand finds the bulge you knew would be there. When you grip him, he sucks in a sharp breath and throws his head. A light thud resounds. “You wish, Kennypie,” you whisper, rubbing his already-hard clothed cock in time with how you rub your clothed clit on his leg.
Truth is, you believe physical copies are superior to digital. Always. You were a Classical Lit student, and forever a snob, you’ll happily admit.
What you won’t ever admit is that Kento is right.
You’ll take any camp opposite his just to feel the thrill of debate.
Faster than you had snatched him to the dark, he spins the both of you around and pins you to the wall. He sucks your bottom lip, then your neck where your pulse is. Kento untangles your scarf, pulls down the zip of your coat along with his descent, and comes to kneel before you.
“No, darling,” he exhales. Your thighs squeeze together. “My wish is to taste you.”
Threading your fingers through his hair, you let him unbutton your jeans and pull them down. Goosebumps rise. He soothes warmth into your skin with his palms. With a giggle, you ask, “Again? You just ate me out this morning, Ken.”
Rare mornings where you could sleep in are usually spent with him settled between your thighs, or you between his. Why wouldn’t they be?
As he guides one foot out of the jeans, he nuzzles your thigh. The tip of his nose grazes the frilly hem of your panties. “Who said I’m limited to only once per day?”
The both of you really shouldn’t be doing this. If you get caught, you won’t be expelled; that’s not the punishment non-students face. It’s jail time. But there’s no one here, and there are no cameras. The campus is near empty because of the gloomy weather, and the way he’s started mouthing at your pussy through your panties feels too good to stop.
“Fine, but be quick, okay?” you tell him. “Our friends’ll be waiting, and after we scolded Sho for being late at the last dinner party, it’ll be a bad look if we’re late now.”
Kento hooks his finger on the gusset and pulls it aside. He makes a dreamy sigh at the sight of your puffy lips, glistening with your juices. A thumb of his parts the lips so he can see your clit and press a kiss to it.
You jolt.
“I’ll be quick,” he mutters, sounding wholly unconvincing. “She’ll get over it if we’re late just this once.”
Then, he’s licking a stripe up your slit, collecting your wetness on his tongue. “So sweet,” he says. “Always so sweet for me, for Kento, aren’t you, sweetheart?”He’s burying his face deeper between your thighs, desperate to get as close to you as possible.
You squirm against the wall, panting. “We’re not going to be late,” you insist.
The end of your scarf tickles his forehead. You move it away, wanting to have an unobstructed view of his face as his tongue flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again.
Nodding absentmindedly, he agrees, “No, we won’t be late…but it won’t be so bad if we are.”
Groaning, both in frustration and in pleasure, you repeat, “We’re not going to be late, Kento. I swear to God, you better not mess around.”
Two fingers worm their way inside your entrance, stretching the tight ring of muscle out. You feel the long digits reaching deep. They force your gummy walls to expand around them. You’re flushed, pulse racing. If anyone were to catch you now, there’d be no explaining your way out of this.
His glasses have fogged up again. It irritates him. He takes the thing off with a hasty hand and pockets it. You like him with his glasses, but you like him with his eyes drinking you up more.
Kento curls his fingers over that spot he knows well. You moan, hips stuttering onto his face. His words come out muffled when he says, “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Admit I’m right, and you’ll get your orgasm and your high horse.”
Tempting, you think.
He knows you so well.
But not well enough.
Throwing your leg over his shoulder, you fully commit to getting your orgasm one way or the other. “I would rather be late to every event we have for the rest of our lives than admit you’re right in any capacity, Kento,” you announce resolutely.
He chuckles. “Of course you would. My stubborn, stubborn girl.”
That’s the last you hear from him before he’s wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard. The pressure inside builds and builds. You can’t deny his skilled tongue and years of knowing your body in and out, perhaps even better than he knows his own.
You cum with a slap of your palm over your mouth, stifling the scream. “Fuck, Ken,” you groan.
Through it, he keeps sucking and curling his fingers. He’s elongating your pleasure, making sure you can ride your high, and his tongue, to your heart’s desire.
And just when it starts to get too much, you shove him away from your pussy. He doesn’t let you create too much distance — greedy hands grip your hips. He presses himself close, covering your body with his body heat.
Movement heavy with the remnants of your orgasm, you fight to release his cock from the tight confines of his tailored pants. It lands heavy in your palm, tip flushed and leaking. You feel the rush of his blood, the way it makes the length pulse and his veins prominent. You stroke him a couple times just to hear him murmur your name in that slutty voice of his.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hips are rutting into your hold.
“Are you gonna fuck me, Ken?” you purr. “Are you going to christen this building before it’s even been built?”
Kento nods. He kisses you, as though unable to bear being apart from you for too long. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and you don’t mind it. He pulls away enough to reply, “Yes, darling. I want to feel you, want to make you feel good.”
You kiss him again, smiling. “You always do, Kento. Go on, I permit you to put it inside.”
He lets out a low laugh. “How kind.”
Kento hikes your leg up on his hip, allowing his cock glide through your swollen, slick lips first. He coats the length with your juices. Lewd noises squelch, and upon the initial contact, you both gasp into each other’s mouths.
Soon, he can’t wait any longer, and the fat cockhead is prodding your pussy as though knocking politely. It enters you slowly. Inch by inch. Being careful of the fact that he hasn’t been able to give you as much foreplay as he would have wanted.
The stretch is so familiar, so good that your back arches off the wall. “Oh, fuck, Ken.”
“I know, my love,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
Under the layers, you sweat. You’re aware of the fibres of his sweater you borrowed brushing your skin, of the hairs sticking to the back of your neck, of how his clothes and yours makes the closeness feel dull. It’s not like being in the comforts of your own home, of being naked and in bed, and feeling skin on skin.
Restless, you whine, “Ken, put it all in.”
A kiss to your forehead and he’s doing as you asked.
The two of you moan when his pelvis meets yours. You’re flushed together, and it’s glorious. There’s a slight sting but nothing that doesn’t make your eyes roll back.
Kento croaks, “You feel so warm, so tight, so -hngh- soft. God, sweetheart, you’re perfect. So, so perfect.”
Your hips rock together. It’s not like the purposeful, drawn out lovemaking you do at home. You’re not teasing, playing games, or rutting against each other knowing there’ll be more rounds after this.
This is quick. It’s fast, it’s uninhibited, it’s animalistic. You’re merely racing towards your peaks, humping each other like dogs, and grunting and moaning like so. There’s nothing sophisticated or elegant about the slapping of skin, about the clash of lips with teeth, or of the way your fingers dig in whatever body parts you can latch onto.
“Is it nice to be back, Ken?”
Panting, he flexes his jaw as he tries to ground himself enough to think. “Y-yes, darling. It’s nice to see what’s changed and what hasn't.”
In between kisses, you respond, “Right? I mean, things have changed, but being here makes me feel like I’m a student running late for class. It’s lovely.”
He grinds his pelvis into yours, rubbing your clit till you’re almost drooling. “Yes. It is. It reminds me of the old times with you, and our -ah fuck- friends. It gets h-harder and harder to see them every year.”
“I know,” you say, hips working down on his cock. “Thank you for arranging this reunion, Ken. It’s so desperately needed after all the travelling.”
Kento cups a tit through your clothes. He kneads the fat and you jut your chest out for him. “They’d all been wanting to see you after all your success, sweetheart. It was pretty easy to organise when they want to see the award winning star in our circle.”
You grin and clench down on him. He hisses. “Oh, stop you. It’s not like you’re hiding in my shadows.”
“Someone h-has to keep these big-ego writers in place,” he responds playfully.
“My place is sitting on your face or riding your -ngh! keep going- c-cock, right, Ken?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him.
He kisses your forehead. “Whatever you say, my love.”
Something about the fact that he’s more dressed than you are has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It’s the way he looks composed, but you know better: his cock pulses every time your walls clench down on him, and he throws his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s how you lick up the sweat beading on his neck when he does, and he grips you harder.
The rate at which he’s fucking inside you is increasing. You’re being jostled against the wall, feeling every bump and grind as if your senses are heightened. You no longer feel cold or conscious of being caught. All you can think and feel and taste and hear and see is him.
“I’m close,” you grit out. “I’m so close, Ken!”
“I’ve got you, my love,” he promises. He grabs the back of your other thigh. You’re held up in the air by his hands, boots dangling and jeans dragging on the floor. Like this, he reaches even deeper.
Your tits bounce with every rutting, and you wish he could be sucking on one. You wish you could rub yourself all over him. You wish there weren’t layers keeping you from him. That you could be as loud and wild as you want.
Combing your fingers through his hair, you yank his head back and command, “Yield, Kento. Submit to the -hah- love of your life and tell her she wins.”
His eyes narrow. “Or what?”
You grin. “Or I won’t cum.”
And he knows you mean it — you’re far too stubborn to succumb to pleasure, especially when there’s victory on the line. So he shakes out of your grip and rushes to dive his face forward. “You’re right,” he whispers to your ear, breathing warmth to the heated skin. “You’re always right. Kento’s wrong, about whatever we were arguing about this time, about everything.”
A breathless laugh carries into the humid air. “Damn right.”
One particularly perfect thrust against your g-spot has your vision spotting, your legs shaking, and toes curling. You cum with a silent moan. Kento groans into your neck, grip bruising as your clenching milks him to his own orgasm.
This will be somewhere between your sixth and eight orgasm of the day and it’s just as strong as the first.
Sex with Kento — wherever, however, whenever — is always mindblowing and mindmelting, a fact you rejoice in after concerns of age getting in the way. Of course neither of you are objectively old; your backs and joints are just fine. But you’ve been together for years now, and people often talk about how the chemistry fizzles.
Thankfully that has yet to happen.
“Oh, s-sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Mm, Ken,” you say when the pleasure begins to subside. “We didn’t wear a condom again. Now your cum’s gonna be dripping out of me and onto my panties.”
He throbs. You laugh again.
“I’ll clean you up, darling,” he replies.
Kento presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls out. The shift is abrupt enough that you both suck in a breath, the cold air rushing back in where there had only been heat a second ago. An emptiness fills you. Your cunt clenches around nothing.
You land a little unsteadily when he sets you back on your feet.
He’s about to get onto his knees. You stop him. “No, Ken, we’re going to be late.”
He looks conflicted for a second before he checks his wristwatch and reluctantly nods. “Yes, you’re right. Again.”
“Naturally.”
Like trained criminals, you quickly fix your clothes back up and get rid of any evidence. He tugs your jeans back up, giving you some time to replace your panties with a wince at the coldness. His hands zip your coat back up, then tucks your scarf inside. He fixes your hair, and you his. Kento slides his glasses back onto his nosebridge and blinks furiously to adjust his sight.
With last checks, you two give the other satisfied nods and head on out, though not without him sneaking a kiss and you smacking his ass.
“I can’t believe we’ve been on campus not even half an hour and we’ve already desecrated a building. We haven’t matured at all,” Kento mutters under his breath when you get back on the right path and near your destination.
Looping an arm through his, you reply, “I know. Isn’t it great?”
Amused, he glances down at you and holds your hand. He brings it up to his lips and presses a kiss on your knuckles. “The greatest.”
You laugh.
Then stop.
Up ahead stands a woman you could never forget. And when Kento stills too, you know he’s thinking the same thing.
Mrs. Collins doesn’t look like she’s aged a day — there’s sprinklings of colour in a head of greys, in spite of the wrinkles she bears her skin is still tight, and there’s a sharpness in her eyes that hasn’t faded away.
She’s wrapping her scarf around herself. Without needing to ask, you know where she just came from. It oddly brings you some peace to know she hasn’t left.
You don’t know if she remembers; it’s been some years and you only worked for her for a couple months. Or if she does remember, would she say anything? Would she pretend she doesn’t know you, never did anything, and you’re just another passing figure?
“Well, hello, my dears.”
So she does.
It’s impossible to tell if that brings you comfort or not.
“Hi, Mrs. Collins,” you say. Nanami cuts you a look but you give him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s been a while.”
“Has it?” she asks, not sarcastically, but rather genuinely, as though she finds it hard to keep time and it was just this morning that she stepped inside the library with the intent of setting you up, and she’d now stepped outside.
A part of you is surprised she’s talking to you, that she’s entertaining this conversation, when she could walk away and go about her day. There’s no obligation to talk to you at all. You’re no longer students, no longer employed by her, no longer young and naive.
Her eyes slide over to Kento. “Mr. Nanami, are you not going to greet me?”
You’ve never spoken to him about her since before you graduated; neither of you bring it up. And you never found that fact odd — there were almost much more interesting and pressing things to talk about.
“Good afternoon. We don’t wish to keep you. Please don’t mind us,” he replies, coldly. Well, it would seem warm enough to anyone who didn’t know him well. To you, however, you might as well be standing next to a glacier.
She hums. “Still haven’t forgiven me, I take it.”
No, Kento doesn’t seem to have; he’s as rigid as can be, as distant as possible, and paler than ever. You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t squeeze back.
It must haunt him more than it haunts you.
You don’t think about her and what happened very much, to be frank. You’re too busy to do so. It would be a lie, though, to say you don’t sporadically recall how you were used. Sometimes when you’re staring out the window and drinking coffee. Sometimes when you’re getting in a car. You’ve thought about what you would do and say if you saw her again, if she would ask for an apology, if you would cuss her out, blackmail her.
Right now, when the opportunity has risen and there’s no better time, you can’t seem to do any of that.
Because the person you see in front of you isn’t this cruel, callous monster of cosmic proportions who deserves to be dragged by the hair. She isn’t going to turn you to stone or tip your boat over. She’s not the devil, the mother of all demons, the shadow under your bed.
She’s just a woman who loves books.
And you’d do anything for the things and people you love too.
“I forgive you,” you tell her suddenly. The words leave your lips without you realising it.
Mrs. Collins purses her lips. If she’s surprised by your words, she doesn’t show it. “I never asked for forgiveness for what I did.”
“I know,” you say. “I know, and I forgive you. What you did, what happened, didn’t stunt my growth, didn’t stop me from graduating, from entering the real world with pride and confidence, and didn’t stop me and Kento from being together. What you did made me stronger. I forgive you.”
Maybe you were never even really mad at her. Maybe you’d forgiven her a long time ago, around the same time that Kento asked you to be his girlfriend and you never looked back.
The older lady processes your words for a second or two. She even looks you up and down. Then she looks at Kento, and asks, “And you?”
“I can’t.”
Does disappointment flicker in her eyes or mere acknowledgement? Does either in yours?
Whatever the case may be, that’s all there is left to be said here. At least that’s what you think until she opens her mouth again as though the act is an afterthought.
“I read your book, dear. It’s a rather popular stock in the library.”
“Thank you,” you say automatically, a reflex you’d picked up on the book tour.
“It’s not a compliment,” she replies. “It’s just a fact.”
It lands like a compliment, and you take it as such.
“I’ll be looking forward to the sequel,” she says. With a final, acknowledging nod, she turns. Mrs. Collins doesn’t strut off immediately though; she pauses and adds casually, “Best of luck, Mr. Nanami.” Then she goes and disappears around the corner, leaving behind a mist of warm air.
For a moment, the two of you just stand there under the dark clouds. As far as interactions with someone you once knew and who fucked you over goes, that wasn’t so bad, right?
You rub Kento’s arm and lean your head on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Ken?”
“I’m sorry.” You look up at him. His shoulders are still tense. His gaze fixed ahead. “I know it’s unfair to resent her, especially when you’ve graciously forgiven her and I have no right to hold any moral high ground, but I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
You figured as much — he can’t forgive himself, and so he can’t forgive her, because forgiving her means forgiving himself. It’s too soon and he’s as stubborn as you so your reassurances will only go in one ear and out the other.
“No, Ken. It’s okay. Really. Process things however you need to.”
Kento replies with some heaviness, “I’ll forever be grateful you forgave me, when you shouldn’t have.”
Sighing, you grab his face and force him to meet your eyes. “Kento, it was so long ago. You’ve apologised a millions times back then, and couldn’t even get it up for the first month or so when we started dating out of guilt, remember? I know you’re sorry, hon, and I know you’d never do anything like that again. We’re not going to spiral over something that happened eons ago.”
He leans into your touch and sighs too. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring down the mood.”
“Better now than later, at lunch,” you say, shrugging. “Remember not to let Shoko’s teasing yet the best of you, ‘kay, Kenny Benny Bear.”
At the old nickname, he grimaces but otherwise says nothing.
Looping your arm back through his and marching on, you add, “Plus, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it even just a little bit. Remember when I swapped your copy of The Iliad before the exam and your average went down by a couple points?”
Kento smiles at the memory. “You only did that because I changed the time zone on your laptop in the study room when you weren’t looking and made you late for the guest lecture with Phicshonal Lehjendaree Dyrektore.”
You throw your head back and chortle. “Oh my god, yeah! I was so mad. I’d been looking forward to that for weeks.”
“It was a good lecture too,” he notes fondly. “You really missed out.”
A smack on his chest does nothing but make him smile harder.
“Ugh, whatever, asshole,” you say though you’re smiling too. “We were both stupidly childish, weren’t we?”
“Very,” he agrees.
The two of you cuddle close together, one could say for warmth or for comfort. In spite of the weather, of the dip in the mood, you walk on feeling light. Campus is really quite beautiful in Autumn, with the vibrant reds and oranges and browns of the leaves, and the emptiness of the streets between buildings.
It’s a good day to be with friends, you think.
Soon, the library comes into view.
Whereas many buildings have had some tweaks done to them, the library remains just as you remember it. Marble pillars, tall doors, golden lettering, stone stairs, and a welcoming glow to it that you’re sure only you and other nerds can see.
You were a little surprised that the meet up point would be here, especially when Kento was in charge of making the plans, but now that you’re at the foot of the stairs, you’re glad it’s here. Now it really feels like coming home.
A ping alerts you both. Kento checks his phone, and clears his throat. He stiffens again. “We’re going to be late. Let’s head inside.”
You nod and follow him up. He grips your hand tight to make sure you don’t slip on the stairs.
The doors open with a soft push.
For a second, you don’t understand what you’re looking at.
Then— faces.
Familiar ones.
Needa and Frend, grinning too wide. Shoko beside them wriggling her brows at you as Haibara jumps excitedly behind her. Your parents, his, family and friends scattered in little clusters, all turned toward you with that same unmistakable look. Expectant. Bright. Soft in a way that makes your chest tighten before your mind can catch up.
You blink.
The library — the same one you spent years in, arguing and studying and fighting — has been transformed. The harsh overhead lights are gone, replaced by a gentler glow. Lamps lit up. The dreary, old curtains have been swapped for lush velvet. There are no students. No quiet shuffling, no turning pages, no whispered conversations.
Just melodic music.
A string quartet is tucked near the far end where the reading tables used to be. Bows glide over strings, slow and aching and beautiful threading through the air and tickling your skin, which is growing warmer from both the attention, the shock, and the protective temperature of the indoors.
There’s bouquets of flowers on mahogany tables. Petals littering the floor, thickest where you come to stand in the centre of the huddle under a chandelier of twinkling lights. Soft whites, pale pinks, a few deeper hues woven in. They curl around the ends of shelves, rest along tables, and climb just slightly where they shouldn’t.
Your heart starts to pound, hard enough that it drowns out everything for a moment.
Slowly, you turn.
Kento is there.
On one knee.
The music, the light, the people — everything fades at the edges until it’s just him, steady and sure despite the way his hands shake just slightly around the small box.
The ring catches the light.
Your breath leaves you in a quiet, startled exhale.
“I’d ask if you would do me the honour of making me the happiest man in the world,” he starts, staring only at you, “but you already have, so I suppose the better question is…”
Tears well up in your eyes and you already have the answer at the tip of your tongue pleading to be screamed.
“want you to touch yourself and let me watch,” sukuna whispers into your mouth while you’re on his lap.
“what? like right now?” the request throws you out of focus completely, now still in sukuna’s lap instead of the steady rocking you had been doing. you stare, trying to process what he just asked of you.
“unless you don’t want to?” it’s posed as a question, tattooed hands stroking your bare thighs in a comforting rhythm. his gaze met yours from under disheveled pink locks, waiting patiently and ready to pass on the topic at your very word. but you shake your head.
“no, it’s not that. you just surprised me is all.” your hands slide down where they’ve been clutching his shoulders to rest on his chest. his fingers squeeze around you, and you can feel the uptake of his heartbeat underneath your palms.
“if i do this—i said if—“ you clarify, seeing the spark of something excited in his eyes, “you can’t touch or try to help me. you only can watch, until i say.”
he scoffs, pressing you to chest and standing, gripping your leg to stay around his waist as you yelp and scramble not to fall, beginning to carry you to your shared room. “yeah right. let’s see how fast you’ll break.”
he’s about to break.
you think this as your thighs shake where they hold your weight, positioned over the dildo you’d pulled from the bottom drawer of your bedside table. it’s coated with a mixture of the slick from your cunt and an obscene amount of lube, almost the same size as sukuna’s angry red cock that’s gripped in a fist so tight you half-wonder if he’s hurting himself.
you can’t help but smirk as you start to sink on it, wanting to throw your head back at the stretch but sukuna’s burning glare is too good of a sight to miss. you can tell he was sure you would give in, beg for his help sooner rather than later, and you let him believe as such.
soft whines of “not enough,” and “need more,” as you started with swirling soft circles around your swollen clit, thighs wide open for his viewing pleasure. he’d palmed his cock then, eyes glued to how your pussy dripped clenched around nothing. your back had bowed against the bed as you pinched your nipple between two fingers and he’d whistled lowly.
“all you have to do is ask, baby,” he’d said with a smug grin on his face. you rolled your eyes in response.
when you started stretching yourself open on one, then two, then three fingers is when he cursed and pulled his cock free. the loud plap plap plap of your fingers burying themselves in your cunt, accompanied by your cries of how you couldn’t get deep enough, how your fingers weren’t as big as his had him salivating.
spitting in his palm and stroking himself to the pump of your fingers, inked chest heaving with labored breaths, he was perched on the edge of the chair, ready to fly off at your call. he was trying to coax you to say it, promising to press exactly where he knew you needed it, where only he could reach. but you hadn’t relented.
“can’t reach that spot can you, baby?” he’d breathed the question, leaning forward like he needed to get a closer look. “you know i can, why don’t you let me, hm? just say the word.”
instead you pulled your fingers from yourself with a wet squelch that made him groan, biting your lip as you made eye contact with sukuna. shifting positions to rest on your knees, you ignored the confusion on his face as you leaned over to pull out the toy you never told him about and a bottle of lube.
“where are you—what the hell is that?”
he’d watched you bring it to your lips with pain etched in his features, circling his tight fist on the tip of his cock as you kitten licked the silicone. his mouth had dropped open silently when you slid it past your lips and slowly down your throat, his hand following the movement. he’d visibly lurched forward when you breached your own throat and gagged around it, holding eye contact all the while.
“baby, please—please don’t do this to me.”
so you didn’t. you’d pulled it from your mouth, leaving a sticky string of saliva in your wake. instead you had sat it in front of you, snapping open the cap of the lube and pouring out a generous amount, letting it slide down the sides and pool in a puddle on the bed before lifting yourself above it.
“fuck, you’re gonna use that while i’m here, just waiting for you to say the word,” he tried to sound angry, but you could hear the crack in his voice, see the rough swallow against his throat as you teased your entrance with the sloppy tip of the toy.
now you are halfway down the length, forced to look away from sukuna and watch as the toy disappears inside you, your pussy working hard to accommodate every inch. your fingers dig into the messy sheets beneath you as you finally make it to the base.
“fucking god—shit, shit, shit—“ you pant, wiping away the sweat that’s beaded at your forehead. a series of whimpers sound at the back of your throat, the toy pressing deep into you, giving you a feeling so overwhelming that just a cautious rock of your hips is enough to send you doubling over, gasping.
if it wasn’t for the dip of the bed beside you, you would’ve forgotten sukuna was in the room. but your head pops up, making hazy eye contact with the red faced man as you try to catch your breath. one hand reaches out for him, and you slump in relief when he clasps it with his own, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
“is it too much, baby?” he moves behind you, cock still hard and leaking against his stomach. his hand finds your hip, caressing the skin before gripping it tight, his other hand letting go of yours and gripping the other. then he’s lifting you until the toy is just past your entrance before dropping you down again.
“sukuna, holy fuck—ah!“ you wail, but that’s all the coherence you can muster before he’s lifting and dropping you in a steady rhythm that keeps you breathless and babbling.
“wanted to take another cock in front of me, hm?” he’s barely able to say the words, teeth gritted with the effort of keeping his voice steady. "then you’re gonna take it right.”
saliva pools against your tongue and slides out of the corners of your mouth as you scratch at sukuna’s thighs that cage you in, trying to convey it’s too much, you can’t take it, you want his cock instead—
“you’re this overwhelmed from this little thing?” his teeth click mockingly right next to your ear. the roughness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine that turns to a violent shudder as he nips and bites his way down your neck. “listen to this pussy—fuck, you’re making a mess down here, baby. i’m almost jealous.”
your head shakes jerkily, it falling back on his shoulder to present more of your skin to mark and bruise up. “‘s for y-you—for you, ‘kuna—fuck, i can’t—“
he coos, plunging you down and swiveling your hips over the dildo, making it press incessantly on the softness at the top of your cunt and you cry out sukuna’s name, tears running the length of your face while you shake in his hold.
“yeah, all for me? it’s all for me, baby? this pretty pussy’s creaming around a cock that’s not mine all for me?”
your hips lock up, but sukuna fights past the resistance anyway, making you feel the overwhelming pleasure and ignoring your cries for mercy.
“you can’t take it, but you wanted this, right? wanted to make me watch, didn’t want me to help?” he kisses your tear stained cheeks, a softness that’s such a severe contrast to the torment he’s putting you through that you almost flinch. “then you’re gonna cum like this. around this stupid fucking toy. isn’t that right?”
you don't—can't answer as your back bows against his chest, his finger coming to circle quickly on your wet clit. he hisses, your ass moving against his cock that’s gone ignored since he got behind you. incoherent pleas leave your lips, but he continues, laughing darkly against your skin as you writhe and squirm in his hands.
“after i throw this thing away, i want you to cry like this on my cock, ok, baby?”
you nod, agreeing to you don’t even know what, chest heaving with broken sobs as you’re forced so close to orgasm.
“that’s my girl. go on, cum for me. let me see this pussy squirt, hear you scream.”
“fuck, fuck, oh my—sukuna—“
white blinds your vision and you scream his name just as he asked, sukuna groaning in sync as his finger works your clit while your pussy clenches furiously and spills slick around the toy, adding to the dark stain already coating the sheets.
your legs shake violently beneath you as sukuna holds you against the toy, making you ride out the rest of your high before he lifts you from it slowly with a wet pop, humming at the trail of slick you leave behind.
you fight for breath as you come down, sukuna’s arms wrapping around your torso and you burrowed further into his hold, limp against his chest.
“how do you feel, baby? was it too much?”
you feel his mouth at the top of your head and close your eyes, a tired sigh slipping past your lips. “i feel good, ‘kuna, don’t worry. i could take it.”
he makes a sound of understanding, before going silent, basking in it before he reaches down and lifts the messy toy from the bed, holding it up.
“maybe i won’t throw this away. that was very sexy, baby.”
“mmhmm. i’m sure.”
he tosses the toy to the other side of the bed before turning your face so you could look at him. his usually red eyes are blown so wide the color is only a small line around the rim of his pupil, and you’re suddenly made aware to the hardness pressing into your back.
“and i’m sure you’ll look even sexier riding my cock. ready for another round? ‘cause i don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, baby.”
౨ৎ — after you let it slip that the vibrator you just bought can’t get you off, bsf satoru gojo is more than happy to help || MDNI, smut. 1.6K words
inspo from this post by @blkkizzat. love her sexy brain.
there’s nothing quite as thrilling as having the man you told your exes not to worry about perched right between your legs.
you lie on your bed, naked from the waist down while your best friend sits fully clothed and examines your vibrator like he wishes he had a microscope to give him a better look.
he moves it from one hand to the next, the very picture of indifference when he switches it on.
satoru shakes his head when the toy quickly spurs to life and fills the room with it’s constant hum, “there’s no way wanted to throw this away,” he starts “seems perfectly fine to me.”
your eyes narrow the tiniest bit.
“well, you're not the one who has to use it.” you grouse defensively.
and maybe you were a little more pent up than you thought, because the image of him doing just that starts to take shape. the man practically lives in sweats, so you’ve caught the print of his dick more times than you’d ever care to admit.
and in your mind’s eye, you can picture him rubbing the vibrator against his tip then all the down the thick veiny length. white lashes fluttering and neck muscles bulging as the vibrations made him twitch in need—
cerulean eyes flicker to yours, and satoru smiles like he knows exactly what you're thinking. slow, full of teeth and boyishly sexy.
“you’re totally thinking about me using it, aren’t you?”
you forcibly expel the image away with a shake of your head.
“you wish,” you smack his arm a little too hard, and it has him groaning between a chuckle. ignoring the flush in your cheeks, you raise an eyebrow at him, “i still can't believe you offered to do this by the way.”
“i can’t believe you agreed,” he quips just as quickly and well…fair enough. because you couldn’t either.
satoru readjusts so he’s on his knees and dips his head, his eyes following the length of your body until they land right between your legs.
you watch them dilate until only a thin ring of blue remains, and the longer he stares, the more heat rushes south. cool air feathers over your cunt and the achy tease of it, coupled with the weight of his rapt attention, have your legs trying to close again.
satoru doesn't let you get far though. he grumbles his disapproval, freehand spanning over the plush flesh of your thigh and spreading you open again.
“don’t go shy on me now.”
your hips shift a little. “you’re staring.”
he huffs out a laugh, hand spasming over soft skin, “can you blame me?” he asks with a good helping of reverence and not a lick of denial in the question.
his eyes never stray away and fuck, you don’t even think he’s blinking.
“almost want to take my time with how pretty she is,” his chest rises with a deep inhale, like he’s trying to breathe you in. “wet too.”
one look at your face lets him know that you would walk out if he tried, and he has to stifle a grin.
“maybe next time,” he decides, and when he sees you about to tell him there won't be a “next time”, he lifts the vibrator and presses the tip of it against your clit.
and for someone who claimed it didn’t work, the effect it has on you is intense. your breath hitches, body bucking up, and he groans at the sight of your tits bouncing under your shirt.
he nearly dropped to his knees in anguish when you refused to take it off, but the way your nipples stiffen under the fabric almost makes it worth it.
“oh shit,” the moan draws his attention away from your chest, and he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth at the fucked-out look on your face.
satoru drags the silicone toy along your slit, and while glittery wetness immediately drenches it, it’s not nearly enough.
so he rears back and draws his cheeks in. when his lips part, a fat blob of spit splatters onto your clit. your hips pitch and the mess drips all the way down to your ass.
satoru watches your head roll against your pillow. hair splaying out messily and eyes a little too glassy, “toru,”
“too pretty for your own good, ” he husks quietly. as if it was only meant for his ears.
he presses himself against your thigh. cock thick and hard as it strains under his jeans, and you clench around nothing. suddenly painfully empty.
with how easy it is for satoru to map your reactions, someone would think this wasn’t the first time the two of you were doing this. it's like he can sense what you need long before you do. so, when your lips part to beg him for something your mind can barely string together, he's already nudging the vibrator against your entrance and slowly pushing it inside.
he pumps it in and out of you in deep, teasingly slow strokes that make it impossible to bite back your moans.
they sound embarrassing to your ears. all too high some moments and wavering into soundless gasps in others, but satoru clearly doesn't share the sentiment. he grinds his cock against your thigh harder, and it pulses with each sound that pours out your mouth. he feels them wash over his back and light up the base of his spine in a white-hot beam.
“you’re so fucking hot,” the vibrator is turned up a couple notches, and you freeze when you feel it.
you’re close.
a broken gasp escapes, then you react how you always do.
you run from it.
panicked and restless when your hips shift back and each pulse has you squirming.
you only get far enough to make an inch of the dildo slip out before a hand curls around your waist and holds you in place.
“where are you going?” gojo tilts his head at you and you think his eyes are the brightest you’ve ever seen them.
slowly, something clicks into place behind them, and a huff of laughter bubbles out.
“wait…don’t tell me you're a runner,” he's so tickled you're tempted to hit him again. but it's impossible to do anything but jerk when he plunges the toy to the hilt again. “well shit, baby, no wonder you thought it was broken.”
his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you would’ve found his wide grin cute if he didn't turn the intensity all the way up.
he lets the toy buzz inside of you and when you recoil, both hands grip your hips and swiftly tug you back.
“nuh uh, we can’t have you running away when you’re so close.”
“f-fuck, i can’t,” you whine. head shaking from side to side, and he coos.
“of course you can, pretty,” satoru drapes his body over yours, one burly thigh snug between your legs to keep the toy in place. and to keep grinding against your soft thighs.
“you’re doing so much better already,” he murmurs quietly, hips already moving against you. “just need me to hold you down and make you take it, hm?”
he phrases that like a question but slants his lips over yours to muffle your answer. satoru groans into your mouth, tongue swirling around yours and teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
your fingers twist into the sheets, clutching at them as if they would ground you. it proves useless because the filth coming out satoru’s mouth is clearly trying to leave you wrecked by the end of this.
“god, the sounds you make around fake cock,” he grunts against your jaw, hips shuttering for a moment before rutting harder. “should’ve—shit—just offered you the real thing.”
arousal pools around the vibrator to drip down onto the sheets below and it takes everything to keep your eyes from rolling backwards.
“oh my god,” you whimper, and he licks up the seam of your lips.
“be a good girl and stop holding back. let yourself feel it,” your hips roll upwards and his chest rumbles with a sound that doesn’t even sound human anymore. “yeah, there you go, fuck yourself on it.”
he was delirious. blabbering almost as much as you were, but at least he was halfway coherent. your limbs seal around him. legs coiling tight around his trim waist and hands sneaking under his shirt to scratch at his back.
your nails must dig in a little too deeply because a hiss is punctured against your lips. you draw back, scared you hurt him, and he shakes his head.
“do it again,” he pleads. palming your clothed tit. “like you mean it this time.”
a shocked huff leaves you, “jesus, you’re insane.”
the unhinged laugh that echoes through your room only proves your point, but you oblige. your nails rake over his muscled back, and the sound he makes makes your clit pulse.
“oh, c’mon baby harder,” you cut into skin, and he chokes. “ah—fuck yes!”
satoru doesn’t bother holding himself up anymore. he just lets all his weight bear down on you, basically trapping you under him.
he drops his head to the swell of your breast, and your back bows when he latches onto your nipple through your shirt, sucking it into his mouth and wetting the fabric.
“cum for me,” he hums against the peak when you tense under him.
you have a brief moment of panic when your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest. it wracks with a broken sob, and even when you go limp with your release, the vibrations between your legs don’t stop.
satoru shudders not long after you. moaning between your breasts while his cum makes a mess of his briefs. it spurts onto material in thick pulses and you swear you feel it on your skin. warm, sticky and sleek.
he stays on you for a second longer, then lifts himself onto his elbows so he doesn’t accidentally smother you.
it’s only when he slides the vibrator out that air returns to your lungs. tension leaves your body and your spine loosens again.
your eyes flit over to him and they bulge when you see him raise the toy to his mouth. glossy lips wrapping around the silicone, as he sucks your arousal and cum off of it.
the slurping noise he makes while he keeps his eyes on yours has liquid heat building up in your belly again, so intense it’s like you didn’t cum seconds ago. he releases it from his mouth with a pop and grins widely.
“see? works perfectly.”
you had a total psycho for a best friend, and whatever craze that infected him had to be spreading. because when he parts your legs again, murmuring something about making you squirt with round two…
note: hi this is a scheduled post. period cramps currently have me on my ass but i’ll be back online as soon as i can. lmk if you saw any errors okay? okay.
ps: @rambld see what other best friends are doing? lock in.
“sukuna, i’m gonna be late to my lecture, again, so can you please—“
“and i don’t give a fuck. give ‘em here, or you’re not going anywhere.”
“you can’t just—“
“i can, i will, and i am. hand 'em over.”
sukuna has you cramped in a bathroom stall, his large hand outstretched and waiting for your compliance. he’s been hounding you the last 50 minutes of your shared lecture about this. a perverted pain in your ass who makes your life hell when you don’t give in.
you know he’ll keep you here until you do what he says, so with a groan of annoyance, you reach underneath your skirt and pull your underwear down until it reaches your ankles, stepping out of them. you pick them up and throw them at his face, but he catches them easily with a smile to your dismay.
“always give them up so easy. never gonna put up a fight against me, will you?”
you ignore him, brushing past him, ready to unlatch the door and curse his name as you sit for another hour and a half aware of every gust of air on your bare pussy when his hand presses on the door, keeping you from opening it.
“every pair you hand over has a bigger wet spot than the last. you getting off on this, baby?”
“it’s not from you!” you hurl it fast over your shoulder to him, face flushed, desperately trying to forget the amount of times you’d walked around soaked after he’d cornered you. you try to open the stall door despite his hand but he holds it firmly closed, pressing your front against it with his weight directly behind you. you struggle, to no avail, heart pounding in your chest.
“then from who, hm?” sukuna’s mouth is pressed against the shell of your ear, lower, darker, than before. your breathing stops. “don’t talk to anyone but me, so who’s catching your attention?”
a rustling noise, then his now free hand is flitting with the hem of your skirt, fingers barely brushing the skin of your thigh but leaving goosebumps in his wake regardless. you tremble against the door, feeling his cock stand to attention against your lower back.
“sukuna, really, i’m gonna be late—“
he’s flipping your skirt up above your ass before you can finish, fingers finding the wetness around your entrance and spreading along the inside of your thighs. you gasp and he groans low in his throat, fingers kneading the flesh and spreading your cheeks apart for better access.
“how long you got? ‘til the lecture starts?”
“f-fifteen minutes, i-i think. but—“
his hand disappears from the door, sliding the stall latch shut. you have little time after hearing the clink of his belt buckle before he’s lifting one of your legs from the floor and hanging it from his forearm as he guides his cock through the folds of your cunt.
“i only need ten, baby. do you want this?”
your breath stutters as you nod shakily, forehead to the door and eyes clenched shut as the head of his cock catches on your soaked entrance.
"i need to hear you say it. c'mon, let me hear that pretty voice." his voice is strained, cock leaking steadily against your rim as he waits impatiently for you next words.
"y-yes—yes, i want it—you—please—"
your hands press into the door, fingers curling and nails scraping against the rough surface as his tip breaches your entrance slowly. you gasp at the intrusion, the wetness pooled in your cunt making his slide so easy, so wet that he bottoms out fast with a hiss of his own.
“‘s full—so deep, ‘kuna—fuck—“
“yeah? pussy took me real easy,” he brings a hand to push on your lower stomach, rolling his hips deep inside and your back arches, breath catching on a gasp. “feel me right here, baby?”
you nod shakily, thighs trembling as he pushes in and out slowly, dragging his cock along your walls, grunting out curses in his rough voice when he feels your cunt squeeze around him.
nosing at your neck, breath heavy on your skin, he continues his steady, dizzying pace. the obscene sound of his cock disturbing the wetness of your cunt echoes through the empty bathroom. he keeps his hand on your lower stomach, pushing you back onto his cock, refusing to let you pick up the speed.
“s-sukuna, please—oh, fuck—“ your forehead drops to rest against the stall door, harsh pants leaving your lips when sukuna shifts his hips upwards and starts dragging his cock back and forth over that soft ridge, reducing you to mewls. his resulting hoarse groan at your cunt squeezing his cock sets off a flurry in your stomach.
“p-please, ‘kuna—faster, go faster—ah!”
“begging me already, baby?” his voice is the only sign that he’s just as gone as you are. it’s husky and it’s shaking as he speaks, hot puffs of air accompanying his words, setting your skin ablaze. his arm hikes your leg up higher, spreading you wider and he somehow gets deeper, pulling a harsh cry from your almost raw throat.
“how long i got, seven minutes, maybe? think—think i wanna keep you like this,” he pulls you into him, his chest pressed to your back before his hand slides down your lower stomach to your cunt. “not fighting me. just making pretty noises and taking it. fuck—knew you would like this.”
his finger dips, swirling slow figure eights on your clit and a whimper slips past your lips. one of your hands leaves the door and grabs onto his wrist, but he doesn’t stop. he hums instead, cursing as your cunt flutters around him.
“what,” he taunts, mouth pressed to a sensitive spot at the back of your neck. “too much? you’re taking me so well, baby. ”
“close—sukuna, i’m—fuck, m’ so close—“
his cock presses hard into your cervix and you whine, trembling, raising to tip toe on your foot to try and escape the pleasure fused with pain, but sukuna just follows you up, hitting deep with every stroke, groaning into your skin and softly rubbing at your clit all the while.
“already, baby? got about three minutes left, c’mon. let me hear how pretty you sound when you cum for me.”
crying out for him, your cunt squeezes violently around his cock as you cum. your vision swims and your body rocks back into him on your heel, all your weight leaning on him while your cunt gushes down his cock, slicking the inside of your thighs.
“shit, just like that, baby,” his rhythm stutters, cock pulsing against your walls as he chases his release. your fingernails dig crescents into his wrist as the feeling becomes too much, soft whimpers for mercy falling on deaf ears.
“not inside, sukuna, i have class—not—“
“so pretty when you cum, so w-wet for me—fuck, ‘m cumming—“
with a groan into your shoulder, warmth from sukuna’s cum floods you, hips flush with your as deep as he can go as he paints your walls a milky white. you gasp, energy depleted while sukuna’s grinds his hips against you, riding out his high.
“five minutes ‘til class starts, baby.” he’s breathless, setting your leg down and rubbing his hands along your bare thighs. the pain of the stretch hits you and you buckle, but sukuna catches you with an arm around the waist, chuckling.
he pulls his hips back, your breath catching and him grunting softly as his cock slips from your slick entrance. you shudder, feeling your combined releases trail from you down your inner thigh.
“fuck, sukuna!” you round on him best as you can, stumbling against his chest when you lose your footing, him catching you with an arm around your waist. “i told you not inside! i can’t go to class like this.”
sukuna grins down at you wolfishly, red eyes glinting with mischief as a hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out the panties he took from you earlier.
“they won’t miss you for one class,” he brings your underwear to his nose and inhales deeply and your mouth drops open.
“sukuna, that’s so weird!” but your thighs squeeze together, and your grip on his shirt tightens when he makes eyes contact.
“this is nothing really,” he shrugs, but his arm hitches higher on your wait and presses you closer. “matter of fact, how about you come see what else i do with them in my dorm?”
One of ur fics popped up on my fyp and i clicked on your profile and its legit a TREASURE MINE 😭🙏🙏🙏I don't usually send asks but i just HAD to like holy shit ur writing is so freaking good dude!!!!!!!!!!!! Immediate follow!!! Will be going through your entire masterlist now #notsleepingtonight 🙂↕️
thank you so muchhh i hope you enjoy them!!!! ❤️❤️❤️
i just need u to know that two parter u wrote for nerd gojo in the library and the second part w sukuna is my FAVORITE nerd jo fic you did that man the utmost justice good lord
this makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, so glad you enjoyed it!!! ❤️❤️❤️
“no you don’t, pretty girl,” satoru purrs in your ear, glossy lips moving to tongue at the marks he’s been leaving down your neck. his chest is pressed to your back as he holds your legs open wide enough so suguru fits perfectly between them.
the latter lies on his stomach in front of you on your twin xl bed, his teeth marks littering your inner thighs. his index and middle finger press on either side of your puffy lips and spread them apart, whistling at the slick that pools from your opening and leaves a sticky mess all the way down to your bed.
you jerk in satoru’s hold at the burst of air from suguru’s lips, fighting to close your legs but satoru keeps them open, forcing you to remain exposed to suguru’s ministrations.
“don’t.” his grip tightens for good measure. “let us see, yeah?”
“if you hate us so badly,” suguru slides a finger through your slit, dragging the moisture up to your clit, using the glide to circle it easily, slowly, dragging a shuddering breath from between your lips, “why’d you let us in?"
“i—we were s-suppose to b-be study—ngh!”
suguru lays his tongue flat against your entrance, tensing it and licking upwards towards that bundle of nerves, humming at your taste all the while. his tongue flicks meanly on the nub and your back arches into satoru’s chest, fingers gripping satoru’s thighs where they cage you in.
“you got this wet just from studying?” suguru’s mocking you, his pretty face staring up from between your thighs before his head dips down for another fleeting taste of your leaking cunt.
“and you opened the door practically wearing nothing, pretty,” satoru’s tongue dances along your ear, his husky voice making you clench involuntarily around nothing. suguru doesn’t miss it. “we’re just giving you the attention you clearly wanted.”
your retort dies in your throat as suguru dives back in, kitten licking at your clit, eyes darkening when he sees how pilant you go against satoru’s chest from this little bit of teasing. your breath comes out in heavy pants, hips shifting forwards against your better judgment, trying to chase suguru’s tongue every time he leans away.
“keep her still, ‘toru.”
a hand leaves leaves your legs, pressing hard on your lower stomach instead, halting your squirming and forcing you to take the little that suguru gives. satoru’s second hand leaves your leg with a rough squeeze before its sliding past his second underneath your thin tank. “keep them open. don’t make me tell you twice.”
the rough pads of his fingers find your taut nipple and pinches hard at the same time suguru sucks your clit between his lips and you cry out, hips trying to buck against your will but satoru holds you firmly against him.
“she’s so responsive even though she hates us,” satoru huffs, trailing wet kisses across your cheek, forcing your head to turn so he can lick filthily into your mouth, swallowing the noises you’ve been trying to keep in.
“she doesn’t hate us,” suguru claims, not referring to you but to your cunt that’s steadily dripping around the tips of his fingers that are positioned at your entrance, circling your hole while his mouth explores the rest of your mound. “she’s leaking down here, and we’ve barely touched her.”
you whimper into satoru’s eager mouth, who kisses you sloppily, making your stomach turn. it takes some effort to unlatch your lips from his, him continuing to chase you when you back away, refusing to let you go while his hand roams your chest just as eagerly.
“suguru—sugu, please—more, more—“
the tip of his finger breaches your slick entrance and you sigh into satoru’s mouth while he peppers kisses along the outer edges of your lips. “you want more from him, pretty? and asking so nicely, too.”
a frustrated whine leaves your lips when the pressure at your entrance backs off. satoru peeks over your shoulder at the sight below and a sick grin paints his features.
“oh? look at that.”
satoru nods in suguru’s direction and your bleary gaze moves back down. his fingers tap away at your entrance, entranced with the strings that follows his fingers every time he pulls them away.
“all this for us, baby?” suguru watches with an almost innocent fascination, little plap plap plap sounds filling the space between the three of you. it’s embarrassing, how wet you are, how you’re aching for more than just the tip of a finger or lick of your clit from a pair as annoying as them.
but when satoru’s hand inches away from your tits and joins suguru’s between your legs, slipping his own fingers through your arousal, you let your pride get away from you just this once.
“please—please d-don’t tease m-me."
satoru chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and suguru smiles in a way so sinister you almost flinch away from him.
“hear that, ‘toru? she doesn’t want to be teased.”
satoru hums, contemplatively. “yeah, i heard. pretty girl wants more, remember?” his fingers slip beside suguru’s, sliding through your sensitive folds collecting slick and suguru’s saliva, swirling slow circles around your clit. it makes your toes curl and your back bends away from his chest.
“mhmm. a shame she hates us, though.”
suguru’s fingers that have been building you up suddenly pull away and you shiver at their loss. satoru taps away at your clit a few more times before he follows in suguru’s footsteps, bringing his soiled fingers up to his mouth to taste the remnants of you. suguru’s smile widens when he takes in your confused stare.
“what—“
“a real shame.” satoru’s chin hooks over your shoulder and his hands come to rest on your thighs, wet digits leaving a mark on your skin. “tastes so sweet too, wish she liked us enough to let us make her cum.”
you can hear the grin in his voice, see the look they’re sharing right in front of you as protests bubble up past your throat before you even know it.
“n-no—please, i didn’t—“
“really hurt our feelings, princess. saying you hate us when we just wanna make you feel good.” suguru’s hands slide slowly up to the apex of your thighs, moving around satoru’s and stopping right before where you need him most.
“and i know she’s aching for it too,” satoru tsks over your shoulder. “maybe if she apologized, don’t you think, suguru?”
the words rush from between your lips, airy and desperate while your cunt clenches, the ghost of suguru’s finger haunting your senses. “‘m sorry, i’m s-sorry—“
“gonna have to try harder than that, pretty,” suguru taunts, bringing his face down til he’s eyes level with your cunt once more, blowing a stream of cold air on it, just to feel your thighs tremble where he holds them. “don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”
“he’s right. need to be specific if you want us to know what your talking about.”
they’re relentless, you realize. going back and forth with their teasing with you in the middle, sensitive beyond belief and teetering on the edge while they act oblivious. frustrated tears well in your eyes and you want it, them, against your better judgement.
“i’m sorry—sorry, for saying i h-hate you both.”
silence greets your words, and you watch them engage in a silent exchange once more. you’re breath hitches, and you’re ready to put forward your best effort in this state when satoru breaks the silence from behind you.
“good enough for me. how about it, sugu?”
a tongue licks over your cheek, wet and warm and it makes your mouth drop open, satoru taking the opportunity to claim your lips once more, groaning into your mouth.
“oh, please,” suguru scoffs, but he poises two fingers at your entrance and slides them right past, your greedy cunt sucking them in so easily and you shout into satoru’s mouth at the intrusion. “you just want to see her cry.”
“i do,” satoru responds, but it’s whispered into your mouth like it’s just for you to hear. “don’t you want to cum for us, pretty girl? promise it’ll feel real good.”
a smile paints satoru’s features, bright eyes flashing when your lips detach from his with a whine, your head falling back on his shoulder as suguru takes your clit into his mouth, fingers still working their way through your gummy walls.
“suguru—please, please—“
the slow pump of his fingers and swirling of his tongue makes your heart race. shuddering breaths fall from your lips as he keeps toying with, not giving you nearly enough for you to finish. and satoru knows it, too.
“c’mon, suguru,” he’s whining behind you, reaching down and wrapping a hand around suguru’s wrist, forcing him to pump his fingers faster, harder. the sweetest cries they’ve heard spill from your lips and your hand finds suguru’s hair, clenching his silky locs in a fist, rocking your hips further into his face. “she said sorry, right? make her cum, wanna see her cry. wanna see her soak your face.”
“‘toru—“
“don’t talk. eat. or we could switch places. do you want that, pretty?” he’s asking you but staring at suguru, catching his glare while helping him fuck you faster. “i’ll be so nice to you, swear it. you want me to take over?”
“like hell,” suguru almost growls before he’s hungrily lapping at your bundle of nerves again, fingers curling as he fights against satoru’s grip, pressing against that soft spot that has your eyes rolling, moans tumbling from your moth. satoru takes his hand away, satisfied, hardness pressed against your back as you writhe against him, incoherent babbles leaving your mouth.
satoru coos, hands roaming your body, mouth finding new places on your neck to leave any mark he can. “fuck, she’s shaking, sugu. think she’s close? she tightening on your fingers, hm? shit, i can hear it.”
satoru’s filthy words make your thighs come together, trapping suguru between them as tears start to spill from your eyes, just like he wanted. suguru groans between your legs at your pretty sounds, hips twitching on the bed and the vibrations on your clit make your head swim.
“close, c-close—sugu—‘toru, please, i’m so—ah!”
“she’s crying, suguru, holy fuck,” his tongue finds your face again, tracking the salty bead down your cheek and licking it away. “gonna cum on his tongue, pretty? he’s working so hard, go on, give it to us.”
one more press of suguru’s fingertips in to that soft spot and a bite from satoru is enough to finally break you. vision going white, you spill all over suguru’s face and down his fingers, arousal pooling on your sheets as you rock your hips and ride your climax on his fingers. you’re gasping their names, shaking in satoru’s hold as suguru continues to lick into you like it’s his last meal.
“too much—too—“
suguru spreads your thighs, freeing himself and sliding his fingers from your cunt with a lewd squelch. he places a gentle kiss on your clit before lifting up, bringing his fingers to his lips to clean away the last of your taste.
“you alright, princess?” but he’s kissing you before you can respond, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth and making you taste yourself. weak hands grip his shoulders as you mewl at suguru’s desperate kisses, trying to catch your breath.
satoru groans against your cheek, fingers digging into your thighs, watching suguru kiss you so messily, rosy cheeked and desperate for a taste.
“suguru, move.” he shoves suguru away by the shoulder, taking your chin between his fingers with one hand and sliding the other down to cup your sensitive cunt in his big hand. “gonna let me have a turn right, pretty girl? i’ll make you feel better than him, just say the word.”
“‘m tired, satoru—“
but satoru’s already shifting your positions, practically kicking suguru off the bed as he eagerly wiggles his way down the bed with you in tow. then he’s lying on his back, hands poised on your hips.
“suguru, come here. help me lift her.”
you want to protest, but they’re pulling you up already, guiding your weight until your turned, kneeling over satoru’s face and staring down at him, legs shaking where they hold your weight up, his own glowing eyes locked on the mess of your pussy, white locks spread around his head on your pillow like a halo.
a chest is pressed against your back as suguru settles in behind you, hands on your hips and sliding your tank up so he gets just as good a view as satoru.
“go on, sit on his face, princess. give him a taste.”
“still tired, pretty girl? i’ll do all the work, ‘kay? don’t be shy, i got you.”
⋆ ok back to jjk and just hit 1 million (1k) followers so consider this a celebration, thank you and love you all!!!!!
“no you don’t, pretty girl,” satoru purrs in your ear, glossy lips moving to tongue at the marks he’s been leaving down your neck. his chest is pressed to your back as he holds your legs open wide enough so suguru fits perfectly between them.
the latter lies on his stomach in front of you on your twin xl bed, his teeth marks littering your inner thighs. his index and middle finger press on either side of your puffy lips and spread them apart, whistling at the slick that pools from your opening and leaves a sticky mess all the way down to your bed.
you jerk in satoru’s hold at the burst of air from suguru’s lips, fighting to close your legs but satoru keeps them open, forcing you to remain exposed to suguru’s ministrations.
“don’t.” his grip tightens for good measure. “let us see, yeah?”
“if you hate us so badly,” suguru slides a finger through your slit, dragging the moisture up to your clit, using the glide to circle it easily, slowly, dragging a shuddering breath from between your lips, “why’d you let us in?"
“i—we were s-suppose to b-be study—ngh!”
suguru lays his tongue flat against your entrance, tensing it and licking upwards towards that bundle of nerves, humming at your taste all the while. his tongue flicks meanly on the nub and your back arches into satoru’s chest, fingers gripping satoru’s thighs where they cage you in.
“you got this wet just from studying?” suguru’s mocking you, his pretty face staring up from between your thighs before his head dips down for another fleeting taste of your leaking cunt.
“and you opened the door practically wearing nothing, pretty,” satoru’s tongue dances along your ear, his husky voice making you clench involuntarily around nothing. suguru doesn’t miss it. “we’re just giving you the attention you clearly wanted.”
your retort dies in your throat as suguru dives back in, kitten licking at your clit, eyes darkening when he sees how pilant you go against satoru’s chest from this little bit of teasing. your breath comes out in heavy pants, hips shifting forwards against your better judgment, trying to chase suguru’s tongue every time he leans away.
“keep her still, ‘toru.”
a hand leaves leaves your legs, pressing hard on your lower stomach instead, halting your squirming and forcing you to take the little that suguru gives. satoru’s second hand leaves your leg with a rough squeeze before its sliding past his second underneath your thin tank. “keep them open. don’t make me tell you twice.”
the rough pads of his fingers find your taut nipple and pinches hard at the same time suguru sucks your clit between his lips and you cry out, hips trying to buck against your will but satoru holds you firmly against him.
“she’s so responsive even though she hates us,” satoru huffs, trailing wet kisses across your cheek, forcing your head to turn so he can lick filthily into your mouth, swallowing the noises you’ve been trying to keep in.
“she doesn’t hate us,” suguru claims, not referring to you but to your cunt that’s steadily dripping around the tips of his fingers that are positioned at your entrance, circling your hole while his mouth explores the rest of your mound. “she’s leaking down here, and we’ve barely touched her.”
you whimper into satoru’s eager mouth, who kisses you sloppily, making your stomach turn. it takes some effort to unlatch your lips from his, him continuing to chase you when you back away, refusing to let you go while his hand roams your chest just as eagerly.
“suguru—sugu, please—more, more—“
the tip of his finger breaches your slick entrance and you sigh into satoru’s mouth while he peppers kisses along the outer edges of your lips. “you want more from him, pretty? and asking so nicely, too.”
a frustrated whine leaves your lips when the pressure at your entrance backs off. satoru peeks over your shoulder at the sight below and a sick grin paints his features.
“oh? look at that.”
satoru nods in suguru’s direction and your bleary gaze moves back down. his fingers tap away at your entrance, entranced with the strings that follows his fingers every time he pulls them away.
“all this for us, baby?” suguru watches with an almost innocent fascination, little plap plap plap sounds filling the space between the three of you. it’s embarrassing, how wet you are, how you’re aching for more than just the tip of a finger or lick of your clit from a pair as annoying as them.
but when satoru’s hand inches away from your tits and joins suguru’s between your legs, slipping his own fingers through your arousal, you let your pride get away from you just this once.
“please—please d-don’t tease m-me."
satoru chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and suguru smiles in a way so sinister you almost flinch away from him.
“hear that, ‘toru? she doesn’t want to be teased.”
satoru hums, contemplatively. “yeah, i heard. pretty girl wants more, remember?” his fingers slip beside suguru’s, sliding through your sensitive folds collecting slick and suguru’s saliva, swirling slow circles around your clit. it makes your toes curl and your back bends away from his chest.
“mhmm. a shame she hates us, though.”
suguru’s fingers that have been building you up suddenly pull away and you shiver at their loss. satoru taps away at your clit a few more times before he follows in suguru’s footsteps, bringing his soiled fingers up to his mouth to taste the remnants of you. suguru’s smile widens when he takes in your confused stare.
“what—“
“a real shame.” satoru’s chin hooks over your shoulder and his hands come to rest on your thighs, wet digits leaving a mark on your skin. “tastes so sweet too, wish she liked us enough to let us make her cum.”
you can hear the grin in his voice, see the look they’re sharing right in front of you as protests bubble up past your throat before you even know it.
“n-no—please, i didn’t—“
“really hurt our feelings, princess. saying you hate us when we just wanna make you feel good.” suguru’s hands slide slowly up to the apex of your thighs, moving around satoru’s and stopping right before where you need him most.
“and i know she’s aching for it too,” satoru tsks over your shoulder. “maybe if she apologized, don’t you think, suguru?”
the words rush from between your lips, airy and desperate while your cunt clenches, the ghost of suguru’s finger haunting your senses. “‘m sorry, i’m s-sorry—“
“gonna have to try harder than that, pretty,” suguru taunts, bringing his face down til he’s eyes level with your cunt once more, blowing a stream of cold air on it, just to feel your thighs tremble where he holds them. “don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”
“he’s right. need to be specific if you want us to know what your talking about.”
they’re relentless, you realize. going back and forth with their teasing with you in the middle, sensitive beyond belief and teetering on the edge while they act oblivious. frustrated tears well in your eyes and you want it, them, against your better judgement.
“i’m sorry—sorry, for saying i h-hate you both.”
silence greets your words, and you watch them engage in a silent exchange once more. you’re breath hitches, and you’re ready to put forward your best effort in this state when satoru breaks the silence from behind you.
“good enough for me. how about it, sugu?”
a tongue licks over your cheek, wet and warm and it makes your mouth drop open, satoru taking the opportunity to claim your lips once more, groaning into your mouth.
“oh, please,” suguru scoffs, but he poises two fingers at your entrance and slides them right past, your greedy cunt sucking them in so easily and you shout into satoru’s mouth at the intrusion. “you just want to see her cry.”
“i do,” satoru responds, but it’s whispered into your mouth like it’s just for you to hear. “don’t you want to cum for us, pretty girl? promise it’ll feel real good.”
a smile paints satoru’s features, bright eyes flashing when your lips detach from his with a whine, your head falling back on his shoulder as suguru takes your clit into his mouth, fingers still working their way through your gummy walls.
“suguru—please, please—“
the slow pump of his fingers and swirling of his tongue makes your heart race. shuddering breaths fall from your lips as he keeps toying with, not giving you nearly enough for you to finish. and satoru knows it, too.
“c’mon, suguru,” he’s whining behind you, reaching down and wrapping a hand around suguru’s wrist, forcing him to pump his fingers faster, harder. the sweetest cries they’ve heard spill from your lips and your hand finds suguru’s hair, clenching his silky locs in a fist, rocking your hips further into his face. “she said sorry, right? make her cum, wanna see her cry. wanna see her soak your face.”
“‘toru—“
“don’t talk. eat. or we could switch places. do you want that, pretty?” he’s asking you but staring at suguru, catching his glare while helping him fuck you faster. “i’ll be so nice to you, swear it. you want me to take over?”
“like hell,” suguru almost growls before he’s hungrily lapping at your bundle of nerves again, fingers curling as he fights against satoru’s grip, pressing against that soft spot that has your eyes rolling, moans tumbling from your moth. satoru takes his hand away, satisfied, hardness pressed against your back as you writhe against him, incoherent babbles leaving your mouth.
satoru coos, hands roaming your body, mouth finding new places on your neck to leave any mark he can. “fuck, she’s shaking, sugu. think she’s close? she tightening on your fingers, hm? shit, i can hear it.”
satoru’s filthy words make your thighs come together, trapping suguru between them as tears start to spill from your eyes, just like he wanted. suguru groans between your legs at your pretty sounds, hips twitching on the bed and the vibrations on your clit make your head swim.
“close, c-close—sugu—‘toru, please, i’m so—ah!”
“she’s crying, suguru, holy fuck,” his tongue finds your face again, tracking the salty bead down your cheek and licking it away. “gonna cum on his tongue, pretty? he’s working so hard, go on, give it to us.”
one more press of suguru’s fingertips in to that soft spot and a bite from satoru is enough to finally break you. vision going white, you spill all over suguru’s face and down his fingers, arousal pooling on your sheets as you rock your hips and ride your climax on his fingers. you’re gasping their names, shaking in satoru’s hold as suguru continues to lick into you like it’s his last meal.
“too much—too—“
suguru spreads your thighs, freeing himself and sliding his fingers from your cunt with a lewd squelch. he places a gentle kiss on your clit before lifting up, bringing his fingers to his lips to clean away the last of your taste.
“you alright, princess?” but he’s kissing you before you can respond, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth and making you taste yourself. weak hands grip his shoulders as you mewl at suguru’s desperate kisses, trying to catch your breath.
satoru groans against your cheek, fingers digging into your thighs, watching suguru kiss you so messily, rosy cheeked and desperate for a taste.
“suguru, move.” he shoves suguru away by the shoulder, taking your chin between his fingers with one hand and sliding the other down to cup your sensitive cunt in his big hand. “gonna let me have a turn right, pretty girl? i’ll make you feel better than him, just say the word.”
“‘m tired, satoru—“
but satoru’s already shifting your positions, practically kicking suguru off the bed as he eagerly wiggles his way down the bed with you in tow. then he’s lying on his back, hands poised on your hips.
“suguru, come here. help me lift her.”
you want to protest, but they’re pulling you up already, guiding your weight until your turned, kneeling over satoru’s face and staring down at him, legs shaking where they hold your weight up, his own glowing eyes locked on the mess of your pussy, white locks spread around his head on your pillow like a halo.
a chest is pressed against your back as suguru settles in behind you, hands on your hips and sliding your tank up so he gets just as good a view as satoru.
“go on, sit on his face, princess. give him a taste.”
“still tired, pretty girl? i’ll do all the work, ‘kay? don’t be shy, i got you.”
⋆ ok back to jjk and just hit 1 million (1k) followers so consider this a celebration, thank you and love you all!!!!!
back and forth you pace in front of the door to your home. fingernails bitten to the stubs, the skin on the back of your neck rubbed raw, the anticipation is killing you.
it’s been four weeks since his last letter. he said he’d be arriving today. you haven’t slept since last night, anxiously cleaning and preparing your home for his arrival and he’s still not here despite it being early afternoon.
maybe he’s just caught up in headquarters? just catching up with jean and kaeya and lisa? playing with klee? or maybe something happened on the road? what if he’s hurt, or can’t get back to you? or lost? or—
the sound of large boots walking up the steps to your door makes you halt. you hold your breath, watching the doorknob as it turns slowly, before the door swings open and slams against the wall. you would be upset any other time, but there he is.
“i’m home, sweetheart—oof!”
the speed with which you run into him would knock an ordinary man down. but not him. not varka.
“oh, honey,” he drops his bags, lifting you easily as your arms wrap around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist, squeezing him tight with no intent to let him go soon. a mix of a laugh and a sob escapes you, tears streaming down your face and onto his skin.
“there’s no need to cry, sweetheart. i’m home,” his voice is a low drawl, sending vibrations through your chest and soothing your sobs, a feeling you were unaware you missed so deeply until you felt it again.
sniffling, you lift away from his neck, holding his face in your hands, running smooth fingers over his scarred cheek. you press your foreheads together, taking in gulps of air and the scent you’ve craved for over a year.
“i missed you, varka. so much.” it’s a whisper of breath past your lips, like a secret for just the two of you. varka exhales, bright blue eyes glassy with tears he keeps at bay.
"i missed you, too, sweetheart. not a day passed where i didn't think about the day i'd finally come home to you." a teary laugh comes forward, the largest smile you’ve had in years breaking apart the stream of tears from your eyes. you press your lips forward and he meets you halfway, relishing in a long overdue kiss that feels like you’ve finally come up for air after almost drowning.
“missed you—love you so much,” the words are muffled against your lips as he walks you away from the front door, slamming it shut with a well aimed kick. you hum into his mouth, body limp in his hold, the feeling of comfort overwhelming and encompassing. his steps take you to the living room where he sits on the couch, mouthes still connected as he settles you on his lap.
his lips pull back for breath, shushing your protests by peppering kisses on your lashes, cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, wherever he can reach, hands settling on your waist. you bask in each other’s company, in the silence that says a thousand words, both too much and nowhere near enough.
“don’t ever leave me for so long again,” you mumble against his chest. warm hands trail your back, alternating between random, silly shapes and soothing strokes.
“i’ll try my best not to, dear,” a firm press of lips to your forehead follows his words. “there’s nowhere i’d rather be than here with you.”
you sit in each others arms for a while longer, taking comfort in the company, relaxed beyond belief. until you feel something press against your lower half. you would chastise him, claim you just wanted to sit and cuddle. but you’d both know you’d be lying.
“m’ sorry, pup,” he laughs without remorse, shifting himself so he presses against you firmer like he knows what you want, so you know what he wants. “it’s got a mind of its own apparently.”
his lie would be funnier if your cunt wasn’t spilling in your shorts, if you weren’t so desperate to feel your husband after restless nights of being unsatisfied, trying to make yourself cum thinking of the lewd promises painted in his letters.
“varka…please,” you start grinding your hips slowly, whining into his neck and he matches you with a groan, a bruising grip on your hips as he guides them back and forth over his hardening cock.
“oh, puppy. seems like she missed me too, hm?”
-
varka doesn’t grant you the dignity of carrying you to your shared bedroom before taking you. but with your face shoved into the couch cushion while he fucks tears from your eyes, you can’t find it in yourself to complain.
your bottoms lay ripped and hanging off an ankle, panties shoved to the side in varka’s impatience to be inside you. his uniform is hardly unbuttoned, shoes still on but his cock peeks past his waistband, the crotch of his pants dark with the wetness of your combined efforts. his darkened eyes watch your cunt take him again and again, lips crooked in a wolffish grin.
“was going through withdrawals out there, pup,” he growls, hips snapping a furious rhythm as he revels in your cries from underneath him. “fuck, she can hardly let me go.”
the head of his cock bruises your cervix with each thrust, the pleasure blurring with pain and leaving you wailing into the couch cushions, lower half of your body trembling with the effort of keeping you aloft.
you bring a shaky hand around to press at his midrift, to relieve yourself of some of the overwhelming pleasure but he grabs your wrist and intertwines your fingers instead.
“don’t run from me, pup.” he punctuates his sentence with a thrust that knocks the wind from your lungs, a gasp so violent following it you almost choke. you turn your face to give you reprieve, punched out moans flooding the space of your living room.
“so mean, trying to deny me after i’ve been without you for so long.” he fucks you deeper somehow, rough hand grabbing at the flesh of your ass to spread you wider, his cock stretching your cunt to the perfect size for him.
“v-varka—o-oh fuck—t-too much—ah!”
your hoarse plea is cut off with a yelp as varka’s hand connects harshly with your ass. your cunt clenches furiously around his cock as your mouth drops open in a silent scream. the groan that leaves varka is guttural, animalistic, hips chasing a overdue release years in the making, and pushing you towards the same one.
“calling my name won’t help you, pup—shit.” all of a sudden you’re upright, back pressed to his front as his cock ruts desperately into your heat, right against the soft spot that has you wailing his name like a plea for mercy.
strong arms wrap around your midsection, varka placing his head on your shoulder while your arm wraps around and grabs the back of his neck, pressing him closer. varka pants at your ear, cursing when you push your hips back to meet his thrusts halfway.
“see? just as desperate for it,” he licks a stripe up your neck before sucking in a bruise sure to last for days. “fuck me back, sweetheart. just like that.”
one of his hands snake down, gliding past tufts of hair to circle your neglected clit and your body arches away from him with a sob. varka’s breath heats your neck as he exhales a laugh, timing his finger to his rough thrusts and making you feel all of him.
“surprised you’ve lasted this long, pup. don’t you wanna cum for me?”
you shiver at the hunger in his voice, your body hot where it’s flushed against his, cunt leaking steadily down his cock.
“c’mon. let me feel you squeeze around my cock.” his voice is a low rumble against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and spasms of pleasure right to your weeping cunt. varka groans softly against your ear, knowing what his voice does to you and grinning when a shaky breath leaves your lips, your fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“that’s it, pup. cum around me and i’ll fill you good, promise.”
“p-please, varka—please—“
“please? being nice to me now, sweetheart?” the tease in his voice accompanied by his bruising thrusts and fingertip circling your clit make your eyes roll, stomach clenching and nails leaving crescent shapes in varka’s forearm as you hold on. “want me to cum inside, hm? stuff you good and keep it there, give me more incentive to come back to you safe ‘n sound?”
the implication in his words cause white spots to flash in your vision, body convulsing, and an intake of breath so sudden you almost choke as you spill filthily around his cock. a loud shout of varka’s names leaves your lips, almost pleading as he works you through your orgasm, thrusts not faltering. his arms wrap tighter around you to keep you pressed to him as his cock works its way through your tightening cunt that won’t let him go.
“yeah—yeah, pup. scream for me. let the neighbors know who’s fucking you dumb—shit—“
you whine with overstimulation as varka cuts himself off with a groan, the fluttering of your cunt pushing him headfirst into his own overdue release. he buries his face in your neck as his cock ruts deep, hips pressing flush against your ass while white paints your walls, the warmth of it making you tremble.
“take it, sweetheart, take it—fuck—‘s all for you.”
his breath is shuddering against your skin, and his hips jerk without rhythm while he empties himself inside you. you moan breathlessly as varka’s body rocks against yours while he comes down, him whispering sweet nothings into the crook of your neck and mouthing at your sweaty skin.
“i love you, varka.”
he finally ends his assault, lifting his head to turn yours toward him and kiss you sweetly, resting his forehead to yours when he’s had his fill.
“i love you too, sweetheart.”
you both share a hiss as he slides his half hard cock from your cunt. he carefully adjusts your positions, ending with you seated on his lap, arms instinctively wrapping around varka’s neck as his go to your mid back and beneath your knees, lifting you again without effort to walk you to your bedroom.
“you still with me, pup?”
you hum tiredly, head resting on his chest, eyes fluttering shut until varka all but throws you on your shared bed, resulting in a shared fit of laughter from you both. his weight is welcomed on your body as he follows you to the bed, kissing across your face and down your neck.
“don’t fall asleep on me now, sweetheart. we have a lot of time to make up for.”
a/n: not jjk again my bad y'all...i’m literally in japan rn but in celebration of me getting c1r1 varka b4 i left here’s something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a bit, ending is rushed 😭
If you need to take a break then take a break!! You are not a machine my angel and you should only work on what brings you joy <3 Stay safe, stay healthy and stay sane MWAH
