૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — ancient shrine sukuna x researcher reader one-shot. you accidentally break the seals and summon the king of curses himself. curiosity turns into something much more dangerous… and addictive. ♡
author’s note. monsterfucking + true form sukuna with piercings + like 6k words… i fear i cooked a lil too hard on this one
The Shrine’s Awakening
Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x f!Reader
Tags: true form sukuna, monsterfucking, four arms, double penetration, sukuna with piercings, creampie, extra mouth, size difference, rough smut, power dynamic, corruption, overstimulation, possessive sukuna
The air in the excavation chamber was ancient. It tasted of dust and stillness, a flavor so old it had no name. Each breath was a deliberate act, pulling millennia of silence into your lungs.
For three weeks, your team had been working this section of the shrine—unearthing pottery shards, cataloging ritual markings, documenting the slow decay of history. You were a curse researcher, one of the best, and this was the find of a lifetime: a previously undocumented shrine to the Ryomen Sukuna, predating the Heian era by centuries.
You ran a gloved finger along a line of carved sigils, the stone cool through the thin latex. They warned you. Every briefing, every memo from the higher-ups was the same: Do not engage. Do not touch. This is a remnant, not an active threat, but the seals are old. We don’t know what they contain.
A containment specialist stood by the entrance at all times, a silent, armed reminder of the danger. But the sigils were unlike anything you’d ever seen. They seemed to shift in the torchlight, the ink-black lines swallowing the glow. A strange energy hummed from the wall, a low-frequency thrum that vibrated in your teeth.
It wasn't malevolent, not exactly. It was… potent. Like standing too close to a live wire. Your cursed energy was a steady current within you, but this was something else—a roiling, chaotic ocean compared to your placid stream.
Curiosity, your greatest asset and your worst vice, itched behind your eyes. You needed a sample. With the precision of a surgeon, you unfolded your kit. The scalpel gleamed.
The containment specialist coughed, a dry, bored sound from the doorway. He wasn't watching you. Why would he? You were the lead researcher. You knew the protocols better than anyone.
You placed the tip of the blade against the stone. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a sound. Not a crack, but a tear. The sound of reality unstitching itself.
The scalpel dropped from your numb fingers, clattering on the stone floor. A spiderweb of crimson light erupted from the point of contact, the sigils blazing with a sudden, furious luminescence. The hum escalated into a deafening roar, a pressure wave that slammed into you, stole your breath, and threw you back against the opposite wall.
Your head cracked against stone, and the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of light and pain.
When your vision cleared, the chamber was different. The dust was gone, the air no longer stale but thick, humid, and smelling of iron and something else… something like lightning after it strikes.
The crimson light had coalesced, no longer a chaotic web but a writhing column of pure energy in the center of the room. From it, a shape began to emerge.
He formed himself from the darkness and the crimson light, not a man but the idea of a man, a construct of impossible geometry and overwhelming presence. Four powerful arms, corded with muscle, settled onto a broad torso. A second face, sinister and smiling, materialized on the side of his head, its own eyes opening to take in the world.
His skin was the color of a bruised twilight, marked with black lines that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. And the piercings… your researcher’s brain tried to catalogue them even through your terror. A bar through each nipple, one through his left eyebrow, studs along the cartilage of all four ears, and a heavy ring hanging from his lower lip.
He was tall, towering, and when he finally opened his main eyes, they were a terrifying, beautiful crimson. He took a breath, the expansion of his chest a geological event. He stretched, cracking his neck with a sound like grinding tectonic plates, all four arms lifting in a languid, predatory stretch.
His gaze swept the chamber—destroyed artifacts, scorch marks on the walls—before landing on you.
You were pressed flat against the stone, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This was it. This was how you died. You had broken the world’s most dangerous toy, and now it was going to smash you.
You waited for the inevitable flicker of cursed energy, the wave of power that would erase you from existence. But it didn’t come.
He tilted his head, a gesture of almost human curiosity. His main face was unreadable, but the second one graced you with a wide, sharp-toothed smirk.
“Well now,” the main voice rumbled, a vibration that shook your very bones. “What have we here?”
The second face spoke simultaneously, a higher, more sibilant tone layered over the first. “A little mouse. Scared stiff.”
You swallowed, your throat bone-dry. Death was coming. You could feel it. But underneath the terror, something else stirred. The hum you’d felt before was back, but it wasn't coming from the wall anymore. It was coming from him.
It was an aura of such immense, unadulterated power that your own meager cursed energy cowered in its presence. He wasn't just a curse. He was a force of nature. A god.
And you, the fool who had poked him with a stick, were still alive.
“A researcher,” you managed to say, your voice a thin, reedy thing. “I was… studying the seals.”
He laughed. It wasn't a single sound but a chorus, a deep, resonant boom from the main face and a sharp, cruel giggle from the second. The sound was a physical assault.
“Studying?” the main voice repeated, laced with scorn. “This brat thinks she was studying me.”
He took a step forward, and the ground seemed to tremor. All four of his hands were clenched into fists. You saw the glint of more piercings on the backs of them, silver studs that caught the non-existent light.
“You didn’t study. You disturbed.”
He was looming over you now, blotting out everything. His scent washed over you—not iron, but old blood, rich dark earth, and a terrifyingly masculine musk that made your head spin.
“For that, you should be rendered down to your component atoms. A fitting punishment for the insolent.”
You closed your eyes. You couldn't help it. A final, pathetic show of fear. But the end didn't come. Instead, a cool touch brushed your cheek.
You flinched, your eyes snapping open. One of his upper hands was there, one finger extended. The tip was cold, not like skin, but like polished stone. He was tracing the line of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle.
“You’re not screaming,” the main voice noted, a strange inflection in it. The curiosity was back.
“Her heart is beating so fast,” the second face chirped, leaning in closer. Its breath was cool, smelling of smoke. “But she isn’t running. Interesting.”
The finger on your jaw trailed down, hooking under your chin to tilt your face up. You were forced to meet those crimson eyes. They weren't just red; they were pools of blood, ancient and deep, and in them, you saw galaxies of cruelty and something else. A spark. A flicker of genuine intrigue.
“You fear me,” he stated. It wasn't a question.
“Yes,” you whispered.
The admission was a relief.
“Yet you do not shrink from my touch.”
His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, the pad of it rough. The metal of a ring, cool against your skin, registered a second later. A thumb ring.
You were cataloging him again, the stupid, academic part of your brain refusing to die even in the face of oblivion.
“I… I can’t,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’re… magnificent.”
The word hung in the charged air. Magnificent. Not ‘terrifying’ or ‘evil’. Magnificent.
The second face’s grin widened, impossibly wide. “Did you hear that, my Lord? She thinks you’re magnificent.”
The main face’s expression didn’t change, but the pressure of his thumb on your lip increased, just slightly. A test. A warning.
“And what does a brat like you know of magnificence?” he rumbled.
“More than you think,” you found yourself saying, a surge of something bold and stupid rising up from the depths of your fear. This was history. This was the Ryomen Sukuna, and you were the only person in a thousand years to see him like this.
Your fear was still there, a cold knot in your stomach, but it was now twined with a terrifying, exhilarating awe.
“I’ve read the texts. The ones they hide from everyone. The ones that describe your appearance during the Golden Age of Sorcery. They didn’t do you justice.”
His crimson eyes narrowed. The fingers on your chin tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the sheer, effortless power he held.
“You speak of things you cannot comprehend.”
“Then make me comprehend,” you challenged, the words a reckless gamble.
He stared at you for a long, silent moment. The air crackled between you, thick with unspoken things. He was a predator considering its prey.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across the main face.
“You are a very foolish little thing.”
“Maybe,” you breathed, not breaking eye contact. “Or maybe I’m the only one who’s ever been honest with you.”
The smile vanished. “Honesty,” he scoffed. “You mortals wrap your fear in pretty words. Courage, honesty, curiosity… they are all just different masks for the same trembling animal.”
“Then what do you call this?” you asked, your own hand moving of its own volition. It trembled, but it rose nonetheless, your fingers brushing against the back of the wrist that held your chin.
His entire body went still. All four hands froze.
The second face let out a low hiss. “Presumptuous.”
But the main face… the main face was watching you with an intensity that was almost painful.
“Brave or stupid?” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
“Why can’t it be both?” you whispered back.
He let out a short, sharp breath that was almost a laugh. In a movement too fast to track, two of his other hands shot out, gripping you by the upper arms and lifting you effortlessly from the ground. Your feet dangled in the air.
“Let’s find out,” he rumbled.
He didn't carry you far, just to a relatively intact section of the floor, a slab of granite that had once served as an altar. He set you down, not gently, but not roughly either. It was a deliberate, measured placement.
Then, he caged you in, placing both his lower hands on the altar on either side of your hips, his upper arms braced against the stone above your head. He was looming over you, a mountain of muscle and malevolence, and the sheer presence of him was overwhelming.
“You wanted to study me, brat,” the main voice said, low and gravelly. His face was inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath, see the terrifying beauty of the marks on his skin. “Study this.”
He didn’t kiss you, he consumed you.
His lips crashed down on yours, a brutal, claiming kiss that tasted of iron and ancient power. It wasn’t about pleasure; it was about dominance. His tongue, impossibly long and forked at the tip, forced its way into your mouth, exploring, mapping, claiming every inch of you. You whimpered into his mouth, a sound of pure shock and submission, and you felt him smile against your lips. The thumb on your chin pressed harder, a silent command to stay still, to take it.
But the other face wasn't idle. It leaned in from the side, its cool breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck. You felt the sharp, prickling sensation of teeth—no, fangs—scraping against your pulse point, not breaking the skin, but a clear, terrifying promise. A second tongue, cooler and thinner, laved a slow, deliberate stripe up the column of your throat.
You were drowning in sensation. The demanding heat from the main mouth, the chilling tease from the second. Your body, your treacherous body, was responding. Heat pooled low in your belly, your core clenched with a desperate, needy ache. Your hands, which had been limp at your sides, rose to clutch at his shoulders. The fabric of your research uniform was thin, and beneath it, you could feel the hard, unyielding muscle, the cool smoothness of his skin. Your fingers brushed against the metal bar of one of his nipple piercings, and you felt him shudder, a full-body tremor that was so slight you almost missed it.
Interesting.
He pulled back from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. His main face was a mask of arrogant control, but you saw it now—that flicker in his crimson eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the red of his irises reduced to a thin ring. You were affecting him.
“You taste of fear,” the main voice stated, a rough pant to his words. He was breathing harder.
“And something else,” the second face whispered, its tongue darting out to taste the air just below your ear. “Something sweet. Arousal.”
“Shut up,” the main voice snarled, but there was no heat in it.
One of his lower hands moved from the altar, tracing the seam of your uniform trousers. His touch was deliberate, tormenting. He was testing you, waiting for you to flinch, to beg him to stop.
You didn’t. You arched into his touch, a silent, desperate invitation.
His control snapped.
With a sound of tearing fabric, he ripped your trousers open. The button popped, the zipper gave way, and the sturdy material shredded in his grasp like paper. The sudden violence, the raw display of strength, should have terrified you. Instead, a fresh wave of heat washed over you, so intense it made you dizzy.
“My, my,” the second face crooned, its gaze fixed on the damp spot darkening your underwear. “Soaked already. The woman is desperate.”
“Pathetic,” the main voice growled, but the words were undermined by the way one of his upper hands immediately moved to cup your heat through the thin cotton of your panties. His touch was searing, even through the fabric. He pressed the heel of his palm against your clit, and you cried out, your hips bucking involuntarily.
“Look at you,” he mocked, rubbing in slow, maddening circles. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already grinding against my hand like a bitch in heat.”
“Y-you broke me,” you gasped out, the words barely coherent. “You… you unmade the seals. My cursed energy… it’s reacting to you.”
“Liar,” he hissed, but the pace of his thumb increased. The pressure was exquisite, a perfect, torturous friction that had you seeing stars. “This has nothing to do with energy. This is you. This disgusting, mortal need.”
He was right. And he was wrong. The sheer power rolling off him was an aphrodisiac, a potent drug that was stripping away every layer of your training, your composure, your very identity, leaving only this raw, wanting core. You were a researcher, a higher-up, a composed and controlled woman. Here, now, you were none of those things. You were just a body, a nerve ending, singing under the touch of a god.
He hooked a finger in the leg of your panties and pulled. The fabric tore with a satisfying sound. The cool, humid air hit your exposed folds, and you shivered.
“All spread out for me,” the second face murmured, its hungry gaze making you feel more exposed than the physical reality of your nudity. “A feast.”
One of his lower hands, the one not currently torturing your clit, moved with terrifying purpose. Two long, elegant fingers, cold as stone, traced your slick entrance. The anticipation was agony. You wanted him to fill you, to stretch you, to ruin you. You whimpered, a high, needy sound, and tried to shift your hips to take them inside.
He pulled back, a silent, mocking denial. “Beg,” the main voice commanded, a low rumble that vibrated through your entire body.
“Please,” you whispered, the word torn from you. “Sukuna, please.”
A cruel, satisfied smile touched his lips. “That’s better. But please isn’t specific. What do you want, woman?”
“Your fingers,” you sobbed, ashamed of the desperation in your voice but too far gone to care. “I want your fingers inside of me.”
“As you wish,” he purred, and then he plunged them in.
It was a shock. Not just the thickness, but the cold. His skin was unnaturally cool, a stark, delicious contrast to the molten heat of your core. He curled them instantly, finding that spot inside you that made your entire body lock up. A strangled cry escaped your lips.
“There it is,” he grunted, the main face watching your every reaction with an intense, predatory focus. He began to pump his fingers, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was designed to break you. “So tight. So wet. You’re sucking me in, greedy little thing.”
His other thumb was still working your clit, and the dual stimulation was a maddening, perfect torment. Every nerve in your body was on fire. You could feel the pressure building, a tight coil in your stomach, threatening to snap. Your hands fisted in the fabric of your shirt, your back arching off the cold stone of the altar.
“Going to cum already?” the second face taunted, its tongue flicking out to taste the sweat beading on your temple. “I haven’t even had my turn yet.”
The thought of that second mouth, that second tongue, sent a fresh jolt of lust through you. “Please,” you begged again, the word a mindless chant. “Please, please, please…”
“Let’s see what you look like when you fall apart,” the main voice growled, and he increased the pressure, pistoning his fingers faster, harder, the palm of his hand slapping against your folds with wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the ancient chamber.
The coil snapped.
Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave. Your vision went white, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your body convulsed, your walls clamping down desperately on his fingers. It was intense, overwhelming, a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You collapsed back against the altar, boneless and trembling, a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin.
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it with his fingers, prolonging the pleasure until it was almost too much, until you were squirming away from the overstimulation. Only then did he still, pulling his fingers out slowly. You whimpered at the empty feeling.
He held them up to the light, glistening with your arousal. The main face watched, impassive, but the second one leaned in, its tongue snaking out to wrap around one of his fingers, cleaning it with a slow, deliberate motion.
“Delicious,” it purred.
The sight was so debauched, so filthy, that a fresh wave of heat pooled in your belly. You were exhausted, but your body was already waking up again, already wanting more.
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your gaze dropping from his face, down the expanse of his chest, and lower. Curiosity, ever your downfall, burned bright. He’d mentioned four arms. The texts had been vague, contradictory. You needed to know. Your eyes traveled down, past the traditional hakama he seemed to manifest as part of his true form, and you saw.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
He hadn't been lying. Or rather, the texts hadn't been entirely wrong. Where there should have been one, there were two thick, heavy cocks resting side by side, emerging from a thatch of dark hair. They were as impressive as the rest of him, long and girthy, with veins that stood out like ropes beneath the skin. Both were already hard, flushed a deep, angry red and weeping pre-cum from their tips. And you could feel more, an echo of the same potent energy, suggesting this was just a part of the picture.
Your breath hitched. Awe and terror warred within you, a dizzying cocktail. It was too much. It was impossible.
“Speechless, brat?” the main voice rumbled, a note of deep satisfaction in it. “I told you, you know nothing.”
But your research-addled brain wasn't silent. It was working, calculating, cataloging.
“Enough thinking,” the main voice cut in, as if he could hear the frantic analysis in your head. One of his free hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back roughly. The sting made your scalp tingle. “Time for more practical lessons.”
He shifted, moving to kneel between your spread legs. The movement was fluid, predatory. He ripped open your jacket and shirt with the same careless violence he’d used on your trousers, the buttons skittering across the stone floor. Your breasts spilled out, and he immediately ducked his head, the main mouth latching onto one nipple while the second, from the side, claimed the other.
The sensation was a shock. His mouth was hot, demanding, and the hard, cold metal of the lip ring dragged against your sensitive skin, a strange, electrifying friction. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough pressure to make you gasp, your back arching off the altar. His tongue, forked and impossibly agile, swirled around the pebbled bud, while the second mouth did the same to the other side.
Two of his hands roamed your body, one gripping your hip, holding you in place, while the other traced patterns on your stomach, the touch a maddening tease. You were lost in a haze of pleasure, a slave to the mouths on your breasts. You felt a shift, a change in pressure, and then you realized one of his free hands—the upper left one—was moving lower.
A single, cool finger pressed against your clit.
You jolted, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. It was too much, too direct. But he didn’t stop. He began to circle the sensitive nub with a torturous slowness, the calloused pad of his finger creating a friction that was both exquisite and agonizing.
“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” the main voice muttered against your breast, the vibrations of his words shooting straight to your core.
“You’re squirming,” the second face noted from its perch at your other breast. “Do you want more? Or less?”
“More,” you gasped, the word torn from you before you could think better of it. You were past thinking, past caring. You only wanted to feel.
“As you wish,” the main voice purred, and then the finger on your clit was replaced by something else. Something wet and impossibly agile. You looked down, through a haze of lust, and saw it.
Another mouth.
It had appeared on his lower abdomen, right above the two cocks. It was smaller than the ones on his face, but its lips were full, its tongue a long, prehensile thing that was currently lapping at your clit with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Oh, god,” you whimpered, your head falling back against the stone. It was too much, a sensory overload that was shattering you into a million pieces.
“Don’t bring false idols into this,” the main face growled, releasing your nipple with a wet ‘pop’. He shifted his position, his hips settling between your thighs. You could feel the heat of him, the sheer, intimidating presence of the two cocks pressing against your inner thighs.
The mouth on his abdomen was relentless, its tongue working you with a skill that was terrifying. It flicked, swirled, and sucked, driving you closer and closer to the edge with a precision that no mortal lover could ever hope to achieve. Your hands flew down, attempting to grasp onto something to steady you.
“Look at you,” the main voice sneered, but there was a roughness to it, a breathlessness that betrayed his own arousal. “Riding my face like a common whore.”
You could feel your slickness coating your thighs, the obscene sounds of the mouth on your clit filling the chamber. You were a mess. You were wrecked. And you had never felt more alive.
“You want my cock, don’t you?” the main voice demanded, one of his hands gripping your hip, holding you steady. “Say it.”
“Yes,” you sobbed, your hips bucking against the magical tongue. “God, yes, I want your cock.”
“Which one?” he asked, a cruel, mocking twist to his words. “Or do you want them both?”
The question, so impossibly filthy, sent a jolt through you that was almost electric. Both. The thought of being so full, so stretched, was terrifying and intoxicating in equal measure.
“You’re… you’re too big,” you gasped, a flicker of sanity piercing through the haze of lust.
“I’ll make it fit,” he growled, a dark promise. He adjusted his position, and you felt the head of one of his cocks, hot and weeping, press against your entrance. The mouth on your clit never stopped its assault.
He pushed inside, slowly, inexorably. The stretch was intense, a burning pleasure-pain that had you crying out. He was bigger than anything you had ever taken, a thick, heavy presence that stole your breath. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated, his hips flush against yours.
“Tight,” he grunted, the main face looking down at where your bodies were joined. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust, a surprisingly considerate gesture from the King of Curses. “Like a virgin.”
“I’m… not,” you managed to gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
“You are for me,” he rumbled, and then he began to move.
He started with a slow, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, each thrust hitting a place deep inside you that made you see stars. The mouth on your clit was still working you, its movements perfectly timed to his thrusts, creating a symphony of sensation that was overwhelming.
You were lost. Your world had shrunk to this: the cock filling you, the tongue on your clit, the hands on your body, the two faces watching you with hungry, predatory eyes. You were a vessel for pleasure, a toy for a god, and you loved it.
“Look at you, taking my cock like a desperate little whore,” the main voice taunted, his rhythm increasing. “Crying already? Pathetic. And yet you’re soaking me.”
You were crying, you realized. Tears of pure, unadulterated pleasure were streaming down your face. You couldn’t help it. The feeling was too much, too intense.
“Don’t cry, girl,” the second face cooed, its tongue darting out to lick the tears from your cheek. “We’re just getting started.”
He was right. The pace became brutal, a punishing rhythm that had the stone altar scraping against your back with every thrust. One of his upper hands moved from your hip to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a cool, heavy weight that was a constant, thrilling reminder of his power. You were completely at his mercy.
The second cock, the one not inside you, was rubbing against your folds, a hot, heavy presence that was a tantalizing promise of what was to come. You wanted it. You needed it.
“Please,” you begged, your voice a broken, needy thing. “The other one. Please, Sukuna.”
“What did I say about begging?” he snarled, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their perfect rhythm. A flush was creeping up his chest, a dark pink against the bruised twilight of his skin. He was losing control.
“Please,” you repeated, reaching down with one hand to wrap your fingers around the neglected shaft. It was hot and velvety, the skin stretched taut over the hard length. You felt him jolt, a sharp intake of breath. His hips stuttered.
“You… insolent little…” he growled, but the words were lost in a groan. You began to stroke him in time with his thrusts, your thumb swiping over the weeping tip. The pre-cum was slick, and you used it to ease your movements.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a raw, guttural sound. It was the first time you’d heard him swear, the first crack in his arrogant facade. It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.
The mouth on your clit began to suck harder, and the dual sensations—the cock pistoning inside you, the one in your hand, the tongue on your bundle of nerves—were too much. The coil in your stomach tightened, a familiar pressure building.
“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” you warned, your voice high and thin.
“Then cum,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming shallow and fast. “Cum all over my cock. Milk me for all I’m worth.”
His words were your undoing. Your second orgasm ripped through you, even more intense than the first. You screamed, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. Your hand tightened on his other cock, and you felt him pulse, a thick, hot stream of cum painting your stomach and breasts.
A low, satisfied laugh rumbled from his chest as he followed you over the edge. His hips slammed into yours one last time, and you felt a flood of heat inside you as he emptied himself, marking you from the inside out.
For a moment, the world was silent. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your own heart. He collapsed on top of you, a heavy, dead weight, but you didn’t mind. You could feel his hearts beating against your chest, a steady, powerful rhythm.
The second face chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. “Well, that was entertaining.”
The main face didn’t say anything. He just buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing hot and heavy against your skin.
You lay there for what felt like an eternity, your bodies entwined, the mess of your combined release cooling on your skin.
Finally, he pushed himself up, his arms caging you in once more. His crimson eyes were darker now, the anger replaced by a possessive, hungry fire.
“You’re a mess,” he stated, but there was no heat in it. He sounded almost… fond.
“You made me a mess,” you retorted, a surge of your old, bold self returning.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across the main face. “And I’m not done making you a mess.”
He shifted, and you felt a fresh jolt of fear, or maybe it was anticipation. You looked down. Both of his cocks were still hard, still ready for more. His stamina was inhuman, a terrifying and exhilarating prospect.
The main face watched you, a calculating glint in his eyes. “You took one well enough,” he mused. “Let’s see how you handle two.”
Your breath hitched. The thought was both terrifying and intoxicating. You wanted to say no, to tell him it was impossible, that you’d break. But the words wouldn't come. All you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
“Scared, brat?” the second face taunted.
“Yes,” you whispered, the admission a relief.
“Good,” the main face growled. “Fear makes it sweeter.”
He pulled out of you slowly, and you whimpered at the empty feeling. He was already coated in your slickness and his own release, a messy, glistening combination. He used this natural lubrication to slick up the second cock, his hand moving in a slow, deliberate motion that had you mesmerized.
“On your hands and knees,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You complied, your limbs trembling with exhaustion and anticipation. The stone of the altar was cold and unforgiving against your palms and knees. You were exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
He moved behind you, and you felt the heat of him before you felt his touch. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other guiding one of his cocks to your entrance. He pushed in, a slow, familiar stretch that made you moan.
Then, you felt the second one, hot and heavy, pressing against your other, tighter entrance. You tensed, a spike of genuine fear piercing through your lust.
“Relax,” the main voice rumbled, a surprising note of command in it. “Or this will hurt.”
You took a deep breath, forcing your muscles to unclench. He was patient, moving with a slowness that was at odds with his brutal nature. He pushed the second cock in, inch by agonizing inch.
It was a strange, intense sensation, a feeling of being completely and utterly possessed. The stretch was intense, a burning pleasure-pain that had you crying out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone. He didn’t stop until he was fully seated, both cocks buried deep inside you.
You felt so full you thought you might burst. It was overwhelming, a sensory overload that was shattering you into a million pieces.
“You’re—mmph—taking it so well,” the main voice grunted, a note of surprise in it. “Such a greedy little thing, needing two cocks to satisfy you.”
You couldn’t speak. You could only moan, a long, drawn-out sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
He began to move, a slow, shallow rhythm that was designed to break you. The dual sensations were maddening, a perfect, torturous friction that had you seeing stars. One cock would pull out as the other pushed in, a relentless, seesawing motion that was driving you insane.
“Look at you,” the second face crooned, appearing in your line of vision. One of his upper hands came down to cup your chin, tilting your face up. Its eyes, a perfect match to the main face's, were filled with a cruel, amused light. “Drooling already. Has your brain melted out of your ears, woman?”
A thin string of drool was indeed hanging from your lip. You were so far gone, so lost in the haze of pleasure, that you couldn’t even be embarrassed.
The main face’s rhythm increased, the thrusts becoming harder, deeper. The sounds were obscene, the wet slap of skin against skin, your ragged moans, his guttural grunts. You were a mess, a writhing, sobbing mess, and you had never felt more alive.
“You’re clenching around me,” the main voice growled, his rhythm becoming erratic. “Are you going to cum again? Already? You really are a desperate little slut.”
“Please,” you sobbed, the word a mindless chant. You were so close, the pressure building to an unbearable level. “Please, let me cum.”
“Beg for it,” the main voice commanded, his thrusts becoming punishing.
“Please, Sukuna, please let me cum,” you begged, your voice a broken, needy thing. “I need to come. Please, I need it.”
“Then cum,” he commanded, his hips slamming into yours one last time. “Cum for me, now.”
Your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a hurricane. You screamed, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. It was a pleasure so intense it was painful, a white-hot fire that consumed you from the inside out.
He snarled in pleasure and followed you over the edge, slamming deep as he came. You felt a flood of heat inside you as he emptied himself, marking you from the inside out. Both cocks pulsed, pumping you full of his seed until it dripped down your thighs.
You collapsed, boneless and trembling, a puddle of limbs and sweat and release. He pulled out of you slowly, and you whimpered at the empty feeling.
You were wrecked. Ruined. You would never be the same.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — rough smut one-shot, you and sukuna had a nasty argument earlier. now you’ve got a nasty attitude, snapping at him and giving him the cold shoulder. he’s had enough. he’s gonna eat that attitude right out of you until you’re overstimulated, sobbing, and apologizing. ♡
author’s note. ARGUE W ME OR GET YA PUSSY ATE. bro this song is genuinely what prompted me to write this, it's stuck in my head 😭😭
Eatin That Attitude
Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x f!Reader
Tags: mean Sukuna, rough manhandling, brat taming, aggressive pussy eating, overstimulation, forced orgasms, spitting, degradation, hair pulling, crying, possessive Sukuna, begging
The argument had been brutal.
Sukuna said something cruel, you threw it right back in his face, and now the silence in his domain was thick enough to choke on. You were still fuming — arms crossed, back turned to him, refusing to even look in his direction. Every time he spoke, you gave him short, sharp replies dripping with attitude.
He’d finally had enough.
“Oi, woman.”
You didn’t even turn around. “Don’t ‘woman’ me right now, Sukuna.”
Big mistake.
In one brutal movement he was on you. Large hands grabbed your waist and yanked you off your feet like you weighed nothing. You yelped as he tossed you onto the massive bed, your back hitting the sheets with a bounce.
“Sukuna— what the fuck—?!”
He didn’t answer with words. He ripped your shorts and panties down your legs in one harsh tug, ignoring how you kicked and squirmed. His tattooed arms hooked under your thighs and dragged you to the edge of the bed, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.
“You’ve had that fucking attitude all night,” he growled, crimson eyes burning with irritation and hunger. “Gonna eat it out of you.”
Before you could snap back at him, his mouth was on you.
Sukuna buried his face between your thighs like a starving man, tongue dragging a thick, wet stripe up your folds before latching onto your clit with filthy suction. The groan he let out vibrated straight through your core.
“F-fuck— Sukuna—!” You tried to twist away, still pissed, still full of fight.
He snarled against your pussy and wrapped his massive arms around your thighs, locking you in place. His grip was bruising. When you tried to buck your hips away, he yanked you back down harder onto his tongue.
“Don’t you fucking run from me,” he snapped, voice muffled and mean. “You wanted to act like a bitch? Then take it.”
His tongue was relentless — thick, hot, and merciless. He licked and sucked at your clit with obscene wet sounds, spitting on your pussy just to make it messier before diving back in. Two thick fingers shoved inside you without warning, curling roughly against that spongy spot that made your eyes roll.
Your thighs tried to clamp shut around his head, the pleasure overbearing. Sukuna immediately forced them back open, palms pressing your legs wide apart.
“Keep your fucking legs open, woman,” he barked, glaring up at you from between your thighs. “I said open.”
You were panting, trying so hard to stay mad, but the wet schlick of his fingers pumping into your soaked cunt was getting louder. His tongue flicked fast and nasty over your swollen clit while he sucked hard enough to make your toes curl.
“Sukuna— ohmygod— slow down—!”
He laughed darkly against your pussy, the sound downright cruel.
“Slow down?” He pulled back just enough to spit on your clit again, watching it drip down to where his fingers were stretching you open. “You think you’re in charge here? Keep talkin' shit and I’ll tongue-fuck you until you pass out.”
He dove back in even harder, sucking your clit into his mouth while his fingers fucked you faster. Your back arched clean off the bed, a broken moan ripping out of you despite yourself. You grabbed at his hair, trying to pull him off, but he only groaned in pleasure and ate you harder.
Your first orgasm hit you fast and violent. Your thighs shook, pussy gushing around his fingers as you cried out. Sukuna didn’t stop. He kept sucking and licking through it, fingers curling relentlessly until you were twitching and trying to squirm away again.
“Too much— Kuna— fuck— I can’t—!”
He yanked you back down by the thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, voice dripping with arrogance. “You wanted to have an attitude? Then I’m rippin' it out of you. Apologize.”
You were still mad, still panting and trembling, so you bit out a sarcastic, “F-Fuck you—”
Wrong answer.
Sukuna flipped you over onto your stomach like you were nothing, yanked your hips up, and buried his face back into your dripping pussy from behind. His tongue pushed inside you, fucking you deep. The new angle made everything louder and wetter.
You screamed into the sheets, trying to crawl forward. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and yanked you back onto his tongue with a rough growl.
“Don’t you dare run from this mouth, brat. Take it.”
He was sloppy, nasty, and mean — sucking loudly, spitting, growling against your folds while his fingers joined back in, stretching you open. Your second orgasm crashed into you even harder, legs shaking violently as you soaked his face and the sheets.
But he still didn’t stop.
He flipped you onto your back again, shoved your thighs wide open, and attacked your oversensitive pussy with a third round that felt like pure punishment. His tongue was everywhere — long, messy strokes from your entrance to your clit, then tight circles that made your whole body flinch. Three thick fingers now stretched you open, pumping hard and curling viciously against that spot that made you see stars.
Your body was jerking uncontrollably. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. Every lick felt like electricity shooting up your spine.
“Kuna— please— I can’t— s'too much—!” you sobbed, trying to close your legs again.
He forced them back open instantly, slamming them down against the bed. “Keep them fucking open. Don’t make me tell you again, woman.”
His lips wrapped around your swollen clit and sucked hard while his fingers fucked you through the brutal overstimulation. You were gushing nonstop now, the sheets soaked beneath you, obscene wet noises filling the room with every thrust of his fingers.
By the end of the third orgasm you were a complete wreck — shaking, crying, voice hoarse from screaming. Your pride finally shattered.
“S-Sukuna— I’m sorry! I’m sorry— please— I’m so sorry—!”
He pulled back slightly, lips and chin glistening with your juices, eyes dark with satisfaction. You were still twitching, pussy swollen and leaking.
“Please… S'kuna… I need your cock,” you begged, voice broken and desperate. “Please fuck me— I’ll be s'good— just please—”
Sukuna smirked, slow and cruel. He sat back on his heels, stroking his massive, throbbing cock lazily while he watched you squirm.
“Y'think you deserve this cock after actin' like a spoiled brat?” He slapped your sensitive clit with the heavy head of his dick, making you jolt. “Beg better. Apologize like you mean it.”
You were too far gone to fight anymore.
“I’m sorry, Kuna— I’m so fucking sorry for having an attitude— I was wrong— please— please fuck me— I-I need you s'bad—”
He groaned low in his throat, clearly pleased. “That’s more like it.”
In one brutal thrust he buried his entire cock inside you, stretching you wide open. You screamed at the sudden fullness, back arching sharply. Sukuna didn’t give you time to adjust. He grabbed your hips with bruising force and started fucking you hard and deep, the wet plap-plap-plap of his hips slamming into you echoing through the room.
“Fuuuuck—so goddamn tight,” he snarled, pounding into you mercilessly. “T-this is what you needed, huh? Gettin' your attitude fucked out?”
You could only nod frantically, moaning and sobbing with every thrust. He folded you nearly in half, pressing your knees to your chest as he drove even deeper, the fat head of his cock kissing your cervix with every stroke.
“That’s—mmph—it. Cry on my cock like a good little slut. Keep apologizing while I fuck this pussy stupid.”
You babbled broken apologies between moans, nails raking down his back as another orgasm ripped through you. Sukuna fucked you straight through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release while you clenched and fluttered around him.
Only when you were shaking and whimpering, completely overstimulated and limp beneath him, did he finally bury himself to the hilt and cum with a deep, guttural groan. Thick, hot ropes flooded your insides, filling you until it was leaking out around his cock.
He stayed buried deep inside you, chest heaving, one hand possessively wrapped around your throat as he looked down at your tear-streaked, fucked-out face.
“Next time you get an attitude,” he rasped, voice low and dangerous, “I won’t be so nice about fixin' it.”
You could only nod weakly, still fluttering around his cock, too exhausted to do anything else.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — filthy, mean-dom smut one-shot ♡ you finally got the cocky, arrogant naoya zenin completely tied up, gagged, and blindfolded. he swore he’d never let a woman control him, but tonight you’re breaking him down piece by piece. lots of slapping, rough manhandling, degradation, edging, overstimulation, hair pulling, and spitting.
author’s note. should we finger him next time chat
Put in His Place
Pairing: Naoya Zenin x f!Reader (mean dom)
Tags: sub naoya, mean dom reader, bondage, gag, blindfold, edging, slapping, rough handling, degradation, teasing, hair pulling, spitting, overstimulation, possessive reader, power switch, brat taming,
It had taken weeks of careful planning, but you finally had him exactly where you wanted him.
Naoya Zenin — the cockiest, most insufferable man you’d ever met — was tied spread-eagle to his own oversized bed. His wrists and ankles were bound tight with the expensive silk ties he usually used on other people. A thick gag (one of his own designer shirts, wadded up and tied in place) stuffed his mouth. A black silk blindfold covered those sharp, arrogant eyes. He was stripped down to nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs that were already straining obscenely over his hard cock.
And he was furious.
You could tell by the way his chest heaved and the low, muffled growls vibrating around the gag. He’d laughed when you first suggested this — called you delusional for thinking he’d ever let a woman take control. But a few well-placed challenges to his pride, a couple drinks, and one “you’re all talk” later… here he was.
You straddled his waist slowly, savoring the way his body tensed beneath you. Your short silk robe slipped open just enough to tease him with the heat of your bare thighs against his skin.
“Look at you,” you purred, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “All trussed up like a pretty little present. The great Naoya Zenin, reduced to this. How does it feel?”
He jerked hard against the restraints and snarled something incoherent around the gag. His hips twitched upward instinctively, seeking friction. You simply laughed and lifted yourself higher so he got nothing.
“Pathetic,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips brushed his ear. “Already trying to hump the air like a desperate dog. I haven’t even touched your cock yet.”
You took your sweet time.
For the next twenty minutes you simply explored his body with your hands and mouth — kissing, licking, and biting every inch of skin except where he wanted it most. You sucked dark bruises into his neck, scraped your teeth over his nipples, dragged your nails down his abs until his muscles jumped and twitched under your touch. Every time his body betrayed him with a sharp jerk or a muffled, involuntary whimper, you cooed at him.
“Aww, did that feel good? You made such a pretty noise just now. I didn’t know the big bad Zenin could sound like that.”
You finally hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and slowly peeled them down. His cock sprang free — flushed dark, leaking steadily, twitching visibly in the cool air. You wrapped one hand around the base and gave one single, painfully slow stroke from root to tip.
Naoya’s entire body seized. A choked, broken sound tore out around the gag — nothing like the smug groans you’d heard from him before. His thighs trembled. His hips jerked up hard, chasing your hand.
You stopped immediately.
“No moving,” you said coldly, and slapped his cock hard with your open palm.
The wet smack echoed. Naoya jolted violently, a muffled shout escaping the gag. His cock twitched angrily, a fresh bead of pre-cum dripping down the shaft.
You smiled, arousal pooling hot between your own thighs. “That’s for trying to take control. You don’t get to move. You just get to lie there and take whatever I give you.”
You edged him mercilessly after that.
Long, torturous strokes with your hand. Tight squeezes right when he started to throb. Leaning down to spit directly onto his cock before stroking again, using the wetness to make every glide filthier. You slapped his cock again and again — light stinging slaps that made him jerk and whimper, then harder ones that had his whole body shuddering. Every time his breathing grew frantic and his abs tensed like he was close, you pulled your hand away completely and just watched him throb and leak all over his stomach.
His muffled noises grew louder, more desperate. High-pitched, humiliated little whines he’d never made in his life. His head thrashed against the pillow. Drool was slipping steadily from the corners of the gag now, running down his chin.
After what felt like an eternity you finally pulled the gag out of his mouth. He gasped for air, lips shiny and swollen, chest heaving.
“You fucking bitch—” he snarled immediately, voice hoarse and cracking. “Untie me right fucking now or I swear I’ll—”
You slapped him hard across the face.
The crack was loud. Naoya’s head snapped to the side, a stunned silence falling over him for half a second.
"You—"
You grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing his blindfolded face back toward you. “Shut up. The only words I want out of that pretty mouth are ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Try again.”
He bared his teeth, still trying to cling to his pride. “Go to hell—”
You slapped him again, harder, then shoved two fingers deep into his mouth, fucking them against his tongue. “Suck. Or I’ll leave you here hard and leaking all night.”
He hated it. You could tell by the way he glared even through the blindfold. But after a moment his tongue started moving, sucking obediently on your fingers while more drool spilled down his chin.
You rewarded him by sliding back down and taking his cock into your mouth — hot, wet, and agonizingly slow. You sucked him deep, hollowing your cheeks, only to pull off right when his thighs started shaking violently. Over and over and over. Every time he got close you stopped, sometimes slapping his cock again just to hear that broken, humiliated noise rip out of him.
By the time you finally straddled his hips and sank down onto his cock, you were both shaking.
You rode him slow and deep, grinding your clit against him with every roll of your hips. Your hands braced on his chest, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. You were so wet it was dripping down his balls.
Naoya was a wreck beneath you. His body jerked and thrashed with every thrust. Muffled sobs and desperate whimpers spilled from his lips even though the gag was gone. Tears had finally started soaking into the blindfold, but he still tried to snarl weak insults between gasps.
You just rode him harder, one hand fisting his hair and yanking his head back.
“Beg,” you hissed, slapping his cheek lightly. “Beg me to let you cum, or I’ll keep you right on the edge until you pass out.”
It took everything in him, but the words finally tore out — raw, broken, and shaking.
“Please—fuck—please let me cum— I can’t— I need it—please—”
You smiled, slow and cruel, and finally gave him what he wanted.
You rode him hard and fast, chasing your own orgasm while you clenched around him. When you came it was loud and messy — moaning his name as your walls fluttered and you soaked his cock and thighs.
You kept riding him through the intense waves of his orgasm, grinding slow and deliberate even after he’d spilled every last drop, milking the overstimulation until his voice cracked into desperate, broken sobs and his body went completely limp beneath you.
Only when his cock had softened and he was panting like he’d just ran through a marathon did you finally lift yourself off him. Thick ropes of his cum leaked messily from your pussy onto his stomach and the sheets below.
You sat back on his thighs, looking down at the absolute wreck you’d made of him — blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, chest heaving, tears still slipping from beneath the blindfold, lips parted on shaky, exhausted breaths.
A slow, satisfied smirk curled your lips.
“Look at that,” you murmured, voice low and mocking as you dragged one finger through the mess on his abs. “The mighty Naoya Zenin, covered in his own cum and crying.”
You gave his softening cock one last, lazy slap for good measure, watching it twitch weakly.
Naoya could only lie there, trembling and spent, every last shred of his arrogance completely destroyed.
And you had never felt more satisfied in your life.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — needy & pathetic smut (part 2) ♡ two days after the party, you’re giving him the cold shoulder for that jealous meltdown that made you leave early and miss time with your friends. gojo completely shatters — drops to his knees the second he walks in, ugly-crying, voice breaking, desperate apologies pouring out while he begs you to punish him, use him, anything. ♡
he’ll cry and beg and ruin himself until you forgive him, and then some ♡
Two days. Forty-eight hours of short answers, turned backs, and the kind of silence that made Gojo’s chest feel like it was caving in. You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t needed to. The quiet disappointment was worse than any fight, and he knew he’d earned every second of it.
The front door clicked open at 7:12 p.m. You were curled on the couch in nothing but one of his oversized black shirts, legs tucked under you, phone in hand. You didn’t look up.
Gojo dropped his bag. The next sound was his knees hitting the hardwood with a dull thud.
“Baby…” His voice was already wrecked, cracking on the single word. He crawled the last few feet until he was kneeling between your legs, forehead pressed to your bare thigh like he was praying at an altar. “Please. Please look at me. I can’t— I can’t breathe when you’re like this.”
You finally set your phone down. His eyes were already glassy, tears clinging to those long white lashes.
“I know I fucked up,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I dragged you out of the party like a jealous asshole. I embarrassed you in front of your friends. I made you leave early. M’sorry… m’sorry…”
Each apology was punctuated by soft, desperate kisses pressed to your knee, then higher up your thigh. His lips were warm and wet with tears. He kissed every inch he could reach, slow and reverent, like he was trying to worship the anger out of you.
You stayed quiet for a moment, letting him squirm. His shoulders shook with another sob.
“I was just trying to talk to someone from class,” you said evenly. “And you acted like I was about to run off with him. You didn’t even ask. You just decided for me.”
Gojo’s breath hitched. More tears spilled down his flushed cheeks. “I know— I know I did. M’sorry. I get so scared someone’s gonna steal you away— But that’s not your problem. It’s mine. I-I’ll be better. I swear on everything. Just… just talk to me again. Yell at me, hit me, anything. Please don’t stay mad.”
He leaned in and kissed the inside of your other thigh, then higher, lips brushing the hem of your shirt. “M’sorry for being a brat. M’sorry for ruining your night. I’ll never do it again. I’ll be good. Just please… please let me make it up to you.”
You watched the way his bottom lip trembled, the way fresh tears tracked down his face and dripped onto your skin. It was impossible not to feel that familiar heat pooling low in your belly.
“Spread my legs,” you said softly.
Gojo’s breath caught. He sat back on his heels for a second, eyes wide and shining with tears, looking up at you like a lost puppy waiting for permission. When you gave the tiniest nod, he let out a broken little whimper of relief and gently pushed your thighs apart, hands shaking.
“Thank you… thank you…” he mumbled, pressing more kisses along the soft skin—slow, open-mouthed ones that left little wet marks. He kissed right up to the edge of your panties, then looked up again, waiting.
You hooked your thumbs in the waistband and slid them down. Gojo helped, reverent and careful, kissing every new inch of skin he uncovered. When you were bare in front of him he leaned in and kissed your pussy so softly it made you shiver—once, twice, three times—before his tongue finally dragged a long, slow stripe up your folds.
“Oh fuck— you taste so good,” he whimpered against you, voice muffled and slurred. “M’gonna make you feel so good. Please let me.”
He ate you out like he was trying to apologize with his tongue alone. Slow, deep licks that dipped inside you, then swirled around your clit with wet, obscene sounds. Every few seconds he’d pull back just enough to kiss your clit gently, like it was something precious, before diving back in. Tears kept falling, mixing with your slick and dripping down his chin.
You moaned softly, fingers threading through his snowy hair. The heat of his mouth was perfect—tongue flat and warm, pressing just right against your clit while those long fingers slid inside you, curling against that spot that made sparks shoot up your spine. Every sob vibrated through your core, sending little shocks of pleasure straight to your clit.
“That’s it… right there, Toru,” you gasped, hips rocking against his face. “Your tongue feels so fucking good when you’re crying for me.”
He sobbed happily at the praise, the vibration making your thighs tremble. You ground down harder, using his face exactly how you needed, and the pressure built fast—tight, hot, coiling deep in your belly until it snapped.
You came hard, vision flashing white as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your thighs clamped around his head, a loud moan tearing from your throat while he kept licking you through it, slow and reverent, drawing every last pulse out until you were shaking and pushing at his shoulders.
When you finally eased off, Gojo sat back on his heels again, face shiny with your slick and his own tears, lips swollen and glistening. He looked completely wrecked.
You cupped his wet cheeks and pulled him up for a deep, messy kiss. He melted into it instantly, whimpering into your mouth, hands sliding under your shirt to caress your waist.
“Come here,” you whispered against his lips. You stood, taking his hand, and pulling him onto the couch. He followed right behind you like a lost puppy.
You pushed him down so he was sitting, then stripped his pants and boxers off. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach—thick, flushed, already leaking. You straddled him slowly, sinking down inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you. He groaned, his hips jerking upwards slightly. Your hand moved to the back of his head, giving his hair a tight tug to stop his movements.
Gojo’s head fell back against the cushions with a wrecked sob. “Oh my god— baby— you’re s'warm— m’sorry— m’not moving, I swear…”
“No moving yet,” you told him, rolling your hips once just to hear him whine. You stayed seated, cockwarming him while he throbbed and pulsed inside you, the fullness stretching you so perfectly it made your walls flutter around him. “Sit still, and keep apologizing.”
He nodded frantically, tears still falling. “Yes— yes— m’sorry for embarrassing you. M’sorry for acting like you’re mine to control. I’ll be so good from now on. I-I’ll ask before I get jealous. I’ll— f-fuck— you feel so perfect—”
Every apology came with soft kisses pressed to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts through the shirt. He tugged the fabric up gently, kissing your stomach, then higher, until he was mouthing at your breasts with wet, needy sounds.
After long minutes of him crying and kissing and begging, you finally started moving—slow, deep rolls of your hips that had him moaning and clutching at you, the drag of his cock against your walls making you clench around him with every grind.
"Y-yes, oh god.. s’good," He writhed, yanking his head back harder against the couch, pure bliss coating his pretty features. You grinded slightly, his curved cock sliding against your g-spot—the movement drawing a soft, shaky whimper from him. The pure need in his noises— you knew then you couldn't hold back any longer.
“Bedroom,” you breathed. “Now.”
He didn’t even pull out. Gojo stood with you still wrapped around him, carrying you down the hall on shaky legs, kissing your mouth the entire way. Each step made his cock shift inside you, rubbing against that sweet spot and drawing little gasps from both of you.
In the bedroom he laid you down like you were made of glass, sliding out only long enough to strip the rest of your clothes. Then he was back inside you in one smooth thrust, forehead pressed to yours, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.
“M’sorry,” he whispered again, voice cracking as he started to move—deep, steady strokes that made your toes curl and your back arch. The angle was perfect, his cock dragging along every sensitive inch inside you, hitting that spot over and over until your eyes fluttered shut from how good it felt.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Then fuck me like you mean it, crybaby. Show me how sorry you are.”
He did. His thrusts grew harder, more desperate, but his face stayed completely open—eyes locked on yours, tears still streaming as he drove into you. He dropped his head to your chest, kissing and sucking at your breasts with broken little sobs, tongue swirling around one nipple while his hand kneaded the other. The wet heat of his mouth on your skin, the way he sucked hard enough to leave marks, the constant whimpering—it all pushed you higher.
You moaned loudly, nails digging into his back. “So pathetic for me, Toru.”
He whimpered at the words, hips snapping harder. “Y-yours— your pathetic— m’gonna make you cum again— please—” He babbled, unable to form a single coherent sentence as he gripped your hips harder, diving into you deeper—his cock kissing your cervix.
When your second orgasm hit, it slammed into you even harder than the first. Your vision whited out completely, pleasure exploding through every nerve as your walls clenched tight around his cock. You came with a loud cry of his name, thighs shaking, back bowing off the bed while wave after wave crashed over you.
Gojo followed right after, burying himself as deep as he could go, sobbing your name against your breast while thick, hot pulses of cum filled you. He kept moving through it, slow and shaky, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were both trembling.
Even after he finished he stayed inside you, collapsing on top of you, face tucked between your breasts. Soft sniffles shook his shoulders as he kissed the valley of your chest over and over.
You stroked his messy hair, voice gentle now. “You’re forgiven, baby. I’m not mad anymore.”
Gojo let out a watery, relieved sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “T-thank you… thank you s'much. Love you, s'much.”
You kissed the top of his head and held him tighter, letting him nuzzle and suckle lazily at your nipple while the last of his tears dried on your skin.
“My dramatic, needy little crybaby,” you murmured fondly.
He hummed against you, still sniffling, but smiling now.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — needy & pathetic smut ♡ gojo has been completely neglected for an entire week while you’ve been buried in midterms and papers. at naoya’s fancy penthouse party he finally snaps, drags you away from some random guy, and turns into the whiniest, most emotional, obsessed crybaby boyfriend imaginable. ♡
he’ll cry, beg, and ruin himself until he gets her back to himself ♡
Missed You Too Much
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader
Tags: needy crybaby gojo, jealous possessive gojo, pathetic whiny gojo, heavy breast worship, dry humping, intense face sitting, he cums in his pants, rough pent-up sex, begging, praise + degradation, emotional sex, vocal moaning/whimpering/crying, and clingy aftercare
The penthouse was alive with low music, laughter, and the soft clink of glasses. City lights spilled across the floor-to-ceiling windows like scattered diamonds, and Naoya’s party was in full, glittering swing. You were supposed to be having a great night — finally out after a brutal week of midterms, a cold drink in your hand, laughing at something the guy from your finance class had just said.
But Gojo Satoru had been watching you the entire time.
He hadn’t approached right away. He’d hovered near the bar for almost an hour, tall frame slouched against the counter, those bright blue eyes never leaving you for more than a few seconds. A whole week. Seven long days of one-word texts, missed calls, “sorry baby, I have another paper due,” and “can’t tonight, Toru, I’m swamped.” He’d even sent flowers to your apartment with a handwritten note that said “good luck on midterms” like some pathetic, well-behaved lapdog because he was trying so hard to be understanding.
And this was how you repaid him? Smiling at some random campus loser while he stood in the corner like a forgotten accessory?
No. Absolutely fucking not.
He pushed off the bar and cut straight through the crowd, long legs eating up the distance until he was right beside you. His presence was impossible to ignore — tall, broad-shouldered, radiating that familiar mix of entitlement and desperation.
“We’re leaving,” Gojo said, voice flat but edged with something dangerously close to a whine.
The guy blinked. “Uh… we were just talking about—”
“And now you’re not.” Gojo didn’t even fully look at him. He just tilted his head, delivering a cold, dismissive glare that made the guy shrink back. “Go get another drink. Or jump off the balcony. I don’t really care which.”
His fingers found the small of your back, warm and possessive, sliding under the hem of your top to press against bare skin. He leaned in closer to the guy with an arctic smile. “She’s taken. Has been for months. So kill whatever little fantasy you were building in that head of yours.”
The guy muttered something awkward and retreated. Gojo immediately laced your fingers together and started pulling you through the maze of hallways without another word. You tried to protest — “Toru, slow down, what the hell—” — but he just tugged harder, navigating the penthouse like he’d memorized every corridor.
He finally found an unoccupied guest bedroom, pushed the door open, and pulled you inside. The second the door clicked shut behind you, the noise of the party faded to a distant hum. He spun you around and pressed you back against the wall with the full heat of his body, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was physically exhausted from missing you.
“You’ve barely looked at me all week,” he mumbled into your neck, voice already cracking with that familiar petulant tone. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was scared you’d vanish again. “No ‘hi baby,’ no nothing. I had to drag you away from some random loser just to get this close to you.”
You opened your mouth, but he pulled back just enough to look at you. His bottom lip was trembling. Those pretty blue eyes were glassy, a single tear already threatening to spill over his lashes.
“I missed you,” he whispered harshly, the words cracking. “Do you even care? I’ve been so good. I sent flowers. I-i didn’t complain that much—” (he definitely complained, multiple times a day)
His hands slid from your shoulders down your front, thumbs hooking under the hem of your top. They were shaking slightly. “I deserve this,” he said, more insistent, eyes wide and pleading. “You owe me. I’ve been dying without you. Can I… can I at least have this? Just let me suck them. Please please pleaaaase. I feel like m'actually going to die if I don’t.”
You couldn’t help the soft, fond laugh that slipped out. “Toru… you’re such a dramatic crybaby tonight.”
“I know i'm being a brat,” he whined, pushing your shirt up higher and higher, not even waiting for permission. He shoved your bra up roughly, freeing your breasts, and immediately buried his face between them with a broken, relieved whimper. “But you like it when m'like this. Tell me you missed me too. Please.”
His mouth latched onto one nipple with desperate, sloppy kisses, then closed around it and suckled hard. A soft, needy sound escaped his throat — almost a sob. His hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding his painfully hard cock against your thigh through his pants in slow, desperate circles.
“I love your tits,” he mumbled wetly against your skin, nuzzling and licking like a man starved. “Love your pussy too. So much. It’s embarrassing how much I need it."
Another tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t even try to hide it. He just sucked harder, louder, wet sucking sounds filling the dim room as he ground against your thigh like he couldn’t stop himself. His hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, thumbs brushing over the nipples he wasn’t currently latched onto.
You threaded your fingers through his snowy hair, tugging gently. The way he whimpered and melted into you made heat pool low in your belly. “Aw, you’re crying again,” you cooed softly, voice teasing but affectionate. “Poor baby.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” he whimpered, lifting glassy eyes to look at you. His lashes were wet, cheeks flushed pink, lips shiny with spit. “I have, like, nine inches in my pants. I can make you cry too. But right now I just… I need you. Please.”
He kissed your nipple again, soft and reverent, then looked up with that lethal combination of entitlement and desperation. “Can I—can I at least put the tip in? Just the tip, I swear. You don’t even have to move. C'mon, please baby. I’ll literally die if m'not inside you. You owe me this for ignoring me all week.”
You laughed softly and scratched his scalp. “You’re so pathetic tonight, Toru. All because I had midterms?”
“Yes,” he whined against your breast, the vibration making you shiver. “m'yours. Please let me be good for you. I’ll be so, so good. Let me.. let me taste you first. I need to taste you or m'gonna lose my mind.”
You finally took pity on him. You pushed him back onto the bed, watching him sprawl out with wide, hopeful eyes. You slid your panties down your thighs, leaving yourself bare beneath your dress. You climbed over him slowly, straddling his chest first, then inching higher until you were hovering over his face.
Gojo’s eyes widened in pure, pathetic bliss. “Oh fuck— yes—”
The second you lowered yourself he yanked you down and buried his tongue inside you like a man possessed. He ate you out with sloppy, desperate hunger — long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit, then sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth with wet, obscene sounds. He whimpered and moaned the entire time, the vibrations shooting straight through you.
You moaned softly at first, then louder as you started grinding down harder against his tongue. The way he cried and whimpered against your pussy made your thighs tremble. “That’s it… good boy. You’re making me feel so good,” you praised, fingers tightening in his hair.
Gojo sobbed happily at the praise, tongue fucking into you deeper, nose grinding against your clit. But you were pent up too, and you wanted more. You started riding his face harder, rolling your hips with purpose, pulling his hair roughly to keep him exactly where you wanted him.
“Fuck— Toru, your tongue feels so good,” you gasped, grinding down roughly. “You’re such a pathetic little mess, aren’t you? Crying and whimpering just from tasting me?”
He moaned loudly against you, the sound muffled and desperate. You rode him even harder, smothering him with your pussy, his nose pressed tight against your clit while you pulled his hair hard enough to make his scalp sting. He could barely breathe, but every choked gasp and sob told you he loved it.
“That’s my good boy,” you praised, voice breathy. “But look at you, already making such a mess in your pants.”
Gojo’s hips jerked violently beneath you. A broken, high-pitched whine tore from his throat as his whole body shuddered. He came hard in his pants, thick, warm spurts soaking through the fabric while he kept licking you frantically, tears streaming down his temples, barely able to breathe under the relentless pressure of your hips.
You didn’t stop riding him. You kept grinding hard, using his face until your own orgasm crashed over you. Your thighs clamped around his head as you came with a loud moan, soaking his tongue and chin while he whimpered and sobbed beneath you, still cumming in his ruined pants.
Only when you were trembling and oversensitive did you finally lift off his face. Gojo was a complete wreck — hair messy from your pulling, face shiny with your slick and his own tears, lips swollen and parted on shaky breaths. His pants were visibly soaked at the front.
He looked up at you with glassy, fucked-out eyes and a broken little sob. “I… I came in my pants… just from eating you… m'sorry— i'm so pathetic—”
You leaned down and kissed him messily, tasting yourself on his tongue. “My pathetic little crybaby,” you murmured against his lips, voice dripping with both praise and teasing degradation. “Cumming untouched just because I rode your face. You really are mine, aren’t you?”
He nodded frantically, fresh tears spilling as he pulled you down on top of him. “Yours— all yours. I-I need to be inside you so bad. I’ve been so pent up… I missed you so much…”
You didn’t make him wait long. You shoved his pants down just enough to free his still-hard, cum-slick cock and sank down onto him in one smooth motion. Gojo cried out loudly, hips bucking up hard as he filled you completely.
The sex that followed was rough and desperate — all the frustration of the past week pouring out of him. He fucked up into you with deep, punishing thrusts, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise while he buried his face back between your breasts, sucking and biting and whimpering the entire time.
“Fuck— you feel so good,” he sobbed against your skin, voice cracking. “Missed this pussy so much— missed you— please don’t ignore me again, I’ll die—”
You rode him hard, pulling his hair and calling him your good boy, your pathetic little crybaby, your desperate slut — mixing praise and degradation until he was shaking and crying beneath you. When he finally came again he buried himself as deep as he could go, sobbing your name while he filled you with thick, hot ropes of cum, hips jerking through every pulse.
Even after he finished he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried deep inside you, face tucked between your breasts, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline, sniffling quietly while you stroked his hair and whispered how much you loved your needy, crybaby boyfriend.
“Missed you so much,” he whispered, voice hoarse and small against your skin. “Please don’t ever do that to me again.”
You kissed the top of his head and held him tighter, letting him nuzzle against your neck while he came down.
“My dramatic little crybaby,” you teased gently.
He huffed a wet laugh against your chest but didn’t deny it.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — this is a filthy, jealous, rough smut one-shot ♡ you purposely made toji jealous at a party after a fight (you’re on a break), just to piss him off. you didn’t actually do anything with that guy… but toji doesn’t believe you.
you wanted his attention… now you’re getting all of it ♡
The party was loud, the bass rattling in your chest, but all you could feel was the burn of Toji’s glare from across the room.
You’d done it on purpose. After the screaming match that ended with you both “taking a break,” you showed up to this stupid house party you knew he was at, in the tightest little dress you owned, laughing way too loud at some random guy’s jokes, letting him lean in close, allowing his hand to brush your waist. You never touched him back. Never kissed him. Never went anywhere with him. You just wanted Toji to see. You wanted him pissed.
Mission accomplished.
You barely had time to smirk before a large, calloused hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked you away mid-sentence. Toji’s grip was iron. His face was stone cold fury as he dragged you through the crowd, ignoring your protests and the way you dug your heels in.
“Toji-let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He didn’t stop until you were outside, then shoved you into his car. The whole drive home was silent except for your angry, slightly breathless breathing and the squeal of tires when he took corners too fast.
The second the front door slammed shut behind you, he locked it with a loud click. Then he spun you around and slammed your back against the wall so hard the picture frames rattled.
“You think that shit was funny?” he snarled, towering over you, green eyes blazing. “Parading around like a little slut for some nobody just to get under my skin?”
Your chest heaved. You were still mad at him from before the break. “Maybe I wanted you to feel what I felt when you—!”
“When I what?” He leaned in, forearm braced beside your head, caging you. “I didn’t fuck anyone. I didn’t even look at anyone. But you let that asshole put his hands on you. Tell me the truth right now. Did you fuck him?”
“No!” you snapped back, eyes flashing. “I didn’t do shit with him! I just wanted you to hurt like I was hurting!”
Toji’s jaw clenched so tight you heard his teeth grind. “Wrong answer.”
Before you could argue again he grabbed you, threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and stormed toward the couch. You kicked and squirmed the whole way.
“Toji—put me down! What the hell are you—?!”
He dropped onto the couch and hauled you across his lap in one smooth, terrifying motion. Your stomach pressed against his thick thighs, ass up, dress riding high.
You tried to push yourself up but his massive hand pinned both your wrists behind your back in an iron grip. A sharp noise of frustration escaped your lips.
“You wanted my attention so bad?” His voice was dark, calm in that terrifying way. “You’re gonna get it.”
The first slap landed hard on your bare ass. The sharp crack echoed through the room and you jolted, eyes wide with genuine shock.
“Toji—?!”
He didn’t stop. Another heavy smack, then another, each one harder than the last. Your skin burned hot, stinging. He’d never done this before. Never even hinted at it. The surprise made your eyes water instantly.
“Apologize,” he ordered, voice rough.
“I didn’t—ah!—I didn’t do anything!” you cried out, squirming. Every slap made your whole body jolt against his lap.
“Wrong again.” His hand came down even harder. You whimpered loudly, tears slipping down your cheeks now. The pain was sharp, but underneath it something hot and humiliating was starting to pool between your legs.
Then his palm slid lower. He cupped your soaked pussy for half a second—then slapped it.
The wet smack made your entire body seize. A broken gasp tore from your throat and fresh tears spilled over.
“T-Toji—!”
He did it again. And again. Harder. The stinging slaps landed right on your swollen clit and dripping folds over and over while he kept your wrists locked behind your back. Each slap sent a jolt of white hot pleasure pain straight up your spine. Your thighs shook violently. You were gasping, whimpering, babbling nonsense as the pressure built embarrassingly fast.
“Look at me,” he growled, landing another wet slap. “Did you sleep with him?”
His words barely registered as you shook your head violently.
“No—fuck—I swear I didn’t—ahh—!”
Another hard smack on your pussy. Your back arched, a loud, wrecked sob escaping you as the coil finally snapped. You came hard—squirting all over his lap and the couch with a shattered cry, thighs trembling uncontrollably, slick dripping down your legs.
Toji’s breath hitched. “Fuck… look at that. Squirting like a desperate little whore just from getting your pussy slapped.”
He didn’t give you time to recover. He flipped you onto your back on the couch, shoved your dress up to your waist, and yanked your panties down your thighs. His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look at him.
“Apologize properly,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to forgive you.”
You were still shaking from your orgasm, tears streaming, pussy throbbing and oversensitive. But the need was already building again. “Toji… please… I’m sorry-please fuck me—”
He slapped your pussy again, lighter this time, but still enough to make you jolt and whimper. “Louder. Tell me you’re my good little slut and you’ll never pull that shit again.”
You broke completely. “I’m your good little slut—fuck—I’ll never do it again, I swear—please, Toji, I need you inside me—please—”
He freed his cock—thick, heavy, already leaking—and slammed into you in one brutal thrust. You nearly screamed, back bowing, the stretch burning so good after the spanking. He fucked you hard and deep, hips snapping, one hand still fisting your hair while the other pinned your thigh open wide.
“That’s it,” he snarled against your ear, biting down on your neck hard enough to bruise. “You wanted me jealous, now you’re gonna take every fucking inch.”
You were a sobbing, whimpering mess beneath him—clenching around his cock, nails digging into his back, babbling “please” and “sorry” and “Toji—!” over and over. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. He edged you mercilessly—slowing down right when you were about to cum, only slamming back in when your cries turned desperate.
Finally, when you were shaking and pleading with tears pouring down your face, he growled right against your lips.
“Cum. Now.”
Your second orgasm ripped through you even harder than the first. You squirted again, soaking his abs and the couch while you screamed his name, walls fluttering and milking him. Toji cursed loudly, hips stuttering, and buried himself deep as he came—filling you with hot, thick ropes until it leaked out around his cock.
He stayed inside you, panting, forehead pressed to yours. His grip on your hair loosened into something almost gentle.
“Break’s over,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You’re mine. Say it.”
You sniffled, still trembling around him, and whispered back with a shaky, fucked-out smile.
૮ ․ ․ ྀིა MDNI — this is a filthy smut one-shot ♡ reader is a shy, curvy, glasses-wearing virgin. naoya is a cocky arrogant frat boy who likes running his mouth, until she shuts him up and takes total control.
he’s used to being the one in charge… not tonight ♡
Submission
Pairing: Naoya Zenin x f!Reader
Tags: frat boy Naoya, nerdy virgin reader, dom reader, sub Naoya, power switch, alcohol, first time, rough sex, edging, face sitting, slapping, marking, possessive reader, crying/whimpering Naoya
The party pulsed around you like a living thing-too loud, too bright, too much. You stayed glued to the corner of the worn leather couch, knees pressed together under the hem of your oversized cream sweater. Your thick black framed glasses kept sliding down your nose no matter how many times you pushed them back up. Sweat already prickled at your temples.
You were the only one here with a half-empty can of warm soda instead of a red cup, the only one pretending to read something on your phone while the world got drunk and horny around you.
Then Naoya Zenin noticed you.
He sauntered over like the room belonged to him, blond hair perfectly messy, sharp jaw and colder eyes scanning you like prey. His gaze dropped immediately to your chest-your heavy, full tits that no sweater in the world could truly hide. and his mouth curved into that signature arrogant smirk.
“Damn,” he said, voice low and dripping with entitlement. “Didn’t expect to find tits like those attached to a shy little nerd hiding in the corner. You always cover them up like that, four-eyes? Scared someone’s gonna stare?”
Your face ignited. You shoved your glasses up again, unable to meet his eyes, fingers trembling around your soda can. “I-I’m not… I don’t…” The words died in your throat.
He laughed, rich and mean, and pushed a fresh cup into your hands.
“Drink. Loosen those pretty tits up a little. Bet they look even better when you’re bouncing on a cock.”
You should’ve walked away. Should've told him to fuck off. Instead, the burn of the first drink made your stomach flutter. The second loosened the knot of anxiety in your chest. By the third, warmth spread through your veins and you were actually laughing—soft, embarrassed giggles—at his filthy comments. He kept leaning closer, eyes glued to your cleavage, telling you exactly how he’d fuck you, how quiet girls like you always ended up the loudest.
Your thighs squeezed together. Your panties were already damp.
When he grabbed your hand and pulled you upstairs, you let him.
The bedroom door shut with a heavy click, muffling the bass downstairs. Moonlight cut across the messy bed. Naoya turned, already reaching for his belt buckle with that cocky grin.
“Alright, nerd. Get on your knees and show me what that smart mouth can really do—”
You snapped.
The alcohol, the months of being invisible, the way he’d spent the entire night reducing you to nothing but a pair of tits—it all boiled over. You shoved him hard. Naoya’s back hit the wall with a surprised grunt, his eyes widening.
“The fuck do you think you’re—”
You surged forward, grabbed a fistful of his blond hair, and latched onto his neck like a woman starved. Your mouth was hot, clumsy but eager, teeth scraping, lips sucking hard enough to bruise. You bit down, pulling a low hiss from him as you marked his perfect skin.
Naoya’s hands flew to your shoulders, trying to push you back. “Easy—shit, you’re feisty for a virgin—”
You slapped his hands away and shoved him again, harder. Your glasses fogged slightly as you panted against his throat. “shut up.”
He laughed, but it sounded strained now. “Bossy little bitch. Cute. But I’m the one who fucks here, not—”
You cut him off by yanking his shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. Your nails raked down his toned chest, leaving angry red lines. He groaned despite himself. You dropped lower and bit his collarbone, then his nipple, sucking hard while your hand palmed the growing bulge in his pants.
Naoya’s breath hitched. His hips twitched forward into your touch before he caught himself. “You’ve never even been touched and you think you can handle me?” His voice was rough, still trying to regain control. He grabbed your wrist, squeezing. “Careful, four-eyes. I’ll ruin you.”
You looked up at him through fogged lenses, eyes dark with something new and hungry. Despite the nervous tremble in your fingers, you squeezed his cock through his pants and stroked him slowly, feeling him throb.
“Maybe I want to ruin you first.”
You pushed him toward the bed. He resisted for a moment—muscles tight, pride flaring—before the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sat. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, grinding your soaked core against the hard ridge of his cock. Your sweater came off slowly. Your heavy breasts strained against your bra, nipples already stiff. Naoya’s gaze locked onto them, hungry, but when he reached up to grab them you slapped his hands away.
“No touching unless I say.”
His eyes flashed with irritation. “You’re pushing it.”
You rocked against him again, slow and deliberate, then stopped right when his breath started to quicken. Leaning down, you licked a stripe up his neck and bit his earlobe. “Take my panties off. With your teeth.”
He glared, cheeks faintly flushed, but the challenge in your voice made his cock twitch. After a beat of stubborn silence, he leaned forward, gripping the waistband of your skirt and panties with his teeth and tugging them down your thighs. The moment they were off you shoved him flat on his back and climbed up, settling your dripping pussy over his face.
Naoya’s hands instinctively gripped your thighs. “Fuck, you’re soaked—”
You lowered yourself onto his mouth before he could finish talking. The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue against your folds sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core. You gasped loudly, thighs trembling as you rocked against him, using his face, grinding your swollen clit on his nose while his tongue pushed inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of him licking and sucking mixed with your own shaky, high-pitched whimpers. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, your walls fluttering around nothing.
Every time he tried to take control, licking faster or sucking harder, you lifted off and slapped his cheek.
“Slower,” you gasped, pushing your glasses up with a shaky finger. “Make me cum when I want it.”
After the third edge, your legs were shaking badly. When you finally let yourself fall over the edge, your orgasm crashed through you hard. A broken, loud cry tore from your throat—“Ah-fuck—!”—as your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly, flooding his tongue and chin with your slick. The pleasure was overwhelming, almost too intense for your untouched body; every pulse sent sparks shooting up your spine.
After you regained some bit of control over yourself, you slid down his body on shaky legs, chest heaving. Kneeling between his spread thighs, you wrapped your hand around his flushed, leaking cock and stroked him slowly, feeling the velvety heat and the way he throbbed against your palm. You shifted forward a little, leaning down so your warm breath ghosted over the tip. Then, without warning, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth—sucking sloppily, inexperienced but so eager. Your tongue swirled around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum as your cheeks hollowed.
Naoya’s back arched, a wrecked moan spilling out. He grabbed your hair, trying to thrust deeper, but you pinned his wrists down and pulled off with a wet pop right as he was about to explode.
Tears of frustration glistened at the corners of his eyes.
You climbed on top of him again, straddling his hips. Your hand trembled slightly as you lined his throbbing cock up with your virgin entrance. Even soaked and aching from your first orgasm, the stretch was intense. You sank down inch by inch, whimpering loudly at the burning fullness. It hurt, but it felt so good—every thick inch dragging against your sensitive walls, filling you completely in a way your fingers never could. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a long, shaky moan, eyes fluttering behind your glasses.
“F-fuck… so tight—” Naoya groaned, but you barely heard him.
You started riding him—slow at first, savoring the drag and the way his cock rubbed against that perfect spot deep inside you with every roll of your hips. Then harder, tits bouncing heavily, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Pleasure built again, hotter and deeper this time, making your voice crack into desperate little cries and whimpers every time you dropped down on him.
Every time he tried to thrust up or grab your waist, you slapped his chest, his face, leaving red prints on his skin.
“You don’t move until I say,” you panted, voice trembling with both nerves and power. “You’re mine tonight.”
Naoya’s usual cocky mask was crumbling. His eyes were glassy, lips parted on desperate whines every time you clenched around him and stopped moving. You rode him right to the edge, then stilled, feeling him throb angrily inside you while your own pleasure coiled tighter.
When you finally came around him, it hit you even harder than the first. Your walls spasmed violently, squeezing his cock in rhythmic pulses as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat—“Naoya—! Ah—!” Your whole body shook, thighs quivering, vision whiting out behind your fogged glasses while intense waves of pleasure flooded every nerve. You soaked his cock and thighs with how hard you came, the slick sounds filthy as you kept grinding through it.
Only then did you pull off at the last second and stroke him through his orgasm.
Thick, hot ropes of cum painted his abs and chest as Naoya sobbed with relief, hips jerking, tears slipping down his temples. His usual arrogance was gone—replaced by flushed skin, bite marks, handprints, and glassy, fucked-out eyes.
You leaned down, pushed your fogged glasses up your nose, and gently kissed the tears from his cheeks.
“Good boy,” you whispered, voice soft but possessive.
Naoya could only pant beneath you, spent and marked and utterly submitted—for the first time in his life.
