Pairing: Aang x Top/Seme Male Reader x Sokka x Zuko
Summary: It's been years since you've seen any of the gaang, and the three male members have just been dying to get their hands on you.
Featuring: Oral/anal sex, straddling, biting, blood, hand job, cowgirl, no-prep, exhibitionism, infidelity, jealousy/possessiveness, blow job, creampie, prostate massaging, making out, temperature play, glowing body parts, minimal Sokka x Zuko at the end, and cum play.
WC: 4.7k
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The flicker that came from the flames presented in front of you did nothing short of create a beautiful scene. Their romantic glow caused an inconsistent cascade of light and shadow to mix in the cave you and the rest of the crew were in.
Of course, the master behind those flames was even more impressive himself. It had been a while since you had seen Zuko in person—hell, since you had seen any of the members from your teenage group. After everyone had decided to go their own way, there was never much time for you all to have a mutual meetup, as everybody was busy pursuing their own life.
Maybe it was a calling from a spirit that Aang needed all your guys' help on this mission. You did miss the dynamic and energy that came from being surrounded by the people closest to you; heaven knows you craved to be going back and forth with the guys or teasing the girls about something random.
In the midst of your zoning out, you suddenly heard an abrupt yet clear cough that came from your right.
"Hey, Y/n, you okay?" probed the same voice that previously cleared its throat, seeming to add a slight playfulness to its tone as if to not discomfort you. "You've been burning holes into Zuko’s torso for a good minute now."
Blinking your eyes a few times, you zoned back in to realize that your pupils had been laser focused on the fire lord's chest. Immediately ripping your eyes away from his body, you looked at the floor instead, deciphering whether it would be better to explain yourself to who you now realized was Sokka on your right or apologize to Zuko for the unintentional staring contest with his pecs.
You ultimately decided to do both while keeping your gaze on the ground, assuming that would save you the most humiliation from the expressions plastered on your comrades’ faces.
"My bad, I guess I was too in my head and didn't realize where I was looking," you mumbled timidly, like a kid who was forced to say sorry by their guardian. On your right you heard Toph let out a cheeky snicker while Katara started to tease.
"What's so enthralling about Zuko’s chest that had you zoning out over it, huh?" the waterbender taunted, wrapping a lazy arm around Aang’s shoulders. She put a portion of her weight on him while eyeing you, her grin stretching across her face at the realization she struck gold in something to mess with you about when you covered your face with shame, groaning in response.
"It was nothing. I'm telling you, I got busy thinking and didn't pay attention to where my eyes were," you stated disgruntledly, trying to be as casual about the conversation topic as possible in hopes that it would make it die out faster.
"Yeah, right," Toph mocked, now starting to join in on the ridiculing that should've ended 30 seconds ago, "I bet you were doing it on purpose and are just making the zoning out thing up to not get caught."
The metalbender got more comfortable in her sideways position on the floor before looking in your direction. For a blind woman, she sure did have a talent for knowing where to look to make eye contact.
"You can admit Zuko is pretty handsome," she kept on going, manipulating a small rock to head in the firebender’s direction and circle his upper body. You dragged your eyes over to look at him, wondering if he was hating the situation as much as you, only to be met with a rather flustered expression.
Although he wasn't saying anything or interacting with the discourse, Zuko was visibly red in the face. His shoulders were nearly steaming from how hot he was.
'He's probably just surprised at the direction the conversation went in,' you reasoned, not questioning his reaction much. 'It's nothing.'
Thinking about reactions, it had just dawned on you that neither of the other males in the room had said a single word since you apologized. Looking over at Sokka and Aang, you noticed that they seemed rather...tame with the whole theatrical.
They didn't seem overjoyed at the opportunity to dogpile on you about something silly like they usually would. Instead, their faces reflected that of hidden discontent.
Sokka was wearing a smile like usual, but the ends of his mouth shifted from time to time as if he were forcing himself to do it for appearances. Aang was barely reciprocating Katara’s physical affection, spiritlessly wrapping his arm around her waist while mundanely looking around the room.
Their reactions were inherently odd compared to how you last remembered them acting. However, again, it has been several years since everyone's gotten together like this. Perhaps they've just grown up and changed.
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Nighttime had officially fallen, and everyone had mutually decided it was time to rest. After a bit of rearranging had been done to better set up for sleeping, the crew had started to pull out their own bed linens and do whatever else was needed before lying down.
You had found yourself taking the space between Zuko and Sokka, dropping your blanket and slowly following it onto the ground as well. Sluggishly mumbling a goodnight to the rest of the group, you closed your eyes and instantly began dwindling into a limbo between wakefulness and sleep, your exhaustion overtaking you.
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Gradually evening out your breathing, you tried focusing on the black behind your eyelids and disconnecting from the rest of your surroundings. In the process of doing so, though, you heard a shuffling coming from in front of you.
‘Someone's just probably changing positions,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It's not like sleeping on a cave floor is the most ideal resting location.’
Just when you were about to return to your previous activity of zoning into nothingness, you heard something again, but this time it was coming near you. Someone was up, but that shouldn't bother you. There isn't any danger from anyone in the team. You're safe, and as far as you know nobody from the outside is coming in.
Still, you opened your eyes just to peek at who exactly it was and what they were doing at this hour of the night. You did not expect, however, to be met with Zuko hovering over you, his stature unwavering even as he came to realize you were, in fact, awake.
"Uhm, hey there, Zuko," you started, a slight concern present in your voice by the odd interaction. "Everything alright?" The buffer man did nothing but gaze down at you for a few more seconds.
It was when you were about to go in again with another question that he finally acted, kneeling down to meet you at face level and inching towards yours. Somewhat appalled by the action, you attempted to lean back and put some space between the two of you, but just as you were starting to, another hand made contact with your neck, halting your movement.
Slightly jumping at the unexpected intervention, you turned around to be met with Sokka already looking back at you, his loosened hair cascading over the front of his face, giving him a rather alluring appearance.
"Why are you up?" Zuko grilled in a low voice, though it came out more like a statement with how harsh his voice sounded. While asking, he leaned forward again, but this time his body language came off more territorial than usual. Your knees bumped together as he took a hold of your forearm, seeming as if ready to drag you away from the other man.
"The same reason you are," Sokka bit back, pulling out a smile as he gave Zuko an all-knowing look. You now wore a perplexed expression, completely unaware of whatever hidden message was being spelled out behind the pair’s short sentences to one another. What exactly was Zuko here to do?
You didn't have to wait much longer for that question to be answered, though, as Sokka pulled his arm back—your hair that was held by that same hand went with it. He forced the back of your head onto his collarbone, instantly diving into an open-mouth kiss. The tactician’s tongue played inside your mouth, making room for itself without prior notice.
Your eyes widened at the intrusion, too surprised to take any immediate action. Too caught up in the obscurity of the moment to fight back or do anything but make an alarmed noise.
"You—" Zuko spat out, catching himself before going off the handle over what he was seeing in front of him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Everyone should've been asleep, and the two of you should be kissing. Yet, now that the situation has been changed, there's nothing he can do except modify his plan.
The flame king clenched his teeth, taking a breath before crawling towards you. Just because Sokka landed the first move didn't mean it was over for him. He slowly brought his hands to rest on your thighs, using them as leverage to put his weight as he neared your necks. The firebender began to leave soft kisses from your collarbone to your neck, finding home on one of your scent glands and beginning to suck. If Sokka got the first kiss, he was going to be the first to leave a mark on you.
You groaned into Sokka’s mouth at the sensation on your neck, subconsciously wrapping a hand around Zuko’s waist to keep him there. The man who was responsible for tonguing you seemed to take notice of this, a new rage filling him at the reciprocation in touch. How come Zuko got it and not him? Why were you even looking at his chest earlier? Did everything have to always be about him?
Deep in his thoughts, Sokka ripped his lips away from yours and dug into your neck instead. However, he wasn't as sweet with his markings as the fire lord. The inventor locked his canines into the skin in between your shoulder and neck, biting down without a second thought. An uncomfortable grunt came from your throat. Moving your irises down to look at the skin after feeling a trickling wet sensation on it, only to be met with your own blood flowing down and seeping into your clothes.
"W-what did you do?" you asked, a visible quiver in your voice at the fact that you already knew the answer. Sokka dragged his eyes back to your own, a small grin of satisfaction on his face. Lowering his head, he licked the open wound, not breaking eye contact with you as he lapped up the spilling red liquid. That seemed to have gotten your attention away from the other male.
While in a dazed state and still looking at the clear bite mark on your trapezius, you heard another shuffle come from across the cave. That's when reality hit you again: there were several other people in the lair that could wake up at any given moment and see the scenario unfolding.
Although you told yourself that scared you, and your stomach filled with anxiety at the thought, you somehow felt an additional mix of arousal at the idea too. That small drop of it must've been enough to cause your body to react, as you felt yourself growing.
Zuko seemed to notice it too, looking down to be met with a clear bulge sticking forward in your pants. Continuing to gaze at it, he moved one hand away from your thigh and cupped your clothed penis. A ragged breath tore through your lips at the feeling. This caused the fire lord to snap his head back up, looking at your pleased expression and uneven breathing that was mildly hitting his face.
A blush crept up his cheeks as he swallowed down the saliva that had unknowingly been building up in his mouth.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he whispered, letting himself catch a small peck from your unguarded lips before lowering his head to be between your legs. Though the contact of lips merely lasted for a second, you could feel just how high his body temperature was. Had he not been the leader of the Fire Nation, you would have become concerned at just how hot he was.
You got distracted from his steamy kiss, however, when you heard the shuffling from before again, but this time it seemed more consistent. Hearing a groan, you turned your head to be met with Aang slowly waking up. Your heart started beating even harder, a mix of feelings seeping into your skin.
The moment you were experiencing had happened so fast that you hadn't even thought to yourself what you would do if another member woke up. You hadn't exactly wanted this, so should you ask for help? Yet again, you weren't exactly fully opposed either.
Not much time to think was given, though, before the airbender rubbed any sleepiness he had left over from his eyes and scanned the view in front of him. After shifting his now wide eyes back and forth and analyzing what was going on, his pupils ultimately landed on you. Staring back at him, you said nothing, but your expression was an amalgamation of panic, anxiety, and arousal.
A beat passed without anyone saying anything, but eventually the avatar slowly rose from his bed, walking more casually than you would've expected towards the scene. Squatting down in front of you, he cupped your face and leaned into a kiss. His kiss was less intense and aggressive than Sokka’s, but just as hungry. He let himself moan into the kiss, seemingly enjoying the small yet heated act of intimacy.
"Not gonna say hello or anything before crashing the party?" probed Sokka through heavy breaths. One of his hands was down his pants and the other up his shirt, twitching his right nipple. He had become so spellbound by the bite mark he left on you that he'd been lapping and sucking on it for minutes, getting off at just how dark and noticeable he could make that singular mark of his on your skin.
Aang spared him a glance before returning his attention back to you, not completely in the mood for talking.
"It's not like there's much to say. And anyways, I obviously showed up late, so I have some catching up to do." He simply stated, closing his eyes to continue the kiss while slowly reaching to hold one of your hands.
By this point you had stopped including rationality or morals into the mix. You were so drawn in by the kiss that it hadn't even hit you that out of all three men, Aang was very much taken. The man who was necking you like he needed you in order to breathe was in a relationship with a woman who was less than 20 feet away from you.
The thought itself punched your gut with guilt, but with the way he was kissing you the negative feeling slowly transitioned into one of excitement. You eagerly kissed back, letting the airbender intertwine your guys' hands together as you made out. It wasn't your responsibility anyway to deal with the way people went about their relationships.
A sharp inhale was forced into your lungs as you felt a warm sensation overtake your cock. Slightly opening your eyes, you lowered your vision to be met with Zuko and his mouth wrapped around your shaft. You could see the tip of it poke out through his cheek as he made his best attempt at taking you all in.
Utilizing your free hand, you moved it over to be on top of his head, caressing and petting his hair in a way of showing praise for his actions. The lord peered back up at you, his half-lidded eyes making their best attempt to stay on you as he swallowed, making more space in his throat for your dick to pierce through.
"Lean back for me, baby," heaved out the strategist behind you, freeing the hand latched to his nipple and making a feeble attempt at pushing your shoulder down to put you on your back. You obliged, momentarily removing your hand from Zuko’s head—who seemed rather saddened by the missing physical contact—to balance yourself as you lay on your back, stretching your legs out to give the one between them better access.
Aang followed you down the whole way, continuing to smooch you like a lovesick puppy. It really started to make you wonder just how devoted he was to Katara with how feverishly he was about a simple kiss.
When he leaned back to catch his breath, Sokka took that as an opportunity to use your mouth for himself. Putting a hand on your chest, he used his other to peel off any clothing item that was on his lower body. Once they were discarded, he crawled closer to you, putting a leg on either side of your neck and straddling your face.
Without even needing to speak, you knew what he wanted to do and instantly cooperated, moving one hand to get a firm hold on his thighs as you helped lower him onto your face. Now that your mouth was taken, the avatar resorted to kissing your free hand instead, slowly moving it over to his lips. The wet sensation of his tongue rolling around your middle and index fingers was felt directly as he sucked on them while palming himself through his pants.
You laid your tongue flat under Sokka’s ass, licking a long line from his balls to his brown hole. This seemed to appease him, evident by the strained exhale that left his lips. Deciding to stop teasing, you went for the real motive. Pointing your tongue, you wiggled it into his anus, letting a finger you had previously wet tease around the edges before ultimately sinking in too. The inventor arched his back at the intrusion, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep his voice down while you worked your way into his hole.
The change in pace seemed to have struck a nerve for the element bender more down south. Zuko retracted his lips away from your cock and impatiently started to part ways with his lower-body garments as well. Throwing them off to the side, he inched closer to your midbody, deciding to straddle your hips before he made a reach for your cock again.
By this point Aang had soaked your fingers in enough of his saliva that it dripped down the back of your hand and onto your wrist. He pulled back from it, a string still connecting to your middle finger before fully detaching.
Lowering his pants just enough to unsheathe his cock, he moved your hand over to position it in a way that your palm would immediately make contact with his base. As you felt around it, you wrapped your hand around his dick with a firm hold, going to toy with the tip and realizing it was already leaking pre-cum.
A groan left your mouth and reverberated into Sokka’s tight walls as you felt Zuko’s warm ones take in your cock. The sensation mildly came off as painful first due to the lack of prep he had done for himself, too eager to have you inside him to consider the faults of his rushed plan.
However, his walls were soooo warm. He absolutely lived up to the fire lord name with how heated and comfortable the muscles taking your penis in were. A small groan of discomfort left his mouth at the initial penetrating sensation, but eventually he started to move, not seeming to let the tenuous pain get in his way.
“Do you feel it, Y/n?” he called out, looking down at the visible bump in his stomach from your cock. He felt himself twitch just from the sight below him. Moving a hand over to lay it over the protruding skin, he instinctively tightened around you even more. “We’re one now, too.”
He placed his hands on your torso while swaying his hips, moving them in a circular motion as he made his best attempt to properly ride you. Although the lack of preparation made for an uncomfortable start, the more he grinded down on your dick, the more tolerable it became.
Just when he was about to start speeding up, the side of your cock hit a bundle of nerves that made him gasp, suddenly freezing at the spike of pleasure he felt. When he tried moving again, he realized it was a lot harder to hit that same spot with the way he was positioned.
He grounded his feet on the floor, taking a squatting position before beginning to bounce up and down on your dick. The change had absolutely helped, as he was more frequently able to make contact with the spot.
"U-ughhh, Y/n, Y/n, Y-Y/n, this feels really good," whined the man, getting cock-drunk the more stretched out his walls became from your erect piece of flesh. His eyes started to unfocus as he didn't know where to look while feeling this almost unbearable amount of pleasure.
With Zuko now having a repeated pace he was fucking himself on your cock with, it caused you to also start reacting to the building feeling in your abdomen. Pulling your finger out of Sokka’s anus, you wrapped your hand around his thigh, squeezing it as a method to mildly ground yourself.
Focusing instead on protruding your tongue as deep as you could inside him, you used that hand to push him even closer to your face.
While moving your tongue near the middle of his walls, he suddenly clenched around your tongue, letting out a small mewl and clawing at your thorax. Seeing this as a good sign, you repeated your assault on that specific angle, locking your arm around his thigh when he tried rising from your tongue or squirming away.
With your opposite hand, you had started to fully jerk Aang off, utilizing the pre he had been leaking as a form to more smoothly glide your hand on his cock. He had been able to better handle the sensation of pleasure than the other two men, focusing on keeping his breathing evened and as quiet as possible.
Yet, even with not being as loud as them, his pleasure could be visibly seen by his arrows actively glowing. He had also put a portion of his weight on one arm, slowly starting to feel himself collapse the closer he got to reaching his high. Even with his energies being down, though, he made an attempt at reciprocating your actions by repeatedly pushing his hips forward, humping your hand in return for the service.
"T-thank you f-for this, Y/n," he huffed out, trying to put together words without letting out an audible moan. With the hand not supporting his weight, he laid it on your forearm, wanting to have more physical contact with you even aside from the one already taking place.
"I-I," Zuko whimpered, taking in a few breaths before trying his sentence again, "I'm going to cum soon." Had you not been tongue-deep in Sokka’s ass, you would’ve realized that the firebender was heating up like crazy.
Aside from his walls sucking you in so warmly, his back—leading up to his shoulders—and thighs were releasing steam at a rapid pace. It’s surprising he hasn’t caught on fire by this point.
Sokka agreed with his message by nodding his head, opening his mouth to speak, but only an airy moan came out.
"Me too," he added, biting his lip the closer he got to his climax. He’d started grinding his hips back into your face, alternating from shifting away at your abuse towards his prostate. “I-I don’t think I can last much longer.”
Out of the three men fondling you, the air nomad was the only one that stayed more so quiet, seeming too caught up on your hand pumping him to care about the other two’s words. Yet, he too felt himself building up and getting ready to explode. Anyone could tell, really, if they simply looked at him. He was lighting up like a glow stick the closer he got to reaching his peak.
Five more bounces later and Zuko had started shaking, his orgasm overtaking him as he clenched and unclenched around your cock. He wasn’t able to actually say anything, but small strained noises left his lips while he aimlessly looked up at the ceiling of the cave.
His seed spilled all over your stomach, dripping down to nearly reach your belly button. The flame king’s breathing continued to waver as he felt his limbs collapsing, the overexertion from riding you taking a toll now that the high was coming to an end.
But it didn't come without the seeping of your own semen starting to fill him too. He softly gasped as he let himself hunch over, using your cum-splattered stomach for leverage while you let your load out inside him.
Sokka came next, the moans from you reaching your own peak being the last thing he needed to be thrown over the edge and climax as well. His thighs tightened around your head as he bit his hand to cheaply cover his moans. He tipped his cum on your pecs, some of it still dripping from his tip, painting little dots in the middle of your collarbone.
As Sokka and Zuko both were catching their breaths, stooped over and holding onto a part of your core for leverage, they timidly made eye contact. They were practically breathing on each other from how close in proximity they were.
The non-bender decided to make the move first, and he weakly reached out for the flamebender’s face, pulling him into a tired and messy kiss. Although mildly surprised, the other didn't pull back and soon started to kiss back. The two silently rejoiced in the kiss, seemingly content with what they got out of tonight.
Aang finished last, an extra few pumps from you being enough to finally join the rest of you in the euphoria that came with experiencing sexual relief.
With his mouth agape but no sound coming out of it, his arrows maintained an unwavering glow throughout his whole orgasm, and his eyes fully went bright for a few seconds before calming down. His cum dribbled onto your closed hand, gradually slipping downwards and seeping into the web space between your thumb and index finger.
When the avatar finally came to—with wobbly breaths and tears poking at the corners of his eyes—and saw the mess of himself in your now-relaxed fist, he used that as a weak opportunity for the two of you to "unite" as well.
Shakily moving the hand previously grabbing yours, he slid it over to your knuckles, extending his fingers to intertwine his hand with yours once again, letting his still-warm semen mix into both of your palms. That was his personal compromise for not getting to have a part of you inside him.
Everyone seemed to have been satisfied for tonight.
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The next day you had mysteriously risen with a fever. Nothing deadly, but definitely not well enough for you to move much for the day.
"You were just fine yesterday," stated Katara, organizing her bag before getting started on whatever needed to be done that day. "I just don't understand where this could have come from in such little time."
"Maybe those guys chasing us had something to do with it," guessed Toph, shrugging her shoulders while putting her hair up. It's true, there hadn't been that big of a time window in between yesterday, when you were doing just fine, and today, when you're practically bedridden.
But there definitely had been a lot of action, and none of the men in the room seemed to want to offer any explanation for your sudden decrease in health.
"I'm not too sure what happened, but someone should stay near Y/n while the rest of us go out," the waterbender sighed, seeming both concerned and irritated at your condition.
"The three of us can stay behind, and you two look for resources today," chimed Sokka, getting closer to you and putting a hand to your forehead, checking your body temperature. "There's a decent chance someone might locate us here, and if that happens we won't be able to move as efficiently with one of us being weaker."
Katara wanted to interject, but Zuko and Aang cut her short by immediately expressing their agreement with Sokka’s idea. She eventually gave up on proposing any other agenda and went on her way with Toph, leaving you alone with the three other men.
Nothing to worry about anyways; they were obviously going to take good care of you.
summary. sukuna once collected a great many things, but none have ever been so important as the fox spirit that captivated him. so consumed by his love, he offered it a deal: live only for him, and sorcerers will never touch its beloved forest again. something twisted along the way.
wc. 15.3k (THICK FIC FOR A THICK MAN YKWIM)
tags. smut | top reader, bottom sukuna, husbands!reader/kuna, slightly tsundere kuna (hes soo possessive). true form sukuna!!! curse/fox spirit!reader, reader is of a similar height (~8ft or whatever sukuna is idk). smut takes place in the heian era, the rest is modern day; lore part includes kenjaku + his squad of curses. reader calls sukuna 'my lord', sukuna calls reader 'fox'. blood, sexy cannibalism (? sukuna receiving), praise + degradation, oral w his stomach mouth, come eating, brief hair-pulling, spit as lube, hickeys/biting, riding, missionary, edging (sukuna; kinda? hes just stubborn), multiple orgasms, creampie
notes. as requested, the reader character has "golden eyes" and "long hair". he's a kitsune/inari okami based character bc i starting writing this when white fox came to marvel rivals and i was like "yo i wanna turn into a big fox too"
[ requested (+2) ]
At the bottom of a lake in a national park sits a towering stone statue of an Asura – the three-faced, six-armed demigods who revelled in war and hungered insatiably for worldly pleasures. Two hands are clasped in prayer; four reach for the heavens. The forests are dense, the mountains tall, and the waters dark and cool.
Most scholars estimate the statue to be particularly ancient – something like one thousand and five hundred years, around the time Buddhism was introduced to Japan. Its size, however, begets questions: why so large for such a new religion? Who made it? Why at the bottom of a lake? Why this lake? How is it still almost perfectly preserved, with such little water damage or natural erosion?
It was a local oddity, a mystery of ancient times. Its purpose – to scare, to protect, to be worshipped – was debated. Kenjaku, however, knows better.
It is a door. An entrance to a long-forgotten tomb.
Now, draining an entire lake is a mammoth task. Luckily for him, whoever crafted the statue also made it a lock. It will open via a specific pulse of cursed energy, shaped sharp and terrible like a blade rather than a key. However, time has eroded the statue's memory of its proper shape – with a determined-enough battering ram, any door will open. Kenjaku is that ram.
It's magical, watching the lake drain into some strange contraption at the raised circular base at the bottom of the statue. It looks like a grate. Soon enough, the roar of the water subsides, and the dark hollow of the lake, punched deep in the earth, is like the gods' very own kitchen sink.
Kenjaku's eyes flicker to the dark dome above. The veil conceals everything for now, but discretion would be awfully difficult to keep if he finds out there's no way to restore the lake to proper, well, lake-hood. Sorcerers would come sniffing in an instant.
At the bottom of the lake, he enters the revealed stone doors, probably fifteen or twenty feet tall. They waited, newly open, for him once he'd bypassed the lock, grinding open slowly once he reached them.
His steps echo in the vast, dark cave system. The soft plink of water drips into clear pools somewhere in the distance. His breath clouds in front of him, the air cold and damp, as he descends stairs carved into the dark stone. The stairs go down and down, then up and up, the long winding passages broad enough to fit three cars side by side.
Torches line the walls, hammered into place with black iron that fans out in the shape of spider lilies. They crackle to life as he nears them, their red flames licking the centres.
Eventually, he comes across another set of open stone doors. Two black braziers sit on either side, throwing crimson light on the walls and darkening the shadows. He lifts a hand to one of the braziers as he passes, fascinated as the flames flicker harmlessly around his bare fingers. The fire feels only as hot as the steam over a boiling pot of pasta.
None of this is for him specifically. There is no kindling in the braziers, no oil in the torches – this is a falling line of dominoes, with stored cursed energy instructed to follow a set of actions the moment the lake drained. It is unique. It is ancient. It is... ingenious.
Beyond the second set of doors, the cave system opens up into a vast, gaping cavern. Through a gap in the ceiling, pale moonlight cuts diagonally through the darkness, a cone of light falling upon a rocky formation in the centre of the cavern. A cleared path curves up to a point, and mirroring its curve above is a massive stalactite. Perhaps the points of each had touched, once, into a single form, but no longer. Water drips from the tip into a blooming patch of translucent blue flowers that stretches around the base of the rock all the way to his feet, so pale they seem to glow in the moonlight.
He glances down near the doors. At the edge of the field of flowers is a knee-height collection of drawings etched in stone and painted with flaked paint. He bobs down, brushing his fingers over the stone.
The linework is sloppy, unsteady. The paint trails outside of the lines. Humanoid figures dance around a spider-lily brazier – sit peacefully around a roasted boar – stand knee-deep in a river catching fish. His fingers trail over the last scene. Two figures are in the water, one tall and one small, but there's a third on the banks, watching under a tree. It has four arms. The face has been erased with time.
He stands again. He walks up the path, flowers sprawling on either side, and finds a tall, still figure slumped gently at the top, like a throne.
Ancient silks pool around its wrists and feet, trailing through the flowers. Any colour it once had has since faded, the cloth now bone-white. It still, however, retains its shimmery lustre, with a sheen like crushed pearls.
Kenjaku steps closer, brushing his bangs over his ear as he reaches into his pocket and extracts his phone, glancing at a picture of an ancient painted scroll from his private library. He lifts his phone up to the figure, glancing between them, and hums.
"All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."
A thousand years have passed and your skin is still supple, smooth, though ashen with death. No blood runs through you now. Your hands rest open in your lap, cupped loosely, as if awaiting offerings. Your hair is romantically long, tucked behind your ear and over your shoulder, and despite how soft they look, your lips lack colour.
Even standing at the end of your robes, more than a metre away from the bottom of your moonlit throne, Kenjaku still has to look up slightly – you are tall, definitely beating his current body, six-foot-something as it is. No, you are larger than that. God-tall. Easily worshipped, he thinks – easily feared.
He steps closer, carefully manoeuvring around the white silk pooling around his shoes. In your hands is an intricate golden brooch, inlaid with four almond-shaped rubies that haven't dulled with time. It rests delicately in your palms, and your head is tilted towards it – perhaps it was the last thing you ever saw. Careful not to disturb the rest of you, he reaches for it.
Your hand shoots forward and wraps around the entirety of his forearm, dragging him in. Your grip is bruising, strong enough to shatter stone.
Silhouetted by darkness, your eyes glow a ghostly silver, pupils completely milky-white. Your lips nearly touch his as you pull him ever so slightly closer, fingers twisting punishingly around his arm. Your breath is cold against his lips.
"A corpse..." you whisper, a raspy, rattling breath, "should be left well alone."
Kenjaku doesn't move. He doesn't try to. Even dead, your presence is electrifying, your touch like a live wire straight to the nerves. His lungs constrict, and his heart pounds in his chest with something more than wonder.
Even like this, you still manage to surprise him.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes reflecting with an eerie catlike glow in the shadows of your features. Slowly, your grip loosens, and you release his arm – gently, softly, as if you're giving it back to him. Mechanically, your gaze lowers to the brooch in your palm, and you lean back, cupping it once more. Your hand closes around the brooch; the crimson jewels glitter between your long fingers. You close your eyes, and stillness returns to the dark cavern.
Kenjaku grabs his wrist, rubbing it more out of habit than anything. His own touch is a balm from the icy burn of yours. He mutters, "So dramatic."
You don't move.
"My way would have been easier. Centralised. I have to go out of my way to bring you back – but you were always a rebellious one, weren't you?"
He reaches for the brooch again. You grab his wrist – again. Just like before, there is no life in it. Nothing real. This is all just automatic reflex, instinct preserved in limbo, as unconscious and unthinking as the decay of meat and muscle – a natural, predetermined pattern of reactions to certain stimuli.
"What a bother," he murmurs, twisting his arm out of the corpse's grasp. "But if I were you, I suppose I'd want to keep a face like this, too."
He leans down, inspecting your lowered face. You have intimidatingly beautiful features – noble, strong. Uniquely elegant.
He reaches up, his face tilted towards yours. His fingers brush your ice-cold cheek – his palm is tiny in comparison.
Part curse, part god. A once-simple soul entangled deeply, cosmically, with another's. A bond that transcends eras, lives, and perhaps the very realm of the earth.
You don't stir. Why, he wonders? Is it the brooch that acts as the catalyst? Is your corpse protecting it?
Kenjaku draws back, lifting his phone again and scanning his annotations printed on a PDF file of scrolls. The photos are clearly taken with a phone camera on a library table rather than being scanned in archive quality, but they’re serviceable.
There's a highlighted note on a poem with beautiful calligraphy, its author gone uncredited. It accompanies a landscape scene of the lake he's standing under, the inky shape of the hills and mountains almost identical to when he viewed it over a nearby cliff.
Lucent blooms settle
Beneath sleeping mountains' light—
Silk's argent embrace
He hums. Incredibly profound.
It's a winter poem. 'Sleeping mountains' – that's the seasonal word, the kigo. His thoughts dart between fragments of information as he taps his chin thoughtfully, beginning to pace languidly back and forth. If only you'd trusted him enough with the key yourself – he'd had to scrounge through countless charred villages and museum archives just to find these clues, a task that spanned centuries. You were very good at hiding things. Unfortunately for him, only one being in existence has ever held that key, and they were currently… indisposed.
Winter. Cold. The corpse is cold. 'Lucent blooms' – that definitely has to be referencing these strange flowers, some rare variety he's never seen anywhere else. 'Light'… Moon? The moon's out right now. A full moon, if that changes things. Or it could be the light bouncing off the white peaks of the surrounding mountains. 'Embrace'. Embrace what? Fancy talk for just enjoying the natural view?
He clicks his tongue with a sigh.
Silk, his mind supplies helpfully. His gaze swings back to the god-corpse resting before him and the snow-white silk, still defiantly gleaming despite the passing aeons. An idea sparks in his mind.
Slowly, he crouches, inspecting the flowers and plucks the largest one from the fresh soil. The white petals are slender, soft as velvet and luminous under the moonlight. He glances at his phone, rereading the poem two more times. He places the flower in the cup of your open palms.
He waits. He watches.
The corpse's fingers twitch.
They close stiffly around the flower, pulling it close. With a slow, steady inhale, the corpse's eyes flutter open.
No longer are they that milky death-white, lacking the natural pinkness at the corners of the eyes and in the veins of the sclera. The irises are now gold, molten gold, and as bright and brilliant as the dawn.
There is a figure in front of you: dark-clothed, blurry with countless years of your dreamless oblivion.
"Uraume…?" Your voice is a low, husky breath. You close your eyes, one hand lifting briefly towards your aching, throbbing temple. The gold brooch tips from your palm, landing soundlessly in your lap.
"Not quite."
You blink, brow slightly furrowed. Your vision clears. There is a man in front of you – a sorcerer, judging by the controlled silvery shimmer that threads itself through his very being. His face is unfamiliar. But his energy is…
You take in his serene expression, the knowing gaze that borders on condescension… and the stitches across the forehead.
"You are not Uraume," you murmur – barely. Your lip curls with distaste. He has to strain to hear over the ambient noise, the low hum of the earth and the whisper of wind through stone. Your voice comes low, a death rattle cold enough to chill bones. "Leave, brain. You are not welcome here."
"Such little gratitude to an old friend," he replies with a smile. "Would it kill you to call me by my name?"
"Which one have you stolen now? This body…" You tilt your head, surveying him. "It is a recent acquisition."
"Yes – Geto Suguru," he says rather joyfully, touching his stitched forehead in a caricature of shyness. "You may call me such, if you like."
"I will not." You lower your gaze, scooping up the brooch and closing your fingers over it. The metal is cool against your skin – your sense of touch is returning to you. You can feel the intricate patterns of the gold and the hard angles of the jewels under your thumb. "Why do you wake me?"
"My plans are coming to fruition. I assumed you would want to be there for them."
You trace the white petals of the freshly-plucked flower in your palm. An offering – but given by the wrong hands. "If I had any interest in your 'plans', I would have accepted your proposal back then. So, before I snap every bone of your borrowed body and drink its marrow while you watch, I ask again: why do you wake me?"
He lifts his hands in surrender, but his smile sharpens. "Ryomen Sukuna has returned."
Your fingers stop drawing circles into the petals. Your breath catches. "What…?"
"Indeed. I'll give you a moment to check for yourself."
You can sense it. You feel him. It's faint, but something tugs at the base of your ribs, a sharp longing that has your eyes widening. He's unmistakable. You would recognise him anywhere – you would know him blind.
But if he has returned, why is it this brain stands before you, and not him? You promised you would wait for him. You would wake for him. To be awoken by this thing instead feels like a sickening betrayal. Your grip tightens on the flower, its petals crushed in your palm.
You… should kill him.
"Thinking of ending me?" His grin widens. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, I am the tip of the spear when it comes to restoring the King of Curses to his full strength. Removing me from the equation would obstruct his return to power."
"Would it?" You cup the brooch instead, letting the broken flower petals flutter to your feet. "You are such a confident little bug."
"Well-earned, I'd say." Kenjaku flutters a few fingers in the air casually as he speaks. "If it pleases you, I know a place where you can stay to recuperate while I gather the remaining number of Sukuna's fingers. I'm sure you'll be well enough by then to participate in my plans, should you change your mind."
"I have no desire to partake in your games. It is all posturing and strutting about – no substance." You glance up, leaning back. "Now leave before I peel every nerve out of that hideous brain of yours. You interrupted my beauty sleep."
He smiles back, infuriatingly composed. "As you wish. But I can't, in good faith, go without mentioning something. You might be interested to see that I have… this." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a wooden box completely wrapped in paper seals. Despite them, dark cursed energy radiates off of it in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke humans into a terrified, sobbing paralysis. It pulses like a heartbeat. He shakes it, and something rattles within.
Your amusement vanishes. You stiffen.
He watches your reaction keenly. "This is one of the two. Join me and I'll help you retrieve the other. Luckily for us, I just so happen to know exactly where it is."
Your eyes flash. "Are you threatening me?"
"It's more of a bargain, but I digress. Is the threat of a heart attack on a cosmic scale enough to entice you over, Your Grace?"
You gaze at him with an expression as readable as stone. Your gaze darkens. "You are a fool if you believe I'll ever make promises to a brain."
"A smart fool. I know you and Sukuna are impossibly attached to each other. How long will it take you to rewrite the rules of your 'hibernation' again? A year? Ten years? His current vessel is giving him grief, so it may take him a while to retain control long enough to find you. Help me gather his fingers and you'll have him back in a flash."
You say nothing.
"How long has it been?" you ask, finally, glancing around you. "How long has that bastard made me wait?"
"A thousand years, give or take."
Your grip tightens on the brooch. A long, heavy silence falls.
"Very well," you mutter, tracking him like prey as he steps away, inspecting the flowers and your silk robes as if you're some sort of museum exhibit. Your lips press together with disgust as he smiles and clasps his hands, a glint in his eyes that states he already knew your answer before you said a word. At least for now, you're weakened, so you'll oblige, but you promise yourself you'll enjoy spilling him across the stone one day. "Do what you must."
—
A child is running around your feet. It is small, with mismatched eyes and long blue-grey hair. You stare at it.
"This is not Uraume."
Kenjaku chuckles, watching from his seat by the table. He lifts a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "Uraume is busy searching for Sukuna's fingers. Why? Missing them?"
You cross your arms, tugging your billowing sleeves away from the grabby hands of the tiny... curse. Undeterred, it crawls under the hem of your trailing robes, folding them over its shoulders like a cape. You lift your gaze. "You said they were here."
"I said they were awake," he corrects. "If you care so much, why don't you send out your Bat-Signal, call them over?"
"My what?" you frown. "If you mean that I should signal my presence to them, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Only Sukuna created that sort of bond. I did not like the idea of being... tracked."
He hums, sipping his tea. "Always so independent. Uraume will be back soon, I wager. In the meantime, why don't you introduce yourself, Mahito?"
The child at your feet looks up and beams, brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes. The dark stitches across his skin stretch with his smile. "I'm Mahito!" he chirps. "I can touch souls!"
"That's... very nice," you say, tugging your robes to stop them from catching and pulling at his dark stitches. You glance between the pair, eyes sliding up to Kenjaku's forehead. "Is it another one of yours?"
Kenjaku lets out a barked laugh, placing his tea on the table. "No. He was born of human hatred. He's quite young – not even a year old, I believe."
"Oh. I suppose that's better." You observe the youngster for a moment as he plays with the charms hanging from your sash, particularly absorbed with a small jade fox.
"Excuse me?" He almost sounds offended. "Why is it better that he's not my child?"
You ignore him, turning to the little curse. "Mahito, do your stitches hold you together, as his do? Or are yours just to make you look even more adorable?"
He lights up. "Geto! You hear that? He thinks I'm adorable!" He turns back to you, grinning. "I don't know, mister! I don't think I'll fall apart without them, but I haven't been pulled apart yet."
"I see." You pat his head. "Let's keep it that way."
"Okay!" He grasps your kimono and follows you to the table, where a dozen old scrolls and stolen inventory files lie neatly organised. You pick up the nearest folder, finding inside a printed report of 'Sukuna's Finger: Left Index'. You trace the image of it, your gaze softening ever so slightly.
Mahito isn't tall enough to see what's in your hands, let alone over the edge of the table. He huffs in annoyance and shoots up in height, shaking out his newly lengthened limbs, and grabs your elbow, shoving himself beneath your arm. He is now comfortably chest-height with you.
"Oh, just looking at these again. Geto always looks at these. So, you two were, like, married, right?" he says, tilting his head straight up to look at you at an angle impossible for human necks. "Was he any good as a wife?"
"It was a covenant," you correct, turning the page. "And yes. He was very good."
"Wow," he giggles, grabbing a scroll and unrolling it flat across the table. "Then what was the covenant about? How'd you meet? Did he try to kill you?"
You glance down at your robes, white as moonlight. A small smile tugs at your lips. "That's a boring story, Mahito."
"I don't believe that for a second! I mean, I'm not doing anything important. Let me decide if it's boring or not," he says, immediately ditching the scroll he'd just opened to take up half the library table. "Tell me, tell me!"
"Are you sure? I might not be the best storyteller. My mind is still a little foggy with sleep."
"It's okay. I just wanna know how someone like Sukuna caught the attention of someone as pretty as you, mister." He stares up at you with wide, sparkling eyes.
"If you insist." You chuckle.
"I do!"
"Very well. Long ago, I lived in a forest," you begin, touching the photo of Sukuna's finger. Even Kenjaku shifts slightly, eyes downcast towards his research but his ear tilted towards you. "It was a great, ancient place, spanning across many mountains. It was my home, and I protected it well for many years – until one day, humans came stumbling through it, shouting and trampling and carrying torches. There were too many to fight off, coming from all directions. Dealing with one group left another unchecked. They set my home on fire; that fire raged for two weeks."
You grab a chair and settle down into it, and Mahito quickly takes a seat at your feet. "Hanami hates when humans do that," he says wisely, nodding.
"They do it often, those wretched things – no consideration for the innocent creatures caught in their paths. That day, they were looking for someone: someone who'd made his latest home in my forest, and who they called the King of Curses. I didn't think much of the title. I'd never heard of the man before, so I wondered why they cared so much about him. Curious, I sought him out. I don't know why the sorcerers struggled to find him – he was loud and brutish, every step like an earthquake, every blow shaking the heavens. Unfortunately, before I could confront the barbarian disrupting my peace, the sorcerers fighting him attacked me as well. Mahito, what colour do you think gods bleed?"
He cups his chin thoughtfully. "Mine's red, but most other curses are purple. Hm... You seem different. Maybe gold, like your eyes?"
You smile evenly. "Clever guess. After I slaughtered those sorcerers, I found this supposed 'king' standing back and watching me, letting me do all the hard work. It infuriated me. He barges into my home, destroys my quiet, and now he doesn't lift a single finger to drive off the enemies he brought to my door? He had twenty of them. Surely he could spare one. But he refused, so clearly, I had no choice but to chase him off like a feral dog to take his invaders with him. For three days and three nights, we fought until we reached a stalemate. He could not touch me in a way that mattered. I could not keep him down."
A sigh flutters past your lips as you rest your head on your palm, propping your elbow on the table. "Finally, he stopped. He called me mesmerising, said that I'd enchanted him with how I fought like it was a dance, but that he wouldn't leave and wouldn't help with the humans unless offered something in return. You who steal my moonlight for your silks! he accused me. I will kill every sorcerer who threatens this forest only if you dance for me alone, forever."
Mahito hangs onto your every word, leaning forward slightly. His round, mismatched eyes shine with fascination.
"And so, Ryomen Sukuna, the mighty and undefeated King of Curses, became my darling little guard dog. The end." You wave a hand, your white sleeve gleaming in the light, and laugh at Mahito's dumbfounded expression. "Why the look? Did you expect more?"
"You skipped the middle part!" he complains, crossing his arms. "That's the best part. I wanna hear how you responded to his bargain!"
You think of Sukuna's flushed face and parted lips, all four ruby eyes half-lidded and trained on you. You think of taking him then and there in the forest clearing, the grass and trees bleached bone-white from the heat of your clash, with his sturdy thighs bracketing yours as he gripped his weapons stabbed into the soil for balance.
"No," you hum, smiling. "No, dear, you don't."
—
Mahito quite likes you. Hanami approves of your paternal care of the forest you claimed as your own, and little Dagon is still too young to do much except get carried around by Mahito so they can listen to your stories together. These are facts that bother the volcanic cursed spirit, Jogo, a surprising amount.
"He lies as easily as breathing," Jogo says gruffly, his single Cyclopean eye narrowing in your direction as you spin tales out of Sukuna's triumphs over ten-thousand-strong armies. Mahito is small at the moment, legs crossed in the sand of Dagon's beachy domain – his eyes shine brighter when you briefly make reference to your own formidable strength. Sukuna is a fairytale, just a collection of words – you are tangible, real, and to his mind, more interesting for it.
Kenjaku smiles calmly. "Is that why you don't get along?"
"Cursed spirits should be authentic! Real! The fox hides his true feelings and plays games to manipulate things in his favour. That's cowardly," he grumbles. "Striking from the shadows is reserved for the weak."
"Ah, but you forget that he faced off against Sukuna in his prime and managed to walk away. He's anything but weak. Open, honourable duels just aren't his cup of tea." Glancing across the beach, he watches Mahito clamber into your lap, childlike interest bright on his face as he reaches up and touches the brooch pinned high on your lapel. You hide it with your hair most of the time, sweeping it forward over your shoulders. Kenjaku watches as you sit him across your knee and let him touch it, but you grasp it firmly so he can't steal it away. "Once Sukuna fully incarnates, don't mention such thoughts to him. He's very touchy when it comes to what's his, so if you know what's good for you, keep your mouth closed."
Jogo harrumphs. "Fine. Doesn't matter to me. Why'd you wake him up before Sukuna's incarnation, anyway? He hasn't done anything yet except make a fanboy out of Mahito."
"Oh, just think a little bit harder," Kenjaku cajoles. "We know Sukuna's vessel is trained by Gojo Satoru and they're both residing at the Tokyo jujutsu school, yes? If Sukuna's as possessive as I remember, knowing his fox has returned and is waiting for him will fuel his desire to incarnate as soon as possible. Right now, there are still a dozen fingers out there, so he isn't rushing to consume them. I want to change that."
His eye narrows. "You… want to send him to the school."
"Bingo," he replies cheerfully.
"That'll get him killed."
"Oh, please. Stop underestimating him. He's very good at his certain brand of violence. Besides..." he hums as he settles back in the chair, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes with a serene smile. "Don't you think it would be funny?"
—
Yuji trudges blearily towards the open training fields of the campus, rubbing his eyes. His uniform is crinkled, and his socks are probably two different colours. He can't remember. He's always been unnaturally hardy, but over the last two weeks, Sukuna has been exceptionally loud and restless inside his head, and every lapse in attention was enough to let him manifest a mouth or eye with disturbing ease. Nights were even worse, and Yuji worriedly relayed to his teacher how Sukuna was able to take control of his entire body just because he crashed so hard it felt like blacking out. He'd jerked himself awake with his hand on the doorknob, but that wasn't a risk he was willing to take every night.
Satoru had lost much of his flippant attitude at his confession. His smile faded for a beat too long before it returned, and he simply asked Yuji to meet up with him the next day to 'train'. Train what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but honestly, he'd trust the man if he told him to walk off a cliff blindfolded.
"You're a weak, pathetic little gnat and always will be. You think your 'training' will amount to anything? Give in. Give up."
If Yuji smacks the side of his head with any more force, he'll give himself a concussion. "You're straightforward today," he mutters. "Usually you like to try to manipulate me more."
"What is there to manipulate when you've got the brains of a brick?" Sukuna drawls. His voice echoes in his skull like a pounding bassline with none of the fun involved.
"You're a real jerk, man."
He chuckles then, deep and sinister. "Every time you consume a part of me, you lose more of yourself. Can you imagine that, of not knowing where I begin and you end?"
Something red flashes into Yuji's peripherals. He blinks, pausing on the edge of the training field along the path, right next to the dense forest that circles the campus.
A small red fox halts in the middle of the path in front of him, thick fluffy tail swaying low behind it. It blinks slowly, its yellow eyes fixated on him. Its red-orange fur is glossy, and its soft white throat is as pale as snow.
"Hey, buddy," Yuji coos, voice pitching higher subconsciously. "Aw. You're just the fluffiest, aren'tcha?"
The fox stares at him, small paws tapping the ground. It turns and patters further along the path for a few steps, then pauses and looks over its shoulder expectantly with uncannily clever eyes.
"Whoa," he mumbles, brows knitting slightly. "Is it just me, or does that fox look like it wants me to follow it?"
The response is instantaneous. "Do it, brat."
"Well, now I don't want to," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms. "Can't you literally read my thoughts? I was going to do it to kill time, since Gojo-sensei isn't here yet, but you saying that really messed me up."
"What the hell do you think I gain out of following a damn animal?"
"I dunno. What if it's a cursed spirit or something? What if you're trying to get me killed – again?"
"It is not. I can assure you, it is not." He sounds almost impatient. "But say it was. Look at the size of the thing. Kick it and you'd exorcise it. Now go. It's leaving."
Yuji groans, reluctantly jogging after the quick little fox. He supposes Sukuna's right, though – he's on campus, and he saw Principal Yaga walking through the halls just a few minutes earlier, so he at least has someone to run to if anything goes sideways.
Besides... something within him burns with curiosity. Not a vestigial remnant of Sukuna, either. Something uniquely his own.
With a half-second pause and a glance back, the fox veers left into the trees. It vanishes amongst the shrub almost immediately. Yuji scrambles to track it. "Ah, damn it…! Doesn't everybody say not to follow foxes in forests? The second things look fishy, I'm getting outta here."
For the first time in weeks, Sukuna is dead silent. Yuji ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing behind him to see the light of the path quickly dimming with every step. The fox seems to be leading him in a straight line, which will be great for sprinting his way back to safety if he even so much as hears a twig snap.
The fox's pace quickens, white-tipped tail held high like a flag. Yuji steps over a nest of thick, gnarled roots, almost trips on a spiky bush, and looks up. He freezes.
There, in a small patch of sun behind a large evergreen tree, is a pure white fox the size of a large dog. Several smaller red foxes surround it, jumping about or resting in the patch of sunlight. What seems like a mother and her kits play slightly further away to give the yipping, wrestling babies some room. The white fox watches them with particular care.
"Whoa... Cute," Yuji whispers, dazed. He lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes glistening. "So cute…"
At his words, the large white fox turns its head in his direction. Its eyes are not just yellow – they seem to glow with an unnatural flash that lingers even after it passes through the light into the shadows. It rises to all fours and steps slowly, predatorily, towards him.
Stepping out from behind the tree, it reveals nine long, gleaming white tails, held up high and proud.
The fox that led Yuji here scampers towards it, lowering its head in what seems like deference. The white fox glances at it once, and the red one stands and trots off to join another curled up in the roots of a tree.
The white fox approaches slowly, strong and sinewy. It blinks with eyes almost human, the pupils dilating as it scans his figure. The nine – nine! – tails puff up and give a little quiver, before calming down into a slower – though faster than earlier – side-to-side sway.
It comes even closer, near enough to pet if he lifted his hand. His fingers twitch. Its fur looks impossibly soft and white, like a cloud in animal form. It churrs quietly as it lifts its head towards his outstretched palm.
Wait, outstretched?
He snaps out of it with a sharp gasp. He turns swiftly on his heel and takes a single step forward.
"Leaving so soon?"
He freezes with a strange tugging in his soul – was that his? – that commands him to turn. Eyes wide, expression fixed in place, he slowly inches back around. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze travels up, up, up.
Standing before him is a beautiful man, taller than anything he's ever seen – taller than Nanamin, taller than Gojo-sensei, taller than Panda. He wears long robes that flow like a silver river, gleaming so brightly he looks like a fallen star, and a soft wind plays with his sleeves and hair. His expression is almost kind.
Almost.
"Goodness. Even a thousand years later, you still manage to drag me into the filth of your messes," you say, your voice a soothing wash of silk over river-smoothed stone. A pair of red foxes curls around your ankles, leaping over your trailing robes.
Yuji takes a step back.
"Well?" you ask, tilting your head. "Nothing to say, husband?"
Yuji squeaks, lifting his hands defensively. "Huh? What? No, you must be mistaken, I-I'm not – um—"
His jaw clicks shut as you step closer, extending a hand. How can you be more beautiful up close? You gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "He even looks like you, Sukuna. I have not seen you so young in a long, long time."
A crushing pressure presses down on his lungs, not unlike Gojo-sensei's when he lifts his blindfold. He wants to move. Needs to move. He's going to die if he stays still for even a second longer.
You lean down slightly, molten-gold eyes trained on his. Against his own will, his eyes flick down to the ruby-studded brooch peeking out from beneath your hair. Something dark and foreign rumbles against his very soul – like the purr of a large cat.
"Brat." Sukuna's deep voice cuts through his incoherent thoughts. "Let me take over."
What? he thinks, halfway to panic because a really, really pretty man is holding his face and isn't breaking eye contact. No! I'm not doing that! No way!
"You think you can fight him and win?" He scoffs. "That's a special-grade curse you're looking at, you know – slips past your defences like moonlight, a cruelty so beautiful you would thank him if he danced on your corpse. He made rivers run red with human blood for days."
WHAT? he thinks, fully panicking.
Oh, god. Oh, dear god. He wonders if he can summon his trusty teacher if he screams his name loud enough.
"You should come with me, child," you whisper with a smile, those golden eyes glinting. You kneel, moving closer, and Yuji squeaks as you look up at him. The scent of sweet petrichor curls around him – cool, gentle, like a secret not meant to be shared. "I won't hurt you... not a hair on your head. Come."
Your offered hand looks so inviting…
"No!" he blurts out, jerking back. "He said you like human blood, a-and dancing on people's corpses! I don't trust you at all!"
"Do you think sweet animals would sleep around my feet if I were so savage? You'd trust the word of a demon over mine, pup?"
"I..." He hesitates. "F-For this, yeah! He sounded proud. He's never proud of anything, so he can't be lying."
Your lips part slightly before pressing together. Your eyes, once so gentle, narrow. "Sukuna... You're ruining things again with your big mouth. I travelled all this way just to be foiled by my own husband – typical."
You turn Yuji's face, staring at the scar-like line below his eye. "You speak to the child, yet you hide from me. Does it please you to pretend I'm not here? Coward."
Foreign indignance bubbles up inside him. Yuji swallows.
You wait. One second. Two.
Your expression darkens and you rise to your feet, not so much dropping Yuji's face as pushing him away. He steps back, touching his jaw where your fingers once were. Something lingers, painless but crackling like Pop Rocks against his skin.
"Fine," you murmur, like a dull wave against the shore, as you turn your back to him. Your voice is impassive, but the forest responds to your mood as physically as a bushfire. Trees shudder. Flowers shrink away. The foxes stop playing. "Stay silent. Stay spineless. Just don't come crawling to me after, begging for forgiveness."
You lift your head at the brief flaring of heavy, malicious, familiar cursed energy that soaks into the forest around you.
At once, with more urgency than ever before, black markings bloom across Yuji's skin. His features sharpen minutely, his nails lengthen and blacken, and he runs a hand through his hair and sweeps it up off his forehead. With a slow, silent exhale, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and shoves his hands into his pockets, tipping his chin up as he regards your figure with eyes that are finally his own.
Emotion burns like red-hot charcoal in his chest. Sharing a body with a teenager was annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Forced to watch through the brat's eyes as you touch him, hold him, even going so far as to kneel before him to make yourself smaller, he despised the way he felt his vessel's heartbeat quicken, how the kid's thoughts turned into jumbled mush the moment you gave him a playful nickname.
Maybe he should tear out the brat's eyes before he gives his body back. Maybe he should rip his heart out again just for the pleasure of crushing it in his fist, knowing that regenerating another meant that the new one would never have raced for you.
You turn. Your expression changes – softens, almost.
"Sukuna," you say quietly.
He says your name slowly. It's almost reverential, his four eyes trailing over your body. His crimson gaze is greedy, drinking you in. You have changed very little – you still wear the kimono he gifted you, tailored and as expensive as ten thousand mercenaries. The hem has frayed slightly, trailing over the ground, but every silver thread still carries the faint thrum of his original cursed energy – a mark, a claim, which you once wore with preening pride, teasing him for his quick jealousy. You have kept it steady, meticulously keeping him alive quite literally on your sleeve.
His lips part. "You're… awake."
"I am." Your eyes narrow. "Not by your hand."
He crosses his arms. Two, not four. "No."
"Why not?"
He pauses, assessing your mood. You stand perfectly still, now taller than him by a significant margin. He thought he'd hate it more than he does. Regardless, you have yet to grab him and sew him into a rock-weighted sack to toss in a lake, so he supposes it could always be worse.
"The brat is an anomaly," he replies, his lower set of eyes glancing down at his vessel's body with a sneer. His upper pair remain trained on you. "I was… suppressed."
"Suppressed," you repeat. You lift your chin and stare down at him. "I thought I married the King of Curses. The strongest."
He bristles slightly. "You did," he snaps, his voice deepening. "I am."
Silence falls. Your cursed energy ripples outward, and as the foxes begin to play again, as if he weren't even there, he knows he is free to speak. You have cloaked his presence, letting his energy merge with yours – as a creature of lies and illusions, nature's guardian god, your cursed energy feels more natural than most, as essential and unremarkable as rain and earth. You've given him a few minutes of secrecy.
"Hm." You step towards him, beckoning with an outstretched hand. He meets you in the middle, and you gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "You look young, Sukuna. I have not seen you like this in a long, long time."
"Do you prefer it?" he asks, his tone flat with boredom – but he never blinks, tracing your features, printing them into the backs of his eyelids. The weight of his gaze slips lower – to your lips and then to your robes, tantalisingly open from the chest to the navel. His tongue swipes over his lower lip. Your waist is cinched with a wide silk belt, pinned with several draping chains of pearls and jewels. Little charms of glossy jade hang from your sash.
"Don't be jealous." You tilt your head as you blink slowly down at him, curiously tracing his features with your hand. "You are so small now, beloved… It hurts my neck to look you in the eye."
He huffs, but says nothing. You let go of his face and turn to pick up one of the foxes darting around your ankles, which paws at your clothes like a fussy toddler wanting to be picked up. Sukuna almost steps forward to force himself back into your line of sight, to keep your attention solely on him. He satisfies himself by walking half a step behind you, his sleeve brushing yours as you take a seat on a fallen log, the bark blanketed in soft moss. The hems of your robes spill across the deep green grass like a pool of stars.
You place the little fox in your lap, and it curls up in the crook of your arm. Its yellow eyes follow Sukuna as he moves. Expectantly, you gesture to a boulder beside you and murmur, "Sit with me a while."
When he doesn't so much as twitch, your eyes narrow slightly.
"Sit."
He sits.
You lean back, satisfied. You spend a long, silent, suffocating moment watching him, unblinking, in the way cats watch birds.
The mother fox begins to pick her kits up and place them near your feet, one at a time – back and forth, until all six of them are roughhousing a few steps away. Sukuna doesn't try to hide his distaste when a pair of them roll too hard and land on top of your pooling hem. You, however, relax at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips as the mother trots off to a quiet, shady tree nearby and promptly curls up and closes her eyes.
Children are all the same, regardless of species.
Atop the boulder, Sukuna sits with one knee up and his cheek in his palm. His shoulders are loosely sloped, his hands open and loose, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's bored of the company. But you do know better. One set of eyes is always, always, trained on you.
"So," he drawls. "I'm sitting. There. Now what?"
You eye him. "Someone's testy these days… Eager to get away, are you?"
"I—" He exhales sharply. "No. Just aware of time. The brat's supposed to be meeting with his mentor soon. I don't know how long I have you for."
"Ah. That would be the newest Gojo boy I've heard so much about, yes? The only one in recent years to have both the Six Eyes and Limitless?"
"Yeah. That one." He clenches a fist. Loosens it. "I want you to stay away from him."
"Hm." You stroke the fox's brow gently with your knuckle. It curls up more comfortably. "Do you believe I would lose?"
His lips thin into a line. "No. He will become far too interested in you."
"Of course you would think so. Sharing me with anyone else is, to you, worse than death." The fox shifts in your arms, and you can feel its breaths – the steady expansion of its ribs, the inner workings of the heart. Meat and bone. Even Sukuna, next to you, is the same – now in a stolen body, yes, but he was still flesh and blood when he had four arms and four eyes. You, on the other hand, won't leave a corpse to feed the earth.
Inhaling sharply, you turn to Sukuna, suppressing the emotion that still rakes its claws across your heart when you remember he lied to you. I will be there when you wake, he'd murmured when his temples were frosty with time. He'd pushed a folded piece of paper into your hand, containing a short poem in his elegant script. Your sleep may leave you weakened. Until you regain your strength, I will keep you safe.
How humiliating it had been to stumble in front of Kenjaku, of all people. You had once been a force of nature, the only thing the merciless King of Curses ever took counsel with – the only thing strong enough to bend in his wake without breaking. None of that mattered when you were forced to walk with a hand against the wall to keep your balance.
"How do you know the Six Eyes will take an interest in me?" you ask, voice deceptively even. "Even if he were, what does it matter? I am yours, not his."
His fingers twitch at your last sentence. It almost makes you smile; even after all this time, he remains a possessive little creature.
"Sometimes I can see through the brat's eyes," he replies, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gojo Satoru has already taken an interest in you. Over the decades, cursed spirits by your tomb began to concentrate, but their numbers were recently lowered to near zero. The sorcerers suspect one of my fingers was consumed by a curse which razed everything else. They're investigating my history with the area."
"It is always you who causes trouble for me. No one else. Only you." You sigh. "Does the boy know you watch?"
He shakes his head. "The file was open when the boy glanced at it. He didn't even read the title."
"I see," you say. Then, quieter: "Is he aware of us right now?"
"No."
The pause that follows is thick with anticipation. Sukuna watches as you brush your hair over your shoulder, his body turning towards you ever so slightly as if to make himself look larger, to show himself off. Look at me, his posture demands. Look at me and no one else.
You look away.
"I see now that you cannot leave," you say, watching the kits at your feet pounce playfully at each other. "This… displeases me."
"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel."
You're supposed to be angry with him – for lying, for leaving, for a dozen little things you scrounge up in ancient memories just to be petty. But you almost smile, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest that passes as your kind of love.
He opens his mouth. You stiffen and hold up a hand, all humour vanishing from your expression.
"Wait," you murmur, eyes darting around. "Something has changed."
A beat after you, Sukuna feels it, too: a loud, careless rush of cursed energy, emanating from an infinitely-condensed point near the main gates of the campus. A radar, of sorts.
It crackles over him harmlessly, moving on without notice. You place the fox in your arms aside as you rise to your feet, turning to him with a complicated expression.
"Someone has come looking. I can't keep you hidden while revealing your vessel. This is... This is where we must part ways." Your gaze flits over him as you step closer. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. "I can't say meeting you here made me happy. But... I missed your presence," you admit quietly, "and this assuages that, somewhat. Even if you are still as much of a bastard as you used to be."
He folds his arms tighter over his chest.
You continue, "Worry not. I will wait. After all, what is a few years to a millennium? However… you must promise me something in return for my patience."
He eyes you warily. "What is it?"
Leaning down, you grasp his chin. You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the overwhelming energy, pausing, then kneel in the grass and trace the marks along his cheek. A small smile graces your features, as soft and familiar as the night.
"Come for me the moment you are free. Depending on my mood, I may even offer you a dance," you tease. "You always liked that, didn't you?"
"Of course, I'm not a savage," he drawls, though his voice lacks its usual disdainful bite. He shifts his weight. "Fine. Deal."
"Good. Very good." You draw him closer, your fingertips brushing the soft underside of his chin. All four of his eyes flicker down to your lips. "My good boy…"
You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, as light as satin. For Sukuna, however, it is a grave insult – he grabs your collar and yanks you closer, turning his head so that his lips meet yours instead of his cheek.
He feels your lips curve up against his. They part, and you whisper his name against his skin.
—
"Beloved."
A silky voice, a soft touch. Somewhere in the distance, birds call to each other in the verdant canopies. Your fingers trail over his broad chest, and you prop your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pressed warm and solid against his back. He shifts – not to push you off, but to examine your expression.
You are smiling. Not that beautiful, terrifying show of teeth and tongue, but a small, playful one, reserved for him alone.
"What is it?" he mutters, ink brush hovering over the paper. "Weren't you teaching Uraume to use a bow?"
"I was," you agree, head bobbing. Silver glitters in your hair, woven through it like the river of heaven through the sky – treasured gifts from a man who cares little for personal adornment, but whose gaze always lingers a little longer, a little hungrier, when you drape yourself in his spoils.
"And?" he prompts, turning back to his half-finished poem. Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his dark grey haori, tracing the edge of the cloth. "Finish your sentences, fox."
"Patience. I was getting there. I sent Uraume out to run some errands – when you ask me to craft you weapons, you really don't understand how much you're asking of me. My list was... substantial." Those golden eyes of yours dilate slightly as you tilt your head, staring at the side of his face. You bring your lips to his neck, kissing the skin just below his jaw. "I tire of the heat of the forge. I missed you."
His skin flushes with heat as your touch grows heavier, less fleeting. You press on his shoulder, turning him towards you, and you smile, fanged, as your eyes drift to the grinning mouth splitting his stomach. You lower your hand, pressing your thumb to the sharp points of its teeth, and it laps lightly at your fingers like an eager little pet, saliva thick and viscous.
"You've missed me, too, I see," you hum, playing with its tongue. "Put down the brush." You lean in, licking the shell of his ear. His stomach-mouth kisses your palm, licking your hand into it. "It has been some time since I've touched you, my lord. I will fix that right away."
"You are interrupting my private time, fox," he grumbles, though he doesn't push you away. "Don't try to twist your desires as if it's my fault. You are insatiable."
"You're the one who wanted me all to yourself," you huff, the shimmer of your silken pearly robes pooling around you as you pluck the brush right out of his hand. You wear so much fabric – sometimes he wonders how you can stand to lug it all around. Translucent white ribbons loop around your arms and across your back, shimmering with silver threads. "Do you also blame your stomach for rumbling when you starve?"
Giving up on his poem, he turns to you fully. "What do you want, then? To eat me?"
"Oh, can I?" You lean forward with a half-lidded glance, leaning into his touch when he raises one hand to drape over your shoulders. "I would love that."
"Only if you remove your clothes."
You tilt your head, pointed canines digging into the softness of your lips as you bite back a smile. "So eager. Who's the one with the 'desires' now, hm?"
He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, fox. It keeps the cloth clean. You will whine to me later if there are bloodstains."
"I would not."
All four eyes gaze blankly at you. You click your tongue and remove your hand from his stomach, much to its obvious displeasure – its lips twist, corners tugging down.
"Fine. No eating, then. Best to save room for dinner, anyway." You lean in, lips brushing his with a teasing smile. He busies two of his arms with straightening the inkwell and his half-full page of hemp paper – the third props himself up, and the last is wrapped possessively around your shoulders. "Perhaps you can sate another hunger of mine, beloved? I'll accept it as an apology for denying me a proper meal."
"Apology—?" he snarls, head whipping towards you. He glares. "What am I apologising for, you insolent fox—"
He is sufficiently silenced by a kiss.
You are not rough in the traditional sense. Just... bitey. Your canines dig into his lower lip, breaking skin, and he grunts softly as your tongue glides over the slick, coppery blood, pushing it into his mouth. He can feel your smile as you lick his tongue.
You part with a quiet smack, twisting in his hold to settle between his sturdy thighs. You press your forehead against his, stealing fleeting kisses between groans that seem to leave him more breathless than not.
"I know my lord is a generous and compassionate man," you murmur, your chest brushing his. "Sate my hunger. Offer me salvation."
Bare skin to bare skin, he can feel the strength taut in your muscles, the easy steadiness of your body. Despite your preference for twice as much fabric as necessary and all things shiny and luxurious, you are, at heart, just as much a fighter as he. Foxes are still predators, regardless of their glossy coats.
"Am I?" Sukuna nearly growls. His hand around your shoulders lifts to the nape of your neck, closing around delicate bone and muscle. He pulls you closer with a jerk, fingers digging into the soft spot beneath the corner of your jaw. His eyes roam your features, his blood tinting your grinning lips rosy. "Maddening pest. Think you can tell me what to do? You belong to me."
"Naturally," you reply with that same smile. "You always give in, anyway. Rather embarrassing, isn't it? A big, strong man like yourself, bending over backwards to please this little fox... or bending forwards, really. You're obsessed with me."
Nothing about you is little. You're the only thing he's ever met able to look him in the eye.
Sometimes he thinks you hover a few inches off the ground when you stand next to him, just so he has to tilt his head up to meet your playful gaze. But it isn't like he has any real proof; your robes obscure your feet, and you are constantly moving, fluttering about his shoulders in those ridiculous clothes, so it's difficult to get an accurate reading. It isn't as if you'd ever tell him, either.
"Come, now," you purr, fingers dipping into his stomach mouth again. It immediately licks your fingers inward, pulling them closer. "Ah... At least some part of you wants me. I'd almost resigned myself to using my own hand to get off."
His grip tightens around your neck. His eyes flash. "You will not. Your pleasure belongs to me."
"Yes, yes, as always. But you weren't giving me many options, my lord." You pout, stroking the tongue lapping contentedly at your hand. "Why can't you be more like this one? It's always happy to see me. You just call me names."
"That is also part of me, fox." Two of his eyes flicker down to it, watching the way you caress even his most monstrous parts with the same affection you offer the rest of him. Something unsettling curls around his heart. "Its sentiments are my own."
Your smile brightens. "Oh, I knew you loved me, Sukuna! Even if you'd rather pull out your own teeth than admit it."
He rolls his eyes and grabs you with two arms, another pulling at your sash and loosening it. You wear nothing beneath – typical of you, greedy creature – and your cock bobs as he releases it from its confines. He hums, low and rumbly in his chest.
Spitting in his hand, he grabs it and begins to stroke you, all four eyes trained on the pleased expression on your face. You thrust into his palm, one of your hands lifting to cup his thick chest and squeezing. Your saliva-slick thumb rolls over his tawny nipple, pinching and tugging, and you swallow his groan, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You nibble at his neck, sucking bruises into his tanned skin. He twists his wrist, his hand heavy with the weight of you. The size is nothing to scoff at. When he glances up, you're already looking at him, smirking knowingly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, pumping you faster, tugging roughly at the sensitive skin. Your smile falls as you whine pitifully, hips jolting forward. Your thick tip leaks.
"Sukunaaa," you gripe, "not so rough..."
"Shut up." His grip tightens as you groan directly into his ear, hot breaths fanning his neck. His skin prickles, a warm shiver threatening his perfect poise as you moan his name in a lazy drawl. His breathing grows heavy. "You... wanted this."
"So cruel." Suddenly, you press against him, closing the distance between your torso and his. You gaze through half-lidded eyes as you rut against the heat of his body, your tip brushing the lips of his grinning stomach. It opens wide, waiting.
He glares at you. Gently, you lean in, threading your fingers through his hair. You mouth at his jawline, tracing a path up, and you smile at the way his lips part naturally. You kiss him, feather-light.
Finally, mutely, he lets go of your cock, and you are free to move. He rests back on two hands, his thighs like iron around you as you press your hips forward into the mouth of his stomach. It closes immediately around you, more eager than you are, and its wide tongue laps at your length as you lazily fuck into it.
Sukuna's breath hitches violently. He tips his head back slightly but his eyes never leave yours, his expression as impenetrable as stone.
You shift, throwing your legs over his to straddle him. His eyes widen slightly as you push your cock deeper into the furnace-like heat of him, his muscles tensing under your touch. Your balls smack his stomach-mouth's lower lip as you grip his shoulder, your robes slipping around your broad shoulders. Thick muscle ripples beneath your skin as you lower your forehead to press against his.
"Good boy," you husk, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. "That feels good, doesn't it?"
Two of his hands shoot up to grip your waist as you stuff your cock deep inside him, reaching the spongy back of his second mouth. His lips part, eyes fluttering against his will, and you chuckle as he fumbles with your clothes, pulling them away from your thighs so they don't get in the way. He's careful to keep his sharp teeth away, and his lips keep a tight suction around your thick cock. His palm ghosts over your chest and stomach, almost reverential. His eyes are dark as they take in the sight of your length vanishing into him.
You croon as you yank his hair, forcing him to look at you rather than your dick. "Answer me, my lord. Does this feel good? Is it my cock that makes your cheeks flush so?"
His teeth bare in a snarl as you cup his hot face, but it's all posturing. He swallows his insults, knowing you are just as petty and would happily force him to sit there and watch as you stroked yourself to completion.
"Yes," he mutters.
You cock your head. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
Your dick slams into him. He lets out a low growl. "Yes!" he snarls, his bruising strength on your hips making your skin dip. His long nails dig into your skin. "Fuck!"
His arm threatens to buckle under his weight. His second mouth isn't meant for this sort of thing – it sucks and slobbers on your cock messily, less coordinated than the one on his face. Or maybe it's just as coordinated but it feels too good – making him lose his mind, turning him into a greedy, cock-obsessed whore. It salivates, strings of drool connecting your cock to his lips, as he buries his head in your shoulder. Soft, heavy grunts escape him with every rough thrust, deep oval rolls of your hips making his stomach tense up.
"Good answer," you whisper, amused. He shudders almost imperceptibly as you grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet your loving gaze. "Don't hide, Sukuna. I want to watch you while I use you."
He bares sharp teeth, face twisted in a grimace. "Whatever. Just finish quickly. I have other things to do."
"Like what?" You withdraw slightly, wrapping a hand around your length and stroking lazily. His fingers dig into your skin, slipped beneath your many layers and preventing you from backing up any farther. You smile as you lower your forehead to his, your hair a curtain of privacy around you – that smile is sickeningly fond. You murmur, "I don't think you're busy at all. I think you just want me to fight for your attention – as you do for mine."
You're either very trusting or very stupid when you push your cock back into the mouth of his stomach. He considers it for a split second. The idea is simple – bite down and you'll stop goading him. But then he thinks about your easily-given affection, and he thinks about difficult bloodstains in your white sleeves, and he discards the idea entirely.
Two of his hands travel up your sides – cupping your ribs, callused fingertips bumping up your spine. He watches silently, enraptured, as your body moves with more urgency. All that beauty collides with a physical superiority that he cannot ignore. Your hand in his hair stops him from looking away – you're barely trying, too busy chasing pleasure like the gluttonous thing you are, but he really does have to work to even tilt his head down.
Not that he'd want to look away, anyway. Perhaps it was a shame you were a curse, invisible to most humans – you could solve ten wars by supper with a face like that.
Or maybe it was better this way. More of you is his alone.
His muscles flex under his skin as you press deeper with a rumbled groan, your seed spilling across the mouth's slick tongue. It devours you, tongue swirling around your length, mouth hot and sloppy and oh-so starved. You close your eyes and sink into the furnace-warmth of his embrace, threateningly close to burning – close, but never there.
"How does it feel?" you murmur breathlessly, ever-curious about his physiology. Most of the time he dismisses your questions with a grunt, but sometimes, when he's softer, he'll divulge an answer or two. Now, as he stares unblinkingly up at you with lidded crimson eyes, you figure he's the latter.
Sukuna's lips part as he closes his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. He rests his head against your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed against the side of your neck, and releases a heavy exhale that's more like a groan. His grip tightens on you as your tip rubs the soft back of his mouth with a particularly desirous thrust.
"Deep," he rumbles, tone brusque. He licks his lips, pressing them against the skin of your collarbone. "Very deep."
"Good?" you ask, tilting your head to allow him better access. Wordlessly, his teeth sink into your flesh to satiate his instinct to gnaw and gnash, but not enough to break skin. White clothes, still worn.
"Yes." His sharp nails leave marks in your skin. "Acceptable."
You laugh and kiss him hard. You cup his cheek – the side with the bony growths, the monstrous eyes – and pull him deeper into the kiss, stroking the thick dark line across his bicep and eventually the daintier ones along his jaw. You kiss him with both hands on his cheeks like some delicate thing you aren't, and his skin prickles as if licked by fire.
Lazily, the mouth of his stomach laps up your come, its lips and tongue glazed in a thick white gloss. It dribbles down his lower stomach, soaking into the waist of his dark hakama. You drag your fingers through the sticky mess, coating them in it, and press two fingers into his mouth – the one on his face.
He takes them without complaint, a low rumble escaping him, and he curls his tongue neatly to lick up every drop. You press against his teeth, his tongue, stroking the delicate back of his throat, but your beloved is second to none and he doesn't so much as twitch, let alone gag. You pull them away with a slick pop and you chuckle affectionately as he stares up at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly.
He licks his lips, shining with saliva. "My turn."
He tosses you to the floor – you go down easily, a smile on your face as you gaze up at him, haloed by your own hair. He throws a leg over your middle and leans down to kiss you. He grabs your neck instead of cupping your cheek, but for him, they're one and the same.
Two of his hands tear off his trousers. Properly, too – none of that awkward shimmying, nor the time-wasting stepping-out of trouser legs. Sukuna, as he does a lot of things, does it brutishly: two handfuls of cloth yanked in opposite directions. The fabric comes apart as easily as paper.
You tut, though you can't help appreciating every inch of skin revealed to you. Your hands roam down his waist to his massive thighs, grabbing and squeezing wolfishly as you go. "You will run out of clothes at this rate."
He cocks his head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course. Easier access."
He huffs, not quite a chuckle, as you grab his heavy cock and smear your own slick come against his skin. You stroke him languidly, being polite – for once – by not mentioning how wet he already is when all you've done is use him. "You are a dog."
"Fox," you correct, watching hungrily as he tugs off his haori and tosses it aside. "As you are fond of reminding me."
"In spirit," he concedes, not quite agreeing. He places his hands near your head, and despite his barbaric nature, he is careful not to pin down your hair. He reaches down between his thighs and lines up your cock with his entrance, though you are quick to grab his wrist.
"No oil?" you ask, lifting a brow.
Impatiently, one of his hands brushes you off. "Do not tell me what to do."
Without another word – without fanfare, without flourish – he sinks hilt-deep onto your cock.
Your eyes slide shut as you smack your head against the floor, the sheer heat of him threatening to melt you. Your hands slide higher, brushing his lower set of pectoral muscles. Lost in the bliss of his body, it takes you a moment to register his own hand lifting to grab yours. He holds your palm against his chest as he begins to move, the solid weight of his body dropping again and again onto your lap.
He would not be Sukuna if he were not gluttonous. So, he holds you, rides you, and leans down to kiss you, all at once – and you do nothing to encourage moderation. You entwine your fingers with his, caress his waist, and nip at his lower lip to provoke him into giving you more.
More. It was always more with you. More, more, more…
The suffocating heat of his body is nothing new. You have taken him a thousand times, but you'll never grow tired of it. He is addictive, and you should be pleased you are the only thing his blood has ever run hot for. No concubine has made him feel the way you do.
He grinds onto your cock, the heavy muscle of his thighs clenching around your hips. You throb inside him, sticky precome slicking up his insides and easing his movements. You lick your lips as you grab his thigh, fingers bruising his skin as you grip him and roll his ass deeper onto your cock. You even use the shallow lift of his hips to make the next thrust harder, rougher, deeper.
His heavy cock jolts, slapping your stomach wetly. You grin with sharp teeth as you wrap your hand around it once more, pumping his length from root to tip in time with every roll of his hips. He hisses as a thick bead of liquid dribbles down his glans. His tip is dark red, and you press your thumb into the slit of it, smearing his slick down his pulsing length.
You stroke him faster, making him grunt. He chases your hand, his own tightening into fists near your head. His sharp nails dig into his palms, drawing blood.
What a silly little dear he is. Four hands and not one of them feels as good as yours around his cock.
He pants and growls as he bounces in your lap, muscles flexing as he slams harder onto your fat cock. The wet sounds of your cock squelching in his ass, of his skin meeting yours, are obscene and violent – perfect for a man like him. Hot pleasure shudders up his spine as your cock kisses that spot inside him which makes his dick pulse hotly, a spurt of partially-clear liquid shooting across your knuckles. You smirk as you swipe it up and smear it down his length. Your thumb rolls over his slit and drags down the prominent vein on the underside roughly, as if you're trying to smooth it flat.
He drops his hips, putting his full weight on your cock. He rocks back and forth. You drag your lower lip between your teeth as you toss your head back, and your groan of pleasure sinks into his brain like your claws into flesh. His dick twitches, his balls tightening as he watches your heaving chest and gazes into your dilated pupils.
"You ride cock like a seasoned whore, my lord," you whisper, chuckling as he clenches around you in annoyance. "Nowhere else can I find someone who takes it as easily as you do."
He clicks his tongue, squeezing punishingly around you. You grunt as his tight, gummy walls stroke your slick cock. "Of course I am the only one. You are twice the size of a man. Your cock would break them."
You smile up at him, your eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't that be fun?"
His eyes flash. His lips curl into a sneer as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, nails digging into your skin.
"You have me," he growls, grip tightening. "Speak nothing of others."
He would pulverise bone had you been weaker, but as it stands, all it does is pin you down, the warmth of his palm against your skin making your cheeks heat up. You bite back a smile. You adore it when he glares at you. There's a red flush to his cheeks that he steadfastly ignores.
You squeeze his ass, hand roaming back over his thigh. Playfully, you pinch the thick black line circling his leg. "Is my lord jealous?"
He bares his teeth with a low growl that sounds more animal than man. Your cock throbs. His glare deepens.
You smirk, smug as always, and go as far as to slap his ass, which makes him jolt in shock as the sound cracks like a whip in the room. His glare returns, this time with a roll of all four of his eyes, and he presses you punishingly into the tatami mats. His hole, hot and slick, swallows your cock with ease.
"Fox," he hisses.
"My lord," you reply with a smile. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel your pace slipping."
"Do not test my patience. I will leave you here with nothing."
The threat is an empty one – you know he desires this as much as you. The mouth of his stomach drools, thick and wet, as your cock punches so deep he swears he can feel it at the back of his throat. You both know he would never leave you unattended when he could watch himself be your undoing.
Despite it, Sukuna looks pleased with himself when you offer a begrudging silence. His stomach mouth grins widely as your dick pulses with newfound hunger. Your eyes slide shut as your cock carves a path through the slick heat of his insides, again and again, until his body learns your shape. Your tip leaks, thick and sticky, and he lets out a harsh exhale, his own cockhead dripping with every pump of your hand.
He chases the slick ring of your fist, his low grunts mixing with your unabashed groans as he rides you closer and closer to your shared climaxes.
He barely blinks as he watches your high peak – he has to swallow roughly before he salivates like some barbarian. Your come bursts creamy and thick inside him, hot as lava, and heat rushes up from his chest to his head as he admires the way you groan his name and thrust up sloppily into him. All that natural grace of yours is tainted with the pleasure you take in his body – you are unwound, undone, by a savage like him.
Then you flip him over, throwing him to the floor as if he weighs nothing. He lands with a huff, opening his mouth to complain, but his words die in his mouth as you begin to drill into him, burying your head in his neck and breathing him deep. Every slick clap of skin on skin has your seed leaking out of his stretched hole, white and creamy, and it smears his ass and thighs with each brutal thrust of your hips.
He lets out a sound like a cornered animal. "Fox," he snarls, nails tearing at the floor as your cock demands every lick of his attention. He struggles to keep his voice even. "You – hah – you damned insatiable fox—"
"Insatiable?" you purr. "You haven't come yet. I'm being a good husband and making sure you do."
His hole slurps you up like some vulgar pussy. The filthy volume of come inside him makes every pump of your hips sound like you're in a brothel. Your claws sink into the meat of his ass as you fold him up – crimson blood beads along his skin, and he twitches as your teeth part skin and muscle to mark up the side of his throat. You pull back with a breathless groan that settles deep into his ear, listening to the slick churning of your scarlet tongue as you lick his blood from your teeth and lips.
You dive in again but he tangles his hand in a fistful of your hair, halting you half an inch from his scalding skin. You growl, eyes gleaming, with teeth stained red.
He jolts as your cock slams into his abused prostate, barely able to subdue his shout into a low moan.
"White," he mutters, jaw clamping to silence himself. "No chewing."
Your lips press together in a pout but you settle for lapping at the bite mark, your hips pumping hungrily against his ass. You suppose he's right – taking a chunk out of him always makes you surprised at the amount of blood that spurts out, no matter how many times you do it. But he just bleeds so beautifully – you can hardly control yourself.
Your head is foggy with lust. You press yourself into him, burying your face in the other side of his neck so you aren't tempted to take a quick bite. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his jaw, lips brushing the black markings that decorate his honeyed skin.
"Sukuna," you breathe, two of your fingers pushing into the mouth of his stomach. You can still feel the creaminess of your own release on its lips. You stroke its tongue and a low, magnificently beastly sound escapes him as his head tips back. The bite mark on his neck bleeds more profusely, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat.
"Don't—" He groans as you push one thigh higher, pinning it to your shoulder. It is heavy, with muscle like steel. "Slow—"
"What was that?" You drag your inhumanly long tongue against his calf with a wicked grin, leaning forward. He grits his teeth at the vulnerability of the position. "'Slow down', did you say? Can't my king handle a little roughhousing?"
His cock twitches visibly at the title. You laugh at him, your pace never slacking, and you press a kiss to his calf on your shoulder.
"You're holding back," you say, amused. You angle your hips, thrusting up to kiss that sweet spot inside him, and you delight in the way his back arches for half a second before he corrects himself and glares at you. "My lord, it'll be easier on you if you come. I'll stop trying so hard."
"Shut it."
He hates the way you use his hard-won titles like pet names. Such little respect. If you were anyone else, you'd be cleaved into tiny cubes before you could finish laughing, but then he would have no dancer and his days in your forest would be silent and boring.
You press your finger to his leaking slit. He clenches his jaw. Stubborn. Still, his swollen cock jolts as you grind into him, adjusting yourself above him to fuck him harder, deeper – one way or another, you'll get it out of him.
Suddenly, your pace quickens, and the sound echoes off the walls. The weight behind every thrust jostles his body and he curses you like a war cry, two of his hands grabbing you as the other two hold him up. You lick your lips at the sight of his flushed skin and the sweat beginning to collect at his temple and across his collarbones.
You can't help it. You swoop down and drag your tongue over his chest, and the tang of his sweat mixing with blood makes your head spin with desire. He groans, deep and throaty. Your hips clap against his ass hard enough to make him shout out, and as your teeth sink into the unmarred side of his neck and bite all the way down, he comes with a humiliated, thunderous roar.
You moan desperately into his skin as you follow him over the edge, his clenching insides achingly hot and tight. You fill him up with lazy thrusts, and he twists his hand in your hair so hard you feel lightheaded. He yanks you off his bleeding neck with a growl – you hang from his fist with a drunken grin and ruby-stained teeth, your jaw working slowly. Blood drips down your chin.
He can feel the cold sting of the air against his exposed meat and veins, a neat little scoop taken out of his shoulder. It annoys him that his cock throbs at the feeling, and his chest heaves as he pushes your grinning face away. His face is hot.
"You… Tch. I told you not to chew," he grumbles, healing it with a roll of his massive shoulder. He goes to wipe off the blood dripping down his chest but you beat him to it, cleaning him up with your tongue. You use the moment to mouth at his nipple, tongue laving across it, and pop off before he can smack you away.
You chuckle as your tongue slides over your front teeth, your voice rich and husky. You wipe your chin, smearing it. "But you liked it, Sukuna. It pulled such pretty sounds out of you."
"I—" He clicks his tongue, breath catching slightly as you pull your cock out of him with a slick, sticky pop. His thighs twitch as you grab his messy length and coat your fingers in his release, pumping him twice before lifting your hand and admiring the white glaze sticking between your fingers. He watches silently as you push two fingers into your mouth with a pleased groan, then lap up the rest when it drips down your wrist.
"Finish your sentences, my lord," you tease, tossing his own words back into his face. He rolls his eyes as you pause to suck your ring finger clean. "Maybe I should bite you more often. You taste like bliss. Come, now – tell me how much you enjoyed that."
Chest still heaving, Sukuna sits up straighter, widening his legs to fit you comfortably between his thighs. You kneel there – lazy, satisfied, practically glowing. Your robes pool around you like scattered starlight as you wait for his answer.
"You are impertinent, troublesome, and spoilt," he sighs, voice a low rumble. "But fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, you will not do it again. Today."
You wilt like an abandoned flower. "Why?"
He rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, heavy and possessive. He reaches up and swipes his thumb over a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth, and you press your lips to the pad of his finger, licking it up. "There is blood on your clothes."
You glance down to where he points at your sleeve. Your eyes widen and Sukuna braces himself. On cue, you grab his arm and begin to complain directly into his ear, nails digging into his freshly-healed shoulder.
"Sukuna – what is wrong with your body? Why does it bleed so much? My sleeve was nowhere near your neck! Look at what you've done – do you know how hard it is to ensure the cloth washes white and not pink? You ask so much of me – entertain you, keep this estate hidden, smith you a dozen weapons from myths and fables – which is ridiculous, I say, do you know how difficult it is to create cursed tools? – and all I ask in return is to not bleed on me, yet here you are, bleeding on me, like some—"
You are cut off with his lips on yours. You stiffen slightly in surprise, then melt into it, leaning in and tilting your head. He groans softly as your tongue curls with his, your hand lifting to twist in his hair. You smooth it off his forehead, tracing his hairline with a light touch, and he pulls you closer with three hands. The last one cups your hand on his face.
He pulls away to breathe. You sit back on your heels, pupils swallowing up the gold of your irises. You blink slowly as you steal another kiss, lips smacking halfway to indecency again. He leans back before you can drown yourself in him and try to push him back to the floor – a very unseemly place to do such things, in his opinion.
He lifts a brow. "Calm, yet?" he asks, absently pulling the collar of your robes over your shoulder.
"Enough," you acquiesce, watching him move over to grab his discarded haori near his table. He shrugs it on, his lower pair of arms not letting go of your body. You smirk. So jealous, even when nothing threatens to take you away.
"That is better than nothing."
"Mm." You crawl closer and walk your fingers up his arm. "Write me a poem, beloved."
His eyes snap up. He bares his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to dissuade you. His grip tightens on your hip. "What?"
"A poem," you say with infinite patience. "Whichever type you prefer. I know you enjoy praising me through poetry – my face, my sorcery, how I 'revel in the fires of your chaos'! Oh, yes, I've read a few of those volumes you've made, pushed to the back of your drawers." You smile, a dark edge to it, as you meet his glare unflinchingly. "This time, I want no secrecy – I want to observe your artistic process. Perhaps I will forgive you for staining my clothes if it is sufficiently flattering."
"Why are you rummaging through my quarters?" he scoffs. "Those poems are not for you."
"So you say. You refer to me in everything but name. If you truly wanted to keep them secret, you would've burnt them." You shift to sit beside him, leaning forward to pull the paper and inkwell towards the edge of the table. "Go on. Write."
He rolls his eyes. He adjusts to sit sprawled, lazy, one arm resting upon his knee and two around you. It brings a smile to your face. He was always terribly voracious for your attention, like a feral animal you feed once and cannot escape. No matter how he feels, no matter the company, he would always bend to your whim.
You grab his thigh, pawing at the meat of him like a kneading cat, and you almost laugh aloud when he pointedly tosses the hem of his haori over his cock. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sliding your palm up to the crease of his thigh, and cast your gaze down to the paper, the poem from earlier half-complete.
"'Kitsunebi'?" you muse, tilting your head. "Foxfire. Not for me, you said?"
He exhales sharply, shooting you a warning glance. In response, you pluck the brush from its resting place and smile sweetly as you grab his hand and push it into his palm.
How ridiculous it is that he must hide his belongings in his own home. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you and your curiosity. Instead, he simply lowers his gaze and rolls the brush tip in the black ink.
—
When Sukuna opens his eyes from the kiss, you have already begun to pull away, to step back – and he is reminded of his physical limitations once more.
"Greedy," you chuckle, swiping your thumb over your lower lip. "Go now – let the boy have his body back. Perhaps I will see you again. Follow my foxes; they will lead you to me."
Something compels him to speak. "And you?" he murmurs lowly. "I refuse to waste my time searching for a dead spirit."
Will you be safe? The question is unsaid but clear as day. You hum.
"If I can hide from you, I can hide from anyone. Rest assured, no one but you will ever spill my blood." You step behind him, pushing him towards the school campus. "And… Sukuna?"
"What?"
"I really did miss you."
He turns, but in your place is a nine-tailed white fox, silent and watchful. Your ears flick. After a lingering second, you rise from your haunches, curling around him and batting his side with your tails, before slipping away and leaping into the treeline to vanish completely into the forest's shadows.
His skin prickles with the fading remnants of your cursed energy. He clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. Your cloak will not last much longer, and he can sense the brat waking up. He presses his fingers to his lips, savouring the memory of your sharp, sweet warmth.
He closes his eyes, already feeling his control over his incumbent vessel lapsing. He spends his last moments of autonomy replaying the moment his lips touched yours, a moment a thousand years in the making.
Moonlit silk, ribbons of stars, a smile sharp enough to cleave bone. The world fades to soundless oblivion.
You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.
"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.
You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.
His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.
Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.
Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.
The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.
Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.
You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.
"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."
His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.
"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."
You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.
"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."
You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.
"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."
He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.
"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."
You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.
He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.
"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.
satoru .g
The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.
He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.
"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."
You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.
He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.
Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.
"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.
Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.
He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.
Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.
"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"
You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.
"wow, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know you had it in you. Look at the mess you made."
"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.
He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.
"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.
"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."
choso. k
You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.
"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"
You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.
Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.
"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.
The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.
"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."
He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.
You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.
Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.
"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.
Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.
The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.
All Choso could do was lay there and pant.
Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.
He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.
You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.
"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."
A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.
"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.
Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.
Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.
"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."
mahito
You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.
"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"
His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.
Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."
You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.
"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"
"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.
Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.
The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.
"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"
You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.
Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.
Then, the tension finally snapped.
A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.
The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.
Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.
He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.
You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.
"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."
A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.
"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."
"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.
Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.
Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.
"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."
suguru. g
You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."
He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.
But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.
He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.
"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."
His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.
You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.
He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"
But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.
Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.
"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.
He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.
Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.
Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.
The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.
For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.
"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone cum this fast. Look at what you did to my face."
A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.
"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."
You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.
Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.
Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.
His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.
"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."
naoya. z
The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.
"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.
You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.
The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.
"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.
"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"
He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.
"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.
"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"
He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.
He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.
"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"
Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.
"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."
"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."
Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"
"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."
"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."
Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.
"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."
"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."
"Shut up!" he barked, though he immediately arched his hips back up against you, practically begging for the contact. "Just... just do it! Please, damn you!"
CW: NSFW CONTENT, Short imagine scenario, no specific character, blowjob (reader receiving), hair-pulling, deep-throating, inexperienced character (lowkey was thinking about nerd Gojo), not really proofread and rushed
A pretty nerd was giving you a blowjob for the first time. His glasses wonky on his face as he was looking up at you with teary eyes. His mouth clearly occupied as drool was dripping down his chin. Fuck, doesn't he look so good with your cock in his mouth.
"...Shit—don't use your teeth.." You hissed, looking down at him. He would let out a small whine—almost sounding apologetic as he slowly bobbed his head. You moaned at his slow pace, your hand finding his hair and grabbing a fist full of strands. Not hard enough to hurt but firm enough guide him to go faster. Another whine left him before a gag interrupted him when the tip of your cock hit the back of his throat.
His hands flew to your thighs, holding onto you. He knew that some people gag when giving head but he thought he'd practice enough to not do this! At the same time, a banana doesn't compare to the real thing–
He would then feel your fingers tap on his cheek, making him look up at you again with glossy eyes. His glasses were about to fall off so you took them off of him. Closing and setting them aside neatly before you turned your attention back on him.
"Breathe through your nose sweetheart.." you murmured. You then guide his head again by his hair. Quiet moans left your lips while small whines and silent gags were heard from him as you made him take you deeper again.
Eventually, he got it. Breathing through his nose as he bobbed his head more eagerly. He let out a muffled moan as he closed his eyes.
Sure, he'll need some more work but you'll be very glad to teach him more.
“First in your college again?” Your dad gave your stepbrother a pat on his back. A proud smile spread across his face as he carefully looked over the report card in his hands.
“That’s my boy.” Your father chuckled softly. “What do you want as a reward?”
Your stepbrother gave him that angelic smile of his. He was the picture perfect son. First rank in college, captain of the basketball team, and the campus heartthrob.
With his perfect features, toned body, charm and a balance of sports talent and academic brilliance, he was admired or envied by all. But it was undeniable how talented he was.
“Spring break is coming soon,” he said, his voice humble and polite. “I was thinking a short vacation at the beach would be a relaxing break.”
“Of course!” Your dad chuckled, clearly pleased, his chest puffed with pride. “You can take the beach house. And the boats too. Go out and have some fun.”
Your stepbrother flashed that charming smile, dimples deep and teeth pearly white. “Thanks, Dad!”
Compared to the enthusiasm your dad showed him, the reaction he gave you was much milder. His smile faded as he picked up your report card. A faint look of disappointment crossed his face when he saw your average grades.
He gave a sigh. In his mind, compared to your extraordinary older brother, you were a lost cause. It was obvious to see who would succeed the businesses he owned.
You honestly couldn’t care less what the old man thought.
Your stepbrother put on that sweet smile again and slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer against his chest. The scent of his expensive cologne surrounded you, subtle and refined with a faint hint of sandalwood. He stood more than a head taller than you, his frame solid from hours at the gym and on the court.
His firm chest pressed against your cheek as he leaned down to ruffle your hair. “Don’t be so harsh on [Name], Dad. I know they tried their best.”
The words were wrapped in sympathy and sugar, but the sting underneath was obvious. A gentle reminder of where you stood.
“I would be more than happy to let my little sibling join me for a relaxing spring break,” your stepbrother said in a friendly, welcoming tone. His hand slid from your hair to rest lightly at your waist. His eyes gleamed, something sharp flickering behind the warmth.
At the brotherly affection, your father nodded pleased. All he saw was an older brother caring for his younger sibling. Naturally, he wanted his children to care for one another, to stand side by side and support each other in the future.
You nearly scoffed, biting on your tongue to hold back a retort.
If only he knew what your dearest big brother truly wanted.
..
“God, you’re such a slut.” you drawled, your voice thick with boredom. You let out a slow sigh, keeping the disinterest clear in your expression even as warmth pooled in your stomach. “You really had to take up my entire spring break to be fucked?
Above you, your step brother sank back down on your cock. Each movement riding your cock accompanied by a moan and the lewd noise of squelching, lube dripping out his stretched hole like a woman's pussy.
“Ah! Ahh~ s’rry. M’ gonna m’k-! Ah fuckkkk that’s it!” He sobbed as he grinded down on your cock, giving up his sloppy riding to grind your thick cock into his prostrate. Mouth open obscenely spilling wanton moans and babbling.
His legs spread open, well muscular thighs used for running and sports now supporting him to keep him squatting on your cock. His heavy pecs were still covered in a lacy red bra pressing them together giving the illusion of cleavage.
Around his hips were a matching pair of panties, pushed to the side to ride your cock but still kept his well hung dick trapped in lace. The head of his massive cock, an angry red brushing against his faint happy trail on his muscular torso.
“Make it up to me?” You watched with disinterest, despite the way your cock twitched inside his silky warmth. “How?”
The question barely registered to him. Too far gone, his eyes hazy, a hand playing with his bra clad pec rubbing the inverted dusky nipples though the lace.
You let out an annoyed sigh and raise your hand and slap him. The hit snapped his head to the side, pink blossoming on his cheeks.
His eyes widened, momentarily stilling. A hand cradling his hit cheek. Before a moan slipped out his lips and he smiled at you. Eyes filled with lust and adoration.
“How are you going to make it up to me?” you asked again, letting your voice drag lazily edged with faint impatience.
“Anything you want!” He said earnestly grinding on your cock. His tight hole clenched tighter, slowly moving his hips up and down the shaft. A pleased smile tugged his lips, at the moan that unwillingly slipped from your lips.
“Fuck me, use me. I’ll give you anything you want! Anything!” His voice bordered on obsession. The pace he was moving at picked up again, his stamina excellent thanks to all the sports he did. His bra clad pecs bounce in rhythm. Your cock disappearing in and out inside his pink hole.
It was a hilarious contrast. Your picture perfect stepbrother was a masochistic slut for you. Despite all his accomplishments and achievements, he’d turn to you and beg to be fucked like a whore.
Your hands trailed up his thigh to his v line, the place he had your initials name craved now a healed silvery wound. His breath hitched at the touch, a whimper leaving his swollen lips, looking at you like a touch staved puppy.
You tightened your grip around his waist. And your thrusted up sharply into the wet heat.
“F-fuck! [Name]! Y-yesss-ahhh fuck me!” He moaned shamelessly. The pain of your hold and the feeling of your cock plowing into him mixing into heat.
He let you manhandle him anyway you wanted. Reverse your positions and hook his leg over your shoulder. All his flexibility was just a way for you to use him as you wanted.
Content to be used like whore. Your whore. He’d remind you over and over. Only yours.
When he came, it was untouched all over his abs and the red lace bra. A creamy coat that dripped down his tanned skin. You groaned, biting his neck as you filled him with warmth. His legs wrapped around you as if to keep it in him.
“Such a good brother,” your voice purred against his neck, hickey blossoming on his tanned skin alongside the bite mark, as you lazily fuck your come back into him. “I could fuck you everyday.”
He nodded rapidly like he was scared you wouldn’t see it. “Yes yes yes! Yours!” He tilted his jaw up, a watery sheen in his eyes as he begged with his eyes for a kiss.
You sighed, this time for real, your hands trailed over his toned thighs and rubbing where your name stained his skin.
You were well aware he was manipulating you. Under that picture-perfect charming prince he showed to everyone else was something darker. And he knew you saw it too.
That was probably what fueled his obsession at first. But it rapidly spiraled into something more. It started with small gifts, then more expensive things, weekend getaways, to long vacations wherever you wanted.
You learned soon your brother was willing to do anything you wanted. Give you anything you wanted. With his scores, sports and personality he could have anything he wanted but all he wanted was you.
You were the only person who saw him. Past all the perfection to the messy human parts and accepted them like it was nothing.
His obsession with you ran far deeper than just sex, that had been proved a long time again when he craved your name into his body and presented it to you like a sick claim.
You should have been horrified. But a part of you, the sadistic side hidden away perked up at the devotion. The utter obsession in his eyes, and the way he looked only incited your desire to conquer even further.
Your lips brush against his, nipping against the plump swell of them and biting down. Sucking the blood out from the wound as he squirmed under you needily with a low moan. Cock already perking up for another round.
“Another round?” You offered lazily. Rocking your hips into his heat.
“Yes!” His eyes widened excitedly and nodded. Spread out under you, ready for the taking you’d never seen anything more perfect.
content. gojo satoru x male!reader. smut. minors do not interact. bottom satoru + top reader. established relationship. fingering. sex with prep. unprotected sex. anal. swearing. clan leader!reader. very lovey-dovey. demanding princess satoru and his boyfie who can't say no to him. spitting in his mouth. light choking. satoru's absolutely unhinged pov. oh and breaking the bed. that too.
wc. 8.1k
message from noe. chose promise, chose due, even if it's months later... @burgojo this one is for you!!!
You don’t consider yourself a weak man.
No one does, actually. You have your reputation among jujutsu society, and it isn’t that of a weak man, not by a longshot. You’re a clan leader, a warrior. Weakness isn’t part of your identity. Vulnerability? Sure, when the time is right. Weakness? Never.
That’s what you tell yourself. You keep your pride close to your chest, lest he snatches it right from your hands.
No, generally speaking, you aren’t weak at all, but—
“Oh my God, yours looks so good, gimme.”
Satoru has a way of bringing it out of you.
“Back off.” You try to keep your voice firm, but it’s already a struggle. “It’s mine. You’ve had yours already.”
You’re trying hard not to look at him. You know if you do, you’ll cave immediately.
Satoru isn’t one to give up so easily, though. And he isn’t one to play fair, either.
“C’mon,” he whines, resting his chin on your shoulder, “just a bite, I promise. I just wanna have a taste!”
“Fine. You know what? Fine.” You cut off a tiny piece of fondant with your spoon and push it in his general direction. “Here.”
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
Slowly, Satoru pulls away. You feel his stare in the side of your head. Don’t look at him.
“Wow. So you just don’t love me anymore, huh? Wow. I came out here to spend some time with my beloved even though I’m exhausted, and you’re making me drink, and I don’t even like alcohol, and now you won’t even share your dessert with me, the love of your life—”
As he whines, his grip on your bicep tightens. This, more than his yapping, is what’s most effective to sway you, and he is well aware of it. He talks your ear off to create some white noise, but the real focus is there.
“—anyway, I think I deserve it, don’t you?”
You tell yourself it’s because this really isn’t his scene. Satoru only ever goes out with his coworkers to spend time with them, not because he enjoys drinking or even because he likes going out. It’s fine if you indulge him. It’s fine if you let him steal your entire chocolate fondant right from your plate, without even trying to protest.
He came to dinner for you, so it’s fine to indulge him. That’s all it is.
“Fine,” you huff. “You can have it, baby.” He lets out a cheer of victory and digs in immediately.
It totally isn’t because of the little rosy tint on his cheeks. Or his big, bright, shimmering eyes, that catch the light just right. Or even the slightest little pout he was sending your way to make you cave. You’re not weak to him. You gave him your fondant because you wanted to.
That’s what you tell yourself. But both he and you know the truth.
And honestly, it isn’t your fault! He’s just… he’s…
Yeah, no. You have no excuse.
In your defense, you have a long history of indulging him, one that started on your very first meeting.
He was just six years old, and you were barely nine. Sitting beside his lord father with his hands folded elegantly in his lap, face completely blank in a cold, haughty mask. A meeting between clans, not your first, but definitely his.
You couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked like a doll, that was your first thought back then. Soft-looking hair. Big, shimmering blue eyes. Chubby, rosy cheeks. Dewy soft skin.
Lifeless.
You couldn’t bear to see a kid so pretty look so sad. So when he slipped away with a yawn, you asked to be dismissed, and went after him. You’d hidden chocolate bars in your yukata sleeves for later. You’d planned on enjoying them back at your clan’s estate, but sharing couldn’t hurt, could it?
He didn’t react, when you sat near him on the engawa, in a small patch of delightfully warm sunlight. Silently, you handed him the chocolate bar. He took it without even looking at you. Took his time savoring it, his cheeks flushed in delight.
Then, when he was finished, he held out his hand expectantly. Tilted his head to look up at you, and you were hit with the full force of that bright, piercing gaze.
Big blue eyes shimmering under the sunlight. Lips set in an adorable pout.
“I know you have more,” he said. “Gimme.”
How exactly were you supposed to say no?
You didn’t say no. You gave him every single one you had. And he graciously accepted to share the last one with you.
That was your first meeting. You were doomed from the start.
You’d thought that weakness would disappear as you grew older together. Surely, he wouldn’t be cute as a man the way he was as a boy. You’d learn to hold your ground.
Your heart had other plans.
You fell for him, hard. And to make matters worse? He felt the same.
You should’ve known things would only go downhill from there.
He knows all about the soft spot you have for him, and he takes advantage of it at every turn. Like right now. Shamelessly stealing your dessert after he all but inhaled his own, all because he’s craving more sugar and he knows you’d never say no.
You really need to learn how to say no.
Satoru makes quick work of your fondant, licking the spoon and his lips to make sure not a single crumb remains. He’d lick the plate if you weren’t there to scold him for it.
“Yeah, that was nice,” he says with a sigh, slumping back in his chair. “Good choice, sweets.”
You want to cuss him out. “Yeah? I bet it was great.” Your voice is oh so bitter. “Would’ve loved to have a taste, baby. You know, since it was my dessert.”
Satoru rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around your bicep again, chin once more resting on your shoulder.
“It was the least you could do, honestly,” he retorts, huffing. “We could be home right now, having amazing sex—”
“Keep your voice down—”
“—but instead, you dragged me here to watch Nanami and Shoko get wasted.” Another huff. “Besides, if you really wanted to eat that, you should’ve just said no. You should grow a backbone, babe.”
It hurts because it’s true. You still want to cuss him out. In fact, you’re turning your head, opening your mouth to do so, but Satoru moves swiftly. He pushes himself closer, lips close to your ear.
“But if you want a taste that bad, I can give you one.”
You turn to face him. His face is the picture of innocence, eyes twinkling, brows slightly raised, lips pushed into that annoying pout. But you’re not fooled. There’s hunger in his gaze, too. Like you’re the next dessert he wants to devour. You don’t hate the idea.
You’re not a weak man by any means, but Satoru knows how to bring it out of you.
“You’re the worst, you know that?” you pant against his lips, squeezing his waist roughly.
He tastes sweet. The fondant you almost had is right there, on his tongue, and you think there’s no better way to get that taste.
His hand squeezes your shoulder, and in response you push against him harder, effectively trapping him against the concrete wall shielding you from the street. His arms tighten around your neck, lips moving against yours fervently.
“Liar,” he retorts, just as breathless. “You love me. You love me and you’d do anything for me.”
It hurts because it’s true, and you push your tongue in his mouth to shut him up. He lets out a small, startled sound, and it only serves to fuel you.
Greedily, Satoru wraps a leg around your thigh, trying to get leverage to roll his hips into yours. At that rate, you might genuinely fuck him right there in this dirty alleyway.
The friction is delicious against your bulge, and you can’t help but match his rhythm, grinding against him like a horny teenager. He bites your lip and you tug his hair in retaliation, a groan spilling from his throat.
This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Not exactly the most dignified way to have sex.
You grip his hips and still his movements, earning a whine of frustration.
“No, come on, it was just getting interesting, you jerk—”
“How about we go home, huh? So I can enjoy you properly.”
Now that catches his attention.
“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, let’s do that.”
Needless to say, he gets what he wants from you. He was right. You need to grow a backbone.
.
It’s rare to see your beloved look so peaceful.
The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. It’s pleasantly warm under the bedsheets. By all accounts, this morning is nothing less than beautiful.
It’s all made better by the sight of Satoru, sleeping serenely beside you.
Skin glowing under the gentle sun. Soft breaths hitting your cheek. It’s the first time in weeks that he gets to sleep in, and you’re overjoyed that you get to be there.
You’ve been admiring him for, what, maybe half an hour? Maybe more? You’re not sure. You’re not sure you care.
Eventually, a restlessness settles in your bones. You should get up. Get started on breakfast. Maybe even bring it to him in bed, he’d love that. Do his laundry so he gets to rest some more. That’s a good plan.
With your mind made up, you shift to get out of bed. The cool air hits your leg, and you almost abort the mission. Satoru’s right there, and he’s warm.
No. Nope. Come on. Breakfast.
Your leg peeks from under the blanket again. You push up to your elbow, grab the covers to throw them off your body—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
You freeze. You’d hoped you wouldn’t wake him, you were being careful, moving slowly and gently. Now he’s up, and judging by his scrunched-up face, he is not happy.
He looks adorable like this. Frowning, eyes still heavy with sleep. You coo at him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. “Breakfast, baby. I’ll bring it to you here, okay?”
Once again, you move to leave the bed. You don’t even get to straighten up. Satoru crawls on top of you, pinning you down with his weight. His arms snake around your waist. His lips tickle your neck.
He doesn’t even dignify you with a response, as if it’s a given that you’ll simply surrender to his will. You can’t even find it in yourself to blame him: you’ve never, ever done anything to make him believe otherwise.
But you’re strong. You have a plan, and you intend to stick to it. He’ll thank you later.
So, as gently as you can, you roll to the side, deposit him on the bed, and snatch his arms from around your waist to free yourself.
Your feet are so close to the floor — almost there. You move to leave a tender kiss on his forehead.
And you make the same mistake you always make. You glance at his face.
His features are twisted into an absolutely outraged pout, like you’ve just insulted him in the absolute worse way you could ever have. Like you’ve just told him he was nothing more than a warm body, a hole to fuck. You suppose that’s exactly how he’s taking this. His brows are furrowed over his slightly widened eyes, an almost wounded look in the baby blues.
And your shaky resolve crumbles entirely.
You feel cruel. You feel like the world’s cruelest man, and you must be, abandoning your beloved like that. Like he’s a dirty sock so old you can’t get rid of the stench, so you decide to throw it away.
Quick. Fix it.
“I’m gonna make breakfast, baby,” you coo, stroking his hair. “Yeah? We can have breakfast in bed.”
He simply stares, his face falling. Unimpressed, or maybe he’s just half-asleep still?
Until he speaks. His face changes again, a brow raised, mouth curled in an almost disgusted manner. “Uh, no?”
Like he can’t believe you’d do him the insult of suggesting such a thing. Because, of course, breakfast in bed includes making breakfast, and making breakfast includes you leaving him.
You sigh, closing your eyes, and he seizes the opportunity. He grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you down again.
“Satoru, stop—”
“Nuh-uh.”
“—baby, please, I have stuff to do—”
“I don’t think so.”
He wraps his limbs around you like a particularly vicious octopus. His face is buried in your neck again. A part of you is almost offended by how confident he is that you’ll just give in.
The other part of you? It gives in.
You run your hands up and down his back, caressing softly and earning a hum of delight. In return, Satoru’s hand pats your chest. You feel his body relax on top of yours, his breath slow and soften. His eyes close once more. There’s a small smile on his lips.
Your heart leaps.
Breakfast can wait. You’ve already achieved your goal anyways.
.
You don’t spend a lot of time at Jujutsu Tech. Usually, it’s less than an hour, once a week. To drop off your recent mission reports, get some new assignments, fresh report sheets, and then back to work.
You rarely get to play the loving partner part with Satoru. Usually, when you’re there, he’s out on a mission, or teaching, or avoiding his responsibilities and buying an obscene amount of sweets and pastries.
Today, though, you walk into the office you two share, returning from admin with your new assignments for the week, and he’s there. Sitting on your desk, with his jacket draped over the back of your chair and your jacket on his shoulders. The sight is so endearing you fear you might melt into a puddle.
You almost do, but a sharp instinct snaps you out of it. This is Satoru. With his Six Eyes and his frankly excellent perception of cursed energy, there’s no way he didn’t see you coming.
This is a set-up. He wants something from you.
So when he saunters up to you, slipping his arms through the sleeves of your jacket and around your shoulders, you don’t pull away from his affection, but you don’t return it either.
“Hi, baby,” he all but purrs, kissing and nuzzling your cheek affectionately.
“Hi, Satoru,” you respond soberly. You won’t fall for his tricks. Not this time. You’re strong.
He keeps up with the affection for another moment, but quickly he realizes you’re not reciprocating and pushes himself away. With his hands curled around your shoulders, he frowns, eyebrows visibly furrowing under the blindfold.
“What, no kiss? No sweetie, no honey, no angel? Do you just hate me?”
You won’t bother with pretending you’ve been fooled. You won’t fall for his tricks. “What do you need, Satoru?”
He gasps. Puts a hand on his chest in indignation. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I only came to see you for my own benefit?”
You cock a brow. “…Yes.”
He has nothing to say to that. He just stares, mouth pressed into a thin line. He’s been found out, and quickly too.
But he’s nothing if not determined.
“What I need is some loving from my baby, but I guess that’s just too much to ask for.”
He steps back, turns away the slightest bit—
Your arms wrap around his waist and you pull him back against your chest, kissing his nape. You’re weak.
He smiles, snuggling into your hold.
“See, that’s more like it.”
You pinch his side. “Watch your tone, will you?” Not even a hint of bite in your voice.
His hand cradles your jaw, and his lips find yours. This time, you reciprocate, the kiss lazy, languid. You feel so much better now that your arms aren’t empty.
He pulls away, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “Missed ya.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“I’m expressing my undying love, jeez—"
You kiss him again, just to shut him up. It works. For a moment.
For a minute, he simply enjoys your embrace. Quiet in a way he only ever gets when it’s just the two of you. Basking in your warmth, the strength of your arms around him. Then, he speaks.
“Alright, let’s go home!”
Already he’s moving, your arm hugged to his chest as he tries to tug you out of the office. And again your instincts flare. He’s been suspicious. There’s something in that office that he doesn’t want you to see.
Naturally, you first think he damaged something, so you plant your feet to the ground and resist his strength, eyes raking over your desk.
“Baby, what are you doing,” he whines. “Let’s go already.”
Don’t fold. Don’t fold. This is a trap.
It wouldn’t be the first time he breaks something in the office and flees the crime scene. There’s a sizable dent on the side of your desk to attest to that. So what is it? What did he do this time?
He tugs on your arm harder. “Y/N, come on, move!”
You can’t find actual damage near your space, so you turn to his—
He moves in front of you, hiding his desk from your eyes. Ah. His blindfold is pushed up into his hair, leaving his lethal eyes uncovered. A cheap, dirty trick, almost guaranteed to make you cave. His eyes shimmering, his rosy, slightly swollen lips pushed into a pout.
You’re close to folding, but in his eagerness to get his way, he’s also revealed the source of his need for his early escape.
“What’s the hold-up, huh?” He huffs, brows furrowing slightly, his expression now impatient and needy. Jerk. You’ll kiss him.
“Satoru.”
Your low tone makes him perk up. He knows he’s been found out, so now he’s gonna pull all the stops to get out of this situation.
Brace yourself. Don’t fold.
He pushes himself against you, wrapping his arms around your neck again. Chest to chest, lips so close to yours you can feel his breath. You try hard not to look at them, but his eyes are a problem, too. Too wide. Too blue.
He hums, still maintaining the pretense of innocence.
“Satoru,” you say again. “What’s on your desk?”
He shrugs a shoulder, as if he’s completely clueless and has no idea what you’re talking about.
“Satoru.” You’re trying to sound stern. Trying. This isn’t working. You have absolutely no hold on him.
“Dunno what you’re talking about, baby. Can we go home now?” He pushes his hips against yours teasingly. Brushes the tip of his nose against yours again— fucker. He knows you’re weak for that. “We have so much better things to do, don’t ya think? Hm?”
Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Do not fold.
Gently, you grab his waist and step around him, despite his best efforts to stop you.
And it’s right there, on his desk: a high stack of papers, no doubt waiting to be completed by your partner. And judging by the sheer size, it’s been waiting a while.
You turn to him, eyes burning. “When was the last time you did your paperwork, exactly?”
He smiles. Shrugs and pokes his tongue out. “No clue.”
“Satoru—”
“Ugh, spare me, will you?” He steps away and rolls his eyes, waving a careless hand. Like you’re in the wrong here, somehow. “Why would I do that when there’s Ijichi to take care of it?”
That poor guy is gonna have an aneurysm.
“Satoru. You are not dumping all that on Ijichi.”
Satoru, the poster child of bratty behavior, has the audacity to cross his arms and sigh. “So what, you want me to do it?”
“It’s your paperwork, Satoru! Yes, you’re gonna do it.”
He turns his head away with a huff. “Nah. No way. Why would I do that? It’s boring, and tedious, and I might get a headache.”
“Enough.” You make your way to his desk and grab the stack of papers. Wow, it’s a lot. “I’m bringing that home and you’ll do it tonight.”
And he has the gall to gasp, shaken to the core. Like you’ve done something truly heinous. “What?!”
You let out a sharp sigh. It’s like getting a toddler to eat their veggies.
You turn, determined to hold your ground. Really, you’ve been over this more than once with him. You’ve had to help him catch up with his mission reports often enough.
Your eyes land on his face. Rookie.
His face is downturned. Arms crossed, eyes slightly averted. And, oh, have his lips always looked so pink?
And he drops the bomb.
“Sorry for wanting to spend time with you instead of doing some stupid paperwork, I guess.”
No. No, this is a ploy, a ruse, a maneuver to get you to do his bidding.
And, like a fool, you’re falling for it. You can’t even bring yourself to be angry. Something visceral snarls in your chest, at the sight of his face. It looks horribly wrong, fix it, fix it, fix it.
You give up. You’ll be the fool if that’s what he wants.
“Baby,” you murmur and set the papers aside, wrapping your arms around his waist. He settles in your embrace, hands braced on your chest, face buried in your neck. You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. Smug bastard. He’s not even trying to hide it.
He’s so pleased with himself, it’s like the satisfaction is radiating from him. You look down to what you can see of his face.
His eyes are squeezed shut, pushed into half moons by his rosy cheeks with how wide he’s grinning. So serene, so childishly happy that his scheme was successful. How could you ever be angry with him? You never stood a chance.
You kiss his cheek, and he hums, delighted that’s he’s won. “Alright,” you coo. “Let’s go home.”
You swear there’s a spring to his step, when you both make your way to the car. The paperwork sits untouched and abandoned on his desk.
.
Satoru thinks he might lose his mind.
Patience has never been his strongest suit, and you are well-aware of it. You know him like the back of your hand. You know that he likes his eggs poached more than sunny side up; that he always needs at least thirty minutes of lounging in bed before starting his day; that he handles heat badly and prefers lighter clothing, even when it gets colder.
You know that he hates waiting.
And, yeah, maybe it is rich coming from him, CEO of being late. He’s usually alright with it when people make him wait, even if he’ll complain about it to their face, for the simple pleasure of annoying them.
But you? You should know better.
He checks his phone again. The time switches from 18:29 to 18:30 right before his eyes. You said 18:00 sharp, emphasis on the sharp. He’s officially been waiting for thirty minutes, and that is just unacceptable.
This is such a nice day, too. Warm, with a cool breeze keeping the temperature at a reasonable level. Birds chirping, clouds gently drifting by, all that good stuff that you love. You should be here, with him. Ideally, buried inside him to the hilt, but he’d settle for a cute, wholesome date, too.
He’s enjoying neither, because you’re not here, and yeah, he’s definitely losing it.
He checks his phone. It’s probably been another twenty minutes, at least!
18:31.
Ugh, come on!
It’s been days since you last saw each other. Days! He feels unhinged, unraveled. His jaw aches in the evening, because he spends his days gritting his teeth. Any longer without you and he’ll start bouncing off the walls, clawing at the floorboards like a dog.
Any longer and he’ll start begging for your presence.
Honestly, it’s like you don’t even look at him lately. All you do is work. And because he is who he is, all he does is work, too. It’s a miracle if he gets to spend a couple of hours in the same room as you. He barely has time to think of you.
He misses you. Misses you like a limb.
He’s so exhausted that he misses you even when you’re right in front of him. He isn’t even allowed to enjoy the moments he gets with his beloved, too worried by how fast time flies. And before he can catch his breath, the moment is over. Nothing could ever make him wish he were anyone else— nothing but this. This horrible, mind-numbing lack of time.
And now you have the audacity to let your clan elders gnaw on that precious time. Time that he took in his already packed schedule to spend with you, time that was meant to be spent together.
Unbelievable. Oh, he will not let you hear the end of this.
He’s ready to give up and call you, but a splash of energy catches his attention from the corner of his Six Eyes. Getting closer, fast.
He can’t help but grin. Finally, finally.
He waits until you’re just behind the shoji door. With an overly exasperated groan, Satoru flops down onto his back, feet swinging off the engawa.
“What a jerk,” he mutters angrily, toying with the bandages covering his eyes. “I don’t deserve this. Asshole. Jerkface.”
“I know you’re not talking about me.”
Your voice sends shivers down his spine. That irritated edge he can hear? Music to his ears. He covers up the smirk that was blooming behind an exaggerated pout.
“Wow,” he drawls. “Finally remembered you’re not single, did you? Had fun at your little meeting?”
He knows you didn’t. The whole point of those meetings is to slowly suck your soul out through your nostrils. That’s why all the elders are dry and lifeless. Duh. The question is rhetorical, just the beginning of your punishment.
He hears the dull sound of fabric hitting the ground. You probably dropped your haori. Not enough clothes on the floor, but it’s a start.
“You know I didn’t.” And there’s your reply. Yeah, yeah, he knows, he’s been to enough of those meetings to know. “You’ve been to enough of those meetings to know.” You can be so predictable sometimes.
“Maybe if you hadn’t ditched me to go to the meeting, you would’ve had a better time.” He can hear the childish petulance in his own voice. Can’t be bothered to tame it, to try and hide it even the slightest bit. You deserve all that you’re getting. “I mean, I’m just saying. Maybe an afternoon with your boyfriend would’ve been more fun, but hey, who knows? Definitely not you.”
You stay quiet for a second. Two. Three. “Satoru, if you’re only here to make me feel bad, we can cut the evening short right now. I have a rematch in half an hour anyways.”
Now that is unacceptable. Actually, it’s beyond unacceptable, practically a criminal offense. “Are you joking?” He hisses, pushing himself up. “So what, I should just fuck off and die?”
You seem pissed. And tired. Maybe he should cool it. Just a bit.
“You think I want to spend my already limited free time with them, instead of you?” You retort. Your back is to him. Starving him of the sight of your face. Why?
Look at me, he wants to scream. Don’t deny me, don’t push me away.
“I’d love nothing more than to stay here and snuggle,” you continue. This time you just sound sad. He feels a pinch in his chest. You don’t finish the thought. You don’t have to. He knows exactly what you want to say.
Duties that you can’t escape. Either of you.
“Ditch them,” he demands. Fuck ‘em. With an annoyed huff, he stands from the floor and moves to drop on the bed gracelessly. “C’mon, babe, you’re really gonna spend the night with them when I’m right here?”
Finally, you turn to look at him. He takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill with air properly for the first time since you last saw each other. Yes, yes, exactly. That’s all he wants, all he needs, just keep looking at him like that.
Your eyes travel from his face, down the length of his body, down his slender, model legs and back up. The mood shift in you is so obvious to him, who’s gobbling up even the tiniest details that you offer him.
You’re opening up. You’re letting him in.
Yes, yes, yes. Come on.
“’S been so long since you’ve fucked me,” he drawls. “At this rate, I might forget what you feel like.”
Your eye twitches, but you’re not a man of ego. No, if he wants you to give in, he needs to bait. Then, you can punish him for all the bratty little comments.
“We barely see each other lately. You haven’t even kissed me yet.”
Hook.
He sees your face soften. You shift to face him. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
Ooh, look at you, offering the line yourself. “Yeah?” He masks the glee in his voice, replacing it with a pathetic longing that he knows you’re weak for. His hand tugs at the bandage covering his eyes, unwinding it and dropping it to the floor near the bed. A cheap, dirty trick, but he really wants to get his way. Your gaze meets his, and he knows he’s got you. “When are you ever gonna do that?”
“Soon,” you reply with a squeeze of his calf. Gentle. Affectionate. Tender. You are just the perfect man.
“How about right now?” With a light tug to your obi belt, your yukata falls open.
And sinker.
You rise from the floor to crawl on the bed. His heart thumps painfully against his ribs. Yeah, yeah, let’s go, come on. He backs away, perfectly playing his role of the fleeing prey, until his head hits the headboard, and you seize your chance to get on top of him, hands firmly planted on either side of his head.
You tilt your head, studying him. He can see his own reflection in your dark, dark eyes, and wow, it’s no wonder you want to fuck him into next week so bad. He’d want to fuck himself too.
“Yeah. You know what?” You purr, leaning closer. “I think I will. Fuck ‘em.”
He grins. “That’s the sp—”
Your mouth is on his before he can finish the sentence, a rough kiss that he barely expects. He wraps an arm around your neck, the other around your shoulders, trying to tug you down, but you refuse him. He whines into the kiss, digging his fingers into your flesh. Hard, rough, pure muscle, god, just take me!
You pull away to kiss the corner of his lips, his cheek, the soft underside of his jaw, down to his throat, your favorite spot. Already he feels lightheaded, heart pumping ruthlessly, he’s so easy, too easy.
“I want you so bad,” you rasp against his throat, and woah, okay, starting off real strong there.
His heart throbs. His dick, too.
“Nhh, what are you waiting for, then?”
He nuzzles against your temple, hooking a leg around yours to grind roughly against you. You’re hard as a rock under your yukata.
He can’t hold back a chuckle. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just—” He yelps when you bite, straight into the tender flesh of his throat. “Ow, was that really necessary?”
You lower yourself against him, finally, jeez, and claim his mouth again.
“You talk too much,” you pant against his lips.
“’Cause you’re not even doing anything,” Satoru retorts without missing a beat. “Gotta fill the awkward silence somehow.”
You punish him with another bite, on his jaw this time. Softer, like one was your limit. His obi comes undone with an expert tug of your hand, and you caress his navel with your fingertips. Starving him, still.
Impatient, he grabs your wrist and pushes your hand flat against his stomach, pulling closer with his leg, his hand tugging your yukata down your back. You pinch him in retaliation, and he flinches violently.
“Mean.” He never misses an opportunity to whine and pout. “Weren’t you supposed to make it up to me?”
You huff out a chuckle. “What, you waited for days, but five more minutes is a death sentence to you?”
“Exactly!” He slaps your shoulder and slides his hand down your chest to grasp your shaft. The hiss you let out is beyond satisfying. You’re not riled up enough, he needs you feral like a dog, he needs to be bent over and— “You made me wait days, so get to it. Never heard of ‘happy wife, happy life’?”
You roll your eyes, but you reach out to open the nightstand drawer all the same. Your hand comes back with a bottle of lube.
Oh, now we’re talking.
You sit back on your haunches to open the lube, and Satoru has to make an actual, conscious effort to keep from drooling. He swears his thighs are trembling. How is he meant to be calm when you’re right there, sitting between his legs, looking like you want to eat him alive?
He could die.
With a groan, he lies back, stroking his cock teasingly. He barely gets two pumps in before you smack his wrist with your free hand. He lets go, with a loud, frustrated whine.
“Not getting any younger here,” he complains. “Could’ve gotten myself off three times with how inefficient you are.”
You plop yourself down beside him, leaning on your elbow. “Soggy, pathetic little orgasms they would’ve been, darling.”
Satoru can’t help the outraged gasp he lets out. “Excuse me, I— angh…” Your hand’s slipped between his thighs, your middle finger circling his rim. “Let me finish my sentences, asshole.”
“Like I said,” you tease, slicking up his puffy hole, “you talk too much. Can you blame me for doing what I can to stop you?”
“Uh, yes?”
You laugh at that. God, you are so hot when you laugh, it’s unfair.
He rises on his elbows and ghosts his lips over yours, baiting you once more. You bite easily, light little pecks that make his heart flutter. Sneakily, he wiggles his hips, trying to get your finger in him.
“You’re not slick, you know,” you murmur, keeping your fingers frustratingly out.
“And whose fault is that?” Satoru retorts, head falling back with a moan as your finger pushes inside just barely, only to pull out immediately. His stomach tenses, he clamps his thighs over your wrist to keep you trapped. “Fucker.”
He’s getting sick of the phantom touch, and quickly. Alright then. You asked for it.
“Baby,” he breathes, looking up at you with pleading baby blues. “C’mon, I just wanna feel you…”
You inhale sharply, oh, this is too easy, and push your finger in. Slowly, gently, because you don’t feel like tearing his asshole apart. You’re just nice like that. Satoru rewards you with an open mouth kiss, letting you slip your tongue in his mouth, while his hips grind against your hand.
For a moment, a blissful moment, all he hears is the sound of your lips smacking together, your panting intertwining with his moans of pleasure, the slick sound of your finger lubing his hole up. Warmth blooms in his stomach, in his chest— more, more, he needs more, now.
“Give me your cock,” he pants, “come on, I’m ready, don’t make me wait.”
You don’t listen to him. Instead, you slide in another finger, and he clenches his jaw, brows knitting. Denying him— you’re so good at that. His head falls back as he pants, hips rocking in time with your thrusting, and you bend down to lick and tease at the sensitive skin of his throat.
Satoru’s losing it, though, and quickly. Your fingers are too big, too thick, too precise in their movements for him to resist. Heat coils in his stomach, his body tightens further with every stroke, he’s getting close, too close—
“Y/N, wait,” he whines, voice high and almost squeaky. You slow immediately, face leaving the crook of his neck. “Hold on, I…”
“You don’t wanna come?” You purr. Your movements haven’t stopped completely, and Satoru can’t keep in his high, breathy moans. “I just wanna make you feel good, baby. Don’t you want that?”
“Fuck you,” he hisses. He reaches up, tangles his hand in your hair, tugs hard.
You pull your fingers out of him entirely, and he groans in frustration at the emptiness, the cold. He digs his nails into your skin, and if you weren’t too far from him he’d bite.
“No need to throw a tantrum, sweets.”
“You know what I want,” Satoru whines, “come on, pretty please?”
You lean down and press your lips to his. A placating kiss, meant to stall. You let him nip and bite, let him ravage your mouth and distantly, he feels your hand brush against his inner thigh. Then, you maneuver yourself between his legs again, bending them at the knee to bracket your hips. Your cock rests against heavy against him, throbbing, leaking pre all over the place like it can tell it’s about to be inside him. You need him just as bad, so stop stalling, stop denying him—
“Deep breath for me?” You say against his lips.
He obeys. Takes a deeeep inhale, and—
You push inside him in one smooth motion, and he swallows back an obscene moan, just for the pleasure of hearing the borderline pornographic sound you let out in his ear.
“Fuck,” you pant. The satisfaction that fills him feels almost as good as your cock. C’mon, go wild. “Fuck, Satoru. Good? You feeling good?”
He would answer, he would, but he just feels so full, it’s like you’ve ripped his voice from him.
“Uh-huh.” He nods, head tilted back, mouth wide open, eyes scrunched close—
You pull out almost completely and push back in, smooth and soft and gentle. “You look so fucking good right now, baby,” you pant, settling into the rhythm.
“Yeah, I b-bet I do,” he says right back.
You lean down to push closer to him, your thrusting switching to a lazy grind into him. He turns his head, looking for your lips, and you kiss him eagerly, tongue stroking his like your shaft is massaging his insides. And it feels good, so good, so fucking good he can feel his brain melt into goo and leak out through his ears, but still he needs more. Harder. Meaner.
And you know that. This is just the warm-up.
You’re still taking your sweet fucking time though, stroking against his walls, listening to each of his moans greedily. He wants to curse you out, almost does, but he’s beyond helpless when you’re inside him like this. All he can do is moan, soft and high, lips parted like he wants you in there, too.
That gives you an idea. You lean up on one hand, the other gripping his thigh, never once breaking your thrusting.
“Show me your tongue,” your order.
And he obeys, because what else is he supposed to do? He pushes his mouth wide, pink tongue lolling out.
He sees you gather spit, and his hole flutters around you, betraying his excitement. You let the spit fall past your lips and onto his tongue, but just as he’s about to swallow, you grasp his jaw tight, stilling him.
He whines in frustration, kicking his leg petulantly, but you deny him still.
“Stay right there,” you murmur, and lean down to lick at his tongue. It turns into a harsh kiss, biting at each other’s lips with wet groans filling up the room.
You lean back and pull his leg up, onto your shoulder, and he knows he’s about to get what he needs.
“Baby,” he whines, just for the sake of it. His hips twitch, and you allow it, until he’s practically fucking himself on you, back curved gracefully, throat exposed with his heartbeat fluttering under the soft skin.
It isn’t long until you take the lead again. You grasp his wrist and yank his arm from under him, and he lets out a dramatic yelp as he falls flat on his back.
“I’ve got you,” you purr. “I’ve got you, my Satoru.”
His cock jumps. Easy bitch that he is.
You kiss his palm, tender and sweet. Then, you guide it up to the headboard.
“Hold on.”
He clutches the wood, thighs quivering. “You gonna fuck me now?” He can’t help but taunt, biting his smiling lips. “Or do I have to wait another two years?”
You don’t dignify him with a verbal response— instead you clutch his thighs, pull out fully and slam back into him. The pace you set is deep, harsh, each hit ripping a moan from him almost against his will. The entire fucking bed rocks with your movements.
And Satoru takes it, all that you’re offering, pleasure building in stomach with every slap of your hips against his ass. Fuck, he’s gonna be so sore tomorrow.
“You sound so sweet, baby,” you purr, caressing the soft skin of his thigh. “Is it— hah, is it everything you wanted?”
Blindly, he reaches up with one hand, the other clutching the headboard so tightly he almost hears the wood groaning. You grab his wrist and pin it near his head, bending over him and folding him in half like origami, his knee to his chest and fuck—
“Unh, Y/N, fuck!”
“What, am I not doing it right?" You quip. Satoru glances up, and the borderline ravenous look on your face makes his insides twist, his hole clench around you. You hiss, lips twisting into a snarl, and your hand leaves his wrist and wraps around his throat. Satoru lets out a strangled, high-pitched whimper as you squeeze his windpipe. “Yeah,” you say through a laugh, “thought so. You feeling good, sweetheart? I bet you fucking do, yeah, when was the last time you were so loud? Come on, baby, take it, have your fill.”
Nothing coherent leaves his mouth after that, nothing except your name and moans that only keep getting louder and louder, each snap of your hips scrambling his brain further. Your pre mixed with the lube sticks to his inner thighs, your hips, your balls, slick sounds replacing the slap of your skin against his.
You’re giving so much, so quickly, after days of withdrawal it feels like he’s drowning in the pleasure, drowning in the scent of your sweat and your moans and the way you say his name so sweetly still, even when you’re fucking him like you’re actually trying to break something— it’s so much, it’s too much, too fast, it’s exactly what he needed.
You’ve given up on talking him through it, as always when you’re getting close. Your thrusting is growing more frantic, falling out of rhythm, and before he knows it he comes hard, back arching off the bed like a pornstar.
“Ah— baby, fuck!”
His come splashes on his stomach, his hips, mixing with your pre and almost frothing with the friction. The groan you let out as he tightens is sinful, god he needs to hear more of those, he needs—
He hears two loud snaps in quick succession and suddenly you gasp, covering his body as the bed literally falls apart underneath you.
And for a hot second, Satoru is stunned, panting, and horribly confused. The mind-blowing orgasm doesn’t help him gather his wits, and for a moment he wonders if he even heard correctly. Maybe he’s hallucinating? Like, you were fucking hard, but not that hard, were you?
Oh shit, maybe you were.
You’re panting harshly above him, face and neck and chest all deliciously red, the veins in your neck bulging with effort. You lean up, eyes raking over him.
“You okay? Baby, you okay?”
You sound so worried, it’s honestly sweet. But all Satoru can think about is that you fucked him so hard you broke the bed.
He laughs. High and loud and bordering on full blown cackling. He can’t lie, that’s impressive. His leg falls off your shoulder, limp and heavy.
“You broke the bed—” he lets out through wheezing, “holy shit babe, you actually broke the bed!”
You roll your eyes, pushing your hair out of your face. “Was that a lifelong dream of yours or something? It can’t be that funny.”
Oh, but it is. It really is that funny. It takes a second, but Satoru calms down, while you’re looking around helplessly like the furniture can still be saved somehow. Like you’re still looking for the culprit.
All while still inside him, hard and throbbing. And no cum of yours filling him up.
He leans up on his elbows. “Wait, Y/N, you didn’t come?”
“We really have a bigger problem right now—”
“The only big problem is your cock right now, babe,” Satoru cuts in cheekily, sitting up on your lap. He swipes two fingers in his come and smears it on your balls, fondling them while he’s at it. You hiss.
“Satoru…”
“No, really, why are those still full, huh?”
You grab his wrist to still him. “Satoru, the bed—”
“—is fucked anyway,” he finishes for you. “C’mon,” he pleads. “Who cares about that? You have more important things to focus on right now. Come in me.”
To really drive the point home, he leans in to kiss at your neck, under your jaw, and wriggles his hips teasingly.
“Come on,” he pushes. “Baby, come on, I want it so bad…”
You push to lay him down, and his heart kickstarts again. You’re so easy, too easy. He loves you, loves you, loves you.
You press your lips to his and push into him with slow thrusts, keeping the pace mild but deep. Sweat drips down your jaw to your neck and Satoru leans up to lick at it, moaning in your ear.
“So good,” he whimpers, hole wet with your pre, squelching obscenely. You grip his thighs tight, rocking your hips into him.
Overstimulation sneaks up on him with each brush of your mushroom tip on his prostate, pushing his moans into throaty, high sounds. It’s quieter, this time, less frantic, yet somehow no less animal. Not with your lips stretched into a snarl as you bite at his neck, his shoulder.
He comes before you, again, his dick spurting to the best of its ability, his come almost see-through. His entire body tightens around you and his cry of your name pushes you over the edge and finally, fuck, finally warmth floods his insides as you spill in him, pushing your hips against his like you get any deeper than you already are.
He doesn’t move; neither do you. For a few seconds, you both simply lay there, panting as you come down, skin glistening with sweat and come. You catch his lips in a slow, unhurried kiss, claiming his mouth the way you know he loves.
It takes a while before you get yourself up and moving again, and in Satoru’s eyes it’s still unacceptable. Leaving him in this emotionally vulnerable time? You’re the absolute worst.
When you dare to pull out of him, your come dripping out of his abused hole, he growls in frustration.
“Come back,” he demands.
You pat his thigh affectionately. “In a second, darling.”
“No, now.”
He kicks his leg petulantly, but you don’t relent. You move away, and Satoru groans, hiding his eyes with his arm. “Asshole,” he mutters.
You return in under a minute, but even that was too long for him. He needs to be in your arms now, immediately. He needs your warmth.
Gentle hands lift his leg onto your shoulders. You swipe a wet cloth over his skin, both cleaning and soothing him. A sigh of contentment escapes him, against his will.
When he uncovers his eyes, the smile you’re giving is so gentle, so loving that his heart squeezes.
“Happy?” you ask, fingers running up and down his leg.
Satoru nods, delightfully exhausted. “I love you,” he blurts out.
You kiss his ankle. “I love you.”
Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, stealing your attention from him.
“Fuck,” you breathe when you peek at the notifications. “The elders are harassing me.”
Right. Your rematch.
Satoru chuckles. “Ditch them,” he demands. “Stay with me.”
You stay silent for a second.
“You know what?” You say after what feels like forever. “Yeah. I will.”
a twist on the y/n x ceo memes i keep seeing around recently ✌️ my first attempt at writing a more cruel reader pls bear with me
cw: reader has a dick, rough unprotected sex, spit as lube, mean reader, hair pulling, closeted boyfriend
rumours. that's all they were, obviously. the two of you had an agreement. you'd keep the relationship a secret, and you'd love each other in private. of course, you did your best to understand... he was in a highly precarious position after all. he'd never given you reason to complain - he was an attentive lover behind closed doors, never the type to be disloyal. surely that was still the case?
yet, you couldn't help the twinge of doubt that tugged at your heart as your footsteps reverberated down the familiar hallway towards his office. you used to visit regularly, under the guise of a meeting between business partners. as of late, however, he'd been requesting your presence less and less. you assumed he'd been overworked... surely that couldn't coincide with the newest office gossip your friend offhandedly mentioned of the ceo's affair with the new female employee? their alleged passionate flirtations, while you'd been at home preparing an extra helping of his favourite meal to lessen his burden?
but there she was. massaging his shoulders while he sighed in contentment, looking up at her with the same gaze he gave you every night. the two of them looked up in surprise as you entered without knocking, as if you were interrupting them. everything voice in your head was screaming at you to scream, get mad, hit him.... but despite this, you remained calm. a small smile crept its way onto your face. this was going to be... amusing, to say the least.
"sorry, miss. do you mind leaving us alone for a bit? we're supposed to have an important meeting currently." you were all smiles to her, willfully ignoring his panicked expression as he looked helplessly between you and her. a twisted sense of satisfaction found itself settling in your heart - anything he said would just dig himself into a deeper hole.
"oh, of course. see you later." she blew a kiss to him as she left the room, winking.
the tension in the office was so thick, it was almost palpable. you waited for him to break the silence, or perhaps he was waiting for you to say something. moving closer, he flinched. "what's wrong?" you tilted your head in feigned confusion. you were so calm, it unnerved him.
"listen- darling, she came onto me. it's not what it looks like-" he babbled, desperately trying to save face. his eyes lit up with fear as you stepped closer, only to turn into surprise when you merely reached to gingerly massage his shoulders like she did just moments earlier. the lingering warmth of her hands tingled along his neck, only to be extinguished by your icy touch.
"hey, don't go pointing fingers. she seems like a perfectly nice woman. i'm sure she wouldn't have came on so strong if she knew you were attached." your grip turned venomous, as you bundled a bunch of his hair and brought him up to your eye level. whimpers escaped his mouth at the pain. "too bad someone's ashamed of me."
"not- not ashamed!" he denied vehemently, struggling to free himself from your grip. it was hard, since you'd always been the physically stronger one. "i- i love you, it's just- you know how it is! people would stop investing in the company if they knew i was in a relationship with a- a-... y'know..." even he knew how absurd that sentence sounded, trailing off as he looked into your eyes for any trace of forgiveness. "i'm sorry!!! i'll tell her to back off, just please-"
"always about the company, isn't it?" you murmured, slamming him down onto his desk, watching as his neatly stacked papers flew everywhere. your hardening crotch pressed against his ass, ignoring his pleas for mercy. leaning down, you whispered in his ear, breath sending nervous tingles down his spine. "you've never once thought about how i feel. having to keep everything a secret, and this is how you repay me?" delivering a harsh slap to his buttock, he lets out a sharp yelp of pain, spasming against his desk, sending even more papers flying. "i'm sorry- i'm sorry-" is all his dumb brain can muster, feeling your hands tug down his pants without warning. he's an incoherent mess, tears and snot dribbling down his face. it's all happening too fast. the difference between this and your usual love-making sessions were like night and day - usually, you held him gently, like a doll, afraid to break. but now, you were treating him like some disposable fucktoy.
a little spit was all he deserved as prep. he frantically looked behind as he felt you wet his entrance, trying to gesture towards some drawer in his desk. "please- honey, i have lube and condoms in there-" he froze, realising the implications of his words. "no, wait! i don't mean- ughhh." you cut him off by stuffing him full, relishing in the sight of him scrambling to hold onto the desk so his knees don't give out. "of course you do." you weren't even angry anymore, just disappointed.
bundling up a fistful of his hair again, you started to thrust at a reckless pace, with little concern for how well he was adjusting. you drank up his whines and moans as he convulsed against the desk, fingers clawing at anything to find purchase. "bet you fuck her like this everyday, don't you?" you snarled in his ear, feeling him clench harder at the sheer hostility in your voice. "i don't- i really, really don't!! i was saving the condoms for you-" "fucking liar." it was a rather cathartic sight seeing your usually powerful boyfriend reduced to a trembling, whimpering mess. the way he tried to blatantly deny everything was sorta cute, really. it just made you want to ruin him more.
switching positions, you lifted him up with ease, pinning him against the nearest the wall and continuing to fuck in and out of him. his eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the sudden change in elevation, hands clawing at your shoulders so he doesn't fall down. "kiss me- please, kiss meeee-" he angles his head upwards, desperately trying to capture your lips in a display of affection. "no." you said coldly, a cruel smile playing on your lips. the look of pure disappointment that crosses his features is priceless. "y'know what would get me to forgive you?" "just tell me, please- i'll do anything." "let me carry you outside like this, and fuck you in front of everyone." "no!! no... please...." he sobbed vehemently against your chest. "anything but that...."
"hm. as expected. embarrassed of me until the end." he couldn't even refute your words, head hung low, ashamed of his behaviour. "where did i go wrong, truly? having such a slut for a boyfriend...." you sighed, tilting his head upwards, forcing him to meet your scornful gaze. your cock throbbed and pulsed, nearly deforming his insides. it was a clear reminder of who he really belonged to, at the end of the day. his own cock flopped around, weeping and unattended, like it was useless. "don't cry, now.... you got yourself into this mess." without warning, you released inside him, feeling his legs tighten around your hips as he tried his best to muffle his own mewls.
he slumped against the wall, looking up at you through his eyelashes. your fluids leaked out of him, staining the carpet white. "you really should clean this place up." as you buckled your pants back up, you gestured towards the documemts strewn everywhere, a record of your heated disciplining. "wouldn't want anyone to find out, would we?" he winced at the mockery in your voice, only able to blink away tears of regret. gods, who knew what punishment was awaiting him back home....
top male reader x homophobic? male best friend. dub-con. oral.
-
It was really annoying that he still introduced himself as your best friend wherever you went, reaffirming the relationship, even though you’ve been sucking each other off for a little under two months. He’d limit the relationship and lie, with, “Well, yeah, I’m your best friend I would know!”, or “Hi, I’m his best friend!”, “Keeping secrets from your best friend?”-- it was so goddam annoying and irritating, and you restrained yourself from correcting him.
Well, technically he wasn’t wrong- you met in elementary and became super close in middle school, but fuck, you knew you loved him the second you set eyes on him. You however, never thought about bringing it up to him at all, not when he was slightly homophobic, he was straight, and, painfully, he thought you were straight.
Even still, it was frustrating that he didn’t even dare call himself your situationship or anything of the likes even when you two were alone.
You still remember the first time your friendship had crossed past the line of no return, your worries proven wrong as he acted like nothing had happened. Unfortunately, he played that role too well– still acting as if you two were nothing more than childhood buddies with a normal relationship.
Your memory of that night says different, though.
It started out with you and your roommates celebrating passing the midterms, but too tired to actually plan anything– you all settled for ordering pizza and lazing around the living room, playing multiplayer games with strangers who could easily tell you were not straight-minded with one of the guys’ awful tasting homemade cocktails. You settled for taking straight tasteless shots, and you consuming a little more than you usually would.
The place wasn’t trashed, but it would definitely be a pain cleaning tomorrow, as everybody tried to pin the blame on someone else and avoid doing the work. You glanced at him- he was a lightweight, and obviously out of it– his face was flushed, he was still holding a half cup of whatever cocktail he had picked up, staring at nothing as his fingers drummed on the floor.
You watched the pattern- it was the mario kart song, and you realized one of the guys had at some point hooked up your switch and booted the game. You were too out of it to protest, and you know they’d be careful anyway. Probably. You glanced around the room. One was still on his phone, two were on the switch, one guy had passed out on the couch, and he was sitting a bit away from you. You tipped your head back with your glass to your lips, only to realize it was empty.
The last drop fell on your tongue, and the liquid courage flooded you, and you scooched over to him.
“Hey.” You nudged him with your knee. He slowly turned his head to you, his head lolling just a bit. Shit, he was so out of it. “Wanna head to our room?” He shook his head. “Not even for cards?” He stilled, contemplating. “Sure, why not.”
He got up with a groan, stumbling into you, and pushing you towards the stairs. “Go set up the game…” He heads towards the washroom. “‘ll be there in a second.” He mumbles, struggling to walk straight.
You obey, going to your shared room and setting up the game. He walks in just as you finish.
-
Twenty minutes later and four rounds won by you, he’d furrowing his eyebrows, staring at his cards. “Hey. Be honest.” He picks at his cards. “You’re cheating right? You did something to the cards while I was gone? Huh?”
You stifle a laugh. “No, you’re just really drunk.”
His pout is pronounced as he chews his cheek. “Whatever man. You cheated, you dick.”
“You just want to feel better about sucking.” You laugh as he scowls, dropping his cards. He shoves at your chest, obviously much harder than he meant to, because he’s stumbling into you. “Sorry.” He mumbles as he corrects himself.
You teasingly shove him as well, but you too underestimate your strength, as the momentum takes you forward, your knee lands in the pile of cards, he’s grabbing your arms to steady the two of you, sending you tumbling into him.
You’re pinning him to the floor, now, trying your best not to fall on him. You stay there for a few seconds, situation still catching up to you. Neither of you make a move, breathing shallow as you stare into each other’s eyes.
You just had to get up- that was all you would have to do, because it was all an accident, which could be fixed if you just got off of him–Your eyes track to his lips, unintentionally– he notices it. “Hey.” He calls, probably to stop you. You ignore him, leaning in, eyes trained in his lips.
“Hey.” He tries again, your face getting closer. He might've tried to say it again, but your lips are on his now, a press of mouth to mouth. An innocent peck. You pull away for a short second before going back in, this time trying to force him to open his mouth.
Your tongue darts out, licking his lips, and he allows it, opening his mouth tentatively, slowly, letting your tongue shove its way into his mouth. The kiss turns sloppy, neither of you coherent enough to try to synchronize with the other. You pull off with bated breath, hoping he wouldn’t comment something that’d crush your hopes and dreams.
“Hey.” You hold your breath. “This… this isn’t gonna change our relationship, right?” He says it with an adorable pout, eyebrows furrowed. Your heart aches at the implication.
“Of course.” You say– not really answering the question, avoiding it but still replying to it. He’s still confused, and before he can ask for clarification, you’re on him again, lips locked and tongue running all over his mouth. His legs loosen up from the criss cross position they were in, allowing you closer. You take the opportunity, bringing your knee in between his thighs– then you feel it.
You pull away with a barely contained smirk.
You barely hold back your smirk. “You’re hard.” You state the obvious, and he shies away. “So you like that, huh? Yeah? You like being pinned down and kissed by me?”
His face was a brilliant red and obviously not from the alcohol as much as your knee pressing his hard on.
He finally glances back towards you. “Do…. Do you wanna help me with it..?” Your eyes widen and your dick twitches in interest.
That’s how you found yourself between his legs, which were thrown over your shoulder as he shudders above you, sitting on the edge of your bed. You were working on him desperately, expertly, holding his hips down as your head continuously bobbed up and down, tongue doing its best to add to the effort. His earlier words rang in your head. “Our relationship won’t change, right?” They pushed you to work harder, more intimately, to prove to him… you don’t know what, but just to prove to him.
The room resounded with slurps and gulps and his breathy voice that was obviously trying his best to hold back his moans. His arms held his weight, unsure where to place them, head rolling back as you continued your feverish movements., aiming to please.
He gasps sharply as you take him to the base, tongue pressing up against the underside as you constrict your throat. You did your best to hold back the gag, loosening and tightening your throat. He leaned forward, hunching over you as he presses his hands on your head. “Wait… ah, gimme a second…”
As long as he didn’t say stop, you were glad. You pull to the tip, slowly, before letting his dick drop from your mouth. He whimpers at the loss and your smirk, licking your lips. “I didn’t say stop, you jerk…”
You let go of his thighs, gently pushing him back to the bed. “Just stay down and let me.” His dazed eyes looked down at you as you went back down between his legs. You kiss his tip. “Does it feel good?” He nods, a high moan coming out as he closes his eyes.
“How good?” You slowly stroke him, running your tongue over the slit.
“Hngh? Really… really good.” He pants out, arms crossing over his eyes, hips wriggling into the warmth of your hand.
“Mm.” You put him in your mouth only to pull away. “Better than your ex?”
“What?” He tries to sit up, but your hand pushes firmly on his chest. You loom over him, slowly jerking him and keeping him down.
“I said, it’s better than your ex, right?”
“No! That- that’s gay.” He whines like he can’t bear the idea of saying that, that it’ll make him what he so dreads.
“If you say that I’m better at giving head than your ex, then it’s gay? But letting me suck you off isn’t?” You chuckle at the absurdity, slowing down your strokes. You hated how he’s treating this. “C’mon.”
“But… I can’t. Please don’t make me.” His watery eyes look up at you, and you want to kiss him. So you do, brushing his hair away from his forehead, pressing your tongue against his, still stroking him slowly. He’s letting out a pathetic noise, and you swallow all of them, forcing your tongue around his mouth.
Pulling away, you meet his eyes. “C’mon, just say it, and I’ll let you cum. You can do it.”
He sobs, pushing you away. “So mean, you’re so mean.” You only smile, grabbing one of his hands, kissing his fingers. Your hand stopped stroking him completely, and he’s left bucking his hips into it. “Please, please!”
You shrug your shoulders, resuming slow kisses to his tip.”Okay, okay!” He chews his lip and mumbles, “It’s better… it’s better than hers.”
That was all you needed, really, but you pushed it. “Nuh uh, that’s not enough.”
He glares at you through his fingers. “Fuck you… fine, you big asshole, head from you is so much better than from my ex!”
You hum in approval and put your mouth back where it belongs, and he moans a sigh of relief, hands crawling to grip your hair. You moan around him, deepthroating him, dragging your tongue up, hollowing your cheeks– anything to make him cum. And he does, because he’s never had such an intense blowjob before. You keep still as his tip splurts to your throat, and he gasps as he feels you swallowing around him, encouraging as much as you can until he feels it’s too much, sits up and is pushing you away.
You pull off, an obscene sight as a mixture of saliva and cum still connects you to his tip before it snaps. Reaching up to grab his hair, you force him to kiss you, having him taste himself again. He gags a bit, but lets you do it anyway, letting your tongue invade how it pleases.
You push him down and grind your own boner against him. He whimpers pathetically, eyes widening. “What?” You smirk at his surprised look. “Didn’t think you were gonna get the best head in your life for free, did you?”
Now you have him between your legs, watching him struggle to push your cock further into his mouth, one hand holding your thigh, the other holding the base.. He had said no in the beginning, complaining that it’ll never fit, but after pleas and coaxing from you, he finally got to work. You tried your best not to do anything to help him, making him do all the work. It was cute to see the frustration on his face.
He spits it back out, but his hand never stopped stroking, like it didn’t want to let go. “I cannnn’t.” He whines, flopping his head onto your leg.
“Yes you can, c’mon. I’ll help you.” You stroke his hair and he sighs, pushing his head towards your hand. He was so adorable like this, pliant, wanting your touch. He puts his mouth back around the tip, face scrunching up.
“Hg, I shouldn’t feel your teeth, babe.” His eyes shoot up to yours, and he has a pretty flush on his face, but he’s glaring. “Okay, okay, jeez.” You pet his head to calm him, seeing how he really was like a puppy. He covers his bottom teeth with his tongue, and opens his jaw as wide as possible. His eyes are looking up at yours, and you can feel the ask of approval. “Yeah, just like that.” You smile, ruffling his hair.
He takes you deeper, keeping mind of his teeth. He perks up at a groan from you and starts slowly bobbing his head. His saliva drips onto his hands, and it takes all your restraint not to shove his head down and force your tip to his throat.
His hand keeps stroking you awkwardly, trying to shove more into his mouth. “You okay?”
He hums a positive, and you bite your lip, grunting. He likes the reaction, groaning around your length. He pushes further, eyes tearing up. Surprisingly, he’s a natural, breathing fine, tilting his head and hollowing his cheeks. You bite back a groan at every inevitable brush of the teeth, but otherwise, he’s doing great.
“Mph, you’re doing good, really good.” You pet his head, encouraging more into him. Of course, he couldn’t take you further without gagging just yet. But you hold him down, cum into his mouth, and he frowns, but stills, taking you so well. You hold him there and have him swallow it. He pulls off, fake-gagging.
“Eugh! That’s gross.” He coughs, and collapses onto you. You pant, feeling good that you’ve finally, somehow crossed the line you thought you’d never be able to. You look down at him, nuzzling into your body, and drag him up by the shoulders so he’s properly resting on your chest.
You gently caress his hair and soon hear snoring.
-
Well, that was two months ago. Since then, naturally, you never let him forget it, ‘helping’ him jerk off, sucking him and vice versa. He was reluctant at first, but now he comes to you, asking cutely. “...Can’t without you no more. Feels weird.” He’ll blush and ask you to relieve him. You gladly do.
But he was such a coy little minx, always dodging the next step. You were getting greedy, you wanted more. You always restrained yourself, of course, because what if he ran away? You couldn’t deal with it if he decided to leave your life. You were starving.
It’s unfortunate, but you’d just have to be satisfied with this weird relationship for now.
