#relkuna

[sorreleia]

♡ Toji gets jealous when you talk to shiu, smut

—Obvious enough. Toji Fushiguro was a man who never hid his emotions. Especially his negative ones. He always expressed himself wherever he wanted, however he wanted, to whomever he wanted. And you were definitely not an exception to that standard.

You saw how his eyes dropped when you walked over to Shiu. The cold, unwavering gaze that landed upon you. It clung like frost—a quiet chill running across your shoulders, as if you’d stepped into winter by standing too close to someone else. Toji didn’t speak. Didn’t intervene. But something coiled behind his ribs, a storm he didn’t care to name, and you felt it from across the room

and what was supposed to be fun get together with mutual friends quickly turned into a battle ground—for just you and him.

You didn’t notice it at first—his gaze, dark and sharp, following your every movement. But when you laughed a little too close to Shiu, when your hand brushed his arm in passing, that gaze tightened, and you felt it in your chest.

He didn’t say a word—but you could feel it. Especially when he stepped closer, positioning himself between you and Shiu, one large hand wrapping around your waist, grounding you in a way that left no room for doubt.

“You having fun?” His voice cut through the noise of the party, low and calm, but with an edge that made you freeze.

You awkwardly laughed—trying to shrug it off. “Yeah. Just talking with Shiu.”

It almost felt like Shiu wasn’t even there anymore—his gaze was solely focused on you, and his hand squeezed at your waist tighter than before—It was deliberate, possessive, a quiet reminder that you were his. The way his body leaned into yours, pressing subtly against your side, made the air between you feel charged, like the noise around you had disappeared.

“You’re too close to him, baby” he said, voice low, edged with warning. Not loud, but sharp enough that you shivered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Toji moved before a word left you. He stepped closer, chest brushing your back, and wrapped an arm around you, blocking Shiu from view. The pressure was deliberate, enough to make you pause, to make the world shrink down to just the two of you.

“Don’t,” he murmured, calm and controlled, his voice carrying that edge that made your stomach knot. “We’re going home.”

And that’s how you ended up like this.

Toes curling, pussy squelching, and completely tapped out of your mind.

“T-Toji Fuck—“ You cried out, Drooling all over his bicep which firmly held your head in place, you felt his thumb brush lightly against your temple—an almost gentle reminder of the control he had.

“‘Think you can take three fingers now?” He chuckled—he was amused by the situation. Cowering in his cockiness, he leaned forward just enough to watch your reaction, eyes glinting with mischief.

You froze, cheeks heating, heart hammering—not just from embarrassment, but from the weight of him so close, the way his presence pressed against you. His grin widened when he noticed the way your breath hitched.

“m’ too sensitive, toji.” You whined, attempting to close your legs as he rubs small circles against your clit.

Toji’s grin widened—He leaned closer, chest pressing just a little more insistently against you, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Too sensitive, huh?” he murmured, voice low, teasing, but with an edge that made your chest tighten. His hand didn’t move away; instead, he pushed ur legs apart, and adjusted his hand so it was heavier, deeper—subtle pressure, reminding you that you weren’t getting out of this.

Your breath hitched as his fingers inserted you again—your wet cunt tightening around him.

“I like it when you react like this,” he whispered, letting the words hang, heavy, claiming, intimate. “Shows me exactly how much you feel me.”

It felt like he blew all the air out of your lungs—literally and figuratively.

Not because he pulled you in and kissed you.

But because his fingers never let up even when you were inching close to your release.

Your body trembled, strung tight like every nerve had been lit from the inside. It was ridiculous, how easily he could pull the ground out from under you. Your breath stuttered, then caught in your throat, and for a moment, it didn’t even feel like you were in your own skin. Just sinking, spiraling, pressed into the gravity of him.

“Toji,” you whispered, or maybe you begged. It was hard to tell.

His hand at your waist held you steady, his breath brushing the back of your ear, warm and sure. Everything about him overpowered you. The weight of him. The heat. The quiet certainty that he wasn’t letting you slip away.

Not now.

Not after what happened tonight.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes—his hands still rubbing circles on your clit.

They were darker this close, but not cold. Never cold with you. There was too much in them, too much heat, too much want, too much unspoken.

“Toji,” you whispered again, because it was the only thing that felt real in your mouth.

His thumb brushed your lips, slow, deliberate, as if testing the shape of your breath. “Yeah, I hear you.”

[sorreleia]

You knew what you were getting into when you decided to marry the Ryomen Sukuna.

A tall, broad man who easily towers over you—overpowers you.

If his large, tattooed arms draped around your waist in every public and private space weren’t enough to make you understand his obsessiveness toward you, then the way he so visibly glared at any man who dared to flirt with you—or even interact with you—was the cherry on top.

Sukuna never hid it.

His possessiveness wasn’t something he apologized for, softened, or pretended didn’t exist. It was in the way his hand always settled low on your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to remind anyone watching that you were his, and his alone.

He knew that. He knew that you knew that. When you laughed a little too freely at someone else’s joke, you felt it immediately—the subtle tightening of his grip, the way his thumb dug in as his presence closed around you like a cage. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to warn.

He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to start fights. One look from him was enough to make people step back, avert their eyes, remember their place.

And when you were finally alone?

That restraint snapped.

Doors closed, and suddenly you were pressed back against them, Sukuna’s size overwhelming, heat and strength boxing you in—You had no room to argue.

His hands were firm, unyielding, sliding to your hips like he was reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

You could feel his displeasure in the way he moved—rougher, more demanding, less patient. His presence swallowed you whole, forcing every bit of your attention onto him.

Sukuna crowded you back until your spine met something solid, his body closing the space like a door slamming shut. One hand caught your waist, hard, fingers digging in as if he needed to feel you were real—here. His other arm braced above you, caging you in completely.

Too close.

Too much.

Exactly how he liked it.

He brushed your ear.

“You let him flirt with you, baby?”

It wasn’t a question—more rhetorical than anything.

His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, making his meaning unmistakable. The heat of him pressed into you, overwhelming, unavoidable. He moved slowly, deliberately, every shift heavy with intent—like he was reminding you how easily he could take control.

Your breath hitched.

And he noticed, because he notices everything about you.

“Look at you,” he muttered, almost amused.

“All quiet now.”

His mouth dragged along your neck, not gentle, not rushed— but claiming. Teeth grazed just enough to make your knees weaken, and a small ache form between your legs. He lingered there, like he was daring you to forget who you belonged to.

One hand slid lower, commanding, guiding your body to respond to his pace instead of your own.

“Fuck, this is all mines.” he said softly.

The word landed heavier than anything louder ever could.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, unreadable, burning with possession. His thumb tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“You don’t need anyone else’s attention.”

Another slow press of his body knee your heat—unyielding, consuming.

“You have mine.”

The room faded into heat and tension and the steady reminder of his control, his size, his certainty—until there was nothing left to focus on but the way he held you there, completely claimed, exactly where he wanted you.

ooc sukuna but idgad

[sorreleia]

Can u write more of footballee gojo please

The stadium is still vibrating when you find him.

Lightts blazing overhead, concrete warm beneath your shoes, the echo of the crowd lingering like a low hum in your chest. Somewhere nearby, players are laughing, shouting, celebrating—but Gojo is already peeling away from the noise, helmet gone, jersey darkened with sweat, shoulders rolling like he’s shedding the last of the game.

He spots you without slowing.

Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave.

Just angles toward you like gravity’s doing the work.

Up close, he’s all heat and aftermath, skin flushed, breath still a little heavy, hair pushed back in a way that looks accidental but unfairly good. There’s a calm in his eyes now, the sharp edge of competition dulled into something quieter, more focused.

You feel his hand at your waist before you really register that he’s stopped in front of you. Big palm, steady pressure. Familiar.

“Hey,” he says, low.

It lands differently here, away from the crowd.

You answer, and something in his posture loosens immediately, like he’s been waiting for that sound. His thumb presses in just slightly, grounding himself. You can still feel the energy in him, barely contained—like he hasn’t fully come down yet.

“Come on,” he says, “it’s loud out here.”

He leads you down a side corridor, hand never leaving your back. The farther you get from the field, the quieter it becomes—the roar fading into muffled echoes, then into nothing but footsteps and breathing. The door he opens is unmarked, barely lit, and when it closes behind you the silence feels thick.

Satoru exhales.

He drops his bag, rolls his neck once, then turns to you again. The way he looks at you now is different—less spectacle, more intent. Like you’re the only thing he hasn’t burned through his energy on yet.

“You stayed,” he says.

You tilt your head. “You told me to, toru.”

A faint grin tugs at his mouth. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

He steps closer, crowding your space without rushing, hands settling on your hips like it’s second nature. There’s no rush in him—just weight, presence, certainty. You feel how easily you fit there, how naturally he holds you like this.

The kiss comes slow but firm, all confidence and control. No flash. No theatrics. Just pressure and heat and the unmistakable sense that he’s been thinking about this since before the fourth quarter ended.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours.

“Come home with me,” he says quietly.

Not a question.

Not a performance.

Just the next obvious thing.

[sorreleia]

I bought some books today and girll am I so excited to read them

[sorreleia]

Hey are your reqs open? :3

Yess, they are!! I never really closed them honestly