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hii congrats on 2k followers. if i may request my lovely senpai, I would love prompt 25。pick two characters from the same series !! with bakugo and eijiro, where bakugo hears you and eijiro fuckinggg and he [ opens the door anyway] because well..he’s feeling left out.
and apologies if i requested the prompt incorrectly! tbh i’d be so geeked if u wrote anything w these two, thank you!! <3
✦ 爆豪勝己 × 切島鋭児郎 ／ mdni kirishima hears you fucking bakugō while you’re trying to be quiet, and he opens the door anyway
you never intended to fuck either of your roommates, let alone both. but hero work is hard, and you and katsuki have been so pent up and stressed, and above all, you’re attracted to each other.
thus, he has you bent over your bed, plushies still strewn about all over the comforter. your cute face is in the pillows, practically drooling while your buff, gorgeous blonde roommate fucks into you from behind with one of his big hands on the back of your neck.
you’re a whining and hiccuping mess, mumbling to yourself because you’re too fucked out to form a proper sentence that he can hear.
“the fuck are you sayin, babydoll? speak up.”
“love your big cock in my pussy, kats, feels so good, y’fuckin me so good!”
his face instantly goes pink, but you can feel his cock throb inside of you at your filthy words. he scoffs, trying to act tough.
“fuckin’ slut, knew you needed this, drooling over me every fuckin’ day for the past five years. you’re lucky that you’re so cute.” he looks at the sticky, milky mess that collects at the base of his cock, watching how your perfect cunt stretches around him as he slides in and out. it hasn’t even been half an hour, and he’s already in love with it … you’re already his favorite girl.
— AN EATER !! denki x afab!f!reader
+ oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, teasing, situationship, implied voyeurism (?) // it's nothing special i just wanted to banish this bitch from my brain
"Just one last time? Before he gets here?"
"… Fine. But not for long." You huff, dropping onto the plush mattress and planting your feet on the bed.
You watch as he practically trips over his feet to get to you, settling onto his knees between your legs as he brings his lips towards your heat.
In all your months in this … situationship. Denki's never shied away from his skills. He was boastful, arrogant — and just cocky enough to always back it up. His skills with his tongue were both a blessing and a curse, especially when he wants to ignore everything you say and pretend your rules don't exist.
TOJI TAKING YOU TO HIS FAVORITE BAR!
contents: dilf!toji, fem reader, heavily implied age gap, pet names (sweetheart, kid, little/sweet/good girl), you call him sir, he calls you slut once, size kink, creampie, semi-public, praise, panty sniffing, tit appreciation, minors and ageless blogs do not interact! wordcount: 1.7k
Toji’s favourite bar is exactly fifteen minutes away from your apartment on foot. Three minutes by car, but he always walks there because then he doesn’t have to worry about the hassle of getting his car back in the morning.
Apparently, fifteen minutes is too long of a wait when you strut up in your cute little denim skirt that barely covers your ass. You look great, especially as you slide up next to him, hand on his bicep, as you take a sip of his drink. You scrunch your nose when you realise that it’s a mojito, sending him a teasing look, your lips curling into a smile.
You’re utterly oblivious to the looks you’re both getting, but Toji notices them, and he puts a hand on your lower back, pulling you closer, staking his claim. Green eyes roam your form, taking in how great your tits look in that top. Part of him wants to take it off you and give each of them a kiss, as a proper greeting to his girls.
THE PRINCIPLE OF THINGS ── FT. BAKUGOU KATSUKI
synopsis ✿ it’s been a rough night. your heart is still recovering from being broken, you need an uber home, your phone is dead, and everyone else has already left the class 1-a yearly reunion. well—everyone except bakugou. he gives you not just a ride home, but a solution to your lonely predicament
✿ WORD COUNT ── 12.0k words ; give it a chance plssss
✿ BEFORE YOU READ ── female reader ; pro hero bakugou + pro hero reader ; reader was in class 1-a ; reader has a quirk (she's stretchy - think like elastigirl from the incredibles LOL) ; reader gets her heart broken by an unnamed random guy + has insecurities ; bakugou is silently pining (and quite good at hiding it tbh) ; friends (sort of) to lovers ; cunnilingus ; p in v ; creampie ; morning after ; confessions (sort of. its bakugou ok) ; getting together ; the class 1-a girls are gossips ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ hi my name is riv and i am going thru mental breakdown after mental breakdown about my life but it wont stop me from writing about letting bkg hit
Class 1-A is trauma-bonded for life—it’s this invisible, untraceable, yet undeniable thing.
Sure, years pass. Adulthood kicks in. Lives become busier, more hectic, more demanding. Time is a funny thing—nine years ago, you were sitting in a classroom with these people, learning how to be a hero. Nine years later, you’re sitting in a rented-out bar, sharing a drink with them as they trade hero stories like it’s part of the average day.
Then again, you suppose it is the average day for pros. Wake up, go to work, save people, crack cases, go on patrol, and go to sleep. Repeat.
assume the position with sukuna who has hated you ever since college | 18+
The neon glow of Shinjuku never quite reaches the dim, wood-paneled interior of the bar, but Sukuna doesn't need the light. He can track you by sound alone. Every time your laugh cuts through din, his jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck cording like rebar.
“She’s doing it again,” he mutters into his highball, nearly grumbling like a disgruntled dog.
"Doing what, Ryomen?" Choso sighs, not looking up from his phone.
“Talking. Acting like she’s the owner of the place.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, a practiced, theatrical motion.
He’d spent four years of undergrad watching the back of your head in lecture halls, fuming as your hand shot up to answer every complex question before the professor even finished the sentence.
You were a know-it-all. You were loud. You always had to have the last word and you've been haunting his sleep, dancing behind his eyelids in a way that made his sheets feel like sandpaper against his skin.
He watches you now, nursing a gin and tonic, leaning a little too close to some guy in a cheap suit. Every time you move, the hem of your skirt hikes up a fraction of an inch, and he feels a nagging urge to stomp over and pull it down—or rip it off.
“If she likes losers so much, she should just move into a dumpster,” he growls.
A hand lands on his tensed shoulder and squeezes. “You're obsessed,” Gojo slurs, obnoxiously skewed and reflecting the fairy lights above. Sukuna just grunts.
The night wears on until the group huddles around the old photo booth in the corner, a staple with a “OUT OF ORDER” sign taped to the glass that has Shoko and you sighing in disappointment along with your gaggle of girlfriends.
“Oh, what a shame,” you lament, your voice dripping with that particular brand of pitying sass that makes Sukuna’s blood boil.
Lifting your head, your gaze sweeps over your friends then lands pointedly on him, eyes shimmering with an idea. “Sukuna-kun is a big, fancy software engineer, but I bet even he couldn't get this old thing running. It’s probably too analog for his delicate sensibilities.”
Bristling, Sukuna stands up, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallows the table. “I don't fix scraps.”
“Or maybe you just don't know how,” you shrug, turning back to the group. “It’s okay. Not every man is actually useful.”
“Hey,” Gojo whines but it's ignored.
─── ׅ Kei Tsukishima ݁ ───
𓏴𓏴 𝅄 ݁ ੭୧ Study session with Tsukki !! ׅ
Warning ﹕college au , fingering , edging , orgasm denial , degradation , semi-public sex , mild choking
This was so fucking embarrassing. No—forget embarrassing. It was humiliating.
It was the third time this week.
The third time you’d found yourself sitting at the back of your professor’s lecture, cheeks flushed red, legs pressed tightly together in a futile attempt to ease the throbbing ache between them. Your mind drifting to thoughts that had no place in a classroom.
The thoughts in question? Nothing too innocent. Just your brain replaying the memory of a certain smug blonde bastard bending you over his desk like a cheap whore, and pounding that dripping pussy raw from behind.
The echoes of your pathetic sobs and broken pleas for mercy still rang in your ears—mixed with the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass. You squeezed your thighs harder, feeling a fresh gush of slick soak your panties as your face flushed even hotter.
A frustrated sigh slipped from your lips as your eyes dropped to the notebook in front of you. It had remained untouched since the start of the lecture. Only the date and today’s topic stared back at you mockingly, as if reminding you that all that “studying” you’d been doing with Tsukishima was anything but academic.
Because instead of helping you with your weakest subjects, Kei had spent most of the time balls-deep in your cunt, fucking your brains out until you couldn’t even remember your own name.
He loved belittling you while he did it too—calling you his dumb little cockslut, mocking how the only thing you seemed to understand anymore was how to take his thick cock like a good girl instead of actually passing your classes.
And those long, slender fingers of his… the ones that always made your pussy flutter no matter what they were doing… they’d wrap so perfectly around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to make your greedy walls clamp down on his dick even harder.
Fuck. It left you weak in the knees every single time.
But who could really blame you? He was just that damn good at dicking you down. If anyone else knew what you got to experience on a daily basis, they’d probably understand. Not that you’d ever let them find out. Over your dead body. You weren’t quite set on sharing just yet.
Just as your mind started spiralling deeper into those dirty thoughts, the loud ring of the bell snapped you out of it, signalling the end of the lecture. You let out a shaky sigh of relief and started packing up your things.
Until your professor’s cold voice cut through the room:
“Stay behind for a moment.”
Yeah. you were totally fucked now.
The conversation that followed was exactly as painful as you’d feared. Your professor spoke firmly, almost coldly, pointing out your obvious lack of attention in his class and the sudden drop in your grades. You barely registered the rest of what he said. The only part that really stuck was his final warning: get your head out of the clouds and start paying attention again.
Which brought you to now—sitting at the back of the campus library with the exact person who’d been plaguing your filthy thoughts even worse than usual.
Books were spread out in front of you, a few highlighters and sticky notes scattered around, your pen gripped tightly in your trembling hand as you let out a loud, frustrated groan.
“Ugh… I don’t fucking get any of this shit.”
You grumbled, letting your head drop heavily onto the table in defeat.
Kei sat beside you, watching with that signature shit-eating grin plastered across his stupidly handsome face. You’d specifically told him you wanted to actually study this time—no messing around. He’d just shrugged with that infuriating smirk and muttered a lazy “Sure.”
“Tsukki… please be a decent human being and explain this to me…” You turned your head to look at him, eyes taking in how focused he appeared. “You’re smart. You’d get this way better than I do.”
He hummed softly, resting his cheek on his palm as he stared down at you with that unreadable expression.
“Why? Because you’re slow?”
You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Hah! You wish. Need I remind you I’m doing great in all my other classes?”
A proud little smirk tugged at your lips.
“Right,” he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like your professor didn’t just tell you you’re failing his class.”
“I’m not failing! My grades are just slipping, that’s all…”
“Right. So, technically failing.”
“Shut the hell up.”
You scoffed and sat up straighter, running a hand through your hair, annoyance clear on your face. “So, are you gonna help me or not?”
He smirked wider, his free hand patting his lap invitingly.
You deadpanned, letting out a heavy sigh. “Are you already forgetting what I said? We’re not doing this today, Kei. Come on.”
You muttered, looking back down at your notes. You heard the soft click of his tongue.
“Come on, don’t be so difficult. Just come sit on my lap.”
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously before sighing in defeat. “Fine. But no funny business.”
Yeah, right. Like that promise was ever going to last.
You stood up slowly and lowered yourself onto his lap, your notebook still in front of you, pen in hand. “Alright, Mr. Know-It-All. Help me.”
Kei leaned forward immediately, his broad chest pressing firmly against your back. His hot breath ghosting over your ear as his large hand slid down to rest on your thigh, rubbing slow, teasing circles that felt far too innocent for him.
But you knew better. Nothing with Tsukishima was ever innocent.
Your breath hitched sharply, your body tensing as heat flooded between your legs.
“… Kei…” you whimpered pathetically.
His low chuckle vibrated against your back.
“What? I’m not doing anything… yet,” he murmured, voice dark and filthy in your ear.
Before you could protest, his long, slender fingers slipped under your skirt, casually pushing your soaked panties to the side. Without warning, he slid two thick fingers deep into your dripping cunt, curling them perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you.
“Just don’t mind me…” he whispered teasingly, pumping his fingers slowly, stretching your tight, gummy walls. “Only keep those pretty eyes focused on that textbook of yours…”
You couldn’t focus on the textbook in front of you no matter how hard you tried. Your hands trembled pathetically, barely able to grip the pen as your eyes glazed over with unshed tears from the overwhelming pleasure of Tsukishima’s long fingers stretching your dripping cunt so perfectly.
A broken gasp slipped from your lips when he slid a third finger inside you, slowly sinking into your soaked, greedy walls. Your back arched sharply, another needy whine escaping before you could stop it. Tsukishima drank in the sight of you struggling to stay quiet, his golden eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as your thighs quivered violently and your hips bucked desperately against his hand with every slow, deliberate thrust.
You were trying—god, you were really trying—to keep quiet.
But Tsukishima had no intention of letting you succeed.
He curled his fingers with cruel precision, stroking that spongy, sensitive spot deep inside you until a deep, throaty whine tore from your chest. A low, breathy chuckle rumbled against your ear as he leaned in closer, pressing his chest flush against your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his voice dropping into a sinful, velvet whisper.
“Come on now, gorgeous…” he purred, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You know you need to focus, don’t you?”
You whimpered helplessly, your pussy clenching greedily around his invading fingers. Your entire body tensed as he pushed even deeper, grinding the heel of his palm firmly against your swollen clit. Your mouth fell open in a silent, desperate cry, breath hitching in your throat.
“You wouldn’t want your professor failing you,” he murmured, voice thick with mocking amusement, “just because your tiny little brain can’t concentrate with my fingers buried knuckle-deep in your messy cunt, hmm?”
His pace was torturously slow and teasing, deliberately bringing you right to the edge of ecstasy only to pull you back again and again. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal echoed softly in the room—filthy, slick, and shameless.
Your head lolled back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you surrendered to the relentless pleasure he was forcing upon you.
Tsukishima’s free hand slid up your body, long fingers wrapping possessively around your throat—not squeezing, just holding you in place, a silent reminder of who was in control. He nipped at your earlobe, then soothed the sting with his tongue.
“Listen to how wet you are,” he whispered hotly, deliberately pumping his fingers a little faster so the lewd squelching sounds grew louder. “You’re making such a mess… and all because of three fingers? Pathetic.”
broken sob of pleasure escaped you as he suddenly scissored his fingers wide, stretching you open even more. Your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the friction you so desperately needed.
He laughed softly, the sound dark and mocking. “Look at you. Can’t even sit still. How are you going to pass this class if you can’t stop creaming all over my hand?”
You tried to protest, to tell him you were trying, but all that came out was a high-pitched moan when he curled his fingers again, pressing hard against that perfect spot while his palm continued its merciless grind against your throbbing clit.
Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, burning hotter with every thrust. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, muscles clenching as you teetered right on the edge once more. Just as you felt the first tremors of release beginning to crash over you, Tsukishima slowed his movements to an agonizing crawl, barely moving his fingers at all.
A frustrated cry tore from your throat. “K-Kei… please—”
“Please what?” he taunted, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. His breath was hot against your flushed skin. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what this needy little pussy wants.”
You whimpered, too far gone to feel any shame. “Please… let me cum. I can’t— I need it—”
He hummed thoughtfully, as if considering your plea, while continuing those shallow, unsatisfying thrusts that kept you dangling painfully on the brink.
“Mmm… I don’t know,” he drawled, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “You still haven’t read a single page. Maybe if you can recite the next paragraph without moaning like a whore, I’ll think about it.”
His fingers gave one firm, deep thrust, punching the air from your lungs.
“Or maybe…” He leaned in even closer, lips brushing your ear as his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “I’ll just keep edging this sloppy cunt until you’re crying and begging so prettily that everyone in the library can hear how much of a desperate slut you are for me.”
Your walls fluttered wildly around his fingers at his filthy words, another flood of arousal gushing out around his hand. Tsukishima groaned softly in approval, finally starting to move again—still torturously slow, but with just enough pressure to make your vision blur with overwhelming pleasure.
Then, finally. he gave it to you.
He thrusted his fingers in hard and fast, curling them perfectly—and you broke.
Your back arched sharply, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. Your walls fluttered wildly around his fingers at the filthy words still echoing in your mind, another flood of arousal gushing out around his hand. You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries, hips grinding helplessly down on his fingers as your body convulsed with pleasure.
Tsukishima groaned lowly behind you, the sound deep and almost proud, as he kept his fingers buried deep inside your fluttering cunt, drawing out every last tremor.
“Look at you…” he muttered, slowly pulling his slick fingers out, deliberately watching the way your thighs twitched and your pussy clenched around nothing. “You made such a fucking mess.”
He clicked his tongue, holding up his glistening fingers with a smug grin.
“Just had to cum all over my hand like that, didn’t you?”
He gently rubbed your back, almost mockingly sweet, like he hadn’t just fingered you into a blubbering mess in the middle of the goddamn library.
It was safe to say the only lesson you walked out with… was how Tsukishima's fingers were way more skilled than any professor’s lecture could ever be.
Fr𖹭m yours truly ﹕my brain fucking hurts jst by staring at this, i cant even be bothered to explain to u all how much I love Tuskishima and how hes my husband and shit BC of how long this took me. im telling you ive proof read it over 10 whole times (not kidding by the way I always always ALWAYS proof read my work more than once jst in case) but literally gave up by the time I reached the end ao ykw if it doesnt make sense half way through jst know I gave up and couldn't be asked to go back and change it honestly ts took me and embarrassingly long time (it took me a day and a half to finish) since it was an adaption of one of my other works from a diff platform. But enough of me bitching jst know that I rlly did try with this....
>> sleepy, platonic dry humping with best friend!tsukishima
inspired by this ask sent to @mattsundaes... ive been thinking ab this all day
tags: lazy morning dry humping, thigh riding, truly just 900 words of pure vile filth
part two
there's something wedged between your legs.
you don't want to open your eyes. you don't even want to be awake. but you can feel the sun hitting your eyelids, and you know you won't be able to fall back asleep.
you still don't know what's between your legs, though. you're not conscious enough to check or even care. it's warm and solid, and that feeling continues down your thigh, to your knee and calf. and it's moving slowly, rising and falling softly.
oh, it's him.
memories of him staying too late to finish your movie marathon and complaints that it's cold and dark outside come flooding back.
it's okay, then. it's just him. you've just got your leg thrown over his waist.
you shift your head, the sleep calling you back. if he's still asleep, you're allowed to still be asleep.
he shifts when you do, his shoulder nudging its way under your cheek and his arm slipping under and around your waist. he smells like safety, like home.
you drift off.
and then his hip moves, and you're ripped out of it.
a sigh falls past your lips, because he's pushing right up against that sweet spot that calls out to you. your heart jumps, and your hips roll forward without your permission. without thinking, because you're still half-asleep.
it feels good. really good.
you whimper, nuzzling your face further into his neck, because there's a part of you — more awake, more aware — that's embarrassed. that knows you shouldn't do this, not with a friend, and especially not when he doesn't know.
his hand flexes against your side.
he knows.
you still, your ears ringing and your face burning. you're terrified that he's going to say something, that he's going to call you a freak and push you off and inevitably make fun of you for it.
he presses his palm against your hip. you only realize that he's trying to hold you steady because, at the same time, he pushes his hip against you again.
"oh," you moan, low and immediately bitten back, even though it's far too late.
his other hand, unbearably hot, slides up the leg you have thrown over him, burning across your bare calf and up your thigh. he digs his fingertips into your skin — sears five perfect pressure points into your nerves — and drags you up and over his leg. drops you right on his thigh and kicks his knee up, forcing you down onto him.
when he drives his thigh up against your clit, you mewl loudly in his ear. "tsukki-"
he grunts, both hands gripping your waist and shoving you down on his thigh. he holds tight enough that your hip bones hurt, and you know there will be bruises later.
your hips roll down and across his thigh, and you lose your ability to speak, because he's decided that this is your place now.
every slide of your cunt along his thigh makes you choke, the breath hitting the side of his neck and your face burning against his throat. your thigh bumps against the front of his sweats, and he grunts, the sound rough and husky and surprised, because you're pushing against the bulge that's forming.
you wrap your hands around his neck, hiding in your new spot and trying to focus on helping him out, too. you shuffle, gasping when he drives his leg between your thighs, and slide a hand down to wrap around him.
he huffs out a rough breath, his hand flying to stop you.
you don't even get the chance to ask what's wrong.
he rolls you onto your back and shoves himself into that spot that's quickly becoming his. his body pries your thighs open, and you feel, for just a moment, the cool air that hits your shorts and exposes just how wet you are, soaked through the fabric.
you should be embarrassed.
but he doesn't let you. he's too busy burying his face in your neck and groaning when you open up to let him in. he hooks his hands under your knees, fingers calloused and palms burning the backs of your thighs. you're all but pressed in half, lying there clinging to him when he rolls down against you.
"nngh-" he grunts. "fuck." his voice is whispered, strained.
you're not even sure you can form a single word right now, all of your nerves focused on the slide of his bulge against your folds, wet and sticky and inevitably ruining his sweats.
your bed starts to creak, because he's shoving himself against you without care, clearly chasing his orgasm. you let him, love the realization that you're being used, because you're chasing something, too. he hardens more, leaving you gasping in his ear.
"so f'ckin' wet," he groans, voice vibrating across the shell of your ear and down your throat. "fuck, y/n."
you whine, clinging tight. the knot under your navel starts to twist, pulling tighter and tighter with every shove of his hips. "close-nggh-"
his hips stutter and still, and you feel his cock pulsing through his sweats, feel as that spot between your legs gets wetter and warmer. your breathing is ragged in his ear, and you whisper 'close-" again.
he grits his teeth so hard that you hear it, and then he starts rocking against you again. his cum must be seeping through his pants, because you feel warm, more and more and more, in time with the slam of your headboard against the wall.
he reaches between you, sliding his thumb hard against the mess of sticky fabric and cum, right over your clit.
your vision goes white, and his name falls past your lips, and your back arches so hard that it hurts.
you don't come down for a long time. by the time you do, he's asleep again, body slumped over yours and his heart racing against your chest.
Bestfriend!St0ner!Sukuna x f!Reader
MDNI, +18, 4.6k (not proofread)
*You didn’t take Sukuna to be one to beg.*
————————————————————————
Your friendship with Sukuna has always existed in this weird liminal space between platonic and something else entirely. You met sophomore year in a shared philosophy class—he sat behind you and spent the entire semester making sarcastic commentary about Kant that had you biting your lip to keep from laughing. By midterms, you were inseparable.
Now, senior year, you're practically attached at the hip. He crashes at your dorm more than his own, claiming your roommate is "less of a narc" about the smell of weed. Your Friday nights have a routine: he shows up around eight with whatever strain he's gotten his hands on that week, you order too much takeout, and you spend hours getting progressively more fucked up while watching terrible movies or playing video games.
The thing about Sukuna when he's high, though—he turns into the horniest motherfucker you've ever seen. It's like the weed flips something in his brain that removes whatever filter he usually has. He'll sprawl across your bed, all loose-limbed and heavy-lidded, and say the most obscene shit with that lazy smirk on his face.
"You know," he'd said last week, watching you through half-closed eyes as you took a hit, "you look really good when you do that. Makes me think about what else those lips could do."
You'd nearly choked on the smoke. "Shut up Kuna."
"What? I'm just saying." He'd stretched, his shirt riding up to show a strip of tattooed stomach. "You've got a great mouth, it's an objective observation."
It's always like that—comments about your body, suggestions that make heat pool in your stomach, touches that linger just a second too long. He'll play with your hair while you're both zoned out, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that makes you shiver. He'll pull you against him on the couch, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles that drive you insane.
But he never actually does anything. Never kisses you, never takes it further than teasing. It's like a game to him—see how flustered he can make you, how much he can get away with before you call him on it. And you never do, because some part of you loves the attention, loves the way he looks at you like he's thinking about devouring you whole.
You've gotten off to the thought of him more times than you can count, imagining what would happen if he ever stopped playing around and actually touched you the way his eyes promise he wants to.
Which is why losing this bet might be the best thing that's ever happened to you.
You never thought you'd see the day, Ryomen Sukuna—your best friend since sophomore year, the guy who's never lost a bet in his life—sits on the edge of your bed with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, and those sharp eyes burning with barely restrained irritation. He's still wearing that oversized band tee and sweatpants he showed up in for your usual smoke session, his pink hair messier than usual like he's been running his hands through it. All because Sukuna lost a bet.
"You're really going to hold me to this?" His voice is a low rumble, but there's amusement dancing in his tone, like he's already won something you don't know about yet.
You lean against your dresser, arms folded, trying to keep your expression neutral even though your heart is hammering against your ribs with anxiety and excitement. "A bet's a bet. You said so yourself—you never go back on your word, right? That's like, your whole thing." You made big exaggerated movements with your arms.
His upper lip curls into a sneer, revealing his canines—he'd gotten them filed to points all for a dare in junior year. "Oh, I keep my word. I'm just curious what you think you're actually going to do. You've been staring at that rope for ten minutes like it's going to bite you." He leans back on his palms, spreading his legs wider in a show of complete confidence. "Come on then. Show me what you've got. I could use a good laugh."
"Oh, I'm counting on you remembering this." You push off the dresser and walk toward him slowly, deliberately. You've fantasized about this—about having him at your mercy, finally doing something about your long time crush—you never actually thought it would happen. Sukuna doesn't lose. Except he did, spectacularly, trying to out-smoke you and failing to beat your Mario Kart time while high. And now he's here, and the possibilities make heat pool low in your belly. You've made yourself cum more than a dozen times thinking about this exact scenario in your head.
You stop directly in front of him, close enough that your knees almost touch his. Even sitting down, he's imposing—all lean muscle and coiled energy. The black tattoos across his arms and neck (done by some sketchy artist he swears by) seem to stand out more prominently against his flushed skin. "On the bed," you say simply. "On your back."
His eyes narrow, but that cocky smirk doesn't fade. "Wow, so commanding. What's next, you gonna tell me to say please?" He laughs, the sound low and mocking. "You really think you can handle this? I'm starting to think you're all talk."
"Now, Sukuna." You keep your voice steady, channeling a confidence you don't entirely feel. One wrong move and he could just laugh this off, call you crazy, and leave. But something in his expression—a flicker of dark curiosity in his crimson eyes—tells you he's intrigued despite himself.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, and you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stands and moves further into the bed, settling against your pillows with an expression that's equal parts annoyed and intrigued. The oversized band tee rides up slightly, revealing a strip of toned stomach and the band of his boxers peaking from how low his sweats hanged, your mouth waters.
"There. Happy?" He stretches his arms above his head lazily, like he's getting comfortable for a nap. "Go ahead, tie me up. Let's see how long it takes before you chicken out and untie me."
You pick up the rope you'd prepared—soft but strong, something you'd ordered online after he'd agreed to the bet. When you climb onto the bed beside him and reach for his wrist, his hand flips and catches yours instead, grip firm. He pulls you down so you're nose-to-nose with him, his breath, still faintly sweet from the edibles you'd shared earlier—hot against your lips.
"Last chance to back out," he hums, and there's a challenge in his voice, daring you to prove him wrong. "We both know you're not actually going to do anything crazy. You'll tie me up, get all flustered, and then let me go. I know you."
"I'll try," you whisper back.
His eyes flash, but he releases your wrist. You take it as the permission it is and begin binding his wrists to your headboard, acutely aware of how easily he could break free, he's stronger than you, always has been. The rope is symbolic more than anything else, he's allowing this, choosing to submit.
When you finish securing both wrists, you sit back and just look at him. He's spread out before you, still fully clothed but with his arms bound above his head, completely at your mercy. His jaw is clenched, and you can see the tension in every line of his body.
"So? What now?" He tilts his head, that infuriating smirk still in place. "You just gonna stare at me all night? I've seen you freeze up ordering pizza, so forgive me if I'm not exactly shaking with anticipation here."
"Almost," you murmur, running your hands up his thighs over the fabric of his sweatpants. Even through the material, you can feel the muscles jump under your touch. "I'm going to take my time with you."
You start with his shirt, sliding your hands underneath the hem to feel the hard planes of his stomach. His breath hitches slightly, and you smile. Slowly, you push the fabric up, revealing inch by inch of tattooed skin. His physique is devastating: abs that look carved from stone despite his diet of pizza and energy drinks, the black tattoos continuing across his torso in intricate patterns that you want to trace with your tongue.
"What, never seen a guy shirtless before?" His voice is still cocky, but there's a slight roughness to it now. "You're acting like—" He cuts off when you press a kiss just above his navel, and you feel the muscles contract sharply under your lips.
You continue pushing the shirt up, exposing his defined pectorals, his broad shoulders. The fabric bunches at his bound wrists, and when you finally pull it over his head just so you'd have a whole free canvas, his hair was even messier than before, breathing harder.
"There we go," you say softly, drinking in the sight of his bare torso. You've seen him shirtless before—pool parties, that one beach trip, countless times he's crashed at your place—but never like this, never with the knowledge that you're about to put your hands all over that body.
You trail your fingers down his chest, following the lines of his tattoos, and his jaw clenches. When you brush over his pierced nipples, his hips jerk involuntarily.
"Sensitive?" you tease.
"Fuck off," he grits out, but the cocky edge is starting to crack. "It's just—you're being weird about this."
You lean down and take one nipple into your mouth, sucking gently, and the sound he makes is absolutely worth it. You lavish attention on his chest, kissing and licking and biting, marking him, while your hands explore every inch of newly exposed skin. You spend minutes just on his chest, alternating between gentle touches and sharp bites, watching the way his body responds, the way his breathing becomes more ragged.
When you finally move lower, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, his whole body goes tense.
"Wait—" His voice is strained, and the cockiness is completely gone now, replaced by something that sounds almost like nervousness.
You pause, looking up at him. "Having second thoughts?"
"No, I just—" He breaks off, and you realize with delight that he's actually flustered. Sukuna, who never gets embarrassed about anything, is blushing. "Just do it already. Stop dragging this out."
You start pulling at his sweatpants, as you drag the fabric down his thighs, his cock springs free, already hard from you little teasing. Your breath catches. You've wondered, obviously, but seeing it is something else entirely. He's big, intimidating, and you feel heat pool between your legs.
You pull the sweatpants all the way off, dropping them on the floor, and sit back to admire your handiwork. Sukuna, completely naked and bound, spread out on your bed with his cock hardening further under your gaze. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his hands clenched into fists in the ropes, and the flush has spread down his neck to his chest.
"Okay, you—you made your point," he says, and his voice has lost all its earlier bravado. He's not looking at you anymore, staring at the ceiling instead. "You actually did it. Congratulations."
"Not yet," you say, settling between his legs. "But I'm getting there."
You start at his ankles, pressing kisses to the inside of each one, then slowly work your way up his calves. Your hands follow the path of your mouth, touching and exploring, taking your time. When you reach his knees, you pause to bite gently at the sensitive skin there, and his legs twitch.
"What are you—" His voice cracks slightly. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Exploring," you say simply, continuing your journey up his inner thighs. The skin here is softer, more sensitive, you alternating between feather-light touches and firm pressure. You can see his cock getting harder with each passing moment, can see the way his abs clench every time you get close to where he wants you. But you don't touch him there. Not yet.
Instead, you move to his hips, tracing the sharp lines of his hip bones with your tongue. You bite down on one side, hard enough to leave a mark, and he actually gasps. The sound goes straight to your core.
"Shit—okay, that's—" He's breathing hard now, pulling at the restraints. "Not playing around are you?"
"Nope." You blow a stream of cool air across his cock, watching it twitch and leak. "I want you desperate for me."
You continue your torment, kissing and licking everywhere except where he needs you most. You trace every tattoo on his torso with your tongue, bite at his ribs, suck marks into his skin that will last for days. Every time his hips thrust up seeking friction, you pull back, denying him.
"Okay—fuck—" he gasps, and the word sounds like it's been torn from him. "Just—just touch me already."
"I am touching you," you say innocently, running your nails lightly down his sides.
"You know what I mean." His voice is strained, almost breaking. "Stop fucking around."
You look up at him, taking in the sight of your usually cocky best friend completely undone. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his pupils are blown wide, and he's actually trembling slightly. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"Beg me properly," you say, "and maybe I'll consider it."
His eyes flash with something between anger and arousal. "I'm not—I don't beg. That's not—"
You wrap your hand around his cock without warning, and whatever he was going to say dissolves into a strangled moan. You stroke him once, twice, feeling the weight and heat of him, then let go completely.
"No—fuck—wait—" He actually whines, his hips bucking up into empty air. "You can't do that—"
"Beg," you repeat, firmer this time.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, jaw clenched, clearly processing the whole thing to himself. Then something in him breaks.
"Please," he says, voice rough and desperate, like the word physically hurts to say. "Please touch me. I need—fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this—I need your hands on me, your mouth, anything. Please."
"That's better." You reward him by leaning down and licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. The taste of him, salt and musk and pure Sukuna, a low groan leaving his lips.
You take just the head into your mouth, sucking gently, and his whole body goes rigid. You work him slowly, taking him deeper with each bob of your head, using your hand to stroke what you can't fit. He's big enough that you can't take him all the way, but you do your best, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to drive him crazy.
"Shit—oh fuck—" His voice is wrecked, punctuated by gasps and groans. "How are you—that feels so fucking good—I didn't think you'd actually—"
You can feel him getting close, his thighs tensing, his cock pulsing in your mouth. His breathing becomes ragged, desperate, and you know he's right on the edge.
So you pull off completely.
"No—what—fuck—" He actually sounds anguished, his hips thrusting up desperately seeking your mouth again. "Why did you stop? I was so close—you can't just—"
"Because I'm not done playing with you yet." You sit back, watching him struggle against the restraints. His cock is flushed dark, leaking steadily, and you can see how badly he needs release.
You wait until his breathing calms slightly, until he's no longer right on the precipice, then lean down and take him in your mouth again. This time you're more aggressive, taking him deeper, faster, using your hand to twist around the base while your mouth works the head.
It takes less time to get him close this time. Within minutes he's gasping, his abs clenching rhythmically, his hands pulling at the ropes.
"I'm going to—please let me—I need to—don't stop this time, please don't stop—"
You pull off again.
"Fuck!" He actually shouts it this time, his whole body arching off the bed. "You can't keep doing this—I can't—this is torture—"
"You can," you say calmly, though your own arousal is making you ache. "And you will. Because you lost the bet, remember? I get to do whatever I want with you."
You watch him struggle, watch the desperation and frustration play across his face. His cock is so hard it looks painful, twitching against his stomach, leaving wet trails on his skin.
"Please," he begs, and there's no pride left in his voice now, just pure need. "Please let me come. I'll do anything. I was wrong, okay? I was wrong about you. Just please—"
"Anything?" You trail your fingers up his inner thigh, so close to where he needs you but not quite touching.
"Anything," he confirms desperately, his voice breaking. "Whatever- I'll never doubt shit you do just please—"
You take mercy on him and wrap your hand around his cock again, stroking firmly. He moans so loudly you're definitely going to get noise complaints, but you don't care. You work him with purpose now, your hand moving fast and tight, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head on each upstroke.
"That's it," you hum. "You're doing so well for me. So good, letting me play with you like this."
Your words seem to affect him as much as your touch. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry, and you can feel him getting close again.
This time, you don't stop.
"Let go. Show me how good I make you feel." You cooed and he does, with a shout that's probably going to wake your neighbors. His whole body goes rigid, his back arching off the bed as he comes harder than you've ever seen anyone come. Hot ropes of cum paint his stomach and chest, and you keep stroking him through it, milking every last drop from him.
When he finally stops pulsing, he collapses back against the pillows, chest heaving, looking absolutely wrecked. You think you're done, that you'll give him a moment to recover.
But then you remember—you're in charge here. And you're not quite satisfied yet.
Before he can fully catch his breath, you lean down and take his oversensitive cock back into your mouth.
His reaction is immediate and intense. "Wait—fuck—I can't—it's too much—what are you doing—"
You ignore his protests, sucking gently on the head while your hand continues to stroke him. He's still half-hard despite just coming, and you're determined to see just how far you can push him.
His voice breaks. "It's too sensitive—please—I just came—"
But his cock is already hardening again in your mouth, his body betraying his words. You work him slowly, carefully, knowing he's overstimulated but not letting up. Every touch makes him gasp and writhe, his legs trying to close but unable to with you between them.
"You can take it," you say, pulling off just long enough to speak before taking him deep again. "You're going to take everything I give you."
You're relentless now, using every trick you know to drive him crazy. You alternate between fast and slow, deep and shallow, adding your hand to stroke him while you focus on the head. His sounds are constant now—gasps and moans and broken pleas that only make you more determined.
It takes longer this time, his body fighting against the overstimulation even as it responds to your touch. But eventually, inevitably, you feel him getting close again. His thighs are trembling, his whole body covered in a sheet of sweat, and he's babbling incoherently.
"I can't—fuck—keep going—I'm going to—ah!—"
When he comes the second time, it's almost violent. His whole body convulses, pulling hard against the restraints, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a sob and a scream. There's less this time, but you swallow it down, continuing to suck gently until he's completely spent.
When you finally pull off, he's trembling all over. He looks completely destroyed, and the sight fills you with a satisfaction so deep it's almost frightening.
His hands try to reach for you, but the restraints pull taut, stopping him short. The realization crosses his face—he's still tied up, still completely at your mercy.
"Wait—" he starts, voice hoarse and wrecked, but you just smile.
"I'm not done with you yet."
"You're insane," he groans, but there's no real authority in his voice. He's still wrecked from what you did to him, still trembling slightly, and now the frustration of not being able to touch you is written all over his face. "I take back everything I said. You're fucking evil." But really he was enjoying every last bit of this. You slowly got off the bed, undressing yourself slowly, always making sure he was looking, which he happily did.
"I thought you liked when I teased you," you say innocently, getting on top of him now, grinding against him but not taking him inside. His cock slides through your folds, the head catching on your clit, and you both moan.
"I'm going to lose my fucking mind," he grits out, his hands clenching into fists above his head. "Please. Let me touch you. I need to touch you."
"Not yet," you murmur, and the sound he makes is almost anguished.
You reach between your bodies and position him at your entrance, then slowly—torturously slowly—sink down onto him.
The stretch is intense. He's big, bigger than anyone you've been with, and you have to take your time, working yourself down inch by inch. His whole body goes rigid beneath you, every muscle tense, and you can see him pulling against the restraints, desperate to grab you, to pull you down onto him faster.
"Shit—you're so tight—" His voice breaks. "So fucking perfect. Please let me—I need to touch you—I need to hold you—"
"No," you say simply, and when you finally take him all the way, you both pause, breathing hard. The feeling of being completely filled by him, of having him inside you while he's helpless beneath you, is intoxicating. You can feel him pulsing, can see the strain on his face as he fights against every instinct to thrust up into you.
"Move," he pleads, and there's nothing cocky left in his voice at all. "Please move."
You do, lifting yourself up slowly before sinking back down. The drag of him against your walls is exquisite, and you set a deliberate pace—slow and deep, making both of you feel every inch. You brace your hands on his chest for leverage, and his eyes are locked on where your bodies join, watching himself disappear inside you over and over.
"Faster," he begs, pulling hard against the ropes. "Please—let me—fuck—I need to touch you—I need to move—"
"I'm in charge, remember?" You lean down to bite at his jaw, and he actually whimpers. "I set the pace."
He growls in frustration, the sound raw and desperate. His hips buck up involuntarily, trying to drive deeper, but you lift yourself away, denying him.
"Stay still," you command, "or I'll stop completely."
"Okay—okay—I'll stay still—" he gasps, but he forces himself to go still, every muscle trembling with the effort of restraint. The way his cock twitches inside you tells you he loves it, even as he's going out of his mind with need. "Just don't stop. Please don't stop."
You continue your slow torture, rising and falling on him with full control, clenching around him occasionally just to hear him gasp. Your own need is building, the friction against your clit with each roll of your hips driving you higher. You speed up slightly, chasing your own pleasure now, using him exactly how you want.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough and strained. "Take what you need. Use me. Fuck—I wish I could see my hands on you—"
The desperation in his voice sends a spike of heat through you. You brace your hands on his chest and really start to move, riding him harder, faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps and his groans.
"Touch yourself," he demands, pulling against the restraints so hard you worry he might actually break them. "Please—I need to see it—"
You slide one hand down your body to circle your clit, and the added stimulation makes you cry out. Your rhythm falters, and he takes advantage, thrusting up into you.
"Yes—like that—" His eyes are wild, watching you pleasure yourself while riding him. "You look so fucking hot taking my cock—I can't believe this is happening—"
The dual sensation of being filled by him and stimulating yourself rapidly pushes you toward the edge. Your thighs are burning, your whole body covered in sweat, but you don't slow down. You're so close, chasing that peak—
"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice despite his own desperation. "You're clenching around me so tight. Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Please let me feel you come."
His words combined with your touch send you over. Your orgasm crashes through you, intense and overwhelming, and you throw your head back with a cry. Your body clamps down around him, pulsing rhythmically, and you hear him curse.
"Fuck—I'm going to—" He can barely get the words out, his whole body straining against the restraints. "Please—can I—can I come inside you—"
"Come," you gasp, still riding out your orgasm. "Come inside me."
That's all it takes. He thrusts up into you as much as he can while restrained, once, twice, then stills as he comes. You feel him pulsing inside you, filling you, and the sensation triggers another smaller wave of pleasure that makes you shudder.
When you finally still, both of you are trembling and gasping for air. You stay there for a long moment, feeling his heart hammering beneath your palms, watching the way his chest heaves with each breath.
"Untie me," he demands, and his voice is wrecked but there's an edge to it now. "Please. I need to touch you. I need—just untie me."
You consider making him wait longer, but the look in his eyes makes you reconsider. You reach up and slowly work the knots free, and the second his hands are released, they're on you.
He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you against him. His arms come around you, pulling you down to his chest, and for a moment he just holds you there, his face buried in your neck.
"You," he finally says, voice still wrecked, "are fucking evil. I thought I knew you. I had no idea you had that in you."
You laugh breathlessly against his skin. "You loved it."
He can't even deny it. Instead, he tilts your chin up and pulls you into a kiss—slower this time, deeper, but no less intense. When he finally breaks away, his grin is sharp despite his exhaustion.
"Next time," he says, his hands sliding possessively over your body, finally able to touch you the way he's been desperate to, "you're the one getting tied up. And I won't be nearly as nice as you were. I'm going to make you regret every second you made me beg."
The promise in his words sends a fresh wave of heat through you. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both." His hands slide down to grip your ass possessively. "But first, I think I need to remind you exactly who you're dealing with. You caught me off guard once. It won't happen again."
His mouth crashes down on yours, and you realize that while you may have won the bet, the night is far from over.
—————————————————————————
we love a sub sukuna once in a while:’] been trying to post this but it keeps bugging ugh
©sukuhands
dad’s best friend!hiromi fucks his bratty girl nasty with her panties pushed to the side *18+
the office door clicks shut behind you, softer than it should for how much attitude you carried through it.
your dad’s best friend, hiromi doesn’t even look up from the deposition transcript he’s marking. red pen scratches another line. “you’re supposed to be downstairs. with the others.”
“they’re boring.” you hop onto the edge of his desk anyway, thighs parting just enough that the hem of your skirt rides indecently high. “and you’ve been ignoring me for three hours.”
the pen pauses. his jaw flexes once. “i’m working.”
“you’re always working.” your foot nudges the inside of his knee under the desk, slow, deliberate. “thought you said you’d take a break when i asked nicely.”
he exhales through his nose. still doesn’t lift his eyes. “that wasn’t asking nicely. that was grinding against my thigh in the elevator like a cat in heat.” he corrects.
heat climbs your neck but you don’t back down. instead you lean back on your palms, arching just enough that your tits push against the thin cotton of your top. no bra and making sure he noticed that the second you walked in.
“maybe if you paid attention i wouldn’t have to resort to desperate measures.”
the pen finally drops, clatters against the wood and when he finally looks at you his eyes are dark, tired in that way that makes your stomach flip, like he’s already decided how this ends and he’s just waiting for you to stop pretending you have any control.
“get off my desk.”
you don’t move.
he stands slow, his body towers you. one big hand wraps your ankle, yanks you forward until your ass is right on the edge and your legs have to hook around his hips to keep balance. the other hand fists the front of your shirt, drags you upright until your mouths are a breath apart.
“brat,” he mutters, almost fond. almost.
then he kisses you like he’s punishing both of you for it. after all you’re his closest friend’s daughter. you both shouldn’t be doing this.
he, of all, should not be doing this to you. for fucks sake.
the kiss however? it’s messy. teeth and tongue and the faint metallic taste of the coffee he’s been living on since six a.m. his fingers find the hem of your skirt, shove it up to your waist in one rough motion.
you’re already soaked through the cotton of your panties; he groans low in his throat when his thumb presses against the damp fabric. “fuck. wii you look at that.” he pulls back just enough to watch his own hand work between your legs. “you always make this hard, y’know that. filthy little thing.”
you try to roll your hips but he pins you with a forearm across your stomach. “stay still.”
“hiromi—”
“no.” he hooks two fingers in the side of your underwear and yanks them to the side. the cool air hits your clit and you whimper. “you wanted my attention. you’re getting it.”
he doesn’t ease in.
one thick finger slides inside you, then two, curling immediately against that spot that makes your thighs shake. his thumb circles your clit at the same time with a steady pressure and of course, no mercy. your head tips back, mouth open on a silent cry.
“quiet,” he says against your throat. “thin walls.”
you bite your lip so hard you’re sure you’re tasting copper.
he fucks you with his fingers until you’re clenching, fluttering, right on the edge—then pulls out completely. you whine desperate, hips chasing nothing.
“shh.” he’s already undoing his belt, the metal clinking loud in the quiet office. “you’ll get what you want. just not how you want it.”
his cock springs free, heavy and flushed dark at the tip. he doesn’t bother with a condom; you’re both too far gone for that conversation again. instead he notches himself at your entrance, drags the head through your slick once, twice, coating himself.
then he thrusts in to the hilt in one brutal stroke. both of you making small, barely a whisper, inhumane sound.
your nails dig into his shoulders. the stretch burns in the best way, fills you so completely you can barely breathe. he doesn’t give you time to adjust. just grips your hips and fucks into you hard against the desk, papers sliding, pen rolling to the floor.
every thrust shoves you further across the wood. your skirt’s bunched around your waist, panties stretched to the side, tits bouncing under your shirt with each slam. he watches it all with half-lidded eyes, jaw tight, sweat already beading at his temple.
“this what you wanted?” his voice is low, wrecked. “hm? wanted me to fold you over my work and fuck the attitude out of you?”
you can’t answer. every time you open your mouth all that comes out is a broken moan.
he angles his hips, hits that spot again and again until your vision whites out at the edges. one hand leaves your hip to wrap around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. you know hiromi would never hurt or make you uncomfortable in any way.
“look at me.”
you struggle when your eyes snap to his.
“good girl.” his thumb strokes along your pulse. “now come. make a mess on my desk so i have to think about it every time i sit here tomorrow.”
that does it.
you shatter around him, clenching so hard he curses under his breath. your orgasm rips through you, thighs trembling, back arching off the desk. he fucks you through it, relentless, chasing his own release.
when he comes it’s with a low, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he fills you deep. hot pulses that make you whimper all over again. he stays buried inside you for a long minute, breathing hard against your neck.
then he pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out of you and leak onto the polished wood.
“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “ruined my desk.”
you’re still catching your breath when he tucks himself away, fixes his tie, smooths his shirt like nothing happened.
he leans down, kisses you once and it’s soft this time, almost sweet.
“next time you want attention,” he says against your lips, “wait for my lunch break.”
he straightens himself. picks up his pen from the floor. sits back down.
and goes right back to marking that fucking deposition like you aren’t still leaking him onto his case files.
you stay there another minute, legs shaking, heart hammering, then you slide off the desk, fix your skirt, and walk out.
knowing full well you’ll be back tomorrow.
same time, same attitude.
☆ THE ACCIDENT - BAKUGOU x FEM!READER
“You said you want to work off the debt,” he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice reduced to a breathy growl, “I can think of some work for that bratty little mouth.”
☆ SYNOPSIS | You hit pro hero Dynamight’s car and can’t afford to take care of it. He gets an idea for how you can work off the damages — but you gotta do it right here, right now.
☆ WORD COUNT | 6.5k
☆ RATING | nsfw +18, minors & ageless blogs dni!
☆ CONTAINS | dark content, (extremely) dubcon, noncon elements, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, breath play, lots of spit play, oral (bkg receiving), rough facefucking, public / voyeurism kinda, nonconsensual photo, fantasizing, use of degrading names (bitch, whore, slut), bkg is an overall asshole + physically intimidates reader
☆ A.N. | this is extremely self-indulgent lol — and also my first time posting a fic, kinda nervous ! i have plans for this to become a series ~ hope you enjoy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
You would never admit it out loud, but you tended to be a distracted driver. After a long day of work, it was easy to slip into the comfort of your own mind as you sped down the mostly empty highway. Your fantasies kept you company on the drive, the haze of daydreaming like a plush blanket for your tired mind. It was nice — it made the drive go by faster, but it meant you probably weren’t as attentive of a driver as you should be.
That’s why, as you’re making the commute home through the back roads like you always do, you don’t notice the army green sports car barreling towards you from behind in the next lane over. Engrossed in whatever fanfiction situation you’re cooking up in your mind, you start to merge into the right lane, anticipating an upcoming turn. You glance at your rear view mirror as you do, not bothering to look over your right shoulder or put your signal on — you hadn’t noticed any other cars on the road with you for miles anyways. Except there was another car on the road with you and it was going way over the speed limit, racing into your blind spot before you can get a glimpse of it.
It all happened in a split second — you couldn’t even register exactly what had happened. The piercing sound of tires screeching and metal scraping fills your ears, then you’re gripping your steering wheel, desperately trying to keep control of your car as it veers off of the road and into uneven dirt. You press your foot on the brake instinctively, your steering wheel jerking in your grip as your car lurches over the dirt then finally comes to a harsh stop that makes your body hurl forward from the momentum.
You pant, your heart fluttering in your chest and the high of adrenaline keeping you from forming a coherent thought. Your eyes dart down to your body and your hands finally come off of the steering wheel — you had been gripping it so hard it hurt — so you can pat yourself, looking for any sign of injury. No pain, no blood — you sigh, relief setting in. You realize your airbag hadn’t deployed, so you reach up and pull down the visor above you, flipping open the mirror and inspecting yourself in case you’d injured your face when you’d lurched forward. All seems fine — except for the man you finally notice in your mirror stomping up to your car.
ARE YOU A GOOD GIRL? jjk men.
feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma
sum. d!ck inside, gasp and moan filling the room. your boyfriend pays you a visit and one praise they have you cum just in a second, and what do they do? oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that’ they said.
warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, established 23 you & 31 them, praise kink, petname(s), name-calling(s), overstimulated, dirty talk,
GOJO SATORU
your dorm room was dim, just the amber glow of your bedside lamp flickering against the walls and casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of your bodies. his shirt was tossed somewhere by your desk chair, your panties slung haphazardly over your open textbook—because of course gojo had bent you over your desk first, saying something like “might as well break in your study spot properly, baby.”
but now you were on the bed, flat on your back, his silver hair a messy halo as he hovered over you, hips grinding into yours at a slow, relentless pace. skin hot and sticky, your legs trembling around his waist, your breath coming out in ragged little gasps.
“look at you,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple as he dragged his cock out to the tip, just to slam it back in. “fuck, baby—you’re taking me so good.”
off the table ˚₊· gojo satoru + nanami kento. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞
── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : f!reader, explicit smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex (gojo fingers you in a restaurant), slight!humiliation, fingering (f!receiving), spit kink, pet names, hints at a threesome, pet names, this fic is so unserious i love it ･｡･ w.c. 6.8k. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : being in public, at a table full of colleagues will not stop gojo satoru from putting his hands under your dress. ໒꒰ྀི ⸝⸝⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა ⊹ this idea was born from staring at gojo’s pretty fingers and is still one of my favorite fics that i have ever written hope u all enjoy <333
gojo satoru had deactivated his infinity.
no one else noticed, of course. they didn’t notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere. didn’t feel the tiny rift in the fabric of space being snapped back into place. or the defeated howl of an enemy of the six eyes kicking rocks because they’d missed the opportunity to clobber the insufferable idiot over the head. most would only realize it if they tried to strike him and the blow landed, or if he gave one of his enthusiastically unwanted hugs and you felt the warmth of his biceps enveloping you.
though you’d need a top university professor to understand even the basic science behind his inherited, limitless powers, you could never miss it.
you, an empath, also knew this meant trouble. gojo usually wore the technique like one would a warm fur coat during a blizzard. a second skin, if you may.
so yes, this definitely meant trouble.
but for who?
all sorcerers ( excluding beloved students ) operating from the tokyo and kyoto campuses have been summoned to a secure location for a meeting of utmost importance. the meeting of utmost importance? principle gakuganji’s birthday dinner at a michelin star, rooftop restaurant. you have to admit, the paid night off from exorcising curses is nice and the place is exquisitely beautiful. romantic, warm lighting illuminates dark oak tables and lush zen gardens. minimalistic, artful plates are served at a price that would make your credit card read the check and weep tears of debt.
the setting is pleasant and quiet with sorcerers you could almost call friends drinking responsibly and chatting comfortably. or it would’ve been quiet, if not for your boyfriend laughing himself hoarse at the thought of the higher-ups bribing sorcerers with a night off just to get someone to attend a party for the unlikable principle of the kyoto campus. he laughed himself into the other sorcerers ignoring him completely, so now his attention is completely on you.
needless to say, you’ve been feeling wary the entire time. you know that when he didn’t have something to stimulate that big brain of his— especially during events like this— he’s a complete hellion to society. and society, in this scenario, is always you.
oh, no.
it’s funny how you already know what he’s up to. it’s even funnier how, at first, he kept you at an arm’s length, in fear of you orbiting too close and seeing too much. now, you know things about him. sickeningly sweet details like his favorite dessert, his greatest fear, the brand of shampoo he uses.
and most importantly, his nastiest fucking kink.
gojo satoru’s guidebook to public sex, rule #1:
getting caught will not stop me from busting a nut.
MDNI/ADULT CONTENT────FRAT!KUNA knows NERD!READER'S got a fat crush on NERDJO, but he's not the one balls-deep fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you right now, is he?
Ripped jeans, stale-ass white t-shirt doused in that obnoxious cologne, the snapback with the pearly-white grin and tanned skin and horrendous body count?... yeah...
Frat!kuna was definitely not your type.
You wanted the sweet-tempered, the I-drop-my-books-on-purpose-in-front-of-you-so-we-can-have-an-excuse-to-talk, the I-jerk-off-to-just-the-picture-of-your-pretty-face, the calculus-as-foreplay freak in the thickly rimmed glasses that matched your personality to a T.
But the reality? Satoru was holed up studying in his dorm room and never replied to you. Yup. Go fuck yourself, I guess; he never entertained anything that distracted him, and you were definitely a distraction alright.
Now. Okay. Sukuna? Guy with the broken hearts strung behind him like pearl rows? Guy who kept a tally of how much poonay he got on his wall RIGHT next to the bed he fucked you on?
Not at all the kinda guy you originally set your sights on.
But now he's fucking your glasses clean off your nose and muttering against the damp nape of your neck while his cock pistons in and out of your pussy.
"Ngh, nerdy pussy's just m' fuckin' favorite... " he grunts like a feral, rabid little beast of a man while rutting into you from behind like this, "god, 'n you take it so well, don't you? Satoru could never fuck you like I do and you know it."
"Don't say that! I like him," you blubbered, but he just shoved you into the pillow with a grunt.
"uh-huh, sure, keep saying that while you're cumming on my cock." he humored with a bastardly smile.
"fffuck you!" your moan dragged, while his cock dragged along your walls juuust right. "Do what you want, I'm not gonna cum this time!" you challenged.
"Wanna fuckin' bet?" he growled, excitement piqued because of course a challenger like him loves a challenge, "If you lose, I get to cum inside."
"... fuck." you worried, because now he started fucking you like he meant business.
Hot cock throbbing violently all through your cunt, totally drenched, Sukuna began picking up the pace and fucking into you with the sole goal to make your sweet pussy fucking gush.
He didn't need to see your period tracker app to know you were ovulating, 'cuz his dick had enough pussy intuition... that, plus the way you approached orgasm wayyy too easily, and how you creamed up his cock so messily, were enough to tell him you were sensitive and ready.
He knew pussy better than you knew your calc textbook—uhh, in other words, you were fucked.
Because now he was putting your pussy under a big dick exam, driving into you, doing everything he could to make holding it in impossible for you.
Those backshots were lumbering, sluggish, HEAVY. Each time he hit into your ass, your entire weight jolted forward, his balls smacking loud and clear into your drenched, fucked-raw pussy.
"fuckfuckfuck!"
"—gonna cum?"
"nooo!" you resisted, clenching your core to try and hold back from reaching that cliff.
"yes you are." Sukuna decided.
A bearishly large hand started bullying your perky little clit, nose sniffing up your scent like your pheromones was its new favorite drug.
The other hand? Absolute titty grab of the century. He kneaded at your breast, meanly flicked your pert nipples.
Kuna made you crane your neck back to look him directly in his darkened eyes. Some sorta fucked up yet cute as hell smile marked out his dimple—he had just the one, and it dented deeper than Satoru's.
And you know what else was better about him? Everything.
I mean, he moaned your name when he came, what more could you want? Right in your ear, too, all up-close and personal like he really wanted to make sure you heard every syllable.
He liked you so ridiculously fucking much that his dick could throb I LOVE YOU in morse code inside your cunt.
And his creampie was thick, gooey. The man creamed you like a god damn donut and you were still giving him that undecided, skeptical look-over.
If his creampie wasn't enough to make you fall in love with him, maybe his sweet post-sex gestures would do the trick.
Always after fucking you into ditzy ruin, Sukuna made a point to clean your glasses.
Not just a quick swipe and put back on your face, no.
I mean he rubbed and rubbed the lenses with an unnecessarily slow thoroughness, cleaning them with the hem of his cheap cologne-drenched white shirt.
"Hell naw," you groaned, "I reek of sex and Axe. This is horrible."
Sukuna smirked, continuing to clean your already very clean glasses.
"I can't see."
"That's awful."
"Give them back."
"For a kiss."
Look, his biceps were fat, he could hold you out of reach from your glasses with ease and he's done it before. So you just kissed him hard and tore your glasses out of his paw the moment his grip loosened.
Of course, he had to steal a little more than one kiss, being the greedy gremlin he is, wet lips capturing yours, hands at your temples rising up into your hair to messy it up even more.
Of course... he kissed you till you literally couldn't breathe.
"Mmf."
"Mhm?"
"Enuff."
"Fine." he grumbled, parting from your lips.
He looked at you and cocked his head to the side, adorably, staring at you with this docile expression but speaking in that viciously husky voice which was anything but docile.
"Come on, give up on that loser. I'm bigger than him anyways."
"How would you know!" you huffed.
Kuna... grinned? He just grinned. And that told you everything you had to know.
AN me?? Writing for Sukuna??? I'M ALSO SHOCKED????? This is just a trash thing I concocted at 1 AM after a long day. Forgive me for the quality. I was inspired by my glasses slipping off n I wanted frat!Kuna to fuck my glasses off my face. Okay and this is hardly proofread so just pretend the errors aren't there. If there's a sentence that didn't end just know it's now 2 AM and i'm zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
MATSUKAWA ISSEI x f!reader ♡ 18+, spit kink, spitting in mouth, public...foreplay — requested
“I would pay her to spit in my mouth,” Makki groans, dragging a hand through his hair as he looks down at his phone screen in distress.
Oikawa snatches the device out of his hands, peers at it, and shrugs before taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, that’s valid.”
Iwaizumi leans over, brows furrowed. “She looks like she’d step on your balls.”
Makki tips back his chair onto two legs and wistfully replies, “That would be nice.”
All the background bar noise in the world couldn’t hope to help remove you from witnessing this conversation against your will. Hanamaki’s recent foray into dating apps has been A Time.
You twirl the stick of the lollipop currently lodged in your mouth before tapping it against your lips. “Please don’t tell me that’s your conversation starter.”
Makki sticks his tongue out at you. “At least I’m getting laid.”
Sighing, you point the lollipop at him. “You can’t just ask a girl to spit in your mouth out of nowhere.”
He throws his hands in the air, looks to Oikawa and then Iwaizumi, but both of them are distracted on their phones.
“Mattsun, back me up.”
The man sitting beside you glances up from his own phone, fingers loosely grasping the tip of his beer bottle as he slowly rotates it along its bottom edge. He blinks. “What?”
“Can you ask a girl to spit in your mouth for no reason?”
Mattsun leans back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. You try to ignore the heat that flares in your abdomen as the outline of his biceps briefly strains against the sleeves of his black sweater.
(It’s bad enough—the way he’s already got those very sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. The fact that you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid staring at the veins that trail down his forearms all goddamn night.)
“For everyone’s sake, please tell him no.”
The corner of Mattsun’s mouth quirks upward as he glances over at you. Your toes curl in your sneakers at the weight of his attention.
“Sure you can,” he says, lifting up his beer and taking a long swig from the bottle.
“HA—”
“Oh come on—”
Glass hits the table with a resounding thud as Mattsun puts down the bottle and leans into your space, two fingers closing over the stick of your lollipop before he slowly pulls it out of your mouth with a ‘pop’.
“Spit in my mouth.”
“Change your tone.” Nanami says it so casually, not even looking up from his watch as he carefully winds it. He’s sitting in his usual spot in the couch, tie half undone and draped down his chest. “I don’t tolerate brats.”
You huff, even stomping your foot a little just for exaggeration, but Nanami doesn’t budge, still fiddling with his watch. “I won’t ask again.”
“Or what?” you spit, “You’ll spank me?”
That earns you a quirk of his brow, something so small but serious that your stomach immediately drops.
“Sit down.”
You move, recognizing that low, gravely tone in his voice as impatience, but he holds a hand up when you try and join him on the couch. “Floor.” he points to his feet.
You hesitate, then sink to your knees. You know the position he wants you in- head up, hands folded on your lap, mouth closed- but you look down indignantly, ready to quip.
He surprises you with a warm, large palm cupping your cheek.
Gently, Nanami caresses your chin with his thumb and pointer, looking down his nose with a placid smile. With a delicate yet firm roll of his wrist, he tilts your head up, making sure you’re meeting his eyes before he continues. “I don’t need cheap tricks to remind you who’s in charge.”
The jungle of belt buckle surprises you as his free hand slowly drags his belt free. “But if that’s what you need to fix your attitude-” he says it slowly, “I’ll happily oblige.”
₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ "𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫." | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bau!unsub!female!reader x dom!spencer
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 521
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut with a little plot, praise, dominant spencer, he get's a little forceful
