Im Here For A Good Time Not Long Time 🤪

What can I say , I like what I like She/Her 23

[tonycries]

TRACKSTAR?!

Synopsis. He’s not running a marathon with you, he’s fúcking one.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, MARATHONS, overstím, creampíes, cúmflation, dúmbifícation, making them whímper, cervíx kíssing, breaking the bed, ínnapropríate use of powers, pússydrúnk men, true form Sukuna, dp, bréeding, p talking, they’re FÉRAL, manhandIing, BÚLGES, spítting, cúmplay, L bómbs, boss!Higuruma, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week!!

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 5 rounds

“C’mooon- only round five n’ you’re already this gone, mama?” Toji departs a breathy whistle from his scarred lips, jaded eyes rolling in time with your cute whimpers.

And you’re just trembling underneath him - your legs turned into complete mush and your eyes permanently homed all the way in the back of your head. A big fat wad of creamy white drips out from your sensitive slit and makes you groan– “As if you’re any hck! better.”

Grumbling gruffly, “Huh? S’that backtalk, doll?”

“M-maybe…”

Well- what else could he have expected after completely breaking your rickety bedframe, two desks, and damn near the floor you were drooling all over.

Toji’s plush pecs grinding firmly against your shoulder, scorching skin-against-skin as one beefy arm loops underneath to keep you arched. The other patting that inflationary, throbbing lil’ bulge rested inside your tummy with a leer, “Because all she’s tellin’ me s’that you’re gonna take this next round like a champ.”

Next.

A marathon - fuck, a marathon.

So many rounds upon countless rounds and he was still aching for more - the fat n’ girthy shaft of his painful cock drip-drip-dripping with even more sappy precum. Flooding your sheeny entrance as if he was slobbering, the cutting edge of his mushroom tip swirls around your milked entrance to open you up further. 

“Yeah…” Toji drawls under his breath, low. Pinkish tongue flicking out at the pretty, pretty vision of your ruined pussy– “Tellin’ me she’s gonna t-take it alright.”

And if he stuttered, if his voice broke then you don’t notice - because soon enough your brain melts into nothingness as he traces your teary slit with a harsh jab of his crowned head. Dribbling veering into straight-up bawling from between your legs. 

Your head lolls back stupidly, striking the plane of his sharp collarbone. Hands scrambling for anything on the floor right about now, “Oh- oh, please. Toooji–!”

“What, huh? S’that pretty lil’ ngh- head scrambled already?” A hoarse snicker breezes out from above you, in unison with the splintered creeeak! that resonates out once one of his clammy palms press up against the nearby wall. 

No- you want to say. 

But the only thing that spills out of your spit-glued lips is a few whimpering wails of Toji’s name, your knees weakening as he keeps rutting his bludgeoning cock deeper and deeper. 

Fucking you like an animal. He was so big that you could feel his pounding veins scrape every inch of your insides, lightning bolts rubbing up against your snug walls in a way that was so sensual. Zig-zagging across your gooey pussy as your bottom lip catches on your teeth. “Harder h-harder.”

So dizzy that you felt like collapsing-

“Whoops- upsy daisy.” Before you can even blink your tear-stuck lashes, Toji cradles your neck with his bulging bicep. In exactly the lecherous way that makes your mouth spill over with a splash of excited slobber, seeping right down his toned arm. “Tch, made a mess too.”

Manhandling you like you’re boneless, you’re pressed up against every rippling muscle. Every glissading ab, a hot trickle of sweat drips down from Toji’s temple.

“Please- nghhh please, it feels t-too good–”

“Too good, huh?” And you already know he’s rolling his eyes lazily. Grouching out, “M’not even all the way hah- inside this cute lil’ pussy. So tight s’like she’s gonna fuuuuuck- break.”

The image made you want to squirm, held down by the briefest, barest flex of his arms. Knocking out every ounce of wheezed air stuffed inside your lungs, Toji gazes down at you when you moan and sneers.

“And look at that- she’s still throbbing.” His free hand’s flicking over your relentless tummy bulge until ivory cum splatters down your shivering thighs. “Lettin’ out a damn hngh- fountain, too.” Skin glued together with the mess he’d made inside– and somewhere far off in the distance, your eardrums register a sharp snap! 

Because Toji Fushiguro was out of control. Out of his mind. 

Sharp tendrils of his inhuman power breaking every piece of furniture inside of your heady bedroom, and making his slender hips rut with a sharp spank! It echoes, the sound.

Clap after clap after clap where he’s cluttering your velvety dripping insides with that fattened circumference, gooping out splashing wads of precum that skids right on over to the target of your tummy bulge. Inflating you up even more. 

“Tight fuckin’ th-thing–” He’s gasping into the crook of your neck, eyes ogling down at the globular bump through his shaggy Stygian bangs. So sensitive. So tender, the underside of his cock was flinching with every slip n’ slide deeper. Wincing at your saturated clench, “-fit- fit- fit, goddammit.”

Shit- he’d plugged you so full with glutinous bucketloads of cum that every snagging buck pulled your walls so taut. 

Struggling to even fit, he’s rovering his thick fingertips over to that invisible line he was jackhammering inside you and pushing. Hard. Snickering to himself as your pussy torrents out a milky flood with a splurch!

You think you might be cumming - you think you don’t even realize as your vision of the wall splinters with splotches of pure white. Clawing down his sweat-simmered skin, your throat tastes rusty with a strained moan of “T-Tooooji—!”

“Yeah- yeah yeah, doll. Scream f’me. Even she’s louder than you.” Smoothing over the doughy patch of his palm on top of your glittery pussymound. His words carry out over the vulgar paps of flesh, stinging your mounds. And even the scratchy gliiiide of Toji’s tufted happy trail leaves your skin all tender, “Scream- scream, because…”

And then there’s a sudden crack!

Thundering across your ears; you’d have thought that your poor bedroom floor would be the last thing that even Toji wouldn’t be able to break. You’d have thought you were safe down here. 

But his hand plants away from the wall, a crumbling handprint embedded deep into the plaster. Oh. 

That very same one patting your womb - with both his calloused fingers outside your tummy, and the ruby-red cockhead on his vast shaft. Bottoming out until he was shoveled balls-deep, he shivers. Primally, “-because this next one’s gonna be a biiiig one, mama.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 8 rounds

“I want to be your…cumdump, Kento.”

That was what had started it - that was exactly what had broken whatever was left of Nanami Kento’s sanity until he’d bent you over and taken you in the lewdest, rawest mating press right then n’ there on your marble kitchen counter. 

His thick, frigid wedding ring roams between your swollen pussy folds, peaking right between those slippery edges to watch the way your pretty face twists into a whine. “Are- are you hah! alright? If you can’t, darling-” 

“No no- I want it, Ken–” Your words huff into a pout almost as much as your delicious lips were, and Nanami finds himself leaning in to smear a laaaazy peck. “-want you to fuck me rough- again, please?”

“Aww, my love…an eighth round? S’gonna be a biiig stretch, y’know?” And for a second you think he simply won’t agree, for a second you think he’ll simply kiss you dizzy and make slow, sensual love to you. 

But, no.

No- what your husband does next is sternly loosen the yellow speckled tie still stuck to his perspired neck, cording it tightly around your own. A sinful little loop that pulls your head off of the frosty counter and up to him.

“-then you better open ‘er up wiiide, m’kay?”

There was something hard in his rugged tonality, something so…feral. And the only thing more feral were his hips, prying apart your puckered lips until you were gasping around his plumped-up girth. Every ridge and vein pushing and pushing until his massive cock was working you open - you could never get used to Nanami’s sheer size. 

“Please-” You’re clawing down his half-open shirt, drenched through with such slabs of sweat until you could count every ab. Your head throws back as he further thumbs open your filthy hole with a soppy squelch–! “Please please please-”

Stretching and stretching. He couldn’t get enough of you - your rubbery hole was already opened up so that he could take you maddeningly. 

Nanami’s aching tip was burning hot, slurping up your gooey insides with such famishment. And every pistoning drill had his golden happy trail itching your perked clit until you saw overstimulated stars- 

“M’kissing you here.” He gruffs out from the depths of his guttural throat, veering an index in a straight line down your cunt. “And here.” Mazing into one of your favorite spots, battering a bruise. “And here…”

Skidding a stripe of pre just millimeters below your throbbing g-spot; your melty insides clench oh-so-adorably at the sensation and Nanami finds himself almost cumming. A singular thin, stringy knot of seed dribbling out of his sensitive orifice and targeting your g-spot - almost like he’d planned it.

He’s smiling as your chest heaves with a wail– “And m’kissing you ngh- there.” Your lips tremble as he leans over to nibble down on your dewy-glossed lips like a gummy, “My favorite. This here-” Your thighs jittery uncontrollably as he draws a firm line across, “-love you up to right here. Love you more.”

“K-Ken- oh!”

And it might be the eighth- was it? You think you’ve lost fucking count. The only thing on your mind right now was the way he hiked a capped knee over to angle his drilling hips just so. 

“Mmm– keep these open.” A softened palm latches onto the underside of your thighs and splays you out until your legs hit your tits, such a burning stretch. And yet, Nanami himself was even hotter - even more feverish. Blond bangs tickling your face- “Squeeze- squeeze.”

Before you can even think of listening to his spat-out words, he’s slouching his head back to dart your pussy like a fat splat of spittle. Formulating a shiny sheen right over your entrance, “My pussy- fuck! Squeeze, my wife, m’gonna make sure you c-can feel allll of it. Gonna make sure.”

The swell of his vein-covered shaft protrudes against some of your sweetest spots, probing. “I feel- feel it-”

“Yeahhh—? S’she memorizing it?”

It’s like every vulgar whack has Nanami more pussydrunk by the sultry seconds. 

Pound after pound that made the counter shake dangerously with his sheer force, you’re sure that if you tilted your head enough you’d see the way that his toned pelvis was stinging red from his bulky base. 

The driveling crown of Nanami’s cock slips across your womb and you cry out, letting him clench that vice-like tie even tighter. Needier. 

“She- she is.” You’re croaking out, embarrassingly belated. Oblivious to the way his molten eyes widen, heavy lashes fluttering furiously to remain open. A thin line of saliva leaks from your mouth, which Nanami tenderly wipes away. “Want you to- fuck- faster. Harder.”

Oh. 

You evil, evil thing. Lengthy digits curling into a fist, he’s slamming it down inches away from your head at the white-hot sparks of pleasure that sprints through Nanami’s body. He wasn’t just fucking you on the kitchen counter, he was fucking you into it. 

Meaty pecs heaving with a wheeze– “M-marry me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Marry me.” Damn near ten inches that drove crazily inside each n’ every time, pummeling out a clean circular bruise on the pinpoint of your spongy cervix. “Marry me marry me marry- fuck!” 

He feels the moment you cum before even you do, a sparking hot flash of heat. Not even electricity, not even peaks, just sizzling tingles that make your dripping wet cunt spit out a few more pearly drops of sappy slick.

“Ken- fuckfuckfuck–” Your back arches almost completely off of the cool surface, and right into his arms. “-m’cumming m’cumming–”

The metallic frames of his glasses sag even loser, making him look such a mess. All burnished flush, hooded eyes, and a sleekly slobbering mouth that shapes to form- “Mhmm— cum, cum, my love- n’then m’gonna fuck! wife you up. Make you my gorgeous wife.”

He really was that pussydrunk.

Your shimmering lips crash mindlessly into his and your usually-stoic husband finds himself bloating even larger. Wrenching your head back with every snagging catch of his rock-hard cock, ba-dump–! goes the very bottom of your watery pussy. 

Your words are soaked in such utterly loving, “We’re already married, Ken–”

“O-oh.” You never thought you’d hear the day that Nanami Kento stutters - almost even whines. Looking helplessly towards your prettily fucked-out face, and then your matching rings. Oh. 

“Then…” But you can’t revel in your accomplishment too much before he rendered you thoughtless with yet another splosh of scalded seed overstuffing your soppy cunt. Spraying down your cervix until you could feel every loooong slide of those heavy ribbons. Eyes widening- did he just cum from realizing you two were married…Nanami grunts, Nanami begs.“-make me a dad?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 7 rounds

“Mmm, gorgeous–” He’s purring, cherry-pink lips now all stained white with the leaky remnants of his cum. Clinging his greedy maw ‘round your seed-frothed clit and draaagging, “Ya taste even sweeter after the heh- sixth round.”

You’re whimpering, tastebuds overflowing with the saturated taste of your slick saliva. It gurgles at the back of your throat and gushes the very instant Geto flops his prolonged tongue inside your filthy hole, “Sugu- Suguru–”

“Mmm– what’s that?”

“Sugu, I want-”

Before you can even think of finishing your sentence, Geto’s slender fingers come slamming down to leave your dripping pussymound aching. Spank! The manicured crescents of his nails just slightly catching on the hood of your clit while he pinches and leaves you breathless-

“N’ who was talking to you?” The sloped tip of his nose meanly nudges your pert nub, flaring out a scorched huff of laughter right where it struck you the most. “Mhm- s’rude ta talk outta turn, you know?”

And Geto’s gulping so loud it’s just filthy. Letting his heated mouth open wiiide enough that you’re displayed with all the dewy droplets of syrupy white that glisten down his dampened muscle. 

Your thighs try helplessly to clench together, mussing up his long, inky locks - in a way he’d never admit that he fucking loves. “B-but, Suguru…” He really doesn’t make it easy for you, thrusting his tongue in rapid, greedy gyrations in and out. Mewling, “Really wan’ you to- to fuck me again.”

Ah, there it went - Geto halts, he gasps - his sanity.

Again? Again? 

Oh. And somewhere in the back of his husked throat, he giggles. Has the audacity to fucking giggle whilst his eyeliner-smudged irises drift up to your fucked-out expression, the way you were so needy still. Begging, actually. 

“R-round seven?”

He was so pretty - all tear-glittered eyes, lips that were swollen and sopping wet with oozing dredges of his own creamy white seed. He looked like he was about to fucking ravish you to soothe his permanently-drenched throat.

The only thing you can do is fucking nod - before Geto Suguru makes lecherous use of his swift battle prowess to latch a hand on the side of your waist and flip you over. 

Sweat-simmered abs kissing up against your arched back, his long bangs tickling down your spine. Down, down, down– inches over where he’s swabbing your drooling cunt with three repeated strikes. One to make your pussy just whoosh! with syrupy gumdrops of sap - coating a burnished lacquer where his glinting piercing was-

“Heh- yer more honest here, gorgeous.” The stretchy band of your hole rings out with a burning streeeetch once Geto’s teasing you with the sweltering hot crown of his length. 

So unfairly wide that your teary eyes run away to the back of your head without even a single inch sunken in. Your boyfriend catches the sensitive slit underneath his pretty swollen mushroom tip right where your entrance was, “Mmm– spilling out so much. Take it- take it then, if you want it so bad.”

“More–” Your skin pebbles with so many endless goosebumps at the chilling orb of his Prince Albert’s piercing probin’ your cunt open. In in in- “Fuh-fuuuuck, gimme- gimme more.”

“Greedy girl.”

Dark yukata only half-off, pinning you down. And yet even seven rounds wouldn’t be enough to ever get you used to how truly big he was. Massive. 

Fuck- he’s cradling his half-soft, sensitive hilt with those lengthy fingers of his. Tight. Pulling and pulling in tight, rapid tugs so that his aching cock bloats even harder. Whispering a staccato of ‘c’mon c’mon c’mon’, either side of his circumference molding your melty walls never-endingly open. You whine as his throbbing tip starts perking even deeper inside your innards, making himself so fucking painfully hard for you.

“O-ohhhh so big.” You’re gurgling out, knees skittering to a shake on your screeching mattress. “S-Suguru why are you so ngh- big.”

Ruby-red, blushed so fucking pink that it matched the maidenly flush overtaking Geto’s handsome features. “That’s what ya get for thinking more with this hck! pussy than that head.” A creamy ring of cum outlines your entrance as he bottoms out, tender balls-deep. “So take it- take it then.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so tight that it made him groooan pornographically. 

Knotted slivers of spit dolloping out from between his cracked lips and onto your back, Geto’s sneaking a foot down on your hazed head and holding you trapped. Eyed locked on what he could see of your expression while he delved deeply in— 

Every minute change, every tiny squeal while his heavy cock drips out hot precum exactly on the target of your g-spot. As if his circular piercing was a spotlight tugging on every tender spot mapped out, “Yeahhh– atta girl.” 

You always melted into such mush whenever he cooed at you that way, yeowling out while he opened up every cute lil’ crevice. “Sugu, kiss- kiss?”

How cute, his long, eyelined waterlines flutter with the overstimulated urge to pass out right then and there. 

Instead, Geto’s dragging his neatly-trimmed pelvis against the mound of your jiggling ass until your skin scratches raw. “A lil’ kiss- you mean- here?” Pointing a cute lil’ splotch of thick precum where your sloppy entrance was clenching and unclenching furiously. “Orrrr here?” Another barreling poke near where your g-spot was, digging the curvature of his piercing right inside. “Or– oh, you like that, huh, filthy girl?”

“Yes- yesyesyes fuck–!”

Thwack! You’re hit with the edges of his knobbled digits, and then another second strike with a ropey splatter of saliva. “What’d I say about talking out of turn, gorgeous?”

Before you can respond, Geto flicks over a slash of his beaded piercing right over your clit. “Or…” Right prior to the way that rasping breath of his grows shaky. Unsteady. And no sooner are you hit with the realization that you’re positively walloped with the saturated swash of his stringy cum clogging you up. Stretchy, squeezing himself inside you as if he was trying to milk himself dry - and he truly was.

Bumping out an inflationary lil’ pouch where he was knocking on your womb, you felt so full that you couldn’t even breathe. 

Finally, finally against your lips– you taste Geto’s cum and overstimulated tears. He whimpers, “-here?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 4 ½ rounds

Choso’s crying, he thinks he’s blubbering. Big, great tears that spill from the ends of his eyes and stream down his scorchingly blushed cheeks, “C-can I put it inside again, baby–?”

And almost as if he was afraid of what you would say, your poor boyfriend’s angling your leg just a lil’ higher from behind. Watery mahogany eyes fixed permanently on your expression from behind, on his side - every minute change whilst he slithers his blushing red tip inside to wrench out the sloppiest sluuurp–!

Once. Twice. Three filthy times in succession. 

You just leak in milky ribbons of cum that he’d pumped inside of you, all full until his rounded hilt was dripping wet in sticky rings upon rings of it. Drenched.

“Ohhh- pretty pussy. What a pretty pussy.” His breathy gasps humidify your neck, heaving. Leering down, “Hey there— pretty.” Not even talking to you. Panting— oh, and you’re sure right now if you turned around then he would be flushed bright pretty pink. “Please, baby, let me give you one more?”

You can’t help but coo as you’re feeling his warm tears splatter your shoulder drenched, “Of course, Cho– All inside now- don’t be shy.”

“M’n-not…”

And for all he said, Choso has to rim his pearly white teeth over the tender crook of your neck and bite the moment he sinks in. Bloated mushroom tip so fat that it only eases in a single inch before he’s latching two hands on the flesh of your hips and bucking.

Wildly, achingly.

“Oh- oh my god…” He’s whispering into your skin. Chiseled abs stuck like adhesive to your back, the sizzling sweat between your bodies makes Choso’s fattened girth slip out with a lecherous pop! and he whines– again and again.

You run your hands through the sweaty valleys of his locks, “Aww, s’alright–”

But he gapes, stingingly swollen cockhead almost steaming in your heady bedroom air. Spurting out a viscid jetstream of pre as if to say he wasn’t supposed to be outside. Anywhere but your honeyed pussy. “No- nonono–” Choso mutters, nibbling down on his bruised lips to failingly hold back his soft gasping whimpers. “Inside. Inside.”

“Mmm– lemme help, baby.” You pop the ‘p’ and gaze adoringly at the way his girthy, fat cock massages your outer ring. Treacling out a gooey few splotches of pre that overrun your flooded entrance and stretch you open so wide.

Truly, Choso was way too big for his own good. 

Heavy and hard. The curving ridges of his shaft’s help him lean exactly towards where your g-spot was located, smearing out a steamy line of sap straight towards his bullseye there. Your clingy walls were practically melting into him, keening at the curly brown hairs that tickle your inner thighs.

“S-s’it all ngh! inside, baby–?” Your head lolls to the side and drowns in your plush pillow, dragging in deep breaths with every even deeper stroke he was planting on you. Slowly, so that you can feel every sensual lightning bolt of his veins massaging your innards.

“Inside- inside oh-” Choso’s spit-glued jaw drops as if the thought only registered to him. And he’s flapping his long lashes furiously to blink down through the haze, “S’inside.”

As if to prove his point, he snakes over one of his sweat-moistened palms and crams down over where your spongy cervix was being kissed over n’ over. So many loving, lingering kisses that scrubbed his rounded cockhead polished with every glide. 

“A-all inside, all safe and hck! sound.” He’s prattling away drunkenly - and you don’t know who’s more fucked, you or him. Another winding arm pressing you to him like two halves of one body, “For the f-fourth time. Fuck- m’gonna cum once more o-or die trying.”

He’s treating your dampened cunt like he’s worshipping you there, such loooong raw grinds that make your eardrums buzz with the intense gulping slurps. Every strike to your most favorite areas leaving your perpetual high just tingles. 

Your hand reaches over to drag him by one of his dangling silver necklaces into a sloppy, sloppy kiss. “Mmm– all inside, m’kay? No ngh- missing, Cho–”

“No missing. No…no missing.” He nods from behind, chestnut bangs falling over those half-lidded eyes and still doing nothing to hide the glaring intensity in them. With a puffing heaval of his full lungs, he moans– “Won’t miss- won’t miss…won’t miss so you have to t-take it ngh- all, baby- m’kay?”

And it’s only a few more vulgar slap after slap before Choso throws his head back and cums. Lifting your hips almost middair so that you’re swallowing up each plump wad of seed.

There’s so much of it bursting inside, coating your every nook and cranny in a stark white. You could practically feel the knotted mess streaaaming down your gummy walls, the drooling slope of his crownhead targeting every sweet orifice. 

And Choso counts- oh, he counts.

Something smoky that crackles underneath his baritone breath, just barely reaching your popped ears. “One-” Just as his first wiry ribbon weaves its way through your oversaturated walls, “-two-” Another one streaking down your battered g-spot. “-three.‘

That third and final clump of hefty cum could barely even be considered that - only a few pearly droplets before he’s reaching his high dry.

Sparks explodin’ behind those shuttered lids, his sweat-slicked brows furrowing almost painfully. Choso rears his head like some beast and bites down exactly where your pulse was beating the loudest.

Hard enough to break skin whilst he cums and cums and cums and nothing comes out. 

“Ngh- nghhhh–” He gurgles from the throaty back of his larynx, voice broken. And it’s just about the most intense high of his life- “Please- take it. P-please take it, baby.”

And take it you do— with open arms, and your legs shoved even more fully open by one of his lanky legs. The skin of his thighs steaming against yours, your cunt throbs once and you leer. And he jolts, primally. “Cho– how about we try till five?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 11 rounds

There was one thing no one ever mentioned about the king of curses - one thing no one dared to even question. Never dared to find out.

And that one thing being…his heat.

The very thing right now that had you bent all out of shape on his centuries-old bed into the most filthy mating press; your voice achingly hoarse from crying out, and yet your gushing pussy even louder. 

So fucking loud, in fact, that Sukuna himself can’t help but let his cursed second mouth come lolling out to give your dripping lips a lil’ peck. Loud and squelching, the sweltering hot gusts of his breath make you shiver. “Wh-why the hell is your stamina so ngh- good, Kuna–?”

“Heh- m’flattered, brat.” You’re feeling each prominent vein decorating his twin shafts throb, bloating up even bigger until your rubbery orifice was stretched to the max. Your very cervix stinging with how many times he’d whacked it with his globular slopes. “But if yer still sensical then m’not doing a good ‘nough job.”

Though, he supposed that was partly on him for seeping reverse cursed technique throughout your boneless body- but he couldn’t have his dear queen breaking any bones, right?

And if this was any other time then Sukuna’s husky baritone wouldn’t have shaken the way it did, hitching octaves higher as he’s slapping his monstrous tongue down once on your slick-topped clit. 

The mushy tip of it flicking over a few glittering beads of stray cum up to his other mouth, and Sukuna shivers. All cleaned up once more for him to ruin. Pink locks of hair flopping over as he throws his head back, “Oh- ohhhh, here it comes- here it comes. Get that cute cunt ready girl, because m’heat is far from over.”

And you’re far from even registering the words in your melted mind before he’s inching his sculptured hips back and hitting them down with a wham! 

You can only stare as he barrels his rugged cocks flawlessly, direct hits that simultaneously batter both your g-spot and your poor cervix. And that’s all that it takes for your clingy, overstimulated walls to hold onto his heated lengths for dear life  and cum. Sparking with white-hot pleasure while he stretches and stretches and stretches you stupid. 

Even the slightest, tiniest movement made your body curl– the burning sparks of bliss way too much for you to handle. After so many continuous rounds you didn’t even know how you hadn’t broken any bones. Spread-eagle by two of his big, beefy arms-

“Oh my god- ohhh s’so big. Kuna s’too big–!”

“Yeahhh, tha’s more like it.” Sukuna snickers from above, eyeing the way your maw gapes open with a torrent of spittle that stains his shoulder tattoos. A sleek gloss that makes his other set of lips smack, “Always love when ya ngh- fuck yerself stupid taking that biiig cock ya said was too big.”

Mindlessly, your hand skims over where he was pounding a rounded bulge right into your tummy. Filling you up snugly. “Please- p-please–”

Tilting his head almost mockingly, “Yeah? Wha’s that, ma?” Oh, his grin makes him look so feral - gleaming white canines on full display. He quirks a brow, “That cute lil’ bulge?”

Your inner thighs shake pathetically as he drifts a fatly-padded thumb right over where he was reaching such tender areas inside, deeper and deeper every time you blinked. “Heh- s’where m’breeding you, human. N’ I think I reeeeeally like her.” 

One, two, three whacks of his dual curved cocks until you realize Sukuna wasn’t even talking to you. 

No- he was cooing down at that cylindrical outline visible through your tummy. The way every tunneling jackhammer had him pouring out a generous helping of precum that made it inflate even rounder - all from the sensitive bawling divot that rubbed raw along the ridges of your insides. 

One of his four hands palming down hard, “And you know what else-” 

“Fuuuuck–! Wait- m’sensitive m’sensitive, Kuna-”

“-s’reminding me of…” There’s a filmy haze in his eyes, something feral and gone. And as Sukuna inches in closer, his saccharine steamed breath makes you sweat. Drinking in a deep whiff of your honeyed pheromones and he drools, “-wanting to get you all round n’ full.”

Your mouth lacquers over with a watery bout of sap, the cloying taste of it taking over your senses. Slight strings of it snapping and dangling from your panting crevice, “Y-you mean…?” 

“Oh you know what I mean-” Honed fringes of his canines dig deliciously into your earlobe, “-ma.”

There’s an electric trill that runs through you - and not just because Sukuna had taken up to walloping your poor g-spot about four times every single second. Fuck, the man had stray bursts of red, red lightning darting devilishly all over his body with the sheer power it took to keep you two from breaking. 

Hard, thorough thrust after thrust that rendered your mind dizzy - your brain clanging around the inside of your empty skull. Excess sloshes of seed that he hadn’t lapped up swashing on your innards, you barely even realize it when you’re hitting yet another orgasm with a shrill–

“M’cumming- m’cumming m’cumming, Kuna–” Your hands claw down his muscular back, feeling his sexily shifting muscles underneath your touch. Pretty noises so loud that he’s reaching up a palm with his second mouth manifested there for you to suck on- “I’m- mmpf-!”

“Good…good.” His titters rumble out in a guttural gruff, prominent veins popping out on either side of his throat. “Mama’s always gotta cum first- n’now ta ngh- give ya my heir.”

Your chest heaves frantically, heart racing at his words. Set free from the heavy make-out with his lengthy tongue with a dampened pwah! “Will- will it even fit?”

Because Sukuna meant double the wadded cum filling you up, and with him being in heat…

“Of course ya can-” Probably, he’s musing inside of his fuzzy mind. And yet, it didn’t matter if a single knotted ounce leaked out because his cursed maw was already manifesting back across his tensed core. Licking its lips just as he twitches warningly inside you - so hard it leaves your tummy lurching- “‘-Kuna’s’ always right.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 3 rounds

Ino can’t help but hitch out a tiny, rasping sob with each thrust; those sensitive veins covering each side of his red n’ swollen shaft massaging up and down furiously. “So sensitive- so sensitive, think m’gonna- gonna cum, pretty.”

Your throat clogs up with utter bucketloads of saccharine spittle, drenching Ino’s sexy ski mask that’d been stuffed into your sagging maw moments prior. Something about your voice being ‘too pretty’...

“What’s that? What’s that?” His weepy crowned tip stirs around your gummy insides, splotching out a hefty wad of creamed pre - a warning. So many pitches higher, feral. “C’mon m-milk me- milk me milk me with that pretty pussy, sweetness.”

Every vicious pap was so rough that it made your vision blister with pure white - you’re muffling out something that sounds like a jumble of ‘please’.

And before long you’re simply being soaked - if you thought your driveling pussy was wet before, then you weren’t ready for the absolute puddles it was formulating now. Heavy, clumped bucketloads of sappy cum that spills out of your saturated brim.

For the second time now. 

Every crevice of your tender pussy is just flooded, the smooth waves of seed treacling down your sides is so sinful that your knees weaken. Doughy heels of your feet sliding down the sweaty skin of his slender waist ‘till his tawny happy trail hits your bleary cunt. “Mmm– feels so h-hot inside.”

So hot that Ino himself was burning, veins bubbling up from underneath his very skin – he’s flushing all the way down to his mahogany roots at the sight of that creamy frothing between your legs. 

“Wanna see– s’alright if I- s-see?” And he’s not just probin’ the question at you, he’s targeting it to your pussy. Nodding along with every squelch after squelch emanating out as if holding his own lecherous conversation. 

And the very moment that Ino lurches his hips and draaaag his ballooned-up cock out of you, your sloppy hole simply cascades. 

So wet that a warm waterfall pours out between your puffed-up folds, enough to soak your sheets and right down to your bedsprings. They ricket creakily following every bulky slap of his round, cylindrical shaft down on your gluey slit.

Grunting, “Yeah- yeah yeah yeah so fuckin’ pretty- so pretty. D’you have any idea h-how hck! gorgeous ya are?”

A clingy, dripping mess dangles from his oozing divot by the time your cottony mind clears up enough to spit out his choking mask. Blubbering out a strained, “Please- please, Taku—”

Oh, that lil’ nickname makes Ino slouch his head back and groan. 

“Don’t- fuuuuck, don’t say it like that-” His huffing words depart his chest with every stimulated twitch, full-bodied. Ino was shivering, those trembly thighs of his doing nothing to hide the way his ruby-red cockhead was blushing enough to resemble a lollipop. “Don’t say it or m’gonna…”

“Mhm—?”

You evil minx.

With a determined rut of his beastly hips, Ino’s spanking the tender underside of his length down straightly across your cunt. Making you see for yourself just how loooong and wide he really was, your greedy insides are clenching already. 

Drawling up a steady finger to mark on your where he’d be using as his target, “Hiya, pretty- can ya handle one more? J-just- just the tip this time, ngh- okay?” Muttering - more to himself than anything. Those fawny doe-eyes look up at you and you’re noticing that his pupils are practically hearts. “Swear- just the tip, I swear-”

And he’s still so sensitive - so delicate from just cumming that even smooching your glossily saturated lips is enough to leave your pretty boyfriend gasping. 

Nose crinkling at the bridge, “Just…just the tip…” He’s talking almost as if he’s in a daze, drunkenly lolling his head down to watch the way your bulging pussylips smear open with his wide circumference, “-for th-this third round- can’t be more than the ngh- tip, okay–?” 

Punctuated with slow, sensual grinds. 

The pulsating of his tip curves up into your g-spot precisely, over and over. Repeated, thorough strikes where he makes sure you’re being rendered dizzy on his winding veins. Your sensory walls feel along every zig-zagged pattern, rubbing back n’ forth back n’ forth back n’ forth. 

“Fuuuuck– it feels so good, baby.” 

“Sh-shit.”

He stills at your words - body aching out a ba-dump–! You mewl out, your overstimulation making the blissful sensations increase twofold. And a fat glob of cum spurts out of you as you quiver, heady gaze starin’ dead-on. “Want a bit more…Taku.”

There it was again. And Ino is falling even deeper in love with you, heart racing once he flits his hazed peripheries down to your pussy. Then you. Your pussy. Then you. Your drooling pussy-

“G-gonna…” He starts off, voice low. Rasping. Something primal in them jolting awake, he clings on a hand underneath one of your asscheeks and lifts you up easily. Pliably, to inch in just another solid bulk further, “-gonna take it alllll like a g-good girl, okay?”

Yes- but you don’t even have the time to revel in your success before you’re being split apart. 

“Keep- keep your eyes open, sweetness.” You’re hearing grouch into your fuzzy ear canal, the stinging spank of skin-on-skin echoing right along with it. “Keep ‘em open n’ watch me all ngh- deeeep inside.” 

Ino wasn’t giving you mercy, he wasn’t giving you even time to breathe before the very cum-capped tip of his cock reaches into your lungs. Carving out a stout, rotund bruise exactly on your sponged cervix, “One.” He counts - counts. “Two- three.” Every hit after hit to the ends of your gooey pussy that make you wail out in whimpers. 

Your hands wrap around his craned neck, tangling with the sweat-matted curls at the base. “Are- are you gonna cum all hck! inside this time, Taku–?”

And how could he resist? He’s reaching up to ten before answering, a breathy pant of an answer. “Anything for you, sweetness…”

♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY?!

“Sweetheart, look- look at me.” Torrid clumps of spittle cling down Gojo’s lips in a shiny sheen, licked dripping wet as he takes in the sight of you all pretty underneath him and damn near swoons. 

For the nth time tonight– you’d lost count.

The strongest frantically flaps his long lashes open, eyes bleary and hazed - your bedroom lights had long since shattered, and yet he was so honed in on you. On the way your slippery slope sloshes out with a creamy white pour of cum the second he slaps his sweltering crowned tip down. Thwack! 

Octaves higher, wild. Gojo couldn’t even speak normally at this point- shit, you wonder if he was even thinking. “Look, sweetheart- o-oh my fuck, look.”

And you - you were so fucked dumb you could barely even breathe let alone twist your head ‘round to stare, teeth bitten cutely around the drenched edge of your silken pillow. “Please- please, Toru- d-dunno if I can fit any more…”

“Wh-what?” At this, the strongest has the audacity to flinch- fully bodily, his meaty thighs pressing down further on your ass to prevent you from squirming. You could count every tick and every flex of his calves as he pinned you down in the most lecherous, most raw prone bone ever. 

A hot waft of breath empties out near your sensitive ear, “Y-you don’t ngh- mean that…do you?” Desperate. Fattened globs of something wet splatter on top of your shoulder, and only sultry moments later do you realize that you had him crying. Dewy sapphire eyes honed in on your expression of oh! “M-more- c’mon, say it- tell me what you want, my girl.”

Both you and the rickety bedsprings sing in unison as he rests his hefty weight over and smears a thick stripe of buttery pre where you were leaking out. Flooding, actually. 

You were so wet that it’d formed a syrupy puddle, your ruined sheets sticking to your slammed skin as if they were made of glue. Because your dear husband had made sure to fill you up till the very brim, knotted ribbons of seed frothing at your entrance like a cap of icing.

Gojo rovers his hands near the base of your spine and arches you, “Again, c’mon- c’mon c’mon—” Your ears ring with a slobbering sluuuurp–! as his rounded mushroom tip leaves peck after peck on your sloppy hole. A huff of laughter vibrating his broad chest from behind you, “Look how loud- how p-pretty.” Yeah, those powerful eyes of his were locked on your dripping cunt. The way those dangling wires of slick streeetch ridiculously. “Look how badly she wants me- but I needa hear it from ngh- you, sweetheart.”

“F-from me?” You’re gurgling, and somewhere along the way he’s curling a dexterous hand around your throat to force you to look up. 

He’s rutting into you like an animal - a promise of what was to come. “Mhm— you, my girl.” Those heart-shaped pupils of his finally dead-locking into yours- and a few axons in the air explode from simply the eye-contact. “Say it- say it. Tell me you wan’ me- want more. One more.”

He’d been saying one more for aaaaages now. For so many seconds and thirds and fourths.

If it was anyone but Gojo, then they wouldn’t have been able to catch the minute way your watery lips unfasted into a wobbly shape of something like ‘more’.

But this is Gojo Satoru - so of course, he notices. 

“Wh-what was that?” He’s breathing out, globe-headed tip just starting to press against your awaiting pussy. Throb-throb-throbbing, his pounding vein massaging the hood of your clit. “Tell me- tell me what-”

One clammy palm of his reaches out to claw the crown of your head- whining for a second when his limitless flickers on and off. Feverish. Out of control. Gojo’s nose buries inside your throat to drink in your sexed-up scent, slobbering. “Tell your dear S-Satoru here, tell it allll t’me.”

“W-want it-”

“Want whaaat?”

“Want-” Your throat constricts with such a leaden ball of need, the saturated sweetness of it clogging your words. “-want you. Fuck me, Toru-”

And Gojo feels his ears pop! with pressure, every unbolted piece of furniture hovering numerous inches in the air when the strongest reels his toned hips back and slams you incredibly full. 

So sensitive that the man flinches, head throwing back with a smoky groan of– “Oh. Ohhh m’n-never gettin’ tired of that.”

It’s a mind-numbing stretch, the taut pull of his girthy cock swabbing apart tender nooks and crevices that only he could. Mixing n’ matching new hefty piles of pre upon the remnants of seed he’d left behind prior. He was just so big.

Before you know it, Gojo’s rubbing one of his doughy-padded hands over your lower tummy. “Woah…” Eager tips of his fingers pressing down hard on the plump, cylindrical outline jutting out of you. “-can feel it-” Peripherals glowing, Six Eyes rendering him light-headed. “-can see it, sweetheart.”

Fuck- it’s about the fifth time that he was uttering those very words to you. And the simple sound of them had your thighs clenching, sticking together with a solid plap! of sprayed juices trapped in-between.

Gojo was so hot collapsing down into you like he was melting - everything from his pants, to his skin to his pace. Practically melting. A fast, pounding pummel over n’ over that rubbed your gummy walls raw every time he’s prodding about.

Can’t stop, won’t stop.

“Gonna- gonna fuck you, m’kay?” His pearly whites sinking down on your soft earlobe, Gojo’s grunts pour out after every slick gliiiide of his meaty muscled front down your prespired back. Up and down.

You think you count six- no, eight of his washboard abs before your cottony mind is put-together enough to mewl, “Y-you already- are. Fuck! Already f-fuckin’ me so deep, Satoru.”

“Oh…” Sexily half-lidded eyes of his fall down to where his viscerally fat length was prying your swollen folds apart. In and out. Split-ended tip rummaging up your gooey insides until hot pearly beads of cum were just oozing out with each thrust. “Oh.”

Was he seriously so pussydrunk that he’d forgotten? That it was the only thing on his mind?

You’re not getting too far with your half-formed thoughts until a few slender fingers drift over to toy with your knobbled clit and make your eyes swirl cartoonishly. “H-how’s it feel to keep the strongest ngh- hostage like th-this. To know m’not gonna go aaaaanywhere until I’ve plugged up this pretty pussy?”

Your heart races with the implications that his bass steeps primally in, “P-plugged up?”

“Mhm.” As if to prove his point, the rounded curvature of his tightened balls come spanking down near the treacly ends of your cunt. Enough to render you speechless, he floats his sensory touch over where a spurt of white was jetstreaming out. “Until I fill you up so much I c-can’t even fit anymore.”

Your vision’s flashing pure white, “And h-how will you do that?”

Oh- you were so fucked.

And if it wasn’t the way the bed was shifting- floating, then it was the way that something in the air shimmers with power. Your clit twitching as a few tendrils of buzzing cursed energy reach up your body with a low bzzzzzz–!

Whirling your droopy head to see that his pretty eyes were aglow, skin crackling with minuscule blue lightning. 

“Gonna…” Gojo cracks a toothy smile - breathy, crazed. Canines gleaming with carnal slobber, “-mold you to my cock forever.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 6 rounds

Your boss, Higuruma, was mean - and he fucked even meaner.

Tangling a hand near the satin base of your tight, tight office skirt– one that he all but rips off entirely. A few scruffy tatters of it stuffed into your stupidly unfastened mouth, Higuruma takes one good look at you and takes you for hours on his very own desk.

The mahogany surfaces crackles underneath your clawing, a dopey smile splaying out across your face. Feeling the tattered glide of that condom that was ripping off, “Fuck- more, more– Hiromi.”

“Hiromi?” Higuruma’s grouchy baritone rings across your ears and makes your toes curl cutely, vibrations skittering right down to the dewy spot between your legs. And where it rained, it poured. Out with every rummaging pound being planted on your poor, dripping cunt. “Who the fuck is ‘Hiromi’, angel? Forgot m’your hck! boss after five rounds, huh? Guess m’just gonna hafta- hah- jog- that- memory back-”

And every rut had him stretching and stretching at your gluey walls until you saw white, the pointed probe of his pre-topped cockhead bludgeoning you so thoroughly. 

Higuruma throws one of your jittery legs over his shoulders and slicks down a solid splash of viscous spittle, prying apart those glossily stained folds until they let off a ringing sluuurp–! “Ooo– look at you, say ‘thank you’.”

“Th-thank you…” A hefty spitball bubbles out of the edges of your pathetic maw, one that Higuruma wastes no time slouching over and licking away with the edges of his tongue himself. 

“Mmm– always welcome, sugar.” The curvaceous fringe of his thumb comes slotting down between your slippery slit, pokin’ just inside to tug on your cozy ring of muscle. “Now how about we test that hah- streeeetch.” Digging right along the sleek flesh to let both his rigid length and his fingers pull you taut.

One of his frigidly cool rings snag on your flooded hole and make you whine– “Please- s’sooo much, Hiro- sir.”

“Now now- don’t whine, angel.” Higuruma’s bloating his cock up a few more mind-numbing millimeters in width, dilated pupils latches permanently on the way it makes your kiss-bitten lips fall into a cute oh! “You begged for this with this- damn skirt n’ that-”

A blazing bite on your lower lip, the corners of his mouth turns up into a leering snarl as your boss takes his languid time draaagging it away. “-this damn s-smile and-” Steady pace getting sloppy, achingly filthy. “-this fuckin’ pussy.”

Oh, your pussy was just yeowling with every ramming slam. 

Soggy squelches that rang across all four walls and seeped through the paper-thin plaster of the office. Higuruma watches with a smile as you slap your hand over your mouth, “Now now, let ‘em hear-” Tracing a wet streak of buttery pre that sandwiches each of your sweet orifices, he’s targeting your adorable g-spot and striking it like a dartboard. “-how many rounds- how- how many times have I fucked you stupid, angel?”

“S-s…”

“Speak up.”

Fuck- he was so hot. With his clean-cut, billowing jacket haphazardly draping off, and the way that Higuruma’s hair was uncharacteristically unruly. Mussed-up strands plastering to the perspiration-stuck plane of his forehead, he looked crazed.

Hitting your pussy faster and faster, it was a slaughter fest. “Speak up speak up-”

“Six!” You’re squealing, gasping. Unsure of what came first - the drawling yelp of your whine or the way that you’re running headfirst into your high.

“Oh– filthy girl. Look how she’s ngh- throbbin’ f’me.”

So powerful that every peak of it flashes your vision with nothing but white, and you can only stare up ahead at Higuruma’s sinfully fucked-out expression while he bludgeoned your pussy raw. Lugging you through one peak, another peak, another, another- 

Voice cracking with tears at the sheer overstimulation running through your body, “Hiromi- inside, please. Wan’ you inside-” Before you know it, your hand reaches down as if magnetized to caress the dark happy trail leading up to his base. “P-please?”

“Please…?”

“-w-with a hck! ch-cherry on top.”

And almost immediately, Higuruma grins. Depraved. 

Pulling out with a spectacularly wet plop! he’s leaving you clenching around nothing for the briefest nanoseconds. Tearing off the mess of rubber that was once a condom - one that was way too small for his massive size. 

Because Higuruma was so big that your thighs flinch at simply the idea of fitting all of him once more, mouth watering.

But that’s exactly what you do - in one, sloppy shuddering ram. All the way from his rounded, gummy-pink mushroom tip to the very hefty base. All those prominently veins snaking down your snug walls, vehemently. You’re feeling his hips shudder–

“Inside-” You echo, just about the only thing you can do right now. “-don’t miss. Don’t miss–”

“Think m’gonna miss?” One sappy smack on the awaiting slope of your pussy for you to get your lil’ act together, and another just for fun. “Just w-watch me–” His hissing growl makes you clench; dark brows furrowing, toned abdomen snapping, achy cockhead bursting. “-m’gonna fill her u-up until she fuuuck–! can’t take anymore.”

Your overfilling pussy feels like a slushy as the first few ribbons of cum strike your sloshing bottom. Practically feeling the swashing sensation of a goopy second layer cloaking your insides, and he doesn’t just orgasm once. 

No- your dripping cunt is being fed with so many seconds and thirds and fourths. Gripping pussy swirlin’ around the glossy mess until it pinpoints every magical spot inside you.

“S-see?” Higuruma’s stern baritone wavers, unsteady. Stuttering. He’s smoothing over a few dumbstruck droplets of spittle that slip out of you, “There- your Hiromi doesn’t miss. There we go- are we happy now, hmmm–?”

And you can only nod and nod and nod, in awe of the oozing oodles of sappy liquid that stuck your thighs together. “Y-yes, Hiromi.”

“Mmm– call me your…husband?”

A/N. Mwahaha I sense ovulation is near…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ Southbound (starring . various jjk men & women)

synopsis . Mundane things you do that drive them craaaazy. pairings (separate) . Sukuna x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Shoko x f!reader, Geto x f!reader, Yuki x f!reader. content . afab!reader, some established relationships, modern au, dirty talk, pet names, feral men & women, creampies, pervy!choso, finger sucking, perversion, overstim, filth, spit, cock stepping, rough sex, they’re naaaasty & obsessed, jealousy here ‘n there, fingering, possessiveness, brat taming, oral sex, etc.

word count . 8.4k || author's note: based on a request i can't find (help lol)! (not proofread) & the banner art is by rororogi mogera <3

☆ Sukuna Ryomen — flipping him off.

The moment your finger flew up his way in an aggravated flare, you expected the usual annoyed grunt or two in response. Instead, Sukuna's entire attitude shifts and you think you see his eyes getting uncharacteristically softer on you. Well, not really soft but soft in the way that lets you know that man is not paying attention to a word you're saying anymore.

"—and I really can't believe you," You're continuing on, "It's the same shit every week, and I just don't think I can—are you even fucking listening to me?!" Your words seem to capture his attention for a second, but his eyes are mostly trained onto your hand.

A muscle in his jaw flexes ever so slightly before you spot the faint quirk in his lips, crimson eyes just barely managing to find your face again, "What?"

"Oh, so you weren't listening," You scoff, turning away from the man with a pronounced roll of your eyes. Then you flip him off a second time and attempt to walk away from him, "Yeah, I'm done with this. Fuck y—"

“How far down my throat do you think that finger of yours could reach?” Sukuna asks all too casually and too slowly for your liking.

To which you end up choking, the remainder of your tirade dying out in your throat with one stupidly dry swallow. Your hand steadily retracts from where it is in the air and you turn to look at him, “What.”

Yeah, you knew the guy had some… strange interest when you first started talking to him romantically but nothing could’ve prepared you for the boner he popped when your middle finger went waving his way.

That—paired with that weird ass question he asked—is exactly how you ended up watching your boyfriend suck those same fingers of yours with a dark look in his eyes while he fucked you from the side. He had a singular hand neatly perched against the curvature of your hip as his other held onto your wrist to keep your hand from falling away from him.

“Mmhmm, mmmph,” Sukuna purred deeply, lathering your shaky digits with a slicked glaze of his saliva and driving his long, aggravatingly hard cock in ‘n out of your leaky cunt.

Squelch after squelch after squelch and the man was an utter mess before you. You watched as sweat trickled all down from the pink tuffs of his hair, strands clinging to his forehead messily while he sucked at your hand.

Between your moans, you found your eyebrows scrunching up as you huffed, “Why are you into this—aanh-, shit. Right there… f-fuckin’ freak.”

He nearly swallows your fingers whole, sucking impossibly harder in reaction and letting your fingertips graze the very back of his throat like some deranged whore. Sukuna had always been one to kiss your hand whenever he was trying to be romantic with you but you didn't think that'd translate over to this.

“Sukuna,” You called out in a desperate attempt at tugging him out of that fucked-out state of his.

The mean smack of his balls against your skin echoed and bounced off the bedroom walls with loud plaps, mixing in and growing louder with the grunts he was letting out and your moans.

He suddenly drags your hand away from his mouth and lets his droopy saliva splatter out and fall onto the side of your exposed waist, “Fuck do you want? Can’t you see my mouth is busy, woman?”

Your lashes flutter lightly as an utterly appalled feeling wells up inside you, “I—“

Unfortunately for you and whatever complaints you were about to strew his way, you're promptly cut off by the sultry motion of his hips plowing on as if fucking you was too easy of a task for him to put all his attention into. Then Sukuna politely takes your fingers back into his mouth and you think you see a little gleam of satisfaction coating his ruby gaze.

You tried to go on and catch him off guard by curling your fingers, but that only earns a stingy spurt of cum from the head of his cock as he gags. Then his eyes fly back and he seems to suction his mouth to your fingers even harder. Almost like he wants you to keep doing that.

To which you crack a smile, “Y’like that, ‘Kuna?”

Your boyfriend nods his head in a near pathetic manner—a way of which only your eyes are meant to capture. His cock is still ploughing through your puffy folds, sure to leave your inner walls swollen and stuffed with him by the time he's done.

Especially if you continue to egg him on by tilting your head at him and barely pulling your fingers away from him so that his mouth could follow like some big, starving mutt. Shaking your head, “This is so gross. Hah, why are you drooling like that?”

Sukuna pulls your digits out of his mouth again but only to stick his freakishly lengthy tongue out and then give you a slutty display of him wrapping a bit of the muscle around your fingers. Then he plasters wettened kisses the tips of them, “You have a really pretty fuckin’ hand.” He unexpectedly compliments.

You watch as the man shifts to drag your saliva-coated digits down along the tense plane of his sharp abs, his hips having stilled for a mere second so you could feel how your touch caused his weeping cock to pump 'n twitch frantically all around your insides.

“Can’t expect me to focus when you go waving it around in my face," He explains through a shortened breath. You take it upon yourself to feel at more of his chest while he leans over and moves both of his hands to your leg, practically pinning your body in place so he can rapidly puncture his dick past the elasticity of your entrance. "All I can think about it how good you feel against me—any part of you.”

A smile is placed upon your lips just then, “Aw, that’s kind of romanti—“

“Especially when you start stroking the inches of my cock that haven’t made it inside you just yet," He groans at the memory of it and your hand had unintentionally met the firm dips of his v-line, causing every inch of his body to shudder violently against you.

Then you deadpan, “Okay, never mind.”

To which he flashes a smug smile your way, “Keh.”

What a weirdo.

☆ Gojo Satoru — sneezing.

This freak. When he’d muttered a strangely hoarse bless you after the sneeze you’d let out, you tried not to think much of it.

But it was a little difficult to do that when he started to stare at you afterwards, flaunting that look of his that explicitly tells you his mind has gone somewhere very dirty. You were lightly rubbing the back of your hand against the tip of your nose to ease the itching sensation that the sneeze of yours had left and yet your weird ass husband was spotted in the corner of your eye bitting his bottom lip.

You sneeze one time during sex and now the damn from you sound makes his dick stand up no matter the situation!

Apparently whenever you sneeze, you clench especially hard around him—hard enough to drive him absolutely insane.

The two of you were trying to do some late spring cleaning and ended up in your cozy little attic, the air tinged with dust due to the vacancy of this area of your home. So naturally you were prone to a sneeze or two.

Unfortunately for you, this gave Gojo the brightest idea of all time.

He now has you hoisted up in his large, grabby hands—fucking you stupid as he bounces you up and down the fidgety length of his flushed cock—and hoping that having sex in this specific part of your home will coax a sneeze or two out of you.

"You're so weird," The words muddled out of your mouth in an airless little laugh, your head falling forward against the firm plane of his shoulder as he readjusted the mean grip he had on your thighs.

Despite hearing you just fine and smiling, "Is there something you wanted to say, baby?" Gojo asks, breath coming out warm near your skin.

Your eyes roll. "I said-," His hips snap upward just to purposefully cut you off, his thickened shaft sprawling your weepy hole open all the more with his ever swift motion. "Nngh-, ‘said you're so weird."

His head turned just so that his lips could brush at the shivering shell of your ear, "And yet," Gojo's teeth bare out to graze over your skin teasingly, "You're the one squeezing my cock like you don't wanna let him go." He points out.

While that was more than true, you weren't about to give him the satisfaction of you admitting it when he's the same mane who got turned on from your sneezing.

The attic air was rather warm from the glowy sun outside, and dust particles floated around lazily through the slanted beams of warm rays creeping through the singular small window placed not too far away from where Gojo stood with you. Nearly every bit of forgotten furniture cluttered in the area was painted over with a thin layer of ashy gray.

It'd been quite some time since the two of you had been in here. Hell, you believe the last time you both visited your attic was back when you guys were still christening the house via fucking in every room.

Per his idea, by the way.

The wooden floorboards beneath Gojo's sturdy feet had creaked from the weight of both his body and you hauled up in his arms. Wet droplets of slick splattered down onto the floor just under you with his every other uneven thrust, and you found yourself holding onto him tighter as he suddenly picked up the pace.

The plan to clean the attic up flew out the window about three or so sneezes ago and now he was waiting for you to do the same while his dick was inside you. It shouldn't have been too hard.

"Y'know most h-husbands just say bless you 'n hand their wife a tissue when they sneeze," Your voice was a bit unsteady from the way he was moving inside you—balmy cockhead poking all around your cervix and just kissing at your inner sweet spot to get you all the more wet around him.

You felt his chest rumbling slightly against your tits as he chuckled deeply, "Mmmh, yeah. But most husbands probably aren't blessed with the—fuck, knowledge that their wife's pussy sucks on their cock every time she—"

"Ohmygod, don't say it," You whine, cringing slightly as you leaned away from him as best as you could to catch the expression he was making.

He looked far too proud of himself, "...lets out the cuuutest little—"

"Satoru." You cut off with a warning glare in your eyes.

He only ignores it to smile at you, hands shifting to hike your body up higher in the air. The sudden change in angle brought about stars behind your shutting eyelids, his cock dragging against that squishy spot inside you that had your toe curling.

It seemed as though this was a position he'd managed to perfect with the the way he had you perfectly suspended in the air as if you weighed nothing, your tits bobbing, and feet left to dangle uselessly as he used gravity and his freakish strength to fuck you exactly how he wanted.

Oh, he was getting that sneeze out of you again.

Your hands reached up a little to tangle your fingers into his hair, holding on and tugging at him sharply whenever his tip plucked into the tightest nook of your pussy.

Mouth left open and mixed breathy moans 'n pants pouring out of you, Gojo saw how he already had one part of his plan down so far—fucking you straight to tears like he always did.

"Admit it, sweetheart," His voice dipped a pitch lower and he sounded overly determined to get his way, "You love that I know this about you, that I pay attention."

"Mmph-, I think it's weird, 'Toru. I just said this," You counter, words lacking any sort of bite to them.

Gojo's lips quirk up and his lashes bat slightly as he feels your saccharine walls quivering around the base of his cock, his hips barely rocking your body up. "Riiight, and that's why you're drippin' all down my cock right now—because you think it's weird."

You pout at him, "You're so annoying."

"You love me, though. And you love this," He picks his pace right back up where he'd just barely left off, letting his the crowning tip of his cock swat nastily against your depths to tug something sluggishly slick out of you. "Love that your weirdo husband still thinks you're sexy even when you're blowing sno—"

"I'm gonna get dry if you keep this up," You lie as your fingernails slightly scrape against his scalp and you cling onto his body tighter.

His smile manages to get impossibly wider, "Hah, not with my cock inside you, you're not." Gojo says cockily. Then his brows scrunch up and his dick is felt twitching inside you, "Plus it's your fault I'm like this to begin with, you should've held your sneeze back when we were cockwarming that night."

With every thrust and every word that jumped out of his mouth, you were only finding yourself surprised by the things he was coming up with. Scoffing, "You're being ridiculous."

Gojo lets your little comment slide for the time being and begins to walk over towards one of the attic's dustiest corner. Your expression instantly begins to twist up and you could feel your breathing growing shallower as the prospect of a sneeze tickles at your nostrils.

You really didn't want to give him what he wanted just yet.

"Oh? Did your nose just twitch?" Gojo asks, tugging your body impossibly closer to his so that your tits were sandwiched against his firm chest.

His hips became relentless just then, making it even harder for you to breathe with the way he was mercilessly fucking the air right out of your lungs.

"N-No," You tried to gasp but he saw the way tears welled up in your eyes.

Smirking knowingly at you, "Nah, don't hold it back now. Let it out, sweet girl. C'monnn, I just wanna feel you clench around me again." His voice softens up on you and you let out a short breath.

"This is so weird 'n embarrassing," You're whining, cunt spasming around his jaggedly thrusting cock. He was getting more and more frantic with each second that passed.

"Is it?" Your husband taunted, eyes lighting up as he watched your face contort into an expression that told him you were on the verge of a sneeze. "Well, I think—"

He's cut off almost comically by his own body—the dust having gotten to his nose instead of yours and leading him right into a short sneeze. With it comes a harsh thrust from his hips as the crash against your skin and you feel his muscles clenching tightly before his balls begin to twitch.

And then he's cumming inside you like an idiot.

"Oh," You're gasping now as you smirk right back at him, "I think I'm starting to get the appeal now."

☆ Shoko Ieiri — putting on lipgloss.

It’s a simple thing you, and many other people in the world, do to add some shine to your lips and yet your perpetually overworked girlfriend can’t help but get worked up every time she sees you doing it.

Perhaps it’s because you’re hers that it drives her insane but fuck, something about watching that pretty translucent shade of gloss slip out across the gorgeous curves of your lips makes her mind run to the most sinful of places.

It always reminds her of her lips against yours—and no, not the ones on your face.

There's only one other thing she can think of that's as lustrous 'n pretty as your lips are after you put on lipgloss. And that other thing is the same thing she's spreading open now with the two meticulous pads of her thumbs.

Your pussy is quivering under her due to the way she's panting like she's on the verge of dehydration from not lapping at you fast enough. She watches the cute pucker and clench your hole makes around nothing as she does so—eyeing how slobbers of slick dribbles out of you and trails down to your other hole.

You always got so wet for her, she just couldn't get enough of it.

That, and what's better than eating out her pretty girl after a long day of work?

Shoko nearly moans after blowing some air over your cunt to watch the way it flinches in reaction. "So cute," She mutters gently, "And wet." Then she's sending a fat wad of spit towards your clit and letting it trickle downward to mix with the rest of your soaked glory.

You don't even get to say anything before she's diving right in. Hell, you're not sure what got into her in the first place. You were supposed to be heading out to do some shopping but in the midst of your getting ready, Shoko said she needed something from you beforehand.

You knew she was watching you get all dolled up but you didn't think she was getting turned on from it too.

Locking her lips onto your cunt, she darts the length of her tongue out and sloppily lathers the muscle with your taste before groaning. A moan of her name leaves your lips but she hardly hears it—the taste of you has her dazed already.

Truth be told, Shoko could eat you out for hours and never get tired. Which makes sense, of course. You were her favorite meal after all.

But one of the best parts about doing so now—after you'd recently applied lipgloss—is looking up to see the way your mouth flails open with drool slipping out to mix with it. She always had you a wet mess from every single hole and she loved it.

Considered herself obsessed with it, even.

You shoot a hand down to her hair and try to grab ahold of her, pathetically attempting to move or shift her mouth where you want it to be but ultimately failing. Shoko goes wherever she wants to, the area of desire being your clit at the current moment with the way she foes from those lengthy laps 'n licks to kissing and softly suctioning her mouth to your slobbering pussy.

"Fuck, I almost forgot how sweet this pussy gets," She comments gingerly, warm breath grinding out against your smeared-open folds. "All sensitive on my tongue, nnngh-, can't get enoughhh..."

Her eyes sealed shut for a moment and you saw how she smiled into your cunt, kissing and licking like she was drunk on you or something. Fairly enough, she always got like this when she ate you out but fuck if it didn't drive you just as crazy each time.

Shoko's lips cup around your clit and she pulls at the sensitive bundle of nerves, the tip of her tongue tickling you obscenely before she moans into you once more.

Your back arches up away from the bed and you're left gasping for the air that'd recently left your throat, "Sho—fuuuck, Shoko..."

Her smile widens slightly when she hears you moaning for her but that doesn't stop the nasty flicks of her tongue. Then it begins to twist in a sloppy manner and her hands maneuvered over to peel your pussy lips further apart. She only removes her mouth from you to glide it downwards and pluck her tongue directly into your hole.

A broken gasp jumps out of you and she watches the entire thing from in between your legs. Then her hips and thighs move to try 'n relive the ache she felt building up in between them, especially as she saw how much of a mess you'd been above her.

Your lipgloss had smeared down to your chin and the sight made her eyes widen. Then her mouth worked at your cunt harder, feasting on you like a woman absolutely and utterly starved. Something feral left her throat but you're not sure if it was a groan or a growl.

It was some type of husked sound that made you try to push at her head. Of which she shakes immediately, "Don't fuckin' push at me," Shoko demands, eyes glaring as they find yours, "Let me-, ah.. ruin you. C'mon, cutie, you can take it. S'just my tongue," She hums before dragging that very muscle around your entrance.

Your hands moved elsewhere and you instead tried to pull your body away from her, only to be cut off by her arms moving to wrap around your legs and yank you back towards her mouth.

She pops off of you and then spits meanly, following it up with a harsh smack to your cunt. "Try taking my pussy away from me again 'n see what happens," Shoko warns, "Don't move, take it—I only just started."

Gulp.

☆ Choso Kamo — putting on/taking off shoes.

No, he doesn’t have a foot fetish.

You had started to think your best friend was a little weird when he’d stare at your legs whilst you slipped out of or into your shoes. But, with the way he’s currently panting like some mutt against your thigh, you realize his odd staring had nothing to do with your feet specifically.

Instead, his unwavering gazes had everything to do with the jealousy he felt in his heart upon seeing you apply so much pressure onto your footwear instead of him. Weird, right?

Yeah, he’s aware. But fuck, sue him for wanting his best friend—who orders him around 24/7—to step on him a time or two!

Which you're finally doing now after catching the erection he managed to get just from helping you put your heels on.

In his defense, it was a gorgeous red pair of heels he couldn't wait to see you walking around in.

Also the same pair of heels he accidentally came on a week ago when he was jerking off in your closet...

But that part was besides the point, all that mattered in this present moment was how good your heel felt mashing into the thiiiick outline of his poor cock—finally applying all the pressure he’d been fantasizing about.

“Nnngh-,” Choso moans, head slumped against your thigh with wet pants splaying out over your skin. “More, p-please, more… mistress—“

“Excuse me?” You choke and your foot stutters in its stepping as that title hits your ears.

You figured he’d be pathetic once he got a taste of you like this but you were not expecting him to say that in the slightest. And the way he angles his head up to look at you with those charming brown eyes of his—all glimmered over with tears while his hips jerk to create more friction between your heel and his dick.

“You’re such a loser, Cho. How many times did you think about this, hm?” You ask in an unfairly demeaning tone that makes his heart skin multiple beats within his chest.

“So many fuckin’ times,” He gasps out as if his breath had run away from his lungs entirely. The warm skin of his cheek is felt rubbing against your leg and he looks rather deranged in the state he's in, “Fuuuck—do y’know how long I’ve been wanting you to step on me?” He asks in return.

You head tips in faux thought and you bring your free hand up to your chin, the other occupied with patting his head softly, “Mmm, I think I’ve got a pretty good guess.” Then you move your touch to his broad shoulders and force the upper half of his body away from your limbs—exposing all of his pathetic frame to you. “In fact, I want you to pull your cock out and show me how badly you’ve been wanting this.”

Choso’s never moved faster to do anything in his life.

His hands are a bit jittery as they slip beneath the thick band of his sweats, then his boxers, and soon his dick is quickly flying out into the air. The upper inches of it appear to be a flushing shade of red, and he looks like he'd cum if you blew at him.

You spot a thick pool of precum spilling out from his mushroomy head and find yourself biting at your lip, then you let the tip of your heel brush against his shaft and Choso whimpers.

“Y-Yes,” He mumbles, “More, fuck.. please-, step on me moreee.” His body moves about against the floor so that he could meet the motions of your heel with a few ruts of his own.

You roll your eyes at how desperate he is but let your foot do exactly as he’s asked and grind it against his cock, guiding his erection down in a way that looks like it should hurt.

And yet, Choso’s throwing his head back and moaning into the air. “Ohmygodddd,” He releases a hoarse grunt from the pressure you're gifting him, “That’s so fuckin’ hot. C-Can you tell me how.. hahh-, pathetic I am too?”

You blink. “What?”

“Please?" Choso's eyes get droopy and he pants leisurely while giving you the cutest puppy eyes he could manage, "Look at me—look at how m’leaking all over your shoes… isn’t that nasty?”

Clearly he was taunting you into giving him exactly what he wanted. And unfortunately for you, it was working.

“Yeah, really nasty…” You say in a soft spoken tone. The edge of your heel lifts up to his tip and you tap at it in short intervals, watching the way he squirms and sporting a smirk on your lips as you say, “Think you can be a good boy ‘n lick them clean for me after I let you cum?”

Choso nods aggressively enough to bring himself to a throbbing headache, but he doesn’t care.

Which makes you snort, “Wow, Choso. I mean pathetic is one thing but, you’re more like a slut for me, aren’t you? Rubbing yourself all over my shoes like that… what a needy boy.”

Only a few words out of your mouth and all his fantasies had been fulfilled tenfold. He couldn't stop his eyes from rolling back, lips wobbly from how many sounds were escaping them, “M’gonna cum."

Your foot presses down harder and adjusts his cock over to the left, forcing it to pulse against the skin of his waist. Challenging him as you snort, “Are you?”

“Please-, ohfuck.. pleeease let me cum,” Choso's a quick learner, he didn't need any more questions out of that mouth of yours to realize you wanted him to ask for it. “I’ll be good, I’ll lick it up when m’done, I’ll lick you up when I’m done—whatever you want, please.. let me cumm.”

You pretended not to hear the claim in between his pleas about how he'd lick you up, ignoring the throb it invokes from deep in between your legs. It was almost annoying how he was the one receiving pleasure here and yet you could feel your panties clinging to your folds from wet arousal already.

Then, with gracious eyes do you nod your head and hum, “Mmmh, fine. Go ahead.”

A throaty groan is ripped out of his throat as he does so. Choso’s body jolts, cum shooting out of his tip in creamy waves

“Fuuuhh-, fuck..” His breath sounds exasperated.

You’re left to watch his release come flying out, landing up along your shin and even a little higher than that. As it lands, you feel the way it sluggishly glides down and Choso’s busy trying to collect himself from where he is.

Once his panting comes to a stop and he manages to blink away those tears he’d been holding back—his eyes run down along your body and just when you try to pull your leg away from him, he reaches out for it.

His grip on you is sudden and rather rough, but you let it slide for the time being. Your composure falters for a moment in shock, and he decides to take things another step forward.

At first, he does as you said and starts to lick up his cum—cleaning it off your shoe and the lower end of your leg. Then he starts to take some of his seed up onto his thumb and lick it up that way, scarcely meeting eyes with you every now ‘n then.

You didn’t realize he’d schemed something up until it was too late.

Choso went to wipe up the second to last drop of his cum and paused before taking it into his mouth. 

Noticing his hesitation, “Hey, that’s not all of—“

The man cuts you off via grabbing at the bottom of your dress, and pulling you to bend down towards him. You stumble from your footing and then choke on your own breath.

Within your gasp and while your mouth is open, Choso swipes his cum out across your lips and then pushes himself up on his knees to lick it off—tongue sneaking into your mouth right after.

“Mmph!” You moan against him, kissing him back but definitely cursing him out within your head.

When he pulls away, he’s got a smile on his face even as he whispers, “Sorry.”

To which you glare at him, “You’re not.”

His voice grows low and sheepish as his gaze darts off from yours, “I was jus’ following your instructions. You said to lick it all up.”

“Yeah, but—“

“And I think,” He leans away from your face and dips down towards your legs, “Some of it got in between your thighs…”

It absolutely did not, but with the way he was looking at you…

Your head turns away and you stand up straight before crossing your arms. “W-Well then… clean me up properly.”

Choso’s cock twitches faintly and he’s bubbling with his own excitement as he starts to move your legs apart, “With pleasure.”

☆ Toji Fushiguro — working out.

There’s nothing Toji loves more than seeing you sweat. You thought it was his normal way of being overly affectionate in the beginning of your relationship with him, but over time you’ve come to learn that your boyfriend actually has a thing for you exercising.

And it doesn’t matter how you do so either. You could go on a short walk around the neighborhood, do some yoga around the house, stretch as soon as you wake up from a nap—and that big perv is rubbing a hand over the fat cock stiffening in between his legs.

Ever the weirdo.

If only you’d known about his obsession with seeing you exercise prior to going to the gym with him.

You were doing some cardio, running on the treadmill and oblivious to his verdant eyes trained solely on you from across the way. You already warned him beforehand that if he couldn’t control himself during one trip to the gym then it wouldn’t be happening again.

Toji tried to keep his eyes away from you, but he saw one too many other people walking your way and throwing their gazes at you for him to ignore.

And by the time his attention landed on you, he was a goner. You were running rather fast and all he could focus on was the way your body looked in motion. There was nothing inherently sexual about watching you sprint, but you couldn’t tell that to Toji.

Only thing running through his mind was the multiple ways in which he could work you out afterwards. 

He was only halfway through his workout before he saw you heading off towards the locker rooms. And what kind of man would he be if he didn’t follow after his wife?

Okay, technically he had no real reason to do so but he’s not about to explain that to you now—even though you’re cocking a brow at him and questioning him about it.

“Toji, I told you to behave,” You sigh as you turn around and bend over, reaching for the clean shirt that’d fallen down within your locker.

Rookie mistake.

Now he’s creeping behind you and putting his hands on your waist, coming over to your ear and whispering, “I’m so behaved, baby. Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Your head shakes as you stand up straight, “Yet?”

Your questioning is immediately answered when you shift backwards and feel the heavy bulge poking in between your ass cheeks. All you could do at this point was shut your eyes and exhale again.

Glancing back over your shoulder, “How long have you had that?”

“Since I saw you stretching,” He admits.

You wanted to laugh at the man since that happened almost an hour ago. Instead, you simply turn your head away and let your shoulders drop, “Perv.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Your husband grumps, “Tell me more about it while I fuck ya’.”

A cool brush of air meets your suddenly exposed thighs as your workout pants are tugged right off your body in one go.

“Toji!” You whisper-shout, feeling him apologetically nuzzle his face into your neck.

Then you feel that tender tip of his swatting its way in between your folds as wets himself with your arousal. “Shhhh, no one’s coming in here,” Toji insists.

Considering how you were equally as turned on as he was—with the way you’d been eyeing his beefy body work out all evening long—there wasn’t much of an argument on your end.

Though, you can’t say you expected him to be so animalistic with the eay he fucks you up against that locker. The poor thing is shaking and making all sorts of creaky, rickety noises while he pounds the meaty girth of his cock deep into your cunt.

You had to pull your shirt up and bite down on the fabric just to stop yourself from crying out too loudly.

Toji on the other hand didn’t seem to care one bit about the noises, nearly lifting your body further up against the lockers as he gruffed into your skin. “Love this fuckin’ pussy,” He praises, heavy balls hammering against your puffy folds as he stuffed himself in to the hilt of your cunt with each thrust.

“Hnngh-, hahhh—yeahh?” Your shirt falls out from in between your teeth, “H-How much?”

Your questioning taunt has his cock growing impossibly harder, and he sandwiches your frame against the cold metal ahead.

Each movement from his hips is accompanied by a sharp thwack of his chubby tip, streeetching you out from the inside and aching to pull something soaked from out of you.

“You know how much I love my pussy—nasty lil’ thing.” Toji huffs before wrapping one massive arm around your waist and towing your body back onto his to meet with him, “Always squeezin’ this dick like she wants every drop of cum I’ve got for her.” His thumb locates your clit and taps at it, “Ain’t that right, doll? You want me to cum inside ya’. Right here in this locker room, ‘n force ya’ to walk out with it drippin’ alllll down these pretty thighs?”

Your maw dangles open all dumbly and he grunts loudly at the way your walls convulse around him in a rather nasty fashion—as if to answer him or something.

Toji’s free hand moves out to slam into the locker as he holds onto it and you swear you see him dent it a little. Still holding you in one arm, you’re reminded of just how strong your husband really is.

He practically lifts you up a few inches off the ground and pins you to the locker, “Think you can still run on that treadmill after bein’ thoroughly bred?” He asks only to earn a gaping sound out of the pit of your stomach, “C’mon, talk to me, dollface. Wanna hear it out this slutty mouth of yours.”

Dropping you, your legs are left trembling once your feet hit the floor and you don’t even get to breathe properly before Toji’s moving his arm from around your waist and up to grab at your jaw.

Angling your face back to his, he’s just babbling on about all the things he plans on doing to you—leaving you little to no room to answer him with any words.

“I might hafta’ cum inside you before every workout—make sure you’re reminded of who this pussy belongs to each time you come here,” Toji’s tongue folds out to lick the sweat off the side of your neck. He saw some people in particular looking at you for a few seconds too long so you can’t really blame him for his suggestions, “Would ya’ like that?”

You told yourself right there at that moment that you’re probably not going to attend this gym with him again.

Especially since your trainer—a tall blonde named Nanami—comes walking in due to a noise complaint he’d received from one of the other gym-goers outside.

Shit.

☆ Geto Suguru — yapping.

Now, between the two of you, you’ve always been the talker. He made a habit of throwing out a topic he knows you like, just to get you to talk more and then fall silent as he listens.

You adored his attentiveness for a long time until you realized he’d only been that way for an ulterior reason. That reason being that hearing you ramble on about literally anything gets his dick unbelievably wet.

Mainly because he loves to mess up the flow of your speeches by touching you—as he currently finds himself grinding the long, curvy shaft of his cock up ‘n in between your pussy lips. It started out as dry humping while you told him about your hectic day.

But now…

“Keep talkin’, gorgeous. I swear I’m listening,” Geto claimed despite doing everything but. His eyes weren’t even at your face anymore—trained entirely on the way your lips got speared apart by the head of his cock each time he rolled his hips forward.

Your cunt was leaking all over him far too much for you to remain focused on whatever story you'd been most recently yapping about. Instead moaning, “Thought about you all-, hnngh—all day, Sugu.”

“Yeahh? I know you did, pretty girl.” Geto puffs out gently, as if his length wasn't being the exact opposite with each heave and drudge against your exposure. “Did you think about this too? About my dick slippin’ against you like this? Teasin’ you?” His voice gets breathy as he says that, falling victim to the same thing as you with the way he gets caught up in the not-so-dry humping.

“Uhuhh,” Your hips stag upwards and roll, forcing his cock to angle down and press a nasty smooch against your hole.

Geto's hand moves to sprawl out against your abdomen and he forces you to be flat against the cushions. Scoffing whilst taking his shaft into his other hand and angling it around your slavering hole instead of in, “Keep talkin’ then. Finish that story of yours. What happened with Satoru after he spilled that drink on you?” He asks.

He needed to get back on track here. After all, you only allowed him to grind against you if he promised to listen to your story properly.

“Suguruuu,” You started to whine though, as if it wasn't you who agreed to this in the first place. He then watches as you grab at his wrist and wiggle your body around below him, cutely trying to work that plump head of his past your desperate ring of resistance, “I-I can’t think about him right now,” You push his hand away next and reach further down to grab at his cock, “Jus’ put it innn. Pleaseee?”

Geto manages to smile but his breath hitches in your throat. While he loves hearing you all needy for him, he also wants to be good and abide by your prior request, “Hm… I could," He says playfully, nibbling on his lip once you begin to stroke the inches of his dick he refuses to put in you, “But I think I wanna hear you l-like—hah, shit... like this for a little longer.”

Purposefully, your mean boyfriend begins to fuck himself into the small hole your hand has created for him and you continue to feel him slide all his weight over your clit each time he thrusts forward. It was driving you inside since you could feel his many veins twitching to be shoved inside you instead.

“Fuck me,” You gasp, hoping your please would convince him to do so quickly, “Please Sugu, I need you inside me.”

His dick practically jumps against your hand and you watch how his chest rises and falls with the deep breaths he has to take to hold himself back. “Need me inside you?" He snickers, "Oh, so you want my fingers then?”

The prettiest pout appears on your lips and it makes his cock begin to drool excessively onto your skin. “N-No, I need your dick inside me. C’mon Sugu, don’t you wanna fuck me?” You say before holding your legs up ‘n open for him, “Can't you see how wet I am for you?”

Geto tries—he really does—not to look down, but when you're spreading your legs like that... he just can't help himself. His eyes descend your body and a pornographic expression is painted into his pretty features.

“Shiiit…” He mutters, moving his hips back and jerking himself off in a few, quickened strokes, before he places his swollen tip up against your cunt, “You always know how to convince me, huh?”

Not a second more is wasted before he's sliding into you with vigor, eyes locking onto the moans you let out, and head tilting over.

“Missed this dick inside you that badly? That moan was louder than normal," Geto teases, feeling your pussy let out a squeaky squelch around his thickness.

You meet his eyes with something sinful coating your own, “I missed you fucking me."

“Oh yeah?” His arms move out so that he could properly cage you beneath him, hips casually bucking into you to spread the translucent glosses of his precum all across your hugging walls, “How much, baby? Talk to me—talk to Sugu.” He mocks.

You're a mess under him already and he feels as though he's barely even done anything yet. Plus, he still hasn't let you finish that story of yours and it's gonna make him feel bad any second now. You seemed so excited to tell him what happened while you were out today and now...

“Nnngh-, aanh,” Moans were slopping out of your mouth and your body was easily being fucking up against the bed, the frame distantly thumping against the wall hard enough to leave multiple marks that you're sure to scold him about later. “S-Soo much, Sugu," You reply, "Thought about havin' you inside me all fuckin’ day.”

Geto truly couldn't get enough of your voice. He loved hearing you talk more than anything, so every time you moan for him it just drives him insane. His balls come slapping against your skin with each heavy rock of his slim hips, cock getting swallowed up so nastily by that gorgeous pussy of yours.

Hell, he can't help himself from pushing into you a little deeper, “Ohhh don’t tell me that. My poor girlll, did you rub one out before I got home?”

You nod helplessly and your hands are reaching up to hold onto his arms, leaving light scratches across his skin due to how rough he was getting with you. “Wanted to feel you," Your whines ring out and enter his ears the same way a loving kiss from you would.

“Awhh, did you?” He mocks you again and ends up tossing his hair back—long, dark locks flying with the motion all elegantly as he grunts. “Shit, you’re so cute when you’re like this. Couldn’t even finish that little story of yours.”

Your legs feel like jello underneath the large man once his pounding begins to slant—the crooked curve of his cock knocking around that spongey spot inside you, and earning gossamers of your arousal to squirt out in return.

Then he's got the nerve to grin, “Guess you’ll have to tell me about it later.”

As if that won’t lead to the same thing happening all over again…

☆ Yuki Tsumuko — eye rolls.

Now, your girlfriend has many joys in this world but one of her favorite things to do with you is be nice 'n close to your face while she's knuckle deep in your cunt.

Why? Because she loooves watching the way your eyes flock to the very back of your head each time she curls her precise digits into that spot she knows you so desperately crave for her to reach. Giggling, "Hear how loud my girl is?" She'd tease in a slightly hoarse mutter.

You'd let out a moan in response if it weren't for her lips latching onto your again to drown the sound out completely. Her tongue twirls and dances over yours the same way it typically does to your pussy and you try your best to keep up with her but it's no use.

Perhaps you should've known better than to catch an attitude with her. You only rolled your eyes once because of how much she'd been lecturing you about something and now she was punishing you for it.

You can't really say you were complaining, though.

She pulls away from your mouth simply to watch the way your face twists up into pure bliss. Her fingers are dragging out something far too sweet 'n delicious out of your weeped hole, and she's eyeing down the way whines of her name leave your pretty, spit-slicked lips.

"Y-Yuki, please," You gasp and attempt to lift your hips for a moment to breathe only to be tugged right back down by the grip she's got on you with her free hand.

Then she pouts as if to mock you, "Aw, you close, pretty?" She hums in that faux sweet tone that causes your stomach to churn with butterflies, thighs a trembly mess over hers. "Gonna cum for me? Make a nasty lil' mess on me like you always do? Hm?"

As she continues to taunt you, her fingertips are busy rubbing right against that angled spot inside you that has your eyes crossing with stars in them. You're trying to nod your dumb head, and wanting nothing more than to duck down and hide your expression from her greedy eyes.

You make a laughable attempt at doing so, trying to move your face into the crook of her neck only to be stopped by the searing grip of her hand coming up to your throat. Her thumb pushes at your chin to lift it up and she smiles when you're forced to look at her again.

"Tryin' to hide your face from me now? Seriously?" She gasps in an exaggerated manner. "Now, you know that's my favorite part of you." Her fingers pick up in pace all of a sudden and you could feel the pads of each one ramming into you as if to punish you. "Just look atcha', all teary eyed 'n pouty like you weren't asking for this."

Your eyes are quick to dart elsewhere but you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, "S-Shut upp," You huff, "I hate it when you do that."

The knowing smile on her face only widens out before she tips her head to the side, thumbing at your puckered lil' clit to roll her name into it. "Do what?" Yuki puffs out in that soft tone once more, brownish eyes dilating fro the disorientated sight of you, "Watch you when you're about to cum? Smile at the way your eyes run to the back of your head 'cause it's too much for ya'?

Before you could even answer her, she was leaning forward and your body was easily getting unsteady with its hovering over her lap.

"Would you rather I watch her instead?" She taunts, pushing you over so that your back flops down against the mattress. "Cause' I can do that. It has been a while since I've seen my girl up close, after all. Wonder if she's got just as much of an attitude with me as you do."

With a heavy huff exiting your throat, you watch with wide, glossy eyes as she sits up over you and meets your thighs with her soaked hands. Internally you were dreading what was about to happen as Yuki was never one to be gentle with her tongue as it laid onto your folds.

She parts your legs open for herself, "Think she missed me just as much as I missed her?"

You're too busy trying to cover your face out of some sort of shyness, refusing to answer or look at your eager girlfriend. To which Yuki playfully rolls her eyes and repositions herself down in between your legs. Her eyes stay up on you and your heavily breathing chest for a moment before she pushes forward and presses a chaste kiss against the soaked slit of your pussy.

"Babyyyy," She purrs in that evil voice of hers, "Look at me, will you?"

Even though you know damn well she only wanted to tease you, you ended up listening to her anyway as you removed your hands from your face and lazily drag your eyes down to her.

God, the sight was nothing short of sexy.

Her blonde hair had been strung back into a messy ponytail, brown eyes set dead on you, and pretty pinked lips slipping upwards into that smile you know and love so much.

"Theree she is," Yuki coos, tipping her head to the side again as she flaunts a mocking pout at you, "Was that so hard?"

Your brows tangle upwards and just as you go to answer her, she slots her two fingers right back into you slooowly with a loud squelch emitting into the room. "No," You whisper, "But d-do you have to stare?"

She scoffs, "Of course I do! How else would I watch your eyes roll back while I fuck you?"

Surely she was going to be the death of you.

perm multi tags (1/2):

@cupidstrace @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @blubearxy

@wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @withersworld @lilacsforveins @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke

@kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @riameriash @arminseas2 @palanggaaa

@cherslop @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @blcknebula @babblybebe @iluvatsumuuuui @remscreams @cursedkisss @jaibunni

@a-jazzy-bee @miksde @zombiiesandmaltesers @sktvienna @dawnsoblivion @chloeee20 @naoybby @lateforlatte @lanamyersismywife @anosreep

[jupiteralexandra]

three's company - kiribaku x reader

a word from lex: uhhhh so, i decided to just make this a oneshot instead of the chapter breakdown so if you saw this before no you didn't 🙂‍↔️

content warnings: 18+, minors dni!!!!, 5.6k words, all characters are aged up, quirkless au, mutual pining between all parties involved, smut, threesome (kiribaku x f!reader), praise kink, degradation kink, blowjob, facefucking mention, oral (f! & m!receiving), overstimulation, raw sex, rough sex, double penetration (yes anal), spit, spanking, sloppy kissing, kiri being a golden retriever, bakugo being mean, kiribaku exploration (duh) (kissing, blowjobs, grinding), filthy talk, pussy drunk boys, whiny kiri, possessive bakugo, reader is fem and black coded, excuse any typos man yall know how this goes :p

'hey siri, play illegal by pinkpantheress'

vacation day one

the heat hit you the second the plane doors opened. the tulum air wrapped around you like a damp towel, thick, sweet with salt, carrying that tang of sunscreen and ocean that clung to every tourist stepping off. 

you tugged your bag higher on your shoulder, blinking against the sunlight spilling through the glass walls of the terminal, and reminded yourself this was vacation. finally.

bakugo stomped ahead of you with his usual scowl, dragging his suitcase like it had personally offended him. his shirt clung to his chest already, sweat beading at his temple, but he refused to admit the heat was getting to him. 

kirishima trailed behind, red hair catching the light like fire, grinning at everything. the palm trees swaying just outside the windows, the resort reps waving with their little laminated signs, even at you when he noticed you staring too long.

“c’mon, slowpokes,” bakugo barked, not even glancing back.

“he’s excited,” kirishima murmured, as if to soften the edges. he bumped your shoulder with his as you both followed. “don’t mind him.”

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was this felt easy. 

the three of you had been roommates for months now, best friends even longer, and somehow managed not to strangle each other despite sharing space. still, the idea of vacationing together, of sharing a resort for a whole week, felt different. 

heavier. 

maybe it was the unspoken thing that lingered between you three, the tension you could never quite name but never shook either.

outside, the shuttle waited. the ride was bumpy, all cracked roads and sudden glimpses of turquoise ocean through the trees. 

kirishima sat beside you, thigh brushing yours with every turn. he smelled faintly of his cologne, warm and woodsy, and you had to force yourself not to lean into it. bakugo sat on your other side, arms crossed, sunglasses shoved down his nose so he could glare at the driver every time the van jolted. his knee bounced the entire ride, jittering against yours until your skin hummed with nerves.

it was nothing. simply close proximity. but your body didn’t believe that.

thirty minutes later, the resort appeared like a mirage. huge white walls, sprawling pools, palms lined up like soldiers guarding paradise. the concierge handed out champagne flutes before you even stepped inside, and your first sip was cool, fizzy, the kind of sweetness that made you want to sink into it. kirishima clinked his glass to yours with a grin, while bakugo just muttered something under his breath and drained his in one go.

and as the receptionist slid three keycards across the counter, you realized with a tiny rush of adrenaline: this was real. vacation. one week, the three of you, in this sun-soaked paradise with nothing to do but relax.

the suite was bigger than you expected. polished tile floors, a living area with a velvet couch, and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a balcony facing the ocean. the sound of waves rushed in the moment kirishima tugged the curtains back, sunlight flooding everything in gold.

“holy shit,” he laughed, running toward the balcony. “look at this view!”

you dropped your bag on the couch, stunned. “this is insane.”

bakugo didn’t say anything, just threw his suitcase onto the nearest bedroom and started unzipping. you didn’t need words to know he was impressed too; the way his shoulders loosened, the way his scowl softened for just a second before he caught you looking.

“don’t just stand there,” he snapped. “pick a damn room.”

you and kirishima exchanged a look, both of you trying not to laugh. eventually you dragged your bag into the second bedroom, grateful for the huge bed, the private bathroom, the sliding doors that led to the shared balcony connecting all three rooms.

it was perfect. maybe too perfect.

unpacking was quick; just enough to get the essentials out. when you wandered back into the living area, kirishima was sprawled on the couch, shirt already peeled off, abs on full display as he scrolled through his phone. bakugo was in the kitchen, rifling through the minibar, muttering at the selection.

your gaze lingered on both of them longer than it should’ve. sweat still glistened faintly along kirishima’s collarbone, catching the light. bakugo’s arms flexed every time he slammed a bottle back into the fridge, veins running sharp along his forearms.

it was nothing. you were just tired. just jetlagged.

still, you excused yourself earlier than you needed to, retreating to your room under the guise of wanting to shower.

the shower was heaven.

hot water pounding your shoulders, steam curling around you until the smell of chlorine and airport faded away. when you stepped out, skin flushed, you felt lighter, except for the restless hum under your ribs that hadn’t left since you got here.

you pulled on something soft, a loose cami and panties, perfect for lounging in bed. but when you crawled beneath the sheets, the restless buzz only grew worse.

your mind wandered, traitorous. it kept circling back to them; bakugo’s scowl, the way it always made your stomach flip even though you’d never admit it. kirishima’s smile, sharp and bright, the way he always touched without hesitation, a hand on your shoulder or thigh that lingered too long.

you squeezed your thighs together. it didn’t help.

you shouldn’t. right?

 they were your friends. your roommates. this was dangerous territory.

but lying there, skin still warm from the shower, you couldn’t stop replaying the day. the way kirishima’s thigh pressed to yours in the shuttle, how he’d looked at you with that easy grin like you were the only thing worth looking at. the way bakugo’s knee bounced against yours, sharp and restless, like he was barely holding something back.

and at the resort, when kirishima had tugged his shirt off in the living room without a second thought, laughing while the sun painted every ridge of his abs golden. you’d stared too long and he’d caught you, smiled like he didn’t mind at all. then bakugo, stalking to the fridge, muscles shifting under his thin shirt every time he slammed another bottle back into place. his glare was sharp as always, but you’d noticed the way his jaw worked, the flush creeping up his neck like maybe he’d noticed you staring, too.

you pressed your thighs together, but the ache only sharpened. you wanted them both, god, you wanted them so bad it made your chest tight.

your hand slipped under the sheets before you could second guess it, brushing over damp cotton. your fingers trembled as you reached for the nightstand, the small bullet you brought with you cool in your palm until you flicked it on. the quiet hum filled the room, almost drowned by your own pulse hammering in your ears.

when you pressed it against your clit, your whole body jolted. “oh- fuck…”

images swam behind your eyes, bakugo pushing you back onto the bed, rough voice spitting curses in your ear, calling you his. kirishima pinning your wrists above your head, kissing down your body, whispering how good you were for him.

you whimpered, rolling your hips up to meet the vibrator. the sheets twisted in your fist as you gasped their names before you could stop yourself.

“katsuki,” it tore from your lips, desperate and raw.

your stomach flipped with shame, but the heat between your legs only grew sharper.

“eijirou, god, please,”

you didn’t know the door was cracked open to the balcony. you didn’t know two very familiar voices had stopped outside, hearing every word.

“...you heard that, right?” bakugo’s voice was low, tight.

kirishima swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the door. another moan bled through the crack, your moan, soft and needy, their names tangled in it. “no way… she’s-”

bakugo didn’t let him finish. he slid the keycard through, the lock beeping quietly before the door clicked open.

and there you were.

sprawled out on the bed, sheets tangled around your legs, cami bunched under your breasts. panties tugged to the side, bullet pressed to your clit, hips rolling up to meet the vibrations. your mouth was parted, slick and wet sounds filling the room as you whimpered.

both boys froze.

bakugo’s jaw flexed hard, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. kirishima’s breath caught, a choked sound stuck in his throat as his eyes drank you in.

you gasped again, back arching, whispering their names. you had no idea they were there, watching.

kirishima shifted, thighs tensing, his hand curling into a fist at his side like he had to hold himself back. bakugo’s teeth ground together, chest heaving as he tried to tear his eyes away and failed miserably.

for a long, charged moment, neither of them moved. the air in the room pulsed with it, thick and hungry.

then bakugo grabbed kirishima’s arm, yanking him back. the door shut with a soft click behind them, leaving you untouched, unaware.

outside in the hallway, they both stood there breathing hard, the muffled hum of your toy still bleeding faintly through the walls.

“fuck,” kirishima muttered first, dragging a hand through his hair. “you heard it. she said both our names.”

bakugo’s laugh was harsh, bitter around the edges. “yeah, i fuckin’ heard. been driving me crazy for months and now-” he cut himself off, jaw snapping shut.

kirishima looked at him, eyes dark, voice lower now. “so what? we just… ignore it?”

“hell no,” bakugo snapped, then smirked, sharp and dangerous. “but i’m not about to roll over for you, shitty hair.”

kirishima’s grin spread slow, fangs flashing. “then what, a competition?”

bakugo leaned in, eyes glinting. “winner gets her.”

for a moment they just stared at each other, heat sparking between them as your muffled moan carried through the door again.

then kirishima nodded once, sharp. “deal.”

bakugo’s smirk widened. “hope you’re ready to lose.”

and with that, they both turned, leaving you inside.

still gasping, still moaning their names, completely unaware of the pact that had just been sealed.

day two

kirishima had taken off early that morning for a snorkel excursion, something about “sharks being manly as hell” that made you laugh over breakfast. you’d been relieved, though. his absence gave you space.

space you didn’t realize you were craving until bakugo texted you the plan.

“cooking class tonight. tequila tasting. be ready at 7.”

no question mark. no wiggle room. bakugo’s way of asking was to tell.

you should’ve rolled your eyes at the bluntness, maybe even ignored him. but your stomach had fluttered, and you caught yourself smiling at the screen before you could stop it.

the restaurant sat just off the main strip, tucked between a row of boutiques. inside, the space was bright and warm, smelling of citrus, roasted peppers, and something smoky you couldn’t place. the class was set up around a wide open kitchen, stations lined with cutting boards, knives, neatly arranged ingredients.

bakugo was already there when you walked in, leaned against a counter with his arms crossed. he’d traded his usual tank top for a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. his hair was messy in that deliberate way, and the chain at his throat caught the overhead lights.

“’bout time,” he muttered when you approached, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“it’s 6:58,” you shot back, finding your place at his station.

“late’s late.”

you wanted to argue, but then his hand pressed to the small of your back.

light, but firm enough to guide you closer to the counter. your body went still for half a second, heat crawling up your neck. he didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge the way your breath caught, just kept you steady while the instructor began explaining the night’s menu.

you tried to focus on chopping peppers, but tequila tastings kept interrupting. smooth pours into small glasses, warm notes of lime dancing on your tongue. every time you lifted your glass, bakugo’s gaze followed. not in a judging way, but sharp, observant, like he was cataloguing every shift in your expression.

when a man from the other side of the room let his stare linger on you a little too long, bakugo was there before you even noticed; his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

bakugo’s grip didn’t ease. 

his thumb brushed just once against your hip, casual but deliberate, before he finally let go. you busied yourself with arranging diced onions just to hide the stupid grin tugging at your mouth.

time blurred as the food cooked. tequila loosened your tongue, made you laugh louder, lean closer. bakugo wasn’t as sharp with his insults tonight. they were still there, still sharp-edged and biting, but they landed softer.

“don’t cut it like that, dumbass, you’ll lose a finger.”

“i’m fine,” you muttered, raising your chin.

his hand closed gently around your wrist, steadying the knife. “not with your clumsy ass. here. like this.”

his voice was low, rough in a way that slid down your spine. his palm dwarfed your hand as he guided the knife through the motion. the contrast, his dominance and his carefulness, tangled inside you until you didn’t know what to do but let him.

the tension had been building all night, buzzing under your skin like static. it only snapped when the instructor stepped out to grab extra supplies, leaving the room briefly unsupervised.

bakugo leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he pretended to check on the simmering pot. “how drunk are you?”

“not drunk.” you swallowed, meeting his eyes. “buzzed.”

he smirked. “good. means you can’t blame the tequila for what’s about to happen.”

before you could ask what he meant, he caught your hand, tugging you toward the back door near the prep area. you glanced around, pulse skittering, but no one seemed to notice.

the door clicked shut behind you, muffling the noise of the class. you were in a narrow hallway lined with stacked crates and extra supplies, dim light buzzing overhead.

and suddenly, bakugo was kissing you.

his mouth was hot, demanding, but not careless. his hands framed your face first, thumbs brushing your jaw as if to steady you, before one slid to the back of your neck and the other dropped to the small of your back. he pressed you against the wall, bodies flush, and swallowed the sharp gasp that escaped your throat.

you melted instantly.

his tongue slid against yours, rough and insistent, and you arched closer without thinking. the taste of tequila lingered between you, sharp and citrusy, mixing with the warmth of his breath.

when you gripped his shirt to anchor yourself, he groaned low in his chest, deep and raw, and it vibrated through you. his hand left your waist only to catch yours, pinning it gently against the wall above your head. not harsh, but firm; a silent reminder that he was in control here.

you should’ve pulled away. but the way he kissed you made it impossible to think.

bakugo wasn’t just kissing you. he was consuming you. every drag of his mouth against yours, every nip at your lower lip, every press of his body said mine.

and the worst part? you wanted to be.

your head spun, not from the tequila, but from him, his heat, his dominance, the raw need threaded beneath his restraint. he kissed like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d been holding himself back until now.

“fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, breaking only long enough to breathe before diving back in. his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, just high enough to feel the bare skin of your waist. his touch burned.

you whimpered before you could stop yourself.

his grip on your hip tightened. “you like that?” he rasped, voice low and rough, brushing his lips along your jaw, your throat.

“y-yeah.” your answer came out shaky, pathetic even, but his answering smirk against your skin told you it was exactly what he wanted.

he dragged his mouth back to yours, deeper this time, hungrier.

you were dizzy, drowning in him, your thoughts scattering like sand in the tide.

“hey!”

the bark of a voice snapped you both apart. one of the instructors stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“this isn’t that kind of class. out. now.”

outside, the night air hit your face, cool against your flushed skin. you couldn’t meet bakugo’s eyes, still reeling from the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the echo of his voice in your ear.

but when you finally glanced sideways, expecting a scowl or a curse, he wasn’t ruffled at all.

his hands were in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, that sharp smirk tugging at his mouth.

“guess we’ll have to finish that another time,” he said, tone casual, like you hadn’t just been kissing each other senseless. but his eyes lingered on your lips, just for a second too long, before flicking back up.

your breath hitched. you nodded, heat rising in your chest.

bakugo chuckled, low and quiet, brushing past you. his fingers grazed yours on the way, subtle, like it wasn’t on purpose, but enough to make your skin prickle.

“c’mon, let’s go before kirishima gets back and asks why you look so flushed.”

he says it like nothing happened. like he hadn’t just wrecked you in a restaurant hallway.

but the way he carried himself, the heat still simmering in his eyes, the promise in that smirk; it said everything.

day four

the beach looked like it was on fire. 

the sky was melting into shades of orange, pink, and deep purple, streaks of gold shimmering against the waves that lapped at the shore. you’d mentioned it so many times since arriving at the resort; how badly you wanted to see the sunset right on the sand, toes buried in it, nothing in the way. of course kirishima made it happen.

he had it all ready. towels spread out, blankets tucked underneath for comfort, sunscreen tucked in the corner of the bag, even a little spread of snacks he’d insisted you’d need. “can’t watch the sunset on an empty stomach,” he’d said with a grin that reached his eyes.

you swore he was glowing in this light. warm and golden, eyes soft in ways that always made your chest ache. back home, people always assumed the two of you were dating.

how else could he explain the way he treated you? the way he was always looking out for you, always making sure you had what you needed before you even thought to ask. the way his presence was a shield, his attention laser-focused whenever you were around.

and of course, there was the touching. 

kiri couldn’t help himself. he wasn’t reckless about it, never disrespectful, but his hands always found their way to you. an arm slung around your waist, tugging you into his chest; his palm at the base of your neck, thumb tracing idle circles over your pulse; knuckles brushing your side just to remind you he was there. 

tonight was no different. you were practically in his lap, his broad arms wrapped around you from behind, holding you against him while his hands roamed your shoulders, your thigh, the curve of your stomach.

he smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, his breath tickling your ear when he spoke. “told you i’d make it happen. best seats in the house.”

“yeah,” you breathed, leaning into him more, your head falling back against his shoulder. “you always do.”

kiri grinned at that, but there was something else flickering beneath it. usually, his touch was soft, grounding; tonight it was heavier, his palms dragging slower against your skin, lingering in ways that made your chest tighten. 

there was a low hum in his throat when you shifted against him, and the sound slipped out of him before he could catch it.

you froze for just a second. “...did you just-”

“n-no,” he cut in quickly, but his voice had that gravelly edge, a roughness he didn’t usually let bleed through. 

he pressed his mouth to your temple, hiding it with a kiss, then let his hands wander higher, spreading over your stomach before tracing down again, fingertips dragging over your thigh.

you exhaled shakily, a sound that came out closer to a whimper than you wanted it to. kiri stilled, his chest rising and falling sharply against your back.

it was all he needed.

his lips found yours like he’d been starving for the taste, a deep hum vibrating in his chest when you let him in without hesitation. 

kiri always kissed like he meant it. 

slow at first, like he wanted to savor, but tonight there was something hungrier coiled under his sweetness. the hand on your thigh flexed, fingertips pressing into your skin before smoothing higher, dragging lazy circles that had your pulse racing.

you gasped against his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip, just a gentle tug, and he used it to deepen the kiss. the ocean rushed somewhere behind you, but all you could focus on was how close he pulled you, how the solid warmth of his chest pressed flush to yours until you were practically caged in by him.

his tongue slid against yours, coaxing, teasing, and it made a soft sound spill from you that you hadn’t meant to let out. kiri swallowed it down like it was everything he’d been waiting for, groaning low, his hand sliding to your waist, then your stomach, then up to skim the edge of your ribs before coming back down again like he couldn’t decide where he wanted you most.

your fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding on, tugging him closer even though there wasn’t any space left. 

he chuckled against your lips, a little smug, but then you moaned when his hand drifted higher to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, and the sound had him breaking the kiss just to stare at you. his pupils blown, lips red and wet, chest rising fast, he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice gravelly

he flipped you over in the sand with that effortless strength of his, not rough but certain. now he was above you, caging you with his body, kissing you like he couldn’t hold back anymore. sand clung to your skin, the world tilting with each drag of his mouth down to your jaw, your throat, the edge of your shoulder where your top had slipped.

your back arched when his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, hot palm against bare skin. you moaned again, louder this time, and it only spurred him on.

kiri groaned right into your mouth, kissing you harder, every brush of his tongue and teeth screaming that he wanted more.

just when the heat was reaching that dangerous edge, when you thought maybe you wouldn’t stop him this time, the sky cracked open. 

rain poured down like a switch had been flipped, soaking through your clothes instantly, the blanket forgotten as both of you gasped and laughed at the shock of it. kiri pressed one last desperate kiss to your lips before pulling back, hair dripping, face flushed.

“come on,” he said breathless but still grinning, tugging you up by the hand.

you ran through the rain back toward the resort, sand sticking to your legs, clothes plastered to your skin, kiri’s fingers laced tight with yours the whole way.

and while you laughed with him, chest light from the adrenaline and the kiss, a quiet thought started to flicker in the back of your mind. bakugo had been the first night. kiri tonight. both of them pulling you close, both of them treating you like you were the only thing in the world. it was almost too much to be coincidence.

but you didn’t say a word. not yet.

day five

it was day five when you finally realized what the boys were doing.

for the first few days of the trip you’d thought maybe you were imagining it. 

the way their hands lingered when they passed you things, the way they both seemed to gravitate to your side no matter where you were sitting, how the air always got heavier when it was just the three of you. it wasn’t new to be around them, you’d been close for years, hell, you all live together. 

but this… somehow this was different.

you knew something was up when kiri’s hand brushed your thigh under the dinner table that evening. not a graze. not an accident. his hand stayed there, warm and solid, his thumb dragging slow circles against your skin. you caught bakugo watching from across the table, his eyes flicking down and back up again, but instead of saying anything he smirked.

oh boy, did your excitement spike then.

bringing them both on this trip hadn’t been a mistake. maybe you’d been hoping for this all along, deep down. you’d thought they might make a move sooner, but maybe they just needed the right push.

so you decided tonight would be that push.

you invited them both over to your room for a movie night, playing it casual, like it was just another night of drinking and hanging out. kiri showed up first, grinning wide, hoodie hanging loose off his broad shoulders. bakugo followed not long after, carrying bottles under his arm, already muttering about your choice of movies.

you all piled onto your bed, the screen flickering with some action flick none of you really paid attention to. 

drinks loosened the edges, laughter echoing, warmth seeping in. eventually, all three of you ended up tangled under the same blanket, shoulders brushing, thighs pressed tight.

your pulse was racing, anticipation buzzing through you like static. 

you let it build, let the silence stretch while the movie droned on. then, you slid your hands under the blanket.

kiri jolted first, his breath catching when your palm pressed against the thick outline in his sweats. bakugo’s inhale came a heartbeat later when your other hand found him too, squeezing slow.

“the fuck are you doin’?” bakugo growled low, but his hips pressed into your hand anyway.

kiri made a soft, choked noise. “oh, fuck-”

you smiled sweetly, stroking them both through their clothes, feeling them stiffen under your touch. 

“are we gonna stop pretending now? i really hope it’s a yes. i’ve been waiting so long for you both to fuck me.” you say sweetly.

the blanket was ripped off instantly.

bakugo’s mouth crashed onto yours before you could blink, hot and demanding, tongue sliding deep like he was starving for you. 

kiri’s hands were already under your shirt, clumsy and eager, squeezing at your waist and breasts with low, needy groans.

you barely registered your shirt being tugged over your head, your bra unclasped, your body shoved back into the pillows. kiri’s lips trailed wet kisses down your throat, murmuring praise against your skin.

“so gorgeous, fuck, been dreamin’ about this, you’re so perfect-”

bakugo’s laugh was sharp against your mouth.

“course you have, shitty hair. she’s been teasin’ us all damn week.” his hand grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to him. “you think you’re in charge ‘cause you touched us first? kiri and i caught you the first day touchin’ that slutty pussy, callin’ out for us. you really thought we didn’t hear?”

your whole body flushed hot, embarrassment mixing with arousal so sharp it made you clench. you tried to glance away, but kiri tilted your chin back with a gentle hand, his voice soft and wrecked.

“don’t be shy now, darlin’,” he murmured, eyes dark but tender. “you’re ours now.”

the word sent a shiver down your spine. ours.

they stripped you fast, greedy hands everywhere, leaving you bare between them. kiri stared down like he couldn’t believe it, eyes wide, lips parted. bakugo didn’t give him time to linger.

“you wanted this so bad? show us,” bakugo ordered, shoving kiri’s head down between your thighs.

kiri obeyed without hesitation. his big hands spread you open, his mouth sealing to your cunt like he’d been dying for it. the first drag of his tongue had you keening, hips jerking, your fingers tangling in his messy red hair.

“fuck, kiri,”

he groaned against you, sloppy and desperate, lapping like he couldn’t get enough. “so good, so sweet, can’t believe i get to taste you.”

bakugo’s grip caught your jaw again, yanking your gaze back to him. “eyes on me. don’t look away.” two fingers pressed past your lips, filling your mouth. “suck.”

you whined but obeyed, hollowing your cheeks around his fingers while kiri devoured you below.

“yeah, that’s it,” bakugo rasped, watching your lips stretch around him. “fuckin’ knew you were a cock-hungry slut. bet he’s already drownin’ in how wet you are.”

your moan vibrated around his fingers. 

kiri whined like he couldn’t stand it, his tongue flicking faster, his face slick with your arousal.

when kiri finally pulled back, gasping for air, his lips were swollen and shiny. bakugo grabbed him by the collar and crashed his mouth against his, tongue shoving deep. you gasped at the sight. 

bakugo devouring him, kiri moaning into it, letting himself be kissed.

bakugo pulled away with a smirk. “‘s good?”

kiri nodded breathlessly. “so fucking good.”

bakugo shoved him aside. “move. my turn.”

he knelt between your thighs and wasted no time, shoving two fingers into you rough and fast. you yelped, back arching.

“tight little hole,” he muttered, eyes dark. “gonna stretch you open.”

then his mouth was on you, brutal and messy, tongue spearing into you while his fingers curled just right. you screamed, jerking under him, your thighs trembling as he tore an orgasm out of you in seconds.

“s-shit, kats-”

he pulled back, lips slick, smirking cruelly. “yeah. say my name when you cum.”

from there the night blurred into waves of pleasure. 

kiri worshipped you, pressing kisses over your skin, whispering how beautiful you were. bakugo broke you down with filthy words, spanking you anywhere his hands could reach, telling you how greedy you were, how you’d take anything they gave you.

they took turns, kiri sliding into you slow and reverent fucking you deep while kissing your mouth and neck, begging to make you feel good. bakugo bending you over rough, pounding into you until you sobbed, his hand on your neck, calling you a needy slut.

sometimes they worked you together. kiri on his knees between your thighs, tongue in your cunt, while bakugo held your head and fucked your throat until you gagged. kiri praising, bakugo degrading, both of them drowning you in sensation until you came so hard you thought you’d black out.

soon though, the vibe of the room,  it shifted. bakugo behind kiri, grinding his cock against him while kiri fucked into you. kiri’s whines were muffled in your neck, his body trembling as bakugo growled into his ear, biting down on his shoulder.

“good boy,” bakugo rasped, rutting against him. “fuck her just like that. make her scream.”

kiri whined louder, his thrusts deep and shaky, his praise spilling against your skin. “feel so good, so tight, fuck, i’m gonna-”

you could barely breathe, overwhelmed by both of them, their sounds, their heat, their need.

and then bakugo spat in his hand, slicking his cock, lining it up behind you.

“we’re gonna ruin you,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “gonna stuff every hole till you’re fuckin’ cryin’ for us.”

your eyes went wide as he pressed against your other hole, pushing slow. 

the stretch burned, sharp, but kiri’s soothing voice grounded you, his lips at your ear.

“you can take it, baby, you’re so strong, so perfect. fuck, look at you.” he said, looking at you like you’ve crafted every beautiful thing in the world with your bare hands.

bakugo shoved deeper, groaning low. “jus’ knew you’d have a tight little ass. fuck.”

you sobbed, the fullness overwhelming, both of them inside you, kiri’s cock buried in your cunt, bakugo splitting you open from behind.

“holy shit, she’s squeezin’ me so hard.” kiri gasped.

“yeah,” bakugo snarled. “she loves it. greedy little slut wanted both of us.”

you couldn’t even deny it. 

the stretch, the fullness, the way they moved together? 

it was too much, too good, your body trembling violently between them. every thrust had you screaming, tears streaking your cheeks, your body clenching down helplessly.

they fucked you like that for what felt like forever, pushing you past the point of pleasure into something deeper, rawer.

you came again and again, your body shaking, your voice breaking on cries of their names.

they didn’t stop until you were wrecked, sprawled limp between them, your body trembling and soaked.

bakugo pulled out first, groaning, and shoved his cock into kiri’s mouth. kiri sucked obediently, eyes fluttering shut, moaning around him. bakugo held his head, fucking his throat, while you watched through hazy eyes.

when kiri pulled off, gasping, his face wet, bakugo smirked down at him. “good boy.”

kiri flushed, his lips shiny.

bakugo tugged you both close after, collapsing onto the bed, dragging you against his chest. kiri curled around your back, his arm over your waist, holding you tight.

“told you,” bakugo muttered against your hair, voice raw. “ours.”

kiri hummed in agreement, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “yeah. ours.”

you believed it.

ending notes: it made more sense to put everything together yall idk. anyhow, hope you enjoyed, i know i did. likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! see ya!

requests are open

masterlist

tags: @softscripta

[singse]

cw: nipple piercings

the moment you get home, aang's upon you as his huge bulk presses you against the front door. an uncontrolled yelp escapes your mouth, your eyes wide as you peer up at a visibly excited aang. if he had a dog's tail, it'd be wagging back and forth at the speed of light.

"aang," you almost whine, lightly smacking his chest as his strong arms lock themselves around your waist. "wait, give me like five minutes—"

"but i wanna see 'em," aang actually whines, already looking at your clothed chest, searching. "it's been eight long tortuous hours of me waiting impatiently for you to come home so i can finally look at 'em."

you sigh, slightly exasperated. "yeah, i know, but they're very tender and you can't touch them right now—"

aang's already nodding. "of course! you've still gotta heal and the last thing i wanna do is interfere with that. but looking isn't the same as touching, right?" his grey eyes have gone into adorable doe-eyed mode, all big and heart-weakening and oh, damn him.

"you're lucky i like you," you grumble, side-eyeing aang's delighted cheer as he lets you go to give you space. "wait, right here? in the entry way?"

"yep!" aang replies, popping 'p' with a sunshine grin on his face. "and now, i mean this with all the respect, but take off that top."

you stifle a laugh, rolling your eyes. "you're a menace." your hands curl around the hem of your shirt before you're lifting it up to rest at your clavicle. a soft hiss escape you as the cool air hits your nipples, freshly pierced flesh hardening around metal barbells. a flash of embarrassment shoots through you when you take in aang's look of awe, raw amazement colouring his features as he takes in the new additions to your breasts.

"are you done?" you unintentionally snap after a minute goes by, your body warming at the immense attention aang's pouring onto your chest. "they're just piercings, nothing all that new or exciting—"

"how long until they heal?" aang interrupts, his voice soft and tinged with something deeper.

you recognise that tone; it's the one that usually starts a messy and arduous endeavour. one that ends up with you trembling, voice hoarse from crying out aang's name. you swallow thickly, biting your lower lip before murmuring, "a few weeks."

aang hums, taking in your chest one more time before his eyes are back at your face. the grey of them have darkened, the pupils blown to reveal a hidden arousal that only you have privy to. you begin to feel a familiar heat puddle itself in the pit of your stomach, slowly dampening the space between your thighs. it settles deep into your bones, stealing your breath from your lungs.

"a few weeks, huh?" aang says softly, his gaze darting down to your exposed chest again and you're able to notice how his own breath hitches in his throat. "we can do that, right? your recovery is most important after all."

you can't help but agree, nodding as your pierced nipples pebble, the strike of pain mixing beautifully with the headiness of your want.

yeah, a few weeks isn't all that long.

it'll be fine.

...it'll be fine.

[tonycries]

Divorce lawyer!Higuruma who’s perhaps a bit more…invested than he should be as a professional. He can’t help but siIently curse out that soon-to-be-ex husband of yours for cheating on you above aII, he can’t heIp but consider all the ways in which he’d have never done so. Divorce lawyer!Higuruma who’s all narrowed gazes and tight sentences during those mediation sessions with your soon-to-be ex. But with you he’s perhaps a bit more…touchy than a divorce lawyer should be: a comforting hand on your shoulder, a graze of his fingers as he hands you a document. The document. Divorce lawyer!Higuruma who doesn’t wait until the ink on that dotted Iine is dried before asking—“Fancy perhaps a dinner, to celebrate?”

[ghostedink]

Old dogs, and new tricks. (18+ MDNI)

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Price had been hearing it for weeks.

“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”

Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.

So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.

“Need a favor, Sergeant.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”

Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”

Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”

That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.

Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”

Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”

You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.

Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.

Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.

“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”

He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.

Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”

Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.

“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”

Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—

“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”

With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.

Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”

Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.

Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”

Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.

“Watch close, Sergeant. I’m a fast learner.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it — series

Part 2B: Replaced

The invitation sits unopened in Satoru’s backpack for a while.

He only notices it because he’s digging around for a missing assignment after practice and the pink-colored card slips free, landing on the floor of his dorm.

For a second he just stares at it. Then he remembers.

You had handed it to him almost three months ago outside the student center. When you were still together.

You’d looked nervous, a little excited.

“Will you come?” you’d asked, fidgeting with your fingers.

Satoru had been halfway through answering a text from a teammate. “Come to what?”

“My art showcase.” He remembers the way your face lit up when you started explaining it.

How the department had chosen student projects and everyone would have their own display section if they qualified.

At the time he’d barely listened, but now; he somehow remembers.

He’d kissed your forehead and promised he’d try. Then he’d forgotten about it almost immediately.

The memory makes his stomach twist because he never went.The guys wanted to celebrate a win and he forgot to text you.

What he hadn’t realized then, was there were two dates on the invitation. A voting stage, which had passed; and the winners event, which was tonight.

An annual exhibition, open to the public. After a quick search on the university website, he found a list of featured artists.

To his surprise your name was first on the list.

To Gojo, this was another great opportunity to get back into your life after you shunned him.

But his irritation quickly rises when he looks down the list and recognizes another name. “Choso Kamo.”

Maybe because he’s heard it too often lately. Every time someone mentions you recently, Choso’s name seems to follow.

He shoves the invitation back into his bag and by seven o’clock he’s standing outside the gallery.

He tells himself he’s only here because Suguru mentioned there would be free food and drinks. What a terrible lie.

——-

The building is crowded when he walks in. Students drift between exhibits; holding glasses of wine and tiny paper plates stacked with appetizers.

Soft music sets the quiet atmosphere, nothing like a fraternity party or a football game.

He almost leaves, but then he sees you… and everything else disappears.

You’re standing near the center of the room beside a display table; smiling at something a professor says.

You’re wearing the same expression you used to wear whenever you talked about something you loved.

The same expression he’d spent so much time ignoring.

For a moment he just watches. Then his eyes drift to the display behind you.

The breath leaves his lungs. The entire section belongs to you. Dozens of pieces carefully arranged across the wall. Some are landscapes. Others are portraits.

He didn’t know you were this talented. The realization causes a dull ache; not because you kept it from him, you tried to show him over and over.

He remembers you asking if he’d look through your portfolio. He remembers promising to look at it, and never getting around to it.

A group gathers around your display asking about your inspiration and advice. You begin explaining one of the photographs, a proud look on your face.

Satoru suddenly felt sick; because all those years you were talking to him about this exact stuff.

And most of the time he’d been checking football scores under the table.

The shame settles heavily in his chest. Then someone appears beside you.

Choso.

Satoru recognizes him immediately.

Tall. Dark-haired. The kind of guy who manages to look effortlessly cool without trying.

You glance at him and smile like there was more to be said.

Satoru hates how much that bothers him.

Choso leans down and whispers something only for you, and your laugh carries throughout the room.

And suddenly Satoru remembers every time you’d laughed like that with him.

Every late-night drive. Every movie marathon. Every stupid joke.

Back when making you happy had felt effortless, before he’d gotten comfortable. Before he assumed you’d always be there.

A professor approaches Choso’s display nearby.

Satoru follows a crowd without thinking. At first he only intends to glance at it.

Then he stops.

The entire section is incredible. Large paintings cover the walls. Sketches. Mixed media pieces.

Months of work displayed under bright gallery lights.

People keep stopping to compliment them. Choso accepts every compliment with an awkward smile but somehow redirects every compliment to you.

“Y/n actually helped me choose that one.”

“She stayed up until three helping me finish that display.”

“I almost scrapped this project, but she talked me out of it.”

Every comment feels like another knife.

Because Choso isn’t bragging. He isn’t trying to make Gojo jealous. He didn’t even realize he was there.

If anything, he seems genuinely grateful.

And Satoru remembers what it felt like when you used to support him like that.

You attended every game and made arrangements to come to away games. You learned the rules, listened to him complain after losses, celebrated wins like they were your own.

You built entire weekends around supporting him.

And he can’t remember attending a single thing that mattered to you.

Not one.

The realization follows him through the rest of the evening.

Everywhere he looks, there are reminders. Evidence of an entire world he’d never bothered to learn about.

Eventually he finds himself standing in front of one photograph longer than the others.

A nighttime campus scene.

Soft lights reflected across rain-soaked pavement.

Beautiful. Quiet. Lonely.

The title card beneath it catches his attention. The date listed underneath makes his stomach drop. He knows that date.

You took this photograph the night of one of his championship games. The same night you’d asked him to come with you afterward.

The same night he’d blown you off for a party.

You’d gone alone and taken this photo, creating something beautiful out of something painful.

For the first time all evening, Satoru leaves the gallery overwhelmed.

People continue filtering in through the entrance behind him.

Inside, through the glass windows, he can still see you surrounded by people who appreciate what you create.

And suddenly he understands something.

He’d spent months convincing himself that the breakup happened because football demanded too much of him.

Standing here now, none of those excuses survive.

The truth is much simpler; you had spent years showing him exactly who you were, inviting him into your world.

And every time he’d treated them like something he could look at later.

Now someone else knows your favorite projects. Someone else knows your dreams. Someone else gets to stand beside you on the nights that matter.

Satoru stays outside until the gallery closes.

He watches you leave through the front doors surrounded by friends, arms hooked with Choso. Your head leaning on him, accompanied by the widest grin possible.

And for the first time since the breakup, he doesn’t feel angry or jealous, just devastated.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it — series

The apology

The fourth letter never gets delivered because Satoru Gojo finally snaps after you had disregarded his attempt to speak to you.

The rain was heavier than when he saw you this afternoon, the kind that soaks through his sweatshirt and drips from his eyelashes.

The dorm lady is halfway through her crossword when he runs past the front desk.

“Hey—”

She was too late. He’s already taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time he reaches your floor, his chest is heaving, his hands are shaking. Not from the cold, but from fear.

Because for the first time since he broke up with you, he realizes something awful.

You might actually never forgive him.

The thought hits harder than any linebacker ever has.

So he pounds on your door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Loud enough that doors start opening up and down the hallway. Girls peek their heads out, mouths open with shock.

“Is that Gojo?”

“No way.”

The football star doesn’t care.

He bangs again. “Please.”

His voice cracks. “Please open the door.”

Silence.

Then he hears the lock click.

The door opens painfully slow, but there you are. Swearpants… and is that his oversized hoodie? Did you miss him ?

The look on your face said otherwise. He had never seen this look directed at him before. Was it indifference? Was it annoyance?

God it hurt.

For a second neither of you speak.

Then your eyes flick down to where he’s standing. He was drenched, a puddle of water forming at his shoes. His eyes were red, he looked miserable. Pathetic even.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat.

Gojo swallows. “I just need five minutes.”

“No.”

The door starts closing.

His hand catches it, “please.” His voice breaks again.

You freeze.

The hallway has gotten noticeably quieter.

Everyone is watching you. He knows they are and for once he doesn’t care what people think of him.

“I know you don’t want to see me.”

“Then leave,” you said sternly.

“I can’t.” His eyes are already shining. “I tried leaving.”

Your expression falters, just barely.

“I tried giving you space.” A broken laugh escapes him. “Apparently I can’t do that either.”

The girls down the hall are openly staring now, some are getting closer to hear the conversation. Others are pulling out their phones too, recording.

You notice, your jaw tightens and that annoyed look returns.

Gojo notices too.

And maybe that’s the thing that finally breaks him, he thinks you’re going to shut the door on him again.

So he does the unimaginable, and drops straight to his knees.

The hallway erupts. Gasps, whispers, and chuckles.

“Oh my God.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Is he crying?”

And he is. Rainwater and tears mixed together. He doesn’t care how humiliated and embarrassing he looks. Nothing matters anymore.

“Gojo—”

“No.”

He grabs your wrist desperately before you can pull away.“Please.”

The word comes out shattered. “Please just hear me out.”

Your eyes widen.

He’s never looked like this. Not the cocky quarterback, the football hero.

Right now he’s just your Satoru.

“Get inside,” you whisper. “You’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” He follows your eyes to the girls in your dorm hall. Judging, laughing, mouths wide open, in awe at his behaviour.

And to that, he scurries into your dorm room, tripping and falling back onto his knees. He stays there, because frankly he doesn’t have it in him to face you head on.

Silence follows, because he really didn’t expect you to give him the time of day. He hadn’t planned this far.

“I messed up.” His voice trembles.

You stare.

Gojo’s head drops; and before he can stop himself, his arms wrap around your legs. Holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

Which, honestly, might be true. He can feel his face burning; but he doesn’t let go.

You don’t shrug him off, and god does this contact he’s having with you feel comforting. It’s the first time he has touched you in two months. Tears prick his eyes again, as he nuzzles his head into your legs.

“I was wrong.” The words come muffled against sweatpants.

“I was so wrong.”

“Satoru.”

“No.” His grip tightens.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Another shaky breath.

“I thought if I focused on football everything would work out.” He laughs bitterly.

“Turns out I was just an idiot.”

Your chest aches despite the hate you felt for him after the break up. This isn’t the Satoru who broke your heart.

This is one who can’t even look at you. The one shaking like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you.” His voice is barely audible.

“I miss talking to you.” A tear slides down his cheek.

“I miss hearing about your classes.”

“I miss getting you sugary coffee in the morning.”

“I miss annoying you in the library and I miss you trying to help me study.”

You blink.

For the first time in months, a tiny smile almost appears.

Gojo notices, an his eyes immediately fill with hope.

“I love you…I never stopped loving you. I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a dick,” he sniffles.

You close your eyes. This is a problem you thought to yourself. You know he means it. The idiot means every word. Which somehow makes it worse.

When you open your eyes again, he’s still there.

Still kneeling.

Still holding onto you.

Waiting. Like a man standing in front of a judge. Waiting for his sentence.

Finally you sigh. “If you think this” you point to him and the scene he created, “fixes anything, you’re dumber than I thought.”

He looks up at you, big glassy blue eyes, bottom lip quivering from crying.

His shoulders immediately slump. “That’s fair.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.” His eyes lower.

The room falls silent.

Then—“If I ever forgive you…”

Gojo looks up so fast he almost gets whiplash.

“…there’s a lot of work to do.”

The hope on his face is painful. “You mean that?”

“I mean maybe, if there’s change.”

For Gojo, that feels like winning the lottery. “I’ll do it.” His answer comes instantly. “I’ll do anything.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

He nods his head, standing up now.

“No complaints?”

“Nope. Whatever you want me to do.” Gojo stares like you’ve hung the moon.

And for the first time since the breakup, he thinks—

Maybe.

He hasn’t lost you forever.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it - series

The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.

At first he thinks it’s funny.

You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.

But after the breakup?

You vanish.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.

He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.

Blocked.

“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”

Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.

Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.

The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.

So he broke up with you.

Clean and quick.

Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.

And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.

———-

The First Attempt

He tries texting.

It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.

He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”

But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.

Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”

Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“Means she’s not here.”

He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.

The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.

Flowers

A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.

Attached card: —SG <3

He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.

The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.

Still no message back.

The Letters

Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.

The first one is simple.

I know you blocked me. I deserve it.

Let me know if you wanna talk

-Satoru <3

No response.

The second one is longer.

I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.

Please unblock me xoxo

The third one is messy.

He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.

I keep looking for you around campus.

You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?

- Toru

Your Favorite Snacks

The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.

Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.

Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.

The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”

Meanwhile

Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.

But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.

The First Time He Sees You Again

It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.

For a second he thinks he imagined it.

But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.

The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.

It’s indifference.

You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.

“Hey—!”

You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.

Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”

“Yes.”

“…And?…will you please talk to me?”

You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”

Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[notvil]

hey. hey hey … reverse the situation … FaceTime phone sex nudes or videos of izuku fucking you doggy that he doesn’t know about cause he was too busy hiccuping into your back n shoulders WAT

lili hi hi hiiii! ૮꒰˵•ﻌ•˵꒱ა₊˚⊹♡ i'm saying hi because this is the last time you will see the light of day. DUCK WHEN YOU SEE ME—

cw: dubious recording. riding. overstim. squirting. some masochism. 1.2k that's all.

When Izuku steps inside, he expects you to be asleep. That’s a good thing—though he does miss the way you’d probably jump straight into his arms. You still would, wouldn’t you? Even after your voice warned him about the talk you needed to have once he got back?

He thinks you would. . .

He drops his bag by the front door, hears his keys clink into the bowl, and slips off his shoes. No low hum of the television, so you’re still in bed. Good. It’s the same place he last saw you on the video call, bundled up, pretending you weren’t tucked into his side of the bed. You stayed quieter, letting him fill most of the silence.

It’s awkward. . . knowing you saw part of his collection. Anxiety has been churning in his gut ever since, but you finished every call telling him you love him, so. . .

The apartment is dark, curtains drawn, with only the scattered nightlights casting warm tones across the floor. Those dim little beacons guide his steps toward your door.

He knocks—he’s respectful like that—before pushing it open. And there you are, sleeping so sweetly. . . oooh, he has to take a picture.

Another one you won’t know about.

. . .He hopes you’ll understand. As terrible as it sounds, he’d be hard pressed to part with them.

Blinking, he brushes that thought away and pads closer, already pulling out his phone. He’s halfway to the bed when he hears a moan. Was that you?

He looks—your face is relaxed. . . that was real, right? Or was it the floorboards? He steps back, forward again, confused.

He tilts his head and hears it once more. Coming from. . . you? No, not exactly you, but—

Then he notices the lit screen of your phone. It lights up the pillow beside you, shadows flickering and shifting. Another moan—long, drawn out, thin—and. . . are you watching porn?

Heat spreads through his skin. He’s never peeked into your twitter bookmarks, and now his fingers itch to do exactly that.

What do you watch? What do you like?

His own bookmarks are full of people who look like you: women who ride their dildos the way you ride him, who suck them the way you suck him, who grind on faces and come undone and cry out like you.

. . .Are any of them like him?

He pinches your phone between two fingers and fishes it from where it fell beside your hand. You snuffle softly, and he smiles a little at your fluttering lashes. You won’t wake; you sleep heavily after coming—which he’s guessing you did over and over.

He wants to kiss you, but he holds back. What if you wake and he hasn’t satisfied his curiosity? No, he’ll wait.

With one last glance at your sleeping face, he looks at the phone. The screen is dark for a second, then the video plays again. You've saved it. . . It must be a favorite.

He waits with bated breath, heat pooling between his lungs and his hips.

Muffled sounds, rustling, and then the phone is propped up somewhere. Oh. . . the person on screen looks familiar. Maybe it’s the lighting—it’s on the other side of the couple, so she’s little more than a shadow hovering over someone who’s lying there, writhing. She swings a leg over and—

It’s her hair. Her hair falls like yours. And. . . her back arches like yours.

Her fingers spread, lacing through the thick fingers of the man below her, and she grips tight.

“There we go. There we go, baby.”

That’s you.

“—feel so fucking good, in me, stretching me—”

Izuku feels as if a bucket of cold water’s been thrown over him. It is really you.

“—fuck the shape of you into me—”

And who are you on top of? Who’s the man you’re holding between your thighs and sinking down on?

“Fuck—”

That’s. . . familiar.

“Oh god, angel—”

That’s him!

“That’s it. Do I feel good, Zuku?”

He twitches, trembling at the revelation.

"Yeah, yeah so good, baby—oh my god."

His thumb taps the screen, revealing the slider about a fifth of the way through the video. There’s more? No—no, when was this taken?

“God, you’re in my fucking guts—I. . .” you huff a laugh, shaking your head. “Love it.”

The timestamp at the top says months ago, just a few, and—

“Izuku, I want you to come like this.”

The man—no him—he groans, the sound tapering into a whimper as you drag your hips over him. You’re panting, using his hands to keep yourself upright, throwing your head back and moaning.

“What? Can’t hear you, Zuku.”

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum again for you.”

"In me—"

"In you. I'm gonna cum—in—you!"

At the time, Izuku didn’t understand why you were so. . . different. So vocal, urging him to be louder, to speak up.

He groans on the video, coming inside you, and you don’t stop your hips, grinding back and forth, back and forth. You’re close—he knew it then, knows it now—and nothing can slow you down.

Now he gets it. You were recording, documenting one of those rare times he was too exhausted to be on top. He was injured—something with his knee—couldn’t move much, but God, he still wanted you, even whiny from pain and hazy on painkillers.

“Oh, god—” your voice shakes. Your hands press his into the bed, and he remembers that moment: how you clenched tight, how your teeth gritted as you worked yourself into overstimulation, crying and shaking, the drool from your mouth spilling over his chin, not done, not done.

“Move me—move me—” He remembers you letting go, his hands gripping your hips to help, biting back sensitive sounds that he now knows didn’t stay muffled, that spill through the speakers now as you pull tight and come again—squirting across his body.

“Don’t—stop—” you strain. He remembers you digging your fingers into his pecs, scratching over his skin and through the hair on his chest. The little thud of your clit against his belly, through his hair, the hot, wet pulse of you around his dick, unsure when the onslaught would end.

"Is it good, angel? More?" Even now he can hear how his voice pitches unsteadily, dipping from his own overstimulation, the edge of pain creeping in, the shake of his form. It hurt, but who is he ti interfere with your pleasure, the jaw-dropping beauty of you forcing yourself through contractions that makes you stiffen up and yowl.

It didn’t end until you choked, until you slapped him twice and screamed.

Izuku doesn’t notice that he’s thumbed the volume up, that the phone is an inch from his face, that his other hand is in his pants. He doesn’t register that your shrill scream has woken you.

He doesn’t realize until—

“Izuku. . . ” You look terrified. “I—”

“—you recorded us?”

You stare for a beat, two, and in his hand, the video loops again.

You’re gaping now, curling in on yourself, shaking your head. Your eyes brim with tears—again. He can’t stand to see it.

“Baby. . ." He feels too hot, and the heat builds. "We need to talk.”

“I know.” Your voice is quiet, shuddery. You’re holding back a sob.

He leans into you, the phone pressing into the grooves of his hand as he bends his head down and looks into your eyes. “After you fix this,” he says, his hand grabbing yours that tries to reach and press over your mouth, pressing over the bulge in his pants. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering at your sharp inhale and confused, black-blown eyes. “Please?”

[rawme-price]

Imagine being the waypoint operator for the 141s comms, in charge of directing their chatter to the correct channels when needed, right?

Your station acts as an added layer of security, encrypting the route the channels take in the event they are hacked. Sure, you work with other teams but the 141 are your main group.

One...small caveat of being in charge of their comms, is that you have to actually listen to their conversations in case they request a patch to someone.

Which leads to you hearing...way more than you'd like.

Gaz: sir. Stop poking it. Soap's waitin'

Ghost: think he had health issues. Look at his femur, odd texture.

Gaz: oh shit, really? Let me see—

Followed by far too graphic descriptions of the poor blokes leg. You had to skip lunch that day. You do most days they have missions, gross fuckers act like you can't hear all the shit they say.

Meaning, of course, that you hear too damn much about their sex lives or lack thereof due to missions. It's nothing new, and given you know what they look like, it doesn't paint a bad picture.

But this time? You're shocked by the subject of conversation.

Soap: ahm tellin' you, it's been too damn long. The poor lass is crying for attention!

Gaz: why not the guy from IT? He's eager enough.

Soap: no. Not really feeling that right now. Actually, you know who sounds nice?

There's that characteristic smirk in soaps voice you've long since learned to identify. You absently hear ghost prompt him to continue, wondering how the hell price tunes them out so well—

Soap: our waypoint.

You choke, splutter. Your own coughing making it impossible to hear gaz and ghosts reactions, but when you tune back in soap is viciously defending himself

Soap: no, no! Listen! Have you heard that voice?? Christ, just that and I could get a better wank than I've had all month! C'mon, ghost, I know you agree—

Ghost: you know they can hear you right now, johnny? Got anything to say?

Gaz: *chuckles* besides asking to get his dick wet? Maybe beg for a moan or something?

....silence

Soap: ....hey waypoint? You there?"

You shouldn't. Christ you shouldn't respond.

All comms are recorded, and waypoints should only talk when absolutely necessary but— but the 141 comms are wiped every 24 hours and...

You lean close to your mic, voice weaker than you'd like.

"Yes, soap?"

[thememedaddy]

[the-final-sif]

So! This is a perfect case study in situations where you should be wary of misinformation.

Take a moment and ask yourself, a project like this requires a lot of time, money and dedication of resources, why would scientists dedicate that time to something that could just be done by a tree?

The answer is they wouldn't. So that means this claim requires further investigation!

This project is called LIQUID 3, and it's not meant for cities with wide open spaces, it's meant for cities like Belgrade in Serbia. These cities are densely populated and heavily polluted, to the point where pollution actually chokes out current trees and makes creating green spaces difficult.

Liquid 3 was a PhD scientists answer to these problems. The microalgae tank is intended for spaces where you either:

Don't have enough space to plant full trees, or

Don't have enough time to plant trees and wait for them to grow up.

The tank is extremely efficient when you consider the amount of space needed compared to the amount of CO2 turned into oxygen. The tank can operate throughout the winter. And most importantly, it can be quickly set up in areas that desperately need relief from air pollution NOW not in 10 years when trees are done growing. Children currently suffocating on polluted air can't wait for trees to grow, they need to be taken care of now, and Liquid 3 is one of the ways to take care of them. Depending on the species of microalgea used, a number have shown a pretty amazing capacity to pull heavy metals out of the air which is something trees can get choked up by.

The tanks aren't just tanks either! Liquid 3 have solar panels placed on top, they have lighting and mobile phone charging, and they work as public benches. The designers of it want to encourage green spaces where there's room, but where there isn't room or time, Liquid 3 can step in. Realistically, this isn't a replacement for trees. It's replacing boring metal city benches with new, cooler benches that also clean the air (and have at least some heating during the winter).

Not only that, but the microalgea that grows is native to Serbia and all that microalgea has a ton of great uses! It makes for great fertilizer, compost, wastewater treatment, cleaner biofuels and even for helping create new tanks for further air purification. They only require a quick algae divide once a month, and the produced algae can be carted off to where ever it's needed. This makes them effective solutions for areas that can't sustain complex installations.

So yeah, there's actually quite a lot of places that would like these. Lots of people currently breathing in terrible quality air would much rather have their boring city benches replaced with really fucking cool algae tanks that clean the air and can be used to help create + sustain future green spaces in cities. I dunno about you, but I'd take that over a dumb metal bench any day. Put these at every bus stop and I'd be delighted.

[straawberries]

can ppl pls reblog this version

[us-nowhere-girls]

Well damn. I was also like wtf is this stupid slime tank and then I read the rest and my mind got blown

[gloomwitchwrites]

Primal

For the multiple anons that asked for primal, raw sex. That asked for a good hunt / chase. That wanted animalistic, rough sex, and even a little cnc. This is for you...and for those that asked for more pagan!soap.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (mdni): werewolf!ghost, bounty hunter!gaz, pagan!soap, arranged marriage, primal sex, unprotected piv, biting, cum marking, rough sex, creampie, mate bonds, oral sex, dubcon elements, roleplay, cnc

Word Count: 3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Darting around the edge of the sofa, you slip on the hardwood, landing hard.

Large, strong hands grasp your upper arms, twisting back, pinning them together. Kicking out, you squirm like a worm on the floor, fighting with all your strength.

“You fucking bastard,” you growl. “Let me go.”

There is no true fear in you. It’s a game. A scene. John is only playing the role of escaped fugitive, and you, his helpless victim of a home invasion.

“Your pussy is mine,” he laughs into your ear.

A click of a switchblade. A tug. A tear.

“Claw my face. Bite. Mark me all you like, doll.” John’s cock slides over your ass, back and forth, sticky precum dripping onto your skin. “Want your hands free to fight back.”

Throwing your shoulders forward and back achieves nothing. What strength you possess is greatly outweighed by John’s. The man is solid rock, an unmovable mountain.

Pinned in a prone bone position, the head of his cock finds your pussy, dips into your warmth. It’s a tight fit with your legs closed. John’s dick feels bigger, overly large and too much to take.

“Be a good girl, now. Do as you’re told.”

John thrusts, bottoming out. At the same time, he releases his grip on you. You attempt to twist, to throw your fists, but John brushes off the blows, pounding into you without even a flinch. Nails come next, scraping over skin, leaving red marks across John’s arms and chest. He takes it all in stride, keeping you pinned where you are on the floor.

You’re all animal, grunting and growling, squirming without victory. Fighting, though faked. The prey and predator. Hunter and hunted. Your body slickens, giving John easier access to fuck into you.

Grasping your hair, John abruptly pulls out of you, twisting you onto your back. This position is easier to use nails and teeth, not that John seems to care that you’re leaving tiny marks behind. They’re scattered across his skin, some enflamed, others blooming with the faintest trace of blood.

John brings his arm down on your throat, keeping you in place, dangerously close to cutting off your air, yet withholding enough strength to prevent you from gasping. Settling between your legs, he spreads his knees, forcing your legs to remain wide. You cannot bring them in nor straighten. The broadness of his chest and shoulders prevent bending your knees back enough to form a fetal position. You’re utterly trapped and John is fucking you hard, no slowness in his movements.

With a growl, you form a fist, bringing it down on the side of John’s head. He groans with pleasure as much as pain. Rearing back, his cock slips from your pussy, ropes of cum shooting from the tip to land on your stomach and thighs.

“Fuck, that hurt.”

But no safeword.

Scrambling to your feet, you make a break for it. You only make it a few steps before John is on your again, pinning your arms behind your back, shoving you against the wall, forcing your knees wide, guiding his cock back in.

As his thrusts begin anew, you smile into your shoulder.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’ll chase.”

“You’ll chase?”

Kyle shrugged, nonchalant. “Don’t tell me when. Or where. Just…go. I’ll find you.”

“You won’t.”

“I will. Love a good chase. Turns me on.”

You play that conversation repeatedly as you shower. You laughed about it then, even giggled as you packed your things and left a week later. Kyle has always been confident, always sure of himself, but you doubt he can track you like some bounty hunter.

Now, you’re a bit on edge, glancing at every face you pass and staring into dark corners, expecting Kyle to be there. You’re unable to pinpoint the exact moment you felt uneasy. Exchanging rental cars, using only cash, talking to as few people as possible, even leaving your cellphone at home.

A professional might brush those off as easy obstacles, but Kyle? No. You couldn’t imagine it when you were singing at the top of your lungs in the first rental car. Maybe the first isolated gas station did you in, only worsening when you stopped for the night. The hotel isn’t much except basic necessities, reasonable comfort, and endless hot water.

Twisting the shower knob, the blessed heat evaporates. Steam lingers in the air around you, the television softly filters in through the open bathroom door, the towel wrapped around your body is clean but scratchy, worse than what you have at home, but acceptable for how much you paid for the night.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you hum softly to yourself, using a second towel to dry your hair. The television is still on, but it’s darker than before. You come to a stop at the foot of the bed, frowning. All the lamps are turned off except the one on the table next to the bed. Even the glow from the television is muted, as if purposefully dimmed via the settings.

A sensation in the back of your head buzzes. Something old. Something primal. Ancient. A piece of genetic code that stayed with humans from the beginning. Someone is here. Someone is in this room with you.

Maybe it is Kyle. Maybe he was telling the truth. But it doesn’t make sense. Kyle is no professional. Military, yes, but able to track someone down with little to no information? Doubtful. This is all supposed to be a good laugh. You left, expecting to be gone no more than two days, returning with an accomplished grin and a “I told you so” attitude.

It only worsens the dread.

If someone is in this room, and it’s not Kyle, then who?

You take a step back, eyeing the corners of the room and the closed curtains, expecting a twisted figure to emerge from the shadows. Another step, the fear heightening, all the muscles in your body tight with tension, ready to flee.

A hand comes down on your mouth from behind. It’s a strong grip, silencing, forcing you backward until you hit something solid and warm. Instinct kicks in, arms extending to strike, only to be met with muscle and brute strength.

Large, muscular arms enclose around your body, holding your arms still, leaving no room to wrestle and wiggle.

“Stop moving.” The voice is slightly husky and labored, with a twinge of excitement. “Be still, bird.”

Masculine. British. Achingly familiar.

Kyle?

You say his name into the hand covering your mouth. The sound is flattened and the man’s grip quickens.

“No talking, either.”

It is Kyle. It has to be.

That thought comforts you yet the anxiety and fear linger. Still tense, you quiet your voice and body, waiting for him to give guidance.

His arms shift, followed by his hands. As you’re spun around to face him, the towel unfurls, dropping to the floor. You catch a glimpse of your assailant. Brown eyes. Strikingly familiar. The balaclava doesn’t need to be removed for you to know who wears it.

Kyle forces you to your knees. “Hands where I can see them. Right here.” He taps his thigh and you place your hands there, one on either side. “Be silent. And suck my cock.”

Your pussy clenches, excitement palpable. You do as your told, undoing the belt and opening up the front of his pants. When his cock emerges, you know for sure that it’s Kyle. It’s the shape, sure, but the smell, that heady, musky scent that you’d know anywhere.

Obediently, you open your mouth, and then your shoved onto his cock, taking every inch until you gag around him.

“Hands here,” he instructs again, and you grasp his thighs, holding on as he takes hold of your hair and begins fucking your throat.

Tears quickly come, eyes watering from the intensity of his thrusts and the way the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. Kyle doesn’t wipe your tears away. You’re wet between your thighs, slickening by the second. To be used like this, hunted down and ambushed, be utterly powerless, is fucking exhilarating.

Relaxing your throat, you take deep inhalations through your nose, trying to focus on not choking. Your gaze drifts to the left. A black duffle bag rests on the ground. It’s open, revealing some of its contents.

Rope. Duct tape. Zipties.

Is he going to keep you hostage here? Fuck your brains out? Or will he take you to a second location, using all your holes until you’re coated in cum and overstimulated?

Either sounds amazing.

Kyle grunts above you, his fist tightening, muscles flexing under your hands. He brings you fulling down onto his cock, your lips pressing against his pelvis, forcing himself down down down as his cum shoots out of the tip, slides to your esophagus to gestate in your stomach.

He keeps himself in your mouth, unmoving. “Show me how wet you are.”

Dropping a hand from his thigh, you slide it between your legs, presenting the glossy digits.

“Face down,” he growls. “Ass up.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I’m not finished making you my wife.

Your God saved you for me. My gods saved you for me.

The old woman. The strangely bitter tea. The festival. It’s all returning in little pieces, distance whisps that slip between your fingers.

We must welcome the pagans. We cannot make them Christians through brute force and violence.

There is fur beneath you, and damp earth. You’ve given in, submitted to the pagan with hardly a protest. Johnny is above you, over you, creating a cocoon. His arms are braced on either side of your head, elbows digging into the ground.

You’re protected. Warm. Legs spread to accommodate the way Johnny thrusts between your legs. You remember the tree. A rock. Even now, distantly, you hear the other festival goers in this forested maze. Mating. Coupling. Uncaring.

Johnny took you as a husband should, consummating that which hasn’t been ordained by God. Through the thick haze of pleasure, a small voice pecks at your attention like an irritated crow.

You can’t go back.

You’ll have to marry him.

Johnny hooks an arm under your thigh, opening you wider. His thrusts increase, hitting deeper. You’re incredibly slick between your thighs. Some of it is you, the rest is Johnny’s seed. The man has a determined look in his eye, as if he knows you’ll come to your senses eventually, that you may refuse him.

No. No. It’s too late. Far too late.

You will not be sent to a convent, or hastily married off to some unknown lord to cover up the pregnancy. Something tells you Johnny wouldn’t allow it anyway.

Your God saved you for me. My gods saved you for me.

This man intends to keep you.

Johnny’s mouth comes down on your neck, sucking. Your cunt clenches. A groan escapes you, all hesitation evaporated.

You reach for the long braid hanging over his shoulder. Grasping the end, you twist it around your fist, and pull hard. Johnny’s head is forced backward, followed by a whimper, and then you’re wet and warm all over again, his seed flooding your cunt.

“Little Christian,” chides Johnny. “What are you up to?”

Tugging on his braid again, you lift your head. Knowing what you’re asking for, Johnny closes the distance, your mouths meeting, exchanging breaths. You keep hold of his braid, unwavering. With a renewed intensity, Johnny pushes your legs up, never leaving your body. Relentless. It’s the only way to describe it.

Teeth and tongue. Sweat and spit. Moans and the buzzing of nearby insects.

Words are forgotten. It’s you and him, your bodies rocking together. There is no passiveness in you, only a craving, of wanting to burrow inside and stay there. This is all you can do, to unlock that part of yourself that’s always been knocked down.

Piety. Purity. Submissive.

Johnny doesn’t want any of it.

Above you, Johnny grunts, animalistic and wild. His thrusts are harder, faster, skin slapping against skin in sharp strikes. You pull harder on his braid. Your other hand claws at his back, sliding down to apply pressure.

To drive him deeper.

To not allow him to leave.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warmth radiates from where Simon’s fingers connect with your skin. A slow caress, a ghost of a touch, an observance before the meal.

“Is it not done outside?”

Simon pauses, fingers resting at your collarbone. “The mate bond?” You nod, swallowing, nervous for what comes next. “You don’t have wolf blood.”

“That matters?”

Simon’s fingers dip to the hollow of your throat. “You’re human. Forming the mate bond in the light of the moon would kill you.”

You draw back, Simon’s fingers hovering in the air where you stood. “Does that make me less in your eyes?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s the natural order of things. As alpha, it’s my job to protect the pack. You’re part of it now.”

“You hardly know me.”

“And I hardly know you,” he counters. “But it’s what’s best. Bring peace to the region. Protect shifters and humans alike.”

With a shred of added confidence, you step into Simon’s space. His fingers return, becoming a hand that rests at the base of your throat. “I heard from women in the village that the mate bond is special. A melding of the souls.”

His thumb lightly presses. “Yes, but it’s not the fantasy they make it out to be.”

“How do you mean?”

His grip tightens, drawing you closer. Your hands rise of their own volition, adding counter-pressure to his chest. The man is a stone wall. “Mate bonds aren’t predetermined. No fated connection. They’re chosen. Rare.”

All a lie, then. Upon arriving, you believed that there might be hope yet, that this marriage, this contract, would yield a sliver of potential.

Your voice drops to a cracked whisper. “And us?”

“You’re mine, until death.” Simon’s grip softens, shifting to cradle your head. He tips it up, forcing you to look at him. “As alpha, the mate bond will secure my place. You’ll birth my pups, be my closest ally. A mate bond is required.”

Nothing about this is romantic, but what did you expect? Your father sold you off for the sake of peace, met with this man, and offered you as a compromise. He accepted, and now, you’re married, alone in his den, a roaring fire at your back, a bed of furs to your left where you’ll officially become his wife and belong to Simon forever.

As if reading your thoughts, Simon says, “I won’t hurt you. To raise a hand to a mate is a crime.”

“But you’re the alpha. The law is your word.”

Simon’s head dips, creating a cocoon of intimacy. “I’d slit my throat before I’d harm you.”

“Those are nice words.”

Simon’s lips hover just shy of yours, eyelids heavy. “Then I’ll show you.”

As Simon closes the distance, the heat of him engulfs your senses. He is everywhere, blocking out the room, leaving you with him and him alone. The first kiss is touching but deep, revealing intent. The purpose of this evening is to form the bond, for Simon to consummate the marriage, and fill you with his seed in the hopes it’ll take.

His hands remain where they are, his lips indulging in kisses, breathing quicken with each one. You’re not unmoved. Simon’s touch is liquid fire, the heat unfurling and spreading into your limbs. Boney. Melting. Between your thighs is a growing wetness you’ve only known when you’ve been alone.

Simon’s nostrils flare, eyes widening. He pulls back, leaving you gasping. “Submit to me,” he growls, the sound more animal than human. “I’ll do the rest.”

Before you’re able to answer, Simon grabs the neckline of your dress, ripping it clear down the middle. His nails are longer than before, his eyes glow with a swirling yellow mist, fusing with Simon’s brown irises.

You’re hoisted into the air, plopped down onto the furs, pinned as Simon spreads your legs wide, locking them in place. His mouth is on your cunt, licking wildly, animalistic groans and grunts crawling up his throat to vibrate against your sex.

The sensation is brand new, and you cry out, choking on a sob as surprise becomes intense pleasure. Fisting his hair, you pull, body bent and tense as the orgasm builds. The tug sends Simon into a frenzy. His nails graze over your skin, stinging as he tongues your clit. As the orgasm crests, becoming unbearable, Simon flips you over onto your stomach, draping himself over you, keeping you pinned and submissive.

All you’re able to do is fist the furs beneath you, to moan as he shoves his cock into you, thrusting roughly. It’s not painful, just intense, consuming. Mouth open, tongue lolling, you give in, cunt squelching with each intrusion.

Above you, Simon’s breathing takes on a panting nature. Sharp teeth graze your skin. Open wide. Enclose around your throat but don’t pierce. You refuse to look, knowing Simon will be more wolf than man.

As his thrusts quicken, you sense a pressure in your skull, expanding to the point of suffocation.

Submit. Submit. Submit.

You open yourself to the weight, accepting. It flattens, pushing outward, twisting around in your body until you hear another voice speaking inside your head that is not your own.

Breed. Mate. Mark.

With that voice comes emotions and sensations, a shifting perspective. There is you, and there is Simon. His arousal is your own, and yours his. You finish instantly, squeezing his cock. Simon’s wolf teeth tighten, breaking skin.

Fresh blood fills your nostrils.

[rawme-price]

Thinking about mer!reader who was born in captivity meeting mer!ghost who was born wild...

You both meet in a mer sanctuary, you having been rescued from an aquarium going bankrupt and ghost under treatment for a boating strike. You've never seen another mer before, but the strange creature in your tank undeniably is one, that much you instincts tell you.

But....but he's so big, bigger than anything you've seen before! You doubt he could ever comfortably fit in your tank! Just looking at him makes your fins flutter nervously, hiding in the rocks on the shelf built into the pool.

He keeps peeking into your cave, chirping and churring in a way that makes your instincts perk but you don't really understand. Safety? Pod? You don't know.

Meanwhile, ghost is losing his mind.

This strange mer is too damn small, and he keeps trying to ask "are you okay? I'm safe, did they hurt you?" But all it does is squeak like a pup and hide!

Ghost can't fit into the tiny cave with the mer, and his instincts are already freaking out because he's separated from his pod! He needs to protect the weird pup!

....how the hell the workers intend to care for you when ghost is at risk of drowning anyone who tries, they have no idea.

Request fill for nonny who wanted captive vs wild mer!!!

[clleanlliness]

the hottest thing you can do is communicate btw

[tonycries]

Puppy Princess - G.S.

Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.  Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.  But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 16.8k

A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33

“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”

It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.

Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.

And then you’re hearing him again.

“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”

That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.

“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile. 

And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you. 

White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly. 

He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly. 

His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head. 

Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his. 

And you…

Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions. 

Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh. 

At least according to him.

Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.

Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—

For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.

As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter). 

Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.

And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.

All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.

And he flashed you his crooked grin.

You grinned back.

His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.

He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.

To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.

And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.

Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.

But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?

“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”

But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.

Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”

“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

“You shan’t have to call me that.”

And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away. 

You.

Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.

And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.

No one listened.

No one arrived.

No one helped.

No one helped.

No one helped.

Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front. 

He’d been both enraptured and scared.

And hungry. So…so hungry.

Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him. 

One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.

And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile. 

And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied. 

“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it? 

He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.

Let alone two children.

Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other. 

“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme. 

Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”

.

.

.

“Satoru-”

“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”

“Satoru.”

“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”

“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back. 

Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on. 

And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course. 

But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.

Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin. 

One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”

“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.

“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.

Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.

You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”

“A guest?” That piques your interest. 

This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.

Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well. 

Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman. 

And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you. 

From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers. 

You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post. 

“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”

“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”

“The Prince?”

“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”

Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame. 

.

.

.

Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Which was saying rather a lot.

You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.

Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power. 

And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.

You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.

But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle. 

It flashed at you menacingly.

And so did his pearly-white smile. 

“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.” 

You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”

“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”

“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more. 

“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”

Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.

You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—

“Father?”

But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle. 

And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”

Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.

As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”

The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two. 

Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons. 

And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—

“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”

Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.

“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”

“You- you—”

“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”

Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.

You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you. 

.

.

.

“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.” 

The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.

Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.

Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall. 

With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.

It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get. 

The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love. 

Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.

Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.

Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship. 

From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.

Which seemed to be…everything.

You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…

And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side. 

Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.

How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?

You’re biting back a sigh.

“Pssst.”

Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more. 

And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.

“Psssssst.”

There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—

When you feel something…touch your wrist.

You’re about to scream-

“Tamper your screaming, please.” 

Oh, well if they asked so nicely…

Wait-

Who?

Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table. 

Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems. 

Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.

Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”

“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”

“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”

“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”

“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.

“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.

“You rouge.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”

You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.

Wife?

One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer. 

But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”

You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment. 

“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.

Another bite he takes.

And another wad of wool he spits out. 

You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”

And so he does - eyeing you all the while.

Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside. 

One of Gojo’s very own.

That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared. 

You raise your hand to signal them to halt.

“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.

You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”

Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”

“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”

“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”

And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.

“He’s mine.”

Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine. 

Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable. 

“He- he is my best friend-”

“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”

Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”

Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.

“Your Highness-”

But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.

Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru. 

Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—

But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”

Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”

And yet, he’s gone.

And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.

You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.

But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself. 

Your engagement was in six moons.

.

.

.

To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.

You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.

And how many opportunities for diversion there were.

The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz. 

One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.

This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).

And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.

Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.

Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya. 

He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—

“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.

Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”

The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines. 

Tonight, you will be engaged.

And to a man that has never made you laugh once-

“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.

“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”

She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”

“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself. 

“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”

You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”

At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”

Utahime nods.

“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”

There’s a silence.

Her fingers finish their final knot.

And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”

Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”

You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.

“Or even…a princess to adore.”

Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls. 

This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet. 

And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”

Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants. 

“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.

Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-

“You.”

And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”

“Cease it.”

“No, I said Sour-face-”

“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin. 

“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”

Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”

A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”

Gojo clicks his jaw shut.

“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”

“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”

“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”

“But your duties-”

“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.

She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”

Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”

“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”

“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”

“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”

Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”

“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”

He snarls, “She was never mine.”

“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”

There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.

Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.

One last time.

What was he thinking?

He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.” 

“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”

The answer was as obvious as it was painful.

Gojo Satoru loved you. 

Loves you.

Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”

She brushes past him.

Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.

.

.

.

“You look…”

“How odd.”

“How startling.”

“What a change!”

Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”

Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”

“I’ll say.”

As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror. 

He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”

“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.

Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.

The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled. 

Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.

That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.

And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”

“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied. 

Gojo had shuddered.

But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep. 

Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…

Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up. 

And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

Or, at least, that was how you described him.

You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome? 

He never saw it.

But these girls seemed determined to make him.

Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.

They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course. 

Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince. 

And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.

But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.

Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes. 

He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…

Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.

Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.

All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown. 

It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats. 

Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’. 

“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”

Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.

He stares and stares.

He’s never felt more worthy of you.

By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing. 

Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”

And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—

He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”

They smile tenderly back.

The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery. 

Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.

His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.

.

.

.

“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”

“I thank you.”

This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded. 

Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you. 

And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.

Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps. 

Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one. 

There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze. 

Your heart clenches.

Satoru…

You attempt to shake your head free of him.

It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it. 

The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.

Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice. 

Celestial layers upon layers.

Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom. 

Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it. 

Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.

You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride. 

Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.

You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him. 

He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom. 

But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.

Summer-sky blue eyes.

They reminded you of—

“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”

Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”

“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”

You manage a smile.

“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”

You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”

“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly. 

“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply. 

Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them

“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”

“But of course.”

As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.

And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.

But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.

From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-

A title is announced - louder than all the rest. 

A prince.

Prince…you don’t hear the name.

But you don’t need it. 

Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.

He looked like something from a story.

Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.

The man startles.

He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.

Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.

And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. 

He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince. 

Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.

Just like his eyes.

Your breath hitches-

“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears. 

“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.

Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”

Michizane nods at you reassuringly. 

“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves. 

“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-

But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away. 

And you’re left alone.

With him.

Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own. 

Backward with your right foot.

Sideways with your left foot.

Backwards.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Sideways. 

It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”

Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”

“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”

He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.

And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.

Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”

“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”

“And you look like my dreams.”

The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.

The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.

That you could.

That you needed to.

By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.

And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.

Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.

You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.

“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”

And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his. 

He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.

You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—

And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—

Until your lips were buzzing.

Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.

—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.

“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”

And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown. 

His fingers are quick- nimble.

And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.

And soaked. 

Utterly, utterly soaked. 

But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—

“Fuck.”

He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth. 

“Fuh-fuck.”

The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit. 

He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.

His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards. 

Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need. 

“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”

“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks. 

You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-

“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”

Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”

Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy. 

This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—

“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”

And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”

“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”

He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too. 

Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”

“Pardon, my princess?”

“Yes-”

Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.

“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”

It was an honor. 

An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro- 

Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it. 

And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”

Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.

“And this pussy.”

And serving you, he is. 

With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt. 

The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper. 

“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.” 

Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”

And his other hand…

Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.

Every single drop.

And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.” 

“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.

“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”

“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats. 

“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”

Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?

“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.

Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off. 

He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.

As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.

In and out.

“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-

You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”

Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”

“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.

Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum. 

The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.

Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.

But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”

“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”

Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”

“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”

And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.” 

He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now. 

“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”

And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.

Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.

He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”

“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation. 

“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”

And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips. 

Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle. 

His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.

And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—

“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.

With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”

“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”

“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea. 

One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now. 

He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—

Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.

However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence. 

Almost pathetically so.

And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.

Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit. 

He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.

Side-to-side. Up and down.

You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.

You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”

“Your jester aims to please.”

Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all. 

Through peak after peak.

Through thrust after thrust.

And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”

Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”

“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”

“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.

“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers. 

Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge. 

And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.

He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!

Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly. 

He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer. 

There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice. 

“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”

“I am no steed, Satoru.”

“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.

Ready to break—himself. Fuck.

He was breaking himself. 

A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-

And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside. 

It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less. 

You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”

“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes? 

Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.

And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.

His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks. 

Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”

“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.

In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds. 

Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.

Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-

“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”

You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.

For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs. 

“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.

“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”

Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”

Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”

You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.

“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”

They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.

“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”

Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds. 

“To- hah, fuck you.”

Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little. 

Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors. 

Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”

He’s finally bottoming out.

Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other. 

Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”

Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”

“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”

“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.

“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”

Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”

“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal. 

Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”

Gojo’s chin hits his chest.

And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…

Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”

You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.

“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.

The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.

Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”

“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.

Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.

Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”

And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.

And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips- 

Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.

Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”

“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”

And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.

The smooth metal makes you keen-

“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.

“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles. 

“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.

Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with. 

Something that will make you laugh.

Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him. 

Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?

Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.

And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.

He fucks you like an animal. 

It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.

Thrumming your every vessel and vein.

Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.

And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”

“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.

“But you forevermore have my heart.”

“Rake.”

“For you only, my princess.”

That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.” 

“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”

“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”

Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall. 

Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”

“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”

You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.

“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever. 

You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down. 

“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”

There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters. 

“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—

“Satoru.”

“—my princess.”

.

.

.

“Zenin Naoya.”

The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters. 

No union had been announced.

The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip. 

The fucking jester.

Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.

But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason? 

Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?

General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters. 

Alone and angry until morning arrived. 

He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.

And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden. 

Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.

The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.

And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…

Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first. 

This was justice. 

Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside. 

“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.

And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…

This was clearly someone potent.

“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”

“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”

That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”

THUNK—!

From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.

Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”

The other man chuckles, “Gold?”

And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.

A miniature mountain of it.

Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—

“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”

That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”

His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”

“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”

“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”

Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”

As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips. 

“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”

Naoya spits.

“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”

Silence stretches.

It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”

Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.

“And what of their son?”

The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”

“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.” 

It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name. 

Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”

“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard. 

Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”

“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”

.

.

.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.

It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.

But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.

You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement. 

You’re leaning in as well—

But then two things occur to you:

It must have been at least midday.

Someone was at the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

More insistent this time.

The two of you look at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”

“My princess?” Gojo asks.

“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.

“For all the princess in the land-”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.

Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler. 

You open the doors, and outside stands…

Michizane?

He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?” 

You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…

And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.

And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons. 

Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”

Michizane shakes his head. 

“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”

.

.

.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom. 

After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Not that someone knew his life before this life.

Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.

But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage. 

And so he had always hoped…always, always…

And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.

It had to have been him.

Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think. 

The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.

Had been…

Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son. 

Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right. 

Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.

During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course. 

Long days and longer conversations.

Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.

Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.

But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”

The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.

Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile. 

After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.

His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.

Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold. 

And he rebuilt his own family. 

Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance. 

Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.

The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.

But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom. 

The wedding. 

Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh. 

Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?

Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well. 

Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.

You couldn’t be happier. 

Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.  

Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.

He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you. 

Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.

“Satoru.”

“My queen.”

A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ S.W.A.M. (starring . true form!sukuna & dabura)

synopsis . In which you sign up for this specialized annual program called Sex With a Monster (S.W.A.M. for short). Only a select few get chosen to participate in varying breeding tests & experiments with—you guessed it—monsters! And after years of applying, you finally get accepted into the program. Only to find that it’s not exactly what you were expecting... content . afab!reader, monster au, triple penetration (GULP), monster fucking (obviously), size kinks & differences, full nelson, reader is feral, lowk a crack fic, threesome, dabura & sukuna kiss, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, biting, feralness, breeding kink, dirty talk, filth, pet names, a veryyy pussydrunk dabura, dumbification, oral sex (f!receiving), mentions of: hybrid!choso, venom!toji, slenderman, vampire!suguru, and a cursed!satoru (there’s a lot going on in this), so.. so many cocks, bickering, implied squirting, etc.

word count . 8.2k || author's note: based on this request (and many others). this fic might be one of the craziest things i've written yet. not fully proofread, srry in advance! banner art by rororogi mogera <3

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO S.W.A.M. AS AN HONORED RECRUIT! YOU MAY COLLECT YOUR...

The rest of that email didn't much matter to you. In fact, you think everything after those first seven words could've been left out of the message entirely. You were so excited you nearly fell off your bed with a yelp of joy gleeing out of your throat.

It'd been four long years of trial and error trying to get into this damn program and it finally happened for you.

They only come around once a year for thirty-one days that always seem to fly by in the blink of an eye. In your first year of applying, you'd made a spelling error somewhere and they denied you. Stupid, right?

The second year you were under-qualified simply because you, "hadn't fucked enough people." And yes, it is as ridiculous as it sounds, considering anyone could lie within their application under that question that asks how much sex they've had within the past three months.

In the third year, you forgot to submit a "visual application" and they denied you once again. By this time you were starting to think the program was a scam and that there were just some creepy men behind the whole thing—tricking monster-fucking women into submitting intimate details about themself just for the hell of it.

It's not until this year that you realize this program was very much not a scam at all.

Your final attempt at getting into it was a success, resulting in that previously mentioned email that your eyes happily skimmed over. That, and you also had two other good friends who apparently had gotten accepted into it years ago, only deciding to spill the details of their experience now that you've been accepted.

"I had a great time when I went. Whatever you're thinking it is, I hope you know it's ten times better!" Yuki claimed. Apparently, she slept with some hybrid-wolf guy?

"No because I was actually upset they didn't send that one guy to me, y'know the one on the posters with the tentacles?" Your dearest Utahime had ranted. She got stuck with some dude with more eyes than arms—six to be exact—and evidently that turned her off from the whole experience.

Not that she didn’t go back a few times afterwards, though…

"Well, at least your monster had a face. I got a tentacle man but fuck, he was kinda boring since I was looking at a blank face the whole time." Your last acquaintance hummed in response to the previous statement.

There was a lot of information to take in and yet you were bright-eyed ‘n beaming with excitement upon listening to every little detail. This program asked its recruits for so much prior to acceptance due to the various things that could go oh-so-wrong.

After all, you were required to sign a waiver that said something about being okay with these tests possibly resulting in the loss of your own life. It was scary, sure. But you weren’t exactly thinking with your head whenever S.W.A.M. was involved.

Why would you be? One look at some hot, long-haired vampire who seemed to be the face of the program along with some other dark-haired brute with a freakishly long tongue, and your cunt was leading every decision of yours.

Not to mention the fact that this program housed all sorts of different types of monsters. Many were science experiments gone wrong and some were from entirely different worlds. And now that you were accepted into it, you'd finally be able to meet and sleep with one of them!

What could possibly go wrong?

——

"...Most have said it best if you follow their lead," Dr. Nanami Kento was in the middle of droning about while he led you to your designated "room of pleasure" or whatever he called it. "Some of our specimens here can be a bit... much to deal with, and if you'd like to walk out with the best experience possible, it is always advised that you let them do their thing and simply be compliant."

The two of you had been walking some lengthy hallway for what felt like hours now. Nanami was the first person to greet you upon your entry to the facility—which very much rivaled a prison on the outside, but looked to be a mix of a hospital and a hotel within its interior—and while you swear he's been walking you in circles, he's also explained to you a long list of rules that you'll need to keep in mind before you're to meet your monster.

All experiences in S.W.A.M. are unique and different. Even if two different people have slept with or been bred by the same monster, they both leave the program with two entirely dissimilar stories. 

Along the walk to your designated room, you passed by many others that gave you glimpses of how many differing species occupied this place. There were definitely a lot that looked nowhere near human, but there were also a considerable amount that seemed to be completely human.

Which Nanami clarified for you that they were certainly not.

At some point, the two of you had reached an elevator and after swiftly stepping onto it, Nanami calmly pressed the button for the twelfth floor. During this, you took notice of how some floors had names attached to them. The sixth floor was for hybrids, the eleventh floor was for the undead, and somewhere around the fifteenth floor included spirits and fae.

You naturally found all of this to be most fascinating, but in doing so, you missed the name of the floor the two of you were heading towards.

By the time the elevator creaked its way there, Nanami had let you step out first and then proceeded to remain in place with a stoic smile stitched across his face.

You swirled around with wide eyes, "Uh-, Dr. Nanami? Are you not coming with m—"

"Good luck," was the only, and last thing the man said to you before rapidly mashing at the lobby-level button to his right.

Then the doors shut in your face.

You stared at your slanted, shimmery reflection for a long moment before sighing and turning back around to the short hallway. There were three doors; one on the left that said Simurian, another on the right that read King of Curses, and the last one set in the middle which held your name on it.

You think your eyes stretched open impossibly wider upon seeing it.

Did all people get their own room like this? What the heck is a Simurian and just who the hell is the King of Curses? Why did Dr. Nanami leave you like that?? And what did he mean by good luck???

You were only here for sexualized testing, right?

Pushing all these questions of yours aside, you paced forward slowly. 

With every step you took, you couldn't help but notice how the door to your left seemed to be nearly ten feet tall. Over on your right, that door looked to be a few inches shorter but much wider.

Who or whatever occupied either room must have been freakishly huge. The thought of which makes you shudder before you finally slip into the human-sized door set for you.

Inside the room, you were met with a massive area. Everything looked as though it were twice your size—the bed, a table you end up walking past, a... a cuck chair(?), and a bunch of other stuff you didn't quite familiarize yourself with.

What caught your attention the quickest—aside from the large chair near the bed—was a file that was laid out on the only normally sized piece of furniture in the room, a dresser.

Curiously, you swiped up said file and were quick to open it. One of the papers inside fluttered out and elsewhere as soon as you did so, but you didn't pay it any mind since the first page inside captured all of your attention rather quickly.

It was a profile for someone named Dabura Karaba.

A picture of the man-, or, alien—as you come to know within the next few seconds of reading—sits up near the top left corner of the page.

There's a shit ton of information about him plastered all throughout the rest of the paper, going on to extend towards the back of it, and even a few more pages afterwards. But you skim over the majority of that just to read the details listed about his genitals.

Gross Morphology: The phallus is retractile, measuring at approximately 7-9 cm in total length (base to tip), with a circumference of 6.5 cm at mid-shaft—when flaccid. The organ falls under the spectrum of beige in color [HEX: #c2b6a1 for reference — intermittently a hue lighter or darker dependent on lighting], with twisting veins that pulse at roughly 20 bpm—presumably reflecting circulatory activity. The hemisphere of the glans measure at about 5.7 cm in width, and secretes a viscous, petroleum-like lubricant (pH 7.5-8.0). The membrane is. . .

You think your mouth is watering by the time your eyes return to their skimming, one too many scientific words printed out across the paper for your concern.

That is, until the word erectile seems to stand out in its bold letters before you.

Erectile Dynamics: Upon arousal (typically triggered by pheromonal, faint tactile, or visual stimuli) the glans reaches hues up to HEX: #7f737c — mimicking that of a flushed state. The phallus has then been measured to broaden rapidly, extending the full, non-curved, erect length of—

Unfortunately for your curiosity, your reading is cut quite short when the loud sound of something thumping against the wall causes you to flinch and redirect your eyes elsewhere. Though, you’re pretty sure you saw double digits following those last few words you read.

When you turn, you're met with the same being you've been reading about, who's currently busy with silently cursing your tiny doorframe for hitting the left tip of one of his horns. The alien is hunched over when your eyes make contact with him, but that changes within the next coming seconds as he steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind him—clearly unaware of your gaze being on him.

The moment his eyes—all three of them—glide your way, you flinch like an idiot and let that document drop out of your hands as if you weren't supposed to be touching it in the first place.

Dabura is a brooding-looking creature, to say the least. He's got a great deal of staggering feet to his height, easily exceeding some inches over seven feet tall. You believe you feel a short shot of pain in your neck just from the angle of which it takes to peer up at his face.

Despite being an alien, he carries a humanoid frame and possess quite the lean, but well defined, musculature. The three eyes he had slipping along your build all carry irises with an redish-orange color in them. There's a pair of long, curved horns—that you'd love to hold onto later—which extend upwards 'n outwards from the side of his head.

You're gulping down a thick sum of nerves as your gaze travels to the expanse of his body in sync with the way he was doing to you. There's a plethora of dark markings plastered all along his neck, arms, and shoulders, which form these uneven, asymmetrical patterns out across his smooth skin. That, and there's even another marking encircling that third eye of his.

Which you note hasn't moved from your face from the moment he noticed you despite his other pair having carried right along...

Your ogling comes to an end just as you're admiring his elongated earlobes from where you are, catching how they run down to his abdomen and are adorned with more piercings than you can count.

"I presume you're the human I am to mate with?" His voice sends a cold chill straight down your spine. Not because it was scary or anything, but simply due to the fact that no human could ever possess such a soothingly deep baritone to their words in the way he does.

You gulp loudly enough for him to hear and the sound makes his head tip over just an inch as if curiosity has struck him. "Y-Yes," The first stutter out of your mouth already makes you want to find the nearest window and ju-, "That would be me, yes. Which means you must be..." You halfway saved yourself of embarrassment until you realized you'd dropped that file with all his information and somehow managed to forget his name already.

Shit, this whole thing is going poorly already and neither of you have even taken your clothes off!

Scrambling to the papers that fell earlier, you hurry to swipe some of them up in search for a name and don't even notice the way he stalks over to assist you until a large hand comes into view just above yours. Then you lift your chin up and the alien is crouched right in front of you while looking down.

Up close, you realize just how intimidating he really is. It was bad before when he was a few steps away from you but now that he's up close, you think you can feel your heart beat pounding against your ears as if to give you an audio representation of your climbing anxiety.

You'd spent four years trying to get into this program and now you finally had a monster (technically alien) in front of you but the only thing you could feel was fear instead of excitement. What a bummer—

"Dabura," The alien murmurs in a contrastingly gentle tone, bass consuming all bits of space in between the two of you and weirdly settling down that anxiousness of yours to replace it with something much warmer. Then all his eyes flick up to meet with yours again and his demeanor is strictly calming as he hums, "There's no need for papers to tell you my name when I am right in front of you."

You blink, letting the word, "Right," tumble out of your mouth all softly. Snapping out of your flustered stupor, you look upwards and notice the faintest scuff on his left horn—which reminds you of the noise you heard when he first came in. Then you redirect your hand to reach up towards it, "Did you hit your horn on the way in?"

"I did,” Dabura cuts off your traveling hand by grabbing onto your wrist and holding it a few inches away from their destination.

"Are they sensitive to touch?" You ask harmlessly, batting your lashes at the creature.

His expression falls impossibly duller, eyelids lowering as an unamused frown takes over his lips, "Every human asks me this, no."

You immediately raise a brow as if unconvinced, "If that's true then,” He sees the way your fingers wiggle before you go to move your other hand, “May I-"

His free hand shoots over to grasp at your other one as his eyes widen slightly. Grumbling, "No." with more firmness to it in hopes you’ll stop with your attempts at feeling on his horns.

Then you pop a pout, "You're no funnnn.”

The alien stares at you for a long moment, taking you all in just as you’d done earlier. You’re far prettier than any other human he’d been sent so far, and he feels his heart doing something weird each time you make a surprising advance to touch him.

But even so, he’s not about to let you get into something you clearly don’t quite understand yet. "Unless you should like to begin mating now," Dabura explains lowly, steadily moving your hands down and towards your lap, "No, you cannot touch them."

A smug smile breaks out onto your face and it makes his brows twitch. He watches as you quickly break out of that momentarily timid shell, "Oh, so they are sensitive!" you exclaim.

"They are not, they just-,” He cuts himself off and shuts his eyes, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales strongly, “Human."

Your eyes roll, "I have a name too, y’know-"

"Do you wish to be bred against every available surface in this room?" Dabura interrupts, hoping to catch you off guard just as his initial appearance did.

Unfortunately for him, he’s in the presence of the world’s most eager human.

"Do you want my honest answer to that?" You ask with an unfairly cute grin on your face.

"I-,” He chokes whilst returning his eyes to you, “Pardon?" You act like you didn’t say anything unordinary and blink innocently. In which he’s left to let his shoulders slump a bit and begrudgingly say, "I am curious, yes. Answer me honestly."

That’s when you place your hands on the floor and lean closer to him rather cat-like, causing him to lean back out of shock and nearly fall completely on his ass despite being almost twice your size. "I would love if you fucked me against every surface,” You tell him with this little sparkle noticeable in your eyes.

In the time Dabura has been apart of the program, he can’t say he’s ever encountered a human quite as… enthusiastic as you. Plus, your sentence came out far more vulgar than his had—something he takes note of.

Which is exactly why his next words leaves him slowly, tone etched with concern, "...You appeared frightened by me just mere minutes ago."

"Yes,” You agree before looking down at the way he’s managed to lean back enough to nearly be positioned under you, “And now I'm aroused—in some places this is could even be called scarousal."

Dabura feels like you’re more of the foreign creature in the room as opposed to himself by this point. Letting his brows scrunch up, "I don't believe that's a word-"

"You're an alien, you only know so much,” You hush out in this purring tone that catches him off guard. Then you lift one of your hands and move to tap your index against one of his many, many abs.

His breath hitches and his lips twitch—threatening to smile from the experience of being teased by you.

Dabura’s got two eyes focused on the soft taps of your finger and the remaining one fixated on your face as he utters, "I like you, human."

"Thank you, alien.” You reply, sliding your finger over and tracing a few of his abs just to smile at the way he flinches under your touch. God, for a creature much larger than you and all intimidating, he sure was sensitive to the smallest of things. “I think I like you t-"

"May I taste you?" Dabura requests, throwing your entire focus off the rails.

"What?" You choke as an immediate throb feels out for your attention from in between your legs. Then you remember that he’s still a different species, and find yourself instinctively pulling away cautiously, "You mean like, sexually, right…?”

He snorts and your heart skips a beat at the realization he finds you most amusing when you’re confused. "Unless you have a preference for being devoured in a literal sense,” Dabura reaches for your wrist once more and pulls you closer, letting your palm meet his abdomen as he husks out a careful, “Yes."

"O-Oh. I mean, if that’s the case then of course." You agree with that same twinkle from earlier returning into your irises. Though, Dabura doesn’t miss the way your expressions vocalize your thoughts before your mouth does, "Wait, Dr. Nanami mentioned something about this testing being primarily for breeding.” You recall, moving away from the alien to stand up. “Eating me out will won’t really have anything to do with-"

"It will help." He insists as he too shifts around to bring himself up onto his feet. Then he gives you this look that has your thighs drawing nearer to one another, "And I'm sure that doctor of yours also mentioned how you are to listen to me."

You can’t exactly refute that, "Well-, wait, how do you know that?!"

Rolling his eyes only once as if he’d grown tired of this useless back and forth, Dabura presses forward and tutts, "You worry yourself with the wrong things."

After which, and before you have a moment to debate with him even further, he’s bent down to swoop you up ‘n over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing! One arm is tightly set around your thighs and the other comes over to place a hand against the curve of your ass to support you.

You feel all warm again as you realize how high up in the air he has you, considering how tall the alien stands. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean-,” You’re cut off within the next few seconds by your body flopping down onto the bed carelessly, a soft oof lofting out of your mouth instead. You then shoot your inquisitive gaze upwards again and open your mouth to question him further, but find yourself rather speechless from the angle of which he now stands.

It was one thing to see him from afar, another to see him practically beneath you, but above you? Fuck, you couldn’t even help the way your thighs clamped shut—arousal daring to damp itself at your core.

Dabura is looking down at you for a quiet moment before drawing a hand up to his chin in thought and muttering, “Perhaps I should have tossed you the other way…” 

You know you’re supposed to be following his lead but it’s a bit difficult to do that when all he’s said is that he wanted to taste you, “Huh? What are you-“

“Flip over,” He orders flatly, barely adding on, “Please,” after noticing the way you’d begun to glare at him. 

You’re slow to do exactly that, and feel awkward in your every move—being watched so closely by some alien you’ve hardly gotten to know wasn’t exactly what you were expecting from this whole thing. You don’t know why, but you thought this process would be a lot more-

“I’m going to undress you now,” Dabura warns, his hands having met with the fabric at your hips.

You freeze before regaining your thoughts and then glancing back at him from over your shoulder, “I really don’t think this part is necessary for the-“

He interrupts you with an unintentionally rude sigh—as if your extra communication is the problem here and not his lack thereof—and moves his hand to the center of your back before applying pressure. The weight from his palm forces your upper half down against the mattress. Your face smushes right into the sheets and you let out a frustrated grumble in response to his curtness. 

Then you could almost hear the smile in his words as he asks, “Is this the best you can arch?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice is muffled but he could make out what you were saying quite clearly.

Grinning to himself, “Your arch,” He repeats, biting back a snort, “Is this as good as it gets?”

You couldn’t tell if he was taunting you like this on purpose just to get a rise out of you or if he was being sincere but either way it was starting to annoy you. So much so that you lift your head a little and scoff, “How about I arch my foot into your a-ah! Hey,” Unfortunately, your words whisk out into a breathy sound rivaling a moan.

Dabura had deduced that right then, in the middle of your complaints, it’d be best to swipe his thumb against your crotch—bringing friction to your cunt through the few layers of fabric.

“For a human so intuitive, and uncooperative, you are quite wet.” He points out—making you furrow your brows as you wonder how the hell he figured that out from only one little touch. It’s not like you were leaking through your-, “What caused this, I wonder.”

With a bratty frown on your face, you pull your hips away from him slightly—not to reject his touches but simply to torture his desire to do so, “Not you, asshole.”

“Mmh.” Dabura is fully amused now. He’d never encountered a human quite like you. “Seems I forgot to add liar into that list,” He says playfully.

You gasp, “Excuse me-“

Your pants getting tugged down swiftly enough to cut your words off again, cool air slapping against your naked skin rather quickly.

“My, my…” Dabura gawks lightly. “You know, I’ve never tasted human pussy before.”

“Eh?” Your head pops up from the sheets and you look back over your shoulder, “You mean you’ve never given oral before?”

Almost sheepishly and in a stiffened manner, the alien shakes his head. “Many denied me from doing so, but you… You seemed so excited to mate with me, I only assumed you’d enjoy this just as much as I would.”

“Well-“

“And considering how…” The thick of his thumb presses in between your folds, rubbing against the fabric of your panties sluggishly, “…wet you are,” Then Dabura releases a parched sigh. “Why, it’d be improper of me not to get a taste. This entire program is based on sexualized testing, yes? Perhaps your cunt will take my seed best after being thoroughly licked.”

Talk about giving you fancy excuses just to eat you out…

You suppose you couldn’t blame him for wanting to plaster his tongue in your juices—after all, he did just say no other human allowed him to do so. Now, that does make you curious since Nanami specifically informed you to listen to your monster’s whims.

Perhaps he’d only done so based on this one’s past experiences? And that ‘good luck’ he gave you… what was that all about?

——

None of these questions of yours get answered anytime soon but they’re forgotten rather quickly with the way Dabura’s tongue had so feverishly met your twitching folds from beyond the layer of cotton that lay in the way.

You suppose he didn’t care much to move them aside just yet, as he seemed to enjoy toying with the material and liked the way you squirmed whenever he sucked it into his mouth—the raw feel of his plush lips grazing your bare cunt.

Even his decision to eat you out from the back left you curious. Hell, everything this damn alien did had you doused in concern. But of course, he hadn’t spared you a moment to dwell on any of them.

Especially not with those distracting grunts he let out by the time he finally peeled your panties down your clammy legs—hands gripped tightly onto your thighs to keep you spread open at the perfect angle for his tongue to lap inward.

“Mmmgh, yesyes,” Dabura groans, “Such a-, mmh, tasty lil’ thing.” His words slathered in between your pussy lips at varying angles, adding to each flicking movement of his tongue. 

“Dabura,” You moan just as his mouth plucks away for a split second long enough for his teeth to bare. Then angles down just to nibble at your inner thigh for no direct reason other than wanting to feel you squirm against his hands. “I-I still don’t think you’re supposed to-, ngh!”

Again, you’re cut off by his actions—his mouth having returned to your poor, leaky entrance to swab over with his tongue. Then his hands pried your legs further open in an attempt at feeling your labia peel apart even more, tongue hot ‘n aching for more and more of your slick. You’re unsure of what exactly would satiate the alien’s thirst for you when he was already thrusting the majority of his oral muscle in between your walls.

Humans didn’t eat pussy like this, naturally. Not only was there a foreign movement to the way he fucked his tongue into you but the added factor of Dabura being clueless with his every move had you dazed. You wanted to tease him for the way he’d waddle his tongue around your clit for a second too short but he always seemed to make up for it by wiggling it deeeep into your pussy directly after.

It was almost like he wanted to smear your own taste around.

“What was that?” Dabura eventually mumbled against your sappy folds, letting you gush against his lips as he spoke, “I couldn’t hear you over my talkative girl down here.”

Your legs twitch as if to close but it’s to no avail. All while your voice has pitched off into whine after whine, “Y-Your?”

The alien pulled his mouth off of you after one more suctioning pop! and then sported yet another tiny grin, “Whilst you’re in this room, yes.” A fat glop of spit spanked out across your hole next and he moves his thumb to fuck his salive inward, “Mine.”

“O-Oh.” Your jaw flails open some and you feel yourself drooling from the instant he starts feeding his thumb to your cunt. It’s only one finger but fuck, nothing could quite compare to it.

Dabura tipped his head aside as he twirled his thumb around your insides, “You seemed to like that,” He pointed out hotly, breaths fanning into your skin, “Being called mine.“

Your hips did that thing they did earlier when you attempted to flee from the pleasure he’d provided for you, “I do, but-, hahh.. none of this is important for the-“

“Oh hushhh, woman,” Dabura drawls out, fully bored of hearing you remind him about how eating you out has nothing to do with breeding you. “…Allow me to have this in peace, won’t you?” He pulls his thumb out of your cunt and spits once again before tapping at the saliva—mimicking a spanking motion against your hole.

After that, you give up on your arguments. Partially because Dabura decides to replace his thumb with two stretching fingers, and also because he seems to realize he can stimulate you rather greatly with only one hand—digits lodged neatly into your entrance while his thumb runs across your glossy clit.

Of which he’s taken quite the liking to. One could even say he grows fond of the gorgeous bundle of nerves, drawing all sorts of shapes around it and loving the feel of it jumping whenever his other fingers curl into that spot against your inner walls you adore so much.

You’re brought to not one, not two, and most certainly more than three orgasms from his fingers alone. And which each one, you try—you really, really do—to remind him of what you’re here for, but he ignores you each time.

Eventually Dabura finds himself in this drunken state, having his slicked fingers biting into your skin while he devours your cunt sluggishly with his whorish mouth.

Moaning, “S’good,” as his tongue tickles in somewhere deeper than it had previously—almost as if the damn thing were growing! “So sloppy, fuuuck,” The last curse exits his throat in a whine and by this point his hips have been eagerly bucking against the massive bed. “I love the way your pussy feels on my tongue,” He babbles, grinding his hard cock down against the mattress—rocking the entirety of the furniture in the process. 

Now, even though you’ve been occupied with having your cunt licked to utter numbness, you couldn’t ignore how needy Dabura’s other appendages seemed to be for you.

You knew the moment he got hard based on how much he adjusted himself against the bed. It was like the erection he carried in between those loose fabrics of his was a hindrance to him—oozing in precum excessively from the plump head and aching to dive in between the same lips he’d been lapping at.

His tongue is kissing at your clit right when he’s about to cum from doing so, but his orgasm is cut embarrassingly short by the way your room door flings open.

The poor door slams into the wall and Dabura lets out a very adorable yelp of surprise in between your legs.

So much for that intimidating aura of his, huh…

Even so, the sound he lets out, along with his flinching are both disregarded as he focuses back on the task at hand. He’s a little lazier with his feasting since he realizes the two of you have some company now but, again, this doesn’t stop him.

“You greedy fucking alien,” A new voice hoots out deeply, shucking the door away from the wall it slammed into just to shut it properly.

“Mmmnh, Sukuna, you ah-,” Dabura pauses his words to the newly entered monster just to sluuuurp! you right up one more time. A wet, sloppy smile spilt out across his lips, “You must come taste this. It’s like-“

“I know what good pussy tastes like, no need to explain it to me.” Sukuna cuts off, stomping his way into the room with his four eyes all fixated onto you. Pink brows furrowing, “I was a human prior to becoming this,” He adds on with a wave of his hand in Dabura’s direction, “Now move over.”

“…A bossy one, I bet.” The alien breathes out sassily, not paying the man any mind whatsoever and instead playing with the lips of your cunt by pulling them apart and then letting them fall back naturally after lifting his thumb away.

Ignoring his snarky remark, Sukuna ends up shoving poor Dabura out the way and letting his lower set of hands meet the purchase of your hips. One of his upper palms comes down to smack across your ass, making you flinch away from your previously dumbed-out state.

You lift your head and glance back, eyes met with a new creature that causes your jaw to fall open all stupidly. “A-And you are?”

Sukuna seems immediately ticked off by your lack of awareness, shooting a look over to Dabura and ignoring your question entirely. “What have you been up to with our toy so far?”

Toy? Surely he wasn’t talking about you…

“I’ve only licked her a few times,” Dabura claims—knowing all too well that few is beyond an understatement.

Sukuna seems pleased to hear that regaurdless. Sporting a haughty smile, “Have you?” He purrs before gripping onto the fat of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart to steal a glance at how swollen your folds are now, “Mh. That explains why she’s so puffy down here.”

Your face is still resting against the bedsheet but that doesn’t hinder you from mumbling, “M’not puffy…”

“Cute,” Sukuna comments shortly as he speaks as though you weren’t in the room with him. “She’s fucked-out already.”

“M’not,” You huff a bit louder this time, angling your rather wobbly arms to push yourself up on all fours.

You crane your head to get a full look at him, blinking past the blur of pleasurable tears that have built up along your lashline to take all of him in. Now, Sukuna was quite the sight for sore eyes.

While he was a bit shorter than Dabura in height, he surely made up for it in just about everything else. He had dark markings splayed out across his skin just as the alien did—but there was a clear difference in them. He also carried four eyes instead of the three you’d only just grown used to, all of which were red in hue and ever-so-glaring when met with yours.

There was a smirk on his face that never seemed to leave, stretching his pinkened lips out as if every fiber of his being were better-, or greater than you in every way imaginable. You wouldn’t call it smugness per-se, but there was something rather gloating about the way he carried himself. 

You could only see so much of him with the way he was positioned behind you, having taken Dabura’s place entirely and left the alien to lay on the bed somewhere to your left. Even so, you did notice that Sukuna had two of everything except legs.

He had a bulky stature, muscles bulged and stretched out across his limbs. Your eyes felt as though they had little hearts in them upon meeting the mouth stretching across his stomach. It should’ve been grotesque to look at considering the way it moved all freakishly and almost carnally.

The massive tongue would lull out to lather across his lips and you’d get a hint of sharp teeth within your view each time he did so.

Up until that same tongue extended to swipe across just about everything in between your legs. “Oh? Then you wouldn’t mind this,” He’d said in response to your almost forgotten words.

Then you felt the slippery wetness draaag against the backs of your thighs, your jittery-spread pussylips, and even your ass with the way Sukuna took one greedy lick. 

Your eyes bulged out all wide in reaction. The sight of which encouraged him to watch the way your expression contorted up as he focused the rounding tip of his stomach-tongue onto your cunt, bucking in dankly against it.

“Hnngh-, fuck.” You moaned before pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth and letting your back arch again, “W-What is your guys’ obsession with-, ohgod..”

The sweet sound of your voice was drowned out in your own pleasure as Sukuna’s tongue performed the same dances Dabura’s lengthy one had done just a moment ago.

“Poor thing,” Sukuna mocked, pouting at you to mirror the one sewn into your lips, “That dumb alien hasn’t given you any cock yet, has he?”

Your torso ended up falling once again as your hands went grabbing and tugging at the sheets to brace yourself for the full, greedy feel of his tongue. Then you shook your head in response and whimpered something along the lines of no.

Sukuna shot Dabura a look immediately. “Waited for me, didn’t you?” He taunted.

The alien no longer seemed amused and reciprocated Sukuna’s looks with a flat, irritated expression, “No.”

The pink-haired man rolled his eyes. “Mh. No matter, I see why you were occupied here for so long.” His attention returned to you and he found it most pleasing to watch you try to scurry further up the bed in an attempt at escaping that blinding pleasure his dewy tongue was gifting you with. “She is rather tasty.”

Even as you arched and moaned all over the place, you still managed to return to your focus of why you were here in the first place. There was no way you were about to let these two monsters make a pocket pussy out of you and only use their tongues with you!

“Can you just-, mmmph!” It’s quick that you learn Sukuna has even less of a patience than Dabura as one of his many, massive hands come to the back of your skull and push your face into the sheets.

He’s peering down at the way you wiggle your body in response, feeling pleasure begin to overstimulate your every nerve as his tongue invades every spongy spot of yours. “Has she been demanding all this time?” Sukuna asks the alien who seems quite bored now.

Dabura raises his eyebrows, surprised that Sukuna is acknowledging him again, “Yes, I believe she’d like to be bred.” He states, pointing out the obvious.

“Awh, too bad these tests are hardly for a human’s curiosity and primarily for our enjoyment.” The pink-haired man exhales—jerking his tongue back ‘n forth and backkk ‘n forthhh against the entirety of your soddened pussy, clinging to your clit and schlepping it around with his every move.

“Sukuna,” Dabura blinks, his eyes stuck on the motion of the man’s insistent tongue. He almost feels like his own was inadequate in comparison. “I do not believe you’re supposed to-“

Another cry is heard from you and the two are quickly distracted by the way your nails are beginning to tear at the bedsheets. Ah, Sukuna only then realizes that his tongue might just be too much for you after however long Dabura had his own on you.

Leading him to feel bad for you and gesture your way whilst directing his words to the alien at your left, “Hush her up, will you?”

Dabura frowns for the nth time. He didn’t much care to be ordered around by Sukuna like this.

…But that didn’t stop him from listening to each order he was given.

Which is how he ends up with his mouth against yours while Sukuna satisfies his incessant taste for you. 

——

That continued on for… heavens know how long. 

All three of you lose track and the only thing you can recall is the mixed feel of Dabura swallowing up your moans and Sukuna using his stomach mouth to play with your pussy like some toy.

It’s like you were the test subject in the room—not them. They both treated your body as if they’d never felt a human before or something. Which was weird considering the two of them have had their fair share of these tests before.

While Dabura was kissing you, his hands twitched with a need for exploration, soon traveling your body and fondling with your soft breasts. Every part of your body was left either marked or swollen from their many touches or bites.

And you don’t even remember how or when but you believe you were positioned on top of Dabura while Sukuna remained where he was behind you at some point. Because of this tangled position, Dabura was able to wrap his arms around you and keep you perfectly in place as Sukuna rubbed one—of his two—cocks in between the valley of your ass.

Within this position, the alien was beneath you with his own lengthy dick freed from the restricting fabrics of earlier—tugging at his shaft whilst feeling you squirm against him and whimper into his mouth.

That went on until both creatures had painted your stomach and your spine with their seed.

But, that wasn’t even where things really began.

No, no, things started—in your mind—when they let your body roll over from in between theirs and you were left to watch with dazed eyes as Sukuna grabbed at Dabura’s face and tugged him up. Then, erect cocks freed and tapping against one another upon all the movement, the two had exchanged one slow kiss in the name of “sharing your taste”.

You didn’t know what to make of it, really. 

Was it hot? Well, duh. But for the most part you were wondering if this is what both of them had wanted the entire time.

Were you just some ploy in this little game of theirs? Is this what Dr. Nanami had meant when he told you good luck?? Or—

The loud, prominently wet sound of their lips detaching from one another catches your ears as it rings throughout the entire room. When you look at their faces, you note how softened Dabura’s features seem to be. His eyes seem utterly desperate to please as they veer upwards to meet Sukuna’s hardened expression based on the angle of which the two were.

Then Sukuna lifts a hand to wipe away drool from the corner of Dabura’s lips, cracking yet another smirk before looking over to you. “You’ve got my poor alien whipped, human. I’m impressed.”

You stare dumbfoundedly, “Huh?”

Sukuna snorts, “Can’t you see it?” Gripping at Dabura’s chin, he turns his face over for you to look at. “There’s nothing in this head of his aside from you. You should be proud of yourself.”

You chew on your bottom lip again out of fear of saying the wrong thing in response, moving your gaze onto Dabura who is in fact just as whipped as Sukuna described him to be—eyes glazed over with lust and barely wiped away drool staining the side of his mouth.

When you and the alien make eye contact, his pupils seem to dilate and his cock is twitching all over again. He hadn’t the words to describe it, but from the very moment he saw you standing in this room, he was left entranced by you.

Chuckling, Sukuna releases Dabura from his grasp and then pulls away. “I suppose it’s time we give you what you want, yes?”

Now your eyes were lighting up, “Please?”

“Manners, how cute.” Sukuna hums before running a hand through his hair with one hand and motioning for you to follow him with another. “Come, let me place you in the most effective position."

Within the next few minutes, you’re hauled up into a pair of the man’s sizable arms, legs straggled out within his hold as your pussy is left to drip ‘n spill slick out all over the floor. You were a mess but the two monsters accompanying you weren’t fairing any better.

Dabura’s still sat on the bed in a foggy state of arousal, the plummy head of his cock waving in the air as it globed with honeyed plashets of cum. He was sitting there in his own disorder, unable to move until he made eye contact with your unfairly pretty pussy again.

The sheeny gloss from your arousal webbed out ever so beautifully against your lips, hole pulsing softly as it begged to be filled properly. Tongues wouldn’t satisfy you anymore, that much was clear.

Sukuna’s peering over your shoulder as he holds you up like some trophy, “Don’t tell me you’re too pussydrunk to move, alien.” He chastises, “Come breed her with me before she runs out of stamina on us.”

Dabura snaps out of his momentary torpor and staggers up on his feet, quickly looming over the two of you in the next coming seconds. Then he brings a finger to your chin to tip your face further up and his voice is a small whisper, “Tell me something first…”

You bat your damp lashes at him in that same probing manner he’d grown to admire, the sight of which makes his heart feel weird again.

“How exactly did you prepare for this? I’m curious,” He asks.

You’re still hardly lucid so, your voice is at some cockdrunken pitch as words slide out of your throat, “I rode a uh-, t-thirteen inch dildo a couple times,” You explain, giggling in thought shortly after. “Took a while to get used to…”

Sukuna nuzzles into the crook of your neck like a big cat, “And you believe that has properly prepared you for three cocks? Fuck, you’re dumber than I thought—I like that.”

You grumble something short of a curse at him but the sound only makes him smile against your skin. Then Dabura is finally closing the distance between all of you and you feel his tip sloping up against your sex.

Few words are exchanged in the next few moments as the two decide it’s time to finally stuff you full.

The first dick that slides into you is one of Sukuna’s—the lower one—which is absurdly thick as it slots into your gushy hole. Following this is Dabura’s eager cock, which has throbby veins bumping against every crevice of your insides.

By this point you’re being streeeetched all the way the fuck out and think it damn near impossible to fit all three lengths inside you at the same time. One alone was more than enough to have your eyes crossing but two and eventually three?

Oh, you didn’t think you’d be able to feel your legs come next morning.

Though this was of very little concern to you. You came into this program to be bred by monsters and that’s exactly what you were determined to do—no matter how much your poor hole would have to be stretched open in the process.

And it didn’t help that all three cocks just kept bulging and twitching inside you, smooching over one another as they explored the inner depths of your sweet cunt. Something short of a cockdrunk smile was painted across your lips but you couldn’t really feel it.

The only thing you could feel were the three fat dicks wadding their way into you—along with the hot breaths all over both sides of your neck. Then came the gobbets of cum that filled your insides to the brim. So much so that it’d spilt out of your puffed labia and sogged onto the floor beneath the three of you.

They didn’t stop there though.

No, no, your monsters were just as determined as you were so they kept on with their uneven thrusts—Sukuna bucking forward each time Dabura sleethed his hips back, all whilst bouncing you up and down like a true fucktoy.

No other experience could quite compare to how used this one left you feeling, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Their mixed seeds schliiiicked ‘n sloshed around your gummy walls, sure to take after this prolonged session of feral fucking with the excuse of sexualized testing to mask it.

It’s not until you hear Sukuna and Dabura exchanging hushed words that you finally get an answer to at least one of your many questions.

“And if-, shit.. if that doesn’t work…” Sukuna’s steady humming towards the alien, “Dabura..”

“Yes?”

“I shall have to breed you next.”

A loong, awkward silence stretches on uncomfortably before he chokes in response. Batting his lashes, “What.”

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