sukubusss

[sukubusss]

SPORTS CAR ✤ jujutsu kaisen

SYN. ➤ Zero decorum, max horsepower, full send. They don't just want the checkered flag, they want you wrecked and beggin'. This grid certainly doesn't play fair!

𝐉𝐉𝐊 ➤ Getō, Gojō, Tōji, Chōsō, Sukuna, Kashimo, Yuki, Shoko

cw ─ MDNI. afab!reader, FORMULA 1 AU, semi-publíc, praise, cockpit séx (highly inaccurate), possessive séx, chóking, spánking, reader is called 'bunny' in kashimo's, rough hándling, dírty talk, créampié, óral (f), mirror séx, backshóts, under the table, voice kínk, fíngeríng, overstím, squírting, medical pláy, tríbbing, strípping, cervíx kissing

wc. 8k

呪術廻戦 NOTE ( author says ) i've watched every sports car x f1 edit on tiktok i think. any likeness or resemblance to real f1 drivers is only a coincidence, nor is this reflective of the real profession 😭 didn't write this with particular racers or teams in mind.

☁︎ GOJŌ SATORU ➤ p1 & panting

". . he did it in tokyo, he did in kyoto, satoru gojo wins again, folks! that's his fifth prix win this season! absolutely unbelievable, my god."

the engine's still ticking down, the comms are crackling. you can barely register the deafening cheers before you're being yanked forward, senses overtaken by the scent of peppery armani.

"satoru –, wait," you're gasping, half-tripping into the cockpit as the pit crew's radio voice filters in.

"gojo, repeat, are you still in the car? you need to –"

but the headset cuts off with a click as he tears it from your ears, tossing it somewhere that you can't see. his crimson race gloves have been pulled off, but gojo's skin is still searing hot, slick with sweat and speed. pink lips parted, panting, not just from exhaustion, but from the look he's giving you.

"you're lucky i didn't pull you in mid-lap," gojo grins, and you fight the urge to tell him how impossible that would be, as his sharp white canines peek out from underneath his wolfish grin, flushed with victory, "baby, did you see that finish?"

you know the rational option here would be protesting, knowing that the team is probably workin' themselves up into a flurry in the garage, but it's hard not to feel light-headed and so damn hungry when gojo's gripping your waist, and dragging you just in front of the console, right up against the curve of the cramped cabin. thank god, the team opted for a mildly roomier cockpit this year, or else. . .

his helmet's off, snow-white hair a mess, and his jewel-blue eyes are electric, "i've got 'bout five minutes before they notice i'm not doing interviews." gojo's already pawing at your thighs, fingers desperate to tear down the waistband of your underwear, "i want them to wonder where i am."

gojo's teasing hands slips between your thighs, already playing with your slippery centre, and your boyfriend's leaning in, that rasp echoing against your cheek, "wanna show me how proud you are of your winner, baby?"

the car's still hot, the windows are fogging, and outside. . .the cameras are still flashing. but inside, it's just you and gojo, and the scent of burnt rubber and carbon fibre, and he's clearly not letting you go 'till you've screamed louder than the crowd.

gojo's already shoving his scarlet racing suit down to his shapely hips, movements sloppy with urgency as he settles you in his lap. long leaking cock already smearing a thin line of pre over his chiselled abdomen, "just a few minutes, sweets," he's murmuring against your throat, "we can make it work, yeah?"

you shouldn't, you really shouldn't. the entire paddock must be outside. the media, the team, the telemetry crew. . .everyone is either lookin' for him, or watching the live feed gojo's just abandoned. or they know not to look too closely, it's hard to challenge the king of the track when he's just pulled another podium win.

gojo's hands are rocking your hips back and forth, and he's determined to have as much of your slick coat his base before he truly snags his cock in. tongue laving at your jumping pulse, peppering sharp kisses against your soft flesh.

"t-toru –," you try, shaky breath catching as he continues to grind your folds against his cock, parting them to slot his thick shaft between them. teasing, and so sensitive.

"you looked soo hot standin' there," gojo murmurs, cerulean eyes lidded and starving to feel you drip arousal all over him, making a sticky mess, "lookin' so g-gorgeous, and – heh, this wet all f'me? is that it, baby? can't even think straight."

you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as his thick, bulbous tips snags against the hood of where you're most sensitive, giving your clit that most delicious friction you'd been craving.

"yeahhh," gojo purrs, nosing along your jaw, "i saw ya', crossed the finished line and thought how l-lucky i am that you're mine."

god, you just need to breathe through it, breathe through the incredible aphrodisiac that's called gojo satoru. he's already tweaking his fingers through your sopping cunt, dragging them against your folds to reach up and pinch at your clit.

"we don't have t-time –" but your thighs are shaking, heart already jumping at how close the stimulation has you to knocking on the door of a brilliant orgasm.

"i'll make time," gojo simply says, already lining himself up. the fucker's giggling to himself, heady and drunk from his win, slowly pattering his fingers up your abdomen as though he knows just how deep he's going to be. kneading at your groin, like x marks the spot.

the stretch simply steals the words from your mouth, rendering your language into a soft mush, shaken by how delicious his cock feels in your sticky, gummy walls. your head lolls against his broad, flushed shoulder — the creamy skin mottled strawberry-pink.

gojo's hissing, low and feral, absolutely gone as he holds you down, filling you straight to the hilt, each vein pressing and melding against your pussy.

"hahh, oh, baby," your boyfriend groans, bucking up once to test the clear water, fast and deep, like he wants to feel every tremble of your form above him, "always s-so perfect for me after a win."

the pace is brutal, desperate, made worse by how little space there is in the cockpit. your back slams into the dash, but it's softened by his large hand splayed across the skin. legs hooked haphazardly over his carved waist, bodies tangled in both victory and vice.

plap! plap! smack!

"ya' feel t-that," gojo pants, thrusts growing harsher, cock pressing up against that sweet spot that makes you sob, "that's what champions do, heh."

every low swirl of his shaking hips is hypnotic, and so dizzying, making a filthy mess that you know is going to puddle and seep into over his groin, soak into the curl of white hairs dusting the base of his girthy shaft.

"you gonna' cum for ya' w-winner?" gojo gasps, that priggish, love-struck grin still painted over his gorgeous features, even as his voice begins to shake, "say it, baby. tell me i'm your f-favourite."

"you, s-satoru," you half-sob, half-plead, "you're my favourite. god, it's so deep." wrecked, begging, and he groans like this is the podium he wanted all along.

your orgasm hits like white noise, blotting out the world beyond. you can barely register his stuttering hips, his sharp curses of your name, god, he loves you. his sharp breath hitches as gojo follows you over the edge.

satin-like ropes of cum shooting up to fill you up soo perfectly, and the world champion is sinking his teeth into your neck as he moans your name, low and ruined.

"i can't believe you were that horny n' hard after a race," you scold, body still trembling from the aftershocks. feeling warmth pool between your tacked groins, as your arousal mixes with him seed.

"you love it," gojo replies, not a hint of shame colouring his voice, "besides, this car's seen worse. like the time i got myself off, jus' thinking about you in spain. was only lookin' at you through the windows, that was enough."

"you did it on your own in this car, just from looking at me?"

gojo kisses your jaw, "don't shame me, i'm a sensitive man." he snickers as you smack his, holding you tighter.

outside, the pit crew must be losing their minds. but inside, gojo just won the real prize, and he's buried inside.

☁︎ GETŌ SUGURU ➤ in the devil's seat

the telemetry room is freezing, cold enough to keep everyone sharp and alert, absolutely on edge. but noting could make you more on edge than the hot seat that you're currently sitting in right now. just besides geto suguru, headseat askew, trying to not to moan when his fingers scissor through your folds again.

on the wall, the sector times update in real time, and god. . .the room is packed. screens flickering, engineers perched over the high chairs as they murmur, utterly focused on the little red dot zipping across the map.

see, you'd joined the team for simulations, not stimulations. but you're hardly one to complain, not when you know how much of an effect this has on geto. his sculpture-carved jaw is ticking, a faint flush blooming on the back of his neck that could be easily attributed to the excitement of the race.

"gojo, purple in sector two," geto's flatly leaning into the silver microphone, voice entirely level, "box this lap, copy?"

his other hand is under your waistband. two fingers, long and expert, utterly merciless, circle your slick folds deep and slow. knowing exactly how to make you tremble without a sound, thankfully, with the table in the way.

the rough pads of geto's fingertips are soaking up every beading drop of your arousal, his knuckles glossy with your release. he leans in, cool lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and determined, "c'mon, stay still. don't want my pretty girl embarrassing herself."

you can only nod, biting your lower lip so hard that you swear iron blooms on your tongue. but it had been hard to resist anything when geto suguru looked at you like that before quali, pulling you aside and asking you to shadow him during the race. violet eyes lidded, the faintest watercolour brush of rose plastered over his cheekbones.

and. . .your headset is still on. one wrong noise, one hasty move, and everyone will probably hear exactly how you shadow the famed geto suguru. you're sure your microphone levels are low enough so they don't pick up on the constant, sloppy squelch! of geto's middle and ring finger plunging into your dripping core.

"my clever girl," geto coos, but his eyes don't shift from watching the golden boy's onboards (gojo satoru, of course). well, aside from the temporary loss in his composure when you clench the sticky walls of your inner muscles against his fingers, his ink-dark lashes briefly fluttering wide in shock. lookin' close enough to spill a thick load in his slacks.

your body must be shaking now, your thighs trembling with the herculean exertion that geto's pulling from you. every new lap, every clean turn from gojo is matched by geto sinking his fingers deeper into you, drawing slack and curling up against that sweet, rough patch until you choke on a whimper.

a wan smile twitches his lips, almost amused. fond, even. he's caught it, he knows just how close you are to spilling over his hands. that release that he's just equally desperate to chase, geto needs you to fall apart on him.

"there it is," geto's purring, and you can barely hear the excitement his tone over the ringing in your ears, "good girl." someone's leaning over from behind, and thank god they can't see exactly what's been going on beneath the table, "suguru, sector 3 delta just spiked."

geto doesn't blink, temporarily halting the wet sloshes that he's composing between your thighs. rather, focusing some much needed attention on the swollen bundle of nerves beneath your mound, "that's expected. wind change near turn fourteen."

his thumb roughly tacks beneath the glistening hood, "you're doing so well," geto breathes against your temple, "think you've earned a reward after this. . .or a punishment, what'd you say?"

it only takes three more tender, pounding hits of his long fingers against the most sensitive spots. your eyes flutter shut, mouth pressed thinly as you're determined to not cry, nor gasp and moan. but each swipe of geto's digits against your clit undos your resolve further and further, your thighs shaking from the extra stimulation.

and when gojo wins the pole, cheers breaking through your headset, the room leaping to its feat, geto doesn't even flinch. he's slowly withdrawing his hand from your waistband. fingertips pruned, sticky and warn as he slips them into your mouth. discreet, hungry.

"clean up, gorgeous," geto gruffly whispers, his mauve eyes drawn to how your lips eagerly part around his index finger, "we should celebrate tonight."

your head must be spinning, legs numb from what geto has wrought from you, that dazzling orgasm that leaves the world awash in shades of silver and white. you can taste yourself, that bittersweet tang on his fingers, and it renders you dazed.

"thaaaat's it, beautiful," geto laughs, licking the last of your moans and release from his finger, "now you're learnin' real strategy."

☁︎ RYŌMEN SUKUNA ➤ crash into me

the door of the driver's trailer slams shut behind you, like a starting light hitting green. your back hits the wall you before you can even speak, before you can even wonder at what exactly has gotten into your fiancé now.

ryomen sukuna's warm hand is wrapped around your throat, a thumb gently soothing at the lower juncture of your jaw. his other hand is still smudged with track rubber and sticky grease, gripping your waist tight enough to deliciously bruise.

"they think i'm reckless," sukuna's voice is a hot, sharp growl in your ear, "then let's give 'em a reason to blacklist me, eh, sweetheart?"

perhaps it would be wiser to interrupt him, to warn sukuna that the media is still swarming outside, and this is the last thing the fia will tolerate from him. but russet eyes are almost. . .tender as they roam over you, his grasp on the base of your neck enough to make your brain melt and your knees forget how to hold you up.

"wanna' be my podium, girl? i should have you on your knees, don't ya' agree?" sukuna's still in his fireproofs, unzipped just enough to expose the broad, tan expanse of his chest. the inky-black tattoos crawling down his skin, some sin-streaked marks that you ache to press your lips to.

maroon eyes gleam, still utterly high off the chaos of the race, from the penalty that cost him his pole for the rest of the weekend. and you? well, you're gonna' have to be his victory lap instead.

you moan, wanton and improper, as sukuna's mouth teases down your neck, pressing to your collarbones before clawed nails tear open your blouse as though it's a paper flag, yanking you forward by a sturdy, yet thin chain. bringing you closer still, eye to eye with the racer that the world calls the king of curses.

and of course, what else would be dangling from the chain but his name? sukuna, the kanji letters encrusted with small precious stones, a gift that he had surprised you with for your most recent anniversary.

"hah, you wear this for me? cute lil' trophy like you're my number one fan, orrr my good luck charm?"

sukuna pushes you against the opposite wall, jostling the numerous trophies that already litter the shelves. you gasp, certain that pools of arousal must already be glistening between your thighs. his hand slides lower, rough and greedy, impatient as he tends to be. slipping past the lace edge of your panties to paw at your sopping folds.

he's groaning, hot and heavy, feeling just how wet you are. sukuna's almost ecstatic at the thought that his girl was walkin' around with such a. . .waterpark between her legs. primed to gush over him, to soak the base of his cock with every nasty thrust that he's daydreaming about.

"you're s-soaked, sweetheart. you're likin' this, aren'tcha?"

your head lolls as you nod, succumbing to the sweet hands of pleasure throbbing below your groan. sukuna smacks your thigh, and the force is hard enough for your eyes to flutter open, his warm hand gently running over the stung skin to soothe the flesh, "eyes on me, girl. remember what i said 'bout being my podium? ya' gotta' earn it."

there's little warning before sukuna scoops you up, lifting you bridal style, only to throw you down onto the little couch in the corner of the trailer, yanking the remainder of his race suit down with a snarl, "s-see, this is what they gotta' know. i can't do. . .slow or soft. i win, heh."

you know full well that sukuna is capable of both slow and soft, and thick, heavy strokes that dig through your cunt as he often holds you down in the most delicious mating press. but you're not eager to quite rain on his ego parade, unless, of course, it's a different sort of rain from between your legs that he can eagerly lap up.

sukuna must be leaving marks on your hips, teeth on your collarbone, handprints on your thighs. each thrust of his thick, wide cock must be some punishment for the stewards, for the world, for the fact that he didn't really get to break someone out there today.

but you, his gorgeous wife-to-be? you can take it, and sukuna has to hide the rapid flush blooming over his face, opting to nip at the back of your neck.

"we're gonna' do this 'till those fuckin' stewards retract that penalty," sukuna pants into your ear, thick cock rummaging sweet patterns right up into you as the tufts of soaked blush-pink hair are pressed right against you. imprinting the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock in a way that has you seeing stars and gasping oh so prettily, "or 'till the walls fall in, whichever comes first."

☁︎ TŌJI FUSHIGURO ➤ wrenched wide open

it started with a wrench, and no, not a metaphorical tool. a literal wrench, dropped from your armful of gear, clanging far too loudly against the concrete in the empty garage. you're flinching, cursing under your breath. it's past dark, rain still slickin' the floor outside, and most of the team's already gone.

you shouldn't be here, you're just the rookie. you're supposed to be following orders, not fuckin' around with loose bolts and leftover adrenaline. which is exactly when you realise that you're not quite alone.

the metal shutter behind you slams down with a mechanical growl, loud and final. you whip around. . .toji fushiguro. beefy arms folded, sweat clinging to the curve of his neck. verdant eyes darker than engine oil, and just as dangerous.

he doesn't speak right away, just watches as you clench your thighs, almost sub-consciously (or so he thinks, little does he know that you know just how to rile him up).

"you always this sloppy, doll? or just when i'm watching?"

your skin is flushed, heat crawling up your spine as though it's chasing the storm outside. toji's eyes are deliciously dragging down your body, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way your soaked polo clings to your chest.

he knows exactly what you want.

toji's already moving, and he's on you in two steps, rough fingers curling around your wrist, grunting as he tugs you backwards. your spine hitting the warm sidepod of the car, the paint is still slick from rain and truck dust, and it makes you shiver.

"i rebuilt this v6 before breakfast," toji mutters, voice thick with gravel, and the promise of upcoming sin, "let's see if you can last longer than that."

one of toji's veined hands are braced beside your head, the other already on your thighs. teasing, slow as they drag up your soaked coveralls until —

"you ever been fucked like this, doll? no? good, first time for everything."

toji doesn't wait, he doesn't hesitate, for he lifts you as though you're just another part he's decided to torque into place. your legs wrap around his waist out of sheer instinct, and he's grinding deeply into you. a thick and heavy bulge pressed right up against you, his scarred lips grazing your ear, "look at ya', all squirmy for me in your pretty team gear. bet ya' touched yourself thinkin' about this, 'bout me."

hah, he's right. but you're not going to give him the express satisfaction of knowing just how many times you had straddled the edge of your bed back in the hotel, legs spread wide as you softly grazed your swollen clit with rough fingers, imagining it was toji picking you apart.

you stifle a lazy, drawn-out moan when toji finally shoves your coveralls down, when grease-stained fingers slide between your thighs with no patience, just raw want. you can see how toji's jaw slackens, maw wide at how soaked you already are.

"f-fuck," toji grins, pressing his forehead to yours, so his choppy raven bangs gently kiss your skin, "you're wetter than the goddamn track out there, doll."

his fingers are fast, expert and precision-tuned. two knuckles deep and curling just right, while toji's other hand fists in your shirt, dragging you against his muscled chest, "stay quiet f'me." and it's not a suggestion.

you try, but the noise still slip in tiny gasps and stuttering moans, caught against his shoulder as he works you open with practiced ease. your hands claw at his arms, at his rippling biceps as he preps you.

"that's it, gorgeous, let go. you gon' cum for me already?" toji grunts, thumbing at your clit with precise precision, "yeah? who knew you'd like being handled like a busted part? it's okay, girl, i got you."

you're shaking, barely biting back a whimper as he works you right through, feeling his lengthy cock already hard and pressing through his thick, rough pants.

it's an earth shattering orgasm that launches right at you, your back arched against the side of the car, his fingers still dipping through your glossy folds. toji's coaxing you right through the orgasm as if he's fine-tuning a prized engine.

and then, he's pulling right back. unzipping his pants with one hand, the other still planted firmly between your thighs, "hope ya' weren't planning on walking tomorrow, doll."

the wiry, fine hairs at the base of thick cock immediately brush up against your ass, such was the firm precision and speed of toji jackhammering himself into his new delightful home. heavy and deep, so you can feel the smack! of thick, weighted balls against your plush flesh.

the stretch burnin' in the best way possible honestly, and you're crying out, but his palm claps over your mouth immediately, emerald eyes narrowed and sleazy grin crooked, "ah, ah, gotta' be quiet. wouldn't want the interns hearin' what their favourite engineer gets up to after hours, eh?"

you just moan against his palm, and toji groans. hips slamming harder, rougher and relentless. his other hands grabs your jaw, thumb sliding down to press into your throat, not choking. jus' holding, reminding you who's in charge. for now, you blithely wonder, visions of milking toji dry already blooming in your mind.

but it's hard to not fall apart almost immediately, his thick tip swabbing at your most sensitive points. twitching, and pulsing, clenching around toji's cock in a way that makes him follow suit. thick, glossy ropes of heavy, strong cum spurting right out of him, the sheer volume so much that it leaks straight out of you, dribbling down your thighs.

toji's biting hard enough to leave marks, claiming and branding. and you would swear that you hear him whisper sweet nothings that he would sooo deny in the morning, praises about how you're the sweetest thing ever, and he's just gotta' have you.

and then, simply just because he's toji fushiguro, he grabs the nearest shop rag, wiping at the mess from your stomach and thighs without blinking. stuffing it into his pocket as though it's nothing, "gonna' head back and get myself off with this doll, see ya' at the briefing tomorrow." already zipping up, packing that monster-length cock (yeah, seriously) back into his pants.

and. . . did he just steal your panties? you stare dumbly after him, hearing his footsteps recede as your maw slackens, before you quickly pick up the pace, "hey! toji, wait up!"

☁︎ CHŌSŌ KAMO ➤ throttle control

you noticed choso kamo before he ever even spoke to you. everyone else at the pre-season shoot was all swagger and self-tanner, yelling over for each other and muggin' for the cameras like it was monaco already.

choso, though? off to the side in full black and mauve team gear, rain jacket zipped up despite the heat. headphones in, hazel eyes still as he seemed to be gunning for the most not like other girls title ever.

not shy, not awkward. just. . . still. like the calm before the thunder, the silence before the powerful storms that often rolled in with your fellow drivers. like gojo satoru or hajime kashimo, ugh.

he's often quiet, and never resistant. rookie drivers usually have some sorta' ego or walls. choso has neither. he just nods, your name falling from his pale lips in low and reverent symbols. moving aside so you can stand beside him for the sponsor shoot. no plastered, winning smile, just eyes that track you like the managers track the telemetry data.

you ignore the heat curlin' in your stomach, or you try to. and it's just soo much worse when you catch his eyes on you, watching again. and again, as though you're a famous painting with strokes that he wants to memorise and commit to preservation.

so, there's really no other move but to corner him after the barcelona press run, heart pounding like a misfiring clutch, "what?" you're teasing, "you only speak in throttle maps and finish times?"

choso says little and less, but his voice is as quiet as rainfall as he sniffs, cheeks flushed sakura-blossom pink, "i would touch you, if you would have me. and then, i wouldn't know how to stop."

yeah, you remembered that you stopped breathing after that, right when everyone was being rushed into their cars, the respective engineers snappin' in their ears.

but choso crashes out in a stormy qualifying. a rookie mistake, too fast on the apex, rear tires losing grip. he's not hurt, thank god, but the radio teams go dead, and when you tumble back to the garages, he's soaked, still in his fireproofs, fists clenched with eyes dark and hollow, as though he's miles away from here.

"choso –"

he grabs you, not harsh nor urgent. just sudden, desperate. right behind the stacked tire warmers like a man starving for you, and you only.

"don't leave, angel," choso pants, voice ragged against your neck, "not yet, need to feel something good, something. . . that isn't failure. i mean, c-can i –"

you nod once, a thick lump suddenly in your throat presenting an ironic whiplash to the low throb in your groin. it starts soft, it always does with him, and it doesn't surprise you.

choso's hands are wet, shaking, ghosting up underneath your compression top. one glove still one, the rough texture pinching your pert nipple, teasing over your chest. the other glove? he pulls off with his teeth, slow and silent as he tosses it away. touching you like every second of it is a prayer answered.

and then, finally, choso kisses you. not a peck, nor testing. devouring. slick mouth on yours as though it's the last lap, and you're the checkered flag. his tongue drags against your lips, fingers twisted into your waistband as though he's afraid you vanish from his grasp.

"y-you're the only thing that makes me lose control like this, angel," choso whispers, voice raspy and streaked with gravel, barely audible under the storm still hissing off the track. he's got you on the back of the wall now, kisses trailing lines down your throat, soft teeth scraping skin.

you can only arch for him, dizzy with the weight and want of him. knowing exactly what typa' width and length he must be packing in the pretty curve of his blue-veined cock.

his hips grind against yours, slow at first, as though he's restraining himself, but the second your mouth releases a soft whimper, "cho –, please," well. . . the switch flips, and he's gasping. mouth biting at your jaw, your collar, hands suddenly everywhere.

gripping, pinning, claiming. his glove slides under your panties like silk over fire, fingers moving in smooth n' practiced strokes that make your knees buckle.

"so w-wet already," choso murmurs, breath warm against your skin, "you like when i touch you like this, angel?"

you nod, or maybe, you cry out in pleasure. he swallows up the sound with his mouth on yours. fucking you with his fingers 'til you're shaking, overstimulated, clutching at his dark fireproofs with nails and moans, and fevered pleas of more, choso! more!

"been thinkin' about how you'd sound," choso groans, face buried in your neck, "when i make you cry." and you do, from the pressure, the stretch, the relentless way he owns every inch of you.

his other hand quickly pushes the band of his boxers down. revealing the prettiest cock that you'd ever laid eyes upon, glorious and standing tall, and already leaking. your mouth waters, salivating at the idea of laving over each purple vein.

so when he finally pushes into you, raw and thick, buried deep, your whole body arches into his. slotting like the most perfect puzzle pieces, as choso whispers your name as though it's holy.

"mine," choso breathes, fucking you slow and deep, and you feel almost heady on his scent (well, that and the wafting fuel). but he rummages his cock through you as though he's carving you right out, "mine, say it. p-please, say it, angel."

oh, and you do. over and over, 'til it's not even words anymore, just sounds, sobs, tremours between kisses and moans, and skin on skin. after, when your back is sticky with heat, and his mouth is still at your throat, choso doesn't let go, peppering his lips to your waiting mouth, "i'm sorry, didn't mean to be rough."

you have a faint vision of headlines tomorrow, tiktoks being posted blatantly circling the blooming love bites over your neck, and you just can't help but pull him in closer, looping your arms around his thick neck to meld your lips against his, "don't apologise, cho. just don't stop."

his smile is small, tired, but lovestruck. kissin' you again like he's already addicted.

☁︎ HAJIME KASHIMO ➤ disqualified for conduct

so. . . you had been warned. every other pr manager on the team had handed you his file like it was some cursed object. one crossed himself, another just whispered, "he's impossible to manage, good luck."

they were talking about hajime kashimo, the track's golden boy, of course. thunder on the track, a menace in the paddock. the gist of it was pretty simple: he wins, he grins, he fucks.

you figured it couldn't be that bad. you'd handled difficult drivers before, all of their inflated egos, tempers and tantrums, so why would you not be ready?

oh, how wrong you were.

he doesn't even try to pretend to be decent during interviews, flirting and batting his lashes through every question like the camera was his bedroom mirror. you did your best to pretend your breath didn't hitch, and your thighs didn't jump and clench with each 'good girl' bestowed upon you.

"tch', kashimo, zip up those fireproofs. you gotta' be on the big screen in ten."

teal eyes undoing you (truly, undressing you) with lightning-precise intensity, "you can zip 'em up now, bunny. and you can unzip them after podium too."

"go fuck yourself."

"oh, when you say it like that, maybe –"

yeah, that sums up the push and pull relationship between you and hajime kashimo. so it's not a vast surprise when it all pools over one hot afternoon in monza. practice is long over, and the team is distracted by data feedback and tire degradation, somethin' about slamming down the big hotshot, gojo satoru.

but of course, 'round the corner, it's just your luck. kashimo, half-naked, towel slung low, with cyan hair loose and damp over his toned, sculpted shoulders. you try not to trail your eyes past the beads of exertion that slick across his carved abdominals.

"keep looking at me like that, gorgeous," kashimo snickers, towel slipping just an inch in a way that answers the question of whether the carpet matches the drapes, "and i'll put you in my cockpit instead of the car."

you shove him, doing your best to fight the furious flush threatening to sink you to your aching knees, "seriously, that's the best you could come up with?"

"is that a yes, bunny?"

"only if you win tonight."

ah, but you should have known hajime kashimo is never all bark, no bite. he walks the talk, and there's nothin' that man craves more than a challenge, a fight to get his blood roaring.

it slips your mind entirely, that vow of yours, not even when the entire team is leaping up and down, pulling each other into tight embraces as kashimo scores pole position once more. his turquoise, jewel-tone eyes are bright, wild despite the late hour and the physical exertion of over an hour of supersonic speed.

a hand is already pulling you into the back of the motorhome, setting you right down over. . . the champagne crate.

"hah, knew i had to win out there, gorgeous. knew i had to win just for you."

it's hard to know who initiated it, but you're kissing kashimo, and he's kissing you, — pouring the taste of expensive liquor and mint into your mouth as you suck on his tongue, rake your nails through his scalp.

kashimo's whirling you around, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck, "let's do a lap, bunny. face down, ass up? i can show ya' my best handling."

yeah, what hajime kashimo lacks for in hefty girth, he makes up for in sheer length. kashimo's groaning into your ear, hissing as his cock finally sinks into the soft embrace of your glistening pussy, one hand on your hip and the other rattling hard enough against the plush of your ass to leave fingerprints.

smack!

"sound off for me, gorgeous."

smack!

"thaaaat's it, be loud. everyone should know that i'm the one who's got ya' so pretty, just folded over for me."

you're gnawing on your lower lip, tugging at the skin, desperate to not babble out mindless cries of his name, and kashimo notices. and he's no fan of that, elegant hands grabbing your hair and pulling you up so you can both face the truck's back mirror.

"look at yourself," kashimo pants, still thrusting so deep in you that you're certain each vein has been permanently memorised and printed in your guts, "look at how good ya' take me, like you were built for it."

" –jime, hajime, 'm close," you whine, eyes absolutely cross-eyed and hazy as you let yourself get lost in the sweet, sweet sensation. moaning his name broken and breathless, and it's enough to shatter the infallible kashimo.

kashimo's grunting, a thunderclap in your ear, as he tears the remainder of your underwear off with a sodden rrrrrip! whirling you around once more to hike your leg up onto the crate, swung around his waist to draw him closer inwards.

you know when he finishes inside you, as though he's chasing the fastest lap. hard, quick and deep enough to leave your legs boneless and quivering.

"gonna' make you c-cum again," kashimo groans against your ear, kissing your shoulder as he mouths at your tits, "one more. c'mon, bunny, give it to me, i earned that trophy. wanna' fuck you in my racing suit next."

☁︎ TSUKUMO YUKI ➤ manual override

you still remember your first interview with tsukumo yuki. she had flounced into the room with her black race suit peeled halfway down, sports bra damp with seat, sipping champagne from the bottle.

but you had barely finished your first question before the statuesque blonde had leaned forward, gaze hungry, "you wanna' talk about control systems, baby, or do you wanna' know how i make people lose theirs?"

you should have walked away, but instead, you watched her lick frothy champagne off her thumb like it was all you ever wanted. and you were. . . hooked. now yuki seeks you out in the paddock, every time, pressing too close, tugging you closer by your lanyard, murmuring in your ear, "lookin' a lil' stiff, doll. want me to loosen you up after quali?"

so, this time, she had just set p3 in the wet, slippery rain. helmet already peeled off, golden hair flipping over her face as she catches sight of you, recorder in hand.

"yuki, congrats on quali! do you think the wet weather gave you any –"

a quick hand snatches the mic, plucking it right off your collar and shoving it deep into her thick pockets, "baby, we got plenty of time later, hah, for an interview."

that adrenaline-high look in her big, brown eyes is all too recognisable, and you should have foreseen how she'd drag you right behind the trailer. pinning you to the hood of her personal car, no doubt worth millions, skin still searing from the race.

"come onnn, ya' like fast girls, don't you," yuki whispers, voice a low purr, her sun-streaked hair tickling and kissing your cheek. she's laying you flat across the hood, race suit still hanging half-on, grinding her hips down until you're gasping, biting your lip with whimpers of please, please. . . more!

"say it louderrr, sweetheart." her lips pressed to your navel as you whine for her to sweep her tongue even lower.

"c'mon, you interview champions, right? maybe in your interview, you can tell the press how good i fuck." a kiss now dotted over your hips, slowly following the juncture angle down to your throbbing mound.

"y-yuki," you mewl, unable to hold back the hungry, raw cry when she parts your thick, outermost folds to suckle at your clit, "ouuh, so sensitive. . ."

no mercy, no hesitation. she laps at your folds as though she's setting the fastest lap record, grinning as you're shaking, "that's my pretty girl. still breathing?"

if you wrench your head far back enough at an uncomfortable angle, you can see just how filthy the sight is. yuki's entirely on her knees now, golden hair splayed about her as she nips and licks at your dripping cunt, her chin all glossed up as she drags the lower half of her face through your wetness.

through the haze, you realise that yuki's murmuring something. groaning low into your pussy as though she's speaking to her. the biceps in her muscled arms rippling as she slathers a thick kiss to your cute, twitching clit, "three."

her short fingernails trailing through your cunt, teasing at your winking, glossy entrance, "two."

pink lips separating from your pussy with transparent, clear strands of tangy glossy, and yuki's smacking her mouth, clearly some form of pussydrunk that only you unlock within her, "one."

and bulls-eye, the scrape of her finger in a crooked, come-hither moition against that small, rough patch in your pussy makes you squeal, then groan. the sensation building up until it's just too much and you're gushing over her face. thin, liquid arcs splattering against yuki's beautiful, delighted features as she slaps at your sopping pussy.

"think they'll let me keep a strap in the trailer just so ya' can do that alll over again?"

☁︎ IEIRI SHOKO ➤ flatline me

who hadn't heard of shoko ieiri? the doctor for your team, the surgeon, gorgeous with cinnamon brown hair and dark eyes. you had gotten used to seeing her with a lighter in one hand, and your medical file in the other.

stitchin' bodies back together with blinking, and yet, she couldn't care less about your hotshot reputation. and frankly, you only wanted her even more. so when you ended up with your top off, sprawled on the infirmary table after some stupid spin-out, icing your thigh and nursing a bruised shoulder, you had tried to be charming.

"am i finally your favourite patient, doc?"

shoko only glances up from her scrawled notes, the barest twitch of amusement tugging at her glossy, peach lips. she was still striking a match, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, her gaze settling on you like a blade to skin.

"hah, hardly," she huffs, "but you could scream the loudest, how 'bout that?" elegant fingers already coming to rest on the waistband of her blue slacks, and you can't help but gulp. resisting the urge to blow your cool or let out some obscene looney-tunes ass wolf whistle.

"strip," shoko murmurs, her tone cool, "i can't help you get better unless i can a proper look." she must be confident that no one would dare interrupt her, that none would walk in while you're urgently pulling your sports bra off your head — and she's discarding her pants elsewhere, revealing creamy, pale thighs that you're desperate to sink your teeth into.

you can feel her oak gaze on you, cataloguing every bruise, every scrape as though you were just another anatomy lesson. but you certainly don't miss how her pink tongue briefly laves over her lower lip, her eyes widening as they roam over your bare chest, focus on how you shimmy right out of your racing suit — till you're bare and naked, legs crossed one over the other .

chilled fingers finally touch your thigh, prodding the faint bruise you've acquired with sharp pressure. you're not ashamed to admit it, a moan escapes your trembling lips.

"you're sloppy, sweet thing," shoko mutters, voice as smooth as ill-fated poison that's honey to your ears, "crash dummy with a death wish."

you hiss as she slaps your thigh, just once. . .not gently. her eyes focused on how your flesh ripples under her touch.

"diagnostic," shoko adds, lips quirked faintly as your body tenses under her hungry gaze, "don't whine, 'cause i warned you." her hands are cold, and the soft pads of her fingertips pinch at your hips, pulling the tender flesh up as your thighs clench. you know that there must be some translucent slick seeping into the medical bedding beneath you.

"i don't think you've earned this," shoko concludes, finally pulling away from you, "but i'm tired of standing up." her fingers hook into the elastic band of her sleek, dark underwear, pulling the fine-woven fabric down until she can kick it off.

leaving your mouth slack in awe at the wondrous prospects you've landed with — the soft curl of dark hair between her thighs, and how shoko's pushing your hips down, climbing onto you so you can peek a flash of slippery pink as she settling over your groin. your pussy already pulsing and twitching at the mere brush of contact between the two of you.

shoko straddles you now, her lower half entirely bare as she pins you in place, cool hands running over your bare chest, your wrist, your jaw. she's still got her tight-knitted blue top clinging to your chest, the white coat thrown over her shoulders, and you're desperate to peel them off her.

"keep quiet, sweet thing," shoko orders, her voice a low hum against your throat, "or i'll have to find another way to shut you up." it's obscene, hearing the wet, sloppy slick of your folds kissing hers.

god, she moves like she's dissecting you, studying you. controlled, methodical and merciless. you're already shaking beneath her, every nerve burning, every sound you made swallowed by the pressure of her palm over your tongue. or the bitter taste of dark coffee on her tongue.

your body arches, hips twitching to desperately attach against hers, aching to feel the kiss of her clit against your own. flushed muscles quivering as whines of her name fall from your lips in a begging, pleading tone, but it doesn't seem to move shoko to helping you finish faster.

"don't be pathetic, pretty," shoko pants into your ear, her sleek dark hair falling over her face. and it's some satisfaction to know that she's just as affected, and that the low throb against your groin is her filthy release absolutely drenched over you, "i've barely even started."

everytime you felt as through your climax was in arm's reach, her touch would ice over, only to flood you with heat again, a cruel rhythm that left your head spinning.

"you look good like this, sweet thing," shoko murmurs, tilting her head as she straightens her spine, angling her hips so she can press herself to your sticky folders even more.

you whimper, and she laughs — even as your legs can't stop shaking and you feel too fucked-out in this bed of pleasure to even form a coherent thought. until all you can chase after is the fastening pace of her hips against yours, the sight of shoko dipping her fingers between your folds to sip at your arousal.

you're not even embarrassed at the utterly pornographic moans escaping your kiss-stung lips, sharp cries of shoko's name echoing through the infirmary as she soothes sharp circles over your clit, grinding her pussy against yours with your thighs intertwined.

"god, you taste so s-sweet," shoko bites off, dark eyes peering down at you, almost as though she's embarrassed that you've pulled these reactions from her.

wet cunts tacked to each other as she swipes a hand behind your back, pulling you up so she can hook her legs around your waist. jostling up n' down, over and over, and you catch the doctor's almost wolfish grin, she's guiding your hands beneath the fabric of her top, "c'mon, are you gonna' help me or not, baby?"

[sukubusss]

🫰🫰

[sukubusss]

roommate!sukuna who is having a really hard time with you his new roommate. he thinks he should be offended at this rate. did you think he was gay? what other reasoning could there be for the way you act and dress infront of him. he knew for a fact that when you left the house this morning you had on a cardigan buttoned right to the top. and yet you walked into his room on your way in to show him your new nails and all that covered you was a tiny pair of shorts and a thin tank top with the lace of your bra peeking through.

“kuna looooook i got polka dots and a new shape, do you like them?”

how was he supposed to focus on your nails when your tits were practically in his face, pushed together due to the way you were positioned.

‘yeah brat they’re nice, and it’s cold put some clothes on.’

‘i’m not colddd’ you sing songed on your way out.

and this may not sound so bad, but there was also the time you had gotten your shirt mixed up with his in the wash. and when he had asked you if that was his shirt you were wearing you simply said Oops! and proceeded to take it off then and there infront of him. and only when he saw the bottom of your breasts did he realize you weren’t wearing a bra. he had managed to turn around in time and was perplexed at why you would strip infront of him with the biggest smile on your face. you weren’t even trying to be seductive you were just you. and he was beginning to be offended. why weren’t you attracted to him. he was insanely attracted to you. everytime you plopped down next to him on the couch for your movie nights in your tiny shorts or just plain underwear he’d have to cover his lap with a cushion at the immediate semi. everytime you mouthed off to him he had to convince himself not to put you over his knee. and when you napped in his bed instead of yours and sprawled your legs out as if you owned the place with one of your stupid plushies brought along with you and his pillow shoved between your thighs. that, he wasn’t so mad about however, sometimes it still smelt like you when he was touching himself at night with the thought of your soft body fresh in his mind.

you were frankly becoming a pain in the ass and he was ready to sort it out.

a/n: not proofread sorry but i shall make part 2 soon, also starting my jjk men as roommates drabbles :)

[sukubusss]

thinking about sukuna who fucks you in missionary after an argument so he can keep arguing with you.

he currently has one of his hands wrapped around your neck - not applying any form of pressure, but as a reminder that he’s in control as he continues spitting his venom at you.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, woman.” he grunts, the curve of his cock causing his tip to kiss that sweet spot of yours.

“fuck you- ah.”, you whimper out as you feel your pleasure build up in your stomach, sukuna’s grasp on your neck tightening at your words as you watch the veins budge from his arms.

“don’t get fuckin’ mouthy, girl.”, he replies, feeling your pussy clench around his cock, scoffing, “y’getting off on this? getting off on making me mad?”

you can’t help but hold back a smirk, damn right.

he clicks his tongue, picking up the pace of his thrusts and bottoming out inside of you as his tip kisses your cervix, the mixture of pain and pleasure causing whiny moans to escape your parted lips, rolling your eyes back.

“y’such a slut. such a slut for this dick, huh?”, he grunts through heavy breaths, applying more pressure on your neck as his thrusts grow rougher, your gummy walls fluttering against his shaft, feeling your orgasm on it’s tipping point.

you nod mindlessly at his words, your brows pinching together as you feel your orgasm finally-

and with a sudden halt in sukuna’s thrusts, he laughs, “what? you think i was about to let you cum?”

“you’re an asshole.”, you scoff.

“mhm, tell me about it.”, he says, leaning down to place a kiss on the side of your head.

“if y’wanna cum so bad, beg me.”, he whispers against your ear, “beg me, y’fuckin’ slut.”

and for some reason, you felt your needy pussy throb at his words. maybe you should get him worked up more often.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[sukubusss]

thinking about true form!sukuna who has such an obvious size kink. That man is literally huge and is slanging around two awfully thick and long cocks like it’s nothing. No matter your height or size, everyone is small to him regardless. He’s a tall hunk of muscle, what can you expect. And when he sees you, his new supposed wife, he can’t help but smile, and it’s not a happy smile, it’s an evil, twisted smile. He’s thinking of all the ways he can bend you, toss and hold you down while you take his cocks in your tight holes. He’s thinking about making you watch the way he bulges out of your stomach, pressing your hand down on it just so you know you’re not hallucinating. He wants to watch you struggle taking him down your throat, trying so desperately to fit your pretty little lips around his cock, and gagging on it when you’re not even halfway down. He’s sick for thinking it, he knows, but he doesn’t care. You greet him with respect, kneeling and avoiding eye contact with him, anticipating the day with him as his new bride. You’re just so clueless as to what is going on his head though and he finds it funny how shy you act when he’s gonna have you stuck in a mating press by the end of the night.

And of course, he kept his promise, putting you in all kinds of positions for hours on end, using you like his personal fleshlight. “Ah, my lord! Please!” You cry out, sweat clinging to your skin as he so easily hooks his arms under your knees and moves you up and down on his cocks. “You’re so big! I can’t take it!” You mewl, eyes squeezing shut as you feel another orgasm approaching. Sukuna doesn’t care about your poor attempts at mercy, he’s so entranced by the sight of his thick cocks stuffing your holes to the brim, stretching you out with every inch. You look so small in his hands, so easy to break and he’s obsessed with it. He’ll go all night just to ruin you and fulfill his fantasy.

[sukubusss]

⋆˚࿔ I wanna rock your body

Summary - What happens when you—a sorcerer with a technique involving vines—are hit with a mysterious aphrodisiac? You tie the great Sukuna down and ride him until he falls in love, of course!

TW - creampie, squirting, riding, overstimulation (on him), bondage (also on him), oral (f receiving), he’s lovesick, somno (just grinding for one line), degrading, true form Sukuna, inappropriate use of stomach mouth, sub then dom Sukuna, slight dacryphilia, p in v, soft!Sukuna at the end ᥫ᭡

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When sukuna awoke with the feeling of weight on him he paid it no mind. He knew it was just you, always preferring to use him as your mattress.

No, what did catch his attention was a poorly muffled noise from that weight on top of him. His eyes flickered open to the unexpected sight of you desperately rubbing your bare pussy against his clothed bulge—mewling into the hand uselessly covering your mouth.

You couldn’t help it! He just looked so gorgeous with the sun streaming down onto his relaxed face and painting golden streaks of light onto his abs; highlighting his many intricate tattoos.

Oh and of course, the reason you’d come stumbling in here in the first place. That damned plant.

See, you had visited the gardens earlier that morning, set on getting some fresh air before starting your day. However, your stroll was cut short when you noticed a strange looking plant you didn’t remember planting in the midst of your flora.

Curious, you crouched down to examine the oddity, noticing the way it seemed to glow bright enough to be evident in broad daylight. Leaning forward, you moved to sniff the mysterious intruder only to have a puff of glowing dust shot at your face.

You fell back, choking and sneezing out the blue dust to no avail. It was quickly absorbed into your lungs, and the subtle tingling feeling you felt afterwards had you worried.

You quickly shot up to rush to Uraume in fear of the strange (and possibly poisonous) dust you’d just inhaled before you halted, the tingling feeling increasing into something deeper that had your heartbeat increasing rapidly.

In seconds your cunt was throbbing, head woozy when your body began to feel inflamed. Your legs twitched and you let out an embarrassing whine, leaning against the wall for stability as your mind was all of a sudden clouded in lust.

The swell of feelings was abrupt and confusing, but in possibly the fastest change of plans in your life you were turning on your heel to scurry to the master bedroom—his bedroom—instead.

So that’s how you got here, you attempted to explain to him but kept cutting yourself off with whiny moans and gasps so his barely conscious brain struggled to process even a word of it.

“Brat,” he spits in that deep voice, raspier now in the early morning in a way that had you getting impossibly wetter. “Too much of a desperate whore to wait until I’m awake? You’ll pay for that insolence.”

He moves to reach out for you—most likely about to edge you for hours to teach you a lesson about patience—but you move faster. Your technique makes a sudden appearance when coils spring up and tighten around his wrists. They curl up his arms and chest, successfully tying him down where he lay on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow, staring at the thick vines surrounding him with a look of amusement on his face. You couldn’t be seriously testing him with an attempt as weak as this.

With one flick of his wrist the vines are sliced to pieces; immediately ineffective, but you aren’t deterred. Just as quickly as the old ones are destroyed new ones take their place, tighter this time so you could see the way they dug into his sculpted biceps and ogle the bulging muscles.

That small victory is short lived when that familiar tingling reappears. You can’t even properly enjoy checking him out before tears are welling in your eyes. When had you gotten so overwhelmingly desperate?

“I’m sorry,” you’re sniveling out which only makes him scoff. He rolls his eyes and goes to call out your fake attempts at gaining his sympathy when his gaze meets your wrecked face.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and your sniffling. This isn’t fake; you’re genuinely distraught over not getting dick. Wow.

“I’m sorry- I just need you so bad. It hurts kuna.”

He’s speechless for a moment, no longer trying to break free from your feeble bounds. “Good grief woman,” he grumbles, but lifts his hips to grind up against you.

You fall forward with a moan and his stomach mouth takes the opportunity to flick its tongue against your clit. You move closer to the maw, not even trying to conceal your need, and he hums in content. You’ve always tasted sweet, but even more so now under this strange new influence.

You’re already soaked, only getting progressively wetter and he’s barely even touched you. He noisily slurps up your precious slick then sucks on your clit in a way that has your legs trembling and your mouth hanging open in a drawn out ‘oh’

He attempts to push his large tongue inside you but it’s much too big, leaving him to grunt in annoyance. Suddenly his stomach mouth closes and you don’t even get the chance to protest before you’re cut off.

“Come here,” he beckons with a nod. You quickly realize his intentions and so you’re crawling forward to hover above his face with a questioning expression.

“Did I tell you to hesitate? Sit on my fucking face.” He growls, and fuck, if he has to have to tell you twice.

You lower yourself down until your seated directly on his mouth, and he doesn’t waste any time getting to work. His tongue immediately breaches your hole, slipping in and out in quick ministrations like he would do with his thick fingers if you didn’t insist on keeping him tied down.

I mean, who was he to stop you and your kinks? What was the saying.. .happy wife, happy life?

His nose bumps against your clit and you grind your hips onto it, gasping and hands scrambling to find purchase when the pleasure sparks up your spine like tiny fireworks.

"watch it." he growls when you tug harshly on his hair, but his cock twitches in his pants. Too clouded with lust, you don't show any acknowledgment for the threat and continue pulling at the pink strands.

He moans at the feeling, but it’s masked by the obscenely loud sounds coming from your soaked cunt when he sucks your clit, tongue rolling around it deliciously.

"Fuck meeeee" you beg and whine until he’s grumbling out something you don't hear and abruptly ripping straight out of your binds with effortless strength. Just as quickly is he pushing a thick finger into your needy hole to satisty that itch you feel deep in your stomach.

“ah! kuna-“ you go to protest but the feeling of a second finger plunging inside you and spreading you real nice and wide has you unable to form anything coherent—turning to putty for him in seconds.

His tongue is attacking your clit while his fingers prod inside you and curl to hit that spot that he knows like the back of his many hands.

You’re crying out a jumbled mess of “more!” and “close!” that only makes him grin wickedly, eating you out like the perfect breakfast. He rolls your clit with his tongue, moving back just to press a wet kiss against it. “so fuckin’ messy,” he laughs breathlessly with your juices coating his chin.

You’re tightening against his fingers in their restless assault on your sweet spot, and he’s quick to latch his mouth back onto your clit when he feels you release with a cry loud enough to wake the entire estate.

He just sucks harder, not bothered by your dramatic screams or your slick messily spilling down his chin.

You’re squirming on top of him, riding his face through your orgasm as he drinks up the blissed-out look on your face and the feeling of you tugging his tangled strands of hair.

You sit up and his mouth is rudely forced off of you, fingers slipping out while you struggled on shaky thighs to sit back on his chest—careful to not go to close to his stomach mouth that you knew he’d continue his feast with like the glutton he is.

He frowns at being cut off from your taste but licks around his mouth and sucks his fingers clean instead, making direct eye contact with you while doing so so you were blushing and wrapping vines around his arm once again to stop the obscene sight.

Your peace, however, is short lived when just as soon as you’re coming down from your previous orgasm you feel that need in your gut flaring like an open flame again.

He noticed the shift in your expression, watching you with a bewildered one of his own as you moved down, wasting no time in pulling his pants down, his duel cocks springing out and slapping against his stomach.

He says nothing, just observing you while you swing your leg back over him to hover your twitching cunt over his cock, hole already dripping onto his flushed head to mix in with his precum.

Preoccupied with watching the way the mixture dripped down his length teasingly slow, he was too caught off guard to stifle the pathetic moan he let out when you dropped onto him in one swift movement.

“H-ah- fuck! Oh shit, mhfh-“ he chokes out at the feeling of your gummy walls swallowing him so eagerly, warm and wet and so, so unbearably tight.

And he whimpers, the King of Curses whimpers when you don’t stop; don’t even give him a moment to breathe before you’re setting a ruthless pace, ass meeting his heavy balls with an echoing smack! over and over again as you force his cock to bottom out each time.

You angle your hips perfectly so that his head is abusing your g-spot every time you go down, and he finds himself twitching inside you and spurting out even more precum at the realization that you’re using him like a dildo.

Like your own personal toy; your eyes are shut in pleasure and you don’t even see him as anything other than yours to use. Shit, that made him throb inside you.

The disrespect of it is jaw-dropping and he should be ripping free of your pathetic bounds to punish you for that, but he can’t seem to care when he’s so impossibly hard at the notion of being used only for your pleasure.

You tilt your head back and moan as his second cock slides perfectly against your clit, rubbing it while the second one rubs your insides.

You're slamming yourself down onto him with a force he didn't think you had, eyes still squeezed shut and nails digging into his chest like you didn't even know he was there.

The wet slapping sounds coming from where you collide are so obscene, so loud he could almost hear it ringing in his ears.

"Fu.. .hck- slow- hgh! slow down woman," he almost whines but the protest is drowned out by the obscene sound of skin slapping skin and your incomprehensible cries and moans.

This aphrodisiac must also be granting you boldness, he thinks when you ignore his words and instead place yourself on your feet, knees bent and leaning on your arms behind you as you start bouncing again, now able to push yourself down harder and faster in a way that has him ready to spill inside you before he knows it.

And for the first time in…ever, sukuna cums first.

His vision goes white as he hits that blindingly hot peak, waves of pleasure filling his body while he filled yours with loads upon loads of sticky cum, his second cock spurting all over your stomach and decorating it in his very own white sheen.

He’s breathless, yet left to gasp for air when you simply don’t stop, continuing to pound yourself onto his oversensitive cock, now twitching violently as he was finally given a taste of his own medicine.

“shit- brat wait, waitwaitwait oh..FUCK!” he shouts, both sets of eyes rolling back in his skull as your incorrigible pussy forces him into overstimulation, a sensation he’s never quite felt before that takes him over completely and leaves nothing left but you.

He’s whimpering, drooling even, and quite literally flinches when you laugh. You’re laughing at his suffering and fuck, he’s never been more attracted to someone in his lifetime.

you, you, you. In his sight, in his mind, in his heart if he even had one, but he knew now that he had to because there’s something that’s not lust in his eyes when he looks up at you and thinks you might be an angel.

Your cunt flutters on his cock and he thrusts his hips up, earning a breathy moan from your pretty lips that has him doing it again and again; meeting the rhythm of you slamming down onto him.

His second cock stands hard and neglected and he eyes where it stands compared to your stomach, knowing that’s exactly how deep his other one is inside you. Knowing that bulge in your tummy is all him; him you’re using like a toy, him that’s making you feel so good.

The thing in question is currently hammering against your sweet spot every time you let your body slam back down, the thrusts of his hips now full on abusing it and sending shockwaves of pleasure that have you struggling to stabilize yourself with your hands on his chest.

His breath is stolen again when you squeeze around him with a death grip before your orgasm rips through you. It’s quick and leaves your skin buzzing with energy, but still doesn’t feel like enough.

Your legs are shaking when you pull yourself off of him slowly, hovering your pussy over him to watch his cum spill out of you and all over his cock like a taper candle melting onto itself.

You exhale a long breath and collapse onto him. You lay there for a moment with your head on his chest, panting. With your eyes shut you miss the way his stay locked on your face, gazing at you with a feeling not even he himself can figure out.

He feels crazed, because he knows you still need more when you start to shift on his chest. It’s not enough. He needs to fuck you harder, better, needs to feel you soak his cocks like he knows you want to.

And If there’s something more than just lust, something like yearning to be as close to you as two human beings possibly can, to hold your body in his hands and know that you’re unmistakably his..

Well, that’s his business.

So in a heartbeat he’s ripping himself free of the binds and lifting your body up like you weigh nothing. You’re manhandled into the perfect mating press in record time, falling back onto the bedsheets with a quiet grunt.

You blink in surprise when you see him lining up both his cocks against your hole, and he grins like a a madman. “One dick just isn’t enough for you, no? This greedy cunt needs to be filled by two before you quit cryin’?”

He laughs deliriously, rubbing against your clit with his leaky tip. “Yeahh, so fuckin needy.”

He’s staring at your cunt like it carries the secrets of the universe as he slides himself up and down, his already soaked cocks getting ever more drenched. You squirm impatiently in his hold and he looks up at you with a what you expect to be a lustful look in his eyes, but all you find is pure adoration.

It makes you blush and tears are welling up in your eyes again when the overwhelming need for him gets to be too much. He just chuckles and reaches a surprisingly gentle hand over to wipe the spilling tears away.

"kuna, need more," you beg, crying and sniffling over dramatically, though he doesn’t point it out.

No, he can’t find it in himself to tease you because you’re crying for him.

Fuck. He needs to hold you.

“I’ve got you. I’ll make you feel so much better,” he hums, gently placing your legs over his broad shoulders before pushing into you slowly; the twin lengths spreading you deliciously.

With the sunlight streaming in through the windows the two of you resemble an ancient painting—ethereal flashes of light gleaming over your bare forms in the mess of silk blankets.

It’s intimate, the way he’s looking into your eyes with pure love, then kissing you like he wants to intertwine souls.

It’s primal, the way his cocks are thrusting into you, stuffing you so full that you’re moaning like a symphony into his mouth. Nails raking down his back and leaving long red streaks that he’ll secretly admire in the mirror later.

The overwhelming effects of the aphrodisiac are still streaming through your veins, but it’s different now. More passionate rather than lustful. More gentle in the way that he holds you like he’s scared you’ll vanish, but also more desperate when he tilts his hips to reach deeper, hitting that spot he knows makes you see stars.

Another arm reaches down to rub your clit, your hazy brain not catching the heart-shaped ministrations he’s doing.

“Come on, squirt for me,” he pants, “please, show me how good I make you feel.”

There is so many different ministrations happening that you barely catch it, that small plea sending you closer and closer to the edge you so desperately need. It’s something you’ve never heard from him before; asking rather than telling. And in such a desperate voice too, like he’ll die if you don’t.

His hands are everywhere; squeezing at your tits, playing with your bundle of nerves, gripping your hips and feeling the soft flesh under his fingers.

This orgasms different, daunting almost in a way that has you repeatedly crying out his name.

“suku- kuna’ sukanasukuna m’close! kuna please-“

“Thats right, let go for me.” He smiles calmly like he knows what’s to come.

In a blink of an eye you’re tumbling over the edge, pleasure tingling up your spine when you’re squirting all over him with a high-pitched scream. Your squirming in his grasp like you want to run away from it but his hips don’t relent, gifting you rough thrusts right up against your g-spot that ride you through your blinding peak.

Your walls are gripping him so tight he thinks he might combust, whimpering when his climax hits him head on and he follows right after you. He kisses you messily while pressing hard against your cervix to dump hot load after load of his cum deep inside you with a satisfied groan.

It feels like it takes hours for his cum to finally stop spilling out in heavy heaps, and he has to resist the urge to press down on your tummy just to see it ooze out.

He makes sure to flip your bodies over just in time to collapse onto the bed in exhaustion with you on his chest rather than crushing you. You fit perfectly against him, like the other half of his heart he’s been searching all his life for.

With his cocks still nestled deep inside you, he stared at the ceiling in post-orgasm bliss, just contemplating all of the new feelings he’d discovered.

He knew before that he felt something special about you, but refused to accept it as it was.

But now, listening to the way your breath slowed as you let sleep overtake you like you had no fear of being so vulnerable around a beast like him—he could finally classify that feeling in his heart.

His fingers brushed through your hair and he placed a soft kiss on your head. It was morning, he should be starting his day, definitely getting rid of that plant you claimed started all of this.

Though with you laying your head over his heart like it was the most comfortable place to be—he had no desire to be anywhere else. He finally found the strength to say those three words he never could before.

“I love you.”

A/N - Who knew overstimulating him was the key to fixing his emotional reservation?? My first actual fic for jjk! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

₊˚⊹ °❀⋆₊*:･

[sukubusss]

⋆˙♱ 𓆩♡𓆪 cn: hurt/comfort, slightly soft sukuna, suggestive

Nothing could’ve prepared Sukuna, the King of Curses, the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer from over a thousand years ago, to be so weak right now.

His cursed energy that’s almost infinite, was helping him before in his brutally fights, winning against every enemy he ever faced—or just killing for his own pleasure. All in vain, right now.

Not when he’s on the floor, with his back against the door. With his opened disheveled kimono at the chest, strangely making him look—along with his expression—almost like a helpless teenager.

Behind the door Sukuna was leaning against, you hadn’t stopped crying since last night.

At first, he dismissed you. Sukuna didn’t have time for your childish, dramatic whining that you threw around daily since he met you.

Even though this isn’t the first time he’s met you, right now, he wants to curse the day he met you the second time.

You were definitely her—the one from a thousand years ago. The one he only sensed and saw once but the memory stayed fresh all throughout these years. The only thread of emotion he was ever able to hold on to, one he always found disgusting. He regretted for eternity not speaking to you back then before you disappeared like a ghost, haunting his mind ever since.

Until he found you again. And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He made you his concubine. Your fear of him faded over time. After all, your love began at first sight. Your immediate desire was to alleviate his loneliness with your whole heart. Giving it to him, and only him.

So no one prepared you, not even for a second—on the contrary, the other servants even criticized you since the day you came—considering you were already placed above them. No one prepared you for how much it would hurt to see Sukuna, your Sukuna, letting another concubine, on a random day, amuse him and staying too close to him.

What was more shocking when you opened the door, to be surpised with her sitting on his lap, intentional, after seeing you. Even though he was completely disinterested in her existence, it was just in that one moment that he was entertained by her presence.

So your reaction—your disobedience more exactly—to leave right after he summoned you, made Sukuna not only be bewildered by your boldness and your apparent desire to die because you defied him, but also to completely ignore your jealous attitude, that was so unnecessarily loud.

That was until you started crying, slamming the door in his face.

And ever since, his soul, felt every tremble of yours from the other side. And this only managed to paralyze him on the ground by the door.

Pathetic. That’s what he thought. Pathetic, especially for what he’s about to do.

“Open the door.”

Your cries stopped for a second, only to surprise him even more with your stubbornness.

“No.”

He sighed so hard, probably the whole damn temple heard it.

“She means nothing to me, woman. I don’t understand why you get so worked up over such a meaningless existence.”

But you only yell in return, in a pitch he never heard from you before, your bleeding heart punching straight into his chest.

“Then why did you let her? Why did you let her sit closer to you?” You add between panting, “You swore to me. You sealed your heart to me. Only to humiliate me and ruin all I have left?”

Sukuna couldn’t help but rise to his feets, now facing the door and barely containing himself from breaking that stupid weak door. His clenched fists pressing slighy against the wood, just above his head.

You felt how his cursed energy swallowed the whole place. Almost making you fear him again, especially when his voice dropped low—commanding.

“STOP.”

His fists tightened until his knuckles turned white, trembling against the door. But bis voice was almost a whisper, nor that it didn’t terrified you.

“Never. Never since I landed on this pathetic earth—have I ever fucking wanted any human being. I despise them. All. I don’t fucking care about absolutely nothing on this revolting land. Only you.”

He added, with a calmer tone, “So open the door.” Then cursed under his breath before speaking again. “Please.”

Your crying stopped instantly after hearing that unexpected beginning. Your eyes widened and Sukuna’s word halted for a moment when he felt a shift in your energy. But you treated him with silence again—and that was his breaking point.

“I’ll kill her. Her and any other concubine in this fucking temple.”

Just as he turned with determined footsteps and a murderous look on his face, you opened the door.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Sukuna gave you a side glance, disappearing instantly from where he stood before appearing now right in front of you.

His intense gaze trailed up and down your tear-stained face, your weakened body barely holding itself up.

Your eyes widened, and something he’s grown to hate the most since he met you stirred inside him again—seeing you scared. Again. Watching you step back, hands lifting instinctively to protect yourself, when in reality he is the one who’s supposed to protect you. Always.

His eyes softened with a tone slightly light, until his big rough hands grasped your firmly.

“You made me insane. So insane I wanna break this entire world in half. And I could, if I wanted.” He added, not leaving your face for once, like he was trying to hypnotize you. “I will never, ever hurt you. I don’t want you scared in my presence, in any fucking circumstances—You understand?”

Seeing how your legs tremble, your swollen eyes scanning his face frantically that he is not used to it—only your adoring, worshipping gaze should exist in his mind. This look needed to be completely erased. He did something much lower than he already was.

He knelt.

His movements so deliberate that your body froze.

Sukuna looked at you with such loyalty that you felt guilty. Expecially when he spoke, in that voice you loved so much, the one he only used at night and sometimes in the mornings—but even that was rare.

“Forgive me. For disgracing you. I will not put you in this position again.” And because it wasn’t enough, in his mind, he pushed, “Please.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to lift him. “My lord—”

“No. I don’t deserve your devotion right now.”

You corrected yourself, “Please, Kyo. Stand up, my love.”

And he did. Almost humiliatingly amused on the inside that now you were the one commanding him—and he listened.

Your hands cupped his face, looking at him with that loving, yet still hurt eyes.

“I—I forgive you.”

At that, Sukuna leaned into your parted lips, your body responding subconsciously before your mind even processed it, and kissed you so hungrily—yet different than before. Like he was pouring his entire cursed heart into that kiss. Devouring you.

He lifted you up like you were the lightest thing in the world, a small surprised sound escaping your lips. And as he held you like a queen—his queen, because that’s what you were, no matter your title—he carried you toward the bed, Sukuna’s gaze never leaving your face the whole time.

Until he threatened you—but not in the way you’d expect.

“Now. You need to deal with the consequences of almost ruining my most precious human heart. Your heart.”

Despite his menacing voice, his hands laid you down on the bed almost too gently, his red eyes piercing your. Then his leg settled between yours, towering over you and tossing his black kimono god knows where.

Sukuna’s voice was only a malicious whisper, tickled the skin of your earlobe.

“Now it’s your time to beg for mercy, woman.”

[sukubusss]

Let Me At Em

You have a mighty need

CW: fluff, crack, nsfw

ft Choso Kamo, Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna

something lighthearted to make up for the Angst.

[sukubusss]

can you please do a jjk smau where the jjk men find out that when they aren’t home for a few nights yn cuddles a pillow that they modify to kinda resemble them?

Nightly Replacement

coɴтεɴт - MDNI, PLEASE have age in bio when interacting, jjk men x reader, suggestive, reader has a pillow resembling the jjk men, jealousy, crack, fluff, suggestive image with Sukuna

cнαrαcтεrѕ - Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Toji, Sukuna

an - idk if you wanted this sfw or nṣfw so I mixed it. Hope this is okay <3

[sukubusss]

Travel Time! - Sukuna x Reader

Just got done packing for a trip and just had to write traveling with Sukuna before bed lol. Mainly fluff with some suggestive undertones.

Traveling with Husband!Sukuna is always an experience given his grumpy nature.

Husband!Sukuna gets home from work and finds you’ve already prepared a packing list for your vacation tomorrow. You ask him to retrieve the suitcases from the basement and lug them up to your bedroom.

Husband!Sukuna who brings them up like you asked, a little grouchy but otherwise unbothered…until you tell him you need one carry on and one full sized bag, so you send him back down two stories to replace one of the small carry ons. He huffs and sighs dramatically as he reappears, but you just offer a happy “thanks baby” and turn back to gathering up everything.

Husband!Sukuna who gets annoyed when you come and ask for the fourth time to come look at his clothes with you while he’s trying to game. He is glad you are taking care of the packing but he claims to not care about what clothes you pack for him.

Husband!Sukuna who you know better than that because he’s way pickier than he claims to be, so you force him to come approve of what you’ve chosen and sure enough, doesn’t like the shirts you picked so he chooses some to replace.

Husband!Sukuna who likes to go to bed early and wake up early, starts getting ready for bed while you are finalizing everything. Before he can lay down though, you ask him to bring the trash out, bring the suitcases downstairs, and make sure his backpack is packed so that nothing is forgotten in the morning. More grunting and huffing follows as he brings everything down. Sometimes he thinks you just like watching him move around heavy shit and he’s not wrong because seeing the way his forearms flex and his biceps bulge isn’t a bad thing by any means.

Husband!Sukuna who is now grumpy and sleepy, asks if you need anything else before he finally lays down. You say no but as he sits on the bed and takes his shirt off, you ask if he can get you a glass of water. “Make up your mind woman,” he mutters before trudging back downstairs. Even if he moans and groans, he’ll never say no to you.

Husband!Sukuna who says he’s laying down for good, gets comfortable and watches you scurry around the room rounding up toiletries for tomorrow. He wishes you’d just handle the rest tomorrow and get in bed to snuggle up together. His gruff and grumpy exterior wouldn’t indicate this, but you know after a long day he wants nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close. “Almost done Kuna!” you say as you zip up the toiletry bag, noticing his longing, red eyes from his pillow.

Husband!Sukuna whose alarm goes off bright and early, untangles himself from you, telling you to stay asleep while he finalizes everything. Sukuna loads up the car with everything, gets a coffee made for you, makes sure everything is neat and tidy for when you get back, and makes sure your electronics are charged for the plane ride.

Husband!Sukuna gently wakes you up, saying it’s time to get ready. He goes to heat up the car while you quickly get dressed and find your coffee hot and ready on the kitchen counter. You realize he’s taken care of everything else and your heart skips a beat. He’s always anticipating and thinking three steps ahead to make your life easier.

Husband!Sukuna who drives to the airport, listening to you yap about everything you have planned and how excited you are to be going on your tropical getaway. He hums in agreement, not really caring about the activities or the location, just that he’s excited to spend some time with you. In his eyes he just needs a nice, big bed that he can lay you down on without the distractions of your normal home life.

Husband!Sukuna is too busy day dreaming about fooling around with you and doesn’t hear you ask him where he was going to park for the third time. He chooses the garage closest to the airport, his woman shouldn’t be subjected to walking long distances in the winter cold. He’d carry you if he could, but he needs to handle all the bags, he wouldn’t let you life a finger to help haul everything inside.

Husband!Sukuna who follows your lead as you walk up to the airline counter. He has no idea about any of the trip ins and outs, he just follows you around, happy to be in your presence. He loves how much of a planner you are and it impresses him every time you plan a trip for you both. It’s certainly a gift you possess and he loves that about you.

Husband!Sukuna drops the bags off at the counter while you gather the boarding passes. With his hands finally free of the luggage, he laces his fingers with yours, you squeezing his warm, rough hand in return. You lean against his side and he leans down to plant a kiss on the top of your head. “Alright baby, let’s get this adventure started,” he says as you head towards security, excited to leave your busy lives behind for a few days.

Part 2 will be navigating the airport and the flights. This seems so random but I’m flying tomorrow and this just came to me lol.

[sukubusss]

Breaking Point.

A/N: i have an annoying yet hot classmate so this is what i'm doing with my anger.

warnings: as usual: a bit of ooc, a tad bit short, not at all proofread, mention of guns and violence, light smut.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

The last place you ever wanted to be was trapped in an empty Jujutsu classroom with him.

The door slams shut behind you, the sharp echo bouncing off the walls, but you don’t flinch. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you lean back against a desk, arms crossed, chin lifted in defiance.

Nanami Kento stands a few feet away, seething. His rolled-up sleeves strain against his forearms, tie loosened, blond hair slightly tousled from whatever whirlwind of frustration had brought him here.

And his eyes—God, those sharp, searing eyes—are locked onto you like you’re an opponent he’s about to take down.

“You took them,” he says, voice dangerously calm. Too calm.

You arch a brow. “Took what, exactly?”

“My notes. From the last mission.” His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grip something—maybe his sword, maybe your throat.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t need your damn notes, Nanami.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls, stepping forward, invading your space like it’s his right.

You refuse to back down, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Why the hell would I take them?”

“Because you’re infuriating,” he snaps, voice rising. “Because you always have to be one step ahead, always have to prove something.”

You scoff. “You think I’m the one with something to prove? You walk around like you’re superior to everyone—like I’m some inconvenience to your perfect little world.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s keeping himself from breaking something. Maybe the desk. Maybe you.

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“And I don’t have time for your temper tantrum,” you shoot back, arms uncrossing as you push off the desk, stepping even closer. “So if you’re done throwing a fit, I’d love to get back to my actual work.”

A muscle in his jaw tics.

Then—he moves.

Fast. Too fast.

One second you’re standing there, pushing his buttons like you always do, and the next, your back is against the desk, his hands on either side of you, trapping you. His chest is right there, barely an inch away from yours, heat radiating from his body.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters, voice dark, heavy, rough.

Your lips curl into a smirk. “And you’re so predictable.”

His hands tighten on the wood beside you. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Not when I’m winning.”

That’s the moment it snaps. The tension—the weeks, months—of bickering, taunting, hating each other so much that it was almost something else. It explodes between you in a heat so unbearable that the only solution is to burn.

Nanami grabs you.

His fingers tangle in your hair as he yanks your head back, lips crashing onto yours in a brutal, searing kiss. It’s messy, it’s desperate, and it’s war—teeth clashing, tongues fighting, hands grasping.

You claw at his shirt, ripping at the buttons, drinking in the groan he lets out when you rake your nails down his chest. He’s so solid, so frustratingly perfect, and the fact that you hate him only makes it better.

His hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with zero effort. You barely have time to gasp before he’s shoving your skirt up, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he mutters against your lips.

You grin, even as your breath stutters. “And you’re so weak.”

He actually laughs—a low, dangerous sound—before flipping you onto your stomach. A sharp gasp leaves your lips as your chest presses against the cold wood, hands bracing against the desk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Let’s see if you’re still talking after this.”

And then—he ruins you.

It’s fast, it’s rough, it’s everything you never expected but everything you wanted. He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t bother being gentle—he takes you like he owns you, like this is the only way to settle your rivalry. Each movement is punishing, each thrust dragging a noise out of you that you’d never let him hear under normal circumstances.

You grip the edge of the desk, nails digging into the wood. “Is that all you got, Kento?”

His hand smacks your ass, making you jolt.

“Brat,” he grits out, yanking your hips back against him.

You arch your back, a wicked smirk tugging at your lips. “Still predictable.”

He growls something unintelligible before gripping your jaw, forcing your head to the side so his lips are right against your ear.

“You’re going to regret that.”

And you do. God, you do.

By the time it’s over, you’re a mess—cheeks flushed, legs trembling, lips swollen from his kisses. Your body is still humming, still thrumming with the aftershocks of what just happened.

Nanami pulls away, breathing heavy, his usual composure completely shattered.

For a long moment, neither of you say anything.

Then—he steps back, running a hand through his hair, jaw tightening as he straightens his clothes.

“This never happened,” he says, voice rough.

You roll onto your back, stretching lazily on the desk, a satisfied smirk playing at your lips. “Oh? Ashamed that you finally gave in?”

His gaze snaps to yours, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

“I mean it.”

You chuckle, sitting up. “Sure, Kento. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He glares at you for a moment longer before turning toward the door.

And just like that—he’s gone.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

You knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

And weeks later, when Gojo casually mentioned that he had borrowed Nanami’s notes and completely forgot to return them?

Well.

Let’s just say—Nanami’s fury that day was nothing compared to the moment he realized he was already in too deep with you.

The safe house door slams behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely make it two steps before Toji’s voice grates against your nerves.

“What the fuck was that?”

You whip around, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Oh, don’t even start, Zen’in.”

Toji’s got blood smeared across his arm, dark patches soaking into his shirt where a bullet grazed him. Not that he seems to care.

He looks pissed. Furious, actually. Not that you’re any better. Your own shoulder is burning, a deep graze from when the job went to shit, and your adrenaline is still riding you hard.

“I told you to take the left. The left.” He stalks forward, eyes dark with something between rage and—no, definitely just rage. “But no, you had to get cute and go right, and look what fucking happened.”

You scoff, shoving past him toward the worn-out couch, wincing at the movement.

“Please, like you weren’t the one getting sloppy. If I hadn’t grabbed your knife, we’d both be dead right now.”

“Oh yeah? That why you had your hands all over me?” His smirk is sharp, edged with something dangerous, but his eyes tell a different story.

You roll your eyes, throwing yourself onto the couch, wincing at the pain shooting through your shoulder. “Yeah, well, if you didn’t hide your knives like a paranoid freak, maybe I wouldn’t have had to dig around in your boot mid-fight.”

Toji steps closer, standing over you now. His shirt is torn, dirt smudged across his jaw, and he looks as wrecked as you feel. But the smirk is still there. That cocky, irritating, punchable smirk.

“You know where I keep my weapons, huh?” His voice dips lower, amusement laced through the exhaustion. “What, been paying real close attention to me?”

Your glare sharpens. “I like to know what I’m working with.”

“Bullshit. You like knowing where I keep ‘em ‘cause you like knowing me.”

You scoff, pushing yourself up to stand, so you’re chest to chest now. “You think too highly of yourself, Zen’in.”

Toji doesn’t back down. He tilts his head, eyes dragging over you in that slow, assessing way that makes your breath hitch against your will.

“Right. That why you were between my legs, huh? Hands all over me, pulling my knife like you’ve done it a thousand times before?”

Your fingers twitch at your side. “I was saving your ass.”

“Tch. You wish.”

His voice is rough, his breath hot against your cheek. Too close. Too intimate. But neither of you pull away.

The air between you shifts, the tension twisting into something heavier, hotter. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You should move. You should shove him away, spit something cruel, something sharp—

But you don’t.

Toji’s lips crash against yours first, or maybe you reach for him at the same time—either way, the kiss is bruising, all teeth and anger, a war fought between clenched fists and ragged breaths.

“You piss me off,” you growl against his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, yanking him closer.

He chuckles darkly, biting at your bottom lip as he shoves you back against the couch. “Good. You piss me off more.”

Your hands move on their own, skimming over the bruises forming along his ribs, the heat of his skin burning through the torn fabric. He hisses when you press against his wound, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

Instead, he fists a hand in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bare your throat. “Y’know, I should put a bullet in you for that stunt back there.”

You grin, breathless, lips swollen. “Go ahead. I’ll stab you with your own knife before you can pull the trigger.”

Toji laughs, low and rough, before kissing you again—slower this time, deeper, like he’s claiming something neither of you are willing to name.

The fight isn’t over. It never is with you two.

But for now, tangled in each other, blood drying on your skin, hands roaming where they shouldn’t—yeah, you think you can call this a temporary truce.

If there's one thing in this world you know for sure, it's that Gojo Satoru is a pain in your ass.

It's like he makes it his life’s mission to get under your skin. Every morning, he strolls into the faculty lounge with that insufferable grin, sunglasses tipped just enough to let you see the amusement in his eyes. Always at your expense.

"Ah, my favorite colleague," he greets, voice lilting with mock affection.

"Die," you reply flatly, pouring yourself coffee.

"Aw, you say the sweetest things. What’s next? You gonna confess your undying love?"

You whirl around and jab a finger into his chest—and it lands.

Your fingertip meets fabric and warmth. No resistance. No Infinity.

It's always been like this. Your presence alone seems to turn off his automatic barrier, something that should be impossible.

Gojo never comments on it. Neither do you.

Instead, you shove him aside, hip-checking him for good measure. "Move, you're in my way."

He gasps dramatically. "So violent! I should report you for workplace harassment."

You roll your eyes. "Go ahead. Maybe they'll finally fire you."

"You'd miss me too much," he sings, and you mutter a string of curses under your breath before storming off.

And then the: MISCOMMUNICATION™ happened. The students know better than to get involved in your and Gojo’s war. But Yuji? Yuji is a little dumb sometimes.

So when he rushes to tell you that Gojo “basically said you were useless in battle and that he doesn’t trust you to handle field missions” … Well. You see red.

Gojo's office door flies open with enough force to shake the walls.

"You absolute motherfucker—"

Gojo barely looks up from his paperwork. "Good afternoon to you too, sweetheart."

"Don't you ‘sweetheart’ me, you condescending prick!" You storm inside, slamming your hands on his desk. "You really have the balls to tell students you don’t trust me on field missions?! That I'm useless?!"

Gojo leans back, blinking behind his glasses. "Huh?"

"Don't ‘huh’ me!" Your hands slam down again. "You wanna say it to my face?!"

He tilts his head. "I never said that."

"Liar!"

"I didn’t." His tone shifts slightly, amusement still there, but now edged with something firmer. "What I did say was that I wouldn't send you on a mission alone with Yuji because you'd end up killing each other. And clearly, I was right."

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Gojo smirks. "Ohhh," he drawls, "someone didn’t get the full story, huh?"

You hate that he's right. Hate it more that he's smug about it.

But you're still pissed, and you refuse to back down.

"You always do this," you snap. "Always making decisions for me, acting like you know better."

"Because I do know better," he says simply.

Your nostrils flare. "You’re such a—!"

Before you can finish, you grab his shirt and yank him forward—and he lets you.

His nose almost brushes yours. Close. Too close. His lips are parted slightly, his breath warm against your skin.

And then, his voice drops to something dangerously soft.

"If you wanted to get me alone this badly, you could've just asked."

Your brain short-circuits.

"You—"

"Me~?"

You shove him back—or try to. But his hands catch your wrists, grip tight, and suddenly you're the one pressed against the desk, his body crowding yours.

Heat flares in your chest, anger and something thicker, something twisting.

"You piss me off," you breathe.

"I know," he murmurs.

"You’re an asshole."

"Yeah."

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

The impact steals your breath, his lips hot and demanding, tongue sliding past your lips with zero hesitation. He tastes like mint and something sweet, something decadent.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging hard, and he groans, the sound vibrating through you.

"You fight dirty," you gasp between kisses.

Gojo laughs, breathless, pressing his forehead to yours. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with hunger and victory, "I haven't even started."

And then he lifts you—effortless, like you're weightless—and plants you on his desk.

His hands push up your shirt, dragging his palms over heated skin.

"You gonna keep glaring at me?" he teases, lips grazing your jaw.

"Maybe," you breathe, nails scraping down his back.

Gojo grins, mouth brushing your ear.

"Good," he whispers.

And then—well. The argument isn't exactly over.

But it's a hell of a lot more interesting.

You find him standing at the edge of a ruined temple, moonlight carving shadows over his sharp features. The wind tugs at his dark robes, making him look like some fallen deity, exiled yet untouchable.

Geto Suguru.

The man you were sent to kill.

And yet, here you are, with your knife still sheathed and your heartbeat betraying you.

"You took your time," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. He doesn’t turn to face you, but you know he feels you—like you feel him. The pull between you is magnetic, inevitable, always has been.

"You should be honored," you retort, stepping forward, boot crunching against shattered stone. "I was considering putting more effort into your funeral arrangements."

At that, he finally turns. Dark eyes sweep over you, slow and unbothered, like he’s memorizing the way you look under the pale glow of the night. It’s infuriating how calm he is, how he knows exactly how this will play out.

"You talk a big game for someone who's still breathing the same air as me."

"Give it an hour." You lunge.

The air crackles between you as your cursed energy surges, your blade meeting his staff in a clash of metal and force. He blocks you easily, grinning like he’s having fun, like this is some kind of foreplay for him. Maybe it is.

Your fights always start like this—violent, brutal, an unspoken language between you both. You press against him, muscles straining, your eyes locked onto his.

"You’re holding back," he murmurs, pushing you away with a swift strike. You stagger but recover, twisting mid-air to land gracefully.

"And you’re being cocky," you shoot back.

He chuckles, a low, dark sound. "I have a right to be."

You launch forward again, and this time he lets you get close—too close. Your knife kisses his throat, but before you can press in, he shifts, spinning you around, his arm locking around your waist. His breath is hot against your ear.

"You’re a terrible assassin," he murmurs.

Your blade is still in your grasp, but he’s stronger, faster. His fingers curl around your wrist, forcing the knife away as he presses you against the crumbling temple wall.

"You never actually planned on killing me," he says, his lips ghosting over your jaw. "Did you?"

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of faltering.

"Maybe I just like playing with my food," you whisper, tilting your head just enough that your lips nearly brush his.

His grip tightens. His smile darkens.

"You do," he agrees, voice a murmur of velvet and sin. "And that's what I love about you."

Then he kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s war.

Teeth clash, tongues tangle, and there’s nothing sweet about it—just hunger, raw and desperate, years of tension unraveling in the heat of your mouths. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you closer, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He groans into your mouth, a sound that makes your stomach tighten, your knees weak.

"You’re a menace," he breathes against your lips, already moving, already dragging you down with him.

"And you’re a damn hypocrite," you pant, nails raking over his shoulders as he shoves you to the ground.

His weight pins you down, strong thighs caging you in, hands roaming, claiming, worshiping in the most depraved way possible. There’s no hesitation when he rips the fabric from your body, no hesitation when his mouth follows, dragging heat and desperation over every inch of your skin.

You’re too far gone to care that this isn’t how the night was supposed to go.

By the time the temple walls echo with your moans, by the time you’re left panting, body aching, marked, ruined—his lips against your temple, murmuring things that make your chest tighten—you know this was always inevitable.

Killing him was never an option.

Loving him, though?

That might just be your downfall.

The great Ryomen Sukuna was not a patient man.

His domain sprawled around you like a temple built for violence, soaked in the echoes of agony and ruin. The bones of the weak crunched under his heel, and the walls dripped with the weight of his insatiable hunger. He sat upon his throne of carnage, amusement flickering in those twin sets of crimson eyes as he observed you.

A mere servant, a lowly thing. Your existence was inconsequential, a speck of dust at the mercy of a god.

And yet.

Sukuna's gaze sharpened as you flinched beneath him, your body trembling—no, not just trembling. His grin split wider, the second mouth on his abdomen curling in wicked delight.

"Pathetic little thing," he rumbled, voice a low, grating thunder. "Cowering like a rat caught in a corner."

You didn't answer.

You couldn't.

Mostly because one of his monstrous hands had reached out, massive fingers wrapping around your throat like a vice. He relished the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse pounded wildly beneath his grip. But—there it was.

That strange flicker.

Something far richer than mere fear.

Sukuna's fingers flexed. Pressed. Squeezed.

And he felt it.

Not just terror. Not just submission.

Desire.

His brow twitched.

He could sense it—your soul was alight with it, an intoxicating mixture of fear and lust, swirling together into something heady and irresistible. The realization made his grin falter for just a second before it returned, sharper, hungrier.

"…Oh?"

Your body stiffened, your breath stalling in your throat. His upper set of eyes gleamed while the lower pair narrowed in intrigue.

Sukuna leaned in, his lips curling. "You're not just scared of me, are you?" His voice dropped, dark and silken. "You like this."

You squeezed your eyes shut, a small whimper escaping you. No, no, no—

His thumb traced along your jaw, a mockery of gentleness.

"What a filthy little creature," he mused. "I should rip you apart for your insolence." His other hand—his other other hand—gripped your waist, pulling you flush against his massive frame. "And yet, here you are, dripping with arousal while I decide whether to kill you."

Heat surged through you, mortification mixing with the shameful, undeniable ache between your thighs.

He inhaled deeply, as if savoring your very essence.

"Tch." A chuckle rumbled through him, like the growl of a beast toying with its prey. "You're making this far too amusing, little servant."

His grip tightened again—forcing your head back, exposing your throat further to him. His tongue flicked out, dragging along the pulse hammering wildly in your neck.

"Hah. You really are enjoying this, aren't you?" His voice was taunting, dripping with sadistic pleasure. "What kind of depraved wretch gets wet from the thought of their own demise?"

His claws scraped along the fabric of your robes—thin, insignificant layers that barely separated you from the monster pressing against you. The ridges of his muscle, the sheer heat of him—it was unbearable. Overwhelming.

And then—something thick and hard pressed against your stomach.

Your breath stuttered.

No fucking way.

The smirk on his lips stretched wider. "What? You thought I only had four arms and two mouths?" His voice was a low, mocking drawl. "Poor little thing."

Before you could react, he had you pinned against one of the temple’s massive pillars. His hands—so many hands—explored, grasped, claimed. He wasted no time, claws tearing through your garments like they were nothing.

You gasped as the cool air met your bare skin, but the sound was swallowed by his mouth—his other mouth, the one on his stomach, all teeth and hunger.

Sukuna chuckled against you, voice vibrating through every inch of your exposed flesh. "Since you're so eager," he purred, dragging his fingers between your legs, feeling the slick evidence of your arousal, "I'll make sure you break properly."

And when he finally thrust into you, stretching you beyond reason, filling you in a way that was almost too much—your cry was lost in the sound of his laughter.

Because Sukuna did not just conquer lands.

He conquered everything.

Even you.

The first time you fought Choso, you nearly broke his nose. The second time, he nearly bit your throat. The third time, you kissed him, and now it’s a problem:

Blood drips from the corner of your mouth, warm, copper-slick. Your ribs protest with each breath, but you’re still standing. Across from you, Choso breathes raggedly, his hand clutched over a wound you carved into his shoulder. His dark eyes burn with something between fury and hunger.

"You’re slowing down," you taunt, wiping blood from your chin with the back of your hand.

He exhales sharply, lips parting like he might snap back, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze drags over your body, taking in the bruises he’s left, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly. There’s something in the way he looks at you—something that makes your stomach tighten, makes your pulse jump.

You should end this. You should throw the last punch, drive him to his knees, walk away victorious. But you don’t.

Neither does he.

Choso moves first, but it’s not to strike. It’s to grab. His fingers curl into your collar, jerking you forward, and before you can tell him to fuck off, his mouth crashes against yours.

It’s not a kiss—it’s a battle. Teeth clash, lips bruise, and his breath is hot, desperate against your skin. You fist your hands in his hair, pulling, twisting, dragging him closer because you need more, need to take, need to make him hurt like you hurt.

"You're so fucking annoying," you pant against his lips, shoving him back against the wall of the abandoned building.

"And you—" he groans when you bite at his jaw, when your fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, dragging over the sharp lines of his abdomen. "You never know when to stop."

"Then stop me."

He doesn't.

*-*

Later, when you're both spent, breathless, your body sore for a very different reason, Choso still won't stop looking at you like that. Like he's drowning in you, like he can't believe you're real. You scowl, rolling onto your side to face him, shoving at his chest.

"Quit it."

His lips curl at the edges, just slightly. "Quit what?"

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’re in love with me or some shit."

He doesn't answer. And that silence—it terrifies you more than any fight ever could.

The door to Shiu Kong’s office slams open so hard that the hinges groan in protest.

He barely has time to look up from his desk before the cold press of a gun kisses his forehead.

“You set me up.” Your voice is like a blade, cutting through the heavy air.

Shiu doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. His fingers pause over the documents he was reviewing, his eyes dragging up to meet yours, unimpressed but calculating.

“If I was going to set you up,” he says, voice steady, “you wouldn’t have made it back here.”

Your grip on the gun tightens. “Bullshit. The intel was garbage. I walked into an ambush.”

Shiu finally moves, slow, deliberate. He pushes back from his desk, resting his arms on the chair’s armrests, head tilting slightly as his sharp gaze maps the tension in your body. You’re favoring your left side.

"You’re hurt," he observes, tone maddeningly neutral.

No shit. You’ve got blood soaking into your sleeve, the ache in your ribs making every breath a test of willpower, and a cut on your temple that’s still sluggishly bleeding. But that’s not the point.

“You sent me into a goddamn death trap.”

“And yet, here you are.”

You grit your teeth. The gun doesn’t waver.

There’s a slow, simmering kind of energy between you two. You’ve always been like this—pushing, testing, fighting. The rivalry that neither of you have ever bothered to properly define.

Shiu’s eyes flicker, assessing. Then, in a move too fast to track, his hand snaps up and grips your wrist.

The gun is knocked aside, discharging into the ceiling, the shot echoing through the room- leaving both of your ears ringing. Before you can react, he’s twisting your arm, pulling you forward, using your own momentum against you. You curse as your back slams against his desk, his body caging yours in place. The gun clatters to the floor.

You fight. Of course, you do. A knee aimed for his ribs, an elbow towards his jaw—but Shiu is already ahead of you, shifting his weight to press you down. His hand catches your wrist and pins it above your head, the other locking your hip in place.

“Are you done?” His breath fans over your face, voice low.

Your chest rises and falls, fast, rage and adrenaline and something else tangled together in the space between you. Your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirt.

You don’t think. You act.

Your lips crash into his.

For a second, Shiu freezes. Then, the tension snaps.

His mouth claims yours, all teeth and heat and frustration. His grip tightens on your wrist before sliding down, fingers tracing your pulse point as if he’s trying to feel the proof of your survival. His other hand drifts down your waist, past the holster strapped to your thigh, fingers pressing into skin where your shirt has ridden up.

Then—

You flinch.

It’s small, barely a twitch, but Shiu notices. Immediately, he pulls back, eyes flicking down.

You don’t say anything, but he sees it—the dark stain blooming under your shirt, the way your muscles tremble beneath his touch. His jaw clenches.

“Where?” His voice is different now. Rough, but softer.

“It’s nothing.”

Shiu clicks his tongue, unimpressed. “Yeah? That why you nearly passed out when I pinned you?”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted.

His hands shift, careful now, peeling the fabric of your shirt up just enough to see the deep bruising along your ribs, the fresh blood from a hastily bandaged wound.

Shiu exhales sharply through his nose, irritation flickering over his face. “You should be getting stitched up, not waving a gun at me.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t fed me faulty intel, I wouldn’t have to.”

He smirks, but it’s faint, distracted. His fingers brush the uninjured side of your waist as he pulls back slightly, giving you space.

“I’ll fix it.”

You don’t know if he means the wound, the mission, or something else entirely. But the way his fingers linger, the way his gaze holds yours, it’s enough.

For now.

You and Higuruma had been at each other’s throats since the first case you argued against him.

Sharp-tongued. Merciless. The kind of man who could peel the skin from your arguments with that infuriatingly calm tone, his words precise as a scalpel. You’d hated him on sight.

Which, of course, meant you couldn’t stay away.

Fate—or whatever cruel deity dictated the affairs of Jujutsu sorcerers—had bound you together like two dogs on the same chain. Opposing counsel in the courts. Reluctant allies in the field. Wherever curses reared their heads, you and Higuruma were inevitably thrown together, trading barbs and blows in equal measure.

And now, here you were—both panting, disheveled, still catching your breath from the fight. A Special-Grade curse lay dead at your feet, ichor staining the ruined courtroom you’d been brawling in. Your robes were torn at the sleeve, and your lip was split, but you had won.

Higuruma—ever immaculate despite the blood streaking his jaw—turned to you with that damnable, cool smirk.

"Sloppy," he said. "You were seconds away from fumbling the case, counselor."

"You’re welcome for saving your ass, Higuruma," you shot back, rolling your shoulders. "Or should I say, nearly saving it. A few more seconds, and that thing would’ve had you as its closing argument."

He tilted his head, gaze raking over you in a way that made your fingers curl into fists. "A compelling exaggeration. But tell me—are you always this reckless, or do you only perform for me?"

"God, you are insufferable."

"And yet," he stepped closer, deliberate, every movement a challenge, "you keep coming back."

It was true, wasn’t it? No matter how much you swore to hate him, you were always drawn into his orbit. The cut of his voice, the ruthless way he argued—whether in court or in battle—it made you want to sink your teeth into him, claw your way under his skin until he cracked. Until he felt something.

Your heart was still racing. Adrenaline, battle-high, something darker pooling in your stomach. He was so close now, his breath warm against your face, and you swore you could see the corner of his mouth twitch—just a fraction. As if he knew. As if he was waiting.

"You want me to back off?" you murmured, tilting your chin up. "Say the word."

His eyes flickered—something dangerous, something sharp. But he didn’t step away. Instead, he murmured, "As if you'd listen."

And just like that, you snapped.

Your hands tangled in the fabric of his robes, dragging him forward as your lips crashed against his. He didn’t hesitate—his hands were already on you, fingers digging into your waist, the kiss all tongue and teeth, clashing like another battle.

He bit your lip. You dug your nails into his shoulders. It was messy, it was angry, it was inevitable.

When he pushed you against the ruined judge’s bench, you barely noticed the way papers scattered. His thigh slotted between yours, and you gasped against his mouth—he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, hands sliding to your hips, pressing you down just so.

"You’re such a menace," you panted, dragging your nails down his back, enjoying the way he shivered.

"And yet," he murmured, voice dark with amusement, "you keep coming back."

Your teeth met his skin before he could smirk again—a sharp bite to the side of his neck, just enough to leave a mark. He hissed, fingers tightening on your hips.

"You—"

"Consider it a rebuttal," you breathed.

His laughter was quiet, dangerous. "Then I suppose I owe you a counterargument."

And when he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, you were more than willing to let him argue his case.

A/N: yeah as i said, a bit short, but i'm suffering of writters block atm, so i'm trying to force myself to write, apologies if it's not the greatest thing i've written

Masterlist

:)

[sukubusss]

“you don’t believe that sex is the most intimate thing that two can do together?” you repeat sukuna’s previous words with a raised eyebrow, skepticism lacing every word you spoke.

“i had concubines before i was devoted to you. do you really think i see intercourse as something significant?” he doesn’t even spare you a glance, all four of his eyes focused on carefully peeling the fruits resting in the bowl in front of him (mangoes, to be specific. a special order he put in with uraume for you). your eyes narrow at his words.

“so you don’t see intercourse with me as something significant?” that earns you a roll of his eyes.

“i don’t recall those words leaving my lips, woman.” he glances at you with a bored look, already much too used to your antics and the nonsensical conclusions you often pulled from his words (“it’s called reading in between the lines, ryo.” you had insisted. he chose not to debate you on it).

he sighs when you go silent, seemingly waiting for an explanation from him that would fix the small pout gracing your lips. he would’ve let you sulk if you were anybody else, but you weren’t.

“i realize the significance humans place on it now that i am yours, but i partook in the act purely for pleasure before you. it was simply to fulfill my fleshly desires.” he doesn’t need to look at you to know that the frown on your face still hasn’t faltered. in fact, the displeased look on your face probably only deepened upon the mention of him being intimate with other women.

“human customs are foolish, that will never change.” his hand lifts to your lips, a cube of mango held delicately between his fingers. he continues speaking only after feeding you the fruit.

“but if my stubborn little wife sees it as something of importance, then it shall be so.” he says the last part with a sense of finality, as if it was a part of his life that he accepted a long, long time ago.

you contemplate his words for a moment, your posture easing against the lavish pillows of your shared bed. you stall on swallowing the piece of fruit on your tongue, considering a question in that ever curious mind of yours.

“what’s significant to you, ryo?”

he pauses for a brief moment but doesn’t answer, simply bringing another piece of fruit up to your lips (whether the action was out of care or to keep your mouth occupied was unclear).

his lack of an answer was as good of an answer as any, though.

this was significant to him. the way he cut and fed you soft fruit with hands that had slaughtered armies, handling you as if you were made of fine china. never yelling, never arguing.

the king of curses devoted himself to you because deep in his heart he acknowledged his subservience to you.

that is what’s significant to him.

[sukubusss]

Between us.. pt 2

Synopsis : they ghosted you for 7 months and when you reached out to them , they shut you down , you were desperate. But then they finally realised what was the reason for your desperation.

Characters; choso kamo, gojo Satoru, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna, geto suguru, and nanami kento.

Warning ⚠️ : reader is diagnosed with cancer, hurt , they realise too late, no comfort.

PT 1

This was lowkey inspired by a comment.

TAGLIST

@v4mppire @rainschnael @starlightanyaaa @linaaeatsfamilies @rereeeeeeeeeee-blog @luringfantasy @disilluzions @longlivegojo @hargun-s @unknown-username7

[sukubusss]

[sukubusss]

Between us..

Synopsis : you don't know what you guys have anymore. All affection and care, just to get ignored/ghosted for 7 months.

Characters : gojo Satoru, toji fushiguro, sukuna ryomen,geto suguru and choso kamo.

Warning ⚠️ : angst hurt/no comfort.

PT 2

Requests are open!

[sukubusss]

—————— fratboy!jjk (gojo, geto, toji, nanami, choso and sukuna) are all at a club-party and make a bet between themselves that whoever can seduce a random girl (they spot you and decide on you) before the end of the night, they win the bet along with whatever prize. but they all fumble over themselves when you show no interest despite their smoking looks, reputations, advances, etc. because little did they know, you overheard about the bet. and you were going to make it so hard, the winner would have to earn his night with you. or not. you were simply having the time of your life with this game.

fratboy!gojo thinks he can win you over with his card—buying you a drink whenever your glass was even half-empty, flashing his black card one too many times along with his designer shades, and even tipping the bartender way more than he needed. when that hadn’t seemed to impress you, he gave you his signature grin that normally had girls stuttering, but you saw right through his bullshit. too focused on those wispy, milky lashes batting at you when he spoke, you didn’t notice that lustful gaze dilating his pupils. see, what he didn’t expect was for you to scoff while he rambled about whatever campus drama he overheard and talk up the hardworking bartender right in front of him and dismissing him completely. even though those cerulean orbs and snowy tresses made your thighs clench, you’d never show it to him.

fratboy!geto moved onto the furthest couch in the pulsating room and settled into the most core-throbbing manspread you’d ever seen. those bulky arms tossed over the back of the futon, his raven hair spilling over his tight, black dress shirt that left you wondering how his muscles looked beneath them. what made it worse, was that his eyes never left your swaying body on the dance floor. for nearly 20 minutes, you twisted and contorted your figure left and right and up and down and gave him the show of his life. the tent in his pants only grew whenever he’d get a glimpse of the hem of your skirt lifting enough to show the curve of your ass. yet, aside from your suggestive glances towards him, you’d been the very first girl to swat his his hands away when he’d attempted to trail his hands down your hips.

fratboy!toji was… something else entirely. he definitely fit the frat stereotypes with that himbo head of his, but his physical prowess made up for it. he’d followed you on your way to the bathroom to freshen up, looming over your small figure in the dim hall and giving you a sensual grin as his viridescent eyes undressed your figure with no shame. your heart thrummed in your ear as his sultry voice asked you where you were off to but soon enough, he noticed your gaze trailing down his biceps. a knowing smirk made its way to his lips, deciding to give you the show of your life. he’d seen how the other guys had failed, so he pulled his black compression shirt over his head and placed his hands over his chest, asking you if you’d liked what you saw. pushing aside the butterflies in your stomach, you giggled and headed into the bathroom and left him standing alone, flushed cheeks and all, and feeling like an idiot.

fratboy!nanami was quite far from fratboy stereotypes. everyone knew he was the manager of their frat house and took care of most of the managerial and financial matters. he was also quieter—never giving away too much and holding an unreadable expression for the most part. what you didn’t know was that he didn’t want anything to do with this whole bet but gojo said he’d pay 2 months rent to him tonight just for the fun of it and how could nanami turn down money? nonetheless, as he waited for you outside the restroom after toji left more than defeated, he had no idea what to talk to you about. once you made your way out, you both made eye contact and he could only stare at you in all your effortless grace, before you pointed out that his tie was crooked. ever the sweetheart, you fixed it for him and batted your eyelashes with a gentle smile, walking away from the ogling and speechless nanami. he’d never noticed how beautiful you looked up close.

fratboy!choso had a plan set in stone. he was going to get the bartender to slip you a note with his number as he sat on the other side of the bar, possibly working his puppy-like charm. of course, he had to slide the bartender a generous tip for this whole thing. sitting anxiously, tapping his rings against the counter, he waited for your arrival when you settled on a stool across from him. he hadn’t meant to, but his gaze found itself fixed on your chest. your tits were pushed together just right, your cleavage spilling from your slip and bouncing so perfectly. when he noticed he was being outright creepy, he lifted his eyes to meet yours dead-on. his breath hitched as he noticed he was just caught and you had the napkin with his number in hand, then gave him a soft smile before crumpling it and dunking the napkin into your drink. taking another shot from the counter, you tossed it back and glided back to the dance floor with such ease, paying the man no attention—and choso wanted to choke himself.

last, but certainly not least, fratboy!sukuna found himself entirely dumbfounded with someone like you. he’d only accepted this bet because he knew his affairs with women has never fallen short, and he was just a tad bit competitive, but when he’d reached his hand out to you on the dance floor and told you to dance with him, you literally laughed in his face. at first, he looked around him to make sure you were directing those laughs at him but your giggles only increased which irked him. you rejected every single one of his advances, even offering to drive you to a hotel with him, and lost yourself in some scrawny, brunette who definitely had no idea how to treat a woman like you. you ignored his presence completely and he stood there, staring at the two of you in utter confusion, before retreating with his pride hurt. the pink-haired man was experiencing his first case of rejection and had no idea how to handle it.

one-by-one, the frat!jjk men found themselves slumped in a booth with dazed out and bewildered expressions. how the fuck did they manage to fail, every single of one them? gojo posed the question that maybe you were not into guys like that, but that was quickly dismissed when they saw you wrapping your arms around some guys neck and laughing at whatever bullshit he whispered in your ear. they couldn’t keep their eyes off of you, the way your body swayed in the club lights and as they all moved to your eyes in sync… you gave them all a wink.

“she’s gotta know.”

[sukubusss]

I loved awakening 🙇‍♀️

thank you, kind person

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 ✭ 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!

“There’s nothing more dangerous than seeing a monster and recognizing something familiar in his eyes.”

You were assigned to monitor Sukuna after his resurrection into a temporary physical form.

Not host-bound. Not fully free. Just… borrowed time, tightly leashed with ancient seals and Jujutsu Kaisen’s highest security clearance.

He was supposed to be a ticking bomb.

A threat dressed in crimson and smirking malice.

And that’s exactly how you treated him for the first few months.

"I'm not here to entertain you," you snapped once, after he'd tried to flirt just to see you squirm.

"You're not entertaining," he replied smoothly. "But I enjoy watching you try so hard not to look at me."

You hated that he noticed.

You hated that you noticed— the slow, dangerous way he moved, the unnerving calm in his gaze, the cruel wit that only seemed to sharpen the longer he existed in silence.

You’d been trained to hate him. And for a long time, you did.

Until you didn't.

✭✭✭

There was a mission. One they shouldn't have let him attend.

You were the failsafe, the observer, the leash if things went wrong.

A cursed spirit lashed out at a child. And for a split second, you weren’t fast enough.

Sukuna was.

The aftermath was messy. The other sorcerers assumed he protected the child to preserve his freedom, that he was calculating.

But you’d seen his face.

You saw the flicker of anger— not at the spirit, but at himself. Like the idea of a helpless creature being slaughtered under his watch insulted him.

"I didn't do it for you," he said later, when you confronted him. "I know," you whispered. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"

You didn’t have an answer.

✭✭✭

It wasn't in the moments he talked— it was in the ones he didn’t.

When you caught him sitting quietly with an old scroll, reading something you knew was written in the time he lived. When you watched his eyes track the stars at night like he remembered them differently than they are now. When you found him kneeling beside a dying cursed animal, watching it pass with something close to reverence.

He didn’t speak often anymore. And when he did, it wasn’t always cruel.

"You act like I’m incapable of love,” he said one night, out of nowhere. You stared at him. “Aren’t you?” His voice was quiet. “I forget. Sometimes. But then you show up.”

You didn't sleep that night.

✭✭✭

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You weren’t supposed to care.

You weren’t supposed to ache when he was dragged back from a mission with injuries, blood-soaked and laughing.

You weren’t supposed to look at his cracked lips and imagine what they’d taste like. Or how he’d sound saying your name without venom behind it.

It started to feel like drowning.

You began avoiding his eyes. His voice. The way he sometimes looked at you like he could see right through your walls and was… patiently waiting for them to fall.

You hated it.

Because you couldn’t see a way where it worked. He was Sukuna—the King of Curses. And you were a weapon trained to end his kind.

"I don't want this," you whispered one night, tears thick in your throat. "I don’t want to feel like this for you." He said nothing at first. Just watched you break in front of him. "Then why do you?" he asked softly.

You didn’t answer.

✭✭✭

It was a quiet afternoon.

No blood. No mission. No tension.

You sat beside him in the garden, reading.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you. Your hair falling over your shoulder, your lips mouthing the words of your book.

You looked up— and he wasn’t wearing his usual smirk.

He was just watching. Like you were a memory he didn’t want to forget.

“What?” you asked. “You’re beautiful when you’re calm,” he said. Your heart slammed in your chest. “I’m never calm around you.” “You’re always calm around me,” he said gently. “You just fight it.”

You kissed him that night.

It was hesitant. A question. A promise. A thousand what-ifs in one breathless moment.

He didn’t devour you like you expected.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for years.

✭✭✭

Even in the warmth of his touch, even in the quiet nights when he held you like something precious— there was always the lingering ache.

How does this end?

What kind of future is there for a girl and a curse?

You couldn’t picture it. You didn’t want to.

But he could.

One night, he curled a clawed hand around your wrist and murmured, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, almost against your will.

“Then let me make you mine properly.”

✭✭✭

They tried to separate you.

Tried to execute him, seal him, erase the bond between human and curse.

You stood in front of him when they came for him.

Tears streaming. Heart aching.

“You don’t know what he is,” you said. “No,” Sukuna said, stepping behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist, “they don’t know what you are to me.”

The choice was cruel. Walk away from your career. Your title. Everything you built.

Or leave him behind.

So you ran.

Together.

You live far away now. In a quiet place. A secret home wrapped in wards older than any curse.

He still jokes. Still growls. Still calls you "brat" when you're mad and "lover" when you're not.

But he never threatens. Never hurts you. Never lets go.

Sometimes you still wonder if it can work.

But then he reaches for you in the night, whispers your name like it’s sacred, and all that fear fades.

He was never meant to be loved.

But he is.

By you.

And for the first time in his eternal life, he loves back.

Taglist➥ @after-laughter-come-tears

☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!