#呪術廻戦 x reader

[ranhaitanisgf]

hi!! can you write an oneshot of yuuji confessing his love to reader with the help of the first years and gojo? you are my fav writer!! ily bye<3

just confess already!!

synopsis: yuuji just can't get you out of his head!! maybe his friends and teacher can help?

☆ a/n ˎˊ˗ first req for jjk !! it took a long time to write this bc i wasnt sure if i was characterizing everybody right, so lmk how i did !! thank you so much anon for requesting this idea; it was soso cute !! i hope you all enjoy ! xoxo

☆ characters ˎˊ˗ yuuji itadori x fem!reader

☆ wc ˎˊ˗ 2.1k+

masterlist

“idiot.” a harsh slap on the back of his head made yuuji yelp out in surprise and slight pain, clutching the back of his head. “if you keep staring like that she’s gonna notice, y’know.” he pouted a bit as nobara sat herself next to him, sipping a smoothie as the two of them watched you train with maki. 

“whatever…” he mumbled, setting his head on his hand. nobara watched him for a moment, the kicked puppy look on his face making her let out a breath, sighing. 

“i can’t enjoy your struggle with love if you look like that.” yuuji didn’t respond to her comment, making her roll her eyes. “hey, stop ignoring me and listen. you have the love expert sitting right next to you and you’re not even gonna ask me anything?” 

“you’ve never even had a boyfriend.” 

“hey!! i’m not gonna help you if you start being a little shit!” she yelled, huffing as she took another sip of her smoothie. 

as nobara looked at yuuji, she had to admit that it was strange to see him like this. it was odd to see yuuji so down in the dumps and not talking excitedly about something stupid, (not that she really cared. it was just an observation). 

“...you gonna confess to her?” 

“confess to who?!” 

“aah!” nobara screamed as she jumped, her cup almost slipping from her grasp. gojo peeked his head out between yuuji and nobara, his face twisting in feigned pain. 

“woah! don’t go screaming so loud, nobara! you’re gonna burst my eardrums!” the man whined, dramatically clutching his ears. 

“well maybe don’t go sneaking up on people like that!! i could’ve dropped my smoothie!!” she complained, clutching her smoothie much closer. despite the sudden appearance and scare from gojo, yuuji hadn’t even moved a muscle, his cheek still squished up against his hand as he watched you, your training partner now being panda. 

“sorry! but what’s got our vessel so down in the dumps? he get rejected?” 

“he’s gotten himself rejected in his mind before even confessing.” 

“ahhh, young love. so tragic!” gojo exclaimed dramatically. “so, who is it? hmmm…” gojo’s head turned to yuuji, matching his gaze until he saw you. “woah, (y/n)! what’re you gonna do?” 

“dunno…panda said she’s totally into some guy from kyoto…” nobara raised a brow at his words, scrunching her brows as she thought for a moment. 

“panda is a big fat liar. (y/n)-chan does have a crush on someone, but-” 

“you know who she has a crush on?!” yuuji suddenly asked, his voice raising two octaves and his jaw almost dropping. “who is it?!” 

“i’m not gonna break girl code for you, stupid! all i’ll say is that panda is completely wrong and that you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” she stated, making an ‘x’ symbol with her fingers. “you’ll be fine, so just confess already.” 

“i don’t even know how to do that! it looks so easy in those romance movies…” yuuji said, completely unaware of what she had just implied. 

“you watch romance movies? actually, why does that make complete sense- nevermind! stop being a coward! girls don’t like men who are cowards!” nobara confidently stated. “you’ve gotta be confident and tell your feelings unashamedly! be bold! be fearless!” 

the little pep talk had no effect on yuuji, the boy just sighing and standing up when he noticed that you were finished with training. before he could get up and walk away, gojo suddenly grabbed him from under his armpits, easily lifting him up and walking away with him, (yuuji’s flapping and flailing had absolutely no effect). 

nobara had stayed seated, staring at the scene for a couple moments and wondering if she should get herself involved, (teenage boys are so much trouble, after all). despite the fact that she could do much better things with her time, she ultimately decides to get up and follow them. see, she’s thinking for her future self! the future her wouldn’t be able to enjoy the small moments of peace and quiet if yuuji was constantly moping and feeling sorry for himself, so she has to intervene now for her own self preservation! 

“hey, let go of me!” 

“we have to fix this, stat! i wouldn’t be a good teacher if i didn’t help you out!” 

“i’m not asking for your stupid help! have you even had a girlfriend before, sensei?!” gojo gasped at yuuji’s words, shaking him a bit as he continued to carry him to wherever he was taking him, (nobara isn’t sure why she decided to help, actually. this was ruining her peace and quiet). 

“ouch! you don’t think your own mentor is hot with the ladies?!” gojo suddenly stopped walking when he noticed a familiar black-haired first year who stopped in the doorway to the school, staring at the scene in front of him. 

for a few seconds, megumi stared at gojo, hoping that silence would hopefully be enough to exclude him from whatever was going on right now. 

“megumiii~! come help us with yuuji~!” 

“no thanks.”

“me~gu~mi~!” 

“i’m busy.” 

--

you’re not sure what’s going on right now. 

you had been walking with maki and panda back from training, the three of you talking about getting a bite to eat somewhere good after taking showers and freshening up, (you felt pretty cool that you were able to hang out with the second-years, so you were pretty excited about it). 

when the three of you had heard a giant racket from behind you, none of you had expected to turn around and find gojo and the other first years restraining yuuji as they were sprinting your way at quite the alarming speed, (gojo was holding yuuji like a cat, his hands under his armpits while megumi and nobara were half-heartedly crouch-running while holding his legs). 

“aahhh!! let me go!! let go!!” yuuji was yelling, trying his best to wrangle himself out of gojo’s grip. 

“what in the world…” you said in shock, preparing to get out of the way since they didn’t seem to be slowing down, (would they willingly crash into all you? nah…right?). 

they all suddenly stopped right in front of you, unceremoniously dropping yuuji. he didn’t lose his balance though, standing up straight away and throwing his hands up in anger. 

“hey!! what’s the big idea here?!” he was yelling, his face twisted in confusion and frustration. “you can’t just pick me up and take me wherever you want!!”

“actually, i can! maki, panda!! let’s scram!!” gojo said, a big smile on his face as he started shooing them off. 

“hah? why should we-?” 

“c’mon c’monnnn! listen to your teacher for once!” gojo interrupted, taking hold of both of their shoulders and pulling them along with him. “ oh, and (y/n)! yuuji has something to say to you!” megumi and nobara followed behind him as they shook their heads, leaving you and yuuji staring at them in shock as they all walked away. 

“what the hell just happened…?” you asked, your question hanging in the air as you watched them all promptly exit the scene, (you could still hear maki arguing with gojo in the distance which you thought was a bit funny). 

yuuji didn’t answer your question, his jaw hanging wide open as he watched everyone walk away and leave him there. 

“uh, yuuji…? you alright? gojo-sensei said you have something to say?” you asked, a bit concerned. yuuji was finally looking at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to say something, (were his cheeks pink? are you imagining things?). it was odd to see him acting so timid, especially when he was usually so excited and friendly. maybe he was finally making a move? 

no, you shouldn’t get your hopes up. 

“i…uhh…” he managed to let out, his hands moving to his head to mess with his hair. you nodded patiently, waiting for him to say something. 

“yes?” 

“i…you…uhhhh…” he shook his head, his hands suddenly slapping his cheeks. “i like you!!” he exclaimed, his eyes screwed shut. “i really like you and panda said that you liked a guy from kyoto so i wasn’t going to say anything but nobara said i should go for it and i wasn’t going to but then gojo-sensei dragged me all the way here so i kinda feel like i have to say it now! i’m sorry!!!” you stared as he talked, not even taking a breath between his sentences as words poured out of his mouth. at the end of it he bowed deeply to you, his arms stiff at his sides. 

all you could do was stare at him for a few moments, his talking being too fast for your brain to process all at once. the silence was thick over the two of you as he anxiously waited for an answer from you, whose eyes were blown wide as you realized what was happening right now. 

the first thing you did was gently grab his shoulders, pulling him up from his bow and smiling at him, your hands moving to hold his, (you found it cute that his palms were sweating a bit). 

the second thing you did was giggle a bit at his flushed and embarrassed expression; you didn’t think you’d ever see him like this, but you were glad that you were. 

“yuuji! i thought you would never say anything! i like you too~!” now he was the one staring at you with wide eyes, his gaze flicking down to look at your joined hands, then back up to your smiling face. 

“me? you like me?!” he asked in shock. 

“of course, silly!” you answered, squeezing his hands a bit. “i’ve liked you since the first day i met you. i was waiting for you to realize!” yuuji continued gaping at you, his shock extremely evident on his face. “was it really not that obvious?” 

“i’m kinda stupid, so i didn’t know…” he mumbled, his eyes staring deeply into your own, almost as if he was searching for your feelings in them. a smile suddenly bloomed on his face, his shock melting away as he gave you the most genuine and happy grin you’ve ever seen in your life, (you’re being blinded!!). 

“will you let me be your boyfriend?” he asked, lacing your fingers together. “i can’t say that i’m the smartest and i can’t say that i’m the strongest, but i will do my best to make you happy!” 

there was a particular shine of complete and utter love in his brown eyes that beamed a light straight into your heart; a complete k.o!

“guh, yuuji…” you said, your head dropping down. “my heart…” 

“what?! are you okay, (y/n)??” 

“ahhh, you’re so cute…!” you exclaimed, popping your head back up to beam at him. “let’s go do something!! right now!” 

“r-right now!? where-?!” you cut his words off by starting to drag him with you, beginning to jog a bit. he confusedly jogged behind you, but despite his confusion his hand held yours in a firm grip, blindly following your lead as you led the both of you down the halls. 

“somewhere! wherever we find something cool!” you giggled, going outside the school and leading him in the direction of the city. “let’s get some good food! oh, and maybe we can watch a movie or something! didn’t you want to watch that worm movie?” 

“human earthworm 4? seriously?! you’ll see it with me??” yuuji asked, his expression dumbfounded and elated at the same time. 

“of course! i would do anything if it was with you!” 

“h-huh?! anything?!”

“yep! anything!” you smiled, looking back at him. his cheeks were completely flushed by this point, the pink shade being darker than his hair color. even more obvious than his flustered state though was how happy he was; his face was contorted in the most beautiful grin you think you’ve ever seen and you almost trip over your own feet because you’re so happy too. 

“...i-i would do anything too! if it was with you!” he exclaimed, unconsciously helping you jump over a big root in the pathway. “i think anything would be good if it had you!” 

“do you mean it?” 

“of course i do!! i feel like you always have this sort of aura that’s just like whoosh! and then i just feel better, even if my lunch got stolen out of the fridge!” 

“haha, i have an aura? don’t worry though, i’ll protect your lunches from now on!! you won’t need my aura because-!” 

“no, i do need your aura! always!” 

“hmm, well i guess we could arrange that, right?” you mused, giggling. yuuji’s eyes drifted to his view of your smile, your joyful expression making his heart go ten times faster than it already was. 

hey! not that he’s complaining…it’s really nice, so….his heart rate be damned!! 

yuuji doesn’t know if there’s a god out there or a higher power, but he hopes that he can be able to relive this moment with you forever, (would it be too much for him to ask to be with you forever? it would be, right?).

[akuratsuna-00]

Sukuna stretching 🍑

I got 20k views on ded blue birb for the 1st time.. so yea thank youü so much and so the people here on Tumblr. Thank youü very much for appreciating my Sukuna fanarts🫶👹

[lexiene]

Watching you eat bc your preggy with his babies~

[seichv]

𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬?

– 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝: "𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞?"

: ̗̀➛ ft. satoru, suguru, toji, nanami, choso

: ̗̀➛ contents: nsfw (minors shoo!), f!reader, slight crack lolz >v<

: ̗̀➛ note: THANK YOU FOR 400 YAYAY sending everyone big fat smooches (^з^)-♡

[cursed-peach]

Ah Yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her ¥75,000 plushie of myself.

[halosdiary]

Strawberry Shortcake | Toji x Bratty!Reader | 呪術廻戦

synopsis: You have to breed with the Zen'in clan's biggest liability. You refuse and he plays some games with you.

Contains: jealousy, mind games from Toji's side, humiliation, breeding, doggy, full Nelson, BASICALLY HATE FUCKING.

Word count: 3k

Toji doesn’t want to marry you. Not because it’s you, just because, well, he doesn’t want to marry anyone. He doesn’t want to listen to the Zenin clan at all. Marrying him off to the highest bidder, your parents, because he wasn’t a sorcerer. He hates you by association, even though it’s not your fault. But this marriage, should be rather, interesting.

“They expect me to breed with you?”

Toji asks you after the ceremony, sprawled on the futon. The Zenin clan had asked you to take his last name: Fushiguro.

All you did was ignore him, you hated this arrangement, All you wanted was freedom. You sighed as you walked over to the window looking at the view of the city. 

He watched you for a moment, studying your back as you move towards the window. He wasn’t expecting you to be friendly; neither of you wanted this.

He stood up from the futon and walked over to you, stopping a few feet behind you.

“You hate me,” he stated, his arms crossed over his broad chest as his eyes continued to look you up and down intently.

“You don’t even want to spend a single night with me, do you?”

"Hate is a strong word " you stated to him, giving him a side eye.

You turned back around to look at the view of the city. You looked down at the ring on your finger, so much shit has past you by and all you did was blink.

He stepped forward, standing right behind you, so you can practically feel his body heat. He lets out a quiet chuckle as his eyes move to your hand, where the ring is.

“The ring looks good on you, darling.” His breath fans over your ear and he places a hand on the window, effectively trapping you between the window and him.

“At least I get to look at this pretty face every day now.”

"You're so thoughtful." You said to him sarcastically.

You walk away from the window and roam into the kitchen. Not much was going on. You whipped out your phone and started texting friends.

There wasn't really much you or your new husband could do. It was clear as day you two weren't exactly fond of this wedding arrangement. As soon as you said "I do" and we're officially married, you immediately took the money your parents gave you and cut contact.

He followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching you silently. He was trying to get a read on you. You didn’t speak to him much, and he had no idea how you might take things.

He wasn’t expecting to be met with sarcasm, that was for sure. Toji smirked, leaning against the counter. “Are you gonna act like that every time I open my mouth?” he called out to you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Or should I just get a ball gag ready for you every night?”

You scoffed at his suggestions, and tried to shoo him off. He was unbelievable. For a man who didn't wanna be tied down he's really committed to his role as the husband. You scanned him up and down, if it weren't for the fact he wa s apiece of work, you admitted he was pretty attractive. 

"Real immature. Are you sure you can keep up with me, old man?"

He chuckled, finding your irritation entertaining. “Who’s old?” He pushed himself off the counter and slowly stalked towards you. “If you think I’m old, you think wrong, darling.”

He reached you, putting a hand on either side of you on the counter, trapping you once again. He loomed over you, his face was nearly touching yours as he tilted his head slightly. “And I think I’ll be able to keep up with you just fine, wife.”

"I have a name, old man." You sneered at him trying to get away from him.

He was entertained with the way you kept trying to get away from him. But every time, he’d find a way close the distance. He liked taunting you, seeing you get all riled up.

He chuckled again, putting a finger on your chin and forcing you to look at him. “I know you do, darling,” he said, using the nickname to annoy you even more. “But I like calling you wife.”

All you could was frown at him, you continued to text on your phone. Checking messages and looking at old pictures. You looked at the ring again, and sighed.

“Who are you texting?” He asked, looking over your shoulder at your phone. “New lover you’re gonna hide from your husband?”

He pushed his body against yours, trying to get a glimpse of your phone.

"Get over yourself, Fushiguro." You snapped at him, "I have more class than that. I'm not one of your floozies."

He smirked at that, putting a hand on your waist and pulling you close to him, making you drop your phone.

“Floozies?” He was amused. “Are you jealous, darling? Are you scared I’m going to have women coming over night after night?”

"Why would I be jealous of a cocky old man?" You smack him away from you.

"Be so fucking for real right now."  You walk off in a huff to a different room and slam the door.

He let out a low chuckle and smirked at your reaction. He was pushing your buttons, that was for sure, but he was enjoying it.

He casually followed you to the room you stormed off to and knocked on the door. “Come on, open the door, *wife*." He purposely used the word again, knowing you’d get annoyed. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to lock yourself away from your husband?”

"Let's face facts, you obviously want your freedom, so why don't you just go?"

He pushed open the door and walked into the room, standing at the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“And go where, exactly?” he replied with a smirk. “I’ve been told by the head of the clan that it’s my duty to breed you. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not, darling.”

"Go stick your sword up your ass, geezer." You hug your knees and just look away from him.

He chuckled at your words. “Is that anyway to talk to your husband?” he replied, his voice taunting.  “What a filthy mouth.”

He pushed himself off the bed and walked towards you, grabbing your chin in his hand and forcing you to look at him. “Watch it, *wife*. I can punish you for that attitude.”

You move yourself away from him once more. You weren't in the mood for this bullshit. You give your husband the middle finger and stepped out the apartment for a while. He watched you storm out with a smirk. It was too easy to rile you up, but it was also kind of fun, messing with you.

He got up and walked to the window, pulling the curtains back slightly so he could see you. He didn’t plan on letting you stay out for the rest of the night, but he would at least let you cool off first. You wandered off into the nice, cool night. You looked around, and people were just chatting away, dancing and laughing. The work day was over for most people, as normal they were heading to bars and have some fun.

He watched you walk off through the streets of the city. He didn’t plan on letting you be out for too long. He wanted to see if you’d make an attempt to get away.

There were plenty of bars and other people around, and the thought of you sneaking off with one of them didn’t settle well with him. He couldn’t exactly blame you, he wouldn’t want to be with him either, but he was your husband now. It was his duty to keep you by his side and it was your job to obey.

You were alone in a bar, drinking your sorrows away. You hated this arrangement. But something about you seemed to attract a lot of unwanted attention. 

A few men in the bar had taken an interest in you as you sat there drinking alone. Their eyes were on you, their gazes lingering on your form. Some glanced at you and smirked, while others sent winks your way.

You decided to ignore the attention and drink away. You don't know why your "husband" always managed to get under your skin, but he did it a little too well.

The attention was starting to get annoying. It was obvious they were hitting on you, but you just wanted to drink alone and deal with your problems in peace, not be bothered by some lowlifes.

One of the men approached you, sliding into the seat next to you. “Hey there, beautiful. You alone?” he said with a smirk.

"Look, whatever you want, I'm not entirely interested at the moment." You dismissed them and looked at your drink.

It was a strawberry shortcake martini, your favorite. 

The man raised his arms up in a surrender motion, laughing at your response. “Just asking. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to chat up a pretty girl like you.” He put his arms on the counter and leaned on them, looking at you intently.

”You look like you can use some company, though. You don’t look very happy.”

"It's a long story. You wouldn't wanna hear it." You just muster.

“Oh, but I’m a very good listener. I promise, a pretty girl like you could tell me all her problems,” he smirked and leaned a bit closer to you. He clearly didn’t understand your dismissive attitude.

Some of his friends looked over, one of them whispering something to the other, glancing over at the two of you.

"I'm stuck in an arrangement with someone and I just wanted to enjoy the single life a little longer."

The man nodded with a hum, listening intently. “Arrangement, huh? Sounds like a shitty deal, being tied down to someone you don’t really wanna be with.”

He paused for a moment. “Who’s this person that has you tied down, if you don’t mind me asking?” He gave you a smirk. “Some rich old geezer?”

"Some asshole named Toji Fushiguro." You answered bluntly.

The man’s eyes widened slightly at hearing the name. “Toji Fushiguro, huh?” he repeated. “And he’s your husband now? Must not be that great of a guy if you’re drinking away your troubles.”

His eyes darted over to his friends at another table, who were watching carefully. They both seemed to be whispering and nodding to each other while glancing over occasionally.

"He's such a pain in the ass. I SWEAR." You continued to shit talk him, not acknowledging Toji's presence behind you. You then noticed the man you're talking to go pale.

"What?" You said to him

The man quickly looked behind you, seeing Toji now standing behind you. He paled and quickly averted his gaze, looking back at you.

“E-er, no reason.”

By now, Toji was clearly pissed off. He had been standing there for a while listening to you talking about how annoying he was and his hand was clenched into a fist.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's just an asshole." You laughed still not knowing he's behind you.

The man in front of you laughed along with your statement, but it was a clearly nervous laugh.

Toji had enough of listening to you talk badly about him. He reached over and put his hand on your shoulder, grip tight as he leaned down over your shoulder.

“Don’t you think that’s a little rude, wife? Calling your husband an ‘asshole’.”

"OH—" You yelled out and fell from your seat. You felt your heart beating out your chest.

Toji caught you before you could actually fall to the ground. He chuckled at you, an arrogant grin over his face as he held you against his chest. One of his hands was gripping your waist to keep you up while the other held your shoulder.

The man in front of you looked at the two of you, clearly startled and intimidated now that Toji had appeared.

"JESUS." You yelled out,

"Thanks for the heart attack—"

Toji smirked at your words and pulled you closer to him. He wasn’t gonna let you keep bad mouthing him to other people.

“Sorry, princess. But you really should watch what you say.”

He nodded his head to the man you were talking to, who was now just staring at the two of you. “You shouldn’t talk about your husband l like that in public, right?”

"You don't even like me, why do you even CARE?" You raised your brow to him.

“Care?” Toji laughed at that, pulling you a little closer to him as he spoke.

“Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean you can go around bad mouthing me, darling.”

He put a hand on your cheek, eyes looking down at you with a mocking gaze.

“I’m your husband, now. And I have a reputation. So you better keep that pretty little mouth of yours from calling me an ‘asshole’ again in public.”

"If I don't?" Your arms were crossed still waiting for some type of result.

Toji’s smirk only widened at your question. He leaned down more near your ear, hand still grabbing your cheek as he spoke lowly.

“Try me, wife.” His tone darkened, a hint of a warning in his voice. “Go on. Call me an ‘asshhole’ again.”

You leaned in closer to him and doubled down on that promise.

"Ass..hole." you said as a sly remark.

Toji’s grip on your waist and cheek only tightened at your words. His eyes darkened and he let out a scoff.

”Oh, you’re really pushing my buttons, you know that?”

His voice was low, almost a growl. His lips were near your ear and his hand on your cheek moved to grip your chin, forcing your head up to look at him. You glare at him, and all he had was that a shit eating smirk on his face. The way you wanted to humble this man was atrocious. Before you could say or do anything he threw you over his shoulder and just stared at the man you were just chatting with.

You were kicking and yelling at him to let you go. You then notice as he started working, he was walking towards a bathroom.

The man just stood there as Toji picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. He was a bit in shock, watching as Toji began to walk towards the bathrooms.

You continued to kick and yell at him, attempting to get away from him, but he just held you firmly.

He pushed open one of the bathroom doors and walked into it before kicking it shut behind him, locking the door for privacy.

"What the hell are you—" your sentence stopped as his lips violently crashed into yours. You were in for a shock.

His lips were rough, pressing against yours with force as he grabbed you tightly. The suddenness of the kiss completely caught you off guard, and his grip on you showed he wasn’t letting up.

He pushed you up against a wall, pinning you, and his lips only pressed harder into you.

You tried desperately to pull back, but you felt him bringing you back.

He only continued to press you against the wall, pinning you with his body. His hands gripped your hips and held you tightly, not letting you get away.

The kiss was rough and aggressive, his lips pressed hard against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth and claiming it.

The more you pulled back, the more rough he got, eventually you just let it happened. He groaned against your lips when he felt you stop resisting, his tongue claiming your mouth still. His grip on your hips got tighter, body pressing against yours as he began pushing his thigh in between your legs.

It felt like one second you were clothed, the naked you were bent over in the stalls. You could feel his length and girth slowly going inside you. He groaned and growled as he bottomed out into you.

"Fuck.." he groaned to you.

Toji’s thrusts were slow, but packed a forceful thrust. Your moans  and skapping skin were echoing the bathroom, he had a firm grasps of your hips as he just watch your ass jiggle for minutes.

"What's the matter, wife?" He asked you as he pounded deeper into you. "You're awfully quiet, no shit talking?"

The faster we went, the more he got to see your ass jiggle. At this part you were like putty to him. You watched as he switched positions and you felt like you were going to explode. Toji groaned loudly as he unloaded inside you. You felt his  warm seed inside of you, you were speechless.

Time had passed, and you were the first to come out the bathroom, your clothes a bit messy, but you basically got yourself prepped and ready.

Toji followed after you shortly, his clothes also a bit messy, but he looked relatively collected. He ran a hand through his messy hair and watched you.

“You know,” he said, his voice a bit low. “You’re a lot more fun when you lose the attutde, wife.”

"Shut up." Was all you could muster, but also couldn't help but feel your cheeks heating up.

Toji chuckled at your response, a smirk over his face. “You’re still so feisty though. You never give in, do you?”

He stepped closer to you, putting an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down close to your ear, his voice a low whisper. “But I do like that cute little flustered look on your face.”

All you could do was groan in embarrassment, as he laughed it off and took you home.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @blkkizzat @buttercupblu @lowkeyremi

[honeyawa]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚   CALLING THEM BRO +

⠀ ⸺ ⠀what is there reaction before being called “bro” by their significant other (?). incls ✩ gojo satoru . geto suguru + fushiguro megumi . itadori yuuji !

[m3ikyu]

༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ olderbf!gojo ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა

༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚ content: fluff, swearing, age gap, nsfw MDNI, daddy kink, spanking, cockwarming him while doing his hair, p in v, implied breeding at the end

it all started with an innocent request from you, his sweetheart. the clips and bows you recently ordered online just came, and what better way to test them than by styling your boyfriend's hair with them? olderbf!gojo would never say no to you and your silly little requests anyway, he’ll do anything to make his pretty girl happy.

but if you ask for something from him, wouldn’t it be fair if he did the same? olderbf!gojo’s a simple man, after all, he lives to please his angel but he has his own needs as well. which is how you ended up on his lap, with his thick cock buried deep inside your tight heat and his lips latched onto your neck.

“s-stop movin’!” you whine as you attempt to clip a bow onto his hair, but all it gets you is a spank on the ass.

“is that how you talk to me now, huh? where are your manners, baby?” he hisses in your ear, fingertips digging into the fat of your rear. olderbf!gojo may have allowed you to have your way with him, but he’s still in control, not you.

“n-no… ‘m sorry, daddy…” olderbf!gojo grins with a sadistic glint in his eye before hushing you, telling you he forgives you but you need to make it up to him for hurtin’ his feelings :< he manhandles you until your back is flat against the mattress and your thighs are pressed against your chest.

you already know that you won’t be able to continue doing his hair because olderbf!gojo goes fucking feral when he puts you in a mating press and it makes you all pouty, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“you’re gonna make it up to daddy by letting him breed you, right?” he doesn’t need to hear a response before sinking back into your pussy, a guttural groan escaping his lips as soon as he bottoms out. olderbf!gojo, of course, hasn’t forgotten about what you want, and he’ll let you do it— only after you’re leaking with his seed.

that’s all, thank you ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[thatpinupartist]

He's suchhhhh boyfriend material

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 I. Hankali

     Sukuna’s lips are curled into a sneer as he stares down at the shivering gaggle of priests kneeling at his feet. He towers over them, his shadow outstretched like an ominous hand, crimson eyes hard and merciless as he peels away the veneer of their presence to sink his teeth into their motivations.

     Fear. These witless worms are motivated by fear, naught else. He half expects one of them to piss themselves any moment.

     Sukuna has lived a life of solitude from birth, and one thing solitude has taught him is that his own strength is what is reliable. Friendships, companions, love, all of those are useless tethers beneath his scope of interest and control. No one invites him to things, because his lethal reputation has impressed upon them that he does not care. The people of Hida fear his power, and so they grovel to curry favor in hopes of gaining his protection. He is a sorcerer, but to them he is a god.

     Hapless lichen and unmarked graves are testament of his power. A sea of blood for him to drink from endlessly. Meat to be torn and swallowed, sweet and succulent and limitless in its variety.

     What care has he for petty festivals and sniveling proselytizing? He cannot make their crops grow nor their cattle healthy. He does not control those forces of nature, but these provincial types are superstitious about jujutsu.

     And there are no other sorcerers who can lay claim to the feats he has accomplished.

     His sneer becomes a leering grin.

     “I accept your invitation,” he says in an even voice, deep and resonant in the temple he has claimed as home for most of his adult life. He watches with disdain as he sees the priests breathe collective sighs of relief.

     “We thank his lordship for his consideration,” the head priest says, forehead pressed on the cool stone of the floor. Sukuna says nothing in response. He merely waits.

     “I’m sure you do,” he says laconically after a stretch of fearful silence. “Get out.”

     Thus are the priests dismissed, their limbs intact, and their numbers the same as when they arrived. They consider this a blessing in and of itself, scurrying out of the shrine like startled insects. Sukuna watches them go, his smirk turning to a pensive frown.

     “Mercy, my lord?” Uraume’s cool voice is amused. Sukuna huffs out a breath.

     “There is no joy in killing frightened peasants. Aside, there will be blood aplenty at this harvest festival of theirs. Blood is the only thing gods demand in tribute, after all.”

     And Sukuna is fair starved for sacrifice.

     The weeks leading up to the festival are hectic. With the Five Empty Generals and the Sun, Moon, and Star Squads eliminated, the capital, and by extension Hida, is thrown into chaos. Bandits roam the surrounding areas, waylaying travelers and refugees alike. Temples are packed to capacity to give alms to the starving and destitute. Misery permeates the air as the storm of Sukuna’s fury is felt throughout Heaven and Earth.

     No one opposes him in the wake of this war, and he consolidates his power, taking tribute and extracting iron clad binding vows to secure and fortify his position.

     But by the gods he can’t bring himself to care about any of it. It feels pointless to him. It nettles at his nerves, these petty political squabbles between clans of sorcerers who could not stand against him in the end. The Sugawara clan is especially in disarray, having lost their best sorcerers to Sukuna’s lethal domain.

     Would that he could bring himself care, though. It’s as if the victory that should have been sweetest to savor has turned to stale ash in his mouth, and no amount of blood drinking can curb it.

     Something is irritating his spirit, and he’s not sure what.

     Uraume fields requests both in the form of face-to-face audiences with supplicants and distraught nobles desperate to hold onto their power; Uraume also fields written requests. Sukuna has so far been offered vast swathes of rice paddies, fields, and even cattle. Where he once had to hunt and scrape in the wilds for his food, now he has more than enough in his stores to throw feasts. But he does not do this. Anyone who would be invited to attend would only do so out of fear of how he’d respond should they refuse. Empty fear does little to sweeten his appetite. He has missed the scent and taste of true terror between his teeth.

     It’s frustrating. So, he attends this stupid harvest festival as a guest of the highest honor: the God of Hida. Wielder of Storm and Flame. All manner of ostentatious titles he would never choose for himself, but he bears the weight of them all the same. Even the title, Ryōmen Sukuna, is not a name he chose, but it certainly suits him. It evolved from his deeds. He had been born a cursed and nameless wretch to a mother whose face was not even a blur in his memory. All he knows is the turning point of cognizance in his life, and the bloody present.

     He sits amongst them, an impassive deity, inscrutable as the heavens that cursed him. Something stirs in his chest, makes his heart tighten uncomfortably. Will alone quells it, buries it too deep to be excavated without considerable aid, or his will. That unnamed feeling—that yearning—will be smothered in the salted earth of his heart like everything else.

     The festival itself is lavish, a surprise for such uncertain times, but Sukuna sees these people—these insects—seeking joy when it would be easier to succumb to the hand fate has dealt them: misery and death; their pointless existence snuffed out and forgotten. Sukuna allows himself a smile at the thought. Yes, how fitting.

     He sips his plum wine, smokes his kiseru, and stares at the nameless faces and listens to the empty and pointless chatter. His heart beats sluggishly as the contents of his kiseru finally take hold, dulling the sharpened edges of agitation flaying his nerves.

     There’s a commotion at the entrance to the headman’s hall. Affronted gasps, mocking laughter. Sukuna knows that voice, and suddenly he reaches for the ornate lacquered box at his side, refills his kiseru, and takes a long, slow drag of it.

     She’s naked. She’s always fucking naked. Sukuna doesn’t know or care, but she’s coming at him, her eyes shining with something he thinks is madness, and suddenly the distance is closed, and he feels strong arms go around him, gets a deep inhale of her scent: rosewater and her natural musk. Pleasant, but her arms around him, her fingers threading through his hair, her grating voice droning on and on about loneliness and love and other such drivel—the sharp edges of his nerves lash out before he realizes it.

     Yorozu tumbles onto the floor, her open haori stained with her own blood, a slash mark across her chest, breasts stained in a curtain of crimson spilling from a wound that may as well have been made with a true blade. Sukuna should find this beautiful, but he doesn’t care. He’s just well and truly agitated, now.

     There’s a fearful silence in the room as Yorozu climbs to her knees, swaying from the blood loss. Her face is a frightening rictus of ecstasy, as if she is having a religious experience.

     “Ah, Sukuna!” She sighs in deep satisfaction. “You are the most magnificent thing! An honor to be struck down by your hands. I will spend the rest of our lives making sure you never know loneliness again, beloved.”

     Sukuna frowns, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. Beside him, he feels the chill of Uraume’s cursed energy, like prickling fingers of winter in the form of their aura alone.

     “If you’ve any decorum,” Uraume says in a warning tone, “you will attire yourself in a manner befitting the occasion and not embarrass my lord with your provincial ignorance.”

     Yorozu should be angry, but when one is a powerful sorcerer, words of snarling lapdogs mean precious little. She gives Uraume as maddening smile.

     “Oh, but have you not heard? I too decimated the Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad and have been accorded a place of honor amongst the Fujiwara for this festival. What role do you play here, Uraume? I am to be seated at Lord Sukuna’s right hand, as is my right!”

     Sukuna snorts derisively.

     “You talk too much,” he says in an exasperated tone. “Be seated and be silent.”

     Surprisingly, Yorozu complies, arranging herself like some sort of creature at his side, giving Uraume a simpering smirk while they roll their eyes in obvious disdain and disgust. Sukuna is just thankful the woman is heeding his words and remaining blessedly silent. He focuses his thoughts again.

     The entertainment for the evening is interesting. There is the traditional and ritualistic, which he watches and listens to with half an ear. He feels wholly apart from the festivities, as if he is some sort of interloper and not an honored guest. And all around him is the stench of nervous fear. Fear that he might do something unimaginably horrific should any displease him. He does nothing to dissuade them, but still…all this sweating and kowtowing is unnecessary and grates his nerves.

     It’s not until he sees the performers arranging an interesting set of drums he’s never seen before that he sets his annoyance aside in favor of his curiosity. The players have also changed. Arrayed in strange costumes of grass skirts and anklets with bells. Their skin is as dark as rich, fresh-turned earth; the men have strong and stern miens; but Sukuna detects something submissive about them. They look to one of the other performers.

     Sukuna’s gaze follows theirs as the lead dancer emerges. There’s a thump in his ears like a heartbeat. Her cursed energy blazes around her in a steady flame, moving with a fluidity Sukuna has seen only in himself.

     Who is she?

     Sukuna’s gaze falls like a weight on her and he suppresses a smirk when he sees her shift her body weight onto the balls of her feet. There’s a tinkling of bells from the thick ankle bracelets she wears, but Sukuna knows a tense posture when he sees it. She speaks to the drummers in a tongue he doesn’t recognize, hands animated in giving direction. Sukuna keeps his eyes on her. Skin like burnished umber from what he can see, her breasts high and proud in a bra made complete of cowrie shells. He can also make out the tattoo on her back, a symbol he doesn’t recognize. Is she a criminal of some kind as well? There’s a crown of cowrie shells on her head, affixed to soft buckskin straps that obscure her face from him, but he can make out her lips.

     The dancer grows more interesting by the moment from her appearance alone, her eyes dark and sparkling, her braids falling around her in a sea of black and gold, framing her cowrie-obscured face that he catches glimpses of when she turns: high cheekbones, and sculpted soft nose, and lips shaped like a perfect bow. When she smiles, which is frequently, Sukuna marvels at the perfect whiteness of her teeth, the way her smile seems a power all on its own. There is something inside of her, something yet to be tapped, and he wonders.

     He waits.

     A hush falls over the entire crowd, faces illuminated by the massive bonfire burning in the center of it all.

     Then, the dancer opens her mouth and begins to sing. Sukuna’s brows go up at the power of her voice, a clear trailing of notes and melody in a tongue he doesn’t recognize but somehow the tone of her song reaches him. He understands her meaning, sees it written in her smile as those foreign words slip from her mouth like a lure. She commands the music with skill, the primordial drumbeats whispering to thread with the melody she sings. Sukuna can feel the power in her, that thing inside her that he can’t quite place trembling like a chrysalis on the verge of opening.

     When she begins to dance, Sukuna understands. By his side, Yorozu follows his gaze, notes how he never takes any of his eyes off of the girl. Her lip curls in open disdain and disgust.

     The dance becomes faster, the drums carrying the dancer into a frenzy that is no wilder and more beautiful than a summer storm. Sukuna can see a sheen of sweat on the girl’s back, right between her undulating shoulder blades. She commands her small stage with consummate skill, executing complicated footwork, the bells around her ankles creating a counter rhythm to the drumbeat whipping everyone into an excited and breathless frenzy. Her cowrie shell crown’s straps are flung about her head like a halo when she executes hairpin turns on the balls of her bare feet, rapid and surefooted, affording the crowd a glimpse of the sculpted face beneath. Her feet, stained crimson with henna, tap out a counterrhythm to the drums in one sequence, creating a synergy the likes of which Sukuna himself has never seen nor heard. The drummers are not sorcerers, but there’s something in their playing that bolsters the dancer. The flames climb higher and higher, and Sukuna suddenly finds himself breathing with her. Inhale. Exhale. Controlled diaphragm as she chants and sings louder, not even sounding the least bit winded.

     The crowd feels it too. They clap; they stamp their feet.

     Sukuna can feel the chrysalis inside of her vibrating. Her soul is vibrating. The fire crackles and seems to dance higher and brighter. The drums are in his blood, pumping his heart, making his pulse race with the same breathless anticipation he gets just before a fight.

     “Exquisite,” Sukuna says breathlessly to himself. Yorozu’s brow knits in consternation as she gazes up at him sharply. He’s still watching the dancer. Worse yet, his lower hand resting on the floor beside him is tapping in time to the rhythm. She’s sure he would hum along if he knew the damn melody of the barbaric chanting and yowling the girl is doing.

     The smell of spring and bounty permeates the air as the music swells, and the girl’s feet move faster in more complicated patterns, a test of endurance, an expression of strength. Sweat slicks her dark, umber skin. Sukuna sees the softness of her body, the undulation of her waist and hips, the way every curve moves with its own fluid rhythm and knows she will taste so tender and succulent between his teeth. The salt of her sweat makes him salivate a little at the thought.

     But also, she is gifted with immense power. He can feel it. A latent potential as yet untapped, struggling to be born. All it needed was the right push and it would be free, and she would be formidable. It would be a waste to consume her for the fleeting pleasure of tasting her. Sukuna knows a rare delicacy when he sees one.

     No, he would have to do something else. He would need to find a way to savor her.

     Several times she dances near him, and he tenses, but there is something reverent in the way she looks at him through the curtain of cowrie shells from her crown; the way she smiles at him as if she is inviting him to join her; the way she always seems to be in supplication when she addresses him with the movements of her body. A bow, a flourishing gesture of the hands to highlight the enormity of him, little bits of acknowledgement that she knows him to be the sovereign presence here; the mystery of her being obscured when she turns away from him with fluid grace, and he wants to reach out and seize her, turn her back, and look into her face in full. There’s something sensual about her method of dancing, which he deduces to be a harvest tribute.

     He likes that.

     The music swells and blooms, and her soul blooms with it as she kneels in perfect reverence before him, sitting on her heels, hands pressed delicately to the floor, her forehead on the ground. Her bells and shells are silent. She doesn’t even shiver in his presence. Sukuna looks down at her, fascinating by the rhythm of her slow and deep breaths of exertions. This close, he gets a good look at the tattoo limned in her dark skin. The symbol at her nape interests him, and he almost reaches out to touch it.

     “Hm,” he says thoughtfully. Yorozu sucks her teeth in irritation. “You are a foreigner. What is your name, girl?”

     The dancer doesn’t move.

     “Do I have your permission to rise, my lord?” Her Japanese is accented, and she speaks slowly, but Sukuna understands.

     “You do,” he says, curiosity making him unusually tolerant this evening. The girl rises into a seated kneel, her eyes still respectfully downcast behind the curtain of cowrie shells, full lips parted. Sukuna wants to tear the crown from her head and see her face, but something about it is…hm.

     “My name is Šetû Asiri,” she says, her voice measured through steady breaths. “Though in your culture I suppose Asiri Šetû would be the appropriate introduction.”

     Sukuna tilts his head. “Take off your headdress.” He orders. Asiri stiffens briefly, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of his command. Behind her, her drummers are a knot of tension and anxiety. Sukuna’s reputation is fearsome, and no doubt whatever caravans brought them here from their lands leagues and leagues away have been rife with myths about his whims.

     Asiri’s hands go to the cowrie shell crown, and slowly she pulls it from her head, braids tumbling free, her face bared in full. She keeps her eyes downcast, black lashes cresting on her high cheekbones. Her expression is neutral.

     And Sukuna cannot smell her terror or fear. Either she does not know him for what and who he is, or she does not care…or she’s a fool.

     Alternately, she can be as mad as Yorozu, but he highly doubts she is. He does not see it in the lines of her body, soft and sculpted by years of dance.

     “Look at me,” he says. There’s another tense silence following those words. Asiri breathes in and lifts her face and gaze to meet his. Eyes darker than forest pools past midnight, glimmering like polished obsidian. Sukuna sees the inscrutable void of the moonless and starless nights in her eyes. Eclipse eyes. Asiri holds his gaze steadily. Sukuna’s lower eyes flit to her neck, collared by a cowrie shell choker with pretty silver coins, and he watches as two beads of sweat roll down, pooling in the hollow of her clavicle before rolling down the plush curve of her breasts. He licks his lips before he realizes it.

     “Did my performance please you?” She asks steadily. Sukuna smirks but doesn’t answer. It is answer enough.

     “Where are you from?” He asks. Asiri hesitates.

     “Across the sea,” she says quietly. “Beyond the Silk Road. I would need a map of the world to show it to you.”

     Sukuna narrows his eyes, makes a pensive hum. Asiri remains kneeling, and the assembled crowd holds its collective breath. Sukuna steps down from the dais, onto the soft moss she’s conjured around herself with her dancing. The heat of the bonfire illuminates her skin, and his nostrils flare as he breathes deep. Her sweat is sweet, but he smells something else…a fragrance heady and warm, like night-blooming jasmine.

     Mm.

     “You may go,” he says. “You and your troupe may enjoy the festivities…with my blessing.”

     Asiri allows herself a small smile, pressing herself into an obeisant kneel, forehead to the floor. The shells that adorn her body click prettily.

     Behind Sukuna, Yorozu seethes.

     “Thank you, my lord,” Asiri breathes. She waits for him to be seated and rises from her kneel. Sukuna watches her return to her troupe, the musicians murmuring in that strange tongue, whispering and shooting nervous glances in his direction. He should kill them, but they are foreigners, and he foregoes his usual punishments. It will not do to profane these rituals with blood. Even he will not deign to be so greedy and blasphemous this night.

     “Did you see the size of him?” Ajani’s voice is rife with shock and not a little horror. “What manner of creature is he that they would worship him as a god?”

     Šetû smiles from behind her changing screen as her cousin continues to go on and on about the cultures and customs of the people, they find themselves performing for. It has been a long and arduous journey for their little family, but Šetû knows this place is where they can truly make a life for themselves.

     Away from the horrors plaguing their homeland. The horrors that took everything from them but the talent in their skulls.

     “I don’t know,” she says. “I thought he was kind of handsome. And he’s clearly a powerful man!”

     Ajani sucks his teeth in disgust. “You are too kind, Haji,” he says. “Remember what those priests said? He eats people.”

     Šetû shrugs into her abaya, a silky shift of oceanic blue, the collar and edges of the wide sleeves stiff with golden thread embroidery. She keeps on her dancing bells and places the cowrie shell crown reverently in her trunk. Then, she surveys herself in the shined pane of a beaten mirror, marveling at her reflection.

     “I’m sure those were just the frightened exaggerations of peasants,” Šetû says as she slips into a pair tabi and geta, humble gifts from the leaders of the village. She had been surprised at the taboo of displaying one’s naked feet in public. The four-armed man had been barefoot, even outside. Perhaps these customs only apply to their living gods.

     She steps from behind the changing screen, heaving a sigh.

     Their troupe, Na Waje, consists of her, her two brothers, Amadou and Yusuf, and two of her cousins, Ajani and Ajamu. For the last few years, it has been only them since their grandmother and uncle passed. Šetû cannot count how many foreign lands she has traveled across in the years since they packed their entire lives in their painted wagon filled with their instruments, clothing, and supplies, and their sturdy Mongolian steed to pull it, a gift of the Khan for their rousing performance under their endless sky. It has been hard going, but Šetû will not trade it for anything.

     Still, having stone walls and a proper bed would not go amiss.

     Šetû makes her way outside of their tent, which they set up on the outskirts of the village near their wagon and horse. Amadou has already secured dinner for the evening as he and Yusuf had gone hunting and fishing much earlier that day. The smell of roasting rabbits seasoned with the meager spices they’ve managed to hoard for themselves is enough to make Šetû’s mouth water. Yusuf has secured sacks of rice, and a pot of it bubbles over an additional fire.

     “Have any of you had any luck with the locals?” Šetû asks as she takes a seat on one of the logs arrayed around the campfire. Yusuf pokes at the rice with a grunt. Šetû laughs.

     “They worship a four-armed man who looks like he eats people,” Yusuf says with a sour look on his face. “I’d rather not make friends with such a superstitious bunch, if you don’t mind.”

     Amadou, the oldest of all of them, and their somewhat de facto leader, laughs.

     “Perhaps you should consider taking more time to get to know them. We are the foreigners in this land.”

     “We’re foreigners in every land,” Yusuf grumbles. There’s a collective groan as the twins come to join them and Yusuf’s sour face somehow—against all odds—grows even more pinched.

     “Here we go,” Ajani murmurs with a grin as he sits next to Šetû, who hides her smile in her mug of tea.

     “I was a djali!” Yusuf snaps. “A true scholar of the craft! I served noble families and was respected in every corner of the Mali Empire! I wore silks and walked in sandals made of the softest leather and exquisite beadwork. I was slated to be—”

     “—given an honor at the right hand of the King himself; we know!” The others finish in unison. There is a sizzling sound as fat drips into the fire from the roasting rabbits. Another pot holds a rich stew. Since coming to this foreign shore, finding ingredients that best remind them of home has been hard. But they’ve made good coin this month and so their supplies are plentiful.

     “Speaking of strange customs,” Ajamu says, gathering their bowls to serve rice and stew. “Did you see the woman next to him? Completely naked! Is that how these people celebrate the harvest?! And if she is his wife, how…immodest!”

     Šetû snorts into her tea. “No,” she says. “I saw the way the people were looking at her. I’m guessing nudity at public events is frowned upon even here, Ajamu.”

     “I didn’t mind the view,” Ajani says, earning an elbow to the ribs from his twin. He grins shamelessly. “She definitely had all of her best qualities on display.”

     “Yeah, and was practically ready to rip Šetû’s throat out when that giant monster spoke to her for a few minutes.”

     Šetû’s cheeks go hot. In truth she hadn’t noticed the nude woman’s venomous looks during the entire encounter. She’d been too afraid of offending Hida’s local deity. She thinks about the performance again: dust beneath her henna-stained feet, lost in the rhythm of her breathing to match the breath of the earth, her ears filled with the ancient rhythms of her homeland; four crimson eyes, glowing as bright as the flame she danced around, with a hunger she could not name; her head pressed to the ground in an obeisant kneel, a glimpse of very large bare feet, and thick bands of black ink around the ankles.

     Look at me.

     Šetû remembers looking up, so far her throat arched. He had been massive, looking down at her with a curiosity that reminded her of a tiger deciding on whether or not the lamb in its grasp would be a toy or food…or both. She remembers his face, black ink limned into the skin in sharp, thorny lines, emphasizing the divine sculpture of his high cheekbones, his nose, his strong chin.

     Four eyes, glowing like coals in the breeze, flaring bright.

     And the heat and energy that she felt from him had been oppressive. Not only was he massive, but whatever power he held was just as big. He frightened her.

     But more than that, he intrigued her.

     “Šetû are you daydreaming again?” Ajani asks, handing her a bowl. Šetû blinks slowly, a waking dreamer pulled from a reverie she had yet to finish processing. She takes the bowl with gratitude.

     “Well, it’s night,” she says. “So, no. I was just…thinking, is all.”

     Ajani’s brow furrows with concern, but he says nothing, taking his seat beside her. For a while, the family eats in silence, enjoying the bounty prepared by the elder cousins.

     “The headman gave us a gift for our performance,” Amadou says, breaking the silence as they eat. “A cask of their rice wine. I say we breach it tonight in celebration.”

     “There’s five of us,” Yusuf grumbles. “How are we to finish an entire cask of wine in one evening?”

     “Well, there’s no room for it in the wagons so we’re going to have to try,” Amadou says back with a smile. “I’d say we’ve earned a night of drunken respite! And the festival continues for another day. We’ve been permitted to participate in the rituals and festivities freely after our performance tomorrow.”

     Šetû feels her mind beginning to fade, Amadou’s voice turning into a drone. That oppressive energy is back, spilling into their camp like a chilling fog.

     Hida’s god is here.

     It’s frightening that none of them so much as heard a twig snap, but the conversation dies down as the four-armed deity’s shadow falls over them. Šetû shivers from his presence. There is something sinister about it, and whatever it is…it’s hungry. At that thought, she has an idea. She sets aside her bowl, jumping to her feet. She motions for the others to do the same.

     “Šetû,” Amadou whispers, “you’re the one who speaks their language best. Does he mean us harm?”

     “No, I don’t think so,” she answers. “But we should all kneel out of respect.”

     And so they do, and the god’s brows raise up in surprise. The youth beside him, whose presence feels like the first, dire fingertips of the bitterest winter, smirks.

     “My lord,” Šetû says from her kneel. “It is a surprise to see you here. How may we serve?”

     The god tilts his head, says nothing for a long while. Šetû’s knees are beginning to ache.

     “You may rise,” he says at last, as if he had been deliberating on something and finally came to a decision. “And resume your meal.”

     Šetû breathes a sigh of relief as they all climb to their feet and return to their seats. Šetû lingers a moment and gives the god a friendly smile.

     “Would you and your companion like to join us?” She asks. “We’ve plenty to spare, and we were just discussing breaching a cask of wine. Far more than needed for the five of us.”

     Here, in the full light of their own cookfire, Šetû takes an opportunity to look upon Hida’s living god. She isn’t quite sure what to make of him, really, and his expression is inscrutable. For a moment, there is only the crackling of the fire, a log pops, and the subtle hiss of moisture steaming out of it in the heat. Amadou’s jaw is tense, his body taut. Of all of them, he is the only one with any real combat prowess, as he once served in the city guard back in their homeland. He and Yusuf and the twins have protected them from the onslaught of bandits, gangsters, ruffians, and all manner of unsavory attackers over the years. They will not let Šetû come to harm.

     The god smirks, and Šetû is reminded of the first time she ever saw an animal slaughtered. His smile is the blade drawn across the trembling throat, spilling crimson vitae in its wake. She shivers and his nostrils flare.

     “You would offer me a seat by your fire?” He asks. “Do you know who I am?”

     Šetû blinks in obvious confusion.

     “Are you not…are you not the deity being honored at this festival? Ryōmen Sukuna?” She asks, genuinely puzzled. “It would be rude not to offer you a place by our humble fire. It would honor us, in fact.”

     The god—Sukuna—crosses his lower arms and Šetû grits her teeth on a surprised sound but her troupe is not so subtle. There is a subtle gasp of shock. She hadn’t noticed his physique up close before, but it is truly a marvel.

     “What’s this?” Sukuna asks, peering into the cook pot. Yusuf looks nervous but Amadou places a hand on his shoulder.

     “Well,” he says, steeling his courage much to the amusement of the mountain of a man before him. “In our homeland it’s called…naman sa.” He glances at Šetû, who smiles.

     “I guess the closest translation would be beef stew…but we didn’t have any beef on hand, and the local butcher would not sell to us. So we used rabbits we hunted.” She explains. Two crimson eyes regard her and she tries to maintain her composure under the weight of his gaze. A low rumble sounds in his chest, a sound that reminds her of a tiger purring. Pensive. Ajani and Ajamu gulp, clearly fearful.

     “I will join you,” Sukuna says and there is a collective breath of relief.

     From there, the strangest of meetings unfolds.

     Sukuna arrays himself like a king by the fire. Amadou moves to serve him, but he holds up a forestalling hand. Amadou’s brows go up in silent question. Was he not hungry?

     “I want her to serve me,” Sukuna says, pointing at Šetû who startles, but rises quickly to do so. Amadou’s brow knits in a frown but at his younger sister’s insistence he hands her the bowl. Carefully, she scoops heaps of rice into the bowl, then ladles a helping of the spicy rabbit stew over it. Sukuna’s lower eyes watch, going a little wide when he sees the stew on the rice but then takes the bowl from her proffered hands, admiring how she kneels to serve it to him. His large fingers brush her hands and heat blooms in her cheeks before she moves away to sit beside Ajani.

     “Hashi?” Uraume asks cooly. Amadou’s brows knit again, and he nods, fetching a fresh set of chopsticks for Sukuna to use. He doesn’t hesitate, the god of Hida begins to devour the food immediately.

     Everyone sits in silence, breathing slow, wondering just what they’d done to deserve his attention this evening.

     Sukuna clears his bowl in record time. Amadou has retrieved the cask of rice wine, and pours Sukuna a cup, which he uses to wash down his meal.

     Sukuna grins, eyes heavy-lidded, like a man sated.

     “That was delicious,” he purrs. “Which one of you made this?”

     Amadou bows. “It was me, my lord,” he says in his halting Japanese, speaking slowly. Of all of them, Šetû is the best at picking up languages, and they’ve not been in the country long. “Though it is my sister who crafts the recipes.”

     Sukuna glances at her again and she tries not to jump.

     “Uraume,” he says. “Get the recipe from this one.”

     “Of course, Lord Sukuna,” Uraume says, affording Šetû a smile that can only be described as chilly. She chews her lip nervously.

     “Well?” Sukuna grins, and they tense. “Don’t stop on my account. Do whatever it is you do when the locals aren’t bothering you.”

     The troupe glances at one another in confusion. How did they carry on when they’d been warned how dangerous this man is? That he has a capricious temperament and kills on a whim?

     The wine.

     It doesn’t take long, but the wine flows, and eventually, tongues loosen and tension eases enough for conversation to flow. Out of respect for Sukuna and his companion, they converse in Japanese to include them in the conversation.

     “How is it you wound up here?” Sukuna asks. “And what was it you were singing earlier?”

     Amadou smiles. “We travel all over, performing for coin, doing odd jobs. Our homeland was ravaged by war, and we had to leave. This may be the furthest we’ve ever gone in the world.”

     Sukuna chuckles. “Tch. And now that you’ve come here, what do you think?”

     Amadou is silent. Yusuf, however, snorts in disdain. Sukuna’s crimson eyes focus on him, and he startles like a cat in a spray of water. Ajani and Ajamu laugh when he shoots them a glare.

     “Are all the locals so rude to foreigners?” Yusuf asks bitterly. Sukuna tilts his head with a grin.

     “Count yourself lucky that it is only the ignorant peasants who are rude to you,” he says and there’s something about his tone that sends a chill down their spines. A threat? A warning? It can be either, but his smile is too sharp, like a butcher’s knife freshly-whetted on the stone. Even a caress will cut.

     “I suppose you have the right of it,” Yusuf concedes. “Still, it’s something to hire us to perform and then force us to linger on the outskirts of the village. To have fallen so far—”

     “What he means to say is…things could stand to be a bit more hospitable,” Amadou interrupts quickly. “But it is a beautiful country. Reminds me of some parts of our homeland.”

     Sukuna recalls the brief conversation with Šetû and smirks.

     “Come to my estate,” he says. “All of you. I could use some entertainment and new flavors to try.”

     Yusuf looks visibly nonplussed but Amadou smiles.

     “Truly? We would be honored to accept but…” Amadou hesitates, glances back toward the village. “We have obligations here. Would we still be welcome after the festival is done?”

     Sukuna’s grin is sleek, and one of the eyes on the bone plate of his face settles on Šetû and she chews her lip again.

     “I don’t see why not,” he says laconically. “You will be paid for your services. A great deal better than these provincial superstitious idiots. Aside,” he turns the full weight of his gaze on Šetû again. “I believe what you have to offer is very interesting.”

     Amadou frowns. “And what do you mean by that, my lord?” He asks in a tone that dares to reveal a bit of steel. Sukuna grins then, and this time it chills all around the fire. Uraume smirks as if they know something the others do not.

     “I have never seen art like yours before,” Sukuna drawls. “And it would please me to have you present it to me away from…” He gestures vaguely toward the village. Amadou seems settled by the explanation, but he shares a brief glance with Yusuf who seems to understand what just transpired.

     “It would be our highest honor, my lord,” Amadou says, bowing his head.

     There’s the sound of bells tinkling as Šetû shifts in her seat.

     “We should play Hankali,” she says with a grin. Amadou and Yusuf look momentarily startled, but Ajani and Ajamu seize on that opportunity.

     “Great idea!” Ajani says, getting up. “I’ll grab my tama, eh?”

     Šetû claps her hands together excitedly, kicking her feet and making the ankle bells jingle prettily. Sukuna watches her with an amusement one would expect from a normally impassive deity.

     “What is this…” he thinks for a moment, then says the word slowly. “Hankari?”

     “Hankali,” Šetû corrects with a grin. “It’s a children’s game we usually play after a good night. A test of rhythm, memory, and word association.”

     Sukuna snorts. “And how is it played?”

     The little family gathers around as Ajani returns with a small, two-headed drum affixed with thick, gutstring ropes, and a curved stick with a flattened tip. He wears the drum slung on his shoulder and carried in his armpit; and it sits high, almost too high for it to be reasonably played by hand. Sukuna watches unblinking as he tests the drum, tapping out a rapid series of syncopated rhythms with only the stick and his fingertips. Sukuna’s eyes narrow when he sees the subtle flex of his arm, tightening the gutstring ropes and causing the drum to sound out different notes.

     As if it is talking. Sukuna tilts his head, his curiosity getting the better of him.

     “Teach me,” he says to Šetû, who beams at him as if he is an old friend and not the fearsome and rightly feared sorcerer that holds sway in these lands.

     Sukuna watches as she moves her hands, gesturing to Ajani to play.

     “So,” she explains, “we start by establishing a rhythm…”

     Sukuna listens, watches as Šetû’s hands move, tapping her lap, clapping her hands, and then snapping both fingers. Sukuna’s brow furrows, listening. The drum, her hands, two counter rhythms locking in to become a sentence, a phrase. Sukuna begins to breathe in time with the music; it’s just like her performance earlier in the evening. He’s caught in the rhythm, tapping in time with one finger before he even realizes he’s doing it.

     Šetû begins to sing, her voice coming out honey sweet in that strange tongue Sukuna doesn’t understand, introducing yet another element to the music. Sukuna focuses on her hands, but he hears the men respond to her call, and he smirks.

     It doesn’t take long for him to pick up on the pattern, letting them play a round where they switch to Japanese, listing off words that are commonly associated with one another. At the end of each turn, Šetû returns to the calling chorus, and Sukuna responds. Even Uraume who is usually so reserved seems to relax to the music.

     And now he’s having fun in a way he did not expect.

     Several times, people are knocked out of the game for missing the rhythm, hesitating, or saying a word that doesn’t match the round robin. Sukuna laughs uproariously when he realizes the point of the game.

     “It helps teach you our language,” he says. Šetû beams again.

     “Got it in one,” she says. “We’ve gone begging for translators and native speakers in our travels, but the best way we learn is by simply immersing in the language. And then we use Hankali to practice.”

     Sukuna smirks. “You’re passing fair at it already, and your brother isn’t a bad cook.” Although there’s a sense that he doesn’t believe for a moment that Šetû isn’t the smartest one in the bunch. He finds her brothers to be irritatingly suspicious and antsy, but Šetû has exhibited a calm in his presence he isn’t used to; not only that…she has welcomed him.

     “My lord…” Uraume stirs by his side. He seems startled from his thoughts, eyes cutting downward to regard them. “We must depart if we’re to prepare for travel tomorrow.”

     Sukuna sighs and waves a hand.

     “Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively. He rises to his full height, and all rise with him. They bow to him as he turns away to leave. He spares a glance over his shoulder.

     “I expect to see you all at the shrine after this festival is over.” He says and Amadou keeps his eyes dutifully downcast.

     “Of course, my lord,” he says, willing obeisance into his tone. Sukuna smirks smugly, pleased with the outcome. Uraume bows one last time before they depart.

     “My lord appreciates your hospitality,” they say cooly.

     And with that, the pair depart. For a while, Šetû watches them go until they vanish around a bend in the path, leading toward the thick forest, vanishing like mist.

     “Anyone else almost shit themselves in terror?” Ajani asks when he’s sure Sukuna and Uraume are out of earshot as well as line of sight.

     “Wallahi, each of the man’s hands were the size of Amadou’s head, I thought for sure he was going to kill us all,” Ajamu says, earning nervous but relieved laughter from the group.

     “And the way he kept looking at Šetû…” Yusuf snorts. “Like he wanted to have her served up on a platter or something.”

     Šetû’s cheeks flush with heat. “Please, he was probably just lost in thought or something. Plus, I’m the one who speaks the language best. And if you blockheads would actually stop acting like a bunch of posturing peacocks, we’d be able to get the locals to be more welcoming!”

     “Tch! If his mouth hadn’t been closed, he would be drooling like a starved dog.” Yusuf says and Šetû laughs. She doesn’t quite believe it herself, but she remembers the weight of Sukuna’s gaze, the way the crimson irises seemed to gleam like drops of blood, rippling with something she couldn’t name. A hunger with an unending maw and gullet, one that will inevitably swallow her up if she dares get too close.

     She pushes such thoughts from her mind.

     “Well, in any case, we’ve accepted his invitation,” she says. “We can’t back out. Something tells me he’s not the type who takes kindly to one going back on their word.”

     Amadou makes a pensive sound, resting his chin on his hands.

     “Yes,” he agrees. “We’ll finish up the festival tomorrow and then head to the shrine. I don’t think Sukuna means us harm. He could have easily harmed us right here if that was his aim.”

     Yusuf sucks his teeth in annoyance.

     “And would you wander into the mouth of a tiger if it promised not to close its jaws on your head? Amadou, the man is dangerous. He had an aura of evil about him that chills the blood. You cannot mean to accept his invitation!”

     Amadou sighs. “Of course I do, Yusuf. He has promised payment, and we’re low on coin as is. Our wagon wheel will need mending soon, and our food stores are in dire need of restock. Of course I will accept the invitation, what other choice is there?”

     Yusuf grumbles but no retort comes to gainsay his brother. Thus settled, Amadou declares the night over. Together, siblings and cousins clean up the camp, douse the fire, and retreat to their yurt. Inside is a snug fit, but it’s warm. Ajani and Ajamu decide to take the first watch.

     “What do you think we should expect at the shrine?” Šetu murmurs from her pallet. Amadou snorts.

     “More of the same: servants, a few priests and priestesses, and Sukuna himself, I’d imagine. Likely he’ll only want us there for the night, so it should be safe.”

     Šetû thinks about the way Sukuna’s crimson eyes flared with a hunger that made her shiver to the marrow. Safe is not the word she’d use, and yet she gets the distinct feeling his invitation is sincere. Her eyes drift close, and she catches the faintest whiff of something burning as she slips into sleep.

𓇢𓆸 Masterlist 𖤓 Next

© 2024-2025 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes feeding any of my writing to an AI as well as copying my masterlist format, fanfic format, or stealing my graphics. I only upload on Tumblr and AO3. Header, footer, and dividers by me.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[minnieflower]

saw this ref and after some thought I decided to draw higuruma heheheh so here it is ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ tried my best to keep his features T-T

this is helping me so much with anatomy!!! :3

[leonardholodart]

I just imagined my dream

[akuratsuna-00]

ask and thou shall receive 🍑✨

just a quick sketch of Sukuna's back🫶

Because I'm doing Mathias fanart rn😘

[lexiene]

Doing a favor to his pregnant wife~ 🥺💓

Tagging: @sukunas-wife @ryo-sukuna 🤭💗

[seichv]

❛ WITH YOUR MOUTH.❜

clean up after yourself when you make a mess. 2.3k words.

contents: nsfw content (mdni), f!reader, daddy kink (mentioned like once), oral (both receiving), p in v, creampie, squirting, toji calls you: brat, sweetheart, slut, baby, etc.

note: i have risen from the dead friends ;D seriously though, its been a while since ive written... life's been wild of late and i was lacking motivation but im back on my zoom now hehe (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

you might have fucked up.

down spills the coffee that you chucked at toji, the brawny man standing motionless with a look of amusement as the hot liquid poured down his body, the sound of the cup tumbling onto the ground echoing in the kitchen. what exactly led to that? you may ask. quite frankly, you don’t even remember. it was likely another one of those days where you had a stick up your ass just because; with your bratty attitude leading you to get all pissy about every little thing.

and here you are, your pupils dilating as you freeze in place while watching toji’s expression. it remains indifferent for the most part, as you would expect from someone like him. that’s until his eyes trail back up to meet your face, and there’s something about his gaze that just shifts in a way. you’re gulping, your body stiffening in alarm. there’s a faint chuckle that escapes his lips before he speaks up with that gravelly voice of his. 

“c’mere.” he tells you. you know better than to disregard him, so you start stepping closer to him. though just because you’re listening to him doesn't mean you’ll do away with the bitter expression you got going on, as it's still very prominently plastered onto your face. and these steps youre taking, they’re slow as fuck. you’re definitely mistaken if you think that he’s got the patience for that shit right now.

because of that, in a blink of an eye you’ve got your throat seized by one of his meaty hands, yanking you closer and forcing you to maintain eye contact. his figure looms over yours, and you can almost see some veins seeping through his neck. “you just had to pull that shit on me, huh?” you could practically just say that he’s spitting venom with the way he's speaking. you narrowed your eyes, sucking in a sharp breath before speaking. “well, had you not been a total jackass—” 

“yeah?” toji cuts you off, his face lowering some more as his head tilts to the side, giving your throat a little squeeze. you've got some real nerve with the back-talk, and he really isn't in the mood for tolerating that shit anymore. he looks down at his drenched, coffee-stained shirt, his tongue poking out to lick the scar at the corner of his mouth before he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh.

“clean up the motherfucking mess you made,” he says. now, that would initially give you the thought of wiping the ground with a towel or mop, and maybe doing him the favor of throwing his shirt in the laundry, right? 

“with your mouth.”

… wait, what?

your eyes go wide, and you're glaring up at the man like he’s got 10 heads. he doesn't look like he's joking, really. and that’s because he’s not. it takes you a hot minute before you could get words out of your mouth. “... huh? the fuck is wrong with you? clean the damn floor with my mouth?! what’s that supposed to mean, you gross bastard—”

“to hell with the fucking floor.” he interrupts. “i didn’t say nothin’ bout the floor, dumb brat.” toji adds, his fingers trailing up toward your jaw, taking your face in his hand as he turned it side to side as he spoke, as if he were trying to get your attention. i mean, there's only one other mess other than the one on the floor. the mess on him. before you could open your mouth to muster up a response, toji speaks again. “tch, yeah. keep staring at me like a dumb little girl,” your body temperature begins to soar with his words. “take off my shirt.”

you honestly cannot believe this man. you blink rapidly with furrowed eyebrows, stuttering like a broken record. “toji, what are you even going on about right now—” 

“nah, sweetheart. don’t give me that crap.” what is this, the 1000th fucking time this man has interrupted you? goddamnit. “take. off. the. shirt.” toji repeats himself, putting emphasis on each word like he’s talking to a complete moron. you started chuckling to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head with a look on your face that read, ‘he’s got to be kidding.’

“yeah, no. toji, give me a fucking break.” you responded, snickering between your words, and ooh toji was just itching to bend you over the damn counter and fuck you till you’re screaming… to get those vocal cords to rupture. there will never be a single day where he’d hesitate to get you to straighten the fuck up.

before you know it, both of toji’s hands grab your wrists, almost painfully. he then starts walking, backing you up to the kitchen counter. once he’s got you pushed up against it, he pulls your hands onto his abdomen, staring dangerously into your eyes.

though you wouldn't want to admit it, you can’t help but feel a growing ache between your legs at the feeling of those shredded abs of his. his body is something different. toji’s eyes flicker up and down from your hands and back to your eyes, a smug grin laying across his face at how small your hands are on his big, muscular body. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, your tough and bratty facade slowly diminishing as you leisurely began lifting toji’s shirt, a satisfied hum escaping his lips at your compliance; though it took rather longer than he wanted.

you now have got quite the nice look at his abs, and there goes the throbbing sensation again in your cunt. fuck… he’s hot. “yeahh, now you got that mouth shut, huh? drooling and gawking over my body. hah, go on then.” toji boasts, his teeth showing through that damn smirk. you’re unable to hold it in any longer, your hands dragging toji’s shirt up as he pulls his head out, letting the fabric drop to the ground with your stomach churning at the sight of his bare upper body. you quickly kneeled, your composure flying right out the window. 

your mouth latches onto his lower stomach, your tongue roaming along his skin. if your eyes peered a bit lower, you’d be able to get a peek at the growing bulge in toji’s sweats. you can hear slightly muted curses coming from under his breath, and you were being sloppy with it, your lashes batting as you looked up at him. your tongue started traveling upward, just barely reaching his chest until a grunt-like huff is let out from toji.

he now pulls you off by the hair, coaxing a small gasp for your lips. “fuck .. you’re putting that slutty mouth on my cock now.” he mutters, reaching for his pants before you take care of them for him, eagerly dragging them down along with his boxers, his girthy length springing right out.

without another second to waste, your tongue lolls out, one of your hands wrapped around the base of his dick while you slapped the tip on your wet muscle, drawing a throaty grunt from him. he loved it when you put on a show for him like that. you then take him all the way in, a nasty moan slipping from your throat at the way his big cock had given you a whole mouthful. saliva drips down from your lips, and you begin bobbing your head up and down, the lewd noises blaring in your ears. 

“shiiit… look at you. fuckin’ pacified by this dick, huh?” his voice is gruff yet slightly shaky, and god… you’re obsessed with hearing his noises, how you make him feel. “one minute she’s yappin’ like a bitchy little brat, next minute she’s mmf— taking this dick down her throat like a dirty slut... tch.” his words had your pussy leaking, you can feel your panties beginning to soak. your eyebrows curled inward as you kept your eyes on him, tears threatening to prickle at the corners of your eyes from how full he was stuffing your mouth, hitting your uvula.

in the middle of sucking him off, you pulled up your shirt with one hand, just enough for your tits to show out. now both your hands begin to fondle with your tits as you continue to suck him off, and this draws a long ass moan from toji, watching you slobber on him with no hands had him fucked. you can see how his lower abdomen was caving in with each breath he took, and that's when he takes a hold of your jaw, pulling you off of him, your lips sliding off with a pop. you had him on the brink of cumming, and he didn't want to just yet. he needed your pretty pussy.

you lick your lips with a smile, standing up on your feet as toji hoists you up by the waist, propping you up onto the counter. he hauls your shorts down in an instant, a string of your slick following your panties and toji sneers at the sight. “pretty pussy’s all wet f’me, hm?” you nod eagerly, and he slides a thumb down your clit, causing your hips to jerk, which has him chuckling to himself yet again. “mhmm… relax yourself, needy girl.” 

toji hikes your legs up, your hands hooking beneath your knees so you could hold them up for him. he gets between your legs, blowing on your clit and prompting you to clench around nothing. “tojiii…” you drag his name out in a whine, before toji kisses on your pussy.

“didn’t i tell you to relax? don’t fuckin’ ‘tojiii~’ me.” he mocks, finally diving in to your heat, his tongue delving right between your folds. your head immediately falls back, your lips parting open while lewd little mewls flee from your lips. he’s a messy eater, a mixture of your arousal and his saliva smearing all over your pussy lips and drizzling down his chin. it’s slurp after slurp, your body twitching with no stop, your eyes rolled back to your skull with your toes curling. “ohh, fuuck… toji–!” you croak out, your thighs shaking as you start to fail to hold your legs up, his mouth had you stupid already. as he notices this, he holds them for you with force, but throws him over his shoulders.

 because now he's standing again, spitting on your cunt one last time before he does so. “keep those eyes on me when i fuck this pussy, you hear me?” toji says, and you quickly nod in abidance. 

he’s so fucking girthy, his thick length stretching you like elastic. his veined hands grasp at your waist, his hips starting to snap into yours at a steady pace. he’s reaching deep, hitting all the right spots inside you that triggered the sluttiest moans from you, your back arching as your walls clamp down on him. “only now you wanna get your shit together, hmm? only when i stuff you full of this dick?” he grunts, the sounds of your skin slapping blasting all throughout the place. “mngh–! y-yeah… feels so g-good…!” you blabber, the tears you had poking through your eyes were now starting to blur your vision. his cock was just made to fuck you, he felt so damn good.

“h-hah… that’s what i thought.” he grumbles, the pace of his thrusts immediately escalating. now the next thing he does drives you fucking mad. he grabs your arms, pulling them up so that they’re around your neck. he then snakes his hands beneath your legs and now has them over his forearms, letting your feet dangle. he’s got you off the counter, and starts fucking you standing, picked up in his arms. a squeal breaks loose from your mouth, your arms clinging around his neck for dear life. “oh m’god, yes–! ‘m cumming, d-daddy!” you cry out, your body going limp like a ragdoll, like a toy just for toji to fuck relentlessly. 

you can feel that coil in your lower stomach that's just mere seconds away from snapping. and he does this thing when he’s close, his jaw clenches and you can see how the veins in his neck contract. that gives you the sign to clench around him even harder, a loud groan breaking out his throat.

“fuckin’ milking my shit when you s-squeeze me like that… holy fuckkk, baby—” toji’s breathing is uneven, coming out in raspy huffs. and it's only a matter of time before you let out your final moan, a real salacious one at that. you shook violently, gasping for air as you squirted all over him, your orgasm hitting you like a damn bus.

toji’s jaw goes slack, his head falling back as he chases his own high, still ramming into you despite you being fucking gone. tears start to spill from your eyes from the overstimulation, your eyes barely even able to stay open properly. 

his load finally spills into your cunt, coming in thick, hot spurts. he twitches inside you, before placing you back down onto the counter and pulling out slowly, his cum oozing from your hole. he steps forward and cups your face, pressing a kiss on your nose before letting his forehead rest atop yours. “you alright, pretty?” he murmurs, and you look up into his eyes, nodding slowly with a soft smile. he grins, wiping the tears that stained your supple cheeks with his thumb.

“you did real good f’me, baby.” he murmurs, his words going straight to your core, fluttering in your stomach. he then catches your eyes wandering away, staying on the ground. he then turns to look as well, and his eyes fall upon the absolute mess made of the floor. it was the coffee you had threw at him, now mixed with your squirt. oh, fucking hell.

“... well, good luck with that, sweetheart.” toji says, laughing to himself as you land a smack to his arm.

“oh, fuck you toji!”

[cursed-peach]

Wanna ride? 🏍️ 💕

PS. Please do NOT mention other ships under my art 🙏🙏 If I wanted it to be a specific art ship I would've tagged it as such so please, I'm a sole artist for this ship so it would mean a lot to me if people didnt bring up other ships or characters. I don't want to mute or block people over this but many of you don't read the tags nor my bio where all the info is. I know it's easy to miss, I know everyone just scrolls after liking it but please, please be respectful of my art. Thank you so much! 💕💕