#or even just something with that syrupy taste

[diamjem]

mastermind

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!mc

summary: sebastian’s attempt to bend the situation to his favor backfires as he realizes he’s been expertly played by the one person he thought he could outsmart.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: manipulator x manipulator, possessive!sebastian, sebastian has questionable morals, garreth weasley is a menace, some swearing, no use of y/n

a/n: this is far from my best work buttt i’ve been sick for the past few days and honestly i think just putting something out there will make me feel better no matter how dogshit it is :pp i was planning on making something romantic for valentines but… everytime i write sebastian he just fully takes over so idk have some slightly unhinged seb!!

[ao3] [wattpad]

they say all’s fair in love and war.

sebastian lived by that adage—bled by it, burned for it. for him, there’s no price too steep, no means too outrageous to attain his ends. he has never been above a desperate measure or two when it came to those he held close.

and most especially, when it came to her.

the vial felt cold between his fingers, condensation beading against the glass as he turned it in the candlelight. the liquid inside shimmered faintly—murky as mud, but somehow heavier, clinging to the glass in slow, syrupy waves. it looked like poison. probably tasted like it, too. to be honest, he didn’t trust it. hell, he didn’t even trust himself right now. and trusting garreth weasley? that was its own brand of lunacy.

he could still turn around, hand it back to garreth, pretend he’d never even considered it. walk away, save whatever was left of his dignity. it wasn’t a horrible idea—actually, part of him knew it was the smart one, but before he could think twice, the vial was snatched from his fingers.

“oi—give that back!” sebastian snapped, lunging for it.

garreth held it just out of reach, smirking. "not so fast, sallow. before i hand this over, i need some confirmation that this is for a harmless cause. i refuse to be implicated in whatever questionable scheme you’ve cooked up this time."

sebastian cursed under his breath. his patience—what little he had—was wearing thin, and garreth knew it. the redhead had always been insufferably good at needling people, and tonight, it seemed, sebastian was his latest amusement.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to unclench his fists. he hated this. hated being on the back foot, hated that garreth was right to be wary, hated that he didn’t even have a decent excuse to offer.

because it wasn’t harmless. and he damn well knew it.

“i don't see how that's any of your business.” sebastian argued. “you don't see me asking why you have a polyjuice potion of the head boy, do you?"

garreth arched a brow. "see, that’s the thing. when i’m the one providing the suspiciously illicit potion, i’d say it is my business." he made a show of shaking the potion mere inches from sebastian’s nose. "take it or leave it, mate."

sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached. he didn’t want to explain himself—didn’t want to lay his cards bare—but he wanted that damned vial more.

"fine," he bit out. "let’s just say fawley’s got something of mine and i intend to get it back."

garreth's smirk sharpened, green eyes gleaming with intrigue. "oh? now that’s interesting. do tell, sallow."

sebastian crossed his arms. "no, i think that's plenty information.”

"right, well. seems you don’t need my services that badly.” garreth twirled the vial between his fingers and turned on his heel with an exaggerated sigh. “goodnight, then.”

"wait—alright, fine!" sebastian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “he started courting her." his throat tightened around the words, and he hated how they tasted. "i need to put a stop to it. get them to break up by pretending to be him.”

garreth froze mid-step, then turned back slowly, his grin widening like a cat who’d just caught the scent of something truly entertaining. sebastian cursed himself, knowing there's no going back anymore. "merlin’s bloody beard, this is brilliant. so let me get this straight—you're out here spiraling because some poor unsuspecting sod caught her eye instead of you?”

sebastian's glare darkened. "say it again, and i swear i’ll knock your teeth in."

garreth, the bastard, just laughed. "and here i was wondering when you’d step in and do something about it.” he then leaned in, feigning concern. "but, say, have you considered simply talking to her instead of, y'know, committing identity fraud?"

sebastian rolled his eyes. "are you giving me the potion or not?"

garreth hummed, weighing the vial in his palm like he was actually considering it. "hm… i don't know. this has the makings of a true masterpiece, and i do love a good bit of drama… so tell me, sallow, what’s the plan? break her heart, then swoop in to comfort her?”

sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple. "something like that."

garreth barked out a laugh. "merlin’s sake, mate, you’re actually insane. your possessiveness truly knows no bounds, huh?”

sebastian shot him a withering glare but didn't rise to the bait. it wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone who cared to notice that he’d staked his claim on her—not in the sense that she was some prize to be won, but in the way the sun belonged to the sky, in the way the tide belonged to the moon. some things were simply meant to be; unspoken but undeniable. and merlin help the poor bastard who thought he could rewrite the stars.

see, sebastian’s jealousy wasn’t just a petty thing. it was greedy. cunning. dangerous. a monster that curled in his chest, waiting to sink its teeth into anyone who got too close. whispers behind his back called him reckless, obsessive, unhinged—as if he didn't already know. but he would let them talk. let them sneer. none of it changed the fact that he belonged there, belonged to her. and if some git had the audacity to threaten his place… that was a subliminal declaration of war if there ever was one. talk about putting a big, glowing target on your back.

and unlike hector fawley, garreth knew better than to stand in sebastian’s way. he shook his head before tossing the vial back to sebastian. "that will last you about fifteen minutes.”

sebastian caught it, rolling the cool glass between his fingers. "and you’re sure this will work?"

"as sure as i am that this is a terrible idea," garreth quipped. "love really makes one batshit crazy.”

sebastian scoffed, the edge of irritation sharp in his voice. “for your sake, i’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” he paused, his gaze hardening. “now, what do i owe you?”

garreth only grinned wider. "believe it or not? nothing, mate. i just can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face."

that sounded ominous, but honestly, sebastian didn’t care anymore.

a man does what he must when faced with war. he strategizes, he sacrifices, he does the unthinkable, and most of all, he doesn't hesitate. and love—well. that was just another battlefield. one he’s willing to fight dirty to win. one that wasn’t waged with swords or spells, but with glances that lingered too long, with stolen moments and whispered promises, with the slow, agonizing realization that someone else might take what should have been yours.

and in matters of love and war, you played to win, or you didn’t play at all. best believe, sebastian wasn’t about to lose.

—

the plan was perfect—at least, on parchment.

owl her, pretending to be fawley. keep it short, keep it cold—we need to talk, something vague enough to plant the first seed of doubt in her mind. ask her to meet somewhere public. specifically, central hall, right in the thick of a bustling school day. and then? under the effects of polyjuice, break her heart. loudly. cruelly. make sure it hurts.

she’d run. bolt before anyone saw her break, before she let a single tear fall where someone could see. and that was where he—as sebastian—came in like a knight in shining armor. he would be would find her, offer comfort. a steady hand. a soft voice. because unlike fawley, he wouldn’t leave her shattered and alone.

and then, as a final, satisfying touch—he’d defend her honor by beating fawley into a bloody pulp on the ground. though that last part wasn’t strictly necessary in the grand scheme of things, but let’s be honest—he already had it coming just for even entertaining the thought of taking her from him.

to anyone else, he probably sounded insane. and maybe they were right. but to sebastian? this was restraint. the merciful option. honestly, they should be grateful because he could have done worse. salazar, he'd thought about worse. if he fired on all cylinders, this castle would be ash by sundown.

he’d let anyone be collateral damage—even her own feelings—as long as it meant she’d be right back where she was meant to be. in his arms. he hated how easy it was to justify. hated that he could twist his own cruelty into something almost noble if he looked at it the right way. but guilt? it was a small price to pay compared to the fear of losing her.

sebastian is machiavellian, sure—but borne out of devotion. not out of some cold, detached ambition. and if he has to play the villain to keep her, then he’ll sharpen his claws and bear his teeth with pride. he would ruin everything—everyone, if that’s what it took, and he would call it love.

because, really, how many people in the world were willing to own that? to strip themselves bare and confess, i will ruin and be ruined for you?

only sebastian ever could.

so he stood there, hidden beneath fawley’s face, his heart a twisted knot of triumph and disgust. the polyjuice had done its work—on the outside, he was hector fawley. his voice, his posture, even the sharp, self-righteous smirk he wore like a second skin.

"think about it. a head boy like me and a delinquent like you?” he let the words sink in, each syllable weighted with contempt. "embarrassing."

he could almost feel the sting as the words landed, could see the hurt in her eyes. he wanted to shed the mask and pull her in now, but no—he needed to stick to his guns. this was war, and he was here to win.

"hector, i don't understand—"

he cut her off, leaning in close as if to inject every syllable with poison. “you don’t understand?” he repeated, the words coated in mockery, dripping from his borrowed lips like a death sentence. “let me say it again, then. perhaps louder so it can get through your thick skull?”

that seemed to pique not only her attention but the crowd’s as well. some slowed their steps, others outright stopped, drawn in like vultures circling something wounded. they knew something was happening, felt the tension thickening in the air like storm clouds. her eyes flicked around nervously, panic flickering behind them like candlelight in a draft. they were waiting. watching. the perfect audience for the spectacle he was about to create.

and still, he didn’t let her off easy. instead, he raised his voice. “you're beneath me,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, sinking deep like a dagger. “and i don't know what i was thinking getting involved with the likes of you.”

the words hung in the air, a brutal weight pressing down on her. he could hear the gasps from the crowd, the hushed murmurs of disbelief. he was doing it. he was winning.

but then, just as the polyjuice potion surged through his veins, he hiccupped—just a small stutter, barely noticeable, but enough to pull his thoughts back into focus. he steadied himself, fighting the sudden wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. his borrowed skin prickled, the shift just barely beginning. his time was slipping now.

“are you telling me you want to end this?” she asked, her voice fragile, shaking.

“exactly,” sebastian shot back, flat, emotionless. a perfect performance that almost made him want to clap himself on the back for. “from now on, stay away from me.”

he could see her lips tremble as she processed the words, and something inside him cracked—a bitter satisfaction. she looked as if the ground had been ripped from under her, just as he’d intended. now, all he needed to do was land the final blow.

it was going all according to plan, until—

“is this some sort of joke?” a voice echoed from the crowd, rising in confusion, breaking the tension. “what’s going on here? everyone, move along now!”

sebastian's stomach plummeted straight to his shoes as he saw hector fawley—the real one—materialized from the crowd like some kind of divine punishment, pushing past onlookers who parted with hesitant confusion. the towering figure of the other fawley loomed in the middle of the chaos, his face a portrait of bewilderment. blimey, even in confusion, he still held the same arrogance that made sebastian’s teeth grind. but this time, his presence wasn’t just an irritation—it was a fatal flaw in a not-so-carefully laid-out plans. merlin’s mercy, he hadn't accounted for this. he’d been so wrapped up in his own mind that he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of fawley actually being here.

her gaze flicked between the two fawleys, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and growing fury.

this was spiraling. fast. what was supposed to be a game of control—of careful manipulation—was quickly turning into a losing battle.

"what in the great gods’—" hector’s voice broke through the spell of silence. he turned to her now, suspicion darkening his face. "care to explain?"

"i… honestly, i’m just as confused as you are!" she blurted, voice strained with frustration.

sebastian risked a glance at her, and his stomach twisted. her eyes darted between him and the real fawley. hurt had given way to shock, then confusion, then something worse—recognition, as if the pieces started sliding into place at an alarming speed.

then the hiccup came again, more pronounced this time. a brutal, humiliating reminder that it was all falling apart. by now, a rational person would have seen this as the sign to wave the white flag and accept defeat. but sebastian didn’t feel rational (and let’s face it, he never really was). in fact, he didn’t feel anything but the burning, anxious thrum of his own heart as it pounded in his chest, each beat a countdown to the inevitable.

so he did what any desperate man with nothing left to lose would do.

he turned on his heel and bolted.

his legs moved of their own accord. he could hear fawley losing it behind him—hysterics bubbling up in a strange mix of confusion and anger. even the crowd was erupting into louder murmurs, the whispers now carrying an edge of amusement. the spectacle had officially crossed the line into absurdity.

as he shoved past the crowd, garreth’s voice rose, mimicking the sound of an explosion. the bastard was standing off to the side, his eyes twinkling with an amused, knowing look. garreth's chuckle grated against sebastian’s nerves, his blood boiling in a wave of hot frustration.

sebastian didn’t waste a single moment looking back at him, but he could feel the presence trailing behind him, like a shadow, reveling in the disastrous unraveling of his grand design. the worst part of this whole thing? garreth had been right—this had blown up in his face. and garreth weasley was never right.

“damn, sallow, you almost had me rooting for you there,” garreth teased with a grin, his voice dripping with amusement. “bit of a letdown, really.”

the words landed like a slap, sharp and stinging, but sebastian refused to give garreth the satisfaction of a reaction. his pride was already bleeding out on the floor—he wouldn’t let weasley dance on its grave. instead, he found the first door that promised escape, his hand closing around the handle with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for a lifeline. he yanked it open and slipped inside, the door slamming shut behind him with enough force to send dust swirling in the dim light.

sebastian leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes for a moment, a brief flicker of relief coursing through him. he could still feel the heat of the polyjuice potion lingering in his veins, its effects starting to wear off, but he didn’t have time to savor the victory. he could already feel his form shifting back, the muscles and bones rearranging as his true self began to resurface.

okay, so the plan wasn't perfect. there were a few hiccups—literally and figuratively. it was pathetic, really, how quickly he went from meticulous mastermind to panic-stricken fugitive in the span of a few seconds—no. he knew better than to get lost in the failure of the moment. he’d played his cards, but sometimes the hand you were dealt didn’t lead to victory.

this battle might’ve been lost, but the war? that was still his to win. he would just have to think of another plan...

sebastian exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to settle. he needed to think—to sort through the wreckage and figure out his next move. but before he could, a voice—her voice—filtered through the wooden door, muffled but unmistakable.

“sweet merlin. please don't tell me you had something to do with this, garreth."

sebastian’s fingers curled into his robes. he could hear the suspicion in her tone, the way it sharpened at the edges. he didn’t have to see her face to know she was still trying to make sense of the mess he’d left behind, piecing together what had just unfolded like a puzzle with missing parts.

and of course, the absolute menace that is garreth weasley was enjoying every second of it.

“what ever do you mean by that?" came his feigned innocence, all honeyed amusement, the bastard’s grin practically audible.

"that was sebastian, wasn’t it? polyjuice potion?"

sebastian’s stomach lurched.

"where is he? i saw you follow him out of central hall, so don’t try to lie."

garreth hummed. “ah, well, it seems i’ve forgotten which door he went in… perhaps a few galleons ought to help me remember?”

sebastian’s jaw clenched. of course garreth was milking this for all it was worth. he should have known that little gremlin would still find a way to yield return, because why waste a perfectly good scandal when he could wring some profit out of it? and gods help sebastian—if weasley had ratted him out, sebastian might have to start planning out his murder.

then came a groan followed by the distinct clink of coins. sebastian barely had time to brace himself before he heard hurried footsteps, the sound of someone moving with purpose, closing in on his door.

"best of luck, sallow!" garreth called, his laughter trailing off as he strolled away, no doubt relishing the chaos he’d helped unleash.

sebastian had half a second to curse garreth’s name before the door rattled against his back, the force of it jolting him out of his thoughts.

"sebastian, open the door right now or so help me, i will blast this down to bits. you along with it!" her voice was sharp, a warning laced with frustration and fury.

sebastian knew one thing with cold certainty—whatever came out of her mouth was never an empty threat. she spoke in absolutes, in promises etched with fire and steel, just as he himself did.

he sighed, the sound laced with reluctant resignation, his hand hovering over the door handle as if it burned to the touch. each second he hesitated only fed the inferno building on the other side. he had run out of moved to pull from his playbook—no clever wordplay or sidelong smile that could disarm her now.

he opened the door to the very picture of anger, standing before him like a tempest barely held in check. her posture was rigid, her shoulders squared, and her eyes… merlin, her eyes burned with a fire that nearly matched his own—only hers was a righteous inferno, ready to consume him whole. before he could draw a breath, her wand was at his chest, the tip of it pressing against the fabric of his robes, steady and unyielding. it was a silent declaration that she wasn’t here for excuses or half-truths. she wanted answers, and she wanted them now—understandably so.

sebastian might have been playing war, but now he’s face to face with an opponent who plays to win just as much as he does. it would have been almost admirable if it hadn’t been so damnably terrifying.

"explain yourself," she demanded, her voice thick with an edge that told him this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

“where do you want me to start?" he muttered, his voice a touch more strained than he intended.

“oh, i don’t know, maybe start by explaining why you were trying to humiliate me in front of the whole student body?"

he opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “that wasn’t my intention—well, okay, maybe it was, but that wasn’t the point—"

she cut him off with a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something close to disbelief and fury. "oh, really? what, then, was the point, sebastian?"

there was no easy way to say it, but the truth, raw and unpolished, slipped out. "i wanted to break you up."

the silence that followed was suffocating. she dropped her hand to her side, her brows basically shooting up to her hairline. and then—merlin, he couldn’t have prepared for it—she laughed, a sharp, ringing sound that echoed off the walls, and for a moment, sebastian couldn’t tell if it was the laughter of someone in disbelief or the kind that hid mockery.

“that’s what this was about?” she said through gasps, her voice laced with incredulity. “and here i thought i was a victim of another one of your horrendous pranks.”

“congratulations, sebastian. you’ve set a new record—what, a week? a week before you chased another suitor off. ominis bet me five hundred galleons you wouldn’t last a month… of course i had faith in you—" she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "but i should’ve known better.”

sebastian stood there, his breath stuck somewhere between a laugh and a curse. his stomach twisted itself into knots, a sick, tangled mess of emotions he couldn’t quite name. embarrassment? anger? hell, maybe both. maybe neither. it was all bleeding together, one big, ugly blur of what the fuck just happened?

and she wasn’t done yet.

“with such an elaborate scheme too. but did you really have to do it in front of everyone?” she tsked, her voice laced with mock disapproval, like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “honestly, sebastian. i’ve half a mind to hex you into next week for that.”

he swallowed hard, struggling to keep up. “alright—now i’m confused. you bet on me with ominis?”

“hey, mind you, i bet for you,” she corrected, lips curving into a knowing little smirk. “ominis was the one betting against you.” a lazy shrug, as if that somehow made this less insane. “and honestly? i’m glad i lost. i was starting to miss you.”

“oh, please. like you weren't having a grand old time with fawley.” sebastian argued, trying to grasp back any semblance of control.

her lips quirked into that small, almost pitying smile, the one that always made him feel like the punchline of some joke he hadn’t even realized was being told. “oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she said breezily, as if the words themselves were nothing more than idle chatter, a passing thought. “he ended it with me right after you ran away.”

“and when you think about it, it’s actually kind of sad for me, isn’t it? being broken up with twice in a single day. in front of a whole crowd, no less. thanks for that, by the way.” she added sardonically.

sebastian blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and something dangerously close to amusement. this wasn’t how he’d envisioned things unfolding—hell, he hadn’t imagined much at all, other than his own selfish drive to drive her to him—but the end result? not too far off. the pieces were shifting in ways he hadn't planned, and yet, he found the outcome strangely satisfying.

his lips quirked, eyes glinting as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “i would say sorry,” he murmured, voice smooth but edged with something sharper, something smug. “but i’m really not.”

“oh, my sweet seb,” she drawled, her voice dripping with that mixture of affection and mockery he was far too familiar with. “i was only with him to make you jealous anyways, just like with any other suitor before him. and let me tell you, it works every time. every time.”

“oh, really?” he shot back, arching a brow, words dripping with challenge. “and what about all those times you came to me, crying your heart out over broken suitors?”

she sighed then, the sound almost condescending, like he was the one who’d missed the most obvious thing in the world. it was as if she pitied him, this strange, delicate sympathy for someone too blind to see the game.

she took a step forward, slow and deliberate, each movement like the winding of a thread pulling him closer. her voice dropped, turning into a low whisper that slid down his spine with the unmistakable chill of danger. "all part of the plan."

a shiver ran through him, and despite himself, he held her gaze. the words hit him with a weight he wasn’t prepared for.

"you’re not the only one who can play this game, sebastian. " she murmured, her voice a honeyed poison that wound its way into his chest, each syllable curling around his heart in a grip he couldn’t escape. "i’ve always been yours, you know that. i just can’t help it if i like to remind you in my own twisted, unconventional ways."

a sick realization crawled up his spine, leaving a cold trail in its wake. he’d been a pawn in her game, manipulated without even realizing it. all this time, thinking he was orchestrating some grand masterplan, when in reality, he was just playing right into her hands.

he should be furious. should be embarrassed. but there was something about the twisted symmetry of it all that made him want to laugh. he’d spent so much time plotting and scheming around her, trying to control the narrative, to bend her to his will. but here she was, doing the exact same thing to him, and what could he do but admire the audacity of it? she had played him just as expertly as he’d tried to play her.

of course this was how it had always been. of course, this whole time, they had been at war all along, caught in a game of endless, tangled power plays, one neither of them had ever truly been willing to admit. a battle of wills and emotions, and somewhere along the way, they'd both fallen in too deep to pull back.

sebastian's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "you didn’t need to remind me," he said, his voice rough with something between annoyance and reluctant admiration.

she cocked her head, the edge in her voice sharp, but playful. "oh, i think i did. after all, you’ve been so busy pretending you’re the one in control. i thought it was time to remind you who really holds the power here."

sebastian chuckled darkly, rubbing his jaw. "alright, alright, you win.” he sighed, conceding—though only because he was enjoying this too much to end it. “how about a truce?”

she raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "a truce?”

the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he leaned in, his gaze locking with hers. “no? how about a date, then?”

for a moment, her eyes flared with that unmistakable challenge—the same look he’d seen so many times before, the one that made him feel both like a moth to the flame and the one wielding the match, but it was quickly masked by that teasing, almost predatory smile she always wore when she knew she had the upper hand. when she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

the war was far from over. they both knew that. but, honestly? neither of them would have it any other way.

[much-brighter-ink]

Need baklava

[tonycries]

BIIIG STRETCH.

Synopsis. First time fitting all of him = first time losing his mind.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, they’re PACKING, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, p talking, p slápping, use of “my wife”, dúmbifícation, BÚLGES, jealousy (Ino), BRÉEDING, true form Sukuna, dp, Shiu cameo, spítting, GOJO’S POWERS, D analysis, chóking, exhíbitíonism (Higuruma), cúmplay, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Tony Claus is here with a biiiig gift for y’all hehehe <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8.96 inches

“T-Toooji- why the hell are you s-so big?” And oh, he can’t help but snicker at how you can barely even speak, barely do anything but thrash your quivering legs against the coiling springs of the mattress.

“Yeah yeah, tell me something I don’t know, doll.” Toji’s rolling his half-lidded eyes, swollen hilt plummeting down to French kiss his fat, mushroomy tip with a sappy thwack! at your teary slit. “Besides, m’barely even heh- an inch in.” 

Barely even an inch.

Toji can feel his parched mouth just lather in greedy saliva at the oh-so-cute shock slipping its way onto your pretty features. “An i-inch…Toji will it even-”

“Silly girl, ‘course it will.” You’re gasping when one big, beefy arm claws around your boneless thighs to drag you halfway down the bed. Streaking a wet swab down your achy folds - oh, the sheer size difference was so vulgar. It makes him grin, “Because m’gonna make it fit, duh.” 

Oh. 

That wasn’t a promise - it was uttered like an oh-so-simple fact.

Well, your melty mind supposes, that is what you get for stubbornly claiming that you could “take it all”. Begging. 

Over and over for days until your dear Toji had finally snapped. Had finally manhandled your poor self into the meanest of mating presses, giving your sloppy hole a mere savoring taste of the fat circumference of his syrupy pink tip-

“Oi.” Toji’s planting two swats onto the deliriously lolling side of your face. “Better not be f-fucked stupid already after all that talkin’ outta ya slutty pussy, ma.”

Hypnotized head nuzzling the sweat-slicked crook of his neck, your sloppy tongue garbles out a barely-coherent, “I-I’m not- I swear. It’s j-just…”

“J-j-just what?” Toji’s rumbling baritone hitches up into a dramatic high pitch, rounded curvature of his knees opening your trembly thighs up even further. 

“Just…”

Only to rummage a good few inches of length past your saccharinely glossy hole. Perfectly left-leaning curve of his shaft swiping down your tender spots and fucking you spellbound. Snickering, “Honestly, just loooove complainin’, don’tcha? Why don’t you ah- beg f’me, instead?”

But you can’t - couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

Because Toji was big, to say the least. 

Girthy, merciless near-nine inches of him glazed a dripping gloss of precum. And it looked like it pained him to pull out. It pained him to slip and slide a sandwiching kiss of his soft, coral pink underside between your saturated lips. Back and forth back and forth back and-

“C’mon c’mon–” he’s hissing, dark brows knitting together tight. And the way you’re pushing away his sweat-streaked strands of black makes Toji shudder. “Yer my good girl, right? G-gonna take it all like a fucking champ, aren’tcha?”

“I-I will?” You mewl, eyes nervously straying to the way he looked so comically staggering twitching between your legs. Impatient. Red and angry. It made you starved. “I will.”

And oh, Toji would make sure of that.

Making sheer white cloud your vision when he’s letting go of his hefty crownhead to thud! across your quivering hole. Before his toned hips drivel in tiny little gyrations to pump you so full - Toji’s bloated cockhead spearheading you open so solidly. And the stretch-

The stretch. 

The globular ends of his shaft mazes between your gluey walls to push you tautly to your limits. His sobbing divot buttering up every forbidden nook and cranny inside you with sappy splotches of pre - you felt so heavy with him halfway inside. 

“Ah ahh- Toji– you’re in s-so d-deep-” You’re mindlessly rovering your fingers over to feel for that fattened, cylindrical outline of his nudging further and further up your gummy orifice. Big, pearly tears bead at your eyes and make him grin. “Can feel you right h-here. Dunno if I can take m-”

But in the blink of an eye, your slackened maw is being flooded with such stringy wads of spit. Streaming in a slicked mess from Toji’s curled lips before spattering onto your tastebuds. “If ya can t-take this, then you can take all of me, doll.”

Shrieking at the plummy twitch of his split cockhead swashing another wad of ribbony pre. “R-really?”

“Mhmm, Toji’s always hgh- right.” The fat curves of his fingers smush your mouth closed. To swallow. He swipes away a few speckles at the corner of your pretty mouth, pecking an innocent smooch against your lips to wipe those excess remnants cleanly off. “H…heh- good girl. Now get ready for hah- Toji’s biiig stretch.”

Leisurely swiping down one set of his fingerpads to scissor your puffy pussy lips further and further open. Herculean hips rolling to make you gulp down more more more-

“S-See? Didn’t I hah- say this cute cunt could ngh- take me?” Toji can’t help but crush your pliant body with the weight of his muscular thighs, heaving - practically plastering his sculpted front into yours. “Take this fuckin’ cock- the one you said was too big.”

God, he thinks he could almost laugh - fucking giggle like he was air-headed at how pretty you looked underneath him like this .

Your pupils practically heart-shaped and crossing with every jackhammering roll of his hips, tongue lolling out in a way that makes him spit all over again. 

“Mhm- just one more fuckin’ inch now, ma.” Well, more like three - but Toji had the feeling you were too cockdrunk to tell the difference, anyway. And with a sodden slap! against your perked clit, he’s curling a calloused few digits around your throat. “Better take it all now.”

Dragging you - biceps flexing when he manhandles you from your throat to push you down millimeter by millimeter, suck him snugly down your elastic walls. And you didn’t know whether you were lightheaded because of that choking restraint or because of the stretch-

But then…

“Oh- Oh?” And something in Toji’s tone makes you blink your thoroughly glassy gaze to rationality. “Fuck- wait-” Toji gasps, he heaves. Willowy eyes bulging, snarling when he feels his ears pop! “Wait, don’t tell me- m’really…really…”

He was. 

Now, Toji never claimed to be an optimist - he never said he was a miracle-worker but fuck- was this real? You were really, really milking all of him? This was what it felt like being buried balls-deep inside you? 

God, he could die right now between your legs and still be a happy man.

Because he feels like his entire body has been zapped with a zillion bolts of electricity - like he’s in heaven. Stemming all the way from the lustrous little thwack! of his pulpy tip against your spongy cervix. 

“Are- are you all the way inside?” You’re sobbing out, whines clawing at your throat with every smooth whack of Toji’s fattened cock into your goopy depths. 

“I…” And Toji wants to answer - he wants to not look like a wordless fool in front of you but he can’t right about now. Scarred lips falling parted, he can barely even breathe right about now. Sharp jaw slacking open into a sexily husky laugh, “Yes. Hah! Atta girl, there we g-go. Knew my girl could ngh- do it.”

“Too big” his ass. 

In the lazy blink of your weepy eyes, Toji has the two of your sweat-simmered bodies flipped over. Your own glued to his toned front, nails clawing at his bulging deltoids, head drooping between his cushiony pecs.

Bubbles of spit and pure whines flood your mouth when the massive mountains of Toji’s palms sift underneath your thighs to help you ride. Starting off slow - stumbling - presenting you with languid, tumbling thrusts that shape your fleshy insides to every ridge and curve of his cock. 

Roughened digits pushing you down. Even more. 

“Now…here comes the fun part tha’s gonna end up with you heh- pregnant, ma.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 10.25 inches

“Am I…am I really that big?” 

If this was anyone other than your dear Nanami you’d have huffed at that subtle brag of a question - but Nanami wasn’t bragging. And he wasn’t aware of just how much that simply sopping slide of his blushing shaft into your gooey depths was splitting you apart. 

“Y-yes–” you’re mewling out, tangling your fingers with his thick ones to trek them all over your stuffed lower tummy. And Nanami gasps at the bloated nudge of his fat tip against your buttery walls. The outline. That you can feel from the outside. The curvature of his greedy thumb smearing down the mushy rounded edges tenderly. “S’like m’gonna hngh- break.”

Stern lips puckering up to kiss away the pearly tears that lather your fluttery lashes, he’s rumbling from the back of his throat. “Shhh…if you c-can’t, my love, then we can always-”

“Noooo-” God, Nanami loved to see that smack mouth of yours wobble with a few breaking whines, falling into a soft oh! when your squirmy hips shuffle a ravenous few gulps of more and more of his inches. “Want it- want it all.”

“Are you sure, darling? M’only halfway in right now.”

Nodding - nodding and nodding because you’ve never wanted anything more. A simpering trailway of drool sloshes from the slackened corner of your mouth when he’s slapping his weepy cockhead in two nice slaps into your extra sweet orifices. 

He was long and thick - unfairly so. Equipped with heavy breeder balls that thump! thump! thumped against your thighs in the same needy rhythm as your heartbeat. Messy. The tannish blushing divot on his mushroomy tip barely even having to try to sugarcoat your goopy depths with a sweltering hot few splotches of creamy pre- 

“Then…” Nanami’s wrenching you out of your cockdrunk little daydreams, and you’re faced with his utterly loving gaze. “You can hah- hold my hand- squeeze it if it gets too…much, my love.”

As if you ever would tap out.

Because the stretch was so addictive. 

Every single one of his shuddering drives making your dewy eyes sprint all the way hidden at the back of your lids. The exact degree of his arch having you let off a few keens, legs thrashing with the depraved kiss of his sappy cockhead against your g-spot. 

“Hey hey-” Nanami’s slanting his mouth over the rivulets upon rivulets of cold sweat beading at your forehead. And in turn you desperately crane upwards to kiss his plush pecs. “Remember what we talked about hngh- before?”

“Y-yes. Simple breathing techniques ah-” you’re crying out as he sneaks in a good swab down your slippery walls. “S’best to oh! Take slow, d-deep…long breaths to relax.”

Nanami chuckles out at your whiny little emphasis, every slow breath of yours helping his dexterous fingers guide that hooked bend of his knotted cock to bump into your treasured spots. Deeper.  “Mhmm– good girl, relax. What else?” 

“A-and- focus on one part of your ah- body t-to-” You can feel your weepy cunt pulse – thoroughly full and just about all that you could focus on. Inch by fucking inch disappearing. “-to boost awareness and…relax.”

Yeah, certainly enough for Nanami to tut when your glutinous pussylips tack on even tighter around him to halt his merciless pathway. 

“Hate to see ya strugglin’, darling. Hold on t-tight-” Nanami’s blond brows simmer with a fresh sheen of perspiration at the tiny resistance. Strong arms dredging your useless legs up onto his broad shoulders. Indenting circular bruises with just how hard your heels were digging in. But oh, he doesn’t care. Doesn’t give a shit if it hurt - instead, planting a sweet few pecks at your ankles. “Because s’a bit of a biiiig stretch.” 

He’s hiking one athletic thigh up even higher, adonis-like muscles flexing when Nanami arches his back and bends you easily in half. 

Sweetly toying a few circular brushes of his fat thumb against your neglected clit. You’re at the utter mercy of the deepening angle walloping his crownhead into your spongy cervix. Dragging his wet tip in a saccharine few ribbons of velvety pre, you’re being absolutely flooded with the sheer size of him. With all of him-

“I-is it all in?” You’re sobbing out, only for Nanami to stray his hypnotized eyes accordingly downwards and gasp. 

“S’all in- ohhhh s’all in- my perfect, perfect girl.” Nanami’s regal nose crinkles with sheer bliss, condensely fogged-up glasses leering further and further down his nosebridge. “N’ s’like y-you’re gonna be hngh- split apart, darling.”

And it felt like it.

Like Nanami was trying to mold your rubbery cunt into the exact shape of him, sticky kisses of his tight balls making you shy. To make sure with every bruising circumference of his overfed tip that you won’t forget him. Forget his size.

“G-gonna hafta get this pretty pussy hngh- used ta me.” He’s tilting his head down at that addictive image of your slurping pussy greedily sucking up every drilling jackhammer, every gyration, every grind just to watch the way your eyes bulge when he’s probing deeply into your cervix. “Jus’ hafta hngh- fuck her to the sh-shape of my cock oh!”

Every clingy squeeze of your gluey walls felt like you were doing that exact thing, and Nanami can’t help but let his toned hips poke languidly into your slicked g-spot. Sloshing a few tender dabs when he’s latching his mouth around your ankles to bite. To worship. 

And it makes you sob. It makes you moan. It makes you cum - gasping in surprise at the sudden crash of your high, legs locking around Nanami’s thick neck.

You’re feeling limp - your eyes half-shuttering to a close at the flurries of stars in your vision. Barely even able to breathe let alone register the simpering smile plastering all over Nanami’s face when he locks your ankles behind his head with one ravenous hand. 

Still moving. Still aching. 

“My love…” He’s starting off. Low. Promising. You’re being gifted with a slow, slow filth of a kiss, still having his pretty lips sucking on your tongue when he hums. “Don’t think I’ve molded you ta my ngh- cock jus’ yet.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 9.54 inches

It’s been hours now - hours. 

Hours of Geto cracking open your trembly legs to mouth over that glossy wetness between them, making out with your slobbery pussy for ages until you were still dizzy with the slow tangle of his soft tongue against your treacly clit. 

Still feeling the aftershocks of your nth orgasm when he’s flooding out a few viscous spurts of cum that slop between your pursed pussy lips. Gleaming sultry little lip-stain that he’s oh-so-unashamedly swabbing along a few fingers.

“Hmmm, now this won’t do–” Geto’s popping those slender digits into his mean mouth, snickering at the awe-struck little gasp you’re letting off. “Ain’tcha embarrassed to be th-this fucked n’ I’ve only put the tip in, gorgeous?” 

He was so unfair. 

Dark brows marrying together sexily when he’s spending a sloppy few seconds pretending to think, “Whaddaya think? Can you ah- take me even when you’re being this full?”

And full you were - being teased over and over again. Fucked with only the hefty, globular curve of his pretty, pierced cockhead until your poor pussy was frosted with a thick, creamy lather of Geto’s seed. Trickling between your legs and splotching over where you were hovering over his muscular thighs, bouncing with your precarious seated position. 

Huffing, one hand of yours grapples onto the mountainous terrain of Geto’s sculpted deltoid. The other curling around his pale, sweat-slicked throat in a way that made him drool. “Been w-wantin’ all of ya you, all this ngh time, Sugu–”

SMACK!

“Speakin’ out of turn is rude, y’know?” Geto soothes over the swatted imprints of his fingers on your ass. Before rovering down, down, down, to dredge out the most sinful slurps when he slides one greedy index over your sodden slit. “Right? N’ we were havin’ such a ngh- good conversation.”

That cold studded Prince Albert on Geto’s blushing mushroom tip skims between your pussyflaps, feeding you inch by fucking inch until he stopped just past the tip. As usual. 

“Hmmm, what’s this?” Pointedly ignoring your broken little whines in favor of guiding his trekking fat crown to bump that metallic piercing against your gooey sweet spots. To bruise. “Ya want more? Heh, so filthy how ya think ngh- more with this pussy than that pretty lil’ head of yours, gorgeous.”

“You’re the filthy one, Suguru–” you’re whimpering, fingers digging even tighter around his throat at the rude smirk on his pretty face. And you can’t stop yourself - you can’t help yourself - when your hips shiftily sink deeper. And deeper. 

“W-woah-” Geto’s puffy breaths hiccup, before clearing his throat into one stray hand. “I-I mean- fuck! Can see it from the outside.”

Indeed, he could. 

You were so fucking pretty sat upon him like this, with your slobbery pussy weaving out squelching rivulets of cum. Your chest heaving in a way that makes Geto’s mouth water, his eyes locked on that lecherous little bulge where he was scouring a pathway to your very womb.

He’s giggling - delirious and drunk. “What a cute lil’ pussy- s-sooo fuckin’ tight. Feels like m’gonna break ya…h-heh.”

And it’s only when you stutter, when our drizzling jaw shudders open with a cracking Sugu– that he lets his eyes rip away. His hips jutting upwards with a pressurized push-

“Awww, my gorgeous girl struggling to take this hah- big cock? Wanna take it all but you can’t?” With a rough hand latched onto your waist, Geto fucks up into you so tauntingly, rigorous little pushes and pulls that pump you spellbound. And he’s viciously thumping open your sappy pussylips, mouth drying up at the sight of those silvery sploshes of cum. “Y’know m’not gonna fit if ya don’t relax, girl.”

“I-I am relaxing-” you’re bawling out, head lolling backwards at the utter stretch. It was ridiculous, and your blood curdles with just how good it felt. 

Because Geto was so thick. Girth more intimidating than any toy you’ve ever even seen, such a pretty blushing beige. Pricked with one chilling silvery stud at his tip and then another at his bulky hilt, right after the ends of his neat happy trail - one that you oh-so-desperately wanted to reach.

“Liar.” He’s snapping - snarling. 

Making you flinch at the lurch of something dark and hot swimming in Geto’s half-lidded eyes. Long, dark lashes batting innocently up at you when he’s lacing two sets of readied fingers on top of your sweat-dampened head and pushing. “W-wait, Sugu what are you-”

“This pussy is s-soo much more ah- honest…aren’tcha?” And it takes only one more final rapid swat at your gloopy cunt, one wet strike of Geto’s round-tipped fingers before he’s bulldozing you downwards. “Hm, bite on this.”

He’s presenting you his toned arm - mercy. 

Your teeth mindlessly clamping onto his awaiting forearm, gurgles of moans and screams concocting together as your hips buck- Losing your nervous footing to finally plant a pretty peck of your glossed pussy lips against his toned base, to finally have his orbed piercing nudge your throbbing clit. 

And he was big - so, so big that you couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe at the sodden stripes of his pulpy cockhead etched into what felt like your lungs. 

With a soggy pah! you’re letting his arm go, kissing over the sunken indents of your teeth across his flesh.

“O-oh-” Moans upon moans are tumbling out of your mouth before you even realize, and you can’t help the way that your hips are bustling up and down in a filthy cadence. “I-It feels so…”

Alternating between the sloppiest drags up and down up and down his thickened length and lazy swivels that result in fat drags of Geto’s piercing onto the mushiest parts of your clit. He was so fucking big that your fatigued legs could barely even bounce up to his uprightly curved tip. 

“Yeahhh? F-feels nice havin’ me all ngh- inside ruinin’ your cunt, huh?” Geto’s leaning his body further backwards to take in every single detail of you. One arm bounding behind his head and making his biceps flex, the other helping manhandle your needy hips. And you swear you hear his voice falter, you swear you could hear his teasing baritone crack into a whine. “Look how ah- well she’s takin’ me- don’tcha think I deserve a lil’ r-reward, gorgeous?”

Ah, of course he does.

And as soon as you’re craning your head forwards, you feel the sudden twitch of his swollen tip colliding against your cervix. Gushing in ribbony strings of pre when you pry open Geto’s pretty mouth and spit-

“Messy girl.” He’s swiping away that purposeful little splatter of translucent saliva pooling at the corner of his sappy mouth. Swallowing. “Hope ya know m’gonna be doin’ the ngh- same with my cock riiiiight…” Before trailing that very same finger up, up, up to draw an invisible line at the bullseye of your womb. “-here.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 8.20 inches

“Jus’ need the ah- tip, pretty baby–” Choso’s begging - pleading from his splayed-out position spooning you - and he’s fucking his fat, ruddied cockhead into you desperately. Animalistically. Like it’ll be the last time - when in fact it’s the first. Ever. 

Slurring out a drawling few squelches from your overstuffed pussy, the way you’re glistening all your lustrous volumes of slick down his generous length makes Choso simply keen. Hulking body breaking out with shivers once your nails scrape against his sweat-lathered scalp. 

“But I want more, Cho-” That sullen pout of yours is enough to drive him wild. To bump up at least once more of his inches out of a staggering eight past your gooey ring of muscle, molding your entrance to that girthy bend of him. “Y-you’re so fuckin’ big n’ I want it all.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“Y-you shouldn’t say those ngh- things when s’my first time–” he’s scrunching his brows adorably shyly, one strong palm lifting your trembly thigh even higher to eye the teary trail of cum he’d left off just earlier from simply putting it inside. “Don’ wanna have a ngh- r-repeat of that.” 

How cute.

Choso was so embarrassed that his precious pink blush was reaching all the way from his regal cheeks, down to his bustling tip. Messy and angry. 

You’d heard that it was always the quiet ones - and Choso was hung to a T. The expansive swollen outline of his rock-hard cock smearing against your elastic walls in a way that felt permanent. Your poor pussy was swallowing up so many copious inches again and again and it felt like Choso always had more to give. 

His long length guides a sultry bash against your puffy g-spot, spearheading your gluey walls to mold around his size like butter. Swirling such voluminous heaps of cum that layer him in creamy rings.

“M’being serious, baby-” you’re purring, silken sweet tone of your voice making Choso gasp. Handsome cheeks burning bright red when he’d faced your greedy gaze over one shoulder. “I-it feels so good ngh- you’re in so deep.” 

Choso’s coral pink lip wobbles delicately, face flushing your favorite shade of red. “M-me? Don’t even know how to hngh! use it…r-really? Me? But m’just a virgin-”

“Was a virgin, baby-” You’re correcting him, deft fingers nimbling through his soft locks to pull. And it’s enough to make Choso rut- enough to make his reddening hips shovel even harder. “N’ no need to be so shy. You’re so big you might’ve ngh- jus’ ruined everyone f’me.”

And oh. 

Choso can feel his mind shatter, powerful hips working overtime to plunge another sappy stroke that thuds against your g-spot. Deeper. And deeper. You’re half-wondering whether he even realized that he was way, way past “just the tip” now. 

Nah…definitely too pussydrunk to.

He’s sucking on your kiss-bitten lips like his favorite sugar-coated candy, whimpering out. “G-good. Don’ want you f-for ngh- anyone else.” And you swear you’re catching his doe-eyes dew over with a veil of tears. “Want you to be mine.” 

Grinning - cockdrunk, heart-eyed. “Already am.”

And that extended to that greedy cunt of yours. 

Of course, it did. Why wouldn’t it? 

Choso’s on the very verge of sobbing to himself about why he didn’t do this much, much sooner when his dextrous palms smear open the drool-worthy globes of your ass to sneak a long, mouthwatering eyeful of your stuffed pussy. 

He’s so filthy. So urgent skimming two fat thumbs over to spy the way his fattened cock was disappearing between your soppy pussy lips. Fat and heavy, bullying in solid squeezed into your comparatively tiny opening.

And the sight makes him grunt, “S-such a pretty pussy. Could fuckin’ worship her heheh. I hope you don’t ngh- mind, baby, if I…”

Oh, and you didn’t mind. 

Didn’t have a mind coherent enough to think at all when Choso has to scissor your slick-flooded hole open with his thorough digits to be able to fit in the rest of his raw length. Saturated, solid ruts pushing past your tiny resistance - your poor entrance being stretched further and further with his circumference. 

He has to - he needs to because the stretch was so cozily tight. So sinful. Rubbing his ridged veins down the treacly sides of yours walls, you’re being stuffed to the brim. 

His spattering seed glomping out of you and creating such a fucking mess. Helping Choso slip and slide his thighs to engulf your own.

“Pretty pussy…ohhh what a pretty pussy.” He’s hissing to himself - slurring like an intoxicating mantra. Your honeyed squelches were so loud, answering him practically. “Baby, I want you…need you. Need you to take it allll up inside, m’kay?”

And you can only manage out a stream of dripping wet gasps puffing hotly from between your candied lips, shivering at the honeyed drip of his thick crownhead mussing up the sploshes of cum seated inside you. “G-gonna take it- ah-don’t miss, Choso–”

“I’d never.” But the one thing he might do is be rendered utterly stupid when that cylindrical shaft of his plunges impossibly deep into your gooey orifice. As deep as it would go. As deep as he could give. 

And you swear that Choso stops breathing for a full few seconds once he first bottoms out. Still regaining the blurring vision in your gaze with how you felt fit to burst, you’re opening your mouth with slight concern-

“Th-this…feels so heavenly- fuck! Why does it feel so heavenly?” Choso sounds so genuinely awestruck. Scared. Words dripping with the slight tremble of an exhilarated giggle when his sopping tip curves its way to thud! against your cervix. “I- woah th-this doesn’t feel like my fist at all.”

And every slight bit of recoil makes Choso tut, makes him plant pound after pound onto your battered cunt until you see stars. He was fucking you like he hated you - and babbling pussydrunkenly like he loved you.

You’re mewling through bliss-lathered tears, “D-does it feel good, baby?” 

Oh, Choso really did love you.

“I…I’m fucking you-” he’s breathing out. “I-I’m really fucking you and…”At your encouraging little coos, Choso only swelters with a wafting red blush. Buttony divot at the very ends of his achy cock twitching with a promising squeeze of his hefty, full balls. “...can we hold hands as I cum?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 13.3 inches

Nice - the cursed king of curses said he was going to be nice. But if this was his way of being “nice” then you didn’t-

“Tch, that pretty lil’ head of yours scrambled already, brat?” That gruff, rumbling little scolding from underneath you makes you jolt, winding sparks of electricity sprinting down your perfectly arched spine when Sukuna’s punishing your brimful cunt with a sloppy smack! 

Such a sleazy grin overtaking his sexy features at the stunned expression on your face, he’s bouncing his adonis-like knees to jostle your greedy hips up and down up and down up and-

“Can’t ngh- talk now, huh?” Sukuna’s tittering out, a few more numerous swats upon swats being pounded upon your bulging cunt. And the syrupy squelch! emanating from down below is enough to make him groan. Brows knitting, teeth sharp when he grins. “Honestly, woman- aren’tcha used to that stretch by now?”

Fuck- it would be impossible to get used to such a ridiculous size. 

Sukuna’s towering height of seven feet translating into matching cocks that make you gape, your drunken maw parting stupidly open when his twin swollen lengths plunge up into your goopy depths. Reckless. Rude. Your felt like he was fucking open sweet nooks and crannies that you never even knew existed.

That vulgar size difference was everything.

Because he was so girthy - wisps of precum slathering like torrents against your clingy walls. Tautly pulled over thick thirteen inches - and not just one, two of them - that were making you whine-

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Sukuna’s cutting you off, sugary tips pecking a hollowing little smooch of his candy-coated pre against that spot in a way that makes you shut up. “Can’t forget our manners now hngh- can we? Raise yer hand when ya talk to the king.”

And it was a joke…partially. It was something to make your beautiful features scrunch up in that adorable pout of yours - not something to make you wrench one trembly hand upwards and listen to him.

“S-s’not my fault-” you’re huffing out, your wondrous hands roaming all down those sinful curves and dips of Sukuna’s muscles thereafter. Resting on their favorite place at the fleshy mounds of his pecs to squeeze. “You’re just so big.”

Rolling his eyes, you’re being angled so that his oversized second tongue can press a dripping smooch against your plump clit. 

“Compliments aren’t gonna g-get me to be any hngh- nicer, mama- C’mon you know that.” And he’s sure to make it so that you never forget if the merciless few more thwack! of his five fat fingerpads down your teary slit were to say anything. “M’already bein’ nice letting you ride me.”

And ah, he’d never admit how pretty you looked like this.

With your sappy cunt stretched wiiiide open over his bumpy cocks, your entire body lathered in sweat and sheer need when he’s sinking in a few more bulky inches. Puffing your pussy lips up until you were about halfway down his raw, red cocks. 

“But ah…yer right about one thing.” Sukuna titters and the flurries of emotions that overtake your absolutely fucked-out face. Head lolling to the side when you’re trying to remember what you even said. Cute. “Lemme heh- jog that memory o’ yours, brat.”

And it was such a blessing - or a curse - that Sukuna had four arms. Four massive, strong arms that were busying themselves with driving you wild.

Two of them caressing the sultry curve of your hips, manhandling you up and down all his copious inches with all the dignity of a ragdoll. A third clawing on top of your cottony-filled head and forcing you to look- to spy where his fourth hand was. 

Sharp, blackened nail of his burly index tapping those ringed tattoos at his inner thighs. “See these?” Doesn’t matter if you didn’t because Sukuna was making your cockdrunk head motion out a nod for him anyway. “Well- then see these?”

Oh, you had to crane your head - you had to stop your condensed gasp from dripping out of your mouth when he’s swiping his fingers across those matching black rings tattooed around the very hefty hilts of his cocks. 

Neat. Stark against unruly tufts of pink. Lacquered with a glistening layer of your sweet, sweet juices. 

“Gotta take it ah- allll the way until there, got it?” Sukuna muses, plummy split-ends of his shafts pummeling even harder against the gumdrop sponge of your walls. Very same finger drawling lazily up, up, up until he was drawing a smug line across way past the middle of your tummy. “So get r-ready for a biiiig stretch, mama.”

And it wasn’t just the stretch - not even the double stretch - triple. Triple the invasive rummages inside your snug channel when Sukuna’s swirling his large secondary tongue to lap up every sliver and every bead of slick slobbering from your cunt. 

Sloshing a gleaming trailway down the very middle of his rosette tastebuds so lewdly when Sukuna grits against the resistance, hips pushing and pushing-

“Ah- ah!” Your hips are like a pendulum still deciding between swallowing up more more more and running away. “I-I don’t think it’ll ngh- dunno if I can t-take any…”

“Nuh uh, no running away.” Sukuna’s greedy hands devour every naked inch of you to stuff you full, tongue working overtime to push open that elastic entrance to your pretty cunt. He knew you could finally take it all. He knew. And he was going to do it. “Made yer bed- now- lie- in it-”

There’s a deafening pap! of your body glissading into his when with a final, determined thrust, Sukuna’s bottoming out. Your pussy lips smooching both his sexy circular tattoos with their first-ever kiss. For the first time in a thousand years. For the first time in his life-

This is what it feels like - this is what it looks like.

You were so stuffed past the brim that you could feel your pressurized ears pop! White-hot pleasure flashing behind your lids when your mouth opens with a raw shrill. 

“So? S’it feel good bein’ all ruined inside?” He’s tittering - choking on rude little whimpers threatening to spill from his even ruder lips. 

“Yes- please it f-feels so…”

And then you’re cumming.

“Oh? Cummin’ already just from taking that cock you said was hngh- t-toooo fuckin’ big?” He leaves a few ravenous bites over the tender crook of your neck. “What a heh- slutty cunt o’ mine.”

Sukuna’s realizing before you when his hips rut upwards into the tight fit to pound you through your high, over and over slapping his heavy cockheads against every tiny geyser of an orifice. Until you felt like you were about to burst-

“O-ohhh look at that gorgeous ngh- bulge.” Sukuna’s voice bleeds its way into a whimper - whimper. And if any other curse saw that heart-eyed filter in his gaze, the way his smile grows simpering, then they’d faint. “Almost makes me think of something…else.”

You, all round and glowing - and not just from the thorough rummage of his dual shafts messing up your poor insides. Outlined with thick cylindrical bumps forming their way at your precious womb. 

The sight is enough to make Sukuna’s heavy-handed cockheads glaze your mushy cervix with a few ribbony spurts of pre. Flooding. Overspilling. Enough do that he’s digging in a thumb hard to feel for the soppingly wet thwack! of those volumes of velveteen splatters.

Murmuring, “Y’know…how do ya feel about the curses getting an ah- new heir, brat? And their very own queen.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 7.64 inches

“Shhhh, jus’ an inch more- only an i-inch, pretty.” Ino’s heaving, his plummy, split-ended cockhead gushing out a lazy few rivulets of syrupy pre down your sappy slit. “I know that you can do it…take s’more f’me?”

“I-I want to-” you’re gasping out, legs wrangling an even tighter grip around the slender curve of your beloved boyfriend’s toned hips. Mashing his ridged washboard abs against the sensitive backs of your thighs, “But I don’t know if it’ll fit…”

You say that but you can already feel the way your elastic cunt was constricting and molding to the exact sinful curvature of Ino’s swollen cock. Wanting more more more-

But how could you not?

He was so unfairly pretty - fat, burling inches that rummaged your insides with a sugary layer of sloshing precum. It’s like his plump tip was bawling with every smack! down your puckering pussylips, reddening with an innocent flush that matched his cute cheeks. 

“I want it- no, need it to ah- g-go all the way inside-” Ino’s panting begs stumble into your deliriously open maw, the slick gyrations of his tongue tasting you. Savoring. Ringed fingers splayed out and pressing down hard onto the heaving surface of your tummy. “-need everyone t-to know how I’ve ngh- ruined ya for them.”

It’d only taken one sneaking glance at the way some loser at your work was a little too close, a little too…flirty. Simply one spark of that green-eyed monster inside him for Ino to all but drag you home and bend you into such a mean mating press. 

His pummeling hips even meaner. Babbling with every dousing swab of his fattened cockhead probing into your goopy depths. Pushing and pushing. “W-wanna be good f’you, y’know? Wanna be…yours.”

“Ngh- s-sweet-talker-” You’re spitting out, heart lurching oh-so-traitorously at the little blush dusting its merry way all over Ino’s handsome cheeks. He’s ready to burst into flames when you’re hiccuping, “Fuck me, baby- with all of you.”

Those words are barely out of your mouth - the thought barely even registering in Ino’s fuzzy scribble of a brain right now before he’s tugging his hips back a sodden inch and sinking in.

“Mhmmm- don’t worry, pretty-” Ino’s gruffing, scorching beads of sweat forming a dotty mosaic over his blissed-out features. “-Taku’s gonna make it fit- h-heh, yeahhhh m’gonna make it ngh- fit-” So snug that he can’t pound into the way he wants you. Huffing at the resistance, he’s latching onto your peaked clit with a pointed pinch. “-or m’gonna die trying hah.”

A promise - well and fully intended to be made true. 

Abs flexing with every tight little grind that whacks against your sweetened spots, short. Punctuating. Harder and harder until you’re hearing a watery pap! and Ino’s finally - finally - driving you overwhelmingly full with the ruthless dab of his angry, peach-pink shaft impaling open your deepest insides. 

“O-oh.” Ino’s breathing out, chestnut eyes bulging out almost comically at the sloppy trawl of his rock-hard cock in and out. “It fit- it…it actually fit. Mhm- s’that too big for ya, pretty?”

And Ino loved your smart mouth - he loved whatever honeyed syllable would drivel from your pretty lips. But seeing you like this - gasping, and fucked oh-so-dumb on his cock - Ino thinks that he could cum right here and now.

“R-right now?” Your breath hitches, chest heaving to steady your gulping inhales. Impossible with the way that his girthy, rotund cockhead was skimming against what felt like your lungs. 

But oh, you weren’t the only one with your sanity dancing away from you with every plunging jackhammer. Ino looked so ruined - his pretty eyes doeing down till they were almost closed, drizzles upon drizzles of drool flooding out and slicking down his mouth, hanging pathetically open when he’s realizing-

Shit, did he say that out loud?

Oh, well. 

“And so wh-what?” Ino’s huffing out - meant to be much more smug than the pouty whine it actually came out as. Lower lip wobbling out in a watery way, “Wanna fill ya u-up until yer overspilling, sweetness- until I can’t hahah- fit again.”

He’s making such a sappy mess down there as if already fulfilling those promises. One clammily prespired hand latching around your throat to crane your neck into a tender kiss. 

“Wanna fuck a b-baby into ya- ngh- fuck ya until they know I did it-” He’s snarling - alabaster canines beared in a giggle. “Till they s-see you all ah- round and glowing and see me me me me- that coworker’s gonna know that I-I did that. That I fucked you s-so full.” 

Heavy thighs planting flat onto the cushiony mattress, and from the woozy corner of your eye you’re spotting a few bedcoils spring brokenly upwards. “Gonna gimme that, aren’tcha?” He’s breathing. Begging. Eyes fuzzy with a heavy clingfilm of utter loving that he was bestowing upon you with every pap! pap! pap! “Make me a dad, mama?”

Shrilling out hoarsely, “Yes- yes yes yes- I- fuck! M’close, Taku…m’gonna cum-”

Ah, just as you do - Ino plants a gliding thwack! against your g-spot so hard that it makes your eyes criss-cross with utter pleasure. Tumbling into your orgasm headfirst and dragging your dear Ino with it, too. 

Each peaked crevice of your high being followed by the wettest slap of his lathering cum into your most tenderized spots, fucking his seed into you so viciously that you feel bloated. Eyes drooping fatiguely, your nails dragging red, red patterns down his rigorously flexing back. 

It was heaven. 

You can’t think of anything but the slow puddle of viscous seed dribbling from between your slippery slit, nothing but how full you felt. Barely even noticing the creaking protests of the bedframe that was suspiciously sagging from one end.

Broken. 

And when Ino’s blinking his vision back - letting his mouth drool at the sloppy slosh of his ribbony sap clinging around him like a second skin - the only thing he can utter is a low, “S-so…I don’t think we’ve ngh- made our son just yet.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 11.01 inches

“Aw c’mooon, my girl. Too big- s’too big, riiight?” Fuck- it was. And Gojo already knew with every cocky snicker that wafted over the back of your neck like an oven. He’s plumping his lips down your spine in a sleazy kiss. “Jus’ admit it n’ I might play…nice.”

As if. 

The strongest would never play nice when he had you like this.

When he had his fat, strawberry pink tip French kissing your gluey walls so open. Bumping up against your precious insides to indent every ridge and curvaceous vein against your overstuffed pussy - so staggeringly full. But he still wasn’t done. Barely. 

So ridiculously long and pretty - a size to match up that mean ego of his. Eleven inches? He didn’t even have to try to drive you insane. 

Gojo was flushed the most candied palettes of pink and red, all the way up to his thickened base. Slender fingers curling dexterously around the white tufted hilt to slowly empty out thick drags of buttery pre just past your throbbing g-spot. “Unless ya want-” Inching ever-so-sinfully closer. “-more?”

It was just a little tease - really, it was. Something to make your cute pout jut out, and your gooey insides clench.

But what Gojo didn’t expect was for thick, viscous droplets of saliva to splatter from between your lips at the sheer mind-numbing stretch. Babbling out into the spit-lathered mess of a pillow. “I- I want- ngh- Toru…”

“Yes yes, your dear Toru is hah- here.” And shit, he can’t help but saddle a strong forearm around your neck to hoist your lolling head upwards in a rude headlock. Making such a mess of glimmering dribble seep into the bulging bicep around your neck. You’re feeling the sappy drag of his long tongue down those puddled splatters of spittle, “Talk to me…tell me…complain about how big I am- I know you want to.”

You’re gasping when he’s leaving a pretty stinging smack! against your treacly cunt, muscular thighs shuffling against your own like a second skin. “I want…”

Every garbling syllable of your pretty voice making him twitch. Depraved. “Mhm—?”

“All of it- More.”

More?

CRASH!

Shit- maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed how the flickering yellow lamp at your bedside shatters into a zillion pieces. And how Gojo was much the same. 

Slamming one dexterous free palm down onto the already-splintered headboard, you’re catching it crack underneath his vice-like clasp when Gojo hitches his breath and pushes. Wordless. Keening. Mean maw slacking parted with a low ah! ah! ah! at the sweltering hot pulse of his ever-hardening cock.

“S-Satoru did you just get-” bigger. It’s the word you can’t bring yourself to utter even if you wanted to - because Gojo’s swatting his doughy palm to entrap your whiny words. 

Hiding your watery sobs when his engorged dick ravines past the adhesive-like grip of your slick-flooded entrance to perk up even harder. 

Rasping, “Shhhh sh sh- Another word outta you n’ m’gonna cum.” Entire herculean body hitching - shuddering - to pin you to the velvety sheets like he was practically melting into you. You’re sandwiched into the sweaty glissade of his rugged washboard abs. Jolting at the miniscule lightnings of blue that bolt from his lazily lidded eyes, “Tell me how badly ya want the hngh- biiiig stretch, sweetheart.”

So embarrassing, “I-I want the…biiig stretch, Satoru.”

He’s humming with utter delight, “Louder- more.”

“Please.” Legs kicking in impatience, “I want it- w-want your hck! biiig stretch, Toru. Want it so bad-”

“Then, b-brace yourself…heh.”

Something’s cracking - breaking - only hours and hours later do you realize that it’s your poor mahogany bedframe underneath Gojo’s utter strength. 

Knuckles whitening when one sickly sweet rut has his toned abs careening into your mounds of flesh. And that tight little bout of resistance makes him stutter out a hiss, teeth clenching. “Christ, s’fuckin’ tight- n-need more.”

You words had done such a number on him. 

And Gojo wanted more - needed it. More more more-

With a sopping pap! Gojo’s sludging his hefty length out from your elastic hole, purposefully peaking his inflated veins against those treasure troves of your tender spots. Emanating out such a sinful squelch! of wiry slick-filled slurps the moment his globular crownhead is popping out of your gooey cunt. 

“L-look downwards, my girl-” he’s mumbling, tongue slurring those pesky little whines into his words. And oh, Gojo himself can’t bear to spy his ravenous gaze down below because of that dangerous little high building up at his tight, nudging balls. Can’t bear to do anything but let his sapphire gaze droop half shut. 

Tumbling your head down, “Toru what do you- oh!”

Gojo was so fucking needy. That mouthwateringly sculptured arm around your neck taking its second favorite position to warp around his sweltering hot cock and squeeze. 

You can only watch when he’s beading out wispy little ropes of precum that gloss your pussy lips a creamy white. Connecting delicate little ropes of your sweet, sweet juices to his bawling cockhead.

It was soiling his hand ivory, his wrist, his cloudy happy trail - he was being so messy. 

“Yeah- see this? Take a loooong hah- hard look, sweetheart. Yer gonna take this entire c-cock, m’kay–?” Gojo’s nuzzling his sweat-glimmered cheek down your down, stray strands of white sticking to your skin. Pumping his fist harder - harder. He’s scooping up a syrupy few dredges of sap to poke into your awe-struck mouth, “Gonna take i-it all. No matter how big- mhm?”

You’re whining when his intimidating length nestles between your thighs and pulses, the very brim of his curved tip swiping a sweltering hot drag of pre about half-way down your tummy. The size difference looked so sinful.

And you’re barely nodding - barely whimpering out a polite yes, please - before your mind shatters with the feeling of being split-apart. With every hidden nook and cranny caverning your sloppy pussy being stretched to the max.

“Yeah- yeah yeah c’mon-” Gojo’s begging. Pearly white teeth digging into his pulpy lower lip when his blushing shaft fringes down your clingy walls. “Go inside- fit- please- need ta give m-my girl everythin’.”

Needed - not wanted. 

Gojo doesn’t even have to try for his left-leaning curve to locate your most coveted spots, spurting out waterfalling little geysers of slick from between your thighs with every gulping inch.

“Oh- oh mmpf!” You’re mewling when his furious divot mashes into your nearby g-spot. Easily. Too easily that you’re half-wondering whether he’s using his Six Eyes. “It’s s-shoo deep.”

You’re being jostled in a sultry dance back and forth when Gojo’s planting rummaging pound after pound just to fit inside. The slamming smack! smack! smack! of his muscular thighs imprinting against the backs of yours fucking out each and every coherent thought out of your mind. 

And with absolutely no hesitation, he’s skimming numerous buzzing fingertips from one hand over to toy around your clit and pinch. Barely even realizing the startling spark of jujutsu that makes you yelp-

“Toru- wh-what did we say about…” Shrilling shrieks withering away on your tongue when- what were you complaining about again? Gojo’s incredible inches sheath their cozy way into your gummy cunt - fully. “O-oh.”

Oh was right. 

Because he had finally bottomed-out. Finally. Gasping at the sudden thud! of those ladder-like abs smooching the pretty curve of your ass. The bouncing recoil of his swollen cockhead against your pulpy cervix. Gojo can’t help but run his hands over your jiggling flesh to make sure - to register that this was real. 

Having your slobbery pussy wrapped around every needy inch of him? This must be a dream.

He’s struggling to catch his breath, gulps sounding high. Thumbing apart your sodden pussyflaps, Gojo’s rich baritone hitches adorably. “You- yer really m-milkin’ my entire fuckin’ cock…” 

Bleary eyes snapping open and veering pathetically cross-eyed, Gojo’s snowy brows scrunch achingly together when both stumbling hands latch onto your waist and pounces a harsh thrust. Thickened, hefty balls swatting your clit heavily. Once. Twice. 

And the third - barely even a swirling gyration of his slicked-up cock drilling into the spongy flesh of your cervix before he cums. Cums and cums so hard that it feels like copious orgasms upon orgasms piling all into one.

Feeling like he was bursting - just like the wreckage of generators across all twenty-three special wards in Tokyo this very second. Electricity flickering, Gojo’s eyes glowing, and you two don’t even notice the way the bed crashes! down onto the carpeted floors as if it had been hovering a slight inch.

“W-wait tha’s cheating-” he’s puffing out furiously, but he can’t stop. Luscious ounces of seed gumdropping out from his divot to laminate your poor cervix - no doubt battered and bruised at this point. A fat thumb of his caps your leaky slit with the voluminous dredges of splattering cum gushing haplessly out of you. “This is s’pposed to s-stay inside, sweetheart.”

It was too much - you were overfilled to the very brim of your glistening pussy folds. 

But Gojo didn’t sound upset - not in the slightest.

No, in fact, he was smiling. 

Cerulean pupils molding practically heart-eyed, a burning blush washes over those handsome cheeks and all the way down to his still-twitching, still-hard cock- “Sooooo…marry me?”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 8.89 inches

“S’for your own good, angel.”

“B-but, Hiromi–” Oh, you were already winning - and you knew it - you’re feeling that perky little dab of syrupy pre that butters up your insides. Just the mere sound of your voice enough to make Higuruma twitch, “I want you now.”

To make him jolt, to make him sigh. 

Long, dextrous fingers of his tightening around that vice-like little restraint of his tie shackled around your neck - just the scratchy dig of that velvety fabric into your tender flesh makes you lightheaded. 

“I already told ya.” Higuruma’s sighing, sleepy eyes peaking up at where your trembly figure was riding the fucking soul out of him. Or, at least, was supposed to. “Don’t want ya hah- hurtin’ yerself the first time ya take me, don’t want my girl’s pussy sore.”

But what you were aching for right now was him. 

Bucking your hips in a stubborn little up and down that makes his thin lips curl, canines bared. Feral. “Fine- slutty angel.”

And you barely have the time to process his words - to process the stinging sensation of his formal office tie constricting around your throat. Before Higuruma’s dragging you down with a thorough flick of his wrist, leveraging the merciless tightrope of his tie to feed your needy cunt inch by fucking inch. 

He’s not stopping when you gasp, not even when big, globular bouts of tears lather your lashes dripping wet. Only pulling you to him like some glorified sex toy- 

“H-Hiromi-” your clammy palms clasp around his pale, bulging biceps to squeeze. Spine arching at the way his staggering size was opening you so deliciously.

“Mhmmm, m’here m’here. Biiig stretch, isn’t it?” Bouncing those bulky, muscular hips of his with years upon years of practice in battle. And right now you were on the receiving end of his ruthlessness, your pussy lips being smeared agape at the hefty cylindrical shaft being bullied into you. “Easy there, girl. Easy. You can take m-my ngh- big cock.”

And Higuruma barely even had to try to get you all shattered on his cock like this was. Because his cock? The absolute prize of your wettest dreams. 

He was so thick and long, nearing nine inches that bumped his throbbing walls in a lewd little massage down your precious treasure trove of sweet spots. That left-leaning angle of his curvature was so droolworthy, meshing a sodden French kiss easily against the bullseye of your g-spot.

But what had you spellbound - what had you so dizzy - right now wasn’t just the stretch. No, it was that tiny, orbing little piercing studded right underneath Higuruma’s deeply indented slit. 

“Hey, doin’ ah- good, angel?” The chilling patch of his metal stud wrenching out the cutest little whimpers from your heated mouth, falling further and further slack with every pretty peck. Every tiny swab of his length being overstuffed into you. “Only an inch more- juuust an i-inch more n’ I want ngh- you to milk it for me.”

“M-me?” You’re pointing at yourself, as if there was anyone else here in this heady bedroom.

“Tha’s right-” Blinking away the clingy film of lust surrounding your eyes, you’re finally noticing the air of something instinctually primal in your dear Higuruma’s ravenous gaze. So at odds with the gentle kiss placed onto your prespired forehead. “While I get some hah- work done, angel.”

Your hips tense when he’s reaching out to grab the phone that had been buzzing on the bedside drawer for quite a while now. Only to get jostled into motion once more with a soft swat! planted onto your jiggling ass. 

Turning the flashing screen to emblazon your vision with the name, Shiu Kong (Work) 

Oh?

Oh.

At your filthy nod, Higuruma’s puffing out a shuddered bout of laughter. Before sliding one fat thumb across the screen and answering, “Hello? Shiu?” Head tilting to the side, another manhandling haul of Higuruma’s massive palm keeps you riding him. “Yeah, I can heh- talk right now.”

“S-so mean–” you’re mumbling, thoroughly not expecting for him to hear and punish another smack! against your ass. 

You couldn’t hear the response - you didn’t even realize that the audio could even hear you before he’s babbling on. 

“The meeting- Oh, that? Ah, jus’ my lovely wife.” Gasping, because Higuruma hadn��t proposed…yet. And the way he was sidling your gummy cunt with hefty, vicious pound after pound to lose himself - to melt into your unsteady arms - made you think he just might. Soon. “She’s uh…strugglin’ with somethin’ ya see.”

Fuck- he knew exactly how to make you work. 

But you knew exactly how to work. 

One hand splaying out between the sweaty valley of Higuruma’s plush chest, you’re eyeing with satisfaction as his dark brows raise. Squeezing that overpriced fabric wrapped around his thick fingers to muffled your leaking whimpers - to choke-

Only for his sharp jaw to fall parted, breath hitching when you jerk your fatigued thighs and ride. Deeper. Sloppier. Further and further until with a heaving shudder your ass smacks against his with a ringing pap!

Loud. 

Undeniable. 

His hefty breeder balls colliding into the jiggling curve of your ass, Higuruma’s massive cock embedding a few perfectly rounded bruises into the back of your pulpy cervix. Streaking a lazy line drawn by his bulbed piercing across each and every sweeping fissure inside you. Once. Twice. 

Again and again-

“A-ah, what?” He’s bumbling absent-mindedly into the speaker, and you’ve never seen him sound so shaky before. Deep baritone cracking into a few whimpering cracks towards the end when one of his thumbs swipe your puffed-up pussylips to take a long look at that heavenly sight. “Oh…oh yeah. My wife- sh-she got it…finally.”

And it’s only when you’re drawing out the most whipped splatters of slicked pre, when you’re steadying your precarious hands onto his sculptured biceps and slamming a sloppy cadence. Humming, “Y-yeah. Real cute, isn’t she?”

Only when Higuruma looks like he’s on the very verge of ending the call that you’re musing how Shiu must know already.

That blasphemous question on the very tip of your tongue before Higuruma’s attractive eyes widen, chuckling out at words exchanged over the phone that you couldn’t make out. Yet. 

“Oh?” Yeah, Shiu totally knew. Dark eyes boring right into your heart-eyed depths, and when you nod he’s cracking a smile. Pussydrunk. “Mhm, sure, we can videocall.”

A/N. HIGURUMA NATION HOW ARE WE FEELING???

Plagiarism not authorized.

[screampied]

‘ HIT IT LIKE IT'S ALL MINEEE ?! ★

𝜗℘ feat. toji, gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna. jjk men as ex boyfriends ‘n how they fuck.

cw. fem! reader, ex bf trope, unprotected, possessive themes, brat taming, p spanking, manhandling, size kink, brēeding, ōral (f! receiving), impact play, degradation, praise, squírting, doggy, mīssionary, mating press, overstim, petnames.

wc. 4.8k

GETO ☆ the sloppy ex.

“said ‘m sorry,” he’d hiss, watching as your legs voluntarily snake around his neck. geto’s got the most smug grin, pretty batted lashes fluttering as he’s being fed his favorite meal that he’s been craving for so so long..

but he’s not sorry. in fact after every argument, it would always end up like this. he’d always make it up to you by eating you out, savoring your taste and giving you the most toe-curling climax. it was the least he could do, right? scorching hot breaths of his fan against your drooling folds as you sat upright against the edge of the mattress. you’re whining, gripping at his unkempt, black strands tightly as your thighs jitter. “mhm, could never stay away from my girl for too long.”

you vigorously shudder, feeling his crooked, pink lips ghost against your soddened folds. with geto, he was a messy eater. you were the only person who could get him on his knees. “i’m very sorry, pretty,” he whispers against your cunt, lengthy tongue swirling and delving deeper inside. you whimper, your grasp against his hair growing tighter and firmer. his darkened roots rise up from the secure grip and you start to grind against his face. “ohhh, my. seems like you missed me too,” and with three wet kisses pressing onto your swollen entrance, he glances up at you. humming, he swipes his nose against your pussy before lolling his tongue out allll the way to show you how messy he was for you. “or you jus’ missed my tongue, huhhh.”

he was so smug, so fucking smug. even whilst being buried right between your thighs, slurping you up like he hasn’t eaten a proper good meal in ages. “s- sugu,” you moan, your sudden attitude disappearing the moment he whisks his tongue against your nub. his other favorite girl, your eyebrows that was once arched from arguing was now curling together from such calamitous pleasure. he’s so sloppy too, taking every few pausing seconds to spit right into your cunt, lapping it up with his tongue, only to spit right back on it again. “f- fuckin’ hate you.”

“yeah yeah,” he whistles against your cunt unfazed — warm breath tickling against your folds that seep with slick juices. so wet, he pries your legs open even further with two hands before making a sheeny trail of saliva with his long, lengthy tongue licking from top to bottom. he stares dead at you too, dark sable irises never leave yours while he’s enjoying his treat. a free hand creeps between your inner thighs and he starts to ease a single thick finger inside. “i take back my sorry then, baby.”

your back arches - feeling his thickset digit easily soak into your clingy walls. you’re already coating a majority of it with your slick, rutting your hips against his mouth and his finger now. the stretch had you feral.

you despised his sassy mouth, and yet he’s always despised yours. the perfect match. if it was anything you and geto could come to terms with, it was the simple fact that you both craved each other. crave was a strong word, but it was the right word.

“s- suguru, fuck— i feel something, ‘s gonna come,” you babble, feeling an unfamiliar sensation bubble up into the deep pits of your lower abdomen. it felt like an intense, spiraling pressure building up before gradually starting to press down onto you. your jaw drops, feeling like you were about to gush right out. his tongue returns to slurp against you, luxuriating your sweet, syrupy taste as you’re practically just fucking your cunt onto his face. he darkly chuckles, feverish breath going against your dripping folds before he literally makes out with it. “s- suguru did you hear me?”

“oh, i heard ya, baby,” he whispers, another finger vanishing into your tight walls. with black strands of messy hair running all down his face, he french kisses your cunt thrice, groaning at the feeling of you pulsing right on his lips. “i just don’t care,” and your legs shake out of nowhere. you felt like you were floating — cloud nine, all the clouds, you felt like you were flying.

your mouth remains open, stupefied and all. with a squealing gasp, you drag his face further against you before spotting a shimmery trail of your own slick running down his chin. again though, geto doesn’t care. in fact, he licks it clean with no shame, swiping a thumb across the crack of his lips before he starts to spank your pussy. “well?” he eyes you, his voice growing low. “you gonna make a mess or not?” pat. “i’m waiting,” pat. “oh c’monnn, don’t tell me you’re scared ‘ta make a mess. we’ve known each other for how long, princess?”

and before you could reply with a snarky comeback — it happens. you end up gushing right on his face, watching it trickle all down his chin and your eyes roll back in nirvana. everything feels so quick, you’re barely able to breathe regular breaths as your eyes grow droopy and your legs break into a fit of spasms. “suguru, suguuu,” you pant, losing your grip in his hair. and like the sloppy eater he was, he laps your cunt clean. savoring the taste, savoring you.

“did you just squirt on my face?” he rasps, pulling his fingers out to watch the mess dribble straight out. you’re so wet, just a puddle and you were laying right in it. you don’t respond and he rolls his eyes, giving your cunt an ‘encouraging’ swat with his palm before purring. “mhm, how ‘bout you do that again? for old times sake, messy girl.”

TOJI ☆ the nasty ex.

“y’know the drill, babygirl. bend over. uh huh, gimme that slutty arch like always, attaaa girl,” toji grits. intently, hooded green eyes are staring at your back. you moan, feeling just how quickly your body submits. toji could never get enough of you. the second your gummy walls swallow his girth, you suck your teeth in salacious rapture. it’s almost carnal. toji groans, gazing right before his eyes as your back slumps forward just for him ‘n only him. “mhm, good girl. sluttin’ y’rself out all fuckin’ on me.”

the crimson red sheets bristle against your skin as he drags your hips closer - raspy breaths pour from his lips as he’s gradually plummeting his thick cock inside of your grippy, welcoming cunt.

oh, you missed him. but more importantly — you missed his cock. if it was anything toji knew how to do, it was to fuck. you whimper, immediately bawling up the sheets into the smooth pads of your palms with your hands imitating a fist shape.

he’s just so fucking big, you feel the fat of his girth stretch you open so good that your mouth starts to salivate. “ngh, fuck toji,” you mewl out in desperate sobs, smelling his loud cheap cologne that never fails to waft right into your nostrils. within an instant, his rude sharp hips snap into you meanly. your jaw hangs open as he’s shoving such lengthy inches into you at once. “mmhhh, right there, ‘toj.”

“still the same cock drunk ‘lil slut i know ‘n love,” he huffs, watching how your body responds to his crazed rhythm. again, he’s so rude, just a single piston of his hips and you’re a slobbering, numb mess. toji always had the stamina of a horse, you feel the pulsing sensation pulsate on his angered cockhead and you shiver. “missed my favorite pussy,” he gruffs, dark thin brows curling together. “fuck back against me, good girl. make me fuckin’ proud, princess.”

you’re a whiny mess. with such ease, toji snatches out orgasm after orgasm out of you like it was nothing. nobody knew your body like he did. he left you in a stupid state, so stupid to where the only words you’re murmuring out is just blurbs ‘n blurbs of incoherent babbles.

“fuuuck,” you suck at the air, feeling how every few seconds he’d bring a mean swat toward your ass. oh, that was always his favorite part. the way your cute recoil always bounces back against him, always responding to his palm. and as he’s continuing to mercilessly plunge his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. it takes no time before you’re creaming down his cock. “t- tojiiiii.”

the moment you’ve successfully milked him dry however, he never fails to plug you full of his hot, sticky cum. you gasp, hearing the wet squelches overflow into your walls. your back still arches itself forward as he’s spewing such stringy ropes deep into the depths of your womb. such a mess,

“aht aht, bring that ass back here,” he lowly snickers, dragging your hips back into him once you try to crawl away. “saved so much cum ‘n i wanna give ya all of it, baby. mhm, let’s listen to it together, yeah.”

you whine, feeling his hovering weight press right up against your ass.

toji swipes a thumb against your entrance, sloshing sounds exiting right from your pussy. he makes you listen to how filthily soaked you were, purposely growing silent. his thumb was fat, it curls its way against your sweet ‘lil labia before he gathers a nice amount of dribbling cum near the print of his finger.

“fuck, ‘s pretty,” he grouses through gnawed teeth. you’re taken by surprise once he flips you over to where you flop right on your back. landing with a surprised oof, you’re met with the hungry eyes of your ex-boyfriend who’s not exactly done yet. “go on. spread ‘em,” he does a swift hand motion with one hand, flicking his tongue against his thumb with the other. you felt your cunt shamelessly twitch at the sight and you moan once he dives right in between your trembly legs. “good girl, now lemme see what ‘m workin’ with.”

the moment he pried your legs open—he wastes no time, smearing his face right against your sloppy cunt. “s- shiiiit, toji,” you sob out a sweet syllable of his name, feeling the edge of his scar tickle against your swollen puffed folds. his long tongue slithers its way down your full slit, relishing in your taste, your taste of his cum. he didn’t care, his tongue happily laps up the honeyed mixture of both sweets that dance on his tongue. you whine, grabbing a fistful of his hair, hearing him groan once you give his head a light tug. glancing down, he spits on your cunt, swirling his tongue around before slurping you right up, cleaning you. “toji y- you’re so nasty.”

with a teasing him, he pats your twitching cunt before the pat turns into a rough spank. “gotta be nasty ‘ta deal with a cunt this wet,” and he gives your folds a single kiss before flipping you over again. you moan, still feeling remnants of cum ooze out of your entrances before he smacks a broad palm against your left ass cheek. “mhm, now now. be a good girl ‘n bend over one more time. wanna clean ya up from the back. just like i always used to, babygirrrrl.”

GOJO ☆ the annoying ex.

he’s just as stubborn as you, maybe even worse. “yada yada less talkin’ more riding, sweet thing,” and you moan once you feel a stinging smack ghost against your ass. you’re riding him, swirling your hips around him back ‘n forth as you’re pressed up against his bare chest in classic cowgirl. one hand of his grips onto your waist, watching you throw your hips back in such obscene rhythm. the roll, you’re so pretty like this, especially whenever you were on top. your knees bury themselves into his thighs as you’re bouncing up and down his cock, taking in many inches of him effortlessly. “you’re so hot,” gojo smugly grins at you, continuously bouncing his left thigh just to see your lewd reaction. you loudly mewl out at the staticky friction, feeling him pump into you again ‘n again. “heyy, pretty girl.” he slyly says as you finally meet his stare. gojo brings a hand against your ass, gripping it tightly before spanking it again - his way of telling you to go faster.

with satoru gojo as an ex, you’d never hear the end of it. hear the end of him,

he craves you more than anything. even better if you let him fuck you just for the night. but that night turns into one, then two, then three.

he’s purely infatuated, your pussy never fails to make him drunk. your arousal was always his favorite dessert. whining against his ear, your tremulous hips create haste a bit quicker as you shift your weight onto your bent knees. “s- satoru, mhh. gonna cum again, fuckk.”

“aw, already baby?” he coos to you in a faux, caring tone. gojo grabs both of your hips, peering intently at the way your abdomen tenses in front of him. you’re gaping, recognizing the stretch like no other. you’re so pretty, your tongue rolls itself out as you’re preparing to make a mess on his cock. like you always do, your arms throw over his shoulders before the moment gets abruptly ruined by a ring. not just an ordinary ring but it’s your phone. gojo raises a white brow, you’re still rocking your hips against him in a circular rotation before he hums. “oh, and who’d be callin’ my baby at this hour?”

“s- satoruuu,” you make a weak attempt at grabbing your phone but he beats you to it — he squints at the screen, an unsaved number that only you recognized. it was one of your old flings and for some reason they still thought they had a chance.

a wave of ripples surge all throughout your core as he’s buried to the hilt. “yo,” he answers, a hand still attached to your rear. you’re completely stupid, forming into a state of sheer dimwit as you moan into his neck. his fattened tip steadily repeats its movements to kiss and kiss near your sweet spot, yanking out such pretty harmonic whimpers. to gojo, the guy was speaking a whole lot of nothing, and he yawns, fingers combing straight down your feverish waist. “uh huh, well anyways, she’s busy. she can’t ngh—come to the phone right now but she’d loooove to leave you a mes- uh, don’t cut me off. do you know who i am?”

you wanted to face palm. he could be so dramatic, but you were being too stuffed full to even think about that. it’s been far too long without his cock, and each hit he created against you had you drooling for more. gojo’s thrusts were so good that it’s got you whining ‘n whining like a broke record until your voice grows strained. you’re having a competitive race with your own breath, blushing throbbing crown continuing to bury its way into your sopping cunt. gojo leans back, grabbing onto the headboard and his pectorals flex. “fuckk, i mean we’re busy,” and he shoots you a teasing grin as you straddle him.“ain’t that right, angel? say hi.”

and you moan loudly, a force ripping out of your windpipe the moment your orgasm comes. gojo puts the phone on speaker, letting the caller on the other end hear all of you. your sweet, sweet climax. you’re going crazy - feral.

it sounded so pretty nonetheless, a five second syllable that’s neverending and it makes his dick twitch. you feel the twitch — you also feel the vein that runs down the curve of his heavy shaft. “s- satoru, fuck fuuuck,” and with your eyes squeezed shut, your jaw tightens. he hums, watching as you coat his cock down with your slippery slick, squelch after squelch wailing out from your cunt. “ohmygoddd.”

“that’s it, baby. make me just as messy as you, yeah,” and you’re met with wet lips crashing onto yours. weakly moving yourself against him at a much slower pace, he delves his tongue inside your hot, warm mouth. you shiver, still feeling the pleasurable after effects before he pulls away, ending the phone call before tossing it near the other side of the bed. “heh, she’s such a good girl,” and you gasp once you feel a hand of his slither between your thighs. maneuvering a few circles against your stuffed cunt, gojo nibbles on your chin. “mhm, who’s pussy is this?”

“y- yours,” you whine, feeling your thighs shake from just his touch alone.

“my name isn’t ‘yours’, pretty girl.”

“m- my pussy belongs to you, ‘toru. satoru.”

“yeah she fuckin’ does.”

NANAMI ☆ the unforgettable ex.

nanami’s the type of ex where you couldn’t forget him even if you tried. he’s got the looks, the charm, the romantically deep strokes.

prefers to have you right underneath him, right where you belonged. you’re so pretty, he can’t help but blink twice because if this was a dream, he didn’t want to ever wake up.

“sweetheaaart,” he lowly groans into your neck, his body gradually rocking into you. he didn’t wanna go too quick or too fast - nanami’s pace was always just right. “you dunno how much i missed you,” and you moan, feeling him hide his face into your chest. he playfully nips against your breasts before sighing gruffly. “missed my girls too.”

“k- ‘kennn,” you moan, going into a short split second daze once the leaky tip of his cock glissades past your clit. you’re so sensitive, clenching your teeth as he’s rolling his beefy body against you. with his weight on top of you, you’re in perfect sync, perfect harmony. he huffs and puffs, hot clouds of breath tickling against your skin before he licks a damp stripe from your chest to your neck. “mhm, i- i missed you more.”

“oh, my sweet, that’s impossible,” he whispers, stretching out your gloopy walls with all his might.

like always, you opened up for him - the stretch was always there. nanami hissed faintly, feeling your cunt cling onto him tightly. so tight as if you never wanted to let go — and you didn’t.

he looked so pretty like this though. dirty blond hair that’s mostly neat and parted was now all ruffled, strands everywhere - strands running past his eyes and forming into thin bangs. as translucent beads of sweat race down his forehead, they pour down each side of his face.

whilst his tense back muscles flex at every sharp thrust he’s giving you, nanami groans—his adam’s apple bobbing as he tossing his head back, biting his lip. as he does so, he feels the little charms of your anklet he bought you years ago with his initials of ‘n. k.’ engraved on it, run down his skin, hearing the dangles sing out a tune as he goes faster and faster. with his chiseled hips going faster, so does your breaths.

“you drive me crazy,” he almost pouts, cupping the curvature of your jawline. nanami holds your face as a single thumb strokes your cheek. “no one m- makes me feel as good as you do, my love.”

“kentoooo, ngh,” you moan out, fuzz deafening the insides of both of your ears. it’s so loud, the sounds of skin slapping and groaning groans fills the room — bouncing and reverberating against the thin walls. the neighbors would probably file another complaint, yet alas, you started to not care. maybe he was what you were missing. you’re throbbing not only from his touch but his voice. nanami could call you the prettiest girl in the word and you’d cream all down his cock, like you’d always do. “breed me, ‘ken. ‘s okay, you can finish inside.”

“s- sweetheart, careful now,” he sheepishly says, feeling the way you wrap your arms around his tense shoulders. your words made him hot, incredibly hot. his entire body feels shivers, just from a few simple words. “fuck,” he swears, delicately pounding you into the bed you two once both shared. with an abashed expression, he peppers your collarbone with soft kisses before whispering up against the sensitive shell of your ear. “ah, i shouldn’t s- say such foul language in front of you, forgive my filthy mouth,” and you cut him off with a tender kiss, rocking your body against him ever further. he moans in your lips, feeling the thumping of his heart accelerate. oh, you had him whipped. he never fell out of love with you - he couldn’t.

calloused fingertips graze against your neck as he holds you close. with thick inches of cock plummeting in and out of your walls, he’s seconds close to shooting into you raw. he sucks in a breathe, bucking his hips as your tongue battles with his. “mhh,” you whimper, feeling his sculpted abs grind against you. nanami still had on his blazer — yet, his tie remained on and his collar was roughly tugged out. in some cases, you forgot why the two of you even broke up in the first place. but with nanami, one or the other would always come crawling back. “kento, ‘s okay, baby,” you murmur between kisses in a shaky voice, feeling him circle a palm around your tummy. he’s envisioning you with a plump belly already and it does something to his brain.

“okay, okay,” he huskily grunts, your legs tightly wrapping around his waist. you heard the timbre in his voice, how it’d always get low whenever he was close. underneath him — your knees buckle, and your cunt was pulsating. each individual nerve prods and pulses, making you whimper out his name in such a sweet manner. the way you’d whine out his name, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes in debleating rapture - it was pure bliss. the moment he cums, he sees nothing but snowy white. nanami’s eyes grows murky, almost doe-like before he’s dumping such a satiny load of ropes into your pussy. “hngh, oh- ‘s so much, sweetheart. ‘m gonna fill you up so g- good.”

and he does — barred big hands grab onto yours as he’s overflowing your weeping pussy with his warm seed. it’s so much that it spills out, dribbling down the sides of your thighs. the smell was almost potent, a milky ring forms its way around his base before he collapses onto your chest. nanami’s eyes were closed and yet his lips latch onto your bare, swollen nipples. “i- mph, love youuu,” and judging from his slurred speech, he was already pussy drunk. he leans into your touch, feeling the way your fingertips massage his scalp. the same hand from before rubs a circle against your tummy, and his head moves its way down before planting a pecking kiss near your stomach.

“and i’ll love our future little one also.”

SUKUNA ☆ the possessive ex.

“tell me,” he purrs in a raspy voice, raking a few fingers over your shivering frame. you moan, watching as he’s preparing to pounce like an animal does right before its prey. you meet the demon’s gaze and he cups your chin, his damp tip brushing against your folds. “anyone touch her?”

coyly, you shrug both shoulders as your legs remain sprawled open. “huh,” you murmur out, sheepish grin curling against your lips. “touch who, ‘kuna?”

“woman, don’t try me,” he snarls, baring a single fang as he spoke - the same exact fangs that would always bury into your flesh, gifting you with a plethora of individual fang marks. your breath hitches once he’s sinking his dick inside, feeling how quick your walls were to tighten. your arms toss over him for support, sweeping the edges of your fingertips against the ancient markings that paint the blade of his broad shoulders. “ah,” he whispers against your ear, an almost growl. you whimper, feeling his forked tongue ghost against your earlobe before he nibbles on it. “talkin’ about her, my other stubborn girl who’s always soaked.”

and as he finishes that sentence, a hand squeezes against your cunt before giving it a rude spank. you gasp, a single thrust of his hips and he’s fully inside. it felt so good, it’s probably been months since he’s seen you, since he’s been inside.

sukuna was the kind of ex where he’d never let you forget him.

the sharp rims of his claws gently and delicately scrap against your skin and he leisurely moves his mouth toward your neck. now, he’s got you right where he wants — mating press.

“s- she’s missed you, ‘kuna,” you finally whine out, the gripping pressure of his cock rummaging through your insides so thoroughly, so fully just makes your brain short circuit. he’s just so big, as he’s expanding inside of your walls, already, your body underneath him starts to grow limp. sukuna stares at you, watching as your facial expressions twitch and contort in gratifying pleasure. “fuck, fuck. i missed you.”

“i know you did,” he groans, and it’s a bit of sincerity underneath his tone. you had the audacity of stealing his breath away and his heart.

having you sprawled out like this . . on his royal bed, screaming out his name like you always did, he’s missed it. he’s missed you, but last of all, he’s missed your sweet, sweet pussy. the bed creaks ‘n creaks until it can’t anymore, creating a sort of beat with each croaking grunt it wails out.

sukuna’s weight is right on top of you — crashing against your skin, barely hovering over your own frame as he’s driving his hips into you speedily, fucking you deeply into the kingly, regal sheets. you’re babbling out candied cacophonies of ‘ryooo’ — ‘kunaaa,’ and a majority of other colorful swears that sound so melodic coming from your tongue. “still got a filthy pussy but an even filthier mouth, i see.”

and as he’s pounding you into the mattress, he grips your chin. he’s so rough, snapping hips rut into you all at once to where you could barely get an audible word out. you’re stammering pure lewd gibberish, skin against skin and he’s sticking right against you like sweltering hot glue.

“f- fuuuuck, harder,” you egg him on, jerking back against the bed at each powerful hit. it doesn’t take him long to locate your g-spot either, you squeal out that same squeak he’s grown to love and that’s when he starts pummeling into it. again, and again, and again. his sloppy thrusts against your pussy gets so repetitive — he feels your legs snake around his waist and he growls into your neck.

“hah, you sound so stupid,” he jibes, pearly fangs nipping the inner part of your neck. your taste, he could never get enough of it. no one had your flavor, your taste — your sweet arousal that forevermore lingers on his demon tastebuds. you were sukuna ryomen’s favorite treat. as he’s grinding into you, you’re already a puddled mess. you whimper, moaning into his ear before he starts to bite near your neck. “all mine. mine to breed, mine to kiss, mine to love.”

as he’s grunting his ‘possessions’ into your ear, your sloppy cunt flutters. his reddened tip thrashes in ‘n out of your core before you start to spasm.

with his weight still pressing onto you, you felt his heat everywhere. his toned body, his muscles colliding against your soft, tepid skin. “i- i love you, ‘kuna,” you whimper out, and he has a smug cunning grin at your sudden blurt. so cute, the way it rolls of your tongue. as he’s continuing to ravage into your swollen, needy walls, he throws your leg over his shoulder. fingers of yours wisp near the nape of his neck whilst another hand cups his face. “never stopped.”

“oh, yeah?” a low voice rumbles out of him, and he starts to flick his tongue near the numerous of fang marks that were slowly forming near your collarbone. you were so sweet, he could just eat you up. “i have a strong liking to you too, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“i . . love you too, brat,” he says through gritted teeth, it was like saying those simple eight words were about to kill him. he felt a weird softness pool its way into his heart before you both reach inevitable climaxes at the same time. it’s abruptly euphoric. he groans, using your bare shoulder to suppress his moans. twitching, he remains like this the entire time. strong arms, all of them wrap around your body, pulling you close.

“all mine,” he repeats, and you watch with glossy eyes as he pulls up your ring finger. with a huffing blow, he has a cute pouty pout. the demon was fucked dumb just as much as you. he rests his face into your chest before grumbling. “does this mean you’re staying this time?”

“maybe.” you pant.

“tch. maybe she says.”

[manmuncher777]

Roommate!Gojo who sends you off on your date with a pang of jealousy ripping its way through his body. Why couldn’t you be dressing up like that to spend the night with him. He knew you were excited, this was the most you’d dressed up in a long time, your hair sitting do perfect after the hours he watched you spend on it. The outfit you chose showing your figure in a way that had him clenching a fist, trying not to reach out and let his fingers dance over your exposed skin. That intoxicating perfume filling his nose as he stood so close, wishing you a good night before the door finally shut, and the only trace left behind was the small waves of your sweet scent still lingering in the air

Roommate!Gojo who is confused when he hears your keys in the door just 2 hours later, he wasnt even expecting you back tonight.

Roommate!Gojo rushing to your side when he sees your pretty face puffed up with tears, concern lacing his tone. Utter joy racing through him in reality, but he was still sad to see you so upset

Roommate!Gojo who listened to youn blubber and rant about how this was your first date in a long time and how you just wanted a nice night. He listened to you rant about how much an asshole the guy was all while stoking your hair and kissing your head as you sat wrapped up in his arms

Roommate!Gojo who almost died then and there when he heard you complain how men were shit and you “just wanted to get laid”

“that might be something I can help with gorgeous” he whispered before anything could stop him, His reaction basically automatic

Roommate!Gojo who had your crying for a nothing reason a few moment later as he was burying himself between heaven you thighs. Hot tears streamed down your face as the mans thick tongue worked his way through your folds, playing with your little bundle of nerves. Small whimpers leaving his throat as your taste made him rock hard. His hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread wide for him so he could see you in all your glory “Pretty girl, if you were needing to cum all you had to do was ask me” his syrupy voice rang out in your fucked out head in between his vulgar licks of your dripping cunt “That asshole didnt deserve to see you so pretty” he whispered into your cunt. “I had half a mind to drag you back in a fuck you against the door seeing you dressed like that”

His words rippling over your, breaking you more and more. You had no choice but to listen to him as he teased and taunted you.

You couldn’t even bother yourself to respond, not after his fingers slid into your cunt so easily, the squelch of your wetness echoing in the room.

Roommate!Gojo who couldn’t wait to get his throbbing cock inside that needy little pussy of yours. He’d thought of this moment for months and he wasn’t quite sure how it was actually happening.

Roommate!Gojo who had you naked and spread over his bed right now, looking at your fucked out features. Your skin laced with sweat, your hair still beautifully framing face, those tits hed spent so many night imagining while he fucked his fist now open for him to see, all marked from his touch. That beautiful cunt of yours dripping from the orgasms he had already pulled out of it, and yet you were still begging him for more

“please Satoru, I need you” you whined so sweetly beneath him and he teased his red leaking tip through your folds, coating himself I your slick. He soothed you, kissing your head gently “It’s okay pretty girl, ill give you whatever you need” he promised before lining himself up with your fluttering entrance and sinking himself deep inside.

The moan that left him was sinful as he bottomed out inside of you, you felt amazing wrapped around his cock, even better then he imagined.

Roommate!Gojo who couldn’t hold himself back for long, soon he was pistoning himself in and out of your sopping pussy, moaning incoherently abut how good you felt. You were more then happy to lay there and take every inch, every thrust he was giving you. Your mind so far gone you couldn’t do much more then whimper and moan and every move he made, his thick cock hitting that delicious part of your velvety walls with every stroke. Your eyes rolling back as your nails dragged red lines down his back

“There she is, theres my pretty girl” “cant believe all you needed was a good fucking sweetheart, all you had to do was ask” “been thinking about this tight little pussy for ages” “come on baby, take it, this is what you where begging for” “such a good girl for me, taking it so well” “awh, you like this don’t you? filthy girl”

Roommate!Gojo who was a stuttering mess, his head falling into your shoulders as his hips never stopped their brutal pace, his balls slapping against you with each thrust. It wasnt long before he had you cumming again that night. Your wall squeezing him tight as you flooded his perfect skin with you juices. You could do nothing but moan his name, so sweetly in his ear that his orgasm hit him as well. His balls tightening as he fucked him cum deep into you. His pushing himself deeper with each finishing thrust. A deep groan coming from his chest as his hips faultered and finally stopped. Both of you lying there, panting.

“next time you need a good fuck princess, let me know” he whispered into you ear

You wouldve hit the smug bastard if you werent so sure that you would be taking him up on his offer again the next day

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡ ゜

​𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 & 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! i started drafting those during one of the first sticky hot summer nights of the year, then forgot about it until this came over me once again like a fever, and now here we are. i love writing drabbles because they force you to really think about the chars, how you perceive them and how to nail their unique personalities in 200 words or less. anyway, this is my first time writing for HQ after the brainworms got me down bad and i had lots of fun! hope you'll enjoy them too ♡

word count: 1.3k

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 whines when you have the audacity to kick him back towards his end of the couch, catching your ankle and pulling you towards him in return, stubbornly ignoring your protests. Too hot to cuddle, my ass, he pouts, genuinely offended that you’d even consider that; when the only time Atsumu ever feels a sense of calm is when part of you touches him. Your hand playing with the shaved hair in the back of his neck, your leg hooked over his hipbone as you sprawl out in bed together, hell, even your icy cold feet shoved underneath his butt during winter. Something was missing when he couldn’t have your proximity. Yer so needy, Tsumu. So what if he was? He pulls you into his lap, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hands tightening around your waist. His breath fanning over your skin, hot and cool against it. Atsumu takes, he demands, but with you he is pleading, silent for once. Just a little longer–dreaming, breathing you in, kissing till he feels you smiling against his lips.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 wears his hair shorter now, back at its natural dark color, too. You helped him buzz it off during one of those sticky summer nights. Both of you in nothing but your underwear, Osamu sitting on the edge of the bathtub in your cramped bathroom. One hand of yours holding a razor and the other clamped over your mouth because you horribly messed up a setting and now he had a funny little edge in his hair, throwing you both in a laughing fit. It was your first summer together and Osamu couldn’t help but hope that there would be many more like this to come, with your bodies orbiting each other, unable to keep your hands off despite the heat and the sweat, the air heavy and electric and yet so light whenever he hears you laugh. Nothing beats the feeling of lifting you up on the kitchen counter and your eyes lingering on his hands, shaping a midnight snack for the both of you, getting drunk on stolen glances and kisses. There’s many metaphors for food and love and right now, Osamu can taste them all on the tip of your tongue.

𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 hasn’t even kicked his shoes off at the entrance yet and is already loosening his tie, before slender fingers work down button for button on his shirt. He hears you laugh about his demeanor from the other end of the hallway. How lucky, he thinks to himself. To have someone waiting for him at home, making even long work days during the most miserable summer heat bearable. His shirt has barely hit the floor and he’s already on you, caging you in with his arms and covering every inch of your skin he can reach in kisses, despite your giggling and feigned huffing over how sticky he is, sending him to shower first (as if you wouldn’t come right after him). Kuroo purrs when your hands tangle in his hair. In the end you always pull him back towards your lips again, swallowing every little quip and taunt like candy, sweet and syrupy in your mouth. It reminds him how he fell in love with you many summers ago, his heart ablaze ever since.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 is glued to the fan at this point. He even switched gaming from his desktop set-up to a handheld console, reluctantly admitting that his old house would heat up even more with his computer running at full blast. His expression really says it all when you approach him, silently pleading for cuddles. Kenma just can’t understand how anyone would seek someone else’s body heat when the sun outside was already doing a pretty good job in trying to end him. Still, he isn’t immune to your charms, never was (one time he mumbled something about your stats being way too high and how everything changed once he received a love buff of yours). When you hold out a popsicle as a means of bribery and blink at him with those damn soft eyes of yours, Kenma pauses his game and holds out his arms. He hums into the kiss you give him before sitting down in his lap, your lips tasting like ice cream and summer love. He rests his chin on your shoulder, face nuzzled against your neck, before he continues his game, letting you feed him the sweet cold treat. Summer might have become a little more bearable with you in his life–though he was already looking forward to many winters under the kotatsu with you. 

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 is squishing your cheeks together, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. Collecting evidence, but also wanting to feel your tongue poke out slightly against it, cheeky as ever. Just how could you eat the last ice cream in the freezer without him? He lets out an exaggerated huff, feigned indignation, both of you knowing he can never keep this up for too long–not when it comes to you. Oikawa leans down to kiss you, your face still in a tight grip, tasting the remains of the ice cream on your lips, as if you weren’t sweet enough already. Maybe he can be bribed for another kiss when you offer a midnight walk to the 7/11 down the street, promising to pay for a cool sweet treat to make it up to him. He had already forgotten what he was mad about the moment you leaned into the kiss, but he’ll never say no to a chance to hold your hand, even if it’s sticky with leftover ice cream and the summer heat. To Oikawa, love is stored in the mundane things, even if his love for you is anything but that.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 is standing in the kitchen past midnight, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers while he roams the freezer for anything to help him cool down; even a pack of frozen peas would do. He feels a pang of guilt for having peeled away from you, your form pressed so tightly against him in his sleep, it almost gave him a heat stroke–for more reason than one. Everything is sticky and airless and Iwaizumi is sure that if he would have glanced at you even a minute longer, his heart might have just given out on him. All this love he holds for you, burning him up from the inside, like a fever. He lets out a long exhale when he presses an ice bag against the back of his neck, but it’s not that what causes a shiver down his spine; it’s two arms sneaking around his waist from behind, your sleepy voice mumbling out his name, your body melting into his again. The first kiss pressed on the side of your neck is an apology, the second one a promise. The third–to devour you.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 grumbles something about you being too sticky and sweaty, making a weak attempt to shove you back to your side of the bed, only to pull you back by your hips when you actually do leave some room between you. He can’t help it, you fit so perfectly in the curve of his body, your back pressed against his chest, one of his knees nudged between your legs, all tangled up. It’s the perfect position to plant kisses on the back of your neck, too. Kiyoomi loathes those hot summer nights in the concrete city. He’d rather be somewhere else with you, somewhere to breathe more easily through this heat. Maybe you should move to the countryside, yes. A small house with lots of green surrounding it. Less people and noise, just you and him. Yeah, he would like that. He kisses the back of your neck once more and takes a slow, deep inhale of your sweet scent, before sleep finally crawls upon him again. For now he’ll endure this heat, anything, as long as he can hold you in his arms like this–and have a cold shower with you in the morning, maybe.

[dabisbratz]

𝒫𝒪𝑅𝒞𝐸𝐿𝒜𝐼𝒩 ; eren jeager x male reader

w.c: 2.3k

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜𝐼𝒩𝒮: miscommunications, eren’s short temper, dumbification, asphyxiation two (2) uses of the f-slur (nonsexual), dirty-talk, exhibitionism + vouyerism, public masterbation, orgasm denial, spittin, one (1) use of the word ‘boypussy’, mean rennie

sonny says . . . rare short sonny post in da wild!?!? was missin nerd rennie n his jock boyfie ૮꒰ ྀི๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘ ྀི ꒱ა thinkin about how long it takes for you t’realize y’like -like him . . .

Eren is. . . Weird.

That’s not an unknown fact, nor is it an uncommon conclusion. If anything, it’s a given. He smells strange, but not unpleasant, his voice goes nasally when he’s not making an effort to smoothen it out, his glasses are always smudged with fingerprints and a thin, barely noticeable layer of grease. He snorts when he laughs, too, in some sort of stereotypical way, and it’s almost endearing, but. . . That’s not why he’s weird.

It’s not his physical traits, no. Not the two moles decorating his neck, or the constant pink flush to his cheeks. Not his warm, brown hair that frames his soft cheeks. It’s not the acne at his forehead— you can tell he’s spent countless nights scrubbing away at it, picking apart his appearance— or the pudge to his body. Found on his cheeks, his arms, his stomach, his thighs— no, it absolutely isn’t anything physical.

Even as you look at him, your eyes trained on the movement of his pen as he writes something down— you’re not even sure what subject you’re supposed to be working on, anymore— you can’t place it. Ink travels along the sheet of paper, bleeding into it as his letters loop and his vowels curl. His lips are chapped, dusted a pretty shade of pink as his tongue swipes over the surface of his pillowy lips, they part as if to speak, and—

“What?” He asks, his voice only ever sounding soft now, for the first time since you’ve met him. He peers at you over the rim of his large, round glasses, his hazel eyes brightening beneath the fluorescent study-hall lights. Eren squints, like the opacity pains him, but his gaze never falters in kindliness. He’s. . . pretty.

Its certainly not the first time you’ve had that thought— he’s fucked you sideways, backwards, and maybe even upside down, so the thought crossed your mind amongst countless other opportunities, but this is different. It’s mundane. It’s. . . casual. Natural, like something fundamentally correct.

In a way that makes your heart want to wring itself dry.

Eren breathes through parted lips, a habit he’s working on, thick eyebrows furrowed as his gaze trickles toward your empty notebook. “What?” He repeats, this time much more nasally. The growing irritability in his voice proves palpable— but it’s not Eren if he’s not easily riled up. Still, his voice is like molasses, you want to cuddle up beneath it and taste it on your tongue. The sweetness, the bitterness. To feel it spread across your tastebuds, thick and syrupy. He���s just so.. handsome.

“What?” You clear your throat, it’s suddenly scratchy, all the words you want to say stuck in your esophagus as you cough into your elbow. They’re not thoughts you’re used to having— you’ve only ever had girlfriends.. You’re used to floral patterns and sweet scents. . . the stereotypical bubblegum pink and hair ties. The hands you’ve held have almost always been smaller than your own, softer, dantier…

“You’re.. You know, staring at me?” Polar opposite of the former, Eren’s hand swats the air as if gesturing to the general area. You instinctively want to roll your eyes, bratty in nature, just to earn the soft click of Eren’s tongue. Fuck.

“How did you know you were… you know.” Rushed, slipping over your own tongue, your teeth feel like jelly, softening in your own mouth. You suddenly feel small, backed up against a corner and trembling like a deer. Bambi’s got nothing on you, incomparable, you think, a cold tremor cascading past your ribs and down your spine. You’re not supposed to be the one feeling this way.

“You know?” He echoes. Pink, plush lips parting and curling around every letter, your heart flutters with warmth as they curl into scowl. You hate to admit it, but it’s your favorite expression from Eren. He’s always looked a bit boyish— like he carries some sort of sheepishness in him, even with his beginnings of facial hair, but there’s something more established about him when his eyes steel over and his lips press together. “What, gay?”

Lilliputian is the minute that goes by, and yet, it lasts forever. “Yeah,” A long beat of silence as your shoulders tense up to your ears, each flutter of your eyelash against your cheek, each intake of air through your nose.. “That.” Excruciatingly slow, almost.

He notes the way you say it. You know it, you can see the cogs of recognition twisting and turning in his head, you loathe it. You want to hold onto the softness of his face, rub patterns into his cheek and pull him forward, whimpering a soft, saccharine ‘Rennie’ in his ear and watch him crumble. Your fingers twitch, fumbling over themselves at the thought, and before you can lift your hand (just to snatch it away), Eren’s lips part once more.

“You mean a faggot,” He sneers, his pen completely discarded, rolling past the flat surface of the wooden table. Radiating from his skin is the warmth of new tension, he vibrates in his seat as if ready to lash out. . . Not at you, never at you. “That’s what you want to say, right?”

“Eren,” Mumbling, barely making it past your lips, you murmur through your teeth. You distract yourself with your hands, two fingers holding onto one as they twiddle and turn around themselves. Eren’s gaze trails downward, a long, prominent scowl on his lips as he leans back into his seat, thighs spread wide over the stretch of the desk chair. His head tilts back, chocolate brown hair brushing against his jaw as he stares at you through the bridge of his nose. His frame isn’t big, and yet, he looks so.. powerful.

“I didn’t— don’t mean it like that.”

“What the fuck else could you mean, then?” He growls, a mean lilt in his voice that nearly has you shrinking back. A warning, not a threat, as the chair creaks beneath his weight, his hands clasping together as he shifts to lean forward instead. Looking you dead on, even as you avert your gaze. A click of his tongue, you listen to his skin brush against his palms as he raises a hand to snap his fingers. Once, twice, thrice.. And suddenly your attention is back on him. “Only fags take it up the ass like you do, anyway.”

“Eren,” You breathe, a soft melody of a voice, eyebrows pinched as you silently plead. Not even entirely sure what you’re pleading for, it’s just that his tone of voice makes you want to repent. Warmth prickles in your skin, and some sick, divine intervention tunes in to remind you that you’ve never felt more empty without Eren inside you. “Come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that, I just..”

His pretty face twists as though he’d eaten something sour. ‘Man’ — you call him, not something more savory. Baby, sweetheart, sugar, sir, Rennie. . . The options are there, and he’s watching you wade through them. You know Eren likes you. He knows you do, in some unexplainable way— he just needs to hear it.

“Is that what I am to you, too?” He grunts, stubborn. He knows the answer, eyes softening as he watches a frown tug at the corners of your kissable lips.

“Rennie,” You coo, as if you’ve read his mind, and he’s never seen your face so… conflicted. “M’sorry.” It cracks his hardened exterior, anger and tension dissipating into the air as he lets out a groan of a breath.

You’ve never seen Eren angry. Maybe in a different context, toward something else, with the exception of the time he’d discovered football meant you were flexible and he hadn’t put it to use yet. But. . . only sexually charged. You’d imagine it starts slow, a slight simmer building in his veins, gathering in his fingers as he clenches his hands into fists. Then fast, and sudden, crystalline rolling down his cheeks in a thick flow of rivers before your very eyes. He probably cries when he’s genuinely angry, you conclude, watching his chest heave and tense as he steadies his raging breaths.

A new sense of shame raises the hairs on your neck— should you comfort him, or give him privacy? It's all so much, you’re left stunned as he stands, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he all but stomps over to grab your chin. Your hand instinctively reaches to cup his own, instead, being met with a firm, but painless, tap to your cheek that makes you straighten up, hands falling back to your lap.

“You’re so. . .” Voice rough and thick, Eren’s gaze follows the shape of your lips as he trails off. Past your cupid's bow, is the curve, following where they meet in a shaky line. You’re pulled into a kiss, his pink lips chapped and bitten, you taste a thin layer of blood and iron on his tongue. His hand moves from your chin to your throat, fingers tracing the skin until his palm presses below your adam’s apple, leaving you gasping as he steals every breath from your parted lips. “. . Dumb boys like you never know what they’re fuckin’ talking about half the time anyway.”

The dig doesn’t hurt, your brain barely catches it, with the lack of oxygen and the pout on your lips, all you can chase after is the urge to kiss him again. Again, again, again. You hear him suck his teeth, but it’s hazy when he speaks once more. “Oh, you liked that?”

“Rennie, I wan’ it—“ Leaves your lips, high and whiney, forlorn to even your own ears, a dull throb between your thighs. It’s so good, you didn’t get hard as quick before meeting Eren, but with his hand wrapped around your throat, you can already feel the ache in your balls, the twitch of your shaft, the milky, sticky precum spilling into your boxers. The brunette scoffs, and that only makes it worse.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, mostly to himself, an almost incredulous lilt to his voice as he straightens up, palming at the clear bulge imprinted in his stained sweatpants. “Since you want it so bad, touch it.”

With a breathy moan, your hands reach to grasp at the thick outline of Eren’s cock straining against his pants, pressing your palm against the warmth of his shaft. You feel it twitch and throb beneath your fingers, jumping in your hand as Eren sucks in a sharp breath. You missed this. He huffs above you, face flushed and glasses askew, but his gaze doesn’t leave your face once— glued to the way your lips part, how you mouth against the cotton of his sweats and leave behind a sloppy stain of drool. How you kiss the head, burying your face deeper and deeper into the fabric, breathing in the musk of his cock.

“M’sorry,” You breathe, handsome face squished against his thigh, and Eren can’t seem to stop himself from grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling you off his cock with a resigned grunt.

“I knew I was gay,” Eren rasps, his other hand pulling at the elastic band of his sweatpants, diving past his boxers (with suspicious stains, might you add), and straight to gripping his cock, dribbling salty, sticky precum along his knuckles. “When I’d come home from school,” He sighs, eyes fluttering shut with a shaky gasp. “And watch porn, but—” You barely miss it, stuck in his hold as he keeps you still, the weight of his cock slapping against your cheek— and god, that’s all you’ve ever wanted. “I only focused on the men. Especially when they sounded like girls, whining and crying…”

It’s hard to listen to him ramble, when what you want is right in front of you. Your hips rock, pressing your needy cock just barely against the denim of your jeans— it’s not enough, you need more, you want to feel it, you want to take it— “Kinda like you,” He grunts out, nearly crumbling above you, your pretty lips ghosting over his cock as his fist grips the dip of his balls. Blinking up at him, your eyes remain glued to the veins littering his hand as he fucks his fist, nearly losing your composure. “How they gasp after bottoming out,” Lifting your hips up, brushing your clenched fists against your thighs, your eyes flutter shut as he moans, maneuvering your face into different angles— however he pleases. “When they accidentally shoot a load on their own face. Ha, kinda like you.”

You hiccup on your own desperate, breathy sobs, choking on your gasps— in and out, in and out, Eren’s cock squelches as he fucks his fist, gathering pre and smearing it against your cheek.

“And they always take it so good. Pretty, slutty little holes made for taking dick,” He strokes loud plaps of wetness out of the head, finally, finally, pressing it against the plush of your lips. Glazed over and sticky, a thin, sheen layer of pre paints your lips like the prettiest gloss, and your lips part, carrying a thin trail of saliva between them. “They look so stupid, too. Best part was—” Mumbling under his breath, the brunette gathers spit on his tongue. He's salty and bitter, spreading along your mouth, and you can't help but drool. His thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as his twitching hand finds the back of your head, and— oh. “I’d make sure they looked like you.”

He’s spitting in your mouth. “You should’ve known when I had your ankles above your head and fucked a load into that boypussy of yours.”

You’re close, you can feel it, a tingling warmth in your spine and your balls, your abdomen tightening and hands reaching down to rub it out, but— Eren swats your hand away, a scowl on his lips.

Repent, repent, repent.

[shotmrmiller]

a little prologue before i eventually write the schmeat.

pornstar au!

f!reader

Simon retired from the adult entertainment industry at 38 years old, but he'd been in it for a decade and a half.

He left his mark, going down in history as one of the greatest of all time in pornography. Simon was a living legend, and his cock was equally legendary which even attracted the attention of famous personalities. In fact, he made sure they signed an airtight NDA just to have the privilege of having his phone number.

It eventually became dull, however, and decided it was time to call it quits. He'd had his fun and now explicitly works behind the scenes with the casting and directing.

Not for the lack of trying on his hires' part though. He cannot recall how many times he's had actors trying to entice him into bending them over the black leather couch or fuck them against the walls of their dressing rooms.

Simon had retired and meant it.

That was, until you.

A fresh face, a rookie in the business but he's completely mesmerized by the video he's watching featuring his protege, Johnny. The scene itself was nothing special, just a dad's best friend script, but you...something about you was extraordinary.

He felt his manhood stir as he watched your lips parting in a silent scream as a climax washed over you, causing your toes to curl and fingers to dig into Johnny's biceps as he split you open on top of a kitchen counter.

Your eyes clenched tightly in bliss; head thrown back in pleasure. You weren't faking it in the least, not that it was ever in question— there was a frothy, milky cream around the base of Johnny's cock, your body twitched with the aftershocks of it, and he's had more than a lifetime's worth of women and men underneath and on top of him to know what a real orgasm looked like.

You looked delectable. His mouth watered as he thought of getting a taste of you— he wanted to eat that pretty pussy of yours like it was to be his last meal, push his thick fingers into your slick hole and make you ride his hand until you hunched over and gushed arousal down his wrist and forearm.

Simon palmed himself roughly outside of his trousers and hissed when Johnny covered your mouth with his as he rubbed your slippery clit under the pad of his thumb until you broke away to let out a choked scream— another peak that Johnny takes as his.

He fucks you through it with a slow undulation of his hips, just like Simon taught him, and only when your limbs are loose, syrupy, does he finally relent and in a few thrusts, he's pulling out and covering your glistening slit with his spend.

Simon grips his phone so hard, it makes a cracking sound. He's had A-list celebrities with unrivaled beauty begging for him to see them again. He's had Aphrodite in his bed and Adonis on his knees.

And yet none compare to the sight of you, skin dewy with saliva and sweat, damp hair sticking to your forehead, and another man's cum dripping out of you.

He's enthralled.

Simon tosses his cell and briskly walks toward his kitchen island, where his laptop sits. In a matter of minutes, he's sent an email to the company you work for and told them to name their price, he'd pay anything to get you in his studio.

They readily agreed, of course. No one denies Simon anything.

Simon runs his tongue over his teeth in anticipation; he's gonna lift you to the very stars.

Ghost is about to make his long-awaited return and only for you.

[norikuna]

THE BOLTER ★ naoya zenin

prologue ⋆ ★ whoever said 'love at first sight' was lying, this is more like loathe at first sight. unfortunately, it seems like you and naoya zenin are stuck in the same boat together.

but at least the two of you can put on a great show.

pairing ⋆ ★ naoya zenin x reader genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab!reader, arranged marriage, enemies/rivals, first meetings, outdated views on marriage and wives, public consummàtion, éxhibitionism, voyéurism, ooc naoya to a point but he's still a massive jerk, aphrodisiàcs, mild overuse of bloody/fruit symbolism, oràl (f. receiving), reader pushes naoya into a koi pond, gojo cameo (he wants to go home 😱)

word count ⋆ ★ 9k a/n ⋆ ★ i watched my lady jane 😭 could be a part two to this, or series of husband!naoya but idk...🤷‍♂️

"Stop fidgeting. You look like you're about to bolt any second," Naoya mutters, his voice low, biting through clenched teeth. Sharp, amber-glazed eyes slide sideways to lock onto you, dark brows pulled together in irritation. He's still got that plastic smile in place for the elders, a façade of civility that's only skin deep.

You meet his gaze with a smile that could cut glass, all sweet and syrupy, the kind of smile a bride's supposed to wear. Serene, demure, perfect. But you know better, and so does Naoya Zenin.

Oh, how I wish I could just walk right out of here, you think, lips curling just a fraction. You can barely keep the sneer from slipping through. "Well, I'm looking for the nearest exit," you murmur, barely above a whisper, voice as sweet as honey, "All I can smell is that stupid cologne of yours, and it's making me sick. Did you seriously bathe in it, or something?"

You can see the flush violently flash over peach-toned skin, first his cheeks, and then the tips of ears. Naoya's fingers twitch, hidden beneath the voluminous green sleeves of his haori, betraying his irritations. You can tell he's just dying to throttle you right about now.

"No wonder your clan sold you off like a broodmare," he hisses, venom dripping from his words, sickly sweet with malice, "I bet they couldn't wait to get rid of you."

You heroically bite back the urge to stab him with something sharp. You know it would have been so easy, to have a blade hidden in the folds of your robes. God, it would feel so good to shove it right between his ribs.

Instead, you take a delicate step forwards, sandals clicking softly on the polished floor. The attendants bustle behind you, their soft paces blending with the thick air that's rich with incense, pine, and the sweet smell of roasted chestnuts.

"How sad that Naobito Zenin had to buy a wife for his youngest son. Desperation really doesn't suit you, Naoya," you keep your tone placid and amiable, "Though, let's be honest, most things don't really look good on you."

You can feel Naoya bristle next to you, the faintest tremour in his posture. It feels nice to have struck a clean crack through his iron-clad composure. Victory tastes so sweet.

Without missing a beat, Naoya slides his hand over yours, the picture of practiced, marital tenderness as the two of you approach the threshold of the feast hall. All eyes are on you now, the guests straightening in anticipation. But the slender pads of his fingers are pinching at the flesh of forearm, sharp enough that they would be leaving an impression.

You wrinkle your nose, fighting the urge to wince. His grip is painful, and even though you want to pull away, you're not giving the moron the satisfaction of hearing you gasp.

"Yes," Naoya murmurs, too charming to be sincere, his voice dripping with false affection, "And how sad that out of all the mouthy, insufferable wenches in the world, I got saddled with you."

"Well, someone's mad," you sigh melodramatically, lowering yourself onto the cushions at the head of the table, folding your legs beneath your copious layers of silk, "Stay mad. And ugly."

Your new husband scoffs, sinking beside you, as his long limbs stretch out with lazy grace before crossing them. He looks far too comfortable for your liking. You wish someone had scattered tack needles under him, just to watch him yelp.

You watch quizzically as Naoya reaches across the low table, drawing a slice of pickled radish from the porcelain bowl. You watch, blinking, curious even as well-manicured nails balance the slide between elegant fingers.

He just flings it at you. The sodden radish hits you square in the forehead, the cold and wet slice dropping into your lap with an unsatisfying plop!

Bitch.

See, you already had been having an awful day. The kind that dragged you through the mud and left you feeling as though you had been drowned in your own perspiration.

Trudging through the gates of the Zenin estate, as the sweltering summer heat drowned you in sticky humidity. The estate was sprawling, its grandeur suffocating — all sharp angles, and lacquered panels of wood. Meticulous gardens designed less for beauty, rather for flexing obscene amounts of wealth.

The Zenins did not lack for wealth, that was for certain. But taste? Subtlety? Humility? Those were luxuries that they couldn't seem to afford. Whoever said money couldn't buy class had clearly been familiar with the big three clans of the jujutsu world.

It wasn't just the heat. It wasn't just the estate. It was all this, from this stupid contract to the commitment, to your life here. Your new home.

The summer heat clung to you, heavy and wet, like a damp cloth draped over your shoulders, sapping any energy you had left.

Eventually, you'd given up entirely on the elegant cushions and carved chairs of your new quarters, opting to morosely plant yourself cross-legged on the cool, polished floor. It wasn't graceful, but at least it was comfortable.

Attendants fluttered around you like busy little bees, arms laden with swathes of silk and intricate jewellery in shades of forest green. They moved in perfect sync, as though their every motion was rehearsed for the new bride. And you, well, you were supposed to sit still, look pretty, and wait for whatever nonsense came next.

But fuck that. Proper propriety be damned. The heat had you feeling too raw, too suffocated. So, you had been stripped away from the layers of heavy silk and ceremonial robes. Left in nothing but a thin, creamy-white cotton yukata. It hung loosely from your frame, clinging to your skin in the oppressive humidity, beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

And just as you had settled into the most brief, fragile sense of peace, the soft groan of a sliding door shattered it all. A servant stepped inside, shoulders stiff as their eyes fell upon you. As though they could sense your sour mood.

"He will see you now," the servant said, eyes lowered, voice tight, "In the gardens."

He. Naoya Zenin. Your soon-to-be husband, for the evening's grand spectacle and festivities.

A pit began to twist uncomfortably in your stomach. You had never even met this man. Hell, you didn't even know what he sounded like, nor what he looked like up close, what kind of man he really was.

Everything about this arrangement had been handled by clan elders, who were more concerned with keeping up appearances than with any personal connection. Their mouths were always full of flowery promises, and backhanded compliments, none of which did anything to ease the sinking feeling that made a home in your gut.

The reviews on Naoya Zenin though? Those were more consistent than the elders' pleasantries.

Arrogant? Check. Irritating? Beyond measure. A man with a superiority complex the size of the country? Absolutely, what a shock. Naoya Zenin was the youngest son of one of the wealthiest clan heads in Japan, so entitlement practically ran through his veins as though it were his birthright.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on, though? The man was handsome, fine-featured. Of course, they'd say that to placate you, as though a pretty face could somehow excuse all the other bullshit. But you weren't quite in the market for a glorified Adonis as a trophy husband.

With a resigned sigh, you trudged forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sound of your sandals echoing on the winding stone path that stretched out before you. You tried to ignore the fatigue that settled in your bones, the faint feeling akin to that of a medieval monk walking towards his doom.

Your first impression of Naoya Zenin? You didn't like his voice.

"Weren't you meant to be here an hour ago?" He's calling, tone smooth and melodic. But there's a languid air about it, and whiny. You don't know nor understand why, but it makes your skin crawl.

You narrow your eyes at the back of his figure, perched lazily on a rock, legs swinging carelessly over the edge. Naoya's broad back is turned to you, gaze fixed on the iridescent koi gliding lazily through the pond beneath him. He hadn't even bothered to look at you yet.

First impressions were everything, so you did your damn best to hold back from snapping, "My apologies. There was a...delay," you bite out, your fingers tugging impatiently to tighten the sash of the thin robe around your waist.

You had half a mind to just turn around and leave, but no, it just wasn't in your lucky cards. Not when your family had practically signed you away to the Zenin clan, forevermore and all that nonsense.

Naoya lets out an exaggerated sigh, all long and drawn-out, as though your presence is enough to inconvenience him. His head tilts lazily, turning just enough to throw a half-lidded, uninterested stare in your direction.

"Well? Don't just stand there. I'm not going to bite."

The restraint it took to not roll your eyes could have won you sainthood. Still, you refrained. Barely. You hoped your expression conveyed what you really wanted to say. I am mentally chasing you around with a big stick and a hornet of wasps, but I'm refraining because I'm polite and I was raised right.

Reluctantly, you step forward, just as the wind picks up while you move. Sweeping the light cotton fabric around your legs in a way that made you wish for anything but these damp robes. You certainly don't miss at how Naoya's golden eyes widen in mild interest, tracing every curve of your figure. Warmth flushing down the back of your neck, and not just from summer's golden glare.

But then, your betrothed scowls, "Too good for the Zenin robes, are you?"

You cross your arms over your torso, the motion defensive. Naoya's gaze suddenly drops again to the pushed swell of your chest, lingering far too long.

"It's hot."

Naoya suddenly shrugs, all primped arrogance in his charcoal-gray and forest-green robes, like some ashen leaf springing obstinately out of cold winter ground. "Whatever. You seem adequate, I suppose," he flicks a hand dismissively, "I don't care for this attitude of yours, but you'll do for everything else."

"I'll do?" Your voice pitches an octave higher, incredulous, "What the hell does that mean?"

Naoya begins counting on long, slender fingers. As though he's sizing you up, checking boxes, "What do you think I mean? Just the usual requirements for a wife. Pleasing to the eye, which you are, I'll admit. But it's much less pleasant when you aren't smiling."

You spot a loose stone skittering on the mossy earth. You could absolutely brain him with that, right here. Right now.

But the man doesn't let up, "And of course, childbearing hips." He's waving a dismissing hand, "Well, clearly, I can see you have those. Tch', don't make that face. And a bit of wit for conversation — I refuse to marry an empty airhead. I mean, can you imagine?" Naoya's laughter is sharp, all glossy red lips over sharp fangs, "Docile, obviously. I think that might need some work, but — hey!"

Before you could think better of it, your hands are on him. Pushing, shoving, your frustration boiling over as your palms meet the flat, toned planes of his chest. The satisfaction of sending him tumbling back, of stupid, pretty golden eyes going wide as he flails, arms caught in the air. Priceless.

And then, with a splash! He disappears into the pond, the koi scattering like flashes of colour. Your betrothed surfaces slowly with a snarl, water dripping from his golden head of hair, plastering it flat. A piece of moss hangs awkwardly to Naoya's template as you stand over him, chest heaving.

"Harebrained! Idiotic! Empty-headed! Shallow, pompous, arrogant!" The words tumble from you, reckless and from the depths of your sudden-found hatred, "Rocks for brains! No wonder no-one wants to marry you, with that stupid, backwards nonsense. And your voice, it's stupid! And, well, there's clearly a lightbulb off in that oversized skull of yours. Don't you ever, ever say things like that to me again!"

For a moment, Naoya says nothing. He's only staring up at you with his mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. You realise in that brief silence, that you betrothed bears an unsettling resemblance to an angry, speckled hyena.

Rather than offer a rebuttal, or heaven forbid, an apology, a sodden arm shoots forward, fast as a viper, clamping around your ankle. And the world tilts.

"Don't you dare! Wait — no!"

He yanks at you hard, and with a sharp yelp, you tumble straight into the water beside him. Cool, refreshing water slaps your face as you sputter, wiping thin algae from your cheek. The koi scatter, unimpressed by human antics.

You're gasping as the chill must surely be soaking through your thin yukata, giving...quite the view to the eyes of others. No wonder Naoya's suddenly smirking, and you can see rosy lips part to deliver some awful, sleazy comment.

"Not a bad sight, don't you — mmph!"

You've scooped as much water as your hands can manage, flinging it straight at his face — watching as Naoya Zenin splutters, pinning you with a glowering stare that could cut through glass.

You were still simmering hours later.

The sun had already shifted, sinking deeper into the afternoon, but the humidity clung to the air like a thick and suffocating blanket. You were scowling at absolutely nothing, letting the maids drape you in layers of deep, emerald silk that shone like fresh leaves after the rain. Edges embroidered with delicate golden vines and flowers that twisted around your limbs.

You barely felt the soft hands of the maids as they pressed cool, rosewater-soaked pads to your cheeks and the crook of your neck. Idly wondering if they had plucked out every last remnant of pond water and scum that clung to your hair.

One of the older woman, with a sharp and matronly face, walked up to you, a platter balanced gently in her hands. At first, you didn't even register what she was offering, too preoccupied with nursing your own misery. But the food looked absolutely perfect, delicate rolls that had been sliced so neatly they could have come from an Imperial painting.

You raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't I eat after the ceremony?"

The woman gave a knowing glance to the other maids, but then her gaze flicked back to you. Careful. "This will help with your appetite for the latter half of the ceremony," as though she were choosing each word precisely, "It is...custom. Master Zenin would also partake in this tradition. It will make things easier."

Easier, huh? You stare at the plate again, and not that you didn't appreciate it, but if they really wanted to settle you nerves — they could have offered you a rolled blunt. But sure. Why not?

With a little sigh of resignation, you popped one of the sweet rolls into your mouth. The flavour was fresh, like citrus. Something like yuzu, perhaps? There's a hint of honey, and an odd aftertaste that lingers at the back of your throat, a touch bitter. You narrow your eyes, for it is something like ginseng.

You take a second roll, letting the smooth cream slide along your tongue, as you click your teeth. Well, if it would calm you down enough to keep you from throwing Naoya Zenin off the temple stairs, then...sure. You'd eat the whole damn platter if it meant you would be able to fight the urge to punt bricks at him.

And so, this circles you back to the beginning your sordid tale. The rooms buzzing with voices, and clinking porcelain in celebration, but somehow, all you can focus on is the man sitting beside you.

Naoya's practically been ignoring everything on his plate, pushing food aside with passive disinterest. Meanwhile, you've been aching for a good meal, your hand moving to scoop another bite of soft, fragrant rice. The nobles and elders have been weaving their way around, painted with polite and practiced smile — an endless cycle of verdant-draped Zenins, crimson-robed Kamos, and more clans all looking to suck up to Naobito Zenin.

There's another man, swathed in a vibrant, dark blue. You watch as Naoya stiffens as the white-haired man doesn't bow, just shuffles forward. As though his presence is more of a courtesy rather than a display of genuine well-wishes.

"Gojo," your husband is muttering, petulant all of a sudden.

The white-haired man grunts, blindfold wrapped around the upper half of his face, "Zenin." You swear you can feel his eyes on you, and there's something unnerving about the way he moves through the room, as though he can see much and more, without nary a glance.

So, that was Gojo Satoru.

You feel someone tug at your sleeves, and Naoya's golden eyes are still fixed on Gojo's broad back with a sharp, defensive gaze, "Stop looking. It looks stupid as fuck. And he'll still see."

You blink, wrenching your arm away from his cold grasp, "How? He's got that —," you gesture to your eyes, "That thing on."

Naoya scowls, fangs poking underneath curled lips, "Trust me. He can see better than anyone here."

"Is that why you're scared of him, or something?"

Naoya's jaw tightens, and he reaches for a platter of fruit, a pomegranate globe falling into the palm of his hand, "I am not. Tch', watch your words."

"Or what? You'll push me into the koi pond?" You snipe, watching him, fascinated despite yourself. His hands are elegant, precise, even. Tearing into the fruit with a casual brutality that makes something flicker oddly deep in your chest.

The juice, rich and ruby red, drips lazily down his fingers, following the slope of his knuckles. Staining the fine silk of his sleeves in a losing fight. As though the fruit had been desperate to remain whole before Naoya split it.

How strikingly brutal to witness. There's something almost obscene about the mess he makes, how the juice is pooling thinly on the silk. How the sweetness of the fruit is ruined by the way it's overpowered.

You think your new husband is the kind of man who would see a dangerous sort of beauty in the way he wrecks things.

But Naoya has surely noticed your stare. The corner of his rose-teak mouth twitches as he looks up from his conquest, fingers still dripping with thin crimson.

"Something wrong, wife?" He's asking, voice slick with amusement. You faintly wonder why there's a low buzz in your ears.

The question is sharp-toned, but there's something underneath his smooth voice that almost dares you to continue watching. As if he's aware of the effect of proxy brutality. You want to scowl, to look away, to prove that you aren't transfixed by the bleeding mess of an awful man.

"Nothing at all," you reply, and voice is colder than you'd intended — all to mask the faint trace of fascination that lingers in your tone.

Naoya glowers at you, lazily lifting his hand to capture the blood-red streak with the tip of his tongue. The faintest trace of wine marking the curve of his jaw. What an oddly intimate gesture, one that shouldn't be nearly as captivating as it is.

With a casual flick, he's breaking off a piece of the pomegranates flesh. White and succulent, with the little arils clinging to the flesh like jewels.

"Be a good wife, and open your mouth."

You glance down at the fruit in his hand, irritation flickering at the back of your throat. Licking acidic flames in your chest, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Naoya doesn't even bat an eye, his gaze already bored as he leans back, unimpressed by your resistance. Infuriatingly arrogant in his manner, "Don't want people thinkin' there's something wrong with my bride. Go on, open."

With a sharp, deliberate sigh, you part your lips. Heat suddenly coiling tight sinews around your hips. Eyes locked onto his hazy, copper gaze with the slightest flicker of defiance.

Naoya tips the arils into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to nip at his fingers, pointed and sharp. Just enough to make him jerk back in surprise. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you see conflicted disgust flash across his face.

But the taste, the sweet and tangy burst of juice on your tongue, it catches you entirely off guard. It's blooming across your senses, like the most unexpected pleasure. The tartness of the fruit lingering longer than you'd anticipate. Despite yourself, you almost lean into it.

Naoya's expression tightens as he wipes his hand on the edge of his robes, so irritated. But a flicker of something darker passes across his features. Whether it's annoyance, or loathing, or something else, you cannot tell.

"Better now?" Naoya mutters, voice thick with irritation as though you'd personally dragged him through a field of thorns.

"All thanks to you," you reply, sardonic sugar snapping through your teeth. Wiping the corner of your mouth with a lazy swipe of your thumb, smearing away the fruit's crimson stain.

Naoya's grumbling something under his breath about summoning Ten Shadows to whisk him out of this ridiculous wedding feast. Something far more sharp and acerbic follows, but it's not able to cut through your growing haze.

You're about to respond when his hand — warm, and rough, replaces your own. Thumb pressing against your lower lip with a firm, almost possessive and angry drag. Wiping away the sticky remnants of the juice.

Without thinking, or without fully understanding why, you let your tongue dart forward, brushing the pad of his thumb. A slow, deliberate gaze. Teeth follow, with dull pressure, as you pull the digit just a little further into your mouth.

You can feel the shift almost immediately.

Naoya goes still, the barest hitch of breath betraying him before he yanks his head back like you'd scalded him. But not before you catch the faintest tremour in his grip, or the way his sharp eyes darken. His neck flushes, a telltale searing burst of heat creeping up beneath the golden fall of his hair.

"They give you something before the ceremony?" His tone is off, almost accusing, as he's clearing his throat. Glowering at you, as if you're to blame for the crack in his insurmountable arrogance.

You shrug, fingers brushing the rim of your shallow cup. Letting cool water trickle down your suddenly parched throat, "Yeah. Something 'bout relaxing me. Or making things easier." You frown, a little breathless, wondering why heat coils in your chest, and prickles at the nape of your neck, "It didn't do anything at the time though."

Naoya stares at you for a beat too long, his teeth catching his lower lip. Worrying the plush, pink flesh — dragging a thin, cold hand through flaxen hair, rifling pale green roots.

And then, your new husband's scoffing, "Same here. Not that I need help performing there." His gaze is sweeping over you again, slow and deliberate. His eyes trace the curve of your mouth, the swan-slope of your throat. The heat of his amber eyes make your skin prickle, tugging at something just beneath the surface.

"I think you'll make it easy enough."

Your pulse kicks against your ribs. Eyes snapping to him, ignoring the dull throb low in your groin, and how each breath of air seems so much sweeter and heavier, "Make what easy?"

Naoya's expression wavers, just for a second — enough to give you a glimpse of his own faltering composure. As though he's genuinely fearing that you're that clueless, cocking a dark brow with an edge of incredulity.

"You don't think that platform's there for show, do you?" He's knocking his head back towards the dais behind the two of you. The plush, emerald cushions scattered over velvet drapes that pool at the sides. Ornate and so uncomfortably obvious for all those who have eyes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Naoya's metallic eyes glint with triumph, watching the realisation dawn on your features like it's the best entertainment he's had all evening. His lips curling into something that's more of a lion's grin, rather than a smile, "You're not that stupid, are you?"

"I'm not!" You snap, "I just didn't think — I didn't realise, it was going to be...there." You're jabbing a jewel encrusted finger at the platform, not caring which fussy elder sees.

Naoya's grin sharpens, teeth flashing with unrestrained, wolfish amusement. Jerking his chin towards the dias, "Yes. Right there. What'd you think? Some privacy, or maybe, a little mood lighting?

Your scowl hardens like stone, "Well, no. But —"

Your husband sarcastically interrupts you, chopping the air with one hand, "No, no. You're right. Why didn't we think about setting the mood? Lanterns, maybe? Candles, or how about a live string quartet for m'wife just because she said so?"

Your glower deepens, a slow burn crawling beneath your skin. You forgo the water this time, opting instead for the nearest cup of sake. The burn of it sears your throat, a welcome distraction.

"You'd think people would drop this kinda' thing by now," you mutter, swallowing hard as the air seems so much warmer, "It's the 21st century, for god's sake."

Naoya shrugs, the silk of his robes shifting as you can watch a thin drop of perspiration roll into the crook of his neck — you wonder if he's just as affected as you are right now. Wondering who will crack first. "I don't mind watching. Or being watched."

The sake nearly comes back up, "You're obscene."

A soft hum, dark and amused, slips from his throat. Then a finger, his finger, hooks beneath the curve of your jaw. Titling your head towards him with a hardened pressure that feels surprisingly gentle in this hazy state.

"M'wife wants me to take them out instead?" Naoya's voice is a lazy drawl, but there's a dangerous gleam in his amber-shard eyes. Thumb skimming lower, tracing the delicate dip of your collarbone as a shiver prickles down your spine, "Force them all away so I get ya' all to m'self?"

You swallow hard, breath hitching as his hand lingers, "Yeah. Because I'm sure you could take on an entire room of sorcerers. Jus' so we could —"

The corners of Naoya's mouth twitch, his eyes dark with something almost hungry. And jeering, "Just say the word."

Your gaze flickers to the far corner of the room. Gojo Satoru sits there, arms folded across his opulent, oceanic yukata. The head of the Gojo clan looks thoroughly put-out, sandwiched between two elderly women that gossip into his ears. His white hair gleams under the warm lanterns, and you're certain that Six Eyes can catch every word being passed through this room.

"No-one can land a hit on Master Gojo," you murmur, voice slow and syrupy. The heat in your blood feels unnatural, liquid fire curling beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly. Your head is swimming by now, heavy and light all at once.

And there's Naoya's stupid, stupid cologne. Something dark, and wooden. Edged with a sharp spice, clouding your senses and tangling with the sweet, heady ache that builds in your chest. It's all too much, his nail dragging into the tender skin of your neck. Just over your jumping bulse.

The worst part? Your body betraying all rational thoughts, leaning into your husband. To find yourself closer to this man that you do not like. Entitled. Arrogant. The heir to the Zenin clan is fuckin' awful.

"Mhm, perhaps they can all watch then. Stay as I fuck my wife, yeah?" Naoya says, low and quiet. But there's no softness to it, only possession. A claim that crackles at you, sends you hurtling towards no good end.

"You know I don't like you, right?" You breathe, marvelling at how little it would take to close this distance, with nary a care for whose eyes have turned to you now.

A huff of laughter escapes your husband, warm and bitter, "I don't quite like you either." His hands have found the edges of your robes, teasing the silken fabric, and for a moment, Naoya Zenin looks almost thoughtful. Except that priggish smirk never quite leaves his face. His peach-tinged skin flushes darker, and his glassy eyes flicker, "But they wanted a show, right? Wanna' give it to them?"

You don't even wait to consider. Ignoring the protests of the elders, who jump and claim that these things have to be done in all due time, with proper ceremony.

The kiss is fast, furious. Lips crashing into his before the words have fully left his mouth. You taste rich and tangy fruit on his tongue, and it's both maddening, and so sweet, mixing with the sake that's drenched your mouth.

Naoya's faint sound of surprise, the soft grunt as he sinks into the kiss? Hiking a toned arm around your waist to pull you closer as the audience gasps? That's a victory.

You drag your mouth back, letting clingy and cloying strands of slick linger in between your lips. You've been pulled right onto your husband's lap, perched on his emerald, jewel-toned haori. Taking in the sight of Naoya briefly speechless, warm and angrily flushed.

"Not playin' fair," Naoya seethes, "K-know your place, wife."

But you're too far gone now to entertain his bullshit, pawing at the edges of his robes. Swivelling your hips down so you can have some pressure applied where you need it most. Right over there, a thick and solid curve that has the both of you gasping, "M' so, hah, feelin' so faint."

Naoya groans, and curls his fingers over the nape of your neck, forcing you to look down at him from your perched position, "L-listen to me all proper, an' I can fix that."

"Enough!" A sharp voice cuts through the heat between you, splintering like glass shattering on stone. You blink, dazed as dew begins to gather on your lashes, just in time to see a twitching elder standing at the edge of the room, face blotchy red beneath a crown of thinning white hair. He's shaking a bony finger in your direction, pale robes swishing, "Enough of this depravity!"

"There are proper proceedings to this ceremony, to this consummation." His voice is rising, veins straining in his neck as the room is silent, "Not whatever this is!" Waving his hands now, as though his gestures are enough to warrant purification.

You try to muster some level of embarrassment, some shame as the eyes of the room fall on the two of you. But all you feel is a thick ache and thrum of heat still simmering, pulse skipping in your throat. Your lips tingle from where they touched Naoya's, tasting of sake and sugar, and —

Oh. His lips. You glance at your husband, whose mouth is still glossy and swollen from your kiss.

Naoya's barely turned his head towards the outburst. He's already running his hands down your robes, doing his utter best to undo whatever he can. To lave sharp fangs over skin, and leave blooming marks. He's languid, half-lidded, with a wicked spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

He looks thoroughly unbothered, tongue flicking lazily over his lower lip, "Proper proceedings?" Naoya drawls, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk that makes you desperate to catch it, "Isn't a little late for that? Hah, I mean, ya' spiked m'wife and I. How are y'not shocked when she's panting over me like a bitch in heat?"

The elder turns a deeper shade of red, spluttering as he gestures to the raised dais and neatly arranged cushions. You press your lips together to hold back a thin whine. Naoya, having pawed at your ceremonial robes enough, has been sinking teeth over the swell of your breast, making you gasp.

"The platform! The customs and —"

There's a crowd of eyes on you. The elders, the clan heads, the nobles, the sorcerers. All of them, scattered through the room, lingering like ghosts. Some, you think, have left for sanctity. You're not sure when, your mind is still a haze of warmth, and confusion, and lust. Too caught up in the way that Naoya's fingers brush and dig into your waist.

But there are others still here. Stubborn, and not powerful enough to grant themselves leave, and so, they cannot claim the right to exit. You're aware of silent whispers, of the way they lean in and keel over. Faces pinched in curiosity, discomfort, as though you're a prized creature in a zoo that they both hesitate and marvel to look upon.

With no choice but to watch the Zenin heir with his hand on your waist, his new bride of the clan. The future madam that they're now forced to acknowledge.

"N-Naoya," you mumble, tearing your nails into the fine haori. Some desperate hope to expose searing skin to the air, already sweltering in the summer heat, "Can't we jus' -"

Your husbands tuts, pressing a firm finger to your candied lips, "Shh! Gotta' make sure m'silly wife knows how to speak up. So everyone can hear, try again." He sounds almost pained, and you wonder how Naoya Zenin hasn't absolutely lost his mind by now. For you feel as though gauze has been draped over you, casting a veil over your senses.

You hear someone mutter disdainful murmurs, something about a spoiled Zenin brat indulging his good-for-nothin' wife.

You can see the flash of anger, and the promise of blood cross Naoya's face, so you seek to roll your hips against his once more, "Jus' thinkin', y'know," you gasp against his slack jaw, "Why don't we jus' move to the platform? I mean, they wanna see, right?"

Naoya's nodding, sandy hair falling into his eyes, "Hah, yeah. That's right. Wanted a show, and that's what we said we've give, jus' gotta hope you can keep up."

He's sweeping you up, hand tight around your wrist as he pulls you over in a brief stumble, pushing you down over the dais. Over green, plush sheets as he splays you out, "Better like this? Tsk, 'ts for me to decide, not you, wifey. And 'm thinking, I like this view so much more."

You're struck by the sight of Naoya Zenin, and it hits you like a sudden wave. Sharp, and bitter, and so impossible to ignore. It's that feeling again, the way you had stomached the creamy rolls on the platter. The same kind of cloying tang that hits the back of your throat when you swallow too fast. The ginseng, and sweet citrus.

His eyes are still glassy, pupils unfocused, and it's the shimmer of tears clinging to the dark, long lashes framing his eyes that make you pause. Crystalline, fragile. But he's already ahead of you, moving faster than you can think, swatting your hand away with forceful grace, pressing his mouth to the corner of yours.

"You jus' gonna keep lookin' at me?" You murmur, reeling from the searing heat of his mouth. Taking in the sight of mussed golden hair, green roots entirely out of place. The divot of creamy, tanned skin from where his robes have loosened.

Naoya blinks, shaking his head as if he's trying to clear it, "You gotta' tell me where you wan' it first." Lips parting, as if he's suddenly not sure what to say to you, like he's drinking in the sight of you and he can't stop.

He's patting a hand to your chest, cupping the swell in your robes, "I don't know if you wan' me here," and then, he's dragging a hand lower still, hand folded over the thick robes that cover your thighs, "Or, here. Probably got ya' weepin' like a poor, little slut down there."

You scowl back at him, "Watch it, 'm not a slut."

Naoya grins, all wolfish canines, "Wasn't talkin' about ya'. Was talkin' about her." Giving you a loving pat in between your legs, "Thinkin' if I pushed these stupid robes right up, everyone could see you drip right onto my waiting hand."

You gasp, pushing your hands onto his broad chest, groaning as his fingers trail further down. Pulling the silk of your robes up further, so your thigh meets cool air, "Can I request a-anything, then?"

Naoya hums, lips pursing as his brow quirks, mocking even, "Wasn't planning on givin' in to ya' so easily, but just this once. Only 'cause it's our wedding night, don't you think?"

"Wan' your mouth."

You see a flash of something pass over Naoya's face. As though he's warring with himself, some obstinate spirit telling him otherwise, but he shakes his head, almost amused, "Y'know, I should have sent ya' back the minute you pushed me into tha' stupid pool. Shoulda' demanded another one. A wife that isn't so mouthy."

He's chuckling now, splaying your thighs further apart with rough hands, an odd sort of deference painting his fine features, "And now look at what you've got me doin', hey?"

Naoya's tutting at you, shaking his head in faux disappointment when you whine in embarrassment, "This is what you wanted, right? For me to show e-everyone jus' how wet you are. I mean, hah, look at this."

Pinning the thickest part of your silken robes over your abdomen, so your legs were bare, parted so he could slot in-between. Amber eyes almost bewildered as he took in the deep, swollen outline of your glossy cunt underneath flimsy garments, "Sittin' there like this, the entire time?" Naoya whistles low, cold and cutting, "I mean, fuck, ya' can really see everything here."

"Shut u-up," you sputter, hearing your own pulse thrum in your ears, in-between your legs. You barely have a chance to take in syrupy air once more, for Naoya's hand is there, swift and firm, pressing over your mouth. Fingers cool against your skin, it's not harsh. But it's forceful enough to swallow your words, as his eyes light up with that familiar, mocking amusement.

"Careful now, wifey," he's grinning, looking far too pleased, "Ya' don't get to give me orders, 'm gonna be doing you a favour."

Naoya doesn't seem burdened by this, not at all. In fact, if anything, he looks downright pleased, like the sight of your weeping, drizzling cunt before his eyes is a golden opportunity that he intends to savour.

He's got an icy finger sliding over the waistband of your gauzy, flimsy undergarments, toying for a brief second. You can see it in the way his beastly fangs curl into a grin, like he's getting off on the scandal of it all. Of having everyone watch in quiet silence as he suddenly tugs. Hard.

The fabric splits with a squelching hiss, thick and sludgy, as you gasp, feeling the heat throbbing in your pussy swell as the cool air hits where you're most sensitive, "You ass, t-those weren't cheap."

Naoya rolls his eyes, amber disappearing into white, "So?" He's drawling, looking up at you from between your thighs, "What, you think I'm some broke bitch?" He's popping a single, long digit into his mouth. Having swiped a curious hand through your glistening folds, marvelling at the slick, translucent strands that followed him. Tongue flicking over the tip like he's savouring something, "Fuck, you're kinda' sweet. Heh, who woulda' thought?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even give you the chance. Not even a mere second to form the words, for his hand is patting your cheek. Leaving something sticky and cool lingering on flushed, warm skin. Your own arousal glimmering in the lantern light, upon your skin, for all to see.

It's as if Naoya's humouring you, and it's almost affectionate. If not for the edge in his voice that makes you tighten your thighs around his shoulders, "Don't worry y'dumb, little head about it. Y'know, shit — almost lost a drop there, you know, you're the future Madam of this clan now, right? Anything you want, you'll get."

And he's giving you a look now — head tilted just so, almost tame. Like a promise wrapped in docility. Almost. If you didn't know of him more, if you weren't already simmering with tampered fury from your first meeting, earlier in the day, you may have been fooled. Might have fallen for the gentle downturn of his lashes, like ink pooling on creamy skin. The slow, deliberate way he puffs a small breath against your glossy cunt. Doing you a favour, indeed.

His grin is all teeth, unapologetically smug, as though he knows what you're thinking. Knows that he's destined to clash with you, to draw proverbial blood and blades whenever it amuses him, but he's got you right where he wants you now. Under him, and splayed wide.

Your waiting cunt pooling sweet juices over his wandering fingers — the sharp tip of Naoya's nose twitching before ducking and brushing through your glistening folds. A satisfied chuckle when you arch your spine, desperate for more friction.

"Not that patient, are ya'?" But you don't think you'd be wrong in assuming that Naoya can't hold out much longer, for the crack in his voice betrays him. That melodic, charming, insolent tone giving way to a deeper rasp, like granite grinding against the earth.

You don't know what comes over you, carding a hand through golden, soft locks of hair. Digging into pale green roots, "Think your audience is gettin' bored?"

Naoya almost, so very almost, purrs at your nails digging into his scalp. Pushing himself into your trembling cunt, letting his tongue paint a thin, long stripe right through your throbbing pussy. Reaching up right to your swollen clit, briefly flicking over it.

And now, Naoya is not a sentimental man. Fuck that, he's never been one for gushing, and roses and nauseating sweetness. But this may very well be the first time that he's ever understood what it means to be pussydrunk.

For he's shooting amber eyes up, to where your expression has twisted, almost blissful and idyllic compared to the frown that's been marring your face all day. He'd hate to say it, but he's almost content as the sweet moans that fall from your plush lips, over and over.

"T-that's good, hah, Naoya, 'm — s-so good," You're cracking an eye open to see your flaxen-haired husband snickering, enjoying how damn sensitive your puffy folds are to his ministrations. Only the mild, quiet shuffle of the elders harkens you to their presence, them bearing witness to the consummation.

"Yeahhh," Naoya drawls, angling one bare thigh so it sits over his shoulder, where his robes have slipped right off, "Good, huh?"

"S-surprisingly."

He pinches at your clit in retaliation, just lightly enough that it sends a jolting sensation through your quivering form, but not enough to bring sheer relief, "Watch your whoreish mouth, wife. Could jus' leave ya' here, high and dry." And Naoya's scowling, but despite himself, still pushing his pulsing tongue to the very apex of your core. The glossy, winking entrance where he meets little resistance from your waiting, gummy walls, "Could jus' leave ya' here, and have you rub one out yourself in front of everyone, so you can get off on your own."

You should be ashamed, flushed and embarrassed at how he's speaking to you. There's brief fantasies running through your mind, of strapping your husband down and taping his mouth so he can stop running it so crudely, but you file the thought away for now, arching your hips further into him. Dragging your sloppy, leaking cunt over his face — something he surprisingly welcomes.

Naoya, who's leaning deep enough in between your thighs for the golden strands of hair framing his forehead have been dampened by your arousal, a darker, sandy shade. Pouty lips covered in sweet, tangy sheen, and sticky from munching at your glossy folds.

"Bet they're all watching you," Naoya grins, with little warning as he slides a slender finger into your cunt, immediately curling it in search of some spot, "Bet they're wishing it was them in m'place. Tastin' you like this."

You can't help the involuntary clench of your walls at his words, and Naoya's eyes widen, lashes blown long enough to kiss his eyelids, "Mhm, you like that. But hey," your husband's pumping determined fingers in and out of your cunt, rummaging and massaging at sticky walls, "You're my wife now. Mine to fuck, they can't have what o-only a Zenin can have."

"Can y-you —" You're writhing now, legs spread even wider and you frankly don't care at this point who can see the light reflect your dripping cunt, "A bit f-faster, hah." Let them see, right?

Isn't that why they had you all dolled up, squirming in your seat during the feast so they could watch you fall so undone? And fuck, Naoya would probably slit the throat of another man who dared breathe what he saw this night, if not for your honour, but for his own ego.

"F-faster? Greedy, tch' and you said you w-weren't a pretty, little, slut!" Each word is punctuated with his fingers falling in a curved arc through the air, smacking down over your drooling pussy. Sending sloshes of slick spattering over his finger tips and the edges of his robes, "That's it. Jus' keep your hips like that."

"Heh, hope the lot of ya' are paying attention because she's p-pretty close right about now."

You don't even know who he's speaking to, or where his words are directed because it's an endless rotation for you now. Circling your hips over Naoya's nose, with him greedily lapping at your cunt, with a satisfied look in your eye that just screams of him planning to hold this over your head for at least six months.

You're practically soaking Naoya's smug, beautiful face, smearing translucent mirror-sheen over his chin, and he's pistoning clever, cruel fingers in and out of your tight heat. Messily toying with your throbbing clit, pulling at and under the hood until you're heaving for gasps of sweet air.

"B-bet you'd feel tighter around my cock, y'know that?" Naoya grunts, lips curling to suck around your clit, "Was plannin' to take ya' right here, but think 'm a bit greedy now, hah. Show's gonna be over soon for these cunts, but 's only jus' beginning for us, wouldn't you say, wife?"

You're certain that he must have left bruises at your hips now, right over your groin as he drags you impossibly close to himself, as though he's determined this public display will leave no question as to whether the heir to the Zenin clan can pleasure his wife to the point where you're practically trembling, and abandoning your loathing of the man, temporarily. Just to squirm as tears hang from the edges of your lashes, gleaming from the stimulation, "Wait, w-wait, 'm gonna, I think 'm gonna —"

There's a satisfied noise from Naoya, almost like one of relief, though you know he would be loathe to admit just how affected he is by your climax.

There's a shooting, fleeting sensation in your abdomen. Tremours of pleasure practically streaming and gushing out of you, as you see little else but stars and streaks across your vision, "S-so good, Naoya, fuck. Fuck! I think 'm still cumming, hah, oh my god."

You're hardly even aware of the gushing slick that sprays across Naoya's face and how briefly stunned he looks, and so utterly pleased with himself as you ride out your high. You certainly don't miss at how he almost doubles over, as if there's an equally tightening sensation in his groin as well, pleasurable just from the sight you spread bare for him.

The look on his face cuts sharp — triumphant, smug in a way that speaks of retribution. As though he's just scored the first point in a game that's only just begun.

Before you can so much blink, dazed from your orgasm as heat continues to throb between your thighs, Naoya's arm tightens around your waist. A quick, practiced motion that pulls you flush against him. He's grinning like a man who's already won, a faint and cooling flush now painting his features in some blissful afterglow.

But then, he kisses you. Rough, messy, sloppy even. His lips are hot and unrelenting against yours, a press of teeth and frustration that's more greedier than anything he's done so far. "There, that's it. Tastin' yourself, aren't you?" Naoya's murmuring, nipping at your lower lip.

His arms shift, and he's scooping you up effortlessly. Tilting your world for the second time that day. You're cradled sideways in a bridal hold, against the broad frame of his chest, as his fingers are splayed possessively over your still bare hips. The bastard doesn't even break a sweat.

"Put me down," You scowl at him, but the recent climax is still painting your breathy vocal cords, lacking the heat you had hoped for.

Naoya's golden eyes glitter with amusement, "Nah. We're jus' getting started, don't you think?"

You instinctively grip his robes for balance, and you can feel your husband's chest rumble with laughter, rich and infuriating, "I'm starting to think this whole hate game is a charade, or a ruse. You actually like this."

"I'm starting to think you want a concussion."

Naoya makes a faux-move to drop you, to have you pile to the floor in jittery limbs and crumpled silks, as you desperately cling to him tighter, "Mouthy woman. Can't stand that. Don't like you at all."

The elders, a cluster of now pale-faced men who look like they've just swallowed their own tongues, gape in stunned silence. Their eyes dart between you, rumbled and flushed — thoroughly compromised with the slick that still runs down your thighs. And the heir of the Zenin clan, whose lips are still moist, glistening faintly.

Your husband's tossing them a lazy, half-lidded gaze over his shoulder, "Well," he says, dragging the word slowly, "Like I said, show's over." His voice drips with mock reverence, "We're going."

"Where?" One of the elders, bold or perhaps just stupid, dares to croak, voice thin and trembling like dry parchment.

Naoya stops, just for a breath. His gaze pins the man, golden eyes cold and dangerously amused. "Where do ya' think?" Words like a blade, dripped in honey, "Our quarters, 'course."

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't even glance back as he pushes past the screen door with you still cradled against his chest. His momentum sends it rattling against the frame, and the hushed, horrified whispers that follow are clearly music to his ears.

You glance up, your pulse a rapid thrum against your throat as you take in the faces of the nobles you had excused themselves earlier, milling outside. They shuffle uncomfortable, some pretending they have somewhere better to be. Others frozen in a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disdain.

Gojo Satoru is still there too, leaning against a wooden fixture, his jaw tight, as though he's working through something unpleasant. Glowering and grumbling something about leaving Tokyo for this, about the Zenins having no class as usual, and you get the idea that unlike last time, his blindfolded gaze is sweeping anywhere but you.

You bite back a smile.

"But...but the consummation!" The elder follows through the doors, his voice thick with outrage, "How can we be sure — the ceremony, it requires —"

Naoya doesn't even let him finish. You can feel the smirk against your temple, pressing over the shell of your ear, "I did all this," he's splaying your robes aside, "With jus' my mouth. Think I can do even better with my cock. Don't worry," He drawls, "I'll make very sure it's all handled."

"I'm going home," Gojo Satoru loudly announces, to no-one in particular.

[sweetiecutie]

Hi!

I fell in love with ur underbedmonster!simon au!

And I am sure everybody else fell in love with it.

Can we get some more stories with monster simon? If it's no problem, of course :)))

Love your work btw <33

A/n: sure you can, I think that this trope is my new obsession🫣☺️

Warnings: smut, mdni, possessiveness, monsterfucking, tentacle fucking

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4

Underbed monster! Simon who was slightly startled by such sudden change in your aura - once sugary sweet and syrupy turned into bitter and pungent, causing creature to sputter and hiss begrudgingly at the taste, his ears (or whatever that was that he had) straining to hear any words coming from you that could explain this drastic shift in your emotions.

Underbed monster! Simon who listened attentively as you spoke on the phone with your best friend, choking on your own tears and sobs as you told them how you broke up with your now ex boyfriend, about the ugly fight you had, how he called you numerous names, shattering your heart in million pieces just with his cruel words.

Underbed monster! Simon who felt rage simmering somewhere deep within him. How dare that pathetic scumbag treat you like that!? Yes, Ghost did torture you with horrible nightmares quite a few dozens times, but you were his human, his to scare, his to taunt, his to fuck, no one else’s. He felt possessive and angry, he wanted to soothe your poor little heart, to make all the pain go away so you could feed him more and more of that honey-like energy that your pleasure exuded.

Underbed monster! Simon who finally decided to take matters into his own hands after keeping a close eye on you when your state didn’t seem to get any better. Ghost sneaked out some of the sweets from kitchen to your bedroom so you had something to munch on, making you confused as to how those candies seemed to magically appear on your bedside. Simon tried keeping the house tidy and clean for you in hopes that it’ll make you get better soon, he even did your laundry once, causing you to freak out at the sight of your clothes, freshly washed and still damp, hanging off the rope to dry out.

Underbed monster! Simon couldn’t be more happier, watching your attention finally shift from your shithead ex to him. Simon was purposefully lurking right in the corner of your vision, making his presence in the house way more obvious. He watched with fierce amusement as you grabbed the sharpest knife from the kitchen, inspecting every nook and cranny of the house, not finding any signs of intrusion or anything that could’ve given a clue about another person’s presence, scrunching up your pretty eyebrows in confusion.

Underbed monster! Simon who fully revealed himself for the first time in your dream, standing in his full glory in front of small scared you, your breathing quickening in your sleep as you inspected his tall dark form, two red eyes glaring down at you from above. You felt paralysed as you watched this creature raise its smokey limb that slightly resembled human arm, cold tentacle fingers brushing your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear affectionately. And all of the sudden all fear and anxiety vanished, leaving place for curiosity and amazement as you studied monster’s features closer, not feeling threatened nor endangered by him. Slowly its mouth opened - even blacker that the rest of him, his voice clear and lucid, ringing right inside of your head “Wake up”

Your eyes snapped open - you were laying in your bed still, crumpled sheets dug into your back unpleasantly but you couldn’t care less as you stared straight into those crimson orbs, cold tentacles slithering up and down your sides, wrapping tighter around your limbs, immobilising you completely. Underbed monster! Simon just purred audibly at your obedience and lack of resistance, branching a few more extremities to slip under the hem of your pyjama top and wrap around your nipples, tugging and tweaking on them softly.

Underbed monster! Simon who growled satisfactorily at the small wet patch that started forming on your panties, slowly rubbing your sweet pussy while applying more and more pressure to his touch, watching you writhe and whine underneath him, begging for more.

Underbed monster! Simon who purred as he slipped a thick tentacle past the hem of your panties, stuffing your fluttering cunny so full of himself, finally that rich taste of your pleasure simmered right through him, filling his ghastly body with strength and energy he lacked all this time you were depressed. Newfound strength just nagged him into fucking you faster and harder, twisting out your nipples and rubbing your clit rapidly, all while forcing his thick tentacles in and out of your leaking cunt, making you scream and tremble in his inescapable grasp as fourth orgasm rippled through your weakened body, pure pleasure surging through your veins, hogging up your mind and making you incapable of thinking.

Underbed monster! Simon who only let you go when first sun rays peaked in through bedroom’s window, leaving you a fucked-out yet blissful mess, pinching you on your cheek affectionately before slipping under your mattress, curling up like a huge lazy cat and falling asleep, full of your delicious pleasure.

And even hours later as you peeked under your bed you could see a huge black spot there, still and unmoving; and if you listened closely enough you could hear your underbed monster purr softly in its sleep, happy and properly nourished.

That’s quite a pet that you have now, eh?

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, don’t be shy to give writers some love! Requests are open, so send me some stuff<3

[yanderenightmare]

soft boyfriend headcanons with Gojo plez🥺

Gojo Satoru ! Boyfriend Headcanons

TW: tons of fluff ig, Set in a real-life au

fem reader

EARLY STAGES OF THE RELATIONSHIP

He’s not joking when he says it was love at first sight.

But, obviously, you brush him off as a total player.

Not convinced by his confession in the slightest, you reject him multiple times.

Like, come on… that’s the school’s number one pretty boy, known for having a new girl on his arm every other week or so. You have absolutely zero ambition of being one of them.

You laugh at all his silly gestures—dumb pick-up lines at parties, flowers, chocolates, and letters in your locker, flirty passerby compliments to and from in between classes. 

Oh, but then, cue the grandest of all gestures…

The public massive confession with banners, confetti, a lovesong in the background, and him with a megaphone in the middle of campus—professing his undying crush on you—down on both knees while begging you, “Please go out with me!”

You’ve never been more embarrassed in all your life. You feel like running away, but how could you say no in front of so many people?

And that’s how you end up on the first date with him.

He takes you to an amusement park.

You haven’t been in ages. It feels strange to be there on a date, older than any of the other kids you see running around with stressed parents on their heels.

It feels like a prank is being pulled. You’re waiting for the pig’s blood to fall. But halfway through, you somehow end up forgetting all about it.

To your surprise, Gojo actually seems like quite a genuine guy.

Sure, he’s more charm and flirt than deep conversation, but… you don’t know… there’s something really amazing about him too…

He doesn’t do anything inappropriate. 

The farthest he goes is holding your hand when pulling you along to the next rollercoaster. And asks to have a taste of your ice cream. He tells you that you have to name the plushie he won for you, Satoru—then pokes fun at how he tricked you into finally calling him by his first name.

It's funny, but you’d always thought Satoru was a pigheaded jerk, but it turns out he’s actually just a silly boy.

And there’s something really endearing about it.

It scares you at first—how fast and easily you fell in love with him.

You hadn’t wanted to—scared he’d drop you like he’d done all those other girls who came before you.

But then you find out—he hasn’t really dated anyone at all—all rumors made by those obsessed with him.

Sure, he’s been confessed to plenty of times, but he’s not about to jump into a relationship with girls he’s never even seen before.

That would be crazy.

“In all honesty, girls like that kinda scare me…”

You realize your perception of Gojo Satoru couldn’t have been any more wrong.

And you only stand to be corrected again and again the more you get to know him better.

He’s the boy version of “I’m not like other girls”

He doesn’t like meat, he likes sweets—for every meal. It’s concerning. 2 am convenience store runs are a constant occurrence with him. It’s a wonder he’s got the body he has—it’s that boy metabolism.

At parties, he doesn’t drink beer, he’ll drink little syrupy things instead. Oh, and jello shots. If they’re all gone, bet that most of than are in Gojo’s stomach.

But he doesn’t need to be drunk to be clingy and cuddly and needy and not afraid to show it. However, he does get sloppier after drinking—all but draping you with his entire weight, kissing any part of you he can get his lips on.

He confesses his love for you every day, hugs you every time he sees you, then whines about how he’s missed you—even when it’s just been a handful of hours since the last time you saw each other.

When Geto tells the two of you to get a room, Satoru only looks at him sourly and sticks his tongue out—blowing raspberries like a child.

And probably the most surprising…

He loves anime and manga.

Which isn’t really too much of a surprise in and of itself, only… you didn’t realize the extent of his love. In fact, it’s better called an obsession.

He isn't a cool guy at all...

He's a total nerd!

The first time you see his dorm room—it’s a total mess!

Manga literally litters the floor and bed, even the tall bookshelf he has is prop full.

What’s even more surprising is that Shonen Jump isn’t in the majority. No, it’s Shōjo.

He tells you his favorite anime is Ouran High School Host Club and insists you watch it with him. 

He sings the entire intro almost every single time—sometimes even the outro.

He says he identifies with the main character—which he obviously feels is Tamaki.

“You’d make a cute Haruhi, though—we should cosplay for Halloween~”

And he’s not even joking. He’s bought the costumes before you even agree.

Of course, no one understands who the two of you are supposed to be—dressed in the same school uniforms like two twins.

You also discover his harbored hatred for horror manga. Junji Ito gives him nightmares.

Though you managed to get him to read Death Note after pushing it on him for months.

He’s so cute—his only takeaway isn’t about the juxtaposing philosophies or any of the moral dilemmas but how “Suguru is so Light, and I’m definitely L.”

You find he’ll always do that—dib characters, almost always the main one.

It's a habit that reminds you of childhood, but it seems more than instinctual for Satoru. You don’t think he’ll ever grow out of it.

When he tells you he wants to be a teacher, you look at him with moon-big eyes.

He’s never seemed any interested in school—his grades are subpar, if not worse.

He never studies. There are no textbooks or the like on his desk, just more figurines and comics, as well as a dusty gaming station.

But when you take a second to think about it, the more it actually makes sense.

He's strangely great with kids. The girls all squeal over his charm, while the boys all cheer over his coolness.

You tell him he’ll be a great teacher, and he proposes to you on the spot.

SOME TIME INTO THE RELATIONSHIP

Obviously, you didn’t marry him back then. But you did finally accept being his girlfriend.

You live together now. Which is nice—not so different from living with your best friend.

Movie nights with candy and drinks—you’ve managed to sway him over to enjoy whine.

Rearranging things at home on a whim—often ending with a stupid layout—couch in the kitchen, where it will stay for a couple of days before you both find the energy to move it back.

You go shopping together and often end up buying things that don’t at all fit with the rest of the stuff at home—artwork, pillows, silly little decorations you just couldn’t leave the store without.

You share a lot of clothes too—hoodies, shirts, sweaters. Which he just loves.

He’s always gushing over you when you wear something he wore the day before.

He’s an ok cook. He can make the basics—wok, curry, ramen. His onigiri is never anything to post about, but hey, at least he actually cooks!

The clean-up is well… never small.

It doesn’t help that he’s always so sleepy after a proper meal, he just tugs you along to bed without putting the washer on.

Sleeping with you in his arms—all limbs tangled around you.

It’s funny, but you’d think with such a clingy lover-boy like Satoru, he’d come with a side of jealousy, but truly, you’ve never ever once seen that shade on him.

He’s excellent with all your friends and colleagues, even old friends and boyfriends you run into.

Instead of jealousy, he has this air of total ease—a certain smugness in a sense—as if there is nothing to worry about.

It's a trust that he puts in you—a quality that makes him seem so mature even when he often acts anything but.

Being with Satoru is strange. You often forget how old the two of you are. Somehow, he still acts the same way he did when he was in high school.

Taking you on amusement park dates, or to the movies to watch a children's film, or for ice cream in the park like you’re still teenagers.

He did end up becoming a teacher, though. Gojo Sensei.

Sometimes, he makes you call him that in the bedroom.

He teaches at the same high school you went to. He even brought home a girl’s uniform for you to wear.

You told him he was crazy if he thought you’d agree to that, but then… it was his only birthday wish. 

“You’re just as cute as you were back then—I can’t believe you’ve stuck with me all this time—I love you so much—”

Ten years older, and he really hasn’t aged much at all... 

Sometimes, he still cums in his pants after dry-humping.

Surprisingly, he really pulled his act together to teach both physics and gymnastics while sometimes subbing for philosophy.

It’s crazy, but he actually manages to make physics fun for the students. Several of them, even after graduation, still keep in touch.

It almost feels like the two of you already have kids.

But, of course, it’s nothing compared to when you actually see those two blue lines signaling your pregnancy.

You’re alone in the bathroom, rereading the instructions over and over. 

You hadn’t wanted to tell Satoru—he’d only insist on watching you pee and being there for the entirety of it. But now that you know for certain it wasn’t just a hunch, you really wished he was in there with you.

“TORU!” you yell.

You hear the struggle of slippery steps as he rushes, coming bursting inside in seconds. “What!?! What is it?! Are you okay?!?”

You only hold up the pregnancy test you’d kept secret you’d bought.

His eyes are as wide as they’d been when you’d agreed to move in with him.

“We’re pregnant?” he all but cheers.

The smile that erupts on his face is nothing short of ecstatic as he kneels before the toilet you’re sitting on, hands holding your thighs as he buries his face between them, chanting “Oh my god, ohmygod, omigod—” between kisses. “You’re serious? We’re really pregnant?”

When he looks up, he’s crying. “That’s so great—”

You have to cup his face in your hands for him not to fall apart.

And the sight is all so reassuring, you have to laugh through the tears on your own face.

You spent the entire day in bed. Satoru with his cheek against your belly and arms wrapped around you, and you with your hands running through his hair as you both discuss baby names.

Surprisingly, it had come as a complete surprise. Not just being pregnant, but the entire gist of it—having kids. 

Both of you have been so wrapped up in each other for the longest time—the thought of any other party had been completely lost.

On the other hand, you haven’t even gotten married yet.

Satoru doesn’t even have a ring, but he proposes to you then anyway.

And even though it’s so impromptu you have to laugh, you still say yes.

After all, you haven’t been able to imagine your life without Satoru for a long time.

Actually, you can’t even remember ever living a life without him.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[beloveds-embrace]

Noonaaa can I possibly request more angst Dukedome without kiong pretty please? 🙏🏽

You kept this pretty vague for me lovely so i went a little crazy on it 🫶🏻

Dukedom au masterlist

Dukedom angst, no könig

It began during one of the smaller gatherings in the duchy- a midday luncheon in the grand dining hall. Though informal, it was still attended by the many members of the household, key ones, and that obviously included: John, Kyle, Johnny, and several senior servants and as always, a special invitation extended to Simon.

You rarely attended such gatherings anymore, but John’s clipped instructions had left you with no choice and you didn’t want to make him upset at you. So you dressed simply, more out of habit than care, and sat at the far end of the table, an unwanted ghost in the company of the living.

Conversation flowed around you, lively and warm as always, and as always, you were left out. The words blurred together into white noise while you toyed with the edge of your napkin, staring at the untouched plate before you. The cooks had oh-so-kindly prepared yours in advance, and so you knew it was cold and bland even without tasting it.

Then it happened.

A maid- young, recently hired, and eager to impress- stepped forward with a fresh carafe of wine. As she refilled glasses, her gaze darted to you, a spark of something sharp in her eyes. Her lips twisted into a smile that wasn’t kind, and you prepared yourself in advance.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, syrupy sweet. “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t touched your meal. Is it not to your liking?”

The table stilled. All eyes turned to you, and you froze under the weight of their scrutiny. You managed a small, polite shake of your head, your voice barely above a whisper. So softly said, you doubted you’d disturb dandelion puffs even if you tried. “It’s fine.”

But she didn’t stop.

“Perhaps you’re saving your appetite?” she continued, the tone of her voice sharpening. “Though, I suppose it’s not surprising you wouldn’t eat much. After all, you’ve grown so thin… like a shadow. It’s almost hard to tell you’re here at all.”

Her words rang through the room, cutting sharper than any blade. A ripple of unease passed over the table, but no one spoke. Not yet.

“Be quiet.” Kyle muttered, his tone warning and cutting her a sharp glance, but the maid wasn’t finished.

“Apologies, sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly, though the venom in her voice remained dripping off each letter like fresh ink. “It’s just… Her Grace is so very quiet these days. One can’t help but wonder if she’s even meant to be here at all. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable elsewhere? Somewhere she’s actually wanted and needed.”

The last sentence struck like a thunderclap.

Months of this. Months of this. Hours, days, weeks, months spent under this cruel treatment and thinly-veiled resentment.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You rose abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor in a sound so loud it scared even yourself. You could see the maid flinch back, not having expected this. The room felt too small, the air too thick. Your chest heaved as you struggled to contain the emotion clawing its way up your throat, but it was no use.

Your composure shattered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your breath came in gasping, broken sobs that clawed their way out of your aching chest. For a moment, you looked around the table, searching- desperately- for something. A kind word, a gesture of comfort, anything.

But there was nothing.

You turned and fled the room, the sound of your sobs echoing behind you. No more- you couldn’t stand being there anymore. You didn’t care. Couldn’t. What did it matter anymore?

The maid’s cruel words hung heavy in the grand dining hall, a dark echo that left no one untouched. Her sharp tone and pointed barbs had started with smug confidence, but as you had risen and fled, your tears visible to everyone, the air turned cold and she faltered, falling silent.

The silence you left behind was deafening.

No one moved at first. Every pair of eyes shifted between the maid, whose face had paled as the reality of her actions set in, and the now-empty seat at the far end of the table. Even the usually indifferent servants, who kept away from interacting with you in general, shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping to the floor and shame curling in their veins.

It was one thing to quietly resent the Duchess, to mock you among themselves. But this… this was something else. The cruelty had been too deliberate, too naked. And it had broken you, right in front of them all. What could anyone even say?

John had never felt colder in his life. The weight of the maid’s words hit him like a physical blow, but it was your tears- the way you’d crumbled before them all- that haunted him. He sat frozen in his chair, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

When he finally moved, it was with an urgency that surprised even him. He strode toward your chambers, ignoring everyone and everything, his mind racing with half-formed apologies, excuses, something to make you understand that he hadn’t meant for things to come to this. He hadn’t liked you, but that- it was too much. Too far. A line that shouldn’t have been crossed. He had never seen you cry- not openly, not like that- and that image of your broken form looking around for anyone to support you will haunt him.

But when he reached your door, it was already locked and your sobs muffled. He knocked softly at first, then louder, calling your name.

There was no response.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Please, just… let me in. I need to talk to you, please.”

Still, nothing.

He pressed his forehead against the door, guilt clawing at his chest. Stupid, stupid- he should have stopped the maid from the damn start.

In the grand dining hall, Kyle and the head maid dismissed the maid immediately, his voice sharp and cold in a way that made her turn even paler and understand how severe her mistake was. But the satisfaction of snapping at her did nothing to ease the twisting guilt in his stomach. He had allowed this to happen. No, worse- he’d encouraged it.

He wasn’t the only one: the head maid, an older woman, simply stood there, biting her chapped lips as she stared at the door you’d fled through and then Duke Price went to. She didn’t have the time to say anything before Kyle was following, as well.

When he reached your door, John was already there. Kyle stopped a few paces away, unsure if he had the right to intrude, but the memory of your tears spurred him forward.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard it. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. Please, let us talk.”

Silence.

Kyle exhaled slowly, stepping back, his shoulders heavy with shame. He could tell John had received the same answer, as well. Closing his eyes, he made his way back to the other butlers; ordering them to their posts with a sharpness he hadn’t displayed in months. “We’re done with this,” he barked. “No more of this disrespect. Do I make myself clear?”

He also ordered the maids to care for you as they should have all along, making it clear that any further mistreatment would not be tolerated.

But his authority rang hollow in his own ears. He knew it wasn’t enough- not for you.

Though they weren’t the only ones buried in guilt;

Simon had been the first to stiffen when the maid spoke, his eyes narrowing as her words grew sharper. He wanted to interrupt, to stop her, but by the time he opened his mouth, it was too late.

Now, hours after that mess, he stood outside your door with a small tray in hand. On it was a book, the newly released next part to one he knew you liked to read by your lonesome, and a steaming cup of tea. Between the pages, he’d slipped a note that simply read:

You deserved better. I’m sorry.

He hesitated for a long, dragging moment before setting the tray down gently by the door. He didn’t knock.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

In the kitchens, Johnny’s chest burned with shame. He’d always thought himself kinder than this, better than this, but the truth of his inaction was undeniable. He hadn’t stopped the maid. He hadn’t said a single, blessed word. His mother would’ve disowned him if she knew how far he’d gone, how little and much he’d done.

Now, he hovered by your door, a freshly baked loaf of bread and a warm stew in his hands. He shifted his weight awkwardly, his throat tight as he tried to think of what to say. You… didn’t even get to eat.

“Lass- Your Grace?” he began, his voice faltering. “I, uh… I brought ye something. Ye dinnae have to open the door. Just… just eat, aye?”

He set the food down carefully, lingering for a moment before stepping away.

Inside your room, you sat on the floor with your back pressed against the door. The sound of their voices reached you- pleas, apologies, hesitant words- but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

You hugged your knees to your chest, tears streaming down your face as their voices faded into silence. The weight of everything pressed down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

You wished they did not see you now.

(Come morning, the head maid would leave a fresh tray of tea and an apology letter outside your door. The scullery maids ensure your office is spotlessly clean and leave fresh flowers from the garden on your desk. The cooks, spearheaded by Johnny, prepare your favorite dishes and leave them outside your room, warm and carefully covered.

The door to your room remains closed.)

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1k

genre : fluff warnings : nudity(?) it’s not explicitly mentioned

summary : you’re horribly sick and quinn takes care of you

the hum of the apartment heater filled the air, the vancouver rain tapping softly against the windows. the dimly lit living room was cocooned in warmth, but you could barely feel it. wrapped in a blanket, you sat on the couch, your legs curled up beneath you, a faint shiver running through your fevered body.

quinn walked into the room, his brow furrowed with concern. he had just come back from practice, his hair still damp from the post-skate shower, but his focus was entirely on you.

“have you eaten anything today?” he asked, placing a hand gently on your forehead to check your temperature. his touch was cool, a welcome relief from the heat radiating off your skin.

you shook your head weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t think i can keep anything down.”

quinn frowned but didn’t press further. instead, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a glass of cold water with three ice cubes in it. “try to sip on this, at least. you need to stay hydrated.”

you took the glass with trembling hands, but quinn quickly noticed your struggle and held it steady for you. “you’re burning up,” he murmured. “i think it’s time for another dose of medicine.”

you groaned, leaning back against the cushions. “i hate taking that stuff. it tastes awful.”

quinn chuckled softly, kneeling beside the couch so you were eye level. “i know, but it’s either that or i drag you to the doctor—and we both know how much you hate that.”

reluctantly, you nodded, letting him measure out the syrupy liquid into the small cap. he coaxed you into taking it, his gentle encouragement making the unpleasant experience bearable.

“you’re really good at this,” you said, your voice raspier than usual.

“at what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he set the empty medicine cup aside.

“taking care of me. you’re sweet.”

quinn’s cheeks flushed a light pink, but he shrugged it off. “someone’s gotta do it, and I’m not going to let you suffer alone.”

⋆˙⟡

later that evening, as your fever continued to climb, quinn refused to leave your side. he sat next to you on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder as he scrolled absentmindedly through netflix, trying to find something to distract you from your misery.

you felt gross—your skin was sticky with sweat, your hair matted to your forehead. despite quinn’s reassuring presence, you couldn’t shake the discomfort.

“quinny,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

he looked down at you instantly, his brows knitting together. “what’s wrong, angel? are you feeling worse?”

“no, i just… i think i need a bath. i feel disgusting.”

quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding. “alright. let me help you.”

you blinked up at him. “help me?”

“you can barely stand on your own right now,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m not letting you fall over and hit your head or something.”

you wanted to protest, but the truth was, he was right. you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded reluctantly.

quinn ran the bath for you, adjusting the water temperature until it was just right. he grabbed a fluffy towel and set it on the counter, then turned to you, still wrapped in your blanket on the edge of the bathroom counter.

“okay,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “let me know if you need anything while you’re in there.”

but as you struggled to stand and remove the blanket, your legs wobbled beneath you. quinn’s hands were on you in an instant, steadying you.

“alright,” he said firmly. “i’m staying.”

you stared at him, heat flooding your cheeks—not from the fever this time. “quinn, i—”

“i don’t care,” he cut you off gently but with a hint of finality. “you’re sick. i’m not leaving you to handle this on your own.”

the vulnerability of the moment made you hesitate, but quinn’s unwavering gaze reassured you. he helped you undress with a tenderness that made your chest ache. there was nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it—just care and concern as he helped you step into the warm water.

you let out a small sigh of relief as the heat enveloped you, soothing your aching muscles and fevered body. quinn kneeled next to the edge of the tub, his sleeves rolled up as he held a washcloth.

“i can wash your back for you,” he offered, his voice soft.

you smiled weakly. “you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours.

he worked carefully, his hands gentle as he ran the washcloth over your arms and shoulders, avoiding your gaze out of respect. when he moved to wash your back, you couldn’t help but close your eyes, savoring the sensation of his fingers massaging your trapezius.

“you’re spoiling me,” you murmured, your voice sleepy.

“good,” he said simply.

as he finished rinsing the last of the body wash from your body, you opened your eyes, looking up at him. his expression was soft, his eyes filled with an affection that made your heart flutter despite your fever.

“q?” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?”

“you should join me.”

his eyes widened slightly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “i—uh…”

you laughed softly, the sound weak but genuine. “i’m joking. mostly.”

quinn let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re delirious from the fever. that’s the only explanation.”

but there was a warmth in his gaze that told you he wasn’t entirely dismissing the idea.

by the time he helped you out of the bath and wrapped you in the towel, you felt a little more like yourself—exhausted, yes, but comforted by quinn’s presence.

he guided you back to the couch, tucking the blanket around you before settling down beside you.

“thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

“for what?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“for taking care of me. for staying.”

quinn smiled, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment. “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.”

as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on his shoulder once again, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for him—for his patience, his kindness, and the quiet way he showed he cared.

and even through the haze of your fever, you knew one thing for certain: quinn was someone you could always count on.

© amourquinn

[screampied]

GOVERNMENT HOOKER ?! — GOJO & GETO ☆

ᡴꪫ headline. what happens when you’re the popstar too? even better question: what happens when you show up to a show with no panties thanks to your band mates gojo and geto?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, thrēesomes, semi-public themes, unprotected, fucking backstage, praise, dirty talk, geto showing gojo how to touch you, cucking, hair pulling, double penetratıon, size kink, manhandling, nipple play, oral (f & m receiving), gojo gets cancelled (again)

an. ignore alejandro that chapter never happened hahakdlf

popstar!gojo mlist

“um hello. if i wanted to watch you two make out i’d watch corn or something.” gojo pouts, scowl and all. he watches as his other bandmate—geto, the star bassist shove his tongue down your throat. he was so jealous, maybe having intimate relations with your two mates wasn’t the best idea but who cares, right?

“porn not corn,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from geto to stare at the popstar. gojo had the biggest frown on his face, he wanted some too. besides, it was about an hour before the show would actually start and he was bored out of his skull. he couldn’t help but roam his eyes all down your attire, the bedazzled rhinestones that stuck against the fabric, your fishnets, the way they effortlessly stuck against your skin. “what?”

geto leans back with a desirable slouch, tangled knots of his hair falling against his broad shoulders before he hums. “oh, he’s jus’ jealous. he wants to kiss you too, princess,” and geto briefly unstraps his mic that was attached near his chin. “to be fair though, gojo doesn’t know the first step on pleasing women.”

“uh huh, and you do?” gojo glowers, purposely sitting right between the two of you. the both of you dramatically groan, the mood suddenly ruined from the spoiled popstar before he slings an arm around you. “h-hey, pretty.”

and his voice cracks— oops.

you giggle and it only makes gojo’s pout deepen. he mopes and you cup his face with a cheeky grin. “satoru, stop whining. if you wanted to touch me too, you could have just asked,” and with irises as azure as a blue day sky, they dilate. gojo melts from your touch alone, a thumb of yours strokes his left temple and his attention’s suddenly captivated. “do you want a kiss too?”

“y- yes,” he stammers, hearing geto snicker directly next to him. he glares, uttering a, “shut up,” and as his eyes focus back towards you, he subtlety glances at your foxy glossed lips that were cutely pursed. “i wanna kiss you, please..”

it was winsome in a way. out of all the times gojo kissed you, he acts like this was his first time. but in actuality,

he’s always been a bit addicted to you. you sort of came out of nowhere, he’s always been a well known popstar all around the world but with you, he’s had to share his spotlight. not that he ever really minded, gojo would always share if it was with you.

currently—the two of you were touring together, you weren’t as influential to the famed pop genre, but you had a bit of a fanbase yourself. you started about a year ago, gojo was a … secret fanboy of you back when the two of you first met. he heard your voice and knew he had to have you.

have as in, have you as an opener for one of his shows which then turned to many. and now, he’s on his highly anticipated world tour with you. die hard fans immediately wanted to know more about you as you started to make your mark in the industry.

whilst your lips gingerly press against gojo’s, he lets off a sweet harmonic moan.

you taste so sweet, honeyed even.

gojo’s always had a craving for sweet things, you’ve just helped him indulge in it further.

a tongue of his runs against your bottom lip. he sucks on it succinctly, tasting the syrupy flavor of lip gloss that bedaubs over your lips. he deepens the kiss by a mile—gojo brings two hands toward your waist, two thumbs swiftly rubbing against your sides as each tongue rummages through and through. a smile compresses against your lips as you make out with him, sucking on his tongue and he whines for more.

“he’s gonna fall ‘n love at this rate,” geto titters, prying his best friend off. gojo pouts once the kiss devestatingly breaks. a slippery concoction-like string of spit wrests away from each lips as gojo exhales deeply. geto leans in to kiss underneath your neck before speaking in a perky purr. “hm, we’ve maybe got a good… what—” and the bassist glances at the watch that sticks to his wrist. “forty minutes left?”

“hey, don’t hog her,” gojo grumbles, and they’re both practically fighting over you. geto smugly grins, lowering his head towards your thighs to nip more near your cobweb-styled fishnets. you lie back against the sofa as the two both stare at you with such lust piercing into their eyes. “you’re so pretty,” he puffs, a thumb of his stroking against your chin.

“toru, c’mereee,” geto slyly says, ushering him with two moving fingers. gojo gets beside him and they’re both hovering over you. leaning back against the cushioned furniture—you sprawl your legs out a bit, tossing off your high inched stilettos. “feel how wet she is for me— eh, i mean us.”

you were a bit wet, profusely wet after making out with geto previously for so long.

with his hands meandering all down your body in the process, his knee goes between your thighs every few seconds. your laced panties were merely stuck together against your skin—gojo feels himself pant once he notices the little dampened spot near the middle of the cottony fabric. “hurry up though,” you stammer. “kento’s gonna kill us if we show up late for another show.”

kento nanami being gojo’s stern manager,

“i got you, princess,” geto hums, grabbing ahold of your wrist. gojo however was quite eager, desperate to run his fingers near your soaked entrance. “satoru, don’t drool over her now. have some manners.” he teases, showing him how to skim his fingers against your now exposed clit. your panties were now pulled to the side and you gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a few of your incoming moans.

“shut up, s-suguu,” he scoffs, a thumb of his ghosting down your swollen slit. gojo’s already mesmerized, oh, you were sopping wet. it should be a crime to be this drenched. although— he’s a bit timid on what to do next. gojo leans right between your legs, planting a soft kiss near the inner crevice of your legs. “m-mmh.” he coos out, the scent of your arousal immensely pouring into his nostrils. you were so addictive, he barely even had a taste of you and he already wanted more.

“she’s pretty isn’t she,” geto whispers and as you look down, they’re both right between your thighs. greedy, you knew they’d probably share. geto playfully sinks his teeth into your thigh before he trails his face up. he creates a single licking trail against your folds and you moan. gojo watches, the direct spot he licks against was your sweetened clitoral hood. “get her wet, like this,” and his long black lashes close. the warmth of geto’s tongue already makes your back arch. he’s gentle yet precise—he slurps you for a few more moments before a stubby thumb of his prods inside of your pulsating clit. after a few quickened seconds he pulls away, furtively smiling at gojo. “can you do that orrr do i gotta hold your hand?”

“oh fuck you, man. i can eat pussy.” gojo glares, and their banter was always so entertaining to watch.

you giggle, seeing gojo’s annoyed frustration before the bassist gets up to stand. you glance up at him—he’s towering over you, immediately you lick your lips at the sight of his skin tight jeans.

oh, how they perfectly stuck against his skin, quite literally skin tight. he had such a big bulge already poking out, his zipper wouldn’t even zip fully. geto’s fly was proudly open, he hums to himself as he sees your eager hands paw against his pants. with a big hand grabbing onto the crown of your head, he cheeses. “hmm, you want a taste of somethin’ too, huh? need me to train those pretty vocal chords before the show?”

you nod, but his hand snakes its way to cup onto your chin. “words,” he purrs, a thumb peeling down your bottom lip. you moan once you feel gojo starting to lay his tongue flat against your cunt, relishing in your precious flavor. he’s already drooling over you, making you ten times more wet. gojo was gonna order something before performing—but eating you out was cheaper, and far more tasty than his original craving dish. “tell me what that throat wants, pretty.”

as you’re pursing your lips to speak, you moan at the way gojo’s right between your legs, teeth of his playfully gnawing near your thighs whilst he’s buried face full into you. “w- want your cock,” you mewl out with pretty polished eyes. geto’s jeans, the bulge was all pressed against your face— he yanks down his pants only to rub your face against the printed fabric. “suguru, need it.”

“fuck,” he grunts, feeling how you voluntarily roll out your own tongue, flicking it against the edges of his boxers. his bulge, it leaves you with a non-taste in your mouth, your legs start to quaver from gojo’s tongue. the popstar’s eating you out as if he’s haven’t had a good meal in years. he’s cutely moaning into your cunt, feeling the growing strain in beneath his briefs himself. geto delicately grabs a fistful of your hair before he raises a brow. “teeth, pull ‘em off with your teeth. we won’t use our hands today, baby.”

with a pout, you comply—leaning in, the pointed areas of your canines latch onto his underwear. its stretchy. you whine, reaching a hand down to touch yourself but gojo lightly smacks your hand.

“girl, ‘m eating.”

geto giggles, watching the pout on your face only squeeze against your expressions tighter. as you’re peeling his boxers down with your teeth, slowly, his thick cock springs out. it’s so big, and of course—gojo pauses to take a quick look himself. his jaw faintly drops at his best friend’s hefty size, and as he’s staring—geto catches him gawking before he sneers.

“oh, you’re lookin’ like you wanna suck me off too, satoru,” and he hums once he feels your tongue lick against his leaky base. “don’t be ungrateful, popstar. your meal’s right in front of you.”

“s-shut up,” he grumbles, feeling a sudden wave of heat wash against the entirety of his face. gojo goes back to sliding his tongue against your sensitive nub, listening to your sweet whimpers. you’re barely able to hold still. in the background, all that could be heard was the clamorous sounds of chants and screams—the audience, awaiting for their beloved satoru gojo who was currently occupying his own vocals between your thighs. he was never once to complain, the softly padded cartilage part of his nose swipes against your folds and your tummy zealously caves in. he licks you in all the right spots, licks that gradually turn into deep, sloppy sucks. “m-mhm, so sweet.”

“heyy,” geto whispers, craning your head to stare back up at him. as you’re met with the thickness of his shaft standing tall right in front of your face, you lean in to kiss the very tip of his frenulum. he groans, the outer parts of his abs clenching in pleasure. he couldn’t wait to feel the very inside of your throat, the tightness, the sheer warmth. with your tongue exploring everywhere—every specific spot, tracing the outline of his size, you whine.

with plump, spit-glossed lips—you dangle your jaw down a bit, preparing to take him inside. “good girl. no slobbin’ on it, okay? you don’t wanna be a messy girl this time, do ya? not before a big show, yeah?”

you reply with a subtle head nod, your sweet lips happily opening around his ample fat cockhead.

“yeah? you want me to really throat train you, that bad huh. warm up that pretty diaphragm?” geto sighs, his darkened arch brows lowering once you start to slowly sink your throat down onto his excited length. geto’s barely a few inches in and you feel a sudden pulse race down his dick.

so cute, geto keeps his eyes on you the entire time—occasionally, his eyes detour from you to gojo. he was already lost in your pussy as if it was a maze he’d never escape from. gojo’s all underneath you as you sit over him on all fours. his tongue had already located everywhere—his tongue making its metaphorical mark in every secluded area inside of your wet folds.

you were melting, muffled moans started to spew out of your mouth from gojo’s tongue and the sudden bitter taste of geto’s pre-cum.

sweet, yet bitter..

three perfect words to describe geto’s taste— it lives on your tongue for a long time before you start to lower your mouth down on him. it’s a tight fit at first, you can already feel a few sloppy remnants of your own saliva trickle down the sides of your lips. “ah,” you gasp out, grazing the tip of your tongue over the fat crown of his dick. a taste you wanted to always savor. you moan, feeling geto sneak a hand down to pry a bit more between your already openly exposed legs. he’s almost all the way down your throat before you start to suck him off. he’s so thick that you merely gag from the first few thwacks his tip makes against the roof of your mouth.

“wider for me. lay out that tongue, yeah,” and a thumb of his traces against the curvature of your lips. you can’t help the drool that’s starting to trickle down near the very corners of your mouth. you whine, feeling that pang of a throb welt within your folds from gojo’s slurping. he was in fact, a messy eater. he couldn’t help it, especially with how sugary you taste for him, the more his tongue traverses throughout every part of your walls, the more he craves for more. he yearns for more of your taste. gojo prods two fingers against your slit before running them down, whining himself from his poking boner that’s grinding against the sofa. geto pulls his dick out to smear his dripping tip onto your lips—only to then shove it back in. you breathe through your nose before you start to suck again. timelessly, geto’s hitting against the back of your throat with ease.

gojo’s tongue already has you feeling a sense of numbness in your toes, wiggling it was little to no use. you eagerly wanted to touch yourself but each time you’d even attempt, he grabs your wrist so you won’t distract him from his meal.

gojo was dead set on making you make a mess on his tongue. “m-mph,” you’d gasp out in a muffled manner, geto’s firm grip on your hair makes your eyes merely roll into its backing depths of your cranium.

the bassist gives you a sweet head pat, shoving you all the way in before pulling you out, your nose tickles against the curled black pubic hairs that glue against his skin and he grunts. the perfect throat for a singer. after this, he was sure you’d be hitting high soprano notes like his loser best friend of a popstar in no time.

in which you were though, as you’re still perfectly on all fours with your mouth occupied and gojo directly propped underneath you, eating out your cunt like a starved man. you gasp, a sudden feeling of agitation leaking into your arousal.

it was approaching,

with the abrupt twitch of geto’s brows, he was coming the same time you were. “s-shittt,” he swallows, the ball stuffed in his throat, known as the adam’s apple. it occasionally shifts inside of his neck continues to move as he lets off guttural moans. with the way your tongue teasingly glides across his sensitive slit, he’s steadily preparing to shoot such a whopping load down your throat. “good girl, gonna make me cum, gonna make me c-cum with that pretty tight throat, yeah.”

geto’s low voice judders a bit, he’s that close that he almost starts to spasm.

with a concise bite on his lip, stopping himself from drawing blood—he leers down at you, a thumb of his stroking your lip. you were a mess, amounts of your own drool seeping down the corners of your lips before he wipes it away. “c’monnn, cum with me pretty, make a mess on that loser’s tongue for me.”

“fuck you s-suguru.” gojo grumbles, the rapid tempo of his tongue having you start to feel all kinds of pleasurable feelings. your legs had already gave out. two hands of gojo’s grip against your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before you clench against his mouth. whilst gojo’s goading at you with his tongue, again—geto’s cock reaches all the way to the roof of your throat. your tongue dances against the prodding veins that coats his dick once more before within seconds, he shoots out.

he’s still got a hand cupped over your head. the leather of his glove on his right hand tugs against the hairs of your scalp as he’s emptying a gooey volume down your tongue. “ugh, ‘s it. so much i’ve been savin’ so much for you,” he pants, lengthy strands of his hair continuing to block his view of vision in his face. as geto’s abs tenses, the minute you taste the viscous spurts of his bitterly sweet cum, it slowly starts to drizzle in your mouth.

it pours down your throat like the niagara— not even seconds later and you finish also, body twitching and overcoming with the hypnotic feelings of ectacsy and fucking salaciously lewd nirvana,

as you rut your hips against gojo’s face a few more times, he grips your hips whilst you come undone. he groans, the tent in his pants practically poking through his designer ‘toru briefs that costs well over four hundred dollars. but leave it to the popstar to spend his money on pretty boxers, blue too, his favorite color.

geto inhales a single breath, nostrils flaring all up before he wraps a hand around his length—finally pulling it out of your mouth.

he had a sheepish grin while he stares at you being laid back against the couch, slouching, and that’s when he huffs, a thumb poking your cheek to open it. “l-let’s see that tongue,” and he rubs his swollen tip against the edges of your tremoring lips. you swallowed, lolling out your pink, needy tongue and gojo sits up to see also. he couldn’t help but feel a tang of jealously, he wanted your attention. “mhm, good girl. nice ‘n clean, swallowed it all ‘n didn’t waste a drop,” and his eyes peer towards gojo who had a cute scowl on his lips. ah, he was already starting to feel left out. “satoru, kiss her.”

“uh? don’t tell me what to do, i was gonna do that anyway,” he pouts, his pretty eyes rolling back.

such sass, geto snickers at him before he kneels down to bring you up close to him. gojo cups your face, inching his wet lips toward you before he presses his own against yours. you moan, feeling the popstar’s hands wander through your dazzled blouse. with the taste of yourself still residing on his tongue, you grow addicted immediately.

a hand of his ghosts around the back of your neck, pulling you close and another hand of his ghosts between your spread open thighs. “grind against me, y-yeah, fuck,” he whines, feeling you already rub against his body. gojo’s a sloppy kisser too. the moment his tongue delves into yours, tangling with your own, he starts to feel volumes of his saliva dribble out from his mouth.

messy, a perfect way to describe the popstar. he’s had plenty of action throughout his life— it usually comes with the fame, but he’s never felt like this with someone like you.

sure, this was probably all counts of unprofessionalism but he didn’t care. you didn’t care either. geto, well … he was just geto.

“princess, keep grindin’ against him like that ‘n you’re gonna make him cum through his sweats,” geto chortles, pulling you off of him to press his own lips against you. gojo grumbles, watching his two band mates make out — oh, it was just something about your taste that made them both so drawn to you. they were driven to your lips, to your taste, to you in general. like moths to a flame. geto’s kisses were more passionate and sincere, he wraps a hand around your neck gently, a thumb caressing the passageway of your throat whilst he starts to suck against your tongue. with lips crashing amongst each other, he parts your legs open just a bit more before he departs away. “can never get enough,” and he hums to his best friend with a wry grin. “satoru, aw. what? are ya mad at me?”

“i was kissing her, man.”

“more like swallowing her face whole, come on baby-”

as they continue to bicker right in front of you, gojo leans back against the couch and geto props up directly behind you. he yanks down his sweats from last minute rehearsal and you hover over him in preparation to straddle him.

“satoru, you’re pouting.” you point out, cupping his face. indeed he was, cute pink bottom lip sticking out and he’s about to melt at how hot you look on top of him.

“it’s because he’s gonna live up to his other stage name as a two pump champ.” geto yawns,

gojo glares, desperately wishing to wipe that sly smirk off of geto’s face. then again he wasn’t exactly lying. the popstar’s known for a lot of things but most importantly—he was known for being the two pump champ, how he could barely last a few solid minutes inside of a girl before he completely spazzes out, finishing prematurely.

that only happened sometimes,

according to gojo.

“i’ll fuck you,” gojo bleats.

“what?” geto smirks.

“i said fuck you.” gojo corrects himself, barely even comprehended what he said the first time.

“yeah? maybe later.”

“stop flirting,” you roll your eyes, lifting yourself a bit on top of gojo. feeling geto’s hands suddenly cling onto your waist, you let out a soft murmur. “can i take you both?”

in a hoarse whisper, geto sneaks a few kisses against your collarbone. “are you asking, princess?” and his touch alone sends you a plethora of shivers everywhere. you lean back against his chest, still straddling gojo before biting your lip—replying with a subtle nod. “ah, ‘toru she wants to take us both. got enough energy for that?”

he shoots him daggers and the bassist only grins.

“f-fuck, jus’ . . hurry up. ‘m fuckin’ hard,” he swallows, his own fingertips brushing against the very curvature of your rocking hips.

white strands of his hair practically binding against his forehead. he’s undoubtedly hard, feeling his breathing slow down a bit as he looks down. your wet cunt was all swollen and preparing to be destroyed by them both. you weren’t even sure if you could take them both at the same time time—but where there’s a will, there’s a way,

you were far too pent up to even think about tonight’s show. your throbbing only increases before you get a hold of gojo’s length. he’s more thin with a lot of inches while geto’s more thick and bulky. just picturing the mere image of them both stuffing you full has your panties in a twist. speaking of panties— they were still leisurely pulled to the side of you, not bothering to take them off fully.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” gojo mewls out, his voice sounds more like a whine than anything. it was a contest between the both of you though — who was the most louder. gojo satoru or your pussy, he couldn’t help it. his whines only continue to ring across the small, claustrophobic room the further you take them both. “that’s it, yeah. jus’ keep those pretty eyes down h-here.”

a shaky breath cuts out from gojo’s lips as you feel him start to gradually sink inside of your cunt.

you moan almost immediately, holding onto his thighs whilst geto’s right behind you, following the same. you’re straddling gojo and taking him from the front and also taking geto from behind. the entirety of your pussy was lukewarm, it makes gojo already start to spasm—a familiar candied texture lingers in his mouth, his saliva that trickles inside before he can eventually swallows. you’re so tight at first, the grip you have against them both does wonders..

if it was anything though, gojo would take pussy over publicity any day.

you felt way too good. it doesn’t take them long before they both start to bottom out inside of you. geto nips a few kisses near the outer areas of your collarbone—he could never get enough of your taste, both of them couldn’t.

you were sweet like candy, gojo always did have a sweet tooth after all. as they’re both easing their ways inside of your slick entrances, you slump back against geto’s chest. “fuck, ‘s right. nice ‘n slow baby. takin’ us both so well.”

the stretch was purely appetizing—your cunt instinctively squeezes down against them, clamping.

as you start to jerk your hips forward with them being all the way in, you feel geto’s hands slither its way inside of your dazzled blouse. near the very skirts of the fabric, he fondles against your neglected breasts, giving them a nice firm grab. the tips of his soft padded thumbs strum against your nipples and you whine. “f-fuck,” you moan out, your hips rutting against them both in harmony—in perfect sync. even the sofa’s producing a tune of its own with the constant repetitive creaking. with geto’s hands still roaming against your body, it trails down to your chest and near your tummy. he cunningly grins once he feels the written lines of his signature displayed on your body. his signature—earlier, you’d ask him to write his name on you and he was more than happy to oblige. the musk of the strong scented sharpie wafts through the air, his fingers slew against the neatly written words that spelled out ‘suguru’s favorite’ in bold.

as you’re riding gojo, he takes a peek himself at your exposed abdomen and he grunts under his breath. “fucker.”

“someone mad?” geto fake pouts, poking fun at his best friend and that only gifts him a glare.

you continue to grind your hips against them, feeling gojo’s touch gently caress the lower parts of your body. the blaring roaring chants outside of the room near the arena only gets louder. like most of his shows, it was pretty packed. gojo’s always getting sold out shows of around thousands of people just to see him perform live.

but oh, did his precious little fangirls hate your guts.

they didn’t just hate you, they loathed you.

they loathed how you just randomly came into the picture, how you came out of nowhere and started opening up shows for him. everyone always wanted in on the scoop though. who were you and just why was gojo so obsessed?

where there’s gojo’s intimidating length—there’s geto’s deliciously fat girth. you couldn’t pick out just who was stuffing you deeper, you felt everything all at once. you’re unwaveringly moving your hips against them both and your cunt’s squelching out such pleasurable symphonies. “ugh,” gojo groans, dragging your hips back and forth against him with his hands. you’re so pretty like this, the view he’s got of you just riding him makes his dick twitch inside of you. you’ve never felt so full, with both guys already bottomed out—you almost struggle to barrel in both lengths at first. “k-keep ridin’ me like this ‘n i’m gonna cummm.”

you’re working your hips against them both—geto still has his hands attached to your chest, gently seeping his teeth into the juncture of your neck. his tongue was so warm, he flicks his moving muscle against the piercing marks he’s left you on your collarbone.

so sweet..

with each hole, it’s both getting its fair share of fullness and every flavorsome inch you’re taking your mouth watering. it salivates quickly and not before long—you feel yourself convulsing from each of them. you feel a palpitating pang surge underneath your thighs as you bounce against them both. the couch suddenly shrieks in unexpected dismay at the piles of weight slamming against the furniture each second.

“relax, easy easy,” geto purrs against you, licking near the outer shell of your ear. you moan, his hands starting to feel elsewhere before he rubs a few circles against your folds. you gasp, your body jolting in response. the stimulation was almost too much to bare—too good, combining both shafts, you felt the fullest one could ever be.

within seconds, they’re both buried to the hilt.

you pierce your teeth into your bottom lip before you start to rock. gojo stares at your body—the cute halfway pulled up blouse that was shimmering in the light. once all pretty and neat, now wrinkled and practically ripped to shreds all thanks to the tight grips of the two stars. gojo loudly whines, a hand of his sticking to your hips like velcro before he starts to yoke your hips further into him. “goddamn, s-so warm, jus’ askin’ to be stretched by us both, fuck ‘m not gonna last.”

“like i said, two pump champ.” geto whispers, broad hands of his own clinging to your backside.

his best friend gives him nothing more but a glower again as you’re taking both of them from each hole. the stretch lasts for a good while, your gummy textured walls squeezes against them before you feel a sudden coil burst. so good, the way your hips roll and throw back against them was so hot. the recoil—geto’s personal favorite part. he loves to give your ass spanks as you continue to jerk and jostle against them both. bodies on bodies on bodies—gojo grunts lowly as he brings a hand to play with your ignored tits. a thumb of his grazes against your unclamped bra that was just barely shielding your soft plump mounds.

“f-fuck,” you moan, rocking your hips repeatedly, the chants from the area only grows louder until it’s a deafening roar. time was merely up but you could care less. the hot warmth of geto’s breath brushes against your skin as he slides his tongue against your neck. he loved to dig his pearly whites into the depths of your skin, giving you a playful nibble. he does all that only to kiss against the new marks that print into your skin. he wants more of you. “s-stretchin’ me out s’good.”

as you’re being mushed with them both — your breaths start to become more heavy and irregular.

wet, your cunt sloshes and sloshes from each movement and it’s so lewd. you’re jerking back and forth until the sofa’s squeaking out pretty melodic moans of itself. you’re sopping wet, you reach down to touch yourself and geto grabs your wrist. “nuh uh,” he coos against your ear. “this pussy’s for my hands only, baby.”

“and mine..” gojo pouts.

“yeah, no,” geto chimes, hearing your cute grumble before he touches your swollen cunt for you. “mmm, such a wet girl. can’t believe you were really gonna perform with a pussy this soaked. my my.”

gojo’s losing it underneath you—his face flushes before he’s dragging you quicker and quicker against him. sharp exhales leave from his lips and it’s not before long that you and him were both getting close—geto shortly following too. it only takes about a good few minutes before that familiar pool stirs into the deep abyss of your obscene heat. you felt a good parcel of nerves trigger all over you’re body and you can’t stay still. with your mouth hanging open, geto’s continuing to rub circles against your throbbing clit.

“c-cum, ‘m gonna cum,” you whimper pathetically, feeling the honed edge of his hips strike into you at a more hasty tempo. geto can’t keep his hands off you, they both can’t keep their hands off of you.

the minute you feel the fat head of gojo’s dick broach against that particular spot. you’re seeing all types of unnamed stars in your blurred vision.

it’s here, you’re long awaited orgasm—almost, it’s at the very tip of your tongue again, the very edge.

with the way your pussy’s responding to them both, you’re dripping like a spigot — not even caring that you’re coating each of their dicks with your saturated juices. “make a mess baby,” geto whispers, a hand wrapping around your throat as your ass pressed up against him. “cum on our dicks, yeah. ride satoru ‘till he fuckin’ whines.”

the pace only quickens—gojo lies back with his head already thrown back in defeat. “i’m gonna fuckin’ die,” he whimpers, his pulsing dick at its very peak. it feels so good for him that it almost hurts. gojo spanks your ass a few times for encouragement, feeling the tightness of his jaw clench down before he feels you wring around his crazed shaft. “h-hah, that would make a good track title. ‘m gonna fuckin’ dieeee.”

“s-shut up.” you moan, slinging your arms around the popstar. one glance at him and he’s already pussy drunk.

rightfully, you lean in to kiss him as you finally cum. as expected his tongue parts inside of you sloppily, masses of his famous saliva cascades down the sides. he was nothing but a mess for you. as you’re slowing your hips down, both of them approach their own individual releases. gojo’s hands run everywhere on your body, you shudder from his touch whilst you feel geto’s hips piston itself forward. your toes grow limp as you’re finally becoming undone—gojo follows as they’re both driving the thickness of their cocks into your slick, needy entrances.

as your legs lie flat, the both of them end up finishing at the same time. it’s so much, you’re feeling yourself get dumped and it’s already starting to overflow. gojo’s filling you from the front and geto’s taking care of you from behind. “easy, rock against him like that, yeah,” he hushes you, easing his thumbs against your hips in tiny little circles to calm you down. it’s trickling into you in such a slow way, gooey velvety portions of cum oozing its way into your pussy. it’s loud too, squelch after squelch reverberating throughout the entire room that it develops its own vibrato..

“touch her, ‘toru,” geto continues, latching his tongue against the miniature bite marks that press near your neck. the popstar was worn out despite it being just a few minutes. with heaving pants departing from his lips, he brings his hands to feel against your waist, your breasts, and back down between your legs. “she did so good for us,” and he kissed the top of your head, speaking in a rasp. “gonna perform with all this this cum stuffed inside, baby?”

“y- yeah,” you whine, feeling geto abruptly pull out to where you’re just bestriding gojo now. you take a quick glance down and your panties weren’t there anymore. you sigh, you really liked those. back to gojo—his dick that was still twitching inside of you grows flaccid and he whimpers at the faint jittery motion of your hips. “fuck, we don’t have to perform. can’t satoru just cancel the show?”

“and get dragged on twitter? heh, girl no..” gojo swipes a hand across his forehead as he’s still spilling such amounts inside of you. it’s a mess, the once flashy white sofa was all ruined with nothing but a salacious mixture of soaked liquids.

speaking of though,

as gojo’s catching his final breaths with you still hovering over him, he pulls out his phone. his sheepish smile turns into a look of horror once he opens tmz. skimming his eyes against the blue-lit screen, his lip tremors as he reads the bold red and black text. “famous popstar satoru gojo, bassist suguru geto and new opening singer heard screwing … backstage?”

geto deadpans and you furrow your eyebrows, getting off of him. “how?”

“idiot still has his fuckin’ mic on.”

gojo’s eyes widen as he stares in his peripherals at his mic. not again, and indeed it was very much on and operated. you could hear the echo grow louder from the arena just a few feet down now that it was against his lips. then it hits you, the ongoing chants from outside weren’t happening anymore. now, it was just pure booing. he uses two fingers to bring his mic up to the side of his mouth before switching it to autotune. “oops. no refunds….?”

[oncasette]

𝗙𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬

zayne li x fem!reader

summary: 1k

“I’ll never tire of this,” he whispers once he’s helped you into your shorts and lured you into the bathroom. He undoes the bobs and pins of your hair as you wipe off your makeup, dropping each piece into the dish beside the sink as he goes. His body seems to cradle yours once he finishes, wrapping fully around your frame as you finish your albeit abridged night routine. You’re far too tired to go through with the brunt of it.

or the one where zayne helps you get un-ready from the day.

masterlist

The walk up to Zayne’s apartment is familiar, a trip you take more out of muscle memory than any conscious thought. Even at the late hour, you’re mulling through a million other thoughts as you round the corner and rummage through your purse for your key. You’re as quiet as you can be, slipping it into the lock and gently pressing the door open, not knowing if your boyfriend was asleep already or not. You hope he is. If only for the fact that he’d worked a late shift and you knew he was stuck with an early one the following morning.

“You’re home late,” his voice sounds from the dining table. You don’t bother slipping off your heels, then, dropping whatever’s in your hands on the small table beside the door and walking towards the voice. Even if you’d wished he’d been all snuggled up in bed, already, you can’t help the warmth that surges through you at the thought of him waiting up for you.

“And you’re still awake,” you hum as you walk up behind Zayne. Your hands find his shoulders and run flat palms along the cotton fabric of his shirt. He’s busy typing away one some medical report, something you might have asked about if the thought of sleep wasn’t already wearing away at your eyelids.

“How was Rafayel’s exhibit?” he asks, taking one hand off of the laptop’s keyboard to rest over yours. He grabs both hands with just one of his and links them at the center of his collarbones. His lips find your wrist. 

“Artsy,” you say. He nips at your wrist. You hiss slightly, scoffing. “It was nice. We got dinner after.”

He nods, tapping your hands once before he lets go to finish typing up his document. It’s a few more seconds of clacking before he’s closing the computer altogether and shifting in his chair to face you.

“I assume that’s why you’re home so late,” he says. The clock on the wall reads just after midnight. His hand finds yours again, thumb swiping soothingly over the back of it.

“Yeah. Raf insisted,” you say just as a yawn creeps up your throat. 

“You could have said no,” he chirps, smiling softly up at you as he kisses your wrist again. You cock your head to the side, eyeing him knowingly.

“You know how he is.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Zayne is syrupy, sweet, crinkling the edges of his eyes. He didn’t laugh like this when he wasn’t at least a little tired.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I assume now’s when we should put you to bed then, hm?”

You nod as you step back enough to allow him to stand. He takes both of your hands in his, using this time to take in the gown you’d chosen to wear to the exhibit. You’d sent him a picture earlier to ask for his opinion, but you guess it’s not the same as seeing it in person. He nods once before pulling you into your first proper kiss of the evening. “Rafayel was lucky to be at your side tonight. You look beautiful.”

“He was also forced to listen to my many many heel complaints,” you mumble against his lips, chasing his mouth for one more quick taste. He must have made some tea earlier. Peppermint, you think.

“I’m sure,” he says as he leads you the short distance to his room. Despite not officially living here, you’d made more than a bit of an impression on his apartment. Especially the bedroom. The nightstand beside what you’d claimed as your side of the bed was full of clutter that wouldn’t have come from Zayne. Your phone charger, your planner, the panda mug you’d used that morning for your coffee. Even still, the sheets had been your decision. A creamy pastel blue with snowflake detailing across it. 

Zayne sat you at the foot of the bed before he knelt down to be level with your heels. He took his time undoing the buckles of the right one, thumbing the edges as he went and placing barely-there pecks along your knees. Then, when he’d finished with the first and placed it neatly beside the edge of the bed, he moved onto your left heel. He moved with a sense of grace that only came with familiar touches. 

“I’m sorry I came in so late. I would have rushed dinner a bit more if I had known you were waiting up for me,” you whisper as he stands, your aching soles hitting the plush carpet. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he hums. Another quick kiss finds your lips. “I wanted to wait, and I had a report to finish, anyway.”

“Still…”

You watch him shake his head as he leaves you to rummage through the drawer filled with your pajamas. Well, mostly your pajamas. It’s partially filled with shirts you’d stolen from him over the course of your relationship. He comes back with a shirt he’d owned since university and a pair of fuzzy sleep shorts. Gingerly, he takes your hands in his again to help you stand before turning you around to unzip your dress. The trail his fingers make down your spine coats your skin a layer of goosebumps, but you’re quickly reprieved when he slips the shirt over your head. You help a bit with your stockings, but he’s ultimately the one dragging them down to the floor and out from under you to toss in his laundry hamper. 

“I’ll never tire of this,” he whispers once he’s helped you into your shorts and lured you into the bathroom. He undoes the bobs and pins of your hair as you wipe off your makeup, dropping each piece into the dish beside the sink as he goes. His body seems to cradle yours once he finishes, wrapping fully around your frame as you finish your albeit abridged night routine. You’re far too tired to go through with the brunt of it. 

“Neither will I,” you reply. You let him lead you to the bed, let him pull back the covers and drag you beneath them and into his side. You want this to be your life for however long you’ve got left to live it. Maybe not here in his apartment, or even in your own, but at his side.