Zeus

“That supposed to scare me?” He rasped, smirking even with metal digging into his skin. You dragged the warm barrel slowly down his body: over his collarbone, across his blood-stained chest, down the hard ridges of his abs until it rested against the growing bulge in his pants.

“You’ve been a real fucking brat lately, Toji,” You growled. “Running your mouth, disobeying orders, acting like I won’t put you in your place. By the time I’m done, you’re gonna be crying for me to go easy on you.”

You stepped back just enough to free your cock which to the surprise of neither of you was already hard from the adrenaline and the sight of him like this defiant, and entirely too smug.

“On your knees.”

Toji scoffed, but dropped anyway, knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. The second your cock pushed past his lips he took you in deep, eyes locked on yours the entire time. That infuriating smirk was still there, even with his mouth stretched around your thick length.

You groaned at the wet heat, then spun the revolver’s cylinder with a loud click-click-click. You pressed the cold muzzle firmly to his forehead between lazy thrusts into his throat.

“Keep looking at me like that and I might just test my luck,” You warned, fucking his face harder. “You feel that? One pull and your brains paint the wall while my cock’s still down your throat.”

Toji moaned around you, your sick threat clearly turning him on, the vibration shooting straight to your balls. He didn’t look away though if anything, the challenge in his eyes sharpened as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder as if daring you.

You gripped his messy hair tighter and fucked harder into his throat. “Brat,” You hissed, voice rough with arousal. “We’re just getting started.”

You fucked his throat with punishing strokes, the revolver’s muzzle never leaving his forehead. Every time you bottomed out, his nose pressed against your pelvis and his throat convulsed around you. Toji’s eyes watered but he refused to break eye contact, that cocky glint still burning even as spit dripped down his chin.

You spun the cylinder again and laughed low.

“Still smirking? Even with my cock down your throat and a gun to your head?” You pulled out abruptly, strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to your cock. Before he could catch his breath, you pressed the warm barrel of the revolver between his lips, forcing it into his mouth.

“Suck.”

Toji obeyed with a muffled groan, hollowing his cheeks around the steel while staring straight up at you. The sight of the dangerous assassin sucking on your gun like a cock made heat flare in your gut. You rocked the barrel slowly in and out of his mouth, letting him taste the metal while you stroked yourself right in front of his face.

After a few moments you pulled the gun free with a wet pop and immediately shoved your cock back down his throat in one smooth thrust.

“Greedy fucking brat,” You growled and hauled him up. You dropped onto the old couch and dragged Toji between your legs. “Hands on my thighs. Don’t move them.”

Toji smirked, lips shiny. “You really think I need-”

You clicked the safety off and pressed the muzzle under his jaw again, tilting his head up. “I said don’t move.”

He stayed quiet after that, but his eyes still held annoyance. You grabbed the bottle of lube from the table top and poured a generous amount onto your fingers. Without warning, you reached behind him and pushed two thick fingers straight into his hole. Toji grunted, his back tensing, but he kept his hands on your thighs like ordered.

“Fuck…” He hissed through gritted teeth.

You scissored him open roughly, curling your fingers deep while the revolver stayed pressed under his jaw. His cock twitched hard against his stomach as you worked him.

“Thought you didn’t need prep, big guy?” You mocked, adding a third finger and stretching him wider. The wet, filthy sounds of lube and his greedy hole filled the room. “Yet you already look like you are about to die from 3 fingers"

Toji’s breath hitched. He tried to rock back onto your hand, but you clicked the safety again deliberately making him freeze.

You kept finger-fucking him mercilessly, brushing his prostate with every thrust until his thighs started shaking and low, broken groans slipped out despite his efforts to stay quiet.

By the time you added a fourth finger, Toji’s head had fallen forward against your shoulder, panting hotly against your neck. His hole was slick, stretched, and fluttering greedily around your fingers.

“Enough,” You said, pulling your fingers out. “Get up here and ride me. Slowly though.”

Toji straddled your lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of your hips. His usual smirk was still there, but it was shaky now, his breathing ragged.

He lowered himself onto your cock, inch by inch, until his ass was flush against your thighs. A deep guttural groan tore from his chest at the full stretch.

The second he tried to slam down harder and take control, you pressed the revolver firmly against his temple.

“Slow!” You warned, voice dark. “You don’t get to fuck yourself until I say so. Understand?”

Toji’s jaw clenched, but he obeyed rolling his hips in slow, deep circles, taking every inch of you while the gun stayed glued to his head.

You let him ride you like that for a while, watching the assassin tremble and fight to keep his sanity while you controlled the pace with the threat of the gun.

Every time he tried to speed up, you clicked the safety and forced him to stop, making him whimper around the barrel when you eventually shoved it between his lips again.

By the time you finally gripped his hips and started thrusting up hard into his perfectly prepped hole, Toji was drooling messily around the gun, eyes glassy, pride crumbling fast.

“Fuck- please…” he mumbled desperately around the steel, voice completely wrecked. “Let me cum… I’ll be good- I swear”

“That’s more like it.”

You gripped Toji’s hips with bruising force and slammed up into him, burying your cock to the hilt in one brutal thrust. His prepped hole took every inch easily now, hot and slick around you, but the stretch still pulled a wrecked groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuuuck-” Toji’s head snapped back, mouth open around the revolver barrel you shoved between his lips again. His hands clutched at your shoulders, nails digging in as you set a merciless pace, fucking up into him like you were trying to split him open.

Every powerful snap of your hips made his thick cock slap wetly against his abs, smearing precum everywhere. The gun made it's way to his mouth, your thumb resting dangerously close to the trigger guard.

“Eyes on me,” You growled, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “Look at who’s fucking that attitude out of you.”

Toji tried. His green eyes were glassy and unfocused. He hollowed his cheeks around the barrel and sucked on it mindlessly, drool running down his chin and onto him while you railed him.

You laughed darkly and flipped him over without pulling out, bending him over the arm of the couch. His ass was up, back arched, and you drove back in even harder from behind. The new angle made him choke on the gun as you hammered his prostate relentlessly.

You reached around and wrapped your hand around his leaking cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts. “This dick is throbbing. You love getting used like this, don’t you?”

Toji moaned loudly around the steel in his mouth, pushing back to meet every thrust despite the gun at his head. You fucked him faster, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the safehouse along with his muffled, broken noises.

You pulled the gun from his mouth just long enough to hear him gasp.

“Beg,” You demanded, slowing your hips to a torturous grind.

“Shit- please… harder,” He rasped, voice completely shot. “Fuck me harder- I need it fuck, I’m your slut, just don’t stop-”

You rewarded him by pounding him even deeper, the couch creaking dangerously under the force. You threw the gun somewhere hearing it clatter against the ground and reached down to spread his cheeks wider, watching your cock disappear into his greedy hole over and over.

Toji’s thighs started shaking. His moans turned into desperate, whimpering cries as you stroked him faster.

“You gonna cum again for me?” You taunted, angling your thrusts to abuse his prostate. “Go on. Cum for me like the pathetic brat you are.”

Toji came with a loud, guttural shout, his hole clamping down around your cock like a vice as thick ropes of cum splattered across the couch. His whole massive body convulsed, muscles flexing and trembling while you kept fucking him through it without mercy.

You pulled out, spun him onto his back again, threw his legs over your shoulders, and slid back inside in one smooth motion. The new position let you fold him in half fucking him even deeper.

“Look at you,” You cooed, pounding him into the cushions. “Big bad Toji Fushiguro, covered in blood and cum, getting his hole wrecked.”

Toji’s eyes rolled back, tears of overstimulation pricking at the corners as you used him mercilessly.

You buried yourself to the hilt and came hard, flooding his insides with a low groan. Even after you finished, you kept the gun pressed to his skin, grinding slowly through the aftershocks while he twitched and whimpered beneath you.

Toji was a complete mess- drooling, cum leaking from his abused hole, chest heaving, eyes hazy and submissive at last.

You leaned down and kissed his scarred lips, voice low and satisfied.

You’d been talking about a project that actually mattered to you- a personal one which was years in the making and something vulnerable you had never showed anyone. 

Sukuna, lounging on the massive couch like he owned the entire building (which, technically, he could if he felt like it), had waved a dismissive hand, eyes half-lidded in that signature arrogant smirk.

“It’s mediocre at best,” He’d said voice casual, as if the words weren’t cruel. “Why waste your time on human sentimentality? You’re better than that pathetic little dream.”

The words landed like a slap. Not because they were the harshest thing he’d ever said- they weren't -but because he’d said them so flippantly about something you’d let him see. 

You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t even argued back. You’d simply looked at him, expression blank, and decided in that moment that the silence would hurt more. No words, no acknowledgement and maybe he'd have a better fucking attitude. 

Sukuna had laughed loudly at first, thinking it was a game. “Oh? The silent treatment? How quaint. You’ll crack in an hour, sweetheart. You always do.”

He was wrong.

Six hours later, the apartment felt like a pressure cooker.

Sukuna paced the open living room like a caged tiger. His usual overwhelming confidence had cracked, the black markings across his skin pulsing faintly with irritation. He’d tried everything.. everything.

First came the noise.

He blasted music some aggressive, bass-heavy song that rattled the glassware in the kitchen, while shooting you pointed glances from across the room. You had just sat at the dining table with your laptop, eyes on the screen with not even a flicker of recognition. He turned it up louder and yet he still got nothing.

Then the 'accidental' provocations.

He strolled past you shirtless, sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, the sharp cut of his V-line and the dark tattoos drawing the eye whether you wanted them to or not. He stretched slowly, muscles flexing as he reached for a glass in the cabinet. You didn’t even look up. 

By late evening, the arrogance had started to fade.

Sukuna’s pacing had grown more agitated. He ran a hand through his pink hair, tugging at it in frustration. His cheeks carried a faint flush he couldn’t hide, and when he tried to speak, his voice cracked just slightly on your name only for him to clamp his mouth shut when you refused to even glance his way. 

The silence was suffocating. It weighed down on him heavier than any binding vow, more maddening than any opponent he’d ever faced.

He hated it.

He absolutely hated how your absence of attention felt like he was facing  withdrawals. Like something vital had been ripped away. Sukuna, the King of Curses, reduced to this- restless, needy all because his favorite person wouldn’t even spare him a single word.

He stopped pacing near the couch where you’d eventually moved to read. For a long moment he just stood there, chest rising and falling a little too quickly eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on feral.

You didn’t look up.

That was the final straw.

Sukuna dropped to his knees with zero grace. He shoved his way between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your thighs apart as he pressed his face desperately against your thigh. His breath was hot through the fabric of your clothes, mouth already open, lips mouthing and sucking at the material like he could taste you through it.

“C’mon…” His voice was rough, edged with a whine he would never admit to. “Say something. Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Anything.”

He nuzzled higher, nose dragging along your inner thigh, pink hair tickling your skin as he breathed you in. His hands so capable of destruction gripped your hips like you were an anchor keeping him stable. 

“Please…”

The word sounded foreign on his tongue, but he said it again. And again. His tongue pressed flat against the fabric, tracing the shape of you with messy, needy strokes. His pupils were blown wide, crimson eyes glassy and desperate.

He had never been ignored by you before, and it was breaking him beautifully.

When you still didn’t speak, didn’t even card a hand through his hair, something inside him snapped. 

With a low, broken whimper, Sukuna tugged at your waistband, yanking your pants and underwear down just enough to free you. He surged forward like a man starved, lips wrapping around the head of your cock in one sloppy motion.

The first suck was greedy and desperate. His tongue swirled messily around the tip, pressing into the slit as if he could draw your attention out through pure sensation alone. He moaned loudly at the taste, the sound vibrating through you as drool immediately spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck… look at me,” He mumbled around you, the words garbled and wet. Drool already slipped from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin as he took you deeper. He hollowed his cheeks and sank down further, taking more of you into the tight heat of his mouth. 

Sukuna had sucked you off countless times before, usually with cocky control and teasing flicks of his tongue. This was nothing like that. This was frantic messy in a way the King of Curses never allowed himself to be. . He bobbed his head with messy enthusiasm, gagging softly when he pushed too deep but refusing to pull back.

Instead he leaned into it, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the effort. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, nails digging into your skin as he held you in place. One of his hands eventually wandered, palming desperately at the massive bulge straining against his low-slung sweatpants. He ground into his own palm with shameless need, hips jerking erratically while he continued worshipping you.

You stayed silent, but you finally spread your legs wider, giving him more room.

The small mercy tore a loud, muffled moan from his chest. The vibration shot straight through your cock, making your thighs tense. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered, lashes wet with unshed tears as he doubled his efforts. He pulled off for a gasping breath, strings of thick spit connecting his swollen, reddened lips to your glistening cock.

“You’re my only fucking person,” He rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. “Don’t- don’t do this to me. I was an arrogant prick. I’m sorry, alright? Just… say something. Please.”

His voice broke on the last word. Before you could respond he dove back down. This time he took you all the way to the hilt in one slick, determined slide. His nose pressed flush against your pelvis, throat bulging visibly around your length as he held himself there. His throat fluttered and constricted wildly, massaging every inch while he fought the urge to gag. Tears slipped freely down his flushed cheeks now, but his eyes never left yours.

He stayed like that until his lungs burned, then pulled back just enough to suck in a desperate breath before plunging down again. Over and over, he fucked his own throat on your cock with sloppy, uncoordinated movements. 

The sounds were filthy- wet glucking, choking, and constant needy whimpers vibrating around you. Drool poured from his mouth in thick strands, soaking his chin, neck, and the front of his chest. His pink hair was a mess, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Sukuna’s hand moved faster inside his sweatpants, jerking himself in time with the bobbing of his head. His hips rolled helplessly, fucking into his fist while he worshipped you. Every time you let out even the smallest groan or shift of your hips, he grew more frantic, sucking harder doing everything he could to earn any reaction.

His thighs trembled. The wet spot on his sweatpants had grown massive, precum leaking steadily as he edged himself closer and closer just from the humiliation and desperation of being ignored.

You finally reached down. Your fingers threaded into his messy pink hair and gripped tight. Sukuna’s entire body shuddered violently at the contact. A broken, pathetic whine escaped around your cock.

“Good boy,” You said, the first words you’d spoken in six hours. Your voice was low and rough. The praise hit him hard Sukuna’s eyes rolled back, a muffled, guttural cry vibrating around your length as his hips stuttered hard. 

He came violently in his pants without warning, thick ropes soaking through the fabric and dripping down his thighs. Even as he shook through his orgasm, he kept sucking you desperately as if he couldn’t bear to stop.

You didn’t let go of his hair. You held him in place and rocked gently into his mouth, fucking his face with slow, deliberate thrusts while he trembled and whimpered through the aftershocks.

“The prettiest, neediest curse I’ve ever seen,” You murmured, stroking his tear-streaked cheek with your thumb. “Look at you. Falling apart just because I wouldn’t talk to you. Sucking me like your life depends on it. Making such a mess of yourself.”

Sukuna moaned pathetically at the words, another weak spurt leaking into his already ruined sweatpants. The praise seemed to unravel him further. He pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue messily around the head, licking and sucking with sloppy devotion while looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. 

You kept praising him in that low, calm voice telling him how good he looked on his knees, how only you could reduce the King of Curses to this desperate, drooling mess, how much you loved seeing him like this. Every word made him whimper and suck harder.

Finally, the pressure became too much. You gripped his hair tighter and spilled down his throat with a low groan. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss as he swallowed every drop, milking you until you were completely spent.

Only when you loosened your grip did he pull off with a wet gasp, coughing softly as strings of spit and cum connected his lips to your cock. His face was a wreck: flushed dark red, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, chin shiny with mess. 

The moment it was over, Sukuna surged upward. Strong arms wrapped around your waist as he climbed into your lap, clinging like an octopus who refused to be pried off. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, body still trembling as he pressed flush against you.

“Don’t… ever do that again,” He mumbled, voice hoarse and raw. He pressed lazy, possessive kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I hate it. Hate not hearing you. Hate not having your eyes on me.”

You ran your fingers through his damp pink hair and he practically purred, nuzzling closer. 

“Next time I say something stupid,” He muttered, kissing you again, slower and deeper this time, “just punch me instead. Or make me ride you. Anything but silence.” A small, cocky smirk tugged at his lips even now. “Because if you ignore me again… I’ll just have to get on my knees faster. Make an even bigger fool of myself until you forgive me.”

“Make me.” Your free hand grabbed the front of his Nightwing suit and ripped downward in one violent motion. The fabric tore with a sharp sound, exposing his sweat-slicked chest. You shoved your hand inside, palming his pecs roughly, thumb brushing over a hardening nipple.

Nightwing’s breath hitched.

You smirked against his ear, grinding your already hard cock against his thigh. “Look at that… already getting worked up for the villain you claim to hate. Fucking pathetic.”

“Shut up,” He hissed, but his hips jerked forward despite himself.

You crashed your mouth against his in a kiss- teeth clashing, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He bit you back just as viciously, and the taste of it only made you grind harder against his body.

You spun him around roughly, slamming his chest against the wall. Keeping his wrists pinned high with one hand, you yanked his suit down over his hips with the other, letting it bunch around his thighs. His perfect, firm ass was fully exposed now.

“Tell me to stop,” You taunted, spitting on your hand and stroking your thick cock once before pressing the blunt head right against his tight hole. “Go on. Be a good little hero.”

Nightwing only pushed back against you with a defiant click, but you didn’t thrust in right away.

Instead, you pressed two fingers against his entrance first, circling the tight ring of muscle teasingly. “What’s wrong? Scared you’ll like it too much?” You mocked, voice low and rough in his ear.

You pushed both fingers inside him without warning, deep and rough. Nightwing’s breath hitched sharply, his body tensing around the sudden intrusion. You scissored them immediately, stretching him open while your other hand kept his wrists pinned high against the wall. Your fingers curled deliberately, searching for that spot-

“Fuck-!” He gasped when you found it, fingers rubbing hard against his prostate.

You smirked against the back of his neck and added a third finger, pumping them in and out with filthy, wet sounds. You kept working that sensitive bundle of nerves relentlessly, until his cock was fully hard and leaking against the torn remains of his suit. His hips even started jerking back against your hand despite himself.

“Already dripping for me,” You growled as you fingered him faster, deeper. “Fucking pathetic… acting like you hate this when your hole is sucking my fingers in.”

“Shut the fuck up” Nightwing hissed, but his voice cracked into a moan when you crooked your fingers just right again.

You kept him like that for a long minute, stretching and teasing him open, making sure he was good and desperate. Only when his thighs started trembling and his breathing turned ragged did you finally pull your fingers out.

You replaced them with the thick head of your cock, rubbing it against his now-slick hole for a few torturous seconds before you thrust forward hard.

A broken moan tore from Nightwing’s throat as you buried yourself to the hilt in one stroke. The tight heat of him was still vice-like, but now slick enough for you to start pounding him.

“Fuckk you’re still so goddamn tight,” You hissed against the back of his neck before sinking your teeth into the sensitive skin. You sucked hard, leaving a dark, possessive bruise while you fucked him deeper, harder.

“Arrogant… prick” Nightwing gasped out.

You moved your palm across his exposed ass in a loud spank, the sound echoing through the warehouse. His hole as a response clenched impossibly tighter around your cock. You spanked him again, harder this time, then reached around to grab his leaking cock, stroking it roughly in time with your thrusts.

You pulled out abruptly, spun him around, and shoved him down onto the dirty concrete floor. Nightwing barely caught himself on his elbows before you were on him again. You hooked one of his legs over your shoulder, folding him in half, and drove back inside in a single, merciless thrust.

“Shit!” he cried out, eyes squeezing shut.

This new angle was even worse and somehow you were getting deeper inside of him. The filthy wet slap of skin on skin filling the empty space. You wrapped one hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch and his eyes fly open.

“Look at me,” You growled, forcing his gaze to stay locked on yours. “Watch the villain who’s ruining you for anyone else.”

His blue eyes were glassy, burning with fury, shame, and overwhelming pleasure. You kept thrusting deep and hard, grinding against that perfect spot inside him on every stroke while your hand worked his cock faster.

Nightwing came first with a strangled shout, his hole spasming wildly around you as thick ropes of cum shot across his own abs and chest. You didn’t slow down for a second instead you fucked him straight through it, dragging out every aftershock until his moans turned into broken sobs and fresh tears of overstimulation welled up in his eyes.

“Too much- fuck.. I can’t please” He sobbed, voice hoarse and cracking.

You leaned down closer, pressing another dark mark into his collarbone. “Cry for me. I want to see how pretty you look when you break on my cock.”

The second orgasm hit him even harder. Nightwing’s back arched violently off the floor as loud, wrecked sobs tore from his throat. Hot tears streamed down his flushed cheeks while his nails clawed deep, bloody lines down your back. His cock gave weak, dry spurts between your bodies, hole fluttering and clenching uncontrollably as his whole body shook apart beneath you.

It was only then did you let yourself go.

You pulled out with a wet sound, stroked your cock furiously, and came with a low groan watching as thick ropes of cum painted his spent cock and cum-covered abs.

For a long minute, the only sounds were both of your ragged breathing and the distant noise of Gotham traffic outside. You sat back on your heels, chest heaving, staring down at the exhausted hero lying beneath you. Nightwing’s suit was shredded, his body covered in sweat, bite marks, and your cum. 

His chest still heaved with quiet, exhausted sobs as he slowly pushed himself up, avoiding your eyes.“This doesn’t change anything.”

Gojo was an absolute brat about it every single time- teasing, mocking, pushing your buttons on purpose because he loved how hard you’d wreck him once he finally got under your skin. He’d send you cocky selfies after his wins, then show up at your door later with that same smug grin and zero shame, practically daring you to put him in his place.

Tonight was the sweetest version yet.

Your team had just handed his team a decisive loss in the championship game. Gojo played like shit in the final quarter he was frustrated, distracted, and clearly affected by the way you’d been locking him down. After the game he disappeared from his team’s celebration, only to show up at your hotel room still in his post-game sweats, hair messy, cheeks flushed from more than just the game.

The second the door closed, the mask slipped back into place.

You barely had time to lock the door before Gojo was already leaning against the dresser, arms crossed, wearing that signature bratty smirk.“Congrats, captain,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “Beat us by fifteen and suddenly you think you’re hot shit? Cute.”

Even after losing, he was still running his mouth. Typical.

You crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and slammed him back against the wall hard enough to make the cheap hotel artwork rattle. Gojo’s breath hitched, but his eyes sparkled with challenge and heat.

“Been waiting for this since the third quarter,” You growled, shoving a thigh between his legs. “You played like a bitch tonight. Got distracted every time I touched you on the court.”

Gojo laughed breathless, and already a little strained. "Maybe I just like it when you get rough with me in front of all those people,” He shot back, hips rolling once against your thigh like the needy slut he was. “Bet your whole team would lose their minds if they knew their captain’s been fucking me raw for months.”

You gripped his jaw, forcing his head back so those bright blue eyes met yours. His pupils were already blown wide.“Keep talking,” You warned, sliding your free hand down to roughly palm his ass through his sweats. “See how loud I can make you scream within these thin fucking walls.”

Gojo’s smirk faltered for half a second when you shoved two fingers between his cheeks, pressing against his hole through the fabric. He was still sweaty from the game, skin hot, and you could feel the way his thighs trembled.

“F-fuck… at least prep me this time, asshole,”  e muttered, but he was already arching his back, pushing his ass into your hand like he couldn’t help it.

You spun him around, pressing his chest flush against the wall. One hand pinned both of his wrists above his head while the other yanked his sweats and boxers down in one rough motion, exposing that perfect, toned ass. You didn’t bother being gentle—two dry fingers circled his rim before pushing in, stretching him open with the kind of roughness you knew he secretly craved.

Gojo’s forehead hit the wall with a thud. A shaky, broken moan slipped out before he could bite it back.

“Shit-! Slow down, you fucking animal-” But his hips were already rocking back, chasing your fingers, greedy as always. You curled them hard against his prostate and his whole body jerked, a much louder moan tearing from his throat.

The walls really were thin. You could hear people laughing and music thumping from nearby rooms. If he got any louder-and you planned on making him much louder- the entire floor was going to hear the great Gojo Satoru getting his ass destroyed by his rival captain.

His eyes were already starting to water at the corners, lashes clumping together as he panted against the wallpaper. “Still gonna run your mouth, brat?” You asked, scissoring your fingers wider, deliberately rough.

Gojo let out a wet, teary little laugh, voice cracking. “Make me shut up then… if you can.”

He was already falling apart, and you’d barely started.

Gojo’s bratty challenge hung in the air for all of two seconds before you shoved a third finger into him without warning, stretching him wider. His body tensed hard, a choked gasp ripping from his throat as his walls clenched greedily around your fingers.

“F-fuuuck-!” His voice cracked beautifully. “You’re such a dick-ahh!”

You curled your fingers again, brutally targeting his prostate with rough, punishing strokes. Gojo’s hips jerked forward against the wall like he was trying to escape the intensity, only to slam back down on your hand a moment later, chasing more. 

His white hair was already sticking to his forehead with fresh sweat, and when you glanced at his face, you saw the first hints of glassy tears clinging to those long lashes. “Always acting like such a fucking brat,” You growled against his ear, biting the lobe hard enough to make him whine. “Even after I just embarrassed your whole team on the court. You came here knowing exactly what was gonna happen, didn’t you?”

He tried to laugh, but it dissolved into a broken moan as you sped up your fingers.

“I just… hah… wanted to see if the winner had any balls- ngh!”

You pulled your fingers out abruptly. Gojo let out a pathetic, needy sound at the sudden emptiness, his hole fluttering around nothing. Before he could complain, you spun him around, shoved him onto the bed, and yanked his sweats completely off. 

He landed on his back, legs spread, looking up at you with flushed cheeks and that defiant, watery smirk still clinging to his lips.You stripped fast, cock already aching and leaking as you climbed over him. It was a good thing the hotel came stocked with lube,. Gojo’s eyes flicked down, pupils blown wide with lust and a flicker of anticipation.

“Don’t go easy on me now, captain,” he taunted, voice breathy. “Wouldn’t want you to ah-!”

You hooked his legs over your shoulders and after a quick pour of lube pushed inside him in one rough thrust, burying yourself to the hilt. Gojo’s back arched off the bed, mouth falling open in a loud, broken cry that definitely carried through the thin walls.

“Shit-! Too big, you fucking- mmph!”

You didn’t give him time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed in again, hard and deep, setting a brutal pace that made the cheap hotel bed creak loudly. Every thrust punched a moan out of him loud and shameless. His eyes were watering for real now, pretty tears spilling down his face as he clawed at your shoulders.

“Fuuuck slow down, asshole!” He sobbed, but his legs tightened around you, heels digging into your back like he’d die if you actually listened.

You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you while you railed him.“Tell the whole floor how much you love getting destroyed by the guy who just beat your whole team,” You hissed, angling your hips to hammer his prostate relentlessly. “Louder, Gojo.”

A particularly hard thrust made him wail, head thrown back against the pillows. His voice cracked high and desperate, echoing off the walls. You could hear the faint sound of a door opening somewhere down the hall, someone was definitely listening now.

Gojo’s cock was leaking all over his toned abs, untouched and twitching with every brutal snap of your hips. His usual cocky grin was gone, replaced by teary, fucked-out bliss and an open mouth that couldn’t stop moaning your name mixed with curses.

“Gonna hah.. gonna cum-fuck, I’m so close-!” He cried, voice hoarse and loud enough that half the team probably heard it.

You leaned down, biting his neck hard enough to leave a dark mark as you pounded into him even harder, chasing your own release while pushing him over the edge. “Cum for me, Satoru. Let them all hear who owns this ass tonight.”

Gojo’s whole body seized up. A loud, broken sob tore out of him as he came untouched, stripes of white painting his chest and chin. His walls clenched rhythmically around you, milking your cock as fresh tears streamed down his flushed face. 

The sight and feeling pushed you over right after him and you buried yourself deep and filled him up with a low groan. For a few long seconds the only sounds were both of you panting, the distant thump of music, and muffled voices from neighboring rooms.

Gojo’s chest heaved, eyes glassy and unfocused as he tried to catch his breath. A shaky, little smirk tugged at his swollen lips.

“…Round two in the shower?” He rasped, voice wrecked. “Or are you scared they’ll file a noise complaint?”

---

You stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby the following morning, legs still a little loose from last night’s marathon. Your team was already scattered around the breakfast area- some nursing hangovers with coffee, others loading up plates at the buffet. The energy was high after the championship win, laughter and shit-talking filling the space.

The second you walked over to their table, half your teammates turned with shit-eating grins.

“Yo, Captain!” one of your forwards, Marcus, called out loud enough for the whole lobby to hear. “What the fuck, man? You trying to get us kicked out the hotel or what?”

Your point guard, Tyler, leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bro. I swear the walls were shaking. We heard that girl screaming through like three rooms. She was loud as hell.”

Marcus laughed, slapping the table. “Nah, not just loud she was getting destroyed. All that moaning and crying? ‘Fuck- ahh!’” He did a terrible high-pitched impression that had the whole table cracking up.

You kept your face mostly neutral, though the corner of your mouth twitched. “You idiots done?”“Hell no,” Tyler grinned wider. “So who was it? That cheerleader from their school that’s been eyeing you? Or the one with the braids from the front desk? She sounded fine as hell, bro”

Another teammate, Jacob “Sounded like she was getting her soul taken. We were all in the group chat last night debating if we should bang on the wall or just let you bw.”

You shrugged, grabbing a coffee from the table and taking a slow sip, trying not to think about how Gojo had been sobbing and moaning your name into the pillow just hours ago while you railed him into next week.

“Mind your business,” You said casually, but your voice had a hint of smugness you couldn’t quite hide. “She was… enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic?” Marcus barked a laugh. “Bro she was getting wrecked. You broke her or what?”

Before you could answer, the elevator dinged again.

Gojo Satoru stepped out looking far too good for someone who got his ass absolutely destroyed the night before. His white hair was messy in that deliberate way, neck covered by a hoodie he definitely hadn’t been wearing last night (probably to hide the bite marks), and he walked with that usual cocky swagger even if his steps were just a little careful.

He locked eyes with you across the lobby for a brief second. That familiar bratty smirk tugged at his lips, eyes still a little red-rimmed from all the crying. He looked thoroughly fucked and entirely too pleased with himself.

Your teammates hadn’t noticed him yet.

Tyler nudged you. “For real though she coming down for breakfast? We gotta give her a round of applause. Poor girl probably can’t even walk straight.”

Gojo, now close enough to overhear, let out a soft, amused huff as he passed your table on the way to the coffee station. He didn’t stop, but he made sure you heard him mutter under his breath just loud enough for you: “Tell them I’m free later if they want an encore, captain.”

Your team kept laughing and pressing you for details while Gojo poured himself a coffee, glancing back over his shoulder with those bright, mischievous eyes that promised he was absolutely going to brat out again the second you two were alone.

You took another sip of coffee, hiding your smirk behind the cup.

The temperature in the immediate area dropped. Satoru was suddenly there, Six Eyes glowing dangerously bright behind his sunglasses. Without a word, he activated Blue and cursed energy surged forward, aimed directly at the man’s face.

The man stumbled back with a shout, hands flying up to shield his eyes as the technique nearly blinded him. Gasps and yells erupted around you. People scrambled away, creating a sudden circle of empty space.

Immediately your hand shot out to clamp down on Satoru’s wrist like a vice before he could escalate further. “We’re done here,” you said, voice filled with anger.

You dragged him through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers. Satoru didn’t even try to resist, but he was still vibrating with jealousy, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips even as you pulled him outside into the cool night air.

The car ride home was dead silent. Satoru kept glancing at you from the passenger seat, that cocky little grin never fully disappearing, like he was waiting to see exactly how you’d punish him for the mess he’d caused.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut, you didn’t waste time.

“Bedroom. Now.”

Satoru obeyed, but he moved with deliberate slowness to tease you, hips swaying just enough to test you. Once inside, you told him, “Everything off except my shirt.”

He stripped slowly, peeling away his clothes until he was left in nothing but your oversized black button-up. The hem barely covered the tops of his thighs. He looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes, cheeks already faintly flushed.

You sat on the edge of the bed first, then pointed to your lap.

“Face down. Ass up. Legs spread.”

Satoru’s breath hitched. He crawled onto your lap, pressing his chest and cheek into the pillow, arching his back deeply so his ass was presented high. The shirt rode up completely, exposing his smooth, pale cheeks and the slick, puffy folds of his cunt already glistening with arousal.

You took your time rubbing slow circles over his ass, letting the anticipation build until he was squirming. “You don’t get to decide who looks at me, Satoru,” you said calmly, voice low. “That’s my job.”

The first hard spank echoed sharply. Satoru jolted forward with a gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets. You didn’t pause, raining heavy smacks one after another, turning his pale skin a bright, stinging pink, then a deeper red.

Every impact made his ass jiggle and forced more slick to drip from his cunt onto your lap. His thighs eventually started trembling. When you felt the familiar flicker of Infinity trying to wrap around him, you reached between his legs and pinched his swollen clit hard in warning. Satoru cried out, hips bucking wildly as the technique vanished.

“No hiding,” you growled, spanking him harder. “You caused a fucking scene tonight just because someone looked at me.”

Tears quickly gathered in his eyes. His soft, flushed face pressed harder into the pillow as broken moans and whimpers spilled out. The more you spanked him, the wetter he got, forming a growing soaked patch beneath him.

By the time his ass was a vivid, glowing red, Satoru was sobbing openly. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, soaking the fabric. His whole body twitched uncontrollably with every strike, cunt clenching and drooling messily.

You kept the rhythm merciless, pushing him straight through his first orgasm. His pussy pulsed hard, squirting messily onto the mattress as violent shudders ripped through him. You didn’t stop, spanking him through the overstimulation until a second, even stronger orgasm crashed into him. His hips jerked and twitched wildly, another gush of slick flooding out while broken apologies and moans filled the room.

“I’m sorry-! I’m sorry, I won’t do it again- please- ahh~!”

Tears streamed freely down his pretty face. Only then did you decide to take mercy on his ass. You let the silence linger for a moment, one hand gently rubbing over Satoru’s glowing red ass while he continued to twitch and whimper into the pillow.

His cunt was a complete mess- puffy, flushed dark, and still pulsing visibly. He looked utterly debauched: face buried in the tear-soaked pillow, ass raised high, legs trembling, your shirt bunched up around his waist.

You took a long moment just to admire him- your strong, untouchable Satoru reduced to this trembling, leaking, teary-eyed mess because of you.

Only when his breathing started to even out slightly did you move. You lifted him up and repositioned him to be lying flat on the mattress. You shifted behind him, knees planted on the bed as you gripped his hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. The head of your cock nudged against his dripping entrance, sliding slowly up and down along his slick, puffy folds.

Satoru let out a broken, needy whine, hips instinctively trying to push back against you, desperate for more. “Stay still,” you ordered quietly, voice low and firm. Your grip tightened on his hips, holding him exactly where you wanted.

He whimpered in protest but obeyed, fingers twisting tighter into the sheets.

Then you pushed in.

A wrecked moan tore from Satoru’s throat as your thick cock stretched his oversensitive walls. Even though he was soaked and sloppy, the slow stretch made his whole body jerk and shudder violently. His cunt fluttered and clenched around every inch you gave him, greedy and pulsing like it couldn’t decide whether it was too much or not enough.

“F-fuuuck…” he sobbed, voice hoarse and cracking. “You’re so deep ahh-!”

You kept pushing until you bottomed out completely, hips pressed flush against his reddened ass. You stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting him feel every thick inch stretching him open while his body twitched and spasmed around you.

Then you started moving- slow, grinding rolls of your hips that dragged heavily against every sensitive spot inside him. You forced him to feel exactly who owned him.

Satoru’s moans turned into broken, hiccuping cries as you fucked him through the overstimulation. Fresh tears slipped down his flushed cheeks while his cunt continued to pulse and leak around your cock with every slow thrust.

“You’re mine,” you murmured against his shoulder, voice rough. “I spoil you rotten because I love you… but I guess I always need to remind you who you belong to when you need it.”

He nodded frantically, babbling soft, teary apologies and “yours, yours, only yours” between moans as you continued fucking him slow and deep.

When a weak orgasm finally hit, his cunt squeezed around you like a vice, squirting messily around your cock and dripping down onto the bed.

By the time you finally chased your own release, Satoru was barely coherent- moaning and whimpering your name like it was the only word he remembered. You buried yourself to the hilt and came hard, filling him up with thick, deep pulses. His body shuddered violently at the feeling, another small twitchy orgasm ripping through him.

You stayed inside him for a long while afterward, gently stroking his back and sides while he trembled beneath you. Eventually you pulled out carefully, a thick trail of mixed cum and slick leaking from his used cunt.

Satoru collapsed completely onto the soaked mattress with a broken little sigh. You flipped him over gently and pulled him into your arms. He immediately clung to you like a lifeline, face buried in your chest, legs tangled with yours, arms wrapped tight around your waist. His whole body was still twitching faintly, soft sniffles escaping as the last tears dried on his cheeks.

You pressed slow kisses to the top of his head, his damp forehead, and the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “Behave next time, baby.”

Satoru nodded weakly against your chest, already half-asleep. “…Love you,” he mumbled, voice tiny and hoarse.

He was already waiting, lounging on the edge of the massive bed like a queen on her throne, still wearing that smug little smirk from the precinct. The cuffs he'd “forgotten” to return earlier dangled from one finger, glinting menacingly under the low lights.

“Took you long enough, detective,” He drawled, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “I was starting to think you’d grown a spine and stood me up.”

You couldn't even answer. Your throat felt too dry, your pulse hammering as he rose and slowly circled you like a predator sizing up prey. Which was very ironic considering you towered over him and weighed much more. His fingers hooked into the knot of your tie, tugging you forward until his chest brushed yours.

“On the bed,” He ordered softly. “Now.”

You obeyed without a word, heat flooding your face. The moment your back hit the mattress he was on you, straddling your hips like a professional. The expensive fabric of his clothes brushed against you as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other already working open your belt.

“Look at you,” He murmured, lips by your ear. “All those shiny badges and big talk at the station and here you are, hard and desperate the second I snap my fingers. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

A low groan escaped you as he ground down against the growing bulge in your slacks, the friction maddening through too many layers of fabric. He laughed softly at the sound, all too pleased with himself.

“Already leaking for me and I haven’t even taken your pants off yet. My sweet little corrupt cop… so eager to ruin his career just to fuck the criminal he’s supposed to be chasing.”

He released your wrists only long enough to shove his shirt up, exposing his chest. Your mouth found one nipple, teeth grazing just hard enough to make him arch and gasp. While you were distracted he freed your cock, wrapping his fingers around it in a slow, teasing stroke.

“So hard,” He cooed, as if was talking to a child, thumb circling the slick head. “And all mine. Say it.”

Your voice cracked. “Yours… fuck- I’m yours.”

“Good boy.”

He didn’t bother undressing fully and just pushed his trousers down just enough to show he was already ready. With no prep he just lined himself up and sank down on you in one smooth motion.

You groaned his response, hands moving to his hips as he took you all. The heat of him and tight grip was overwhelming. He rode you like he owned you -because he did- with no mercy.

Hands braced on your chest, he rolled his hips maddeningly slow, taking exactly what he wanted. Every time you tried to thrust up to meet him, he pressed you back down with a firm hand on your chest.

“Stay still,” He snapped, “You don’t get to fuck me tonight. You get to lie there and take it while I use you.”

He pace quickened, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room alongside his broken gasps and your moans.

“Look at you,” He taunted, leaning down so his lips hovered just above yours. “Detective of the year, letting the city’s most wanted ride his cock like a cheap toy. If your little precinct buddies could see you now whimpering and leaking inside me while I drain every last bit of dignity you have left.”

You was coming apart beneath him, fingers digging into the sheets, fighting the urge to move as he clenched around you deliberately on every downstroke.

He reached back, cupping your balls and giving them a light, teasing squeeze. “Gonna come already? So soon? How embarrassing. I’ve barely started using you.”

“Please-” You gasped, hips twitching helplessly.

“Please what?” He slowed to a torturous grind, circling his hips so he felt every inch of you. “Please let me cum in the hole of the criminal i'm supposed to arrest? Please ruin my life with your tight hole?”

He laughed again when you only moaned in response, then picked up speed, riding him harder, chasing your own pleasure without mercy.

“That’s it… just a desperate, cock for me. My husband~”

Then with a strangled cry you came hard inside him but he kept on moving, milking every last drop out of you. 

Even as you shuddered and whimpered from oversensitivity, he kept riding you, slower now but just as deep, drawing out every helpless twitch and gasp. Until he finally clenched around you and came with a satisfied sigh, cum splattering onto your chest.

He stayed there for a long moment, still seated on your softening cock, looking down at your flushed, wrecked face more softly now.

“Such a good boy,” He purred, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “My sweet detective.”

You could only lie there, chest heaving, knowing you wouldn't change a thing.

Because you were his as he was yours. 

“R-right, so the coefficient represents…” He swallowed hard when your thumb started slow circles.

You slid your hand higher, fingers playing with the hem of his oversized hoodie, brushing the warm skin just above his waistband. His explanation stuttered into nothing. The blush on his face deepened to a pretty red that spread down his neck.

“You’re really tense,” You murmured, leaning in so your breath brushed his ear. “You need to relax, Satoru. I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

“I-I’m trying to tutor you,” He protested weakly, but his voice cracked when your hand slipped fully under the hoodie, palm sliding up the smooth plane of his surprisingly toned stomach.

He was shaking now, glasses slipping down his nose again. You took the notebook from his trembling hands and set it aside. “Keep explaining,” You ordered softly, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Don’t stop on my account.”

He tried. God, he really tried.

His voice came out in shaky fragments while your hand wandered lower, palming him through his sweatpants. The moment you felt him already half-hard, a broken little whimper escaped his throat.

Within minutes you had him bent over the narrow kitchen counter, hoodie shoved up to his chest, sweatpants and boxers yanked down just enough. One of your big hands pinned his wrists together above his head against the cool countertop. The other gripped his hip hard enough to bruise as you pressed your thick cock against his ass.

The other gripped his hip, easily holding his taller-but-slender frame in place.

You reached into your bag and pulled out the small bottle of lube you’d brought, planned for this moment squeezing a generous amount onto your fingers.

“Easy, baby,” You murmured when he tensed at the cool touch. “Gotta prep you first. Can’t just shove it in not with how big I am.”

Gojo let out a shaky, embarrassed sound, forehead pressed to the counter. “Y-you don’t have to- ah-”

Two of your thick fingers circled his tight rim before slowly pushing in. He gasped sharply, legs trembling as you worked him open carefully scissoring, curling, stretching him patiently while he tried (and failed) to keep talking.

“F-formula… the r-squared value is… nngh-!”

You added a third finger, thrusting them deeper, brushing that sensitive spot inside him until his knees buckled and his voice dissolved into high, pretty whimpers. His glasses fogged up from his own panting breaths.

By the time you pulled your fingers out, Gojo was a mess his hole slick and fluttering, cock leaking steadily onto the floor, biting hard on his own wrist to muffle the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.

You slicked your thick cock with more lube and pressed the blunt head against his prepared entrance. “F-formula…” He gasped one last time, still clinging to the tutor role like a lifeline.

You pushed inside him in one slow, relentless thrust, sinking deep until your hips met his ass.

Gojo's back arched hard, a choked moan tearing from his throat. His glasses fogged completely as you bottomed out. He bit down harder on his wrist, but it barely helped as high, needy whimpers still escaped with every deep thrust.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” You groaned, setting a steady rhythm that made the cheap counter creak. “Took my fingers so well… now taking my cock like you were made for it.”

He couldn’t answer properly anymore. His legs trembled, toes barely touching the floor as you fucked him harder, easily manhandling him with every snap of your hips. Every thrust knocked another broken syllable out of him, reducing the genius tutor to a whiny little slut.

You reached around and stroked him in time with your hips. It only took a few firm pumps before Gojo came with a sharp, strangled cry , cum splattering across the kitchen tiles and his own hoodie. His hole clenched rhythmically around your cock as he shook through it, glasses completely fogged and slipping down his nose.

You didn’t stop. You fucked him through the orgasm until he was whimpering from oversensitivity, then finally buried yourself deep and filled him with hot pulses of cum. For a long moment, the only sounds were both of you breathing hard.

Gojo's legs were still trembling when you slowly pulled out. He stayed slumped over the counter, hoodie rumpled, sweatpants around his thighs, a trail of your cum already starting to leak down his leg. His wrist had clear bite marks from where he’d tried to stay quiet.

You leaned over him, chest pressed to his back, and gently fixed his crooked, fogged-up glasses.

“Same time next week?” You asked, voice rough with satisfaction.

Gojo let out a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. “This is just physical,” He mumbled, cheeks burning crimson. “A-and no one can ever know.”

You smiled against the back of his neck and pressed one last open-mouthed kiss over the fresh hickey you’d sucked there.

“Sure, baby. Just physical.”

Over the next three weeks, “tutoring sessions” became a filthy routine.

Gojo still greeted you at the door with that same nervous little stutter and crooked glasses, but the moment the lock clicked shut, the pretense crumbled fast.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Desk

You dropped into his rolling chair like you owned it, thighs spread wide, and patted your lap. “C’mere. Show me how you solve that problem set.”

Gojo hesitated, cheeks already pink, but climbed on anyway he faced you and straddled your hips. His oversized hoodie bunched up around his waist as you yanked his sweatpants down just enough. He was already half-hard when you slicked yourself up and pulled him down onto your cock in one smooth motion.

“F-focus on the laptop,” He gasped, trying to keep his screen open like a good tutor. His hands trembled on the keyboard while you gripped his narrow hips and guided him up and down.

Every time he tried to type or explain a concept, you thrusted up hard, making his voice crack into a broken moan. His glasses kept sliding down his nose as he rode you, white hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“R-squared is… ah-! It’s the proportion of variance-." You sucked a dark hickey right below his jaw, then another on his collarbone, marking him while he fell apart.

He came with a choked cry, clenching around you so tightly you followed right after, filling him deep while his laptop screen timed out from inactivity.

Couch

You’d show up after practice, still sweaty in your frat tank top, and pull him into your lap before he could even open a textbook. This time you took your time stroking him slow and torturous, edging him for nearly an hour until tears welled behind his fogged glasses.

“Please…” He whimpered, hips twitching desperately as you denied him again. “I can’t- I need-”

“Beg nicer,” You murmured against his neck, sucking another bruise into the pale skin.

By the time you finally let him come, Gojo was crying softly, babbling your name and soaking his own hoodie with tears and cum. He collapsed against your chest afterward, panting, while you traced the fresh marks you’d left across his throat.

Bed

One Thursday he finally caved and let you stay over. You fucked him slow and deep in his tiny bed, face-to-face. 

In the morning you woke him up with your cock already buried inside him, fucking him lazy and possessive until he came untouched, whimpering into the pillow.

He tried to act normal afterward, pushing his glasses up and mumbling, “This is still just normal sex…” but the way he curled into your side and refused to let you leave for another twenty minutes said otherwise.

Shower

After he spent all day tutoring three of your frat brothers, you showed up unannounced.

He was exhausted, hair damp from a failed attempt to shower earlier. You didn’t even let him speak  just pushed him into the tiny bathroom, stripped him, and fucked him hard against the shower wall.

Water cascaded over both of you while you pounded into him from behind, one hand over his mouth to muffle those pretty high-pitched moans. He came fast, legs shaking so badly you had to hold him up. When you pulled out, your cum mixed with the shower water and ran down his trembling thighs.

You left a fresh set of hickeys on the back of his neck before you let him go.

Floor

Some days you were both too impatient.

Like the time you walked in, saw him bent over picking up dropped notes, and immediately dropped to your knees behind him. You had him on all fours on the living room floor in seconds the textbooks and loose papers scattering everywhere as you fucked him raw and rough.

He failed to stay quiet while you railed him into the cheap carpet, leaving fingerprint bruises on his hips and another dark mark on the inside of his thigh.

After a while it became almost cute how hard he tried to convince himself while his actions told a completely different story. It started with the texts.

At first, you were the one initiating: “Free tonight? Need help with that assignment.”

By the second week, your phone would buzz in the middle of dinner or after practice with messages from him:

Nerdjo: Are you busy later? I have some new notes that might help with your regression models. Nerdjo: If you’re free around 8, the apartment is quiet. Nerdjo: Don’t forget the material from last time.

He never outright said “come fuck me,” but the subtext was so obvious it made you grin every time. You’d reply with a simple “On my way” and watch the typing bubbles appear and disappear like he was nervous even through text.

Then there were the hickeys.

He used to frantically tug his hoodie collar up or wrap a scarf around his neck before leaving the apartment, muttering complaints under his breath about how you “always go too far.”

But somewhere around week three, he stopped hiding them. You noticed it one Tuesday afternoon when you spotted him crossing the quad. The oversized hoodie was still there, but the collar had slipped down just enough to show the cluster of dark purple marks you’d sucked into his pale neck and collarbones the night before. 

A couple of faint ones peeked out on his inner wrist too, where you’d pinned him down. People stared. A few girls whispered. One of your frat brothers even nudged you and laughed, “Dude, who the hell is that nerd banging? He’s covered.”

Gojo's cheeks were bright red the entire walk, but he didn’t pull the fabric up. He just kept his head slightly down, books clutched to his chest like a shield.

During a rare group study session in the library (three of your friends plus Gojo), he sat across from you at the long table, looking every bit the shy tutor. Whenever one of the guys asked him a question, his voice was soft and professional, glasses perched perfectly as he explained concepts with that adorable focused frown.

But under the table?

Every time you stretched your leg out and let your calf brush against his, Gojo would tense up, ears turning pink. If you slid your foot higher, teasing along his ankle, he’d stutter mid-sentence and shoot you a quick, flustered glare.

Yet he never pulled away.

Once, when the others were distracted arguing over an answer, you reached over and rested your hand on his thigh under the table, squeezing gently. Gojo's breath hitched. He bit his lower lip hard, pretending to focus on his notebook, but his legs parted just a little wider, letting your fingers drift higher. When you finally pulled back, he let out the tiniest disappointed exhale.

────────────────────────────────────────────

The shift happened slowly, then all at once. Your frat brothers had started paying attention to Gojo.

At first it was just casual comments during group study nights in the common room. “Dude, that tutor guy is actually kinda cute when he gets all passionate about shit,” one of them said, laughing. “Look at those big blue eyes and the messy white hair. Nerdy, but… hot nerdy.”

Another one of your friends leaned back in his chair, smirking. “He’s smart as fuck too. And that innocent vibe? Bet he’d be fun to corrupt. I’m thinking about asking him out. Worst he can say is no, right?”

You were standing by the fridge grabbing a beer when you overheard them. Your grip tightened on the bottle until the glass creaked. The casual way they talked about him pissed you off like he was just another conquest, like they could waltz in and take what you’d been fucking for weeks.

That night you showed up at Gojo's apartment earlier than usual. The second the door closed behind you, you didn’t even let him finish his usual soft “Hi” before you had him pinned against the nearest wall. 

“W-wait- what’s gotten into you?” Gojo gasped, hands clutching at your shoulders. 

You didn’t answer with words at first. You yanked his hoodie up, shoved his sweatpants down, and lifted one of his legs around your waist. When you pushed inside him in one rough thrust, he cried out, head falling back against the wall with a thud.

You fucked him hard - meaner than usual - hips snapping with possessive force. Every thrust made the cheap wall creak. Your mouth never left his skin, marking his neck, his collarbones, the sensitive spot just below his ear.

“They think they can have you?” You growled low in his ear, voice rough with jealousy. “Fuck that. You’re mine now.”

Gojo whimpered, legs shaking as you railed him against the wall. His cock leaked between your bodies, untouched. “I- ah~ told you it's not t-that”

“Yeah?” You slammed in harder, making his voice break into a high moan. “Then why do you wear my hickeys like badges, huh? Why do you text me first every fucking week?”

He didn’t have an answer. He just clung to you tighter, moaning your name as you fucked the denial right out of him. He knew you were right.

He had also began to gain feelings for you as well and in turn began to get jealous. He tried to hide it, but you caught every flicker.

At the big frat party last weekend, a couple of girls from the sorority had been all over you laughing too loud at your jokes, touching your arm, one of them leaning in close enough that her perfume clung to your shirt. Gojo had been there as one of his best friends in the frat- Geto had dragged him along.

He stood in the corner with a red solo cup, pretending to scroll on his phone, but his eyes kept flicking toward you. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, shoulders tense and he was clearly uncomfortable.

When your brothers pulled you away for shots you saw the way his fingers tightened around the cup until his knuckles went white.

He never said anything about it that night. But the next evening, after he’d spent the afternoon tutoring, he was extra clingy.

You found him waiting by the door when you arrived. The moment you stepped inside he pressed close, face buried in your chest for a second longer than usual. When you teased him about it “What’s with the pout, baby?” he pulled back fast, pushing his glasses up with a flustered huff.

“I’m not pouting. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Later, when you had him bent over the kitchen counter again (his favorite spot, apparently), fucking him slow and deep while he whined freely, the truth slipped out.

You were grinding against that perfect spot inside him when Gojo's voice turned soft.“I don’t like when they touch you…” He whimpered as you thrust harder. 

The admission was so cute for some reason, You flipped him around instantly, lifting him so his back was against the counter and his legs wrapped around your waist. You fucked him face-to-face, watching every expression as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Say it again,” You demanded, voice low and rough. Gojo shook his head, embarrassed, but another deep thrust pulled it out of him anyway.

“I don’t like it… when they flirt with you… or touch you…” His voice was barely a whisper, high and needy. “Please…” You kissed him hard, swallowing the rest of his words.

“Remind me what you said 'it’s just physical',” You snarled in his ear, biting the lobe. “Tell me again while you’re creaming on my cock wearing my fucking clothes.”

Tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. Every deep thrust punched broken moans and whimpers out of him. His hole clenched greedily around you, body betraying every denial he’d ever whispered.

“It’s not…” He sobbed, voice high and shattered. “It’s not just physical anymore… please”-

You slammed in harder, grinding against his prostate. “Please what?”

“Please don’t go…” Gojo's voice cracked into a desperate whine. “I’m yours- I’m yours, don’t let them-” That was all you needed.

You fucked him through his first orgasm right there his cock pulsing in your fist, cum splattering the floor as his legs gave out. You held him up effortlessly, still thrusting deep, chasing your own release and dragging him toward another.

By the time you carried his limp, oversensitive body to the tiny bed, Gojo was a whimpering mess and tears clung to his lashes. You laid him down gently and slid back inside him for slower, deeper rounds.

This time you took your time- long thrusts while he clung to you like a lifeline, arms wrapped around your neck, face buried in your shoulder.

“Mine,” You murmured against his sweaty temple, kissing the fresh marks you’d left. “Say it.”

“Yours…” He whispered breathlessly, voice hoarse from moaning. His hips rolled weakly to meet yours. “Only yours…”

You fucked him through two more shaking orgasms, softer now, until he was trembling and oversensitive, every touch pulling little broken whimpers from his throat. Only then did you let go, filling him deep while he shuddered and clung tighter.

Afterward, the room was quiet except for your mingled breathing.

Gojo curled into your chest like he belonged there, legs tangled with yours in his tiny bed. His white hair tickled your chin as he nuzzled closer, one hand fisting the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d disappear. The oversized frat hoodie he’d stolen from you was still on, the navy fabric contrasting beautifully against his flushed skin.

You held him close, one arm wrapped securely around his slender back while your other hand slowly traced the fresh hickeys blooming across his neck and collarbones. Your fingers brushed over the dark bruises you’d left, then drifted lower to the ones on his inner thighs, gentle now where you’d been rough earlier.

Gojo shivered at the light touch, letting out a tiny, content sigh against your skin. He nuzzled closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing still a little ragged but slowing into something peaceful.

“No more hiding,” You said quietly, voice low and steady as your fingers continued their lazy path over his skin. “No more casual sex. You’re mine now. Tell my dumbass friends to back off if they even think about asking you out.”

For a moment, Gojo stayed silent, then his cheeks flushed a deep, furious crimson that spread all the way to the tips of his ears. He tried to hide it by burying his face deeper into your neck, but you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“…Idiot,” He mumbled, the word muffled against your skin. His voice was soft, hoarse from all the moaning and crying earlier, but there was a shy fondness in it that made your chest tighten. “But okay.”

You chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling through your chest. You pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his messy white hair, then another to the sensitive spot just below his ear where a fresh hickey was already darkening.

“Yeah?” You murmured, squeezing him a little tighter. “Okay?”

Gojo nodded, the movement small and shy. One of his hands came up to clutch at the front of your shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like he needed the anchor. “I… I don’t want them anyway,” he admitted in the smallest voice, barely above a whisper. “Just you.”

 You tilted his chin up gently so you could see his face those pretty blue eyes glassy with exhaustion and something warmer. You leaned in and kissed him slowly, tenderly this time.

When you pulled back, Gojo's eyes fluttered open, a tiny, bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite how hard he was trying to hide it. “Stay tonight?” He asked, voice barely there, like he was afraid you’d say no.

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of white hair off his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

He let out a soft, relieved breath and settled back against your chest, legs tangling with yours under the covers. His body relaxed completely in your arms, the tension from weeks of denial finally melting away.

As his breathing evened out into sleep, you kept tracing lazy patterns over the marks you’d left on him- a silent promise.

He was yours.

The door clicked shut behind him, the silence pressing against his ears. Seongje exhaled again slowly, dragging a hand down his face before pacing a slow line across the narrow hallway. His boots scuffed the floor with each turn, restless, sharp. 

He rolled his shoulders, tried breathing deeper, but his jaw stayed tight. The metallic taste of blood still lingered on his tongue, clashing with the sweet aftertaste of the lollipop. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard, until the sting grounded him for half a second. It didn’t help much. His hands twitched at his sides, itching for something to do- to hit, to hold, something. 

Passing the mirror by the entrance, he caught a glimpse of himself and froze. Split lip, smudged knuckles, eyes bright behind fogged-up lenses. 

He should’ve felt better by now. The thought came sharp, unbidden. Everything still hurt.

He clicked his tongue, teeth grazing the edge of his lip ring. The sound filled the quiet apartment for before fading, leaving him alone again.

He turned down the narrow hall toward his bedroom, finally ready to shut the world out. He reached up to tug off his collar, shoulders tight, mind still replaying the sound of fists meeting flesh.

He didn’t even hear the footsteps behind him.

The arms wrapping around his waist came out of nowhere , which were solid, warm, familiar,  but his body didn’t register the familiarity.

Seongje moved before his brain caught up.

He spun, arm cutting through the air in a reflex born of too many street fights. His knuckles connected just enough to make a sound, not a full hit, but still enough to hurt.

The breath left your chest in a soft grunt as you stumbled back, clutching your face, confusion flashing across your features.

For half a second, the apartment went silent again. Only the heavy rhythm of Seongje’s breathing filled the space. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling like he was still in that alley.

Then the recognition hit him. “Shit-! Babe?”

His voice cracked with panic. The fight in him evaporated all at once, replaced by guilt.

“Goddammit-” He swore, reaching out before you could step farther away. His hand hovered uselessly near your cheek, afraid to touch. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

You blinked at him, still rubbing your jaw, lips twitching somewhere between a grimace and a laugh. The corner of his mouth tightened, he hated that look, hated that you weren’t angry.

“You punch everyone who hugs you now or just me?” He clicked his tounge as it flicked briefly over his lip ring which was his classic tell for nervousness. 

But you just grinned, leaning into the doorway like it’s no big deal, and that infuriates him more. You still hadn’t moved. That easy, amused expression hadn’t slipped once.

Seongje hated it- hated that you could stand there and till look so damn calm, meeting his gaze like his outburst didn’t faze you in the slightest.

He glared at you, sharp and wordless, the kind of look that usually made people flinch or at least look away. But you just tilted your head, lips twitching.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you see right through mre.”

"Maybe cause I can."

He opened his mouth like he might argue,  but stopped short. His gaze caught on your throat as you spoke- the slow movement of it when you swallowed.

Then lower as his eyes flicked to your mouth. The memory of the lollipop  the taste of sugar and iron, the way it had clicked against his teeth flashed through his mind uninvited.

His tongue flicked out, wetting his bottom lip, catching briefly on the silver ring there. “Should’ve just stayed out there and hit something else,” He muttered finally, voice rough as he glanced away. 

You smirked, the corner of your lip curling like a dare. “You could. Or you could stay here and let me help.”

He clicked his tongue again, a faint, restless sound. The same way he had before a fight  except this time, his focus wasn’t on landing a punch. It was on you.

“Not in the mood,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough, already stepping sideways to brush past you toward the bedroom.

You didn’t let him. Your thumb brushed slow across his split bottom lip, right over the cool silver ring. The touch was gentle, but it stopped him cold. He leaned into it before he could stop himself, jaw unclenching just a fraction as his eyes fluttered half-shut.

“You’re grinding your teeth again,” You murmured, voice low and steady.

“Can’t help it,” He growled, the words vibrating against your thumb. His tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the salt of your skin. “Need… something in my mouth.”

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping tight around your wrist- not pulling away, but dragging your hand closer. He parted his lips and took two of your fingers into his mouth without hesitation. 

The first slow lick was hot his tongue curling around them like he was savoring the taste of you after the blood and sugar still coating his own. Then his teeth grazed down soft at first before he bit down with just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

A low, frustrated sound rumbled in his chest. He sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on yours with that same restless fire. The metallic tang from his split lip mixed with the warmth of his mouth, and he didn’t seem to care.

You let him have it for a moment, watching the way his shoulders loosened by degrees, the way his free hand fisted in the front of your shirt like an anchor. 

Seongje’s glasses fogged up almost immediately as he crowded closer, half-stumbling until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He dropped down, pulling you with him so he ended up half in your lap, restless and vibrating with leftover adrenaline. His mouth never left your skin drifting to your collarbone, licking broad stripes and sucking marks that would bruise by morning. Every drag of his tongue was desperate, every soft bite a little sharper than the last, like he was trying to ground the chaos still buzzing under his skin by consuming you.

“Fuck you taste so good,” He mumbled against your sternum, voice muffled and broken. “Still pissed off… but you taste way better than candy”

You threaded your fingers through his dark hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head back. His glasses had slipped dangerously low on his nose, one lens completely fogged.

“If you need your mouth busy, you know what to do"

Seongje’s eyes flashed and with no hesitation slid towards your crotch. His hands

shoved at your clothes with impatient tugs until he could bury his face between your thighs. 

It was messy from the start; more hunger than skill, all tongue and suction and the occasional scrape of teeth when the adrenaline made him too eager. He moaned loudly around you, the sound vibrating straight through your body, glasses finally slipping off and clattering softly to the floor. He didn’t even flinch, too lost in the wet heat of his own mouth working you over, lips red and slick, tongue darting out between every labored breath like he couldn’t get enough.

Every time you tightened your grip in his hair and guided him, he whimpered- sharp, needy little sounds that told you the fight was finally draining out of him, replaced by pure, indulgent need.

When you finally pulled him up by the hair, his expression was dazed, pupils huge, mouth shiny and swollen. The hard edges of his usual scowl had softened into something almost vulnerable, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

Seongje’s breath caught when you manhandled him so he straddled his hips and pressed the head of your cock against his entrance. You took your time, easing in inch by slow inch, watching every flicker across his face. His hands flew to your thighs, fingers digging in as a broken groan tore from his throat.

“Breathe, Seongje,” You whispered, voice low, sinking deeper until you were fully seated inside him. 

“Shut up,” He muttered, but there was no heat left in it. His head tipped back against the pillow, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut as you began to move.  Every slow roll of your hips dragged a low, shattered sound from him. His cock lay heavy and leaking against his stomach, twitching with each deep, unhurried thrust.

You kept the pace torturouslysslow, letting him feel every slide, every drag against that spot inside him that made his voice break. One hand braced beside his head, the other stroked his flushed chest and stomach, grounding him.

“That’s it… let it out. I’ve got you,” You murmured against his ear, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, then the silver ring in his lip.

He arched beneath you, hips trying to chase the rhythm, but you pressed him back down gently, keeping him pinned to your pace. His walls clenched tight around you, body trembling as the last of the adrenaline finally burned away into pure sensation.

When he came untouched, it hit him hard- back bowing, a hoarse cry ripping from his throat as he spilled across his own stomach. You followed moments later, burying yourself deep and grinding slow through the release, forehead pressed to his.

Seongje ended up sprawled half across your chest, one arm slung heavily over your stomach, face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing had finally evened out, the restless energy gone. You brushed damp strands of hair off his forehead, a faint smirk on your lips as you felt him nuzzle closer, lazy and content.

“You’re a menace,” You said softly, affection warming your voice. “A sweet-tooth menace with a short fuse and a serious oral fixation.”

He huffed a tired laugh against your shoulder. “Shut up…”

But he was smiling it small and faint, but a smile nevertheless- the corner of his mouth curving against your skin. His fingers traced slow, idle patterns on your side, the silver ring in his lip cool now that the heat had faded.

After a long, comfortable silence, he mumbled, voice thick and sleepy, “Next time… I’ll just come home and suck you off first.”

You stood directly behind him, chest to his back, one arm looped casually around his waist like you were steadying him against the train’s sway. Two thick fingers were already buried deep in the slick, fluttering heat of his cunt, pumping slow and steady with every rock of the carriage.

Choso’s breath hitched softly, barely audible over the rumble of the train and the murmur of passengers. His free hand clenched tighter around the rail until his knuckles turned white. 

Every curl of your fingers sent sparks racing up his spine, his slick walls clenching greedily, coating your hand in warm, slippery heat that threatened to trickle down his thighs.

“Easy,” You whispered against the nape of his neck, voice for him alone. “Just breathe.”

He bit his lip hard, bangs hiding his burning face as he stared at the floor. The stretch felt overwhelming in the best way, turning his usually calm mind into static. A sudden lurch of the train shoved more bodies closer, forcing your fingers deeper. A tiny, mortified whimper escaped before he could swallow it.

Your fingers never paused scissoring gently, then pressing firm against that sweet spot with ruthless accuracy. “You’re soaked through already,” oYu murmured, lips grazing his ear. “Does it excite you? Knowing anyone could notice how wet your pretty cunt is getting on a crowded train?”

“D-Don’t…” His whisper was hoarse, barely there. But his body answered for him, hips rocking back the smallest fraction, walls fluttering wildly around your intrusion and sucking you deeper.

You added a third finger, filling him fuller. Choso’s grip slipped on the rail for a heartbeat; he recovered by pressing his forehead to his arm, hiding behind the curtain of his black hair as another soft, needy sound slipped free.

As the train slowed for the next stop and passengers shifted in a chaotic wave, you curled your fingers harder, thumb flicking rapidly over his clit while thrusting deep and fast. His thighs trembled violently, pressing inward around your wrist in a futile bid for control.

The pressure coiled unbearably tight in his belly. A thin trail of drool escaped the corner of his mouth before he licked it away, face flaming with embarrassment.

“Come on,” You breathed, pressing a secret kiss to his skin. “Let go for me. Stay quiet like a good boy.”

His whole body locked up. His cunt spasmed in helpless, rippling waves, clamping down tight as a sudden rush of warm, thick slick gushed over your fingers and soaked his underwear. 

A high, broken whine tried to escape he just about strangled it into a shaky cough, burying his face deeper into his sleeve while his legs shook so hard he relied on the press of bodies and your support to stay upright.

You stroked him gently through every aftershock, drawing it out until he was twitching and oversensitive, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

When it finally faded, Choso sagged back against you, cheeks crimson, eyes glassy when he peeked over his shoulder.

His voice was a raw, barely audible whisper, thick with shame and lingering heat.

“You’re so cruel.”

The movie theater was dimly lit, the latest action flick droning on with explosions and gunfire that barely registered over the low hum of the crowd. Satoru Gojo sat slouched in the back row trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. His long legs were spread wide, one arm casually draped behind your seat. The popcorn was forgotten in his lap under the thin jacket he’d draped there for cover. 

GOJO

Beneath that jacket, his uniform pants hung open just enough. Your hand had found its way inside long ago, two fingers sliding through his already dripping folds and sinking deep without ceremony. He’d jolted at the first touch, covering it with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, but now he was barely holding it together. 

Two of your fingers were buried deep, curling slow and deliberate against that spongy spot inside him that made his thighs twitch. His walls fluttered around you, ridiculously wet already, the obscene little squelch barely audible under the movie's soundtrack but loud enough in his own ears to make his pale cheeks burn.

Your fingers curled lazily, stroking that sensitive ridge inside him with practiced ease. Every slow drag made fresh heat pulse through his core, his slick coating your knuckles in warm, slippery trails. The faint, wet slicks were lost under the movie’s soundtrack, but Satoru heard them loud and clear. They made his pale cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Having fun pretending to watch the movie?” You murmured close to his ear, thumb grazing his swollen clit in slow, teasing spirals.

He forced a breathy laugh, voice cracking. “It’s… okay. Effects could be better.” The words came out too airy when you scissored your fingers, opening him wider. His free hand dug into the armrest, plastic creaking under his grip.

To the couple a few seats away, he probably looked like he was just whispering commentary. Up close, though, his lashes fluttered wildly and a thin sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re making such a mess already. Feel how easily my fingers slide? Bet you’d love it if someone turned around right now.”

“Shut it-” he hissed, but the protest dissolved into a muffled whine as you added a third finger, stretching him fuller. His hips twitched forward despite himself, chasing the pressure while his pride fought to stay still. The thrill of it all- the strongest reduced to a slick, trembling wreck in public- sent another rush of warmth flooding around your hand.

Your thumb pressed firmer circles against his clit, matching the steady pump of your fingers. Satoru’s chest heaved under the jacket, breathing ragged. When you curled harder, hitting that perfect spot dead-on, a sharp, needy sound almost escaped. He quickly turned it into a cough, face burning crimson.

“Gonna fall apart right here, Satoru? With the whole theater none the wiser?” you teased, pressing a fake-innocent kiss to his jaw.

That pushed him over. He buried his face against your shoulder, biting down on your collar to smother the broken moan that tore free. His cunt clenched in violent, fluttering waves, gushing hot and messy over your fingers as his orgasm ripped through him. Long legs shook under the jacket, toes curling tight in his shoes while sparks danced behind his closed eyes.

You kept stroking him through every pulse, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. When it finally ended, he sagged against you, panting softly, his pussy still giving weak little flutters around your soaked digits.

The movie rolled on, the rest of the crowd oblivious.

Satoru lifted his head just enough to shoot you a watery, half-lidded glare, cheeks flushed and lips glossy. A shaky, cocky grin tugged at his mouth anyway.

“Credits better have a sequel to this… or I’m dragging you to the next showing."

NANAMI

The office floor was dim and quiet after hours, only a few distant keyboard clicks breaking the silence. Kento Nanami sat ramrod straight at his desk, crisp shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, typing awat under the glow of his monitor. You perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that the wooden panel hid everything below.

Your hand had disappeared beneath the desk ten minutes ago, slipping past his loosened belt and into the front of his slacks. Two fingers were currently buried deep inside his cunt, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm while your thumb traced lazy patterns over his swollen clit .

Nanami’s typing had grown noticeably slower, keys pressed with more force than necessary. His hazel eyes stayed fixed on the screen jaw clenched tight, but the slow creep of color up his neck betrayed hi. Every curl of your fingers against his front wall made his slick walls flutter and squeeze, coating your hand in warm, creamy arousal that was starting to drip down between his thighs and onto the leather chair.

“Focus on your report, Kento,” You murmured under your breath, voice low enough that only he could hear. You added a third finger without warning, stretching him open as you thrust deeper.

His breath caught sharply. “This is very inappropriate,” He muttered, his voice strained, forcing his fingers back to the keyboard. One hand gripped the desk edge until knuckles paled, trying to ground himself himself while his cunt fluttered and squeezed, pulling your fingers in greedily with every slow thrust.

The quiet, slippery sounds of your fingers working through his wetness blended with the distant hum of the AC. One wrong move, one loud moan , and someone could easily catch you guys.

You leaned closer, pretending to look at his monitor. “Listen to that. You’re absolutely soaked. Imagine if someone walked over right now and saw how desperately you’re leaking for me.”

A shaky exhale slipped from him. His thighs quivered under the desk, pressing together briefly before parting again to give you more room. The shame of it twisted hot in his gut, mixing with the building pleasure until he couldn’t tell which fueled the other. His pussy clenched hard around your fingers, another rush of slick making the glide smoother, messier. The risk- the thought of a coworker wandering over while he was stuffed full and leaking- made his stomach twist with equal parts shame and heat. 

Your thumb pressed firmer, rubbing tight circles in time with your thrusting fingers. Nanami’s breathing turned shallow and precise, chest rising in tight, silent bursts. Nanami’s hips gave the tiniest rock forward, chasing the friction even as his pride screamed at him to stay still. His breathing grew shallower, chest rising and falling in controlled, silent bursts. 

“Close?” You whispered, lips brushing his ear while you pretended to discuss work.

He gave the barest nod, lashes lowering as his eyes fluttered half-shut before he  clamped down around your fingers. 

His entire body tensed, as his cunt clamped down hard around your fingers in pulsing waves. Warm, thick slick gushed over your hand, soaking his underwear and the front of his slacks in a messy flood that would definitely leave a stain. His thighs quivered violently under the desk, toes curling inside his polished shoes while he stared blankly at the screen, jaw locked tight to trap every whimper inside.

You worked him through it with slow, deep strokes, prolonging the pleasure until he was twitching and oversensitive, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his brow. Only then did you ease your fingers out, wiping them discreetly on the inside of his thigh before fixing his clothes with careful hands.

Nanami remained still for a long moment, breathing heavily through his nose, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused on the half-finished report. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and edged with that familiar mix of irritation and reluctant satisfaction.

“I’m going to need a new chair.” He paused, then added under his breath, barely audible:“And you’re staying late to help me clean this up.”  

His hand brushed against yours under the desk, fingers lingering just a second too long. A clear promise of exactly how he planned to repay you once the last coworker left.

Lanterns swayed overhead, casting shifting red and gold light across the packed festival street. Vendors shouted, crowds laughed. Sukuna stuck out like a sore thumb with his murderous expression, tattoos stark against his skin, expression of arrogant boredom.

SUKUNA

No one could have guessed what was happening beneath the loose layers of his robes.

You had pulled him into a narrow alley between two stalls moments ago. Now two thick fingers pumped ruthlessly into his cunt, curling and scissoring while your thumb ground hard against his throbbing clit. The risk was deliciously stupid as hundreds of mortals were mere feet away, you both only had fabric and proximity keeping the secret.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His thighs trembled faintly, and every slow curl of your fingers made his slick walls flutter and squeeze around you like a vice.

A group of festival-goers walked past laughing loudly. Sukuna’s breath hitched, turning into a low growl he barely masked as a scoff.

“Pathetic humans,” He muttered, voice rougher than usual, deeper. The words were meant to sound dismissive, but they came out strained when you twisted your fingers just right, , dragging firmly over that sensitive bundle inside him.

You leaned in “Feel that? You’re leaking like you were made for this. The mighty King of Curses, getting finger-fucked in a crowd of ants.”

His lips peeled back in a sneer that faltered as you forced a third finger inside, stretching his greedy heat wider. “Insolent-” The insult cut off into a strained grunt. His hips jerked forward once, involuntarily, chasing the brutal stretch while his free hand curled into a fist at his side, nails biting skin.

Heat coiled low and vicious in his belly. His clit pulsed under your thumb’s relentless pressure. Another surge of people flowed by; Sukuna’s eyes flashed with feral warning even as his walls spasmed violently, sucking your fingers deeper, juices soaking into the fabric between his legs.

“Close already?” You taunted softly against his neck. “Going to make a mess right here? Let them all see the great Sukuna falling apart like a desperate whore?”

His lips curled into a sneer, but it faltered when you added a third finger, stretching his tight, greedy cunt wider. “Watch your tongue, brat,” He hissed, but the threat lacked its usual bite considering it was up to you to get him off. His hips rocked forward the tiniest amount, chasing the thick intrusion as his pussy clenched hard, creamy arousal making every thrust wet and obscene.

His head tipped back slightly, crimson eyes glazing as the orgasm tore through him like a released curse. His cunt seized around your fingers in brutal, rhythmic contractions, flooding your hand with thick, hot release that dripped messily down his thighs. 

You milked him through every powerful wave, slow and deep, until he was twitching and oversensitive, chest heaving. When the tremors finally eased, Sukuna straightened, glaring down at you with flushed cheeks and blown pupils, voice a venomous rasp barely audible over the festival din.

“You arrogant little worm- I should tear that hand off.”