⋆༺𓆩N𓆪༻⋆

cw⪼extreme medical play, heavy dubcon, four arms + stomach mouth, double cock penetration (vaginal + anal), speculum play, cum collection in vials, forced cum drinking, urethral sounding, nipple + pussy clamps, electric wand, temperature probe, overstimulation, squirting, choking, slapping, bondage + stirrups, size kink, degradation, pain play, multiple orgasms, gaping, no aftercare

💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉💉

the doctor is ryomen sukuna, four arms working efficiently as he keeps you strapped helplessly to the table, legs spread obscenely wide. your cunt and ass are already leaking with cum as he reaches for more tools from the metal tray.

“time for a more invasive examination,” he smirks, lower eyes glowing.

he keeps the metal speculum locked wide open in your pussy, then grabs a thick glass thermometer and shoves it deep into your asshole without warning. he twists it slowly, fucking your tight ring with the cold rod while his stomach tongue laps at your clit.

“temperature check while i play with you.”

two of his hands pull out a pair of metal forceps. he clamps them onto your swollen nipples, tightening them until you cry out, the sharp bite making your pussy clench around the speculum. another set of smaller clamps goes on your outer pussy lips, pulling them apart even wider.

“look at this pathetic cunt being held open for me.”

sukuna picks up a long, smooth metal sound rod and drips lube on it. he presses the tip against your urethra and slowly pushes it inside, stretching your tiny hole while he watches your face twist in overwhelmed pleasure.

“such a tight little piss hole. taking medical tools so greedily.”

he starts fucking the sound in and out of your urethra in shallow thrusts while his other two hands pump the thermometer in your ass faster. his stomach mouth sucks hard on your clit as he works all three holes at once.

“you’re going to cum with all these tools inside you.”

the pressure becomes unbearable. you scream as you squirt hard around the speculum, clear fluid spraying out. sukuna quickly grabs another vial and catches your fresh squirt, filling it while the metal sound keeps stretching your urethra.

“another perfect sample,” he growls.

he removes the sound, pulls out the thermometer, then yanks the speculum free. without giving you a break he forces both massive cocks back into your cunt while shoving the thick thermometer deep into your ass again.

“double penetration with a temperature probe still inside. how does that feel, brat?”

sukuna rails you brutally, both cocks destroying your pussy while the thermometer fucks your ass in rhythm. the nipple clamps and pussy clamps bounce with every savage thrust. he grabs an electric wand and presses it directly on your clamped clit, turning it on high.

the violent vibrations rip through you. you sob and shake as another orgasm explodes, squirting messily around his cocks again. sukuna laughs and keeps fucking you through it, using one hand to collect more of your cum in yet another vial.

“i’m collecting every drop tonight. your body is my personal laboratory.”

he suddenly pulls both cocks out, removes all the clamps and tools, and flips you over. he forces both cocks into your ass at once while shoving a large syringe filled with your collected squirt deep into your empty cunt and injecting it all inside.

“every hole filled with medical tools and your own cum. perfect patient.”

fin🏁

mdni!husband jean x femreader head canons!

cw!⪼ heavy smut, breeding kink, panty stuffing, possessiveness, rough sex, creampie, spanking, gagging, praise/degradation, mirror sex

background⪼ you and jean got married young after you got pregnant with your daughter. the relationship was passionate but toxic — jean’s jealousy and temper clashed with your stubbornness. after years of fighting, you divorced two years ago. he’s still an amazing dad though. you have shared custody of your 6 year old daughter. she spends half the week with jean and half with you and your new fiancé (her stepdad). everyone pretends it’s civil for her sake… but jean never stopped claiming what’s his.

👀👀🐴

jean as your ex husband “acts”

jean as your ex husband still shows up unannounced at your place knowing exactly how to get you weak

jean as your ex husband bends you over the kitchen counter the second your daughter is asleep upstairs and spanks you red for “moving on too fast”

jean as your ex husband pins you down and fucks you while staring into your eyes, reminding you no one will ever stretch his favorite pussy like he does

jean as your ex husband is still stupidly possessive and leaves fresh hickeys all over your tits and neck so your fiancé sees them the next day

jean as your ex husband stuffs your soaked panties in your mouth to keep you quiet while he rails you on the couch you used to share

jean as your ex husband has insane stamina and fucks you through multiple orgasms until you’re crying and promising you still belong to him

jean as your ex husband spreads your legs wide open and watches his cock ruin the mother of his child

jean as your ex husband goes feral eating you out on the bed you now share with your fiancé, tongue fucking you like he owns you

jean as your ex husband always cums deep inside you and plugs you with his fingers after, whispering “keep my load in you when you go back to him”

jean as your ex husband pulls your hair from behind and growls “you’re still my wife when you’re taking my cock like this”

jean as your ex husband fucks you in front of the mirror so you can see how much better you look getting fucked by him

jean as your ex husband sneaks into your room while your daughter’s stepdad is downstairs and makes you ride his face

jean as your ex husband teases your clit under the table at your daughter’s soccer games, smirking when you try not to moan

jean as your ex husband mixes praise and degradation while pounding you, calling you his good little cheating slut and the best mom to his daughter

jean as your ex husband is addicted to filling you up and sending you home leaking his cum so your fiancé unknowingly helps raise whatever comes next

jean as your ex husband loves waking you up in the middle of the night with his cock already buried inside you (somno mention..?👀)

jean as your ex husband uses his size against you, pinning you down easily and making you feel tiny while he destroys you

jean as your ex husband gets off on you calling him “daddy” again when he’s balls deep, especially when your fiancé is in the other room

jean as your ex husband is into light choking, wrapping his big hand around your throat while he whispers how you’ll always be his

jean as your ex husband secretly records you creaming on his cock so he can watch it later when he’s missing his wife

you as jeans ex wife..last month you found out you’re pregnant again… and you haven’t let your fiancé touch you in over two months. deep down you already know exactly whose baby it is. jean figured it out the second he saw the test in your trash can during one of his late-night visits. now every time he fucks you he presses his hand on your barely-there bump and whispers “this one’s definitely mine too… guess you’ll never really be rid of me, huh wife?

(plot twist..?) are we surprised tho..

fin🏁

longstory short this was supposed to be multip parts but i had a feeling it would turn out bad so you can have the rough draft..!😬😬enjoy!🔥

rough draft!↓↓↓↓

ˏˋ fire & stone ♡ firelordzuko x earth reader ˎˊ˗

cw⪼explicit smut • rough hate sex • enemies to lovers • heavy power struggle • intense fighting during foreplay • bending used as weapons • pain kink • rough penetration • biting • scratching • spanking • light burning/heat play • marking • choking • degradation + dirty talk • mentions of war trauma & parental death • bruises & mild blood • possessiveness • slight dubcon vibes (from heavy hatred) • aftercareೄ🔥🪨🌊💨

the hatred between you and firelord zuko had been festering for months like an open wound that neither of you would let heal.

you were the iron orchid, daughter of general li who died defending ba sing se’s outer wall during the drill assault. you watched fire rain from the sky while the young prince’s airship hovered in the distance like a predator. your mother wasted away afterward, teaching you earthbending through grief: “every stone you raise is a grave for our dead.” you arrived in the fire nation capital with one goal — make zuko bleed for every life his bloodline destroyed.

zuko saw you as the living reminder of every failure and every crime he was trying to atone for. banished prince turned firelord, scarred at thirteen for speaking against his father’s war council, mother vanished for trying to protect him, years spent hunting the avatar like a dog. every time you opened your mouth in council you twisted the knife: “the monster ozai created still wears the crown.”

tonight the powder keg finally detonates.

the private war room is already trashed from hours of screaming. documents are shredded. the heavy oak table lies split down the middle. you stand on opposite sides of the cracked stone floor, breathing hard, clothes half torn from earlier shoves and bending clashes.

“your father was a butcher,” you snarl, fists glowing with earthen energy.

“and you sat on that ship watching my people burn. coward.”

zuko’s golden eye flashes with pure rage. flames lick up his arms.

“and your precious general probably buried fire nation prisoners alive in those tunnels. don’t lecture me about butchery, earth rat. you’re just a bitter orphan using your daddy’s corpse as a shield.”

you strike first.

you slam your foot down and a jagged stone pillar erupts beneath him. he leaps aside, but you’re already charging, shoulder slamming into his chest. you both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fury. he rolls on top, pinning your wrists above your head with one burning hand while the other grabs your jaw hard.

“still think you can beat me?” he growls, hips pressing down between your thighs. you feel the hard line of his cock already straining against his robes, and the realization makes heat flood your core even as you hate him more.

you buck violently, knee aiming for his ribs. it connects partially and he grunts, but instead of pulling away he grinds down harder, letting you feel exactly how the fight is affecting him.

“look at you — squirming under me like a whore while you spit venom.”

“fuck you colony trash,” you hiss, but your hips roll up involuntarily, rubbing against the bulge. the friction sends sparks through both of you.

the fight turns filthy fast.

you earthbend a ripple through the floor that throws him sideways. you scramble on top, straddling his waist and pinning his shoulders with your knees. your hand slides down and palms his cock roughly through the fabric, squeezing hard enough to make him groan. “this what you want, firelord? to fuck the woman whose nation you tried to erase?”

zuko snarls and heats his palms, pressing them to your thighs — hot enough to sting and leave red marks. you gasp at the burn but don’t pull away. instead you grind down on his clothed cock, slow and deliberate, taunting him while still trying to dominate.

he flips you again with a burst of strength, slamming you onto your back. his hand shoves under your tunic and roughly gropes your breast, pinching the nipple until you cry out. “you’re soaked already. i can feel the heat through your clothes, orchid. all that hatred and your cunt still wants me.”

you retaliate by raising sharp earthen cuffs around his wrists, trapping his hands momentarily. you use the moment to rip his robes open and drag your nails down his scarred chest, leaving red trails. then you lean down and bite his neck hard, sucking a brutal mark while your hips keep rolling against his.

the air is thick with steam and the scent of arousal and smoke.

zuko melts the stone cuffs with white-hot fire and grabs you by the hips, flipping you onto all fours. he yanks your pants down roughly, exposing you completely. two fingers shove inside you without warning — rough, deep, stretching you painfully. you moan and push back, hating how good the burn feels.

“that’s it,” he pants, pumping his fingers brutally. “fight me while you fuck yourself on my hand.”

you earthbend again, sending a wave of stone that knocks him back. you crawl over him, yank his cock free — thick, flushed, leaking — and sink down onto it in one savage motion.

the stretch is brutal. you both groan in pain and pleasure as he fills you too fast, too deep. you don’t give either of you time to adjust. you ride him hard and fast, hands braced on his chest, nails digging into old scars while you slam your hips down.

zuko thrusts up to meet you, fighting for control from below. his hands grip your ass hard enough to bruise, guiding you roughly. every collision is violent — skin slapping, bodies clashing like opposing armies.

you lean down and bite his scarred cheek. he responds by heating one palm and slapping your ass sharply — the sting mixing with the burn. “harder, you pathetic fire dog,” you gasp. “fuck me like you hate me.”

he snarls and flips you again, this time pressing your chest to the cold broken floor. he re-enters you from behind in one punishing thrust, pounding deep and merciless. the angle lets him hit that spot brutally with every snap of his hips. one hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. the other reaches around to rub your clit with rough, mean strokes — too fast, too hard, turning pleasure into something almost painful.

bending weaves through everything. you raise small earthen ridges under your body for better leverage, pushing back to meet every brutal thrust. he responds by surrounding both of you with rings of controlled flame — hot enough to make sweat pour down your skin, intensifying every sensation without quite burning.

the sex stays vicious for a long time. you come first — violently, screaming through gritted teeth as your walls clamp down around him, the orgasm ripping through you like an earthquake. zuko doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, pace faltering only when his own release hits. he buries himself deep and comes with a guttural groan, spilling hot and thick inside you while his flames flicker wildly.

you both collapse onto the ruined floor, chests heaving, bodies covered in bruises, burns, bite marks, and scratches. cum leaks down your thighs. the room smells like sex, smoke, and stone dust.

for several long minutes the only sound is ragged breathing.

then zuko rolls onto his side, wincing. his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “your father… general li. he held the line at the outer wall longer than anyone expected. i was thirteen. standing on the bridge of that airship, watching. i told my father the plan was cruel. that’s why he burned my face the next day in the war room.”

you turn your head slowly, still catching your breath. the hatred is still there, raw and bleeding, but it’s mixed with something heavier now.

“my mother died because she couldn’t stand living in the ruins,” you whisper. “she made me promise to never yield to flame. every time i earthbend i feel her hands guiding mine. i came here to make you pay for both of them.”

zuko reaches out — surprisingly gentle after everything — and traces one of the burn marks on your hip with a fingertip. “i burned villages during my banishment. i know what fire can do when it’s unleashed without honor. i can’t undo any of it. but i’m not my father.”

you sit up slowly, wincing at the deep ache between your legs and the bruises blooming everywhere. your voice is rough. “the deal was one night. but this… this wasn’t just fucking. it was still war.”

he sits up too, scarred chest rising and falling. a small, tired smirk tugs at his mouth. “war we both lost tonight.”

you look at him — naked, marked by your nails and teeth, golden eye watching you with something dangerously close to understanding.

“tomorrow we sign the treaty,” you say quietly. “but after that… i don’t know what we are.”

zuko stands, offering you a hand even though his own body is trembling with exhaustion. “we’re two people who tried to destroy each other and ended up destroying the space between us instead. come to my chambers tonight. not for a deal. not for hate. just… to see what happens when we stop fighting for five minutes.”

you take his hand, letting him pull you up. your legs shake. cum and sweat mix on your skin.

“five minutes,” you mutter, leaning into him despite yourself. “then we go back to hating each other.”

he laughs softly — the sound raw and real. “deal.”

the next morning the council is speechless when you both walk in limping slightly, bodies carefully covered, voices civil for the first time. the treaty is signed without incident.

but everyone can feel it — the war between the iron orchid and the firelord has changed shape. it’s no longer just hatred.

it’s something brutal, something passionate, and something neither of you is ready to name yet.

but not even later that day..

the treaty ink is barely dry when you find yourself outside zuko’s private chambers again.

your body still aches from last night — deep bruises on your hips shaped like his fingerprints, burn marks on your thighs that sting every time your robes brush them, the dull throb between your legs that reminds you exactly how brutally he took you on the broken floor. you should hate him more for it. instead the memory makes heat pool low in your belly.

you push the heavy doors open without knocking.

zuko is already waiting, standing by the wide window overlooking the harbor. firelord robes discarded, wearing only loose black pants that hang low on his hips. the scars across his chest and back are fully visible in the low candlelight, old and new marks from your nails standing out red against his skin. his golden eye finds you instantly.

“you came,” he says, voice rough like he’s been waiting hours.

“don’t sound so surprised, fire dog,” you answer, stepping inside and letting the doors slam shut behind you. “we still have unfinished business.”

he crosses the room slowly, circling you like a predator. the air between you crackles. “the treaty’s signed. no more public fights. but in here… nothing’s changed.”

“good.” you shove him hard in the chest, backing him toward the massive bed. “because i still hate you.”

he catches your wrists before you can push again, twisting just enough to make it hurt. “prove it.”

the fight starts again immediately, but this time it’s slower, more deliberate — sexual from the very first second.

you earthbend a low ridge of stone under his feet to trip him. he stumbles back onto the bed and you climb on top, straddling his waist and grinding down hard against the growing bulge in his pants. your hands pin his shoulders as you roll your hips, letting him feel how wet you already are through the thin fabric.

zuko groans, hands gripping your ass roughly, fingers digging into fresh bruises. “look at you — already soaked for the man who destroyed your home.”

“shut up,” you hiss, leaning down to bite his scarred shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks. he bucks up sharply, grinding his cock against your core, the friction making you both gasp.

he flips you suddenly, pinning you beneath him. his mouth crashes against yours — all teeth and aggression. one hand yanks your robes open while the other heats up, pressing a burning palm to your bare stomach. the sting makes you arch, a sharp moan escaping before you can stop it.

“still fighting?” he taunts, voice dark as he shoves two thick fingers inside you without warning. the stretch burns from how sore you are, but you clench around him anyway, hips jerking up to take them deeper.

you retaliate by raising earthen cuffs around his wrists again, trapping his hands momentarily so you can shove his pants down and wrap your fingers around his cock. you stroke him roughly, thumb pressing against the sensitive head until he hisses.

“hate how hard you get for me,” you growl, squeezing tighter. “hate how much you want the woman whose father you watched die.”

zuko melts the cuffs with a burst of white-hot flame and grabs you by the throat, not choking but holding you in place as he lines himself up. he pushes in with one brutal thrust — deep, unforgiving, reopening every ache from last night. you cry out, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood.

the sex is vicious again.

he fucks you like he’s trying to win a war, hips snapping hard and fast, the wet slap of skin echoing through the chamber. every thrust drags against sore walls, the pain sharp and perfect. you fight back with everything — earthbending small pillars under the mattress to change the angle, forcing him deeper whether he wants it or not. you bite his neck, his chest, his scarred cheek. he responds by heating his palms and slapping your ass, the burn making tears prick your eyes even as you moan louder.

“harder,” you demand, voice breaking. “fuck me like you mean the hate.”

zuko growls and pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach. he yanks your hips up and slams back in from behind, one hand fisting in your hair to keep your face pressed to the sheets. the new angle lets him hit even deeper, pounding that spot brutally with every stroke.

his free hand reaches around to rub your clit — rough, fast, unrelenting. “come for me, orchid. come hating every inch of me inside you.”

you shatter hard, screaming into the mattress as your walls clamp down around him, the orgasm ripping through your overstimulated body like an earthquake. zuko fucks you through it, pace never slowing, until his own release hits. he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a guttural groan, spilling hot and deep inside you while his flames flicker wildly around the room.

afterward you both collapse, tangled and breathing hard. sweat, cum, and blood mix on your skin. the sheets are ruined.

zuko is the first to move. he pulls out slowly, wincing, then rolls you onto your back with surprising care. his fingers trace the fresh bruises on your hips, the burn marks, the bite prints.

“your mother,” he says quietly, voice hoarse, “she taught you to bend through grief. mine tried to protect me from my father and disappeared because of it. we both lost everything to this war.”

you look at him — scarred, exhausted, golden eye softer than it has any right to be after how violently he just fucked you.

“i still hate what your nation did to mine,” you whisper, but there’s no venom left tonight. “but last night… tonight… it felt like something else.”

he leans down and presses his forehead to yours, breath mingling. “it’s not just hate anymore. it’s bigger. uglier. better.”

you thread your fingers through his hair and pull him into a slow, messy kiss — still rough around the edges, still tasting like blood and smoke, but less like war and more like surrender.

“stay tonight,” he murmurs against your lips. “not as enemies. not as negotiators. just… stay.”

you smile against his mouth, small and tired and real.

“fine, firelord. but tomorrow we go back to fighting in public. i have a reputation to uphold.”

zuko laughs softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.

“wouldn’t have it any other way, earth rat.”

outside the palace the stars are quiet. inside, two broken pieces from opposite sides of the war lie tangled together — bruised, marked, still hurting, but no longer only trying to destroy each other.

the real war might be over.

this new one between you has only just begun.

fin🏁

this is so bad but like i honestly wanna make more of this so… idk

cw!!⪼masturbation. soft dom reader. fingering. handjob. praise kink. choso being overwhelmed and submissive. voyeurism (him watching you). slight overstimulation. very soft aftercare.

the room is quiet except for the faint rustle of sheets and your own soft breathing. you’re lying on your back in the middle of the bed, legs comfortably spread, one hand slowly circling your clit while two fingers of the other press lazily inside yourself. the slick sounds are quiet but unmistakable in the stillness.

choso sits at the edge of the mattress, completely still, dark eyes fixed on every small movement of your fingers. his long hair falls loosely around his face, and those marks under his eyes look even softer in the low light. he doesn’t touch himself yet — just watches, chest rising and falling a little heavier with each passing second. his sweats are already tented, the outline of his thick cock obvious, a small wet spot darkening the fabric where he’s leaking.

“you look so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “the way your fingers move… how wet you’re getting. is that all for me?”

you hum softly, eyes half-lidded as you look at him. your fingers keep their slow rhythm, sliding in and out with wet little sounds.

choso swallows hard, his gaze dropping back down between your legs. his hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to reach out or touch himself. you can see the way his cock twitches in his sweats every time you let out a quiet moan.

“keep watching,” you say gently, voice warm but with that soft command underneath. “don’t look away.”

he nods immediately, lips parting on a shaky exhale. “i won’t. i could watch you forever.”

you smile at that, spreading your legs a little wider so he can see better. your fingers glide through your folds, collecting slick before you rub slow, firm circles over your clit. a soft sigh escapes you, hips rolling up into your own touch. choso’s breathing gets heavier, his own hand finally drifting down to palm himself through his sweats, squeezing lightly like he’s trying to relieve some pressure without fully giving in.

“take them off,” you tell him, still touching yourself. “let me see you too.”

choso obeys without hesitation, lifting his hips to push his sweats and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. it’s thick and flushed, the head shiny with precum that beads at the tip and slowly drips down the shaft. he wraps one large hand around himself and gives a slow stroke, eyes never leaving your pussy.

“fuck…” he breathes, the word slipping out like he couldn’t stop it. “you’re dripping down your thighs. looks so warm… so soft.”

you let out a quiet moan at his words, sliding your fingers deeper inside yourself, curling them just right. your other hand keeps working your clit in steady circles. the wet sounds grow a little louder as you get more turned on from his gaze.

choso matches your pace without even realizing it at first — slow, deliberate strokes of his hand up and down his cock, thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive head to spread the precum. every time you moan or your hips twitch, his grip tightens and his breath hitches.

“does it feel good?” he asks, voice hoarse. his eyes are glassy, completely focused on the way your fingers disappear inside you. “touching yourself while i watch?”

“so good,” you whisper, biting your lip as pleasure builds. “especially knowing you’re touching yourself too… because of me.”

he groans quietly at that, hips bucking up into his fist once before he forces himself to slow down again. “it’s always because of you. everything is.”

(better be)

the two of you fall into a shared rhythm — your fingers pumping in and out of your soaked pussy, his large hand stroking his thick cock in time with your movements. the room fills with the quiet, intimate sounds: wet squelching from you, the soft rhythmic slide of skin on skin from him, and both of your heavy breathing.

choso’s free hand grips the sheets tightly, like he’s anchoring himself. his chest is flushed, nipples hard, long hair sticking slightly to his forehead. he looks so pretty like this — lost in the sight of you, trying so hard to stay controlled even as his strokes get a little messier.

“you’re getting close, aren’t you?” you ask softly, noticing the way his thighs are starting to tremble. your own fingers speed up just a fraction, rubbing your clit faster while you curl them against that spot inside you.

he nods, biting his lower lip.

“y-yeah… watching you is too much. the sounds you make… the way you’re shining… i don’t know how long i can last.”

“then don’t hold back, baby,” you murmur, voice gentle but firm. “cum with me. let me see how good it feels for you.”

your words push him closer. choso’s strokes turn a little faster, a little tighter, his thumb pressing firmly over the head on every upstroke. his eyes stay locked on your fingers, watching them plunge in and out, coated in your slick.

you feel your orgasm building fast now — heat pooling low in your belly, thighs starting to shake. “choso… i’m close—”

“me too,” he gasps, voice breaking. “please— let me see you cum. i want to watch you fall apart.”

that does it. your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits, a soft, broken moan spilling from your lips. your walls clench around your fingers, slick dripping down as you keep rubbing your clit through the waves. choso’s name falls from your mouth like a prayer while pleasure crashes over you.

the sight of you cumming is what breaks him.

choso lets out a deep, wrecked groan, his hips stuttering as thick ropes of cum spill over his fist and onto his stomach. he keeps stroking himself through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse while his eyes stay glued to you, drinking in every twitch and gasp.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shared heavy breathing.

then choso shifts, moving closer until he’s lying beside you. he doesn’t bother cleaning up yet — just pulls you gently against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist. his skin is warm, heart still racing under your cheek. he presses soft, almost shy kisses to the top of your head, his cum-smeared hand resting carefully on your hip.

“that was… so beautiful,”

he whispers against your hair, voice soft and hoarse.

“watching you like that… touching yourself because of me. and cumming together… i don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you.”

you smile, nuzzling into his neck and tracing lazy patterns on his chest with your fingertips. “good. because we’re not done yet, baby.”

he lets out a quiet, content hum, holding you tighter. his free hand finally moves down between your legs again, not to tease, just resting there gently, feeling the warmth and wetness.

“can i touch you now?” he asks, almost shy, even after everything. “i want to feel how wet you still are… and maybe make you cum again. with my fingers this time. if you’ll let me.”

you tilt your head up to kiss him slow and deep, tasting the quiet devotion on his lips.

“go ahead... touch me. we’ve got all night.”

choso’s fingers rest gently between your legs, not moving yet, just feeling the warmth and the slick mess you made. his breathing is still uneven against your hair, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. the sticky warmth of his own cum is smeared across his stomach and your hip where his hand rests, but he doesn’t seem to care. he just holds you closer, like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

“you’re still so wet,” he whispers, voice hoarse and awed. his fingertips glide slowly through your folds, careful, almost reverent. “even after you came… it’s dripping. because of me?” he said with dumb doubt

you hum softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “mhm baby. always because of you.”

he lets out a shaky breath, and you feel his cock twitch against your thigh where it’s already starting to harden again. choso has always recovered fast, but tonight it feels like he’s barely softening at all.

you shift a little, guiding his hand with your own. “go on. touch me properly. two fingers, nice and slow.”

choso whines and nods against your neck, obedient as always. he slides two thick fingers through your slick before pressing them inside you, inch by inch, until they’re buried deep. the stretch is perfect, and you both moan quietly at the feeling. he curls them gently, searching, until he finds that spot that makes your hips jerk.

“ right there? ma’am” he asks, voice low and focused, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“right there,” you breathe, rolling your hips slowly against his hand. “just like that. good~ boy.”

the praise makes him shudder. his fingers start moving in a steady rhythm — slow, deep pumps that make wet sounds every time he pushes back in. his thumb finds your clit and rubs in careful circles, not too fast, just enough to build the heat again. he watches your face the whole time, dark eyes intense and glassy, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every soft gasp that escapes you.

“you feel so good inside miss” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“warm… tight… squeezing my fingers like you don’t want to let go. i could do this for hours.”

you reach down between you and wrap your hand around his cock. he’s fully hard again, thick and hot, still a little sticky from his last orgasm. choso’s breath hitches sharply when you start stroking him — slow, matching the pace of his fingers inside you.

“ah— fuck,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours. his hips twitch forward into your fist, but he tries to stay controlled. “your hand… feels too good princess i’m already leaking again.”

you can feel it — fresh precum dripping over your fingers as you twist your wrist on the upstroke, thumb brushing over the sensitive head. every time you squeeze a little tighter he lets out these quiet, broken sounds, half-whimper, half-moan, that go straight to your core.

the two of you move together like that for a long time — slow, intimate, completely focused on each other. his fingers curl and thrust inside you while your hand works his cock in steady strokes. the room fills with the wet sounds of skin and slick, mixed with your shared breathing and soft praises.

“you’re doing so well, choso,” you murmur against his lips before kissing him deep and slow. “making me feel so good with your fingers… such a perfect boy for me.”

he whimpers into the kiss, fingers speeding up just a fraction before he catches himself and slows back down. “i want you to cum again,” he whispers when you pull apart, voice trembling with need. “please. i need to feel it around my fingers. want to watch your face when you fall apart.”

you smile, tightening your grip on his cock and stroking faster. “then make me cum, baby. and you can cum with me again.”

choso’s eyes flutter shut for a second, overwhelmed, before they open again — darker, more desperate. he adds a third finger, stretching you fuller, and his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. his thrusts turn deeper, more purposeful, hitting that spot every single time.

your orgasm builds slower this time, a warm wave rolling through you instead of crashing. you keep stroking him through it, feeling his cock throb and twitch in your hand, the head slick and swollen.

“choso— i’m close,” you gasp, hips grinding down onto his fingers.

“me too,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “can’t hold it— you feel too good—”

you cum first, walls clenching hard around his fingers as pleasure washes over you in deep, rolling pulses. your hand keeps moving on his cock, and that pushes him over the edge right after. choso groans your name into your neck, hips jerking as thick ropes of cum spill over your fist and onto both your stomachs, pulse after pulse until he’s trembling and oversensitive.

for a long while neither of you move. his fingers stay buried inside you, gently rocking through the aftershocks, while your hand loosens its grip but doesn’t let go.

choso nuzzles into your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your skin. his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks.

“i love you,” he says, simple and raw. “love making you feel good. love when you touch me. love everything about this… about us.”

you card your fingers through his messy hair, holding him close. “i love you too, choso. you’re so good for me.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean with a quiet, satisfied hum. then he reaches for the sheet, gently wiping the mess from your skin and his own with careful, tender movements.

once you’re both a little cleaner, he pulls you fully into his arms, your leg draped over his hip so you’re pressed together everywhere. his cock is soft now, resting warm against your thigh, and he seems perfectly content just to hold you.

“can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, almost shy again. his fingers trace slow patterns on your back. “i just… want to feel you. all of you. no rush.”

you smile against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly settle.

“yeah, baby. we can stay like this as long as you want.”

he lets out a soft, content sigh and tightens his hold, like he never wants to let go.

fin🏁

a/n🦅:omg i actually lovr thisr

one of my fav scenarios ever

cw!!⪼extremely explicit nsfw, heavy degradation, breeding kink, choking, spitting, bondage, edging, overstimulation, crying, size kink, and intense power play. proceed only if you’re comfortable.

the blindfold is back on, but this time gojo ties your wrists to the headboard with his own belt, pulling it so tight your fingers tingle. you’re spread wide on his bed, knees pushed up to your chest in a brutal mating press, completely exposed and dripping..

he’s been at it for almost an hour now.

“ngh— satoru, please—”

you sob, hips twitching uselessly as he drags the fat head of his cock through your soaked folds again, slapping it hard against your swollen clit.

he laughs, low and mean, blue eyes glowing as he watches your cunt clench around nothing.

“aww, listen to you. already crying and i haven’t even fucked you properly yet. what a pathetic little whore. this sloppy pussy gets wetter the more i deny it, huh?”

he pushes just the tip inside — stretching you open so wide it burns — then pulls right back out. you let out a broken “ngh!” that turns into a whimper when he does it again. and again. shallow little thrusts that tease your entrance without giving you any real relief.

“fuck, you’re gripping me so tight even with just the tip,” he groans, voice rough. “imagine how desperate you’re gonna sound when i finally stuff this tight cunt full.”

he spits directly on your clit, watching it drip down to where he’s barely inside you, then rubs it in with his thumb in slow, torturous circles. your whole body jerks, a high-pitched moan escaping before you can stop it.

“that’s it. make those pretty noises for me. let me hear how stupid i’m making you.”

he finally sinks in halfway, the thick stretch forcing another loud “ngh!” from your throat. but he stops there, holding still, letting you feel every inch pulsing inside while he leans down and spits into your open mouth.

“swallow,”

he commands. you do, whimpering, and he rewards you by slamming the rest of the way in, bottoming out so deep you swear you feel him in your guts.

the moan that rips out of you is obscene — “nghhh— fuck— satoru—!” — and he just grins, starting a brutal pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall.

“too big for you, baby? can’t even take my cock without crying like a bitch?”

he taunts, one hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

“but you’re still sucking me in so greedily. this pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

every thrust is punishing, skin slapping wetly, your bound hands yanking at the belt as pleasure and overstimulation mix. he keeps you right on the edge, slowing down whenever your walls start fluttering too hard around him.

“ngh— no, no, please don’t stop— i’m so close—” you beg, tears soaking the blindfold.

he slaps your clit hard. “you cum when i say. not before. you’re my slut and i’m gonna edge this greedy cunt until you’re begging to be bred like a fucking animal.”

he pulls out completely again, leaving you empty and sobbing. then he flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up high, and shoves back in from behind in one brutal thrust. the new angle hits even deeper. you scream into the sheets, a garbled

“nghhh— too deep—!”

gojo fists your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to arch as he rails you mercilessly.

“yeah? too deep? then why are you creaming all over my cock, huh? look at this messy fucking pussy — dripping down my balls like a cheap slut.”

he reaches around and rubs your clit fast and mean, never letting up on the brutal thrusts. your moans turn into constant broken “ngh— ngh— ngh—!” sounds, body shaking violently as he edges you for the fifth time tonight.

“please— please let me come— i can’t— ngh— satoru—!”

“beg better,” he growls, choking you harder while grinding deep. “tell me what you are. tell me you need my cum.”

“i’m your pathetic breeding slut— ngh— please fill me up— breed me— pump me full until i’m leaking—”

that does it.

he flips you back over, folds you in half again, and fucks you so hard the bed creaks dangerously. his pace is feral now, hips snapping, balls slapping against your ass.

“gonna breed this cunt so full. gonna stuff you with so much cum you’ll be swollen with it. you want my babies? want me to knock you up like the desperate whore you are?”

“yes— yes— ngh— please— breed me—!”

your orgasm finally crashes over you when he allows it — violent and blinding. you scream, walls clamping down around him like a vice, squirting messily all over his cock and stomach as your body convulses.

“fuck— that’s it— milk me— ngh— good fucking girl—”

gojo groans loud, burying himself to the hilt as he comes hard, thick hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside you. he keeps grinding, pushing it further in, making sure nothing escapes.

“take every drop. that’s my good little breeding hole.”

he doesn’t pull out. instead he stays buried deep, plugging his cum inside while his hand lazily rubs your oversensitive clit again, forcing weak little aftershocks and more pathetic “ngh…” whimpers from you.

after a minute he leans down, kisses your tear-streaked cheek almost sweetly, and whispers against your ear:

“don’t get too comfortable, baby. i’m pulling out in ten seconds… and then i’m flipping you over and fucking another load into you. we’re not stopping until you’re so full you can’t walk tomorrow. understood?”

you can only nod weakly, already throbbing around his still-hard cock.

“ngh… yes, satoru…”

he smirks.

“that’s what i thought.”

fin🏁

a/n:😇can u tell i like the word “ngh”

this may be reallyy bad cause i didn’t really know how to continue ittt but idkk👀.

👀👀👀👀#noticing

the walk to tsukishima’s house is quiet but heavy. every step feels charged. his fingers stay laced with yours the whole way, grip firm like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go even for a second. the night air is cool against your flushed skin, but it does nothing to calm the slick mess between your thighs or the way your heart keeps hammering from everything that happened in the gym. when you finally reach his front door he doesn’t say a word — just unlocks it, pulls you inside, and kicks it shut behind you with his heel.

the house is dark and silent downstairs. his parents are already asleep upstairs. the only light is the faint orange glow from the streetlamp outside filtering through the curtains. before you can even take off your shoes properly he’s on you again, crowding you back against the wall in the genkan. his mouth crashes into yours — hungry, rough, like the kiss in the gym was only the beginning. one large hand slides up under your blouse, palm hot against your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. the other grips your hip hard, fingers digging in exactly where the bruises from earlier are already forming.

you moan softly into his mouth and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding against yours possessively. when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe his voice is low and rough.

“upstairs. now.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. he takes your hand again and pulls you up the stairs, your rumpled skirt brushing against your thighs with every step. the second his bedroom door clicks shut behind you he spins you around and walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. you sit down automatically. he towers over you, glasses still slightly fogged from earlier, blond hair messy, practice shirt clinging to his chest.

“strip,” he says simply. “leave the skirt on.”

you do it slowly on purpose — unbuttoning your blouse one button at a time, letting it slide off your shoulders, then reaching back to unhook your bra and toss it aside. when your hands move to your skirt he stops you with a firm grip on your wrist.

“i said leave it.”

he sheds his own clothes faster — yanking his shirt over his head, shoving his pants and boxers down in one motion. when he’s completely naked he climbs over you, caging you in with his long arms. his mouth finds your neck immediately, sucking a dark mark right where your collar will hide it tomorrow. then lower — lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking while his hand palms the other breast. you arch into him, fingers threading into his hair.

he doesn’t tease for long. one hand slides down between your legs, fingers spreading the slick mess from earlier. two long fingers push inside you without warning, curling deep. you gasp, thighs twitching.

“still so wet,” he mutters against your skin, voice mean but breathless.

“you really spent all day working yourself up just so i’d fuck you like this, didn’t you?”

you bite your lip, hips rolling down onto his fingers. “kei…”

he slaps your pussy lightly — the wet sound loud in the quiet room. you jolt.

“i told you to shut up earlier.” he does it again, firmer, then starts fucking you with his fingers — deep, fast, angry strokes that make your back bow off the bed. his thumb presses hard circles on your clit at the same time. the stretch, the pace, the wet obscene sounds — it’s too much and not enough all at once.

when you’re right on the edge, thighs shaking, he pulls his fingers out completely.

“not yet,” he says, eyes dark behind his glasses. he spreads your legs wider, lines himself up, and pushes in with one slow, deep thrust. the stretch is intense — thicker and longer than his fingers. you feel every inch as he bottoms out. a broken moan escapes you. he groans low in his throat, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second like he’s trying to keep control.

then he starts moving — hard, deep, punishing strokes that make the bed creak under you. one hand pins your hip down so you can’t squirm away. the other braces beside your head. every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “you feel even better than i imagined… so tight around me… taking me so well after all that teasing.”

you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. tears prick at the corners of your eyes again — the pleasure is overwhelming, months of tension finally breaking. he notices immediately.

“crying?” he mutters, but the usual sharpness is softer now. he slows his thrusts just a little, leaning down to kiss the tears off your cheeks. “too much?”

you shake your head quickly, fingers digging into his back. “don’t stop… please don’t stop, kei.”

he kisses you properly then — deep and slow while his hips keep snapping forward. the roughness never fully leaves, but something warmer slips in between every thrust. his hand slides down to rub tight circles on your clit again. when you finally come it hits you hard — walls clenching around him, back arching, a choked cry of his name leaving your lips as pleasure crashes through you.

he follows right after — burying himself deep with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he fills you up. for a long minute he stays there, breathing hard against your neck, body trembling slightly from the intensity.

eventually he pulls out slowly, collapses beside you, and tugs you against his chest without saying anything. his arm wraps around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare back under the rumpled skirt. you can feel his cum slowly leaking down your thigh, but neither of you moves to clean up yet.

after a while his voice comes quiet in the dark.

“…you’re impossible, you know that?”

you smile against his skin, still catching your breath. “you love it.”

he exhales softly. his arm tightens around you. “yeah… i do.”

you fall asleep like that — skirt still hiked up, his heartbeat steady under your ear, the weight of months of tension finally settled into something warmer and heavier.

the next morning his alarm goes off way too early. you wake up to the feeling of his long fingers gently tracing the marks he left on your hip and thigh last night. he’s already awake, glasses on, blond hair messy from sleep, watching you with that half-lidded look that used to be pure salt and now feels like something much softer.

“morning,” you murmur, voice still raspy.

he leans down and kisses you — slow, lazy, deep. no rush this time. when he pulls back his ears are faintly pink.

“you’re staying for breakfast,” he says, tone leaving no room for argument. “my parents are downstairs. act normal.”

you raise an eyebrow, smirking. “normal? after last night?”

he pinches your hip lightly. “don’t start. or i’ll bend you over my desk before we leave for school.”

you both get dressed quietly. you steal one of his spare hoodies because your blouse is too wrinkled from being thrown on the floor. downstairs his mom is making rice and miso soup; his dad is reading the newspaper. they greet you politely like you’re just the team manager who sometimes comes over to talk about schedules. tsukishima sits right next to you at the table. under the table his leg presses against yours the entire time. every few minutes his fingers find your thigh under the hoodie, squeezing once — a silent reminder that last night was real.

breakfast feels strangely domestic. boring small talk about the weather and school. but the entire time you can feel the new tension humming between you — the secret that now feels a little less secret.

later that day at school the dynamic has already started to shift.

in the hallway between classes he walks closer than usual. when you pass him the notes you took for the team his fingers brush yours and linger. in class you sit two rows behind him again, but this time when you drop your pen “accidentally” he picks it up himself and hands it back with a look that says don’t even think about it.

practice is where it really shows.

you’re still the strict head manager — clipboard in hand, voice sharp as you call out timing on blocks and tell hinata to stop jumping early. the team listens like always. but every time tsukishima glances your way there’s heat behind his eyes now. when you bend to pick up a ball you feel his stare like a physical touch. when you hand him water during a break your fingers brush on purpose and he holds on half a second too long, thumb stroking once across your wrist.

tanaka elbows him again with a grin. “tsukki you’re still killing it today. manager-san got you extra motivated or something?”

tsukishima just takes the bottle and mutters “something like that” before jogging back onto the court. but when he passes you he leans down just enough to speak low in your ear, voice only for you.

“keep bending over like that and i’m dragging you into the club room the second practice ends.”

you look up at him, small smirk on your lips. “promise?”

his ears go pink. he doesn’t answer out loud — just squeezes your wrist once and walks away. but you catch the tiny, satisfied smirk on his face when he thinks no one is looking.

practice ends. the gym empties slower than usual today — everyone chatting and laughing. you do your usual sweep, but this time tsukishima stays behind without being asked. the second the last person leaves he locks the door, walks straight over, and backs you against the same bench from yesterday.

“you’ve been teasing me again all day,” he says, voice low. one hand slides up your thigh under your skirt, fingers finding you already wet. “thought last night would’ve fixed that attitude of yours.”

you tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw. “maybe i like when you fix it for me.”

he exhales sharply, then kisses you hard the same rough, possessive way, but now mixed with something warmer, something that feels like relief. his hand slips between your legs again, fingers pushing inside you easily.

“impossible,” he mutters against your mouth.

you just smile and pull him closer.

the slow burn that lasted months is finally over.

now it’s just the two of you — secret for now, sharp as ever, and undeniably real.

the next few days blur together in the best kind of way.

at school everything looks normal on the surface. you’re still the strict head manager — clipboard always in hand, voice cutting through the gym when hinata drifts or kageyama’s sets float too high. the team respects it. ukai still grunts approval after practice. but underneath it all, something has shifted between you and tsukishima. every hallway glance lasts half a second too long. every time you hand him water your fingers brush deliberately and he squeezes once before letting go. when you bend to pick up a ball you feel his eyes on the hem of your skirt like a physical touch, and later in the club room he’ll mutter low enough only you can hear, “you’re doing that on purpose again.”

you always answer the same way: small smirk, quiet “maybe i am.”

he never fails to pull you into the storage corner afterward, hand sliding up your thigh under the skirt, fingers teasing until you’re biting your lip to stay quiet. “brat,” he’ll whisper against your neck, but his touch has gotten gentler less pure punishment, more like he can’t stop himself from wanting to feel you.

one afternoon after practice you’re both the last ones left again. the gym lights are dimming as he locks the door and walks straight over to you. instead of pushing you against the bench like usual, he sits down first and pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him. his hands settle on your hips under the skirt, thumbs stroking slow circles on bare skin.

“you’ve been good today,” he says quietly, almost surprised at himself. “no excessive bending. no extra teasing in front of the team.”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw. “disappointed?”

he scoffs, but his ears are pink. “no. just… weird.” his grip tightens. “i keep waiting for you to push me again so i have an excuse to drag you somewhere and remind you who you belong to.”

you smile against his skin. “you don’t need an excuse anymore, kei.”

he exhales sharply, then kisses you slower than usual, deeper, like he’s still getting used to the fact that he can do this without months of built-up frustration behind every touch. his hands slide higher under your skirt, fingers brushing where you’re already wet for him. when he pushes two fingers inside you this time it’s not angry it’s deliberate, curling just right while his thumb rubs lazy circles on your clit. you rock against his hand, forehead pressed to his, breathing the same air.

“look at me,” he murmurs when you close your eyes.

you do. his golden eyes are dark but soft behind his glasses. when you come quietly on his fingers, clenching around him with a soft whimper, he watches every second like he’s memorizing it. then he pulls his hand away, wipes his fingers on your inner thigh again that same claiming move and kisses you until your legs stop shaking.

“we should go,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “before someone comes back for a forgotten bag.”

you nod, but neither of you moves right away. he keeps you in his lap a little longer, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. it’s the softest he’s ever been with you, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest.

the weekend comes faster than expected.

his parents are out of town for a family thing, so his house is empty. you tell your own parents you’re staying late for “manager paperwork” and head straight there after school on friday. the second you walk through the door he’s on you but this time it’s different. less frantic, more intentional.

he walks you backward into his room without breaking the kiss, hands sliding under your hoodie (still his) to palm your waist. when the back of your knees hit the bed he lays you down gently, then climbs over you, caging you in but not crushing.

“been thinking about this all week,” he admits quietly, pushing your skirt up slowly. “not just the gym. not just quick stuff. all of it.”

he takes his time tonight. kisses down your neck, your chest, your stomach. when he reaches between your legs he uses his mouth — tongue slow and thorough, two fingers curling inside you while he sucks on your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head and you’re whispering his name like a prayer. he doesn’t stop until you come twice, the second one leaving you teary-eyed and gasping.

only then does he finally push inside you — deep, steady thrusts that make the bed creak softly. this time there’s no anger, just raw need mixed with something gentler. he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, glasses fogged, breathing the same shaky breaths.

“you’re mine,” he mutters against your lips between thrusts. “been mine for months. even when we were pretending we weren’t.”

you nod, fingers digging into his back. “yours, kei.”

he comes with a low groan, burying himself deep, and afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays inside you, holding you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. when he finally does pull out he cleans you up carefully with a warm cloth, then tugs you against his chest under the blankets.

“stay the night,” he says. it’s not a question.

you do. you fall asleep with his arm around you and his heartbeat under your ear, the slow burn that started months ago now feeling like something steady and real.

monday at school the secret feels a little harder to keep.

in the morning hallway yamaguchi notices something is different. he keeps glancing between the two of you while tsukishima grabs books from his locker.

“tsukki… you okay? you look less… salty than usual.”

tsukishima shuts the locker a little harder than necessary. “mind your own business.”

you’re leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, small smirk on your lips. when yamaguchi leaves you step closer and murmur, “he’s not wrong. you’ve been almost nice lately.”

tsukishima glares down at you, but there’s no real heat. “keep talking and i’ll make sure you’re not walking straight after practice.”

you just tilt your head innocently. “promise?”

his ears go red. he walks away muttering “impossible” under his breath, but you catch the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

practice that afternoon is the real test.

you’re back to being strict manager — calling out sloppy receives, making sure the water bottles are perfectly lined up. but when tsukishima makes a particularly clean block you can’t help the soft “good job” that slips out. he glances at you across the net, eyes dark with something only you understand.

during the water break he pulls you aside behind the bleachers for thirty seconds — just long enough to kiss you hard, hand sliding up your thigh under your skirt, fingers teasing until you’re gripping his jersey.

“behave,” he whispers against your lips before letting go and jogging back like nothing happened.

you’re still catching your breath when tanaka yells across the gym, “manager-san! you good? your face is all red!”

“just hot in here,” you call back, voice steady even though your thighs are trembling.

tsukishima doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice, but every time he serves or blocks you feel his focus like a brand.

after everyone leaves he locks the door again. this time he doesn’t bother with the bench — he lifts you onto the scoring table, pushes your skirt up, and drops to his knees. his mouth is on you before you can say anything — tongue and fingers working together until you’re biting your own wrist to stay quiet, coming hard with his name muffled against your skin.

when he stands up his glasses are fogged and his lips are shiny. he kisses you slow, letting you taste yourself, then rests his forehead against yours.

“we’re not hiding this forever,” he says quietly. “just… not yet.”

you nod, fingers tracing his jaw. “not yet.”

he walks you home that night like always, hand in yours the second you’re off school grounds. the slow burn is gone. what’s left is something steadier — secret touches, stolen kisses, sharp words that now carry affection underneath, and the quiet knowledge that you’re his and he’s yours.

the line wasn’t just crossed.

it disappeared completely.

and neither of you is looking back.

cw⪼explicit smut,f4fab, slow burn friends to lovers, choking, heavy hand focus

shoko ieiri was already a fixture at tokyo jujutsu high when you arrived as a new sorcerer in your early twenties—fresh from a smaller branch, still adjusting to the chaos of grade 1 and special grade work. she was 28 then, cigarette perpetually between her lips, brown hair tied back loosely, lab coat draped over her shoulders like she couldn’t be bothered to put it on properly. her eyes, tired but sharp, assessed you the moment you walked into the infirmary for a routine check.

“new face,”

she said, voice low and smoky. she stubbed out her cigarette and gestured for you to sit. “let’s see what kind of damage you’re carrying already.” her hands were cool and precise as she examined you fingers pressing lightly along your ribs, checking for old fractures healed imperfectly. the touch was clinical, but it lingered just a fraction longer on your pulse point.

“steady hands yourself. good. you’ll need them.”

that was the beginning. friendship formed in the quiet spaces between disasters: late nights when she patched you up after missions, sharing cheap coffee in the infirmary while gojo’s laughter echoed down the hall. shoko never rushed anything. she’d lean against the counter, watching you with that half-lidded gaze, and murmur, “your hands don’t shake even when you’re bleeding. impressive.”

you started noticing everything about her. the way she’d light another cigarette and offer you one (even though you usually declined). how she’d sit close on the small couch in her office during debriefs, her knee brushing yours. the rare soft smile when you brought her snacks after a long shift.

daily life at the school was a grind of training, missions, and healing. shoko was the constant—reverse cursed technique flowing from her hands like second nature. you’d bring her injured students or fellow sorcerers, and she’d work tirelessly, gloves on, brow furrowed in concentration. afterward she’d peel the gloves off slowly, flexing her fingers, and catch you staring.

“they get tired sometimes,” she admitted one night, rotating her wrists. you reached out without thinking, taking one of her hands in both of yours, thumbs pressing into the muscles to massage away the strain. she didn’t pull away. instead she let out a quiet hum, eyes closing for a moment.

“warm. most people’s hands are cold after a fight. yours aren’t.”

the flirting was never loud. it was in the small gestures: her fingers brushing yours when handing over a medical report, lingering on your wrist. during a rare quiet evening she’d drape her lab coat over your shoulders when the infirmary got chilly, murmuring “don’t catch a cold on my watch.” her hands would adjust the collar, knuckles grazing your neck.

missions together were rare at first—she preferred staying at the school—but when they happened, the tension thickened. after one brutal night fighting a special grade curse, you both ended up back in the infirmary, you with a deep gash on your arm. shoko worked on it in silence, reverse cursed technique knitting the skin. her bare fingers traced the fresh scar afterward, slow and careful.

“you keep throwing yourself into danger,” she said softly.

“makes me worry more than i should.”

her palm rested flat against your forearm, warmth seeping in. you covered her hand with yours, lacing fingers briefly. the air felt heavier. her eyes flicked to your lips, then away. “get some rest.”

the years dragged through shibuya, the culling games, the endless losses. shoko was there through all of it smoking more, sleeping less, healing everyone she could. you became her anchor, staying late with her in the infirmary, bringing her food when she forgot to eat, sitting beside her while she stared at the wall after particularly bad days.

one night after shibuya, when the school was half-destroyed and the weight felt crushing, she found you on the roof. she sat close, shoulder pressing to yours, and took your hand without asking. her fingers traced every knuckle, every scar, slow circles that sent warmth spreading through you.

“these hands have pulled me through more nights than i can count,”

she whispered, voice rough from smoke and exhaustion.

“i like how they feel. steady. like they could hold everything together even when i can’t.”

she brought your palm to her cheek, leaning into it. faces inches apart. breaths mingling in the cool night air. you both leaned in—then she exhaled shakily and pulled back just enough. “not tonight. when it happens… i want to do it right. after all this mess.”

the slow burn stretched on through recovery years. the jujutsu world tried to rebuild. shoko kept working as the primary healer, you took on more field work but always returned to her. touches grew bolder in private: her hand sliding under your shirt during a quiet moment to “check an old injury,” palms warm on your stomach, thumb stroking lazy patterns. late-night talks where she’d rest her head on your shoulder, one hand resting possessively on your thigh.

“you’ve been patient with me,” she said once, voice low. her fingers traced up your inner thigh, stopping just short.

“all these years of almosts. my hands on you. yours on me. i notice every time.”

you cupped her face, thumb brushing her lower lip. “worth waiting for you.”

gradually the world stabilized enough for something like peace. one quiet evening, years into your friendship, shoko showed up at your small off-campus apartment after a long day. no emergencies, no curses—just her, lab coat discarded, hair down, looking softer than usual.

“years,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door.

“years of patching you up, of feeling your hands on mine, of wanting more every single time you looked at me like that.” she crossed the space slowly, hands coming up to cup your face first. her palms were warm now, no gloves, no clinical distance.

the first kiss was everything the slow burn promised—slow, deliberate, lips pressing softly before deepening as tongues met in unhurried exploration. she tasted faintly of mint and smoke. her hands never stopped moving: sliding down your neck, over your shoulders, under your shirt to map every inch of skin with reverent patience.

you guided her toward the bedroom, peeling layers off gradually. shoko’s body was lean, marked by old scars from her own reversed techniques and the toll of constant healing. she shivered under your mouth as you kissed along her collarbones, hands exploring the curve of her waist, the line of her hips.

“your hands feel better than any technique,” she breathed, guiding one of yours to her breast. you squeezed gently, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened.

clothes disappeared completely. skin on skin, bodies pressing together as you laid her down. she looked up at you, eyes dark and trusting, hair fanned across the pillow. you settled between her thighs, one hand braced beside her head while the other trailed slowly up her body—over her stomach, between her breasts, along her throat until your fingers wrapped loosely around her neck.

just resting at first, feeling her pulse quicken under your palm. shoko’s breath hitched, lips parting on a quiet exhale. a small, tired smile curved her mouth.

“do it. i’ve imagined your hand here for longer than i’ll admit. choke me while you take your time.”

you squeezed gradually, increasing pressure until her breathing grew shallower, cheeks flushing. her hands came up—one gripping your wrist encouragingly, the other sliding down your back. “harder,” she murmured, voice husky.

“i can take it. make me feel something other than exhaustion for once.”

your mouth claimed hers again, deep and languid, while your free hand slid between her legs. she was already wet, slick heat greeting your fingers as you teased her folds, circling her clit with slow, firm strokes. two fingers pushed inside her, curling gently at first to find that spot that made her hips shift upward.

you thrust deep and steady, thumb grinding her clit in the same deliberate rhythm while your grip on her throat stayed firm and possessive. every time you tightened it she clenched around your fingers, soft moans vibrating under your palm, turning breathier.

the pace stayed torturously slow—drawing your fingers almost all the way out before sliding back in deep, savoring every wet sound, every flutter of her walls after all the years of waiting. sweat began to sheen your bodies. you leaned down, sucking marks into her neck right below where your hand held her, tongue soothing the pressure points. shoko’s legs wrapped around your waist, heels pressing into your back, but she matched your unhurried pace perfectly.

“been ready for this for so long,” she panted, eyes half-lidded and locked on yours. “every time i healed you… every brush of your hand… every night i wanted to pull you close instead of sending you away… deeper—yes, just like that.”

you added a third finger, stretching her slowly, fucking her with long dragging thrusts while your palm rocked against her clit. the hand on her throat never fully eased—squeezing in rhythm, watching her face flush deeper, her moans grow hoarse and needy.

her nails dug lightly into your back. she guided your wrist at her throat, showing exactly how much pressure felt perfect.

“your hands… always my favorite part of you. strong enough to fight, gentle enough to break me like this.”

the buildup stretched for what felt like hours—you edged her closer, slowing when she tightened too much, drawing quiet whimpers from her. only when she whispered “please, i need it” in that rare vulnerable tone did you thrust deeper, squeeze her throat just right, thumb circling faster.

her orgasm hit slow and intense, body arching gracefully, walls pulsing hard around your fingers as she came with a choked, breathy moan of your name. thighs trembled, slick coating your hand while waves rolled through her. you kept moving gently through every aftershock, milking them until she was boneless and sighing softly against your lips.

you eased the pressure on her throat, sliding your hand up to cup her cheek, kissing her through the tremors. but shoko recovered with that quiet determination and flipped you, straddling your hips with a small smirk.

“my turn,” she said, voice rough but warm. her hands explored you greedily—palms sliding over your breasts, pinching nipples lightly, then down to spread your thighs. one hand wrapped around your throat with perfect control, squeezing just enough to make sparks dance in your vision while her other slid between your legs. fingers teased before pushing inside—two, then three—fucking you deep and slow while she ground her still-sensitive pussy against your thigh.

“feel that?” she whispered, leaning down to kiss you as her grip tightened rhythmically. “years of wanting you like this. your hands on me. you falling apart under mine.” her fingers curled perfectly against your g-spot, palm grinding your clit in unhurried circles. the choke stayed steady, making every sensation sharper.

you bucked up into her, moans spilling as she worked you patiently, drawing it out. her free hand roamed—squeezing your breast, stroking your side—while the one on your throat grounded you. “cum for me,” she coaxed quietly. “after all this time, let go.”

the orgasm built slow and overwhelming, crashing over you in deep waves as you clenched around her fingers, body shaking. she worked you through it, then coaxed a second smaller one before collapsing beside you.

the night stretched on for hours—switching positions lazily, hands never leaving each other. you went down on her slow and thorough, tongue and fingers working together while one hand stayed wrapped around her throat. she returned the favor, mouth and fingers driving you higher while her thighs squeezed gently around your head. scissoring felt natural, clits sliding slick and hot, bodies rocking together as hands roamed freely—squeezing breasts, gripping throats in turns, fingers digging in with possessive care. orgasms rolled through both of you in long, drawn-out waves until exhaustion finally claimed you, bodies tangled and satisfied.

finally you lay spent in the sheets, shoko curled against your chest, leg thrown over yours, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your stomach like she used to do with your scars in the infirmary.

“girlfriends,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone, voice sleepy and content. “no more late nights wondering. no more almosts. just us.”

you smiled, stroking her hair. “yeah. after everything… worth every scar, every night, every almost-touch.”

through curses, losses, healings, and years of quiet wanting, the slow burn had finally become something steady and real. shoko’s hand found yours again, linking fingers as sleep took you—cool at first, then warm, and finally completely yours.

fin🏁

a/n the concept of putting gojo in the tags for engagement

cw⪼ heavy angsts. smut. rough sex. angry sex. hate sex. guilt kink. emotional sex. choking. biting. marking. hair pulling. spanking. creampie. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. crying during sex. hurt no comfort (or minimal comfort). grief. survivor’s guilt. death of minor characters. self-hatred. possessiveness. toxic love. morally grey decisions. blood mention. swearing.

the rain is relentless, hammering the safehouse roof like it wants to bury every ugly secret you two carry. it’s been pouring since the mission ended yesterday—yesterday, when nanami kento made the call that killed two juniors. you still see it every time you blink: the special grade curse expanding its domain, the girl’s scream cut short, the boy reaching for his weapon too late. all because nanami hesitated. one heartbeat. one look at you pinned under that thing’s technique, and he chose you. again. always you.

the living room feels suffocating. you’re pacing in nothing but his white button-down, the fabric still carrying his scent from before everything went to shit. sleeves too long, hem brushing your thighs. he stands by the window, back to you, dress shirt half-unbuttoned and clinging to his damp skin, blond hair a mess from the rain and the way he’s been dragging his hands through it like he could claw the guilt out of his skull.

you can’t take the silence anymore.

“say it,” you snap, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “say their names. say you’re sorry. or are you just going to stand there pretending two people aren’t dead because you couldn’t stop putting me first?”

nanami turns slowly. his golden eyes are storm-dark, jaw locked so tight the muscle ticks. when he speaks, his voice is low, dangerous, barely holding together.

“their names were haru and mio. haru was twenty-three. he had a little sister turning eight next month. mio was planning to propose to her girlfriend after this mission. i read every file after the extraction. every message on their phones. every photo. and i still chose you.”

the words hit like a curse. your chest tightens, anger and grief twisting together until you can’t breathe. you step closer, fists clenched.

“then why the fuck did you do it? why do you always do it? i’m not special, kento. i’m not worth two lives. but you keep making me the exception and it’s killing you. it’s killing us. every time you hesitate for me, someone else pays. and you just… keep doing it.”

he crosses the room in two strides, one big hand shooting out to grab your throat—not choking, but firm, pinning you back against the wall. his palm is hot, trembling with everything he’s trying to contain. his face is inches from yours, breath ragged.

“because losing you would break me worse than any guilt,”

he growls, voice cracking at the edges.

“you think i don’t know how selfish that is? you think i don’t hate myself for it every single second? i see their faces. i hear their screams. and still—still—when that domain started closing in, all i could think was not her. not you. i’d let the whole world burn if it meant keeping you breathing.”

tears burn your eyes but you shove them down with pure fury. you grab his wrist, nails digging in. “then hate me for it. hate yourself for it. hate us enough to make it hurt. because i can’t keep watching you destroy yourself over something you won’t stop doing.”

his control shatters.

the kiss is brutal—teeth clashing, tongues fighting, mouths devouring like you’re both trying to punish the guilt out of each other. you bite his bottom lip until you taste blood; he groans deep and slams you harder against the wall, hand tightening on your throat just enough to make stars spark behind your eyes. his other hand yanks the button-down open, buttons flying, fabric ripping as he palms your breasts roughly, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you arch and moan into his mouth.

“fuck you,” he snarls against your lips, voice wrecked and raw. “fuck you for making me this weak. for making me choose you every fucking time.”

“then do it properly,” you gasp, nails raking down his chest, leaving angry red lines.

“fuck me like you hate me. like you hate the fact that you’d trade lives for this. make it hurt so bad we both forget their names for a little while.”

he doesn’t waste time carrying you anywhere. he spins you around, shoving your chest against the wall, yanking the shirt the rest of the way off so it pools at your feet. your panties are torn down your legs in one vicious yank. you hear his belt, the zipper, the wet sound of him spitting in his palm before he fists his thick cock—already hard, flushed dark, leaking at the tipand lines up.

no warning. no mercy. he slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. the stretch is fire, tearing a cry from your throat as your forehead presses to the cold wall. he starts fucking you immediately—hard, deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes leave the floor, skin slapping loud and wet over the roar of the rain.

“is this what you want?” he growls, hips snapping forward savagely, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“me ruining you because i can’t stop choosing you over everything else? over haru? over mio? over every life i’m supposed to protect?”

you push back against him, meeting every angry thrust, anger and pain and desperate love twisting in your gut.

“yes—fuck—harder, kento. make me feel how much it destroys you. make me pay for their deaths too, since i’m the one you keep saving.”

he snarls, teeth sinking into your shoulder from behind, biting down hard enough to break skin causing it to leak streams of blood. the pain blooms hot and sharp, mixing with the pleasure as he fucks you deeper, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. every thrust is brutal, relentless, the wet obscene sounds of your bodies echoing through the room.

“you’re selfish,” he pants against your neck, voice hoarse and cracking with every savage snap of his hips. “letting me love you when you know the cost. and i’m worse—i’m the monster who lets them die so i can have this. this tight, perfect cunt that owns me. that makes me willing to trade lives.”

tears stream down your face now, mixing with sweat and blood. the pleasure is vicious, building too fast, tangled with the guilt that’s choking you both. you come first—shattering around him with a broken sob that sounds like his name, walls clamping down like you’re trying to drag him to hell with you. your legs shake, knees buckling, but he holds you up, fucking you through the orgasm without mercy, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, still pulsing around his thick cock.

“not enough,”

he growls, pulling out only to flip you around and lift you, pinning you to the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. he slides back in with one smooth, brutal thrust, eyes locked on yours—golden, wild, full of so much pain and love it hurts to look at. “look at me while i fuck you. see what you’ve turned me into. a man who’d watch the world end for one more second with you.”

he fucks you like that—face to face, angry and raw, hips slamming relentlessly while his mouth crashes into yours again. biting, sucking, whispering broken confessions between kisses:

“i hate you,”

“i can’t stop needing you,”

“i’d let them all die again if it meant this moment right now.”

you claw at his back, nails digging deep enough to draw blood as another orgasm rips through you, harder than the first. you scream his name, body convulsing, cunt milking him like it never wants to let go. he follows right after—burying himself as deep as he can, groaning your name like a curse and a prayer as he spills inside you, hot thick pulses that feel endless. he keeps grinding through it, fucking his cum deeper, marking you, claiming you even while everything is falling apart.

but he’s far from done.

he carries you to the couch without pulling out, drops you on your back, and spreads your legs wide. his mouth is on you before you can catch your breath—tongue licking up the mess he just made, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers plunge back inside, curling viciously against that spot. you’re sobbing now, oversensitive and still furious, hips bucking against his face even as you push at his head.

“too much—kento—fuck, i can’t—”

“take it,” he growls against your pussy, voice muffled and furious. “take every drop of this guilt. every scream i ignored for you. every life i traded. come on my tongue like the selfish bitch who owns me.”

he eats you out like he’s starving for absolution, tongue and fingers working you mercilessly until you come again—shaking, crying, thighs clamping around his head so hard he groans into you. only then does he climb back up, cock still hard and slick with your combined fluids, and slide into you again—slower this time but no less deep, no less passionate. he fucks you on the couch for what feels like hours, flipping positions every time you come: you riding him while he grips your hips and thrusts up brutally, then bent over the armrest while he pounds into you from behind, hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave vibrant handprints.

the anger never fades. it fuels everything. every thrust is a confession. every bruise a promise. every broken moan carries the weight of haru and mio and all the ones who came before them.

when the couch isn’t enough, he lifts you again, carrying you to the bedroom. he throws you on the bed and follows, spreading you open and sliding back in with one long, deep stroke. this time he fucks you slower but harder, eyes never leaving yours, forehead pressed to yours as he rocks into you with punishing rolls of his hips.

“tell me you hate me,”

he whispers, voice hoarse from shouting and moaning.

“tell me while i’m inside you. tell me while i fill you up again.”

“i hate you,” you sob, weak legs wrapped tight around him, nails raking down his back.

“i hate that you choose me. i hate that i let you. i hate how much i love you for it anyway.”

he kisses you then—deep, desperate, passionate—hips never stopping. he comes again, flooding you with another load, but he keeps moving, fucking it deeper, keeping himself buried while he whispers against your lips how he’d do it all over again, how he’s damned and he doesn’t care as long as you’re here, warm and wet and his.

the night stretches on. round after round. against the wall again when you try to pull away and he yanks you back. in the shower where the hot water mixes with your tears and his cum dripping down your thighs. back on the bed where he eats you out until you’re bleeding begging, then fucks you face-down into the mattress, one hand pressing your head into the pillow while the other rubs your clit in tight, mean circles.

hours blur. your bodies are slick with sweat, cum, and tears. bruises bloom on your hips, thighs, and feet..? bite marks on your neck and shoulders, scratches down his back. every orgasm feels like penance and sin at the same time. he never softens for long—his cock stays hard from the sheer intensity of his anger and love, filling you over and over until you’re leaking his cum constantly, the sheets soaked beneath you.

eventually the rain starts to ease, just a little. you’re both exhausted, tangled in the wrecked bed, his cock still buried deep inside you even though he’s soft now. he’s holding you so tight it almost hurts, forehead against yours, breathing ragged and slow.

“they had futures,”

he whispers into the quiet, voice completely shattered.

“haru wanted to teach his sister how to ride a bike. mio was saving for a ring. and i took that from them. for this. for the way you feel around me. for the way you say my name when you come. and the worst part… the worst fucking part… is that if we had to do it again tomorrow, i’d hesitate again. i’d choose you again. and i hate myself for it more than i’ve ever hated anything.”

your chest cracks wide open. tears slip down your temples as you thread your fingers through his damp hair, holding him there.

“i know,” you breathe, voice raw from screaming. “and i hate you for making me the reason. i hate that part of me is grateful. i hate that i’d beg you to choose me every time too, even knowing the cost. we’re both monsters, kento. damned and selfish and so fucking in love it’s going to kill us one day.”

he kisses you slowly then—tender this time, but still laced with that deep, aching passion. his hips start to rock again, gentle but deliberate, sliding through the mess he’s made of you.

“then we burn together,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with exhaustion and love and unrelenting guilt.

“slowly. painfully. every night like this until there’s nothing left of either of us but this. because i can’t stop. i won’t stop. not as long as you’re here to take it from me.”

you cling to him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist as he starts fucking you again(again..?)—slow, deep, passionate strokes that feel like both punishment and home.

the rain has almost stopped outside.

but inside, the storm between you rages on.

he fucks you through the quiet hours of early morning—angry whispers turning to soft broken moans, bodies moving together like they were made for this kind of ruin. every thrust says i’m sorry and i’d do it again and i love you more than anything in this cursed world.

you take it all.

because nanami kento’s guilt, his anger, his desperate all-consuming love… it’s the only thing that still feels real.

and neither of you is ready to let go.

not tonight.

not ever.

it sucks tho because the consequences of him were just as bad as collateral damage..

fin.🏁

A/N👁️:one day i’ll become pro like those people who post 2 story’s every other day.

A/N2:im sorri if this is really bad angst i’m trying to step out of my comfort zone