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It's simple really, you hate how much of a man slut Sukuna is and he hates how much of a spoiled stuck up rich girl you are. Well that is until you're paired up for a project and he realizes his " hate" for you is really just his underlining feelings and he'll do anything to make you his. Even if it means taking you from Hiromi.
Author note: This is a written fic and a smau. I wanted to make this for my black girls specifically because lately when i read jjk smaus that include pictures it's never inclusive and thats very annoying. I shouldn't have to dig through tumblr for a smau to include different skin colors so I made one! I'll add warnings when needed as well.
Pairings: Rich Lawyer Hiromi x Rich Nerdy sorority y/n x "bully" Frat Sukuna
Including: Shoko, Yuki, Utahime, Gojo, Geto, Toji, and Choso
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suguru’s secret visits are like lightning strikes. for a few fleeting hours, he sets your world aglow. and then he’s gone, leaving behind only the sharp scent of ozone and darkness that feels all the more suffocating for having known the light.
the sharp knock on your door disrupts through the quiet rhythm of your evening. three months. ninety-something days of his absence. you’d almost managed to convince yourself he was dead. anger curls in your stomach. how dare he darken your doorstep again ?
you consider letting him stand there in the dark, letting the silence be your answer. but your feet move on their own, traitorous muscle memory pulling you towards your front door. when you open it, suguru getō is standing in front of you.
he’s thinner, the sharp planes of his face more pronounced, weariness perpetually etched around his eyes. his hair is longer, falling past his shoulders in a dark, silken waves, and he’s in his gojo-kesa, cult leader finery. men and their audacity. he should’ve changed at the minimum
you open your mouth to curse him for leaving, for choosing this path, for letting you rot in your lonely apartment while he plays god to a flock of lost souls. but you don’t say anything. you can’t. what is there to say ? ‘welcome back’ ? ‘i missed you so much i thought i would die’ ? ‘fuck you’ ? all of these phrases feel inadequate.
it’s a little too late to deny him entry. he’s already moving, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “it’s colder in here than i remember.” he murmurs. his voice is like a dream. a nightmare
“is that all you have to say to me?” you glare at him
an almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. a ghost, a memory of the boy who used to grin at you from across yaga’s classroom. “i was waiting for you to decide if you were going to slap me or kiss me. the odds are about even, i’d say.”
“don’t,” you whisper, taking a step back. “don’t you dare stand here and crack jokes. you don’t get to do that anymore”
the smile vanishes, replaced by weary resignation. he takes a step forward, and you take another back, a pathetic little dance in the narrow space of your hallway. he stops, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “okay, okay. . . no jokes. i’m sorry.”
“your apologies are worthless to me, getō.” he flinches. you see it clearly, the tightening around his eyes, the subtle clenching of his jaw. good. you want him to feel a fraction of the void he left inside you.
“you’re right,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, serious hum. “i’m not sorry for leaving jujutsu high. i’ll never be. i’m only sorry that it hurt you.”
sometimes the truth cuts deeper than any lie ever will.
“get out,” you say, the words rendering your throat raw. “get out of my apartment.” he doesn’t move. violet eyes unreadable. “i’ll call satoru. i’ll tell him you’re here. i swear to god, getō, i’ll do it”
“you don’t mean that,” he says, with a certainty that makes your blood boil. “you want me here. you missed me” he’s right. and you hate him for it. you hate him for knowing you so well.
“you’re delusional,” you spit, “you must be. what makes you think you have any insight into what i want ? you left. you chose your cursed ideology over me. so don’t stand here and tell me what i want as if that’s ever mattered to you”
he takes another step closer, and this time you hold your ground, your chin lifted in defiance. he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the chill that has settled deep in your bones. his scent, sandalwood and something metallic, maybe blood ? you wouldn’t be surprised at this point, wraps around you, a phantom limb you’ve been trying to amputate for months. years.
“i know you’re angry,” he says, cooing in a way that used to make you melt, but now only makes your skin crawl. “but underneath all that . . . you missed me. just like i missed you.”
“missed you ?” you can’t help but laugh “i miss the boy i thought i knew. i miss the future we were supposed to have.”
he flinches again, harder this time. “that’s not fair.”
“fair ?” you’re shouting now, your voice echoing in the small space, raw and ragged. “you want to talk to me about fair after everything you’ve put me through ? what’s fair about loving someone who chose to become a monster ?”
“say it again,” he murmurs, “call me a monster.” he’s cupping the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you flush against him.
you should be fighting, screaming, clawing his eyes out. but your body remembers him even when your mind wants to forget. “you’re a monster, suguru,”
“i know” his gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. instead, he just rests his forehead against yours, eyes closing, breath fanning against your skin. “that’s why i came to say goodbye,“ the words hit you like a punch to the stomach.
goodbye ? what the actual fuck ? he’s been gone for three months, and now he’s here to say goodbye ?
“what ?” you manage to choke out.
“it’s not safe for me to be here anymore” he says, his voice quiet. “it’s not safe for you if i’m here. i won’t bother you like this anymore”
“no,” you shake your head fervently. “no, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to just . . . end it.”
“i have to . . . you’re so much better off without me. i know. you know” he says, his voice softening. he releases his grip on your neck, thumb stroking your cheek, a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache. he leans in just a fraction more, lips hovering a breath from yours. “so let me be with you one last time.” he whispers, “can i ?”
you pull back just enough to meet his violet gaze. you see the man you loved, the monster he’s become, and the ghost of what could have been, all tangled together in the face of the man who is about to break your heart for the very last time.
it’s the cruelest question he’s ever asked you. because saying yes is an act of self-immolation. it’s agreeing to let him burn you one last time, knowing fully well he’ll walk away and leave you in the ashes. but saying no . . . means extinguishing everything you have left of him. and you’re not sure which will hurt more. you hate him. you love him. you want him to leave. you want him to never let you go. “yes” what even is self-respect ?
he presses his lips against yours without hesitation. drawing you into a kiss that tastes of regret and longing and all the years you’ll never have. he pours everything into it, all the words he can’t say. he kisses you until you’re breathless, until you’re clinging to him, fists bunched in the fabric of his robes.
he doesn’t even try to lead you to your bedroom. he doesn’t have that much time to spare. he nudges you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch and you tip over, sprawling against the cushions.
he falls to his knees, settling between your thighs, looping his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. the smooth fabric drags against your skin as he bares you to him. he’s starved for it, for you, his movements imbued with hunger that makes you shiver.
the first slow drag of his tongue against your clit is electric. a jolt of pure pleasure shoots up your spine, and you gasp, your back arching off the couch. he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves slowly, before dipping lower to lap at your slick. he groans, a sound of pure satisfaction, and the vibrations travel through you, making your thighs tremble. “god you taste even better than i remember”
he borderline worships you. his tongue a litany of apologies, his lips a prayer against your slick folds. he’s trying to cleanse himself of his sins through your pleasure, to find a moment of grace in the sanctuary of your body. to burn himself into your memory, to give you something to hold onto in the long, dark years to come.
“say my name, angel” he pleads, a saccharine string connecting his glossy lips to you. you want to deny him. you want to hold onto your anger, to your resolve. but he’s sucking your clit into his mouth so sweetly and the coil in your stomach is threatening to snap.
“suguru,” you gasp, his name a torn sob. “please.”
“that’s it,” he he hums in approval, his tongue flicking faster. “that’s my girl.” your hands fly to his hair, your fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. you need to anchor yourself to him as he unravels you. you need to anchor yourself to him so he doesn’t disappear again.
he groans as you tighten your grip, pulling just enough to make him still for a moment. he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal. a slow smile spreading across his lips. “pull it harder,” he murmurs, lowly “don’t be gentle, mhh, i don’t deserve that.”
he really doesn’t. so you let your fingers flit over his scalp and twist them in his hair, harder, pulling his head back, baring the long, elegant line of his throat. he hisses, his eyes fluttering shut, a look of pure bliss on his face. over the years, you’ve forgotten the power you have over him. to hurt him, to make him feel something other than the weight of his own convictions. you use it, your grip tightening as his mouth returns to your cunt
his tongue speaks of a hunger that can never be sated. he’s no longer just worshiping you; he’s using you, using your pleasure to drown out the voices in his head, to silence the ghosts that haunt him. and you let him, because you’re using him too, using his body, his mouth, to fill the gaping void he left inside you.
“i’m sorry,” he murmurs against your clit, voice thick with emotion. “i’m so sorry beautiful” you don’t grace him with a response. you simply pull his hair again, harder this time, a silent punishment for all the times he’s left you, for all the promises he’s broken. he whimpers, a symphony of pleasure and pain, and redoubles his efforts, tongue incessantly flicking over your sensitive cunt.
his veiny hands keep your thighs firmly planted around his head. your fingers are trembling in his hair,?your hips bucking against his mouth. he can feel it, the way your muscles are tensing, the way your breath hitches, and he pulls you over the edge with a harsh suck on your clit.
“f-fuck sugu” you cry out, your thighs clamp down hard around his head as you cum, your body arching off the plush cushions. he laps up your release, leaving a trail of kisses between your folds, saliva becoming one with your slick
you’re well past the point of making a mess on his face but he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow his movements. he’s too drunk on you. too wrapped up in making you feel good to care about his cock dripping with pre-cum beneath his robes. he keeps going, the tip of his nose brushing against your bundle of nerves. his tongue relentless against your oversensitive slit.
suguru’s tongue circles your spasming hole as your second orgasm builds, far more intense than your first. your head is spinning and all you can do is tug on his hair, eliciting another low groan from him. “suguru,” you gasp,
he flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your puffy clit. “i’ve got you,“ he murmurs, slipping two fingers inside you without much of a warning, lithe fingers curling upward justtt right “let go. let me take care of you.”
and you do. you let go of the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. you let go of everything but the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you. the way his hand grips your thigh, the sound of his voice as he whispers bittersweet nothings against your core.
your second orgasm leaves you limp and pliant in his arms but it’s not enough. suguru can’t get enough of you. he’s a man dying of thirst in the desert and you’re the only oasis he’ll ever know. he knows he has to leave, knows he has to walk back into the scorching sand and the cruel, unforgiving sun, but for tonight, for these few precious hours, he’s going to drink his fill. to absorb as much of you as he can, to memorize the feeling of your skin against his, the sound of your breath hitching, the way your fingers clench in his hair.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot against your slick flesh. salty tears brimming his waterline “so perfect —hck— i could stay here forever.”
it’s lie, and you both know it. he can’t stay forever. he can’t even stay until morning. but in this moment, you let yourself believe him. you’re too far gone to form a coherent response
he alternates between soft, teasing licks and hard, sucking kisses, a maddening rhythm that pushes you higher and higher. he’s not just trying to make you cum and repend up for lost time; he’s trying to give you both a taste of heaven, “remember me like this.” he begs, “remember that i loved you.”
you want to promise him that you will, that you’ll forget the monster and remember the man, that you’ll hold onto this memory and let it sustain you. but you can't speak. you can only gasp his name, your fingers tightening in his hair as your third orgasm ravages you.
when he finally pulls away, his face is glistening, his violet almond-eyes are heavy-lidded with satisfaction. he moves up your body, his mouth finding yours. you can taste yourself on his lips. his forehead pressed his forehead against yours, “i love you,” he whispers, “i’ve always loved you. i always will”
you don’t say it back. the tears you’ve been holding back for months finally break free, tracking paths down your cheeks. you let them fall, silently.
suguru lets out a wounded whimper, leaning in and kissing your tears away, his lips soft and salty against your skin. a sob tears from your throat and then his arms are around you, pulling you off the couch and onto his lap on the floor, bundling you in his robes, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe.
you cling to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs, your soul. you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, his arms around you, his love.
“shh, i’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips muffled against your hair, huge hands stroking up and down your back in a soothing rhythm. “i’ve got you. it’s okay.”
you cry for all the time you’ve lost, for all the words you’ll never get to say, for the future that was stolen from you. he just holds you, letting you fall apart in his arms again. he doesn’t try to justify his choices. he doesn’t make excuses. he lets you grieve.
when your tears finally subside, you’re left feeling hollowed out, limp and exhausted in his arms. he shifts, soft lips finding your temple, his breath warm against your skin. he holds you for a moment longer. then, with gentleness that belies his strength, he eases you off his lap, hands supporting your waist until you’re sitting on the edge of the couch.
and like clockwork, there’s a void where his warmth used to be. you’re used to it, but it hurts all the same. you don’t look up, you can’t. you just stare at your hands, balled into fists in your lap.
this is it — you’re certain — the part where he leaves. the end of the storm. but he’s only shrugging off his gojo-kesa, the dark fabric pooling on the floor. suguru’s not done with you. not yet. and part of you, the part that still loves him after everything, is glad.
(in which your loving husband nanami kento will do anything you tell him to)
(fluff, there might be some spelling mistakes sozz, pls enjoy)
“buy me this lol” was the message attached with a video which you sent to your husband, kento. the video you sent him was a large juicy seedless watermelon, of course you weren’t expecting him to actually buy it, you were only joking around after all..
moments later you hear keys jingling against the door lock, you get up from your seat on the sofa getting ready to greet kento when he comes in. you quickly make your way to the door, “ hey, baby-” but your words immediately get cut off when you see kento holding a huge watermelon, it looked similar to the one in the video, surely he didn’t actually…
“hey sweetheart, how are you doing? i bought the watermelon you asked for.” kento says slipping off his shoes and properly stepping into the house, he kisses you on the cheek and makes his way to the kitchen counter.
“kento.. why did you actually buy the watermelon?” you say perplexed as you follow him to the kitchen.
“what do you mean, love? you’re the one who asked for it, no?” kento says placing the watermelon on the counter.
“i was just kidding kento! obviously you didn’t actually have to get it..” you say.
“oh…” he says looking at the watermelon. “so you don’t want it?” he says returning his gaze to you.
“well- no i didn’t say i didn’t want it either..” you say laughing softly, not actually expecting the juicy watermelon to be in your very presence. “this one looks exactly like the video.. where did you even get it?” you say, with your hand resting on the watermelon.
“I stopped at that market by the river.” kento answers.
“you mean the one that’s 2 hours away!?” you say shocked, not expecting him to go such great lengths just for a watermelon. “babyyy, why would you go that far for a watermelonnn?” you say in disbelief.
“it wasn’t for the watermelon, it was for you.” kento says, his eyes still on you. “I will always do anything you tell me to, love.” he says wrapping his arm around your waist, kissing you on your temple.
“aagh- I know that but…” you say in a loss at words, “fuck, you’re just so good to me.” you say hugging him.
“I will do anything for you, sweetheart. you know that.” kento says embracing you back.
(p.s, guys i’m gonna start working on the requests soon, so don’t think I forgot about it or anything like that, tyty)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Nanami's hips roll and slap against your skin, the further he thrusts inside you. His entire bedroom smells of sweat and sex, despite several candles of the same scent lit and the window cracked open.
"Are you tired?" His gravelly voice has since gone lower as the moon and stars begin to flitter across the sky. Each syllable he's uttered turns sensual in your ears.
"No." You answer, swiftly locking him in for a kiss.
He wraps your legs around his waist securely and bottoms out again. A heady moan rips from your mouth, and he swallows the sound whole.
Nanami's kisses move to your nose, to the apples of your cheeks, down your throat, and then settle into the baseline between your neck and collarbone. There, he stops and sucks on the crook of it.
The sensation feels too good, rendering you completely into a state of pure bliss and arousal. You swear you hear yourself beg for more, telling him not to stop from both the way he's marking you and the way he's fucking you hopelessly raw.
He might've said something you didn't quite hear or passed a garbled response in return. No matter, you feel the pace quickening and his teeth latching to your skin tighter.
Nanami has never marked you like this before. Oftentimes, they were purely accidental, and they're almost always in discreet places where both of you fail to notice them. But, tonight, when you ask him to cover you with his marks, with something entirely Nanami, he pauses.
He isn't one to lose control easily. He is someone who does things with precision and careful considerations. Even then, a simple mishap can undoubtedly be rectified with alternative solutions.
Thus, an impulsive action such as this is unlike any he has ever committed before. There is a subtle bewilderment marring across his features, though anyone who doesn't know him to the extent that you do would have deduced that Nanami looks like he's only thinking.
There, in his eyes, is an undulated discovery of something quite like finding a secret that only he can have.
"Kento," you call out, cupping his cheeks. "What is it?"
He leans into the touch and kisses your palm. His thumb occasionally brushes the fresh bruise he caused. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't hurt, my love." You say. "If that's what you're worried about."
Nanami's smile appears at the corner. You feel it quirk up against the corner of your hand. "I know, darling."
"Can we continue?" You lightly tease, tapping your foot against the dimple of his lower back.
Nanami tilts your head over to the left. The other side of your unmarked neck becomes visible. He leans down to you, his breath only a whispering distance from your skin.
"Let me," he coaxes before he sucks on the unblemished skin.
His hands travel back to your thighs, massaging them repeatedly, ridding you of pins and needles. His thrusts never cease, as if all that stored energy he has had from being a sorcerer has done him well to maintain a consistent amount of stamina.
As Nanami moves to mark each underside of your breasts next, he guides your arms to his head where he insists that you run your fingers through his hair.
"Oh, shit, baby," you moan near his ears.
"Hmm," his voice vibrates.
"So good, my love."
Nanami momentarily pulls out. He guides your head on a fluffed pillow before he angles you in a venus butterfly position.
His lips move closer to the top of your sopping mound, where he sucks just right above your clit. You grip his hair hard, accidentally yanking a couple of strands. You couldn't even form an apology afterwards, because Nanami never stops his lustful drive. He bites against your skin, pulls your pubic hair teasingly, and moans languidly at the euphoric feeling of it all.
"Oh, my God! Kento! Wait! T-Too much!"
"Pull harder." He grits his teeth, looking at you through your curled bush. "I don't care. Just pull if you must."
Maybe because it's your cunt and it's been sensitive for the past few hours after coming several times, and it's also because it's near your clit where in replacement of his cock, his fingers resume the pounding, and maybe it's because it's simply Nanami Kento — whatever reason it can be, you never expect that when Nanami gives you a hickey right there, it's probably the most intense feeling you've ever felt than any of the hickeys he's given you so far.
And you wonder, why have you two not done this before?
You're left squirming for what little control you can find: none. Your hands scramble to the sheets, gripping them tightly before Nanami forces them back into his hair, demanding that if there's anything you're going to have to hold as he continues, it's going to be him.
"Baby," you call out in a daze. "T-Too much. Too sensitive."
"Just one more." He kisses your clit. "We'll be finished soon."
You must have agreed because it isn't just one more as he declared. Nanami scatters his marks everywhere around your body like constellations. They come in different sizes, each with their own sense of claim. He makes sure, however, that even when he discovers just how wonderful you are with the hickeys he's created, he wouldn't go overboard.
But the one thing he loves most from his work? It's that blotch of purple on your pussy.
"You look beautiful." He says in admiration, his index finger playfully twisting around your pubic hair.
You lean into his touch when he scoops you in his arms and embraces you tightly. "I want to give you one, too."
Nanami smooths your hair. "When you're well-rested. I will let you."
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