satoru using his adhd as an excuse to keep touching you.
if heâs studying for an exam, he canât focus when youâre not on his lap. when you are, heâs quiet, focused. you keep him in check. when youâre not, the white-haired man is distracted, fingers moving agitatedly to feel you, squeezing and pinching your soft skin just because he needs to feel you 24/7.
âyouâre basically my stress toy, i canât help it.â heâd mumble.
âbut youâre making it my problem.â you frowned, trying to pry yourself free from the strong arms that hold you above him. it was an impossible task, and you gave up less than a minute in.
if youâre studying, he wonât leave you either.
âcanât you do that later? i need attentionâŚyou know i have a deficit.â satoru whispers, teething at the fleshy ridge of your earlobe. âyou should be keeping me stimulated.â
if youâre going out to eat? satoru refuses to sit opposite you at the booth unless he absolutely has to. even when you reluctantly scoot up and make space, sitting at the far end by the window, he shuffles his ass right up next to you, insisting he needs warmth.
you loved your boyfriend, and youâd probably find it cute if he wasnât doing this every day. you found it ironic how someone so clingy was gifted the ability of Infinity to keep his distance.
had you been granted the ability, youâd use it now, while heâs fondling your ass like the dirty little lecher he is.
ââtoru, that hurts!â you snap.
he looks down at you, eyes softening. âjust wanna touch youâŚyouâre my hyper-fixation.â his fingers clench around the thin cotton of your shirt hem, shoulders dropping a fraction.
you let out a sigh. satoruâs puppy face would always win, and you were dumb for thinking otherwise. seriously, what was all that studying for, if you couldnât use your brain and help him out?
his frown is a little too quick to turn upside down, grinning victoriously as he watches you pack away your books. âfuckinâ finally.â
you roll your eyes, slow. âyou werenât this clingy before.â
âthatâs because I was masking.â
ââŚyouâre just lucky i donât keep up with all these terms.â
ang god does he know it. itâs why he keeps getting away with this.
his hands move from your ass. his fingers interlock with yours in front of you, thumbs tracing the backs of yours assertively. thereâs nowhere to go now, not with his tall broad frame trapping you between him and your desk.
âsee, thatâs the best partâŚyou donât need to. you donât need to know anything.â thereâs the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, but heâs successfully distracted you from feeling pissy about it.
he takes a step closer, and hand coming up to lift your chin.
âyou just need me, same way I need you.â
another step.
âand right nowâŚmy needs are extraâŚspecial.â
the absurdness of his words cut through any lingering annoyance you have left as he stands before you, lips betraying a smile. âi hate you.â
he lets his forehead rest against yours, mirroring your smile. âweâll see about that.â
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my best friend, shoko | angst, suggestive if you squint, closeted pining best friend shoko, female reader, mentions of reader dating men
sheâs annoyed for you, like she usually is, except this time she seems more agitated.
truth be told, youâd withheld a very important piece of information from her and she knew. shoko knew that this latest flop of a situationship wasnât with a new guy, but your ex youâd spent an entire year getting over.
it was the roughest sheâd ever seen you, and the longest sheâd witnessed you suffering. endless nights spent at her place, crying on her shoulder as you drowned your sorrows with red wine. his name falling from your pouty lips, slurred and so, so sad.
it had taken an entire year of her picking up the pieces of your broken heart for you to be somewhat normal again. safe to say, she knew you like the back of her hand. had fallen into routine with you, even if you dated around.
which is how she knew you werenât currently seeing anyone normal.
but aside from that fact, a whole year of taking care of you had led shoko to become extremelyâŚprotective over you. sheâd never admit it, but there were times were the house felt too cold after youâd leave for your dates so she would justâŚslip out quietly after you.
after. not with. not with an hourâs delay either, no. her sole reason for going out was to observe you, from a distance. she had to make sure they wouldnât break your heart again. it was uncharacteristic of her the first time, but sheâs done it enough times now that sheâs not sure anymore.
along the way she learned how you liked your hand to be held. how you liked to be courted and pampered. lines guys would use that would make your lip bury itself beneath your teeth, your smile to turn shy, your thighs to rub together.
âyou smell amazingâ sheâd overhear one guy say. her eyes would wander, fingers absentmindedly dragging her cigarette to her lips to take a deep inhale as you preened under his compliments.
you were an amusing sight when you were shy. even more so since you were wearing her perfume.
you wore that face the other month, when sheâd caught you at the start of your second-chance relationship, dangling off the arm of that idiot. she hid behind the wall of some building like a creep, watching you get into his car.
she remembers that face even now as her eyes flicker over your features, knowing sheâs being lied to her face.
âyou know you can tell me anything, right?â shoko murmurs, leaning into you by a fraction. the beer bottles sit by her feet on the balcony floor, long forgotten.
âof course. i know that.â you smile, but itâs hesitant. youâre still deciding, and itâs clear by the way you avert your gaze. she can sense youâre embarrassed for thinking it could work again.
her manicured fingers dance rhythmically along the back of your seat to fill the silence. tired eyes sneaking glances at your collarbones that shine with the body shimmer oil you love.
she loves it too.
she hunted it down found it one day after a late night shift, you were asleep in your room, the house quiet enough for her need to overwhelm her. it was there, a medium-sized brown bottle wedged between countless toiletries in the bathroom shelf.
the next morning her panties were still damp with specks of gold all over. she cringed at her lack of self restraint when she found that it wouldnât wash out, and instead had to dispose of her favourite lace pair.
shoko shivers at the thought. her desire for you had consumed her that day. she thinks it would startle you too. perhaps you wouldnât sit so close.
âcold?â youâd felt her shiver, instinctively pressing your body into hers to warm her up.
âyeah.â the brunette lies easily, leaning into your touch. her leg hooks over your hip, and you say nothing. she knows you wonât and canât find it in herself to stop. it looks so right, her leg propped up like it belongs to you. she counts the win, tallying up the score she has in her head against your ex.
shoko isnât even sure if she likes girls. letting herself believe that youâre the exception is a recent development. still, the revelation does little to dull the ache in her heart. sheâs sworn off acting on her feelings unless sheâs certain the two of you are possible.
it doesnât help that thereâs always the fear - an ugly, sinister kind thatâs wormed into her mind. fear that makes her heart feel like someone tied it to a weight and tossed to the bottom of the ocean. sure, it wasnât him this time, but if you found someone you truly liked, worthy or not, that was that. the bond between you, the same one sheâd nurtured all this time, could disappear. replaced in an instant.
she wonât tell you she saw him. she wonât tell you she knows the truth and get angry at you for seeing the bastard. shokoâs starting to believe she wouldnât mind if he broke your heart a hundred times, if it meant getting to touch you like this.
sheâs sick and perverted, she knows. she tells herself youâre not a saint either, for turning her into this. giving her something to look forward to every time youâre hurting.
your best friend listens as you continue describing the last few dates with devil. her fingers twitch for another cigarette, but sheâs not up for a scolding. instead, she breathes you in silently, letting your perfume fill her lungs. it chases away the anxiety for a bit.
ââm always here for you.â she mumbles into your shoulder, the alcohol lowering her guard.
âi know. what are girlfriends for?â you say sweetly, an oblivious smile spanning across your face as you sweep her into a hug. shoko closes her eyes as she revels in your gratitude.
itâs a funny question. what are girlfriends for? probably so much more, she thinks, tipping her head back to look at you. youâre right there, it would be so easy to close the gap and find out how you taste, then how youâŚ
her throat bobs as she swallows.
yeah. so much more.
a/n: i rushed this but anyways iâve actually never written shoko before so let me know if sheâs a character youâre interested in <3
tags: higuruma x reader, dad!higuruma, mom!reader, domestic fluff, your kids have names haha, content inspired by a bluey episode, also yes im still not done with my dad!hiromi agenda (and i dont think i'll ever be)
you wouldn't say married life with hiromi is like a fairytaleâit's more... realistic, with a lot of compromising, staying, and understanding. still, life with him is good. though you both work well together, you two can't help the moments where you forget how to 'romance.'
your little girls, harumi and aimi, sit entranced in front of the tv. they watch as the cartoonishly pretty cocker spaniel sips a spaghetti noodle with a terrier until they meet in a kiss.
âhaven't seen mommy and daddy do that,â aimi whispers to her older sister.
harumi nods thoughtfully. âi haven't seen them do any romance, too,â she whispers back.
you almost miss it when you pass by the living room, laundry basket perched on your hip. you pause by the doorway, overhearing their hushed conversation.
âbut you know two people love each other when they romance,â aimi murmurs, little fingers fidgeting on her lap. âdoes that mean mommy and daddy don't love each other?â
harumi is quick to turn the thought down.
âno!â she points at the tv. âmommy and daddy love each otherâwe just have to help them romance!â
romance.
the word sits strangely in your chest.
onscreen, the dogs finish their shared noodle, blushing and shy. soft music swells. everything is easy thereâsimple, sweet, predictable.
real life isn't like that.
real life is missed dinners, tired sighs, hiromi coming home late with his tie half-loosened and his case files still in hand. it's you falling asleep before he does, or him leaving before you wake. it's love, yes, but quieter. worn into routine.
still... your daughters are watching that screen like it's something to aspire to, like it's something you're missing.
and maybe it is.
harumi then straightens, like a lightbulb's gone off.
âi've an idea!â
hiromi quietly kicks his shoes off to the side, shoulders hurting from his heavy briefcase and an even heavier day. before his hand could meet the doorknob, the door swings open, revealing two, tiny, suspiciously pleased chefs.
âhello,â harumi, wearing a fake mustache and a little chef's uniform on. âwelcome to haru-aimi's restaurant!â
aimi squeals before shoving a crumpled paperâer, menu, on hiromi's stomach.
âwelcome, welcome! a reservation for mr. daddy, yes?â
hiromi blinks. he may be exhausted and confused, but anything for his little girls.
â...yes.â
harumi nods excitedly. âpleasant!â she opens the door wider and says, âover here, please, mr. dad.â
the two girls eagerly lead him towards their playroom. inside, the room is dim, save for the nightlight at the corner and the soft electric candles on the tiny table.
hiromi stops when he sees you by it, sitting on the chair patentienly. his eyes lock with yours. you're dressed as nicely as you would have during your date nights, and it melts him.
âwhat's all this?â he asks, amused.
aimi puffs her chest out proudly. âyour new date! she is mrs. mom.â
hiromi raises a brow, amused. â...she's a beautiful woman, but i'm afraid i'll have to decline. i'm already married.â
âwaitâ!â harumi points at you. âu-um... you're also married here!â
â...i see.â he looks at you softly. âthen i'm fortunate.â
he sits down in front of you. you try to stifle your laughter as he tries to fit, not complaining once despite looking uncomfortable.
âokay,â harumi starts dragging her little sister to the kitchen. "me and my sous-chef aimi will be making tonight's special dinner!"
as the children disappear to the corner, you and your husband look at each other in sheer disbelief.
âour kids set us up,â you murmur.
hiromi hums. âi don't mind,â he says. âmy date is quite pretty.â
you feel your face warm a little at that, even after all these years.
âthat so?â you murmur, playing along. âmine's quite handsome tonight, too.â
for a moment, it's quiet again. the soft glow of the little candle flickers between you, casting shadows that make everything feel... oddly intimate, despie the plastic cutlery and toy plates.
hiromi exhales, shoulders finally easing for the first time since he got home.
â...they think we don't do this anymore,â he says.
you nod faintly. âwe haven't. not really.â
he doesn't argue. instead, his gaze softens. âwe should,â he says simply. âwe can't just forget how to 'romance' just because we became 'mom' and 'dad'.â
you giggly faintly. âand because we get interrupted everyââ
âdinner is served!â
harumi marches back in like a proud head chef, holding a plastic plate with exaggerated care. aimi follows close behind, carrying her own share of gourmet plastic.
the little ones set the late down in front of you both, colorful toy food arranged with surprising precision. harumi clasps her hands behind her back, posture straight.
âplease enjoy the food,â she says.
âlooks excellent,â hiromi praises.
aimi leans forward, eyes sparkling. âyou have to kiss while eating the spaghetti, like in lady and the tramp.â
âi...â
you sigh in resignation. before you could complain jokingly, hiromi's already leaning in, softly kissing your lips. you sit there, surprised, before your eyes flutter close. you hum against him, heart fluttering inside your chest.
hiromi pulls away after another peck on the corner of your mouth. he turns to your daughters and asks, âlike that?â
âewww,â harumi immediately whines. âtoo romance-y. you didn't even eat the spaghetti yet!â
as the girls continue to whine from the disgusting display of affection, hiromi quietly reaches his hand across the tableânot for the fork this time, but for your hand. he laces your fingers with his, thumbing your knuckles.
âafter this,â he says, voice low, meant only for you, âwe'll go on a real one.â
you blink at him, but he holds your gaze.
âi'll make the time.â
the restaurant closes early.
because the girls insisted the 'date' happens past their bed time of eight o'clock, they're already passed out asleep in their play kitchen thirty minutes later.
after tucking them in their actual beds, hiromi returns to you. âthey're asleep,â he says, taking a seat beside you this time. âno interruptions now.â
you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. you two stay like that for a moment, the colorful murals on the wall serving as your view. the silence is comfortable, something rarely shared in between busy schedules and tiring days.
â...i missed you, sweetheart,â hiromi murmurs, tilting his head to press a kiss on your crown.
âmissed you more, 'romi,â you murmur.
your fingers find the sleeve of his shirt, idly smoothing the fabric like you used to back when things were slower. when evenings weren't split between responsibilities and exhaustion.
âwe used to sit like this more,â you say after a while.
hiromi hums in agreement, eyes still trained on the doodles on the wall. âwe did.â he pauses, and then quietly adds, âi kept telling myself it was temporary.â
you tilt your head slightly, looking at him. âwhat was?â
âthe distance,â he answers simply. âi thought once things settled, once work eased up... we'd go back to how it was.â his thumb brushes absentmindedly against your arm this time, grounding himself in your warmth. âi didn't realize we were getting used to it.â the room feels a little heavier all of the sudden.
âi'd come home,â hiromi continues, voice low, âand you'd already be asleep. or i'd leave before you woke up. i told myself that's fine, that it's part of life.â
his hand finds yours again, this time more firmly. âbut it didn't feel fine. i missed you, and i'm not supposed to 'cause you're right there.â
you stay quiet, letting his words sink in. he's rightâyou missed him just as much. you paw at your eyes quietly.
âi'm serious about the date, by the way,â hiromi says after a moment. âi already planned it.â
âyou're serious?â you laugh. âsince when?â
âsince i sat down in that chair and realized i couldn't even remember the last time i took you out properly.â
you let out a soft, breathless chuckle. âwow. felt called out by a six year old and a four year old, huh?â hiromi hums. then, he lifts his hand, brushing his thumb lightly under your eye before you even realize something had gathered there.
âdon't cry,â he murmurs.
âi'm not,â you protest weakly.
âmn, you are.â
hiromi leans forward then, slow and unhurried, and presses a soft kiss to your lips.
âi love you, sweetheart. even when work swallows me whole. especially then.â
ok FINE it's lowk boring... but tbf im weiting this half asleep on a school night. i just needed that fluff after a very hell-sent month!! sorry, i'll get back to it soon (VERY soon)! i have a couple cooking in my drafts, just need to recuperate my creative juice raghhh #burntOUT haha ily guys!
pairing dilf piano instructor!hiromi higuruma x gifted student!reader
synopsis your piano instructor is notoriously strict, and so much older than you. usually, he can keep his nerve, but usually, you don't mess up over and over again like you have today.
tags porn//no plot, non-canon, no curses au, age gap (hiromi is late 30s, read is early 20s), mutual pining, teacher/student relationship, panty sniffing, pussy drunk hiromi, sexual "punishment", cruuuude language, degradation, impact play (spanking, slapping, improper use of a conductor's baton), unbalanced power dynamics, heavy scolding, slight choking (?), nsfw
word count 4.8k
authors note part of one of my many ventures into dilf territory, but my first time with hiromi. hope u enjoy!! i love him sm :p
art by @/hunnismoker <3
He hovers like a ghost, breath dripping down your shoulders like humid notes flowing over a staff â scribbled and unsure.
Your right hand shakes as you run through your scales â nails hitting white keys, then nervously stumbling over blacks, placing sharps where flats should be, totally fucking up the perfectly timed lesson that Mr. Higuruma expects from you, his best peer.
The conductor's baton in his hand is a threat to what you know â hovering just as blatantly, ready to reign down on your knuckles if you miss another note. So, you slow down, scaling from C to B, fingers shivering, soul ripe from the afterglow of one of his thorough, steady scoldings. He curses softly, but only when he's disappointed⌠Mr. Higuruma couldn't be more disappointed in you.
"Tardy by twenty minutes, and so beside yourself that you can't even run through a warmup correctly."
You know better than to respond; it's been beaten into you like the very aspect of respect, lingering like the jewels from your ears, just enough to weigh you down. So, you shiver, knees pressed together under the keyboard, hardly any strength left in your socked feet to push the sustaining pedal to the floor. Still, he leans against the action frame, breathing slowly, dress shirt unbuttoned just enough for his plaid tie to hang, forgotten about and loose after a long morning of tea and cigarettes.
The windows are open, letting in the whisper of mid-August in racing breezes and the overwhelmingly sticky humidity that clings to the lace curtains, weighing them down, then blowing them clean. You swallow against the whistle as it flows through the room, fingers pressing the keys into the instrument with the delicacy you know you can give â for some reason, your mind just isn't connecting to the music today. You're distracted, painfully so.
"I-I-I'm s-sorry," you whisper, unsure where you stand, slowing down on the keys as you start the exercise over, breath piquing a bit hotter this time around. Your heart sinks when he shifts, soft leather shoes rubbing together as he stands up straight.
"Start over." He demands, and it's simple enough â not friendly or as gracious as he's been all week. In fact, Mr. Higuruma is quite tense. You can see it in the hard veins in his forearm, shifting as he clutches the baton in his grip. He's standing over the keys now, looking down over your shoulder, dark hair falling from its gelled back grip. You can hear him swallow behind you, and how his lips part when he slides his dark-framed glasses over the bridge of his nose.
You don't want to start over; the shake in your fingers is growing unbearable now that he's staring you down like prey. Your core is trembling, panties as humid as the August summer outside of those windows, as you press the beginning notes. At first, he nods you through it, letting you set your own time, though you're shaking like a leaf. His fingers flex and itch at the baton, squinting under his dark-framed glasses when you finally hit that first sour note halfway through the scale.
"That's the fifth one." He corrects â fast and sharp, he whips the hard wood baton over your trembling fingers, withdrawing as you yelp. Snatching your knuckles away from the keys, you can feel the humiliation of the tears as they start to burn. You swallow them back with a whimper, "The fifth time you have gotten this scale wrong. Will you continue to waste my time, or will you have some respect?"
"I jusâ I didn't s-sleep well last night." Lie. A fucking lie. You couldn't sleep at all. Still, you would never tell him that it's because of the obvious â you stayed up, a shaking hand between your thighs as you massaged your clit to images of his huge hands scaling the keys just hours prior. He does something to you, and it's unsaid and so primal that you can't focus on anything else⌠ever. Not while you're with him alone like this, watching as he slumps into his study at night with his nose in a book, totally ignoring your existence until you're at his stool, back as straight as a pin.
You only have a week before your audition for the post-grad art program of your dreams â a shiny little headway to get your foot in the industry, so you can play to thousands and have a comfortable life in a city you can't afford yet. Your parents need this for you; it's why they're paying for this excursionâan academic bootcamp, Mr. Higuruma coined it as. It's only the two of you in this secluded beachside manor, soaked by Summer and the caw of seagulls, and you were starting to feel it.
You wonder if he notices â when you circle your hips against the authentic leather, desperate for the pressure your underwear gives when you move just right. It feeds on the singing pain in your reddened knuckles, bruised over just slightly from the two slaps you earned yesterday. Since he started this new avenue of punishment, you've been falling deeper and deeper, and you're not sure you want to know why.
As you ponder it, gulping softly as you start over, the lapse of attention makes you hit the wrong key. Mr. Higuruma tenses as soon as it hits. "Six." He deadpans, moving the baton to his right hand. He smacks it over your knuckles, again â harder this time. So hard that the burning in your eyes turns into welling tears. Your hands shake with nerves and pain â skin bloomed red.
"I-I-Iâ
"Don't speak, just start over."
"Ye-yes, sirâŚ"
So, one more time â you roll through the first six notes in cascading ease, swallowing down thickness every few seconds, now that you're thinking too hard about it. You know that if he didn't hover, you'd be able to nail out this scale and the four others he had you memorize with your eyes closed. But, the second he shifts â crossing his socked ankles against his corduroy trousers, you tense, and your finger slips over a flat. Your heart drops.
Before he can scar your knuckles again, you turn to look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, heart racing as his dark gaze flickers down to you like he's a robot. You go to stand up, to run for cover, and blame it on your time of the month, if not the severe lack of sleep, but something stops you. It's his dark glare, burning like embers, and stunning you still and silent.
A few moments tick by â he stares at you, and you stare right back up at him, heart in your ass, core buzzing, and touch-starved. You swallow⌠again.
"Seven." He recites like it's the date of your reckoning. You wish it truly was, maybe then, you'd be free of the silent, easy wrath he hands out in avoidance and disapproving glares. You know that when he doesn't hit you, he's serious. It's the final nail in your coffin.
You don't speak â don't even attempt to apologize, because it wouldn't work. The crook in his brow tells you enough, but you're blind to it. You can't even blink.
"Stand up for me," He purrs, voice so low and calculated that it feels like he's actually okay with you and with this nonsense that he's ridding his afternoon to.
So, you don't make him wait. Your knees tremble as you stand, the bench creaking against the wooden floor as you keep balance with two hands pressed to the base of the keyboard. Your small skirt rides up, sticking to the perspiration on the back of your thighs. Unbeknownst to you, and much to your dismay, as you stand, a wet spot right where your core sat shines in the natural light, staining his chair and staining any sort of pride you once thought you had.
You don't notice, but Mr. Higuruma does.
Oh, he notices right away.
He doesn't speak⌠No, he lets the tension marinate and twist into the air, carried by the wind like the old dust particles that you have to blink from your eyes. Mr. Higuruma flickers to your shaking hands, still lounging easily on the side of the baby grand, shaking his head softly.
"Looks like you made a mess." He finally whispers, lips rolling under his teeth as he stands up straight. Like you're being interrogated, you keep your hands where he can see them, holding your breath as your stomach falls through your ass, lips parted as you start to hyperventilate at the ghost of him.
You go to turn around â to try and see if you were wrong, praying your body betrayed you with blood instead of arousal, but as you go to investigate the scene, Mr. Higuruma stops you.
"Did you⌠have an accident?"
"N-Noâ
"Hm," He mutters, head cocked to the side as he lowers the baton to your dark skirt, teasing the end of it against the flowing fabric. You gasp as soon as you feel it, knees rocking together as another flood of warmth kisses your thighs â bleeding through your panties. "Then, are you⌠aroused?"
The word hits like a gut-punch. You can't believe such obscenities could slip from his lips so easily, like he's reciting a prayer to you. "What?"
Mr. Higuruma chuckles, the corners of his lips quirking up before completely fading by the wayside like he was never amused. "Don't sound so shocked⌠Look at the mess you've made."
As you go to dip your head and rake over the damning evidence to your mind-numbing desire, he stops you⌠again. This time, it's the delicate trace of his baton sneaking under your skirt, just enough to get leverage to show you off. He smiles, bending his neck so he can watch your tight, lace panties peek into view.
You're naked for him â on fire, and too nervous to beg for the touch you know you need to get your head back in the game. Something comes over you. It's a need, not just a want. "PleaseâŚ"
Mr. Higuruma hums again, pursing his lips as he crosses behind you. His footfalls are calculated and precise, clicking against hard flooring and stopping right at the bench, keeping you two apart. You swallow again, then let your head hang between your shoulders, as you've finally been overcome.
"Is this why you have been so distracted today?" He offers, using the polished tip of his shoe to drag the bench away. It scrapes against the floor with a vengeance, filling your head with hot air, and Mr. Higuruma's with restlessness.
You want to lie and blame it on the weather â it's fucking hot, but not hot enough to leave a pool of slick on his leather. Your tutor is not stupid and has certainly faced a few aching women in his days. You think it's the glasses, or maybe the hunched demeanor that carries so much wisdom that you could spend hours farming and chipping away at it, yet still not crack the surface of his overwhelming ease.
"Poor babyâŚ" He scrunches his face in a little sniff, cheeks hollowing as his dark gaze plots on your taut ass, showing itself just under the crumpled fabric. He knows you're bound to attest, so he beats you to it â with a smack of the baton against your upper thighs. You jump, a hand flying up to cover the whining moan that dares tumble from your lips.
You know how wrong this is, and how your relationship with him will never be the same, but you're willing to risk it all. Your eyes slip shut, heart pounding as the sharp pain on your thighs mellows out into something⌠satisfying. It's impossible to bite down a smile, but you have to.
"Hm?" He tries again, pushing his glasses further over his crooked nose, lips twitching and pursing around his inner thoughts as the baton reaches further up your skirt. He catches the fabric on the very end, teasing it and himself as the baton lifts it up slowly â so slow, he's starting to drive himself crazy. "If I help you with your little⌠problem, surely we can get today's lesson plan finished within the hour, right?" He's not asking, hardly giving you a choice. You can either nod and feel him in a way so intimate that you'd be damned for the rest of your life, or you can shyly turn away and pretend like this never happened.
You chose the former.
"I'll d-do my best."
"Good girl," he offers as a testament to his quickly dwindling patience. Like you're welcoming him into open arms, he closes the space between the two of you, getting a better angle to push his baton up your skirt. It pokes between your thighs, forcing you to bend at the hips, hands fumbling over the keys. A sour note punches from the piano, and you jump, making him chase that sweet heat between your thighs.
"Ah, ahâŚ" He clicks, breath hot against your ear as his back presses into you. He's tall and so brooding, making you feel tiny, yet so powerful to have garnered his attention like this. You can't help but let a smile grace your features, especially when he gets so close that you can feel the hardened bulge against his brown pants, digging against his belt, and pressing into the back of your thigh. "Hands off the keys. Put them over the fall board, now."
"Yes, sir." You whisper, nerves fizzled out by the excitement pooling in your veins. The feeling of being wanted is like a drug, and being wanted by him is the high. Always someone so casually domineering â someone you're terrified of disappointing, wants you.
Scratch that â he needs you.
Mr. Higuruma makes it no stranger, but he's quick to keep himself in line, even as sweat begins to bead at his dark brows. His gaze flickers up as your shaking hands plant in the spot he ordered you to place them, nodding with a satisfied hum. He takes a handful of steps back, then it feels like you're exposed to the entire world, even though you're fully clothed.
"The way you reacted when I hit youâŚ" He starts like you're the lesson he's invested in. Mr. Higuruma likes the idea of studying you â he has let himself ponder on it before. He likes the way you hold yourself, and he's endlessly respectful of your talent and hard work. He just doesn't know what has gotten into you, but he thinks he knows, now. "Did you enjoy the way it felt?"
"It hurt."
"Oh, yes, I know." You can hear his lips form the words, sticky and wet in his mouth, before offering them to you. "But that is not what I asked⌠Did you enjoy the way it felt?"
You're on fire, sizzling like a sinner in front of a congregation as you squeeze your eyes shut. You know you can't hide it anymore â he has the proof painted on leather, and a prize just inches away. It feels like a crime when you nod, slowly at first, letting your own body come to terms with this anxious new feeling that kinda reminds you of soul-sucking arousal.
"Please do it again." You whisper, trying on your own need for size. It sits in the air for a second, twisting and turning like invisible notes when you fondle your keyboard.
"Where?"
"M-my⌠m-m, mâm-myâ
"YourâŚ" He starts like he always has the tendency to, the baton snaking back between your thighs, catching your skirt as he traces the seam of your panties against the gathered flesh. He steps back, and it's sudden, but not enough to make you want. Just as you go to turn around, the baton withdraws, then a painfully piercing slap falls across your ass, making you jump with a surprised yelp. "Ass? Or⌠what about," he pauses again, his tongue running over his top lip as the baton trails down your thighs, swatting at your thighs until you peel them apart. "That messy snatch between your thighs? D'you think she wants it?"
Mr. Higuruma's words kill. They're lewd and unfamiliar in his professional tone of voice, but fuck, you're dripping down your thighs. It's like you're being electrocuted as the poking end of his stick presses against your sticky folds. It's a deep, overwhelming feeling that you can't think about, or else you'd be digging a grave.
"Hm? Yes or no?"
"Y-yes, that." You squeak, face so tight and tense from holding your breath like you're drowning.
"Say it."
"M-myâ
He slaps you, raining that stick over the sensitive meat on your thighs. You jump and startle, rising to your tiptoes, running away from his hold, only for him to step closer, forcing a knee between your thighs to pry them open. He's so close, so hot with his head tucked against your shoulder, glasses fogged with how wet you are. "That clammy little thing?" He moans, placing that first kiss right at the base of your jaw, grinding haphazardly into your leg. "Tell me⌠that it's mine."
"It's yours! I'm all yours," You whine, hips bucking back into him. Mr. Higuruma tosses his baton over the keyboard, finding more use in his hands when he reaches for his belt and pulls it off with a fervor usually so lost on him.
Wet bodies, sticking together with perspiration â it's uncomfortable. The air reeks of sex and heat against weathered wood, ripe with seawater. Your tutor doesn't give you grace, let alone any form of mercy or understanding, as he grunts in your ear. "That pussy is mine. Say it."
"My pussy is yours. MâMr. Higuâguruma."
"OhâŚ" He pushes you deeper into the keys, guiding your knee up and over the board. The pressure gives weight to scattered, jumbled piano notes, startling you further as they pierce the air. "Oh, yes, she is. Always has been, just didn't know it yet." He grunts, loosening his tie just enough to pop those next few buttons on his shirt free. His chest, soft with tufts of dark hair, comes into view, and your mouth goes dry as you regard him with a hurried peek over your shoulder.
You tremble and twitch, fingers bearing claws into the polished wood of the piano, leg squivering and hips aching at the uncomfortable stretch â leaving it all on the line for him to take, focusing air in and out of your lungs manually. When he touches you with thick fingertips, he starts at the soft fabric of your underwear, not giving you space to react as he tugs them off in a few, steady tugs. You gasp, peeking behind you again, just to turn around and whine when you see his reflection.
Bloodshot eyes â low and heavy under his glasses. It looks like he's slept a combined two hours in the last twenty days, but something about it feels so right. The blush that's spanning across his freckled chest, rising and falling angrily as your sopping cunt leaves a trail from your soaked panties, all the way to his nose.
Bringing the fabric to his face, Mr. Higuruma doesn't falter for a second. He takes a lungful of your essence, groaning deep in his chest as the sinful smell of your arousal seeps down his sinuses and onto his tongue. He's swallowing down traces of you, mouth watering as he breathes you in like he's trying to suffocate in it.
You press your forehead to the cool piano, trying to steady your breath so you don't faint from nerves and want. It's hard enough to stand as-is when you have a hold on your mind, but now it's so much worse. You feel like you're losing your mind.
"Come on, please, I can take it."
"You've been holding back on me." He grunts in response, biting down on your panties so he can keep one hand pressed into your hips, and the other back to his trousers, shoving his buckle out of the way, yanking the gold-plated zipper to its ruin. "Is it distraction? Am I not challenging you thoroughly?" He grunts against closed teeth, the cotton muffling his words.
He picks the worst times to try and make conversation, because you're losing your mind â foaming at the mouth and writhing in your spot as he yanks his pants down. You want so badly to turn around and watch as he pulls his cock from the tight confines he's kept it in for what feels like hours, but you hold back.
Mr. Higuruma tenses and hisses when the scratching friction of his underwear rubs just right, head tossing back as he fishes in the luxe, sweat-wicking fabric. He needs it for these long, summer days, and certainly needs it when a single look at your pleated skirts and dark stockings makes him dribble just softly â like he's a teenager, staining his briefs.
Now, he's staring at his outlet, sucking spit back into his mouth when his parted lips linger open too long. Your cunt is his for the taking, pulsating, wet, and so fucking warm it feels like you're on fire. He's deaf to your pitchy whines and moans, but not blind to the way you wiggle your ass back into him, demanding the situation like you weren't the one who threw him into this head-first. If only you weren't so⌠distracting.
"N-no, I just⌠I just â MmâŚ"
"You just, what?" He pushes, breath rolling into tiny little hicks as his heavy length, standing straight and tall for you, falls into his palm. His whimpering makes you whimper, then roll your neck, desperate to get a fleeting gaze at his flushed cheeks â the way your body has made such a mess of his careful mind.
When your eyes fall on his, glasses foggy and slipping from his nose, you bite your lip to stifle back a heady moan. Instead, you push your ass back into him, telling Mr. Higuruma with as few words as possible to just do it. You're waiting so patiently, and all you need is him.
Wordlessly, Mr. Higuruma nods as he pulls your panties from between his teeth, giving them another passing sniff before letting them fall at his feet. Your fate feels like it's being sealed in heated touches and cruel slaps, but you'd rather die than withdraw now.
"I just want youâŚ"
"There you go, girlâŚ" He eases into you like he's treading in high water â desperate, yet unyieldingly slow. It takes all his strength and every ounce of willpower he has not to give you all of him in one go, but your cunt sucks up the tip like it's starving. Little did he know, you've just been waiting for this.
Your heart sinks, knees slipping against the keys, making them erupt in a sour chord all over the situation. Little broken, determined grunts of air fall from your lips, silently begging him for more â more touch, more attention, and more of him. He makes you wait for it, his hand kneading circles into your soft ass as if it's any comfort.
Where he lacks in length, he surely fills out in girth â splittingly so. Mind-numbingly slow. You can't believe your body can take it, still fluttering and open for more as his hips push slowly. "O-oh, it's big,"
Mr. Higuruma can hear you sucking him in â your slick creating a sort of vacuum around the shaft of his cock as he feeds it to you. He's mystified, so taken that when his glasses fall again, he doesn't push them up in time, and they fall right from his face and onto your back, bouncing and toppling somewhere under the baby grand. You gasp in surprise at the sudden coolness, whining when the jump in your demeanor makes his thick cock hit just a bit harder â too deep for comfort, and surely not what you're used to.
"If you focus on one thing today," He groans, head tossing back as his world falls into a blur. He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing his palm over his bloodshot eyes to try to bring himself down. "At least focus on making all of it fit inside of you."
"It's soâ
"This was our deal, hm?" His top lip twitches, bearing his shining, coffee-stained teeth. He bucks his hips just an inch, reveling in the biting, uncomfortable moan that falls from your throat. As soon as you steady yourself, peeking back to nod at him, Mr. Higuruma gives it to you.
One slick, punishing thrust renders you into a dumb pile of your past self, thighs screaming and cunt pulsating against his thick length. You whine and cry, tears dripping down in the innards of the piano, marking this existence forever, even when you step away from him and the instrument for bigger, better things.
"So tightâŚ" He adds, sucking in a breath before grabbing and slapping at your left cheek, watching as his pale cock disappears and pulses inside of you. Your gummy walls clamp over him, and he's absolutely fucking taken â halfway in love, and so enamored with your affection that he doesn't know what to say, or how to even think.
Mr. Higuruma just knows one single thing â he has to ruin you.
He's drunk off of it â manic and unsteady as he shuffles handfuls of your ass, tongue peeking from his lips as he concentrates on the early-set ejaculation that's made its home in his stomach.
He's gotta push it back⌠for you, he pushes it back, and lets his free hand wander up your back, then around your neck, reminding you that you're here, and so is he. This isn't a dream, and he needs to hear your pleading moans â your broken, needy whispers, right in his ear like it's a gospel. Still, he really takes his time rolling his hips, getting you into it, before wrapping his big hand around your neck, forcing you to bow upwards.
"P-pleâ
"No," He beats you clean, thumb digging hard into your jugular. You wince and seeth against the touch, your own hand flying up to aid his direction, trying to peel him away. The leverage he gets from your uncomfortable, revealing position is just enough to send him forward. He rolls his neck like he's ready to play a concerto, not to fuck you into submission.
Mr. Higuruma fucks you like he's mad. He rolls his hips, snapping them into you with a strength you didn't know he had. It's supernatural and hard, blurring with motion like his fast fingers over the keyboard your toes are digging into. Every time you shift, after every one of his merciless thrusts, you play a note â a jumbled mess of noise and sound, stacked atop your cries and his well-timed grunts.
You lead, he carries. You cry, he smirks.
He shoves your head back into the frame, smushing your cheek against the streaking spit on the enamel. It takes your makeup off in filthy smudges â making a mess of the face he's seen under the brightest lights and darkest circumstances. After this, here and now, it's safe to say that Mr. Huguruma knows you as no man does.
"MoreâŚ" You manage to crack, breath knocked from your throat every time his hips snap forward. His heavy cock pushes right at that half-angle, deep enough for you to really fucking feel it. It's driving you crazy, and all you want to do is see his face. You want to see if you're killing him the way he's killing you, right now. "W-wanna seeeeee,"
"Needy thing." He bites, clamping both hands on your hips as he screws you into the piano. With every deep thrust, he's feeding you his entire length, then leaving you dry. Your cunt isn't used to it, and it certainly isn't used to his tone, because you swear that's what does it. You wish you were more alert, but when you cum, it's with a strength you didn't even know you had.
For the first time, ever, you cry his name. Not his professional surname dripped with respect and knowing, but his motherly name stripped down to the bone. "Ahâ fuck, Hiromi!"
"Who?" He clamps, one eye open in a craze as he grabs and flips you around. The hard piano digs into your soft flesh â the feeling of his cock bending and twisting inside of you, making you see white. Hiromi blinks at you again, your shirt hanging off your limbs, and your body weak and gelatinous as you whine and arch your back against the keyboard.
It's the only name that comes to mind in your post-orgasmic haze, but it's choppy and unsure. You whisper, trying to control your fuzzy fingers to get lost in his dark, greying hair gathered so close that you can taste it. "M-Mr. HigurumaâŚ"
"That's right," He nods, leaning down for just a second, resting his clammy forehead against your clothed collarbone. In that fleeting moment, he bites at the collar of your button-up, nudging his nose under the fabric, smelling the sweet ghost of your perfume against the soft skin of your collarbone.
â . . being stuck with frenemies with benefits!satoru in a packed car
the car is way too packed.
windows fogging up from bodies crammed into a space thatâs definitely not meant for this. youâre stuck on satoruâs lap in the back, your friends loud and distracted up front with music blasting and snacks being passed around.
at first, itâs subtle when his hands settle politely on your hips. but after a few minutes you feel him shift, spreading his thighs wider so your core presses firmly against one of his thick thighs. his fingers flex, slowly starting to guide your hips in tiny movements.
you turn your head slightly and glare at him hard over your shoulder.
âsatoru, stop,â you hiss under your breath, eyes narrowed in warning.
he just smiles that tiring, infuriating smile, lips brushing your ear. âwhat? iâm just trying to get comfortable.â
you try to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but he keeps rocking you subtly, the firm muscle of his thigh dragging right against your clit through your thin shorts.
heat builds fast between your legs no matter how much you fight it. you dig your nails into his wrist, trying to still his hands, but he only tightens his grip and pulls you down harder.
âbehave,â you mutter, shooting him another sharp glare.
satoru chuckles quietly, breath warm against your neck. âyou first.â
bitch.
you hold out for a few more minutes, jaw clenched, but the constant pressure is too good. eventually your hips start moving on their own, small, reluctant rolls that turn into slow, needy grinds. you hate how quickly you give in, but the way his thigh feels against your soaked pussy is addictive.
âthatâs my girl,â he whispers smugly, one hand slipping under your hoodie to palm your breast while the other keeps guiding your movements.
youâre grinding properly now, dragging your clit along his leg in steady circles, trying desperately to stay quiet. your shorts are getting soaked, the wet patch growing on his sweats with every roll of your hips. satoruâs cock is rock hard against your ass, twitching every time you press down.
you donât notice how, suddenly, your friend in the passenger seat turns around, eyebrows furrowed.
âhey, you okay back there?â her concerned face wouldâve made your heart melt if you werenât humping satoruâs thigh under you. âyour face is super red and you look kinda hot, you getting carsick or something?â
your heart jumps, whole body freezing mid-grind, still flushed and breathing heavier than you should be.
well fuck.
before you can answer, satoru jumps in smoothly, voice casual and unbothered.
âyeah sheâs good.â you feel his thump caress the skin under your breast. âshe gets motion sickness really easily on these winding roads.â he says. âplus she wore that hoodie even though i told her itâs warm in the car. stubborn as hell.â
he gives your thigh a little squeeze under the hoodie, like heâs comforting you. you let out a weak chuckle, playing along even though your pussy is still throbbing against his thigh.
âyeah⌠iâm fine,â you manage, voice a little strained. âjust warm. thatâs all.â you drag the last part, turning to the side which is enough to give him a glare.
your friend nods and turns back around, satisfied. the second the whole attention is gone, satoruâs hand slides between your legs from the front, pressing two fingers against your clit through your soaked shorts while you keep grinding.
âclose call,â he murmurs, amused. ânow be a good girl and finish what you started.â
youâre too worked up to fight anymore. you ride his thigh harder, hips rolling desperately, chasing that tight coil of pleasure building fast in your stomach. satoru keeps rubbing your clit in tight circles, lips pressed to your shoulder to hide his own heavy breathing.
when you cum, it hits you hard. your thighs shake around his leg as you bite down on your lip to stay silent, pussy clenching and soaking his thigh completely. your whole body trembles in his lap while he holds you down, making sure you ride every wave.
after a long moment, satoru kisses the side of your neck softly, voice low and satisfied.
âgood girl⌠look at the mess you made on me.â
you stay slumped against his chest, still breathing hard, knowing this stupid friends-with-benefits thing is getting way too dangerous.
i didnât know this could be an option.. frenemies with benefits and satoru combo??? đ
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SYNOPSIS: You died centuries ago and Sukuna never forgot. When he finds you reincarnated in the modern era, he knows immediately. Unfortunately for him, you think heâs a creep.
WORD COUNT: 11.5k
The Heian era was a time of blood and gold.
Sorcerers carved their names into history with blades and curses, while lords and emperors hid behind paper screens and whispered prayers. In the shadow of those fragile thrones walked Ryomen Sukuna. With four arms, four eyes, tattoos like black flames across his skin, and a second mouth that laughed at every scream it tasted.
They called him the King of Curses. Calamity.
Everything except what he truly was to you.
Yours.
You were no trembling village girl offered as tribute. Your name already carried weight among the clans. Starfire chains, your inherited technique, could bind even the strongest cursed spirits, wrapping them in burning light until they shattered like glass. Clans had tried to marry you off for alliances. You had burned every proposal scroll in front of their envoys.
Then came the day the great Ryomen Sukuna arrived at the borders of your clanâs territory, not to conquer, but to see the sorcerer who had single-handedly sealed a special-grade curse that had been terrorizing three provinces.
You met him in the open courtyard under a blood-red sunset.
He towered over every warrior present. Two arms crossed over his broad chest, the other two resting lazily on the hilts of his cleavers. His lower eyes watched the trembling guards while the upper pair fixed solely on you. The mouth on his abdomen grinned with too many teeth.
You walked forward without hesitation, bare feet silent on the stone, your crimson robes whispering against the ground. Your hair was long then, falling to your waist in loose waves, adorned with a simple gold circlet that caught the dying light.
Sukunaâs voice rolled like distant thunder. âSo this is the little star who thinks she can chain what I would devour.â
You stopped only a few paces away and looked up at all four eyes, all that raw power without flinching.
âI donât think,â you answered, voice clear and steady. âI do. And I choose who I stand beside.â
A low chuckle escaped both mouths. The guards around you shifted, hands tightening on weapons they knew would be useless.
Sukuna leaned down slightly, one massive hand reaching out. Clawed fingers stopped just short of your chin, as if testing whether you would retreat.
You didnât.
Instead, you stepped into his reach and tilted your head so his fingertips brushed your jaw.
âI choose you, Ryomen Sukuna,â you said softly, but loud enough for every witness to hear. âNot because the world fears you. Because I donât. Because something in you looks⌠bored. And I want to see what happens when youâre not.â
Silence fell across the courtyard like a blade.
Then Sukuna laughed. A full, rolling sound that vibrated through the air and made several lesser sorcerers drop to their knees. He straightened, but his hand did not leave your face. Instead, his thumb traced your lower lip with surprising care.
âBold,â he murmured. âFoolish. Intriguing.â His lower eyes narrowed with dark amusement. âVery well, little star. Come with me. Weâll see how long that fire lasts before it burns out.â
You smiled. âIt wonât.â
That night you left your clanâs compound without looking back. No forced marriage, no chains, no fear. You walked beside him willingly, your hand resting lightly on one of his lower arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The first time he took you to his domain. A ruined temple he had claimed as his own, the air tasted of incense and old blood. He watched you explore the halls with four unblinking eyes.
You stopped in front of the great throne of carved bone and gold, then turned to face him.
âEveryone says you destroy everything you touch,â you said quietly.
Sukunaâs grin was sharp. âTheyâre usually right.â
You crossed the distance between you, robes sliding from your shoulders until they pooled at your feet. Naked, unafraid, you looked up at the King of Curses and traced the black markings that ran across his chest with gentle fingers.
âThen touch me,â you whispered. âAnd letâs see what happens.â
Four hands descended on you at once.
Two pinned your wrists above your head against the cold stone wall. One gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. The last cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could claim your mouth in a kiss that tasted of smoke and iron and something dangerously close to hunger.
He was not gentle. Sukuna had never needed to be.
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall. The mouth on his stomach opened, teeth grazing your collarbone while his main mouth bit down on your shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp from you.
âYouâre smaller than you look when youâre burning things,â he growled against your skin, voice rough with want. One of his hands slid between your thighs, fingers teasing until you were trembling. âBut you feel just as fierce.â
When he finally pushed inside youâthick, hot, unrelentingâyou moaned his name like a challenge. He fucked you against the wall with deep, powerful strokes, four arms holding you exactly where he wanted you, the second mouth licking and sucking at your breasts until you cried out.
You came hard, nails raking down his back, starfire flickering at your fingertips and leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.
Sukuna followed with a low groan that vibrated through both his mouths, spilling deep inside you as if marking territory no one else would ever claim.
Afterward, he did not let you go.
He carried you to the furs piled near his throne and laid you down, surprisingly careful. Two arms wrapped around you, the other two resting possessively over your waist and thigh. For the first time anyone had ever seen, the King of Curses looked⌠at ease.
You traced the tattoos on his chest with lazy fingers.
âI told you,â you murmured sleepily. âMy fire doesnât burn out.â
Sukunaâs lower eyes closed. The upper pair watched you with something dangerously close to fondness.
âWeâll see, little queen,â he rumbled. âWeâll see.â
Outside the temple, the world already whispered in fear.
The monster had taken a bride.
And she had chosen him back.
The months that followed your choice blurred into a rhythm of violence and intimacy that no one else in the Heian world could have understood.
You rode beside Sukuna on campaigns that turned rivers red. While lesser sorcerers hid behind barriers and chanted protective sutras, you stood at his right hand on the battlefield. Your starfire chains lashed out alongside his cleavers, binding groups of enemies so he could carve through them with leisurely precision. He never ordered you to stay back. He never treated you like fragile porcelain.
Instead, he watched you fight with open amusement and something darkerâpride.
One particular skirmish against a coalition of rival clans remains burned into your memory.
The valley was narrow, hemmed in by steep cliffs. Three hundred warriors and sorcerers had gathered under a false banner of ârighteous purification,â thinking numbers and a hastily constructed anti-domain barrier would be enough. Sukuna had laughed when the scouts reported it.
Now the air reeked of smoke and opened bodies.
Sukuna stood at the center of the carnage in his full glory. Four arms moving like separate instruments of death. Two cleavers sang through armor and bone. One hand summoned slashes of cursed energy that bisected men mid-scream. The fourth hand occasionally flicked away arrows as if they were annoying insects.
You fought at his flank, crimson robes stained darker with blood that was not yours. Your chains of starfire whipped through the air, glowing white-hot. They wrapped around a cluster of archers, tightening until their bows snapped and their screams cut short as the flames consumed them from the inside.
A spearman broke through the chaos and lunged at your unprotected side.
Before you could react, one of Sukunaâs lower arms shot out, massive hand closing around the manâs head like a vice. With casual strength he crushed the skull and tossed the body aside.
âCareful, little star,â Sukuna called over the din, voice carrying easily. âIâd hate to have to replace you so soon.â
You laughed, it was bright and unafraid. Sending a chain lashing toward a sorcerer who was trying to weave a binding vow. âThen stop talking and keep up, my king.â
His answering grin was feral.
When the last enemy fell, the valley had become a slaughter yard. Crows already circled overhead. Sukuna wiped blood from his cleavers on a fallen banner and turned to you.
You were breathing hard, hair wild, a shallow cut across your forearm already clotting. Without hesitation you stepped over corpses until you stood directly in front of him. Two of his hands settled on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto a broken stone pillar so you were closer to eye level.
âYou enjoyed that,â he observed, lower eyes half-lidded.
âI enjoyed watching you,â you corrected. Your fingers rose, tracing the black markings that ran down the side of his face. The touch was gentle, familiar. No one else alive would have dared. âYou move like the world is too slow for you.â
Sukunaâs main mouth curved. The stomach mouth opened slightly, teeth glinting. âEverything is too slow except you.â
He leaned in and kissed you right there among the dead. Deep, claiming, tasting of iron and victory. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back. Another slid beneath your robes to rest possessively against the bare skin of your lower back. The kiss was not soft. It never was. It was heat and teeth and the promise that whatever came next, you would face it together.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. Four eyes closed, a rare moment of stillness.
That night you returned to the ruined temple he had claimed as his seat of power.
The great hall was lit only by braziers and moonlight filtering through cracks in the ancient roof. Sukuna dismissed his few remaining followers with a lazy wave. The moment the heavy doors closed, the air between you shifted.
You barely had time to loosen your blood-stained robes before four hands were on you again.
He lifted you onto the wide stone altar that served as his makeshift throne platform. Your back met cool rock as he loomed over you, tattoos stark in the firelight.
âStrip,â he ordered, voice low and rough.
You obeyed slowly, deliberately, enjoying the way all four eyes tracked every inch of revealed skin. When you were bare beneath him, he pausedâjust watching.
âYouâre the only thing Iâve ever wanted to keep,â he said quietly. It was as close to a confession as the King of Curses ever came.
Then he descended.
Two hands pinned your wrists above your head. One large palm spread your thighs wide. The fourth hand traced lazy circles on your stomach, claws lightly scraping. His main mouth claimed yours again while the mouth on his abdomen moved lower, hot breath ghosting over your inner thigh before the tongue. Longer and more dexterous than any humanâs, licked a slow stripe up your center.
You arched with a sharp cry.
Sukuna chuckled against your lips. âStill so responsive. Even after painting a valley red.â
He didnât tease for long. The second mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with relentless focus while two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right. The stretch burned beautifully. You moaned his name like a prayer and a challenge at the same time.
When you were trembling on the edge, he withdrew.
You whined in protest.
He positioned himself between your spread legs, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance. In this form he was largeâalmost too muchâbut your body remembered him, opened for him.
He sank in with one slow, powerful thrust, bottoming out as you gasped.
âFuckâRyomenââ
âThatâs it,â he growled, voice layered. âSay my name while I remind you who you belong to.â
He set a brutal pace. Deep, punishing strokes that rocked your entire body. The altar creaked beneath you. Four hands held you open and pinned, allowing no escape, no mercy. The stomach mouth continued its work, licking at your breasts, teeth grazing nipples until they ached.
You came first. Hard, vision whiting out, starfire flickering uncontrollably at your fingertips and leaving glowing trails across his shoulders that faded slowly.
Sukuna followed with a low, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, marking you from the inside out.
Afterward he did not pull away immediately. He stayed buried within you, arms wrapping around your smaller frame, holding you against his chest as if you were something infinitely precious.
You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you knew by heart.
âThey will come for me one day,â you whispered into the quiet. It was not fear but simply fact. âBecause they cannot kill you directly.â
Sukunaâs grip tightened fractionally. âLet them try. I will burn the world before I let them take you.â
You pressed a kiss to the mouth on his stomach. It nipped your lip gently in response.
âI know,â you said. âBut if they ever succeed⌠remember this. Remember how I chose you. How I looked at you without fear.â
He was silent for a long moment.
Then, so quietly you almost missed it: âI will not forget.â
The fire in the braziers crackled. Outside, the night wind carried distant screams. Remnants of the dayâs work.
Inside the temple, the King of Curses held his queen close, four arms a cage no enemy had yet breached.
But the world was already whispering.
They could not defeat the monster.
So they would target the one thing he refused to lose.
Winter came early that year, cloaking the Heian provinces in frost and silence. The ruined temple you shared with Sukuna felt warmer for it. Braziers burned hotter, furs piled thicker, and the air carried the constant scent of incense mixed with the faint metallic tang of recent blood.
Your days settled into a dangerous rhythm of power and peace.
Mornings often began with strategy. Sukuna would lounge on his throne of bone and gold while you sat cross-legged on the wide stone steps below him, maps of rival territories spread across your lap. Your starfire technique allowed you to sense cursed energy signatures from miles away, so you marked weak points with glowing embers that hovered in the air like tiny stars.
Sukuna listened.
That alone was a miracle. Generals who had served him for decades were cut down for speaking out of turn. You spoke freely, challenging his plans, suggesting subtler approaches when brute force would waste energy.
âYou could take the eastern pass without leveling the entire village,â you said one frost-bitten morning, pointing at the map. âLeave the survivors to spread stories. Fear is a better weapon than ash sometimes.â
One of his upper eyes narrowed in amusement. The lower pair watched you with lazy heat. âSince when did my queen become merciful?â
âNot merciful,â you corrected, rising to your feet and stepping between his spread thighs. Two of his hands automatically settled on your hips, claws pricking lightly through your robes. âStrategic. Dead men tell no tales. Terrified men tell exaggerated ones.â
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and the mouth on his stomach. âYouâre getting dangerous, little star.â
You leaned in, brushing your lips against the black marking on his cheek. âGood. You were getting bored.â
That evening he rewarded your cleverness in the way he knew best.
The templeâs inner sanctum was lit only by moonlight and a single brazier. Sukuna had you on your knees on the thick furs, your upper body draped over a low wooden bench. Your wrists were bound behind your back with one of his spare sashes â not because you couldnât escape, but because you both enjoyed the illusion of restraint.
He knelt behind you, four hands mapping every inch of your bare skin.
Two palms smoothed up your spine, pressing you down. One hand gripped your hip, holding you steady. The last traced slow circles over the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that made you gasp.
âStill so responsive,â he murmured, voice rough with approval. âEven when you play at politics all day.â
His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already wet. He teased your entrance with two thick digits, pumping slowly while the mouth on his abdomen licked a hot stripe up your spine.
You moaned, pushing back against his hand. âRyomen⌠stop teasing.â
He laughed darkly. âYou forget who gives the orders here.â
But he obeyed anyway, because it was you.
He replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, pushing in with one long, relentless thrust until he was seated to the hilt. The stretch was perfect, bordering on too much, and you cried out in pleasure-pain.
Sukuna set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the stone walls. Every thrust drove you harder against the bench. His lower hands kept your hips angled exactly how he wanted, while his upper hands reached forward to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples between clawed fingers.
The second mouth joined in, its tongue flicking teasingly over the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders, occasionally biting down just hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days.
You came first. Walls clenching around him as starfire flickered uncontrollably at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing patterns on the furs beneath you.
Sukuna followed with a low growl that shook the air, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, hot and endless.
Afterward he untied your wrists and pulled you into his lap, four arms wrapping around you like a living cage. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady, inhuman rhythm of his heartbeat.
âI love you,â you whispered into the quiet. It was the first time you had said the words so plainly.
Sukuna was silent for a long moment. Then one hand stroked through your hair with surprising gentleness.
âYou are the only creature I have ever allowed to speak those words and live,â he said finally. âThat should be answer enough.â
You smiled against his skin and traced the tattoos over his heart. âIt is.â
But peace never lasted long in the Heian era.
The first whispers reached you during a rare journey to a neutral hot spring valley. A place even rival clans respected as temporary ground for negotiation.
You and Sukuna traveled with only a small escort of his most loyal (and terrified) followers. The springs were steaming under a clear winter sky, the water rich with minerals that soothed cursed energy fatigue.
That night, while Sukuna soaked in the largest pool with three arms draped lazily over the rocks, you lingered at the edge, letting the heat seep into your muscles.
A young sorcerer from a minor clan approached under the guise of offering scented oils. His hands shook as he bowed.
âMy lady,â he whispered when Sukunaâs eyes were half-closed in apparent relaxation. âThere are those who fear what you have become. A queen to the King of Curses⌠it upsets the balance. Some speak of⌠removing the attachment. For the good of all sorcerers.â
You turned your head slowly, eyes sharp. âAnd you bring this message to me?â
The boy swallowed. âAs a warning. Leave him. Return to your clan. Or they will make you leave.â
Before you could respond, Sukunaâs voice cut through the steam like a blade.
âBold of you to threaten my queen in my presence, insect.â
Four eyes opened fully. In an instant the boy was lifted into the air by an invisible slash of cursed energy, dangling helplessly.
You placed a hand on Sukunaâs arm, the one closest to you. âLet him go. Heâs just a messenger.â
Sukunaâs jaw tightened, but he released the boy, who scrambled away into the darkness, sobbing.
You turned back to Sukuna, water lapping at your waist. âTheyâre starting to realize they canât kill you directly.â
He reached out with two hands, pulling you through the water until you straddled his lap. The other two arms wrapped around your back, holding you flush against his chest.
âLet them plot,â he growled against your throat. âThey will die screaming for their arrogance.â
You kissed him softly, tasting mineral water and restrained violence. âIâm not afraid. But promise me something.â
âAnything.â
âIf they ever come for me⌠donât hesitate because of me. Burn them all.â
Sukunaâs grip tightened possessively. âI would burn the heavens themselves before I let them take you from me.â
You believed him.
But the whispers grew louder in the following weeks.
Messengers arrived with false offers of alliance. Minor clans sent gifts wrapped in protective charms. Once, during a solo scouting mission you insisted on taking alone, you found a letter nailed to a tree with a cursed dagger:
âThe monsterâs weakness must be excised. For the sake of the world, the star must fall.â
You burned the letter to ash and said nothing to Sukuna when you returned.
He noticed anyway.
One night, as you lay tangled together on the furs. Your body still humming from the way he had taken you twice, slow and deep, whispering filthy praise against your skin. Sukuna traced the gold circlet in your hair with one claw.
âYouâre hiding something,â he said quietly. It wasnât a question.
You sighed, pressing closer to his warmth. âTheyâre planning something. Targeting me to hurt you. But I can handle it. Iâm not fragile, Ryomen.â
His four arms tightened around you. âYou are the only thing I refuse to lose. If they touch youâŚâ
You silenced him with a kiss, then guided one of his hands between your thighs again, distracting him the best way you knew how.
âI know,â you whispered as he rolled you beneath him once more. âNow remind me who I belong to.â
He did. Thoroughly, possessively, until the only sounds in the temple were your shared moans and the crackle of dying braziers.
But in the quiet hours before dawn, when Sukunaâs eyes finally closed in rare rest, you lay awake staring at the ceiling.
You understood the danger.
They couldnât defeat the King of Curses in open battle.
So they would try to break his heart.
And you had already decided: if it came to that, you would make sure they paid for every second of his pain.
Spring thawed the frost, but the whispers did not melt away. They grew sharper, more coordinated, like blades being honed in secret forges across the provinces.
You felt the shift in the cursed energy of the land itself. Subtle tremors in the web of power that connected every sorcerer and spirit in the Heian era. Your starfire technique made you sensitive to such things; faint resonances of binding vows being woven in hidden mountain shrines, alliances forming between clans that had once been bitter enemies.
Sukuna noticed your distraction during a quiet afternoon in the temple courtyard. Cherry blossomsâsomehow surviving in the shadow of his domainâdrifted lazily on the breeze. He lounged against a pillar, two arms folded behind his head, the other two idly spinning one of his cleavers like a childâs toy. The mouth on his stomach hummed an old, bloody war chant.
âYouâre thinking too loudly, little star,â he rumbled without opening his eyes. âSpeak it before I get bored and make you.â
You sat on the edge of the stone fountain, trailing your fingers through the cool water. Droplets glowed faintly where your cursed energy brushed them. âTheyâre getting bolder. Not attacking you outright, they know better. But messages keep coming. âTemporary truces.â âShared threats from rogue curses.â All of them mention me by name. âThe Star Queen must mediate.â âOnly she can seal the threat without escalation.ââ
Sukunaâs cleaver stopped spinning. All four eyes opened, fixing on you with predatory focus. âLet them send their pretty lies. Iâll decorate the temple steps with their spines.â
You smiled, but it didnât reach your eyes. âIf I ignore them, theyâll claim Iâm hiding behind you. Weakening your image. If I goâŚâ You let the thought hang.
He sat up slowly, massive frame casting a long shadow over you. One lower hand reached out, claws gentle as they tilted your chin up. âYou will not go alone.â
âI know,â you said softly, leaning into his touch. âBut rushing in with full force gives them the excuse they want. Proof that the King of Curses cannot be negotiated with. That his queen is just a leash.â
Sukunaâs jaw tightened. The stomach mouth snarled silently. âSince when do we care about their excuses?â
âSince they started targeting the one thing that makes you hesitate,â you answered, voice steady. You rose and stepped between his spread legs, placing both hands on his broad chest, tracing the familiar black tattoos with your thumbs. âIâm not fragile, Ryomen. My chains can bind armies. And I have you. But let me play their game for a little while. Gather information. Make them reveal their hands.â
He stared down at you for a long moment. Four crimson eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a low growl, he pulled you flush against him. Two arms wrapped around your waist. The other two cupped your face.
âYou test my patience more than any enemy ever has,â he muttered against your lips. âIf anything feels wrong, anything, you burn the entire negotiation site to glass and return to me.â
âI promise,â you whispered.
âBe careful,â he said, so softly it almost didnât sound like him. âThe world can burn. But not you.â
You kissed the corner of his mouth, then the marking beneath his lower eye. âIâll come back to you. I always do.â
The next morning, the false alliance message arrived via a trembling envoy from the Fujiwara-adjacent clans.
A rogue special-grade curse has manifested near the northern border, threatening trade routes vital to multiple provinces. Only the Star Queenâs unique sealing technique can contain it without unnecessary bloodshed. We request your mediation under a flag of temporary truce. No weapons. No armies. Neutral ground at the Valley of White Mist.
You read the scroll aloud to Sukuna, who listened with a bored expression that didnât hide the murderous glint in all four eyes.
âItâs a trap,â he stated flatly.
âObviously,â you agreed, rolling the scroll. âBut if I refuse, they paint me as the tyrantâs consort who dooms innocents. If I go with force, they scream that Sukuna cannot control his queen. Let me go. Take a small escort if it eases you. Iâll assess their strength, then return.â
He didnât like it. The air grew heavy with his cursed energy, shrine-like pressure making the braziers flicker.
But he trusted you, the only person alive he truly did.
âTake my cleaver,â he said finally, pressing the smaller of his two into your hands. âAnd this.â He removed the thin gold circlet from your hair, kissed it once, then placed it back. âCome back wearing it. Or I will paint the valley red searching for you.â
You smiled, rising on your toes to kiss him deeply. âI will. Wait for me, my king.â
As you rode out with a handful of his most loyal (and disposable) followers, Sukuna stood at the temple gates, four arms crossed, watching until you disappeared over the horizon.
The Valley of White Mist waited.
And somewhere in the shadows, a hundred sorcerers bound by a desperate collective vow sharpened their techniques, ready to excise the King of Cursesâ only weakness.
The journey to the Valley of White Mist took three days on horseback. You rode at the head of the small escort Sukuna had grudgingly allowed. Six of his most hardened retainers, men who had survived enough battles to know when silence was wiser than questions. They kept their distance, eyes darting nervously between the road and the gold circlet still gleaming in your hair.
You felt the shift in cursed energy long before the valley came into view. The air grew thick, heavier, like breathing through wet silk. Your starfire technique hummed beneath your skin in warning, the chains coiled invisibly around your wrists and ankles ready to manifest at a thought. The cleaver Sukuna had given you rested at your hip, its weight a comforting reminder of him.
The valley itself was deceptively beautiful. Thick white mist rolled between ancient cedar trees, glowing faintly under a pale spring sun. A wide clearing had been prepared in the center. Flat ground ringed by stone lanterns that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Representatives from three minor clans and one major Fujiwara offshoot waited there, dressed in formal robes, faces carefully blank.
No obvious weapons. No large army in sight.
You dismounted, crimson robes brushing the dew-wet grass. Your escort stayed mounted behind you, hands hovering near their blades.
The lead negotiator, an older sorcerer with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that betrayed nothing, bowed low.
âLady Star Queen,â he intoned. âWe are grateful you answered our plea. The rogue curse has grown stronger than anticipated. Your unique binding technique is our only hope for a bloodless resolution.â
You studied him calmly, letting your senses expand. Beneath the polite words, the cursed energy in the valley pulsed like a living thing. Layered, synchronized, bound by a complex vow. Not one curse. Many.
âI see,â you said, voice even. âShow me the curse, then. Quickly. My king grows impatient when I am away too long.â
They led you deeper into the mist.
The trap sprang the moment the trees closed behind your escort.
White light erupted from the ground in perfect geometric patterns. A massive collective domain, not quite a full expansion but something worse: a binding cage amplified by a hundred linked sorcerers hidden in the treeline and behind illusion barriers. The mist thickened into opaque walls. Your escortâs screams were cut short as slashes of cursed energy tore through them like paper.
You reacted instantly.
Starfire chains exploded outward in a blazing lattice, burning through the nearest bindings and shattering three stone lanterns. The air filled with the scent of scorched cedar and blood. You moved like you had on a hundred battlefields beside Sukunaâgraceful, ruthless, unafraid.
But they had planned for you.
Dozens of sorcerers emerged from the mist, their techniques synchronized into a single overwhelming assault. Binding chains of their ownâweaker than yours but multipliedâwrapped around your limbs. Anti-domain stakes drove into the ground, suppressing your output. Spears of condensed cursed energy pierced your side, your shoulder, your thigh.
You didnât scream.
You laughed instead, low and bitter, as blood soaked the front of your crimson robes.
âSo this is it,â you said, voice steady despite the pain. Your chains still lashed out, snapping necks and burning limbs, but they kept coming. âThey cannot kill him, so they kill what he loves. Pathetic.â
A particularly strong binding vow slammed into your chest, cracking ribs. You staggered but stayed on your feet, cleaver in hand, slashing through two attackers in one fluid motion. Sukunaâs weapon sang with his residual cursed energy, cutting deeper than any ordinary blade.
Yet the numbers were too great. The cage too tight.
You realized too late how perfectly they had timed it. Far enough from the temple that even Sukunaâs speed might not save you in time, close enough that he would feel every second through the bond of cursed energy that had grown between you over the months.
âTheyâre trying to break him,â you whispered to yourself as another spear grazed your cheek, drawing a hot line of blood. Your vision blurred at the edges, but your hands never stopped moving. Starfire flared brighter, desperate. âFools. He will burn the world for this.â
The final blow came from behind. A cursed technique designed to pierce the core, not kill instantly but ensure a slow, agonizing death. It drove through your back and out your chest, just missing your heart but shredding everything vital around it.
You dropped to your knees in the blood-soaked grass.
The mist began to thin as the sorcerers stepped closer, faces triumphant and terrified at once.
You lifted your head, gold circlet still somehow intact, now stained crimson. Your breathing came in shallow, wet gasps, but your eyes glowed bright with starfire even now held no panic. No begging.
Only calm understanding.
In the distance, the sky tore open.
Black shrine gates manifested like jagged teeth against the clouds. Malevolent energy rolled across the valley like a tidal wave. Sukuna had arrived.
He landed in the center of the clearing with earth-shaking force, four arms already in motion. Cleavers flashed. Dismantle and Cleave shredded the air itself. The collective domain shattered like glass under the weight of his true domain expansion, Malevolent Shrine, painting the sky red and black.
But it was too late for the trap.
It was too late for you.
Sukunaâs lower eyes found you instantly. The upper pair widened fractionally. The closest thing to shock the King of Curses had shown in centuries.
He crossed the distance in two strides, dropping to one knee beside you. Two massive hands cradled your face with a gentleness that would have stunned anyone watching. One pressed desperately over the gaping wound in your chest, trying to stem the blood that wouldnât stop. The fourth gripped your hand so tightly your bones creaked.
The remaining sorcerers tried to flee. They didnât get far. Invisible slashes turned them into red mist before they could take three steps.
You looked up at him. Four crimson eyes, tattoos stark against his skin, the face you had chosen without fear, and smiled through bloodied lips.
âRyomenâŚâ Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried. Your free hand rose, trembling, to trace the black markings beneath his lower eyes exactly as you always had. The touch was weak but sure. âEven now⌠you came.â
He snarled, but the sound cracked. âYou promised you would return. You lied to me, little star.â
A wet, broken laugh escaped you. âIâm sorry⌠but they needed to learn. They thought⌠taking me would break you.â Your fingers slid down to rest over the mouth on his stomach. It opened, teeth gentle against your palm for the first time. âDonât let them win that way. Remember how I looked at you. How I chose you. Not out of fear⌠but because you were worth choosing.â
Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your starfire flickered once, twice, then began to fade.
âI would find you again,â you breathed, eyes locking with all four of his. âIn any life. Any form. My king⌠my equal⌠I loââ
The light left your eyes.
Your hand slipped from his face and fell limp into the grass.
For one endless second, the valley was silent except for the distant crackle of dying flames.
Then Sukuna roared.
It was not grief in any human sense. It was annihilation given voice.
Malevolent Shrine expanded to its full radius. Shrine gates manifested in endless rows. Every surviving sorcerer in the valley. Every hidden ally, every coward who had planned this was torn apart at the atomic level. The trees turned to ash. The mist evaporated in screams of steam. The ground itself cracked and blackened as if the earth were bleeding.
He destroyed everything.
When the rage finally ebbed into something colder, sharper, Sukuna remained kneeling in the crater that had once been a valley. The gold circlet, somehow untouched amid the devastation, lay beside your body. He picked it up with one bloodied hand, then carefully removed it from your hair and wrapped it around the hilt of his cleaver, tying it with a strip of your torn robe.
He lifted your body with all four arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing.
The King of Curses walked back toward his temple alone, leaving nothing but silence and ruin behind him.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna carried something he could not conquer.
Something he could not get back.
Centuries passed like ash on the wind.
The Heian era crumbled into legend. Sorcerers rose and fell. Curses evolved. The world forgot the exact shape of the King of Cursesâ wrath, but the scars remained. Craters where mountains once stood, blood-soaked soil that still refused to grow anything pure.
Ryomen Sukuna endured.
He sealed himself away in pieces, scattered across fingers and artifacts, waiting. Plotting. Remembering.
He kept the gold circlet wrapped around the hilt of his favored cleaver. Sometimes, in the long stretches of boredom between hosts, he would run a clawed thumb over the thin band of metal and feel the faint echo of starfire still clinging to it. Your final words haunted the empty spaces inside him.
âI would find you again⌠In any life. Any form.â
He never spoke them aloud. But they anchored him the way nothing else ever had.
A relatively new graduate from Jujutsu Techâs hidden curriculum, assigned to the Tokyo branch under Gojo Satoruâs loose supervision. Your cursed energy was unusually potent for someone so young: bright, burning, instinctive. Instructors called it âstarfire-adjacentâ in hushed tones when they thought you couldnât hear. You had no memories of the Heian era. No recollection of four arms, black tattoos, or the taste of blood and incense on your tongue.
Yet some things refused to stay buried.
You never flinched in the face of special-grade curses. When others hesitated, you stepped forward as if you belonged at the front lineâbeside power, not behind it. You fought with a quiet fearlessness that made veterans raise eyebrows. And sometimes, late at night in your small apartment in Shinjuku, you would catch yourself tracing invisible patterns on your own armsâblack, looping marks that werenât there.
Dreams came more frequently now.
Blood-soaked valleys. Gold catching moonlight. A deep, layered voice calling you âlittle star.â Four crimson eyes watching you with something between hunger and devotion. You always woke with your heart pounding and a strange ache low in your belly, as if your body remembered pleasure your mind had forgotten.
You chalked it up to stress.
Todayâs mission was routine on paper: investigate a localized curse outbreak in an abandoned subway station beneath Shibuya. Grade 1 at worst. You were paired with a second-year student who kept glancing at you nervously.
âStay behind me,â he muttered as you descended the stairs, flashlights cutting through the dark.
You ignored him and moved ahead, chains of glowing starfire already flickering at your fingertips. Your technique had manifested as luminescent binding links that could seal or burn on command. The cursed spirit that lunged at you was fast, but you were faster. One chain whipped out, wrapping its torso and igniting. It shrieked and dissolved into black smoke.
âShow-off,â the student grumbled.
You smirked. âJust efficient.â
The platform was quiet after that. Too quiet.
Then the air changed.
A heavy, ancient cursed energy rolled through the tunnels like smoke from a distant fire. It tasted of iron and old incense. Your pulse quickened for reasons you couldnât name.
A figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the platform.
Pink hair. Dark tattoos crawling across his face, neck, and bare arms. He wore a casual hoodie and pants that looked borrowed, but the energy radiating off him belonged to something far older than any teenager. Two eyes glowed with lazy malice, but you swore⌠for a split second, you saw the flicker of two more.
He stopped a few meters away, head tilted, studying you like a puzzle he already knew the answer to.
You raised your chains instinctively, glowing bright. âIdentify yourself. Now.â
The boyâno, the thing inside the boyâgrinned. It was too sharp, too knowing.
âYouâve gotten smaller,â he said, voice low and rough, carrying an echo that vibrated through your bones. âAnd your hairâs shorter. I liked it longer. Easier to wrap around my fist.â
Your stomach dropped. The words sounded insane, yet they landed somewhere deep inside you, stirring half-remembered heat.
âWho the hell are you?â you demanded, stepping forward despite your partnerâs frantic tugging at your sleeve.
He took one step closer, hands in his pockets, utterly unbothered by the glowing chains pointed at his chest. âYou used to look at me without fear. Still do, apparently. Good. Some things donât change.â
Your partner summoned a weak technique and tried to step between you. âBack off, curse userââ
The pink-haired stranger flicked two fingers. The student flew backward into the wall, unconscious but alive.
Now it was just the two of you under flickering fluorescent lights.
He studied your face again, all fourâno, twoâeyes narrowing with something dangerously close to fondness. âStill burning bright, little star. Even if you donât remember why.â
The nickname hit like a physical blow.
Little star.
Your chains faltered for half a second. Memories that werenât memories flashed. Strong hands on your hips, a second mouth dragging across your skin, the sound of your own voice moaning a name you couldnât quite recall.
You shook it off and strengthened your stance. âI donât know you. And if you donât stop talking like a delusional creep, Iâll seal you right here.â
His grin widened. âYou always did threaten me when you were flustered.â
He vanished in a swirl of red mist before you could strike, leaving only the faint scent of blood and incense behind.
Your partner groaned as he came to. âWhat⌠what was that?â
You stared at the empty platform, heart hammering. âI have no idea.â
But your body remembered.
And somewhere deep inside the pink-haired vessel, Ryomen Sukuna leaned back in his makeshift throne of consciousness and laughedâlow, dark, and triumphant.
The queen had returned.
She just didnât know it yet.
That night you barely slept.
The dreams were clearer than ever.
A ruined temple. Braziers casting golden light on black tattoos. Four arms holding you close after battle, after pleasure, after everything. A voice rumbling against your ear: âYou are the only thing in this rotting world I donât get bored of.â
You woke gasping, skin flushed, thighs pressed together against an ache you couldnât explain.
In the mirror, you traced the faint, phantom lines on your arms again.
And for the first time, you whispered to your reflection:
âWho are you⌠and why do I miss you?â
The encounters didnât stop.
If anything, they escalated.
Over the next two weeks, the pink-haired curse userâwho still hadnât given you a proper nameâbecame a walking, talking migraine wrapped in tattoos and smug arrogance.
First incident: the convenience store at 2 a.m.
You had dragged yourself there after a long night exorcising low-grade curses near Roppongi. Your hair was messy, your jacket smelled like burnt curse residue, and all you wanted was strawberry milk and something fried. You were reaching for the last onigiri when a familiar voice spoke right behind your ear.
âStill eating like youâre about to march into battle. Some habits never die.â
You spun around so fast the milk carton nearly slipped from your hand.
He was leaning against the ramune fridge, arms crossed. The tattoos stood out stark under the fluorescent lights. Two eyes watched you with lazy amusement, but you swore you could feel the weight of two more.
âYou again,â you hissed, keeping your voice low so the sleepy cashier wouldnât call security. âWhat is your problem? Personal space exists for a reason.â
He tilted his head, grin widening. âYou used to let me closer than this. Much closer. Naked, usually.â
Your face burned. A customer two aisles over dropped their basket.
âCreep,â you snapped, slamming the onigiri into your basket. âI donât know you. I donât want to know you. Stop following me or Iâll exorcise that smug look off your face.â
He laughedâlow, rolling, far too pleased. âThere she is. That fire. You threatened me with chains the first time we met too. Ended up wrapped in them for entirely different reasons.â
You marched to the counter, paid, and left without looking back. But the entire walk home you felt eyes on your back, and the phantom scent of blood and incense lingered in the night air.
Second incident: the training grounds at Jujutsu High.
You were sparring with Maki when the air pressure shifted. A figure appeared on the rooftop overlooking the fieldâlounging against the railing like he owned the school. Pink hair ruffled by the wind. Tattoos visible even from a distance.
Maki paused mid-strike. âWho the hell is that?â
You didnât answer. You just raised your hand and sent a warning chain of starfire whipping toward the roof.
He caught it.
With one hand.
The glowing link wrapped around his wrist and he tugged playfully, as if testing its strength. âCute. But you used to bind me with a lot more enthusiasm, little star.â
Makiâs eyes narrowed. âFriend of yours?â
âAbsolutely not,â you growled.
Before you could launch a proper attack, he vanished again, leaving only a faint chuckle echoing across the field.
Third incident: your apartment balcony.
You had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around you, when you sensed him. You yanked the sliding door open, starfire already blazing between your fingers.
He was sitting on the railing like it was a throne, fourâno, twoâarms resting casually. In the dim city light his tattoos looked alive.
âYouâve gotten even smaller when youâre half-naked,â he observed, eyes raking over you slowly. âI approve. Easier to carry.â
âGet the fuck off my balcony!â you shouted, launching a chain that shattered the railing inches from where he sat.
He didnât even flinch. âStill shy after all this time? You used to ride me on a stone altar while the temple burned around us. Literally.â
Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Heat flooded your faceâhalf embarrassment, half something dangerously warmer. âIâm calling the police.â
He actually laughed out loud, the sound rich and mocking. âThe police? Me? The King of Curses reduced to a suspicious individual? How the mighty have fallen.â
Then he disappeared in red mist, still chuckling.
You stood there dripping wet, towel slipping, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
The dreams got worse after that.
Every night you saw fragments: strong hands pinning you down, a second mouth dragging hot and wet across your stomach, four eyes watching you come undone with something like worship. You woke up aching, thighs slick, whispering a name you couldnât quite remember into your pillow.
By the end of the second week you were done.
You marched into the local police station with your arms crossed and determination in your eyes. The officer behind the desk looked half-asleep.
âI need to report a stalker,â you said firmly.
The officer sighed and pulled out a form. âDescription?â
âMale. Early twenties appearance. Pink hair. Face and body covered in black tattoos. Extremely rude. Keeps saying delusional shit like âyouâve gotten smallerâ and âyou used to ride me on an altar.â He appears out of nowhere like rooftops, my balcony, convenience stores. Heâs insane.â
The officer scribbled slowly. âHas he touched you?â
âNot yet. But he keeps implying he has. In detail.â
Just as the officer asked for your contact information, the station door exploded inward with a casual kick.
Every head turned.
There he stood. Pink hair, tattoos, hands in his pockets, looking deeply unimpressed with the entire metropolitan police force. The cursed energy rolling off him made the lights flicker.
The room went dead silent.
You pointed. âThatâs him!â
The pink-haired man sighed, the sound of someone who had toppled empires and was now dealing with paperwork. âReally? The police? I annihilate bloodlines and you file a formal complaint?â
One brave officer reached for his gun. âHands where I can see them!â
The man raised an eyebrow. Two extra spectral arms flickered into existence for half a secondâenough to make the entire precinct freezeâthen vanished. âSheâs my wife. Reincarnated. Itâs complicated.â He glanced at the trembling officer holding the form. âYouâre going to ignore this, right? Good. Saves me the cleanup.â
He looked straight at you, eyes softening with dark amusement. âStill fighting me at every turn. Adorable. Youâll remember eventually.â
Then he walked out as casually as he had entered, leaving the door hanging off its hinges.
The station erupted into chaos.
You stood there, face burning, fists clenched. âI am not his wife.â
But your voice shook.
And deep down, something ancient and hungry stirred at the word.
That night the dreams returned stronger than ever.
You saw yourself in crimson robes, sitting beside a four-armed king on a throne of bone. You saw four hands on your bodyâpinning, claiming, worshipping. You heard your own voice moaning âRyomenâ like a prayer.
You woke up gasping, fingers pressed between your thighs, chasing a release that felt centuries overdue.
In the darkness of your room, you whispered to the empty air:
âWho are you⌠and why does my body remember you better than my mind does?â
Miles away, Ryomen Sukuna smirked in the shared mental space.
âSoon, little star,â he murmured to no one but himself. âYouâll remember. And then Iâm dragging you back where you belong.â
The police report accomplished exactly nothing.
No one at the station wanted to touch the case after the pink-haired intruder casually kicked the door off its hinges and called you his wife in front of twenty witnesses. The report was âmisplaced.â The officers suddenly developed convenient amnesia. Even the security footage developed mysterious glitches.
You were on your own.
And he knew it.
Sukunaâs approach changed after that day. The casual, taunting appearances gave way to something more intentional. More predatory. He no longer popped up for cheap shocks. He watched. He tested. He closed the distance.
First came the rooftop again, but this time he didnât stay at a distance.
You were finishing a solo mission near an old shrine on the outskirts of Tokyo, wiping cursed energy residue from your hands, when you felt him behind you. Not the playful flare of cursed energy from before. This was heavier. Closer. Ancient.
You turned slowly.
He stood only a few feet away, pink hair tousled by the night wind, tattoos stark under the moonlight. He looked deceptively relaxed, hands in his pockets, but the aura rolling off him pressed against your skin like a physical weight.
âYou stopped running,â he observed, voice lower than usual. Rougher. It slid down your spine like warm velvet dragged over gravel.
âIâm not running,â you replied, summoning a single glowing chain that hovered between you like a warning. âIâm deciding whether to seal you or hear you out. Talk. Who are you really?â
He took one step closer. Then another. You didnât back away. Something in you refused to.
âIâve told you pieces,â he said, stopping close enough that you could smell that faint trace of blood and incense again. âYou used to sit beside me on battlefields. You used to trace these marks with your fingers while I was still inside you.â One hand lifted slowly, as if giving you time to flinch. When you didnât, he brushed a thumb along the side of your jaw. âYou used to call me yours.â
Your breath hitched. The touch sent sparks through your nerves. Not fear, but recognition. Heat bloomed low in your belly. The phantom memory of four hands holding you open flashed behind your eyes.
You slapped his hand away, but there was no real force behind it. âStop saying things like that. Itâs insane.â
âIs it?â He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated against your ear. âThen why does your body remember? Your pulse is racing. Your cursed energy is flaring brighter. Youâre not afraid of me. You never were.â
You swallowed hard. He was right. The fear you should have felt was absent. In its place was something far more dangerous. Curiosity, longing, a pull you couldnât name.
âBack off,â you whispered, but your chains had lowered without you realizing.
He didnât back off. Instead he stepped even closer until your back met the shrineâs wooden pillar. One hand braced beside your head. The other hovered near your waist, not quite touching.
âYouâre starting to dream again, arenât you?â he asked softly. âBlood. Gold. Me. Not this borrowed face, the real one. Four arms. Four eyes. The mouth that used to taste every inch of you.â
Your knees weakened. A vivid flash hit you: strong hands pinning your wrists, a second mouth licking a hot trail down your stomach, a deep voice growling âMineâ while you came apart beneath him.
You shoved at his chest. He didnât budge.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you lied, voice breathy.
He chuckled, the sound dark and intimate. âLiar. But thatâs all right. I can wait. Iâve waited a thousand years already.â
Then he was gone again, leaving you trembling against the pillar, thighs pressed together, cursed energy flickering uncontrollably around your fingers.
The dreams intensified after that night.
They were no longer fragments. They were memories wearing the skin of dreams.
You saw yourself in a ruined temple, crimson robes pooled at your feet. Four massive hands lifted you onto a stone altar. Black tattoos shifted under firelight as he moved above youâinside youâdeep, relentless thrusts that made you cry out his name. âRyomenââ The second mouth on his abdomen sucked marks into your breasts while the main one bit your shoulder hard enough to bruise. You came screaming, starfire exploding from your hands and painting his skin with temporary glowing brands.
You woke up every night gasping, sheets soaked with sweat and something far more embarrassing. Your fingers would find their way between your thighs before you could stop yourself, chasing the echo of a pleasure that felt centuries old.
Each time he got closer. Each time his voice dropped lower. Each time your resistance frayed a little more.
You stopped reporting him.
You stopped trying to exorcise him on sight.
Instead you started looking for him.
One rainy evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of your apartment building again. The city lights glittered below like scattered stars. Rain plastered his pink hair to his forehead and made his tattoos glisten.
You stepped out under the downpour without an umbrella, chains dormant at your sides.
âWhy me?â you asked, voice barely audible over the rain. âWhy do you keep coming back?â
He turned to face you fully. For once the smirk was gone. In its place was something rawer. Hungrier.
âBecause you chose me when no one else would,â he said simply. âBecause you sat at my right hand and never trembled. Because even when they killed you to break me, you looked up at me with those same eyes and told me youâd find me again.â
He took a slow step forward, rain streaming down his face.
âAnd because this body is only a vessel. When you remember, truly remember, Iâll show you the real me again. The one you loved. The one with four arms that used to hold you like the world could burn and it wouldnât matter.â
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Another flash hit you: gold circlet in your hair, four hands on your body, a second mouth growling your name like worship while he spilled deep inside you.
You didnât run.
You stepped closer instead, until you stood directly in front of him, rain soaking both of you.
âI donât understand any of this,â you whispered. âBut⌠Iâm not afraid of you. Not anymore.â
His hand rose slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didnât, he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing rain from your lower lip.
âGood,â he murmured, voice rough with centuries of waiting. âBecause Iâm done being patient, little star.â
He leaned in, lips hovering just above yours. You felt the heat of him, the ancient power coiled beneath borrowed skin. Your eyes fluttered half-closed.
But he didnât kiss you.
Not yet.
Instead he pulled back with visible effort, a dark promise in his eyes.
âSoon. When you see me I wonât stop at almost.â
Then he vanished into red mist, leaving you alone in the rain with trembling legs and a heart that no longer felt like it belonged entirely to this life.
That night the dreams changed again.
This time, when you woke gasping his name âRyomenâ it didnât feel like a question.
It felt like the beginning of an answer.
You called in sick to Jujutsu High the next morning.
Instead you wandered the rainy streets, hood up, starfire flickering restlessly at your fingertips. Every shadow felt like it might hide him. Every gust of wind carried the faint scent of blood and incense.
He found you near the old shrine where you had first properly confronted him weeks ago.
This time he didnât hide on the rooftop. He stepped out of the torii gate like he belonged there, pink hair dark with rain, tattoos glistening. He wore no hoodie tonight. Just a simple black shirt that clung to Yujiâs muscled frame and revealed more of the black markings crawling across his skin.
You stopped in the middle of the stone path. Rain poured down around you both.
He didnât speak at first. He simply walked forward until only an armâs length separated you.
âYou look like you havenât slept,â he said quietly. No taunt this time. Just raw observation.
âI havenât,â you admitted. Your voice shook. âThe dreams⌠theyâre not dreams anymore. I see blood. I see gold. I see⌠you. But not like this.â You gestured at his current form. âFour arms. Four eyes. A mouth that⌠that used toâŚâ Heat flooded your face.
Sukunaâs expression darkened with hunger. He closed the remaining distance in one step, one hand rising to cradle the back of your neck. The touch was firm, possessive, but he held backâwaiting.
âSay the name,â he murmured, voice dropping to that low, layered register that made your knees weak. âThe one you whispered in your sleep last night.â
Your lips parted. Rain streamed down your face.
âRyomen,â you breathed.
Something in him snapped.
He pulled you against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a kiss that tasted of centuries of waiting. It wasnât gentle. It was claimingâteeth and tongue and raw need. One hand fisted in your wet hair while the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. For a moment you swore you felt two extra spectral arms wrap around your back, holding you tighter.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his chest, nails digging into his shoulders. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.
âYouâre close,â he growled against your lips. âSo close to seeing me. The real me.â
You stared up at him, chest heaving. âShow me.â
His eyes flashed. For a heartbeat the vessel cracked. Pink hair darkened, tattoos spread further, two extra arms manifested fully, and four crimson eyes burned down at you.
The sight hit you like lightning.
The rooftop dream. The temple. The valley. The way those four hands had held you. The way those four eyes had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth keeping.
Recognition slammed into you all at once.
You didnât recoil.
Instead your hands rose, trembling, to cup the sides of his face. Tracing the markings exactly as you had in every memory, every dream, every lifetime.
âItâs you,â you whispered, voice breaking. Tears mixed with rain on your cheeks. âRyomen Sukuna. My king. I only knew your true form⌠I didnât recognize you in this vessel. But itâs you.â
A sound tore from his throatâhalf growl, half laugh, pure relief and obsession.
He lifted you effortlessly with all four arms now fully manifested, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the nearest torii pillar. Rain poured down, but neither of you cared.
âFinally,â he snarled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. âMy queen. My star. Youâre mine again.â
You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, starfire and cursed energy mingling in the air around you.
âI remember,â you gasped as one of his lower hands slid beneath your soaked shirt, claws lightly scraping your skin. âI remember everything. The battles. The nights. The way you held me when the world tried to tear us apart.â
His forehead pressed to yours, four eyes blazing with centuries of devotion and hunger.
âThen let me remind you of the rest,â he growled, voice rough with promise. âRight now.â
The rain continued to fall, washing away the last fragments of your old life.
But in the shelter of four arms and four burning eyes, you had finally come home.
The torii gate groaned under the sudden surge of cursed energy as Sukunaâs true form tore fully through the borrowed vessel.
He was massive again. Towering. The real Ryomen Sukuna you had loved in the Heian era.
And between his hips, where the vessel had hidden it, two thick cocks stood hard and heavy, already leaking at the tips from the sheer force of recognition. The upper one curved slightly, ridged along the underside. The lower sat heavier, thicker at the base, both flushed dark and pulsing with cursed energy that made the air around them shimmer.
You didnât flinch. You had never flinched from him.
Instead you reached up with both hands, fingers tracing the black markings across his chest exactly as you had done a thousand years ago. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing trails that faded almost instantly.
âItâs really you,â you whispered, voice thick with emotion and need. âMy king. My monster. I only knew this form⌠I didnât recognize the boyâs face. But these marks⌠these eyes⌠this body that used to ruin me so perfectly.â
A low, guttural sound rumbled from both his mouths. The main one curving into a feral grin, the one on his stomach opening to drag a hot, wet tongue across your collarbone.
âMine,â he growled, voice layered and rough, echoing with the weight of every lonely century. âYou kept me waiting, little star. Centuries of nothing but ash and memory. Now Iâm taking back whatâs mine.â
Four hands moved at once.
Two pinned your wrists above your head against the rain-slick torii pillar. One gripped your hip, claws shredding through your soaked clothes with casual ease until they fell away in wet ribbons. The last cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could claim your mouth in a bruising kiss.
His tongueâlonger, rougherâinvaded without mercy, tasting every gasp and whimper. The stomach mouth latched onto your neck, sucking a dark mark while its tongue flicked over your pulse.
You moaned into the kiss, arching against him. Rain poured down your bare skin, but the heat rolling off his body made you burn. When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips.
âRyomen⌠please,â you breathed. âI remember how you felt. Both of them. I need you.â
His laugh was dark and triumphant. âGreedy little queen. You always were.â
He lifted you effortlessly with the two lower arms, spreading your thighs wide around his waist. The upper two kept your wrists pinned while one hand slid between your legs, thick fingers parting your folds and finding you already drippingânot just from rain.
âSo wet for me already,â he rumbled, two fingers pushing inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that made your vision spark. âThis cunt still remembers its king. Clenching like it missed me.â
You cried out, hips rocking desperately against his hand. The stretch was familiar, perfect. Starfire flickered wildly around your fingers, painting glowing patterns across his forearms.
He pumped his fingers faster, scissoring them, stretching you open while the stomach mouth moved lower to latch onto one of your breasts. Sharp teeth grazed your nipple before the tongue soothed the sting, sucking hard until you were trembling.
When you were shaking on the edge, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the heads of both cocks.
The upper one nudged your entrance first, thick and insistent. The lower pressed just below it, sliding against your clit with every shallow thrust.
âLook at me,â he commanded, all four eyes blazing. âWatch whoâs claiming you again.â
You locked eyes with him as he pushed in. Slow, relentless, both cocks stretching you open at once. The burn was exquisite. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the dual invasion, the ridges and thickness dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. He bottomed out with a shared groan, hips flush against yours, both cocks buried to the hilt.
âFuckâRyomenâso fullââ
âThatâs it,â he snarled, voice rough. âTake both of them like the queen you are. This pussy was made for me. Only me.â
He didnât give you time to adjust. He started moving. Deep, powerful thrusts that rocked your entire body against the pillar. Rain streamed down your joined bodies, making every slide wetter, filthier. The dual stretch was overwhelming in the best way; every thrust dragged both cocks against your walls, the lower one grinding perfectly against that spot inside while the upper rubbed your clit from the inside with every withdrawal.
Four hands held you exactly where he wanted youâopen, pinned, claimed.
The stomach mouth continued its assault on your breasts, licking, sucking, biting until your nipples ached deliciously. His main mouth crashed against yours again, swallowing every moan and scream.
You came first, hard and sudden. walls spasming around both cocks as starfire exploded outward in a brilliant lattice, wrapping around both of you like glowing chains. Your vision whited out, a broken cry of his name tearing from your throat.
Sukuna followed with a guttural roar that shook the shrine grounds. His hips stuttered, burying both cocks as deep as they would go while he spilled inside you. Hot, thick pulses from both lengths, filling you until it leaked out around him despite how tightly you were stretched.
He didnât pull out.
Instead he kept you impaled on both cocks, four arms wrapping fully around your smaller frame as he carried you away from the pillar. He laid you down on the wet grass beneath the torii, still buried deep, covering you with his massive body like a living shield.
Rain continued to fall, but his heat kept you warm.
You reached up, tracing the markings on his face with gentle fingers, tears mixing with rain on your cheeks.
âI remember everything now,â you whispered. âThe battles. The nights. The way they tried to break you by taking me. I told you Iâd find you again⌠and I did.â
Sukunaâs forehead pressed to yours, all four eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to tenderness beneath the raw hunger.
âYou kept your promise, little star,â he murmured, voice rough but softer than you had ever heard it. One hand stroked through your wet hair while another rested possessively over your lower stomach, where you could still feel both cocks twitching inside you. âNow you wear my crown again. Rule beside me. The world once tried to separate us. It failed.â
You smiled, pulling him down into another deep kiss.
âThen remind me one more time tonight,â you whispered against his lips, rolling your hips to feel both cocks shift inside you. âMake me scream your name until the whole city hears who I belong to.â
His grin was feral.
âGladly.â
He started moving again. Slower this time, deep and deliberate, both cocks dragging against every oversensitive inch. Four hands explored every curve, every mark he left behind. The stomach mouth licked the rainwater from your skin while he fucked you through another orgasm, then another, until you were sobbing with pleasure beneath him.
Only when the rain finally began to ease did he spill inside you a second time, both cocks pulsing as he marked you from the inside out.
Afterward he pulled you against his chest with all four arms, the gold circlet. Somehow still with him after all this time, now resting once more in your damp hair.
You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you had memorized lifetimes ago.
âI chose you then,â you said softly. âI choose you again. In this life. In every life.â
Sukunaâs arms tightened around you, possessive and eternal.
âAnd I will burn every world that tries to take you from me,â he vowed.
The King of Curses and his Queen lay together beneath the clearing sky, two bodies. One ancient and monstrous, one reborn in starfire, finally whole again.
đź â toji hates when you cover your face whilst heâs fucking you dumb
tw: spÄąt, degradation, rough sÄx !
âfuckinâ move your hand.â
his voice slices through the thick slap of skin on skin, ragged and breathless, but not any softer for it. his hips grind into you, deep and deliberate, cock dragging along your walls like heâs angry at them. like theyâre the reason youâre crying already.
and maybe they are. maybe he is.
you cover your face anyway, forearm thrown over your eyes like itâll save you. thereâs snot on your lip, tears in your hairline, and your voiceâs all broken up. you keep trying to tell him somethingâsomething about how itâs too much, how heâs too deep, how you canât stop coming, and he just laughs, a sharp huff against your cheek.
âtchâagain?â toji spits, a little amused. a little cruel. âcanât even take a proper fuckinâ dick without fallinâ apart, huh?â
your hand trembles where it shields your face, like it wants to fall. like it knows better. but then he shifts his weight, catches your wrist, and yanks it down to the bed with a slap of sweat-slick skin on cotton.
âwanna see your fuckinâ face when you cry.â
you whimper when toji says that and he simply grins.
âthere she is,â he murmurs like heâs mocking tenderness, hips rolling slow now, filthy and sticky, cock buried in you to the hilt. he gives a rough thrust, then anotherâeach one lifting your back off the bed, forcing your chest to arch. âsâpretty when you sob. keep lookinâ at me, baby. donât go hidinâ now.â
you canât. heâs so deep itâs nauseating. so thick it feels like your cuntâs gone loose and raw trying to keep him in. his pelvis presses right where it shouldnât and it makes you jolt, a breathless little hiccup of pain and heat that makes your thighs twitch.
he notices. of course he fucking does.
âyou like that? yeah, i know you do,â he pants, voice getting rougher now. his hairâs stuck to his forehead, eyes dark as sin. âcryinâ like a fuckinâ whore but keep squeezinâ me like youâll die if i pull out.â
he grabs your jawâhis hand huge, fingers curling rough around your throat just enough to make your breath skip. your mouth falls open on instinct, dumb and wet and desperate for more, and he spits right on your tongue. doesnât ask. doesnât wait.
âswallow it.â and oh you do.
âgood fuckinâ girl.â
he starts moving again, really fucking you now, rough and deep, his balls slapping up against your ass, wet and relentless. the bedframe creaks like itâs gonna break. your head knocks into the pillow with every thrust, dizzy and messy and barely present in your own skin.
âyou think iâm gonna let you cum like this? when you keep coverinâ your face like a brat?â
you sob out a ânoâno, pleaseâiâm.. toji ngh, iâm sorry,â and he chuckles dark. leans down until your noses brush, until youâre forced to look up into those black eyes while he ruins you.
âyeah,â he murmurs, lips brushing yours. âyou are sorry.â
sukuna cracks open his wallet as the waitress shimmies away with the bill, licking over the thick pad of his thumb as he unfolds and cards through the stack of bills all nestled in the back of the leather. you watch him with low, shadowed eyes, pretending not to notice the giddy shake in your knee as he sums up the worth of your presence.
much to your dismay, he pulls out $100.
thatâs it.
âhere, baby doll.â he hums, voice a low growl in the back of his throat. you shiver against it, biting your lip as he lowers the bill between your thighs. âopen up.â
you do, parting your knees, letting him get under your skirt and under your thigh-length socks, slipping the money under the elastic, dark waistband. his touch lingers unapologetically â you two are exposed, but he doesnât care. the entire place should know youâre his.
bravely, you whisper, âthatâs it? just a hundred?â
âiâm not taking you home, am i? told me you had a big test to study for. so⌠yes, only a hundred for tonight.â
you scoff, painted lips parting as the server draws near, smiling to secure her final tip from the elusive, older man. âsir⌠that simply will not do.â
sukuna turns his nose up at you, dark eyes low, and grey-stubbled chin high. heâs beckoning you to the ground with words unsaid, and youâre not bending. not when your money comes down to it.
âthere you go. arch that back like youâre worth something.â
sukunaâs got you restrained in a shiny pair of cuffs, wrists crossed at your back as you work yourself on his cock, whining from how hard it is when you donât have the stability of your hands. right now, thereâs only a $100 bill on the bed â that same bill that he slid between your thighs earlier, and is expecting you to work yourself up to a higher prize.
of course, under his conditions.
your sugar daddy has always been a cruel, old man, but whatâs more cruel right now is the obscene stretch of his cock splitting you open.
youâre on fire, face all sweaty and flush, eyes leaking more tears than your needy cunt, taking him in like he never left. the lack of control is overwhelming, but your man is a stickler for perfection â for trust and respect. sensory deprivation is only a tool, and heâs the one holding the screw.
wad of cash in-hand, sukuna stands on his knees, shirtless, thick hair-covered chest catching the shadows of the dull room lights. âall the way⌠thatâs another two hundred.â he throws down another couple of bills, letting them flutter over your back and tumble away.
âitâŚ. âs too much.â
âso you tell me often.â he tries to cover the shake in his voice with a hum, but you catch it. your knees go weak, sending you face-first into the sheets. âachâ now youâre down fifty.â sukuna leans over you, huge body covering yours as he snatches your prize right back in his huge fist.
you whine as the new position pushes the rest of his grueling length inside of you, voice gone and shaking as you cry into the mattress, begging with words unsaid and useless little noises that you know he needs to hear.
your body sucks him up like you're made for him, lewd, wet noises creating a song between your heated bodies as he sits back up, grinding into your ass, hands on your hips. "there you are... you just earned it back."
"p-please," you cry, hips absentmindedly bucking back into his hard pelvis, rocking with the weight of his being.
"please, what? who?" he lets you toy with him as he fingers through another stack of two bills, oddly underwhelmed and so focused on the task at hand that he's not even watching the way your eager cunt swallows him up, fluttering and begging for more that he can't give.
"please... sir... need you..."
"like it when you beg." he hums, strong hands on your hips, massaging the flesh as he rocks in and out, slowly, maddeningly.
and when you cum, you're covered in it â his money. at the end of the night, you're a thousand dollars richer, and weak in the knees as he helps you to your feet, silent and stern, yet caring in the only way he knows how to be as he cleans you up... until next time.
only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off
Sukunaâs developed an irritating habit. Whenever heâs fed up with you, or whenever he doesnât want to entertain one of your questions, heâll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. Itâs kind of like saying âtalk to the handâ. But in his case, itâs âtalk to the stomach mouthâ.Â
Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like itâs more than happy to converse with you. And youâll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband wonât even bother to speak with you face to face.Â
But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if itâs the rest of his body.Â
Now, Sukunaâs lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. Heâs trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend heâs unphased by the fact that you havenât spoken to him in four whole days.Â
But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside.Â
When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, âAre you still doing this?âÂ
You donât even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. âMiddle Mouth,â you say, âwill you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what heâs talking about?â
Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, âSukunaaaa. She doesnât know what youâre talking about.â
âI heard you,â Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.
He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that youâve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all.Â
 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, âYouâre ignoring me.âÂ
Heâs not wrong. For almost a week, youâve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.
âMiddle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didnât we?â
âSukunaaaa,â the mouth singsongs again. âShe isnât ignoring youâŚwell, me.â That grin returns, and you canât help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didnât you start speaking with your husbandâs stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.
âMiddle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.â
âI intend to,â his maw replies.Â
Sukunaâs eyes narrow, but heâs not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. âHow long do you intend to keep up these antics?â
You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that Iâm still waiting on a proper apology from him."Â
âIâm warning you, do notââ
âSukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.â
Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. Heâs finally met his match. The only âenemyâ that he canât silence by force. Himself.Â
And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that youâre speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him.Â
So heâll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.
You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. âMiddle Mouthââ
âNot again,â Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.
âDo you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?â
âWhat?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.
âOh, I remember,â his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it.Â
âWell, I was thinking about it andââ
âWhy are you speaking with my wife at night?â
âOur wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.âÂ
âAnyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interruptedââ
âNo. This ends now."
In seconds, Sukunaâs beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. âI.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.â
ââŚâ
âThe answer is both of them.â
Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. âApology accepted.â And then to his stomach mouth, âWeâll continue our conversation later.âÂ
a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol
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not realizing youâre talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didnât really mind.
thatâs when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldnât connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
âhi,â you said, voice soft and sweet. âyou have the prettiest eyes. like⌠scary pretty.â
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didnât move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
âyeah?â he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
âmhm. my ex had eyes like yours,â you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldnât stop tilting. âhe was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.â
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldnât fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
âwe broke up because i thought he didnât care enough but⌠he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.â you sighed softly. âi think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.â
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
âyouâre drunk,â he murmured.
âsuper drunk,â you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. âbut i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, itâs weird.â
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didnât even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
âyouâre really nice,â you whispered, eyes half closed. âmy ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.â
he didnât answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
âstay?â you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
âyeah,â he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. âiâm not going anywhere.â
pairings: jjk men x reader, satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, sukuna ryomen, hiromi higuruma, literally any of your faves
cw: 18+, mdni, smut, penetration, heâs rude, name calling
telling him youâre not âanatomically compatibleâ as a joke because heâs so fucking big he barely fits, no matter how many times you both go at it.
except it pisses him off to no end. what do you mean youâre incompatible? itâs a scary thought, but he wonders if this is your subtle way of saying youâd make more sense with someone else.
he can feel the anger bubbling inside the more his thoughts wander. is it something youâve considered? even if it was just a fleeting thought?
that just wouldnât do. heâd pull that weed of thought out from the root before it could grow any further. so he decides to provide a conclusion to your hypothesis in a way he does best: trapping you in a mean prone bone.
âwhat was it you said? wanna tell me that again?â he grunts in your ear, dick ploughing into you without mercy.
thereâs nowhere to run or hide while he bullies your oversensitive body. heâs got you gasping for air, tears running down your cheeks as you come for the nth time that night. youâre sucking desperately at the meaty fingers he has buried down your throat for even a sliver of compassion.
âfuckâŚanatomically incompatible my ass.â he hisses as he feels you clamp down on his cock once again. heâs still annoyed, clearly, and you realise itâs gonna be a long night.
after a couple more hours of destroying your poor hole, he stills with a groan, pushing all the way inside until his balls have emptied. he lifts his body with a curse, his weight eventually beginning to ease off of you.
itâs only then he makes you look back and watch as he slowly pulls out, your body leaking a steady stream of his fluids. his long, thick digits caress your asscheek in admiration before delivering a firm smack. âIâd say you take it pretty well. what do you think?â
you can barely answer, your entire body buzzing from the onslaught of pleasure. he watches your body twitch with a sick sense of satisfaction, finally leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.
âmmâŚthatâs what I thought.â his voice is a low rumble, his warm breath tickling your earlobe. he licks a stripe up your skin almost condescendingly, the wet muscle lapping up the salty tracks. âyouâre mine forever, bitch. donât forget it.â
a/n: ragebait succesful imo! feel like iâm descending into darkness the way this account is getting more and more steamy lol iâll try and write some more sfw stuff this week :D love ya!
chosoâs first time taking the train and you happen to be with him!
heâs irritated that thereâs so many people around and you canât blame him. centuries in a jar, alone with his brothers meant he still struggled socially. unbeknownst to you, itâs hardly the main reason for his irritation.
youâre sandwiched between him and three different men, all way too old and creepy looking to be looking at you the way they are. sure, heâs way older than all of them combined but it irks him to no end. especially since he, like you, is also stuck, a bunch of schoolchildren packed up behind him like a tin of sardines. he couldnât straighten his shoulders intimidatingly even if he wanted to.
the train roughly comes to a halt a few stops before yours, and everyone stumbles into each ofher. choso, stood at an unfortunately tall height, gets struck in the eye by one of the swinging handgrips.
a soft giggle escapes you at the sight.
then the doors open. at last, as if the gods above have finally answered chosoâs prayers, the passengers slowly start to trickle out. the foul smell of body odour and someone kidâs fast food leaves with them; you canât help but stretch out your limbs as fresh, cool air wafts in. thereâs seats by the window, and choso gives you a nudge.
you sit next to each other, shoulders touching. his legs spread wider when heâs relaxed and seated, youâve come to notice, watching him scan the advertisements above. the silence is comfortable, though you canât help but break it.
âwanna listen?â the train is quieter than before, but still not quiet enough and the sound of the tracks drown out your words.
âhm?â he ducks his head to your level to hear better, his cologne invading your senses.
âwanna listen? we can shareâŚâ you reiterate awkwardly. you offer a wired earbud to him and giving it a small shake.he long lashes flutter as he blinks down at you, fingers twitching on his lap.
âsure.â
the journey continues like that, with chosoâs feet tapping slowly to the beat of your favourite songs. a few minutes later you feel a heavy weight on your shoulder and stiffen, turning to glance in his direction.
heâs sleeping peacefully on your shoulder, blissfully unaware of the effect it has on you. you gulp as you catch yourself staring. heâs ethereal from this angle - long lashes that feather out to freckled pale cheeks. a sharp nose bridge with a softly-curved tip, full lips pressed into a sleepy pout.
you lower the volume on your phone so as to not disturb the sleeping beauty, trying to slow the racing of your heart in the meantime.
except choso stopped listening to the music a while ago in favour of hearing the rhythmic thump of your heart.
neighbor sukuna x cam reader (light smut, mdni, not proofread)
âi got it.â sukuna holds the heavy door open as you make your way inside your shared apartment floor.
âthanks.â you smile tiredly, inadvertently checking him out. your work bag feels like a bag of rocks today, and youâre grateful for the help of your incredibly hot neighbor. itâs a shame that he has to see you like this though - hair a little messy, clothes disheveled like you had a serious case of work-air.
as sweaty as he is, heâs in much better shape than you. sukunaâs leaning against his door in a simple gym shirt and sweatpants, having just returned from his gym session.
a few years back you would doubt people like him existed, face and body sculpted and chiselled by the gods. your favourite part? the mean look on his face that never seemed to go away. like he was made to be your demise.
he catches the sweat dripping down his brow with his knuckle, thick fingers unintentionally crooking in a way that makes your belly flip. all the porn you watched was clearly catching up.
right. time to leave him alone.
you flash him another smile and jam your keys into the keyhole of your apartment. he grunts in response as he usually does, lingering for moment to see if you need any more help. when he sees you opening your own door without any trouble, he gives a brief nod and disappears into his room.
the door closes behind you quietly, the familiar smell of your home grounding you after your stressful day. you shake off remnants of self-embarrassment and take a second to breathe it all in. then you square your shoulders.
letâs get to work.
a few months ago youâd started to get bored of your monotonous routine - youâd go to work, come home, gorge on some mediocre dinner and pass out on a bed far too big for you. even as the nights got warmer, you still woke up cold each day, your goosebumps a the painful reminder that you were very much single.
of course, meeting new people as a working adult was easier said than done; countless blind dates and dating apps had failed you, leading you to abandon all hope of love, and insteadâŚfocus on what felt good.
apparently, feeling good for you was getting lots of attention from pervs on the internet - you set up an nsfw account anonymously and started posting some risquĂŠ pictures of yourself.
the first few pictures were difficult. you were used to watching, not being watched. you werenât sure how much skin you wanted to show, and the shyness seemed to follow you every time you hit âpostâ.
is this ugly? is this angle weird? maybe theyâll get boredâŚshould i do a video?
each upload garnered more views than the last, more and more accounts liking and commenting under your content.
lewddaddy69: im so fcking hard
mrlegspreader: wish i was that pillow
creamy_bby: so cute!! wanna be moots? :3
as time passed and your engagement grew, you started to feel comfortable on the app.
todayâs post is evidence of that, with your dewy, sensitive flesh on display, illuminated under a soft red light. posing isnât a problem anymore. the lighting was hard to work at first, but youâve figured it out.
tell me iâm pretty, youâve captioned it - a video of you writhing and whimpering shamelessly on your bed. this may be your best work yet - so far itâs the most viewed video on your page. youâre a little unnerved to say the least.
youâve received a hundred more DMs overnight, more than youâre used to. all from strange men with different kinks, telling you what theyâd do to you. normally you would feel uncomfortable and ignore them - scroll onto the next - though one DM in particular stands out to you.
the profile picture is a mirror selfie, but the user isnât facing it. heâs got his back on display, flexing his large muscles.
theyâre gorgeous, but theyâre not what youâre looking at.
itâs the mop of hair that gets your attentionâŚit stands above strong shoulders, a shade of pink thatâs very close to that of your neighborâs who lives across the hall.
the same neighbor you liked to think about when you hit record.
orgasming to the thought of him several times in the past meant that your brain had rewired itself to some degree. if you started to think about sukuna, you couldnât stop. you couldnât push those thoughts out even if you wanted to. they liked to linger.
like right now, as you stare at the profile picture like youâre seriously considering it. youâre curious, insufferably so.
you tap on the chat, opening up his message.
6inchryo: canât stop watching you, pretty
6inchryo: [video attachment]
6inchryo: look what you made me do
the thumbnail startles you - you werenât expecting a video. your breath hitches, heart racing under your ribs as you tap again, the video taking over your screen.
the man in the video is shirtless, and again, his face is out of view. itâs painfully obvious heâs huge, abs threatening to burst out of his skin.
your thighs clench at the thought of someone this terrifyingly big finding you, touching himself to you. you know someone who looks exactly like this, too, which gets you all the more aroused.
you notice that the video is a little grainy, his room dim but not enough to conceal the sliver of pre running down his abdomen. itâs almost like a trail, and when he adjusts the angle, you find what heâs been meaning to show you.
six inches of absolute sin and filth, flushed pink and throbbing all for you. his abs tense again, and then heâs spilling thick white rivulets all over his skin and the screen.
itâs impossible to drag your eyes away from the screen, the fifteen second video of him erupting over his hands replaying again and again. you donât know how long youâve been watching it for when a wet patch forms on your underwear.
your mind is reeling, creating all kinds of images of your neighbor making a similar mess on you.
you shake your head vigorously at the thought. get it together, you think to yourself, quickly switching the video off.
except the dull ache between your legs does little to help. you shift on your bed in frustration, the pillow under your leg getting dangerously close to your thigh. it would be so easy to wedge it between your legs and relieve the pressure taking over your belly.
your fingers hover over the DM, his username highlighted in bold tauntingly.
6inchryoâŚ
youâve never messaged anyone back before, never thought anyone worthy of your time. that and you were probably the shyest little slut to ever grace the planet.
you havenât even realised what youâve done until the video has a small heart beside it.
you liked it. you liked his video.
you quickly scramble to unlike just as he messages you again.
6inchryo: so you like that one?
6inchryo: can i give you another, baby?
you curse at the gods above for his fast reply, unable to get past his last question. thereâs a burning sensation in your cheeks as your eyes skim over the words, vision growing blurry with want.
you donât know what to do. your hands fall to your sides, fingers twitching while you sit on your ankles. you stare at your phone, a slow, shaky breath escaping you. all this for some fuel, for a fantasy about your neighbor. you feel like a degenerate just thinking about it.
you know 6inchryoâs fingers could do unspeakable things. you know his dick is bigger than anything youâve taken in your life. it only makes your thoughts about sukuna spiral. heâd also likely destroy you in a way you havenât yet imagined.
and god, did you want to imagine! to act like itâs sukuna sending you these obscene videos. the thought of him freeing you from your mundane life, storming into your room and having his way with you.
that thought alone makes you crack.
yes, you type back. a few seconds tick by and you send another message. want a longer version.
6inchryo: youâre gonna kill me
thereâs a beat as you wait for something else, anything else because you too feel like youâre dying inside from your adrenaline rush. then your phone buzzes.
6inchryo: whatever you want
in the room across the hall, sukuna fists his cock to oblivion.
heâd recognised those shorts youâd worn. heâd recognised your perfect little ass, the colour of your room while you humped your pillow for the world to see. heâd recognise his pretty neighbor anywhere.
he hadnât expected to find your page when he got that desperate for you this morning. youâd answered him, his profile picture - it didnât take a genius to know he was your type now.
you hadnât recognised him, however - sukuna guessed you didnât know his last name. he didnât take any offence to it. youâd texted him assuming he was a stranger. no, he preferred it. your guard was down.
he wouldnât let this opportunity go to waste. heâd take it slow, start by having you send pretty videos like you normally do.
maybe youâd make videos specifically for him.
he groans, fingers pumping faster along his chub at the idea of you rubbing yourself for him.
heâd keep going. heâd map out a step-by-step plan of how to get himself off your dms and into your room, whatever it takes. if nothing works, heâd reveal himself if and force his way in, demanding your admission.
then, heâd make you delete your account while youâre under him, a crying, babbling mess unable to take any more. his name the only thing falling from your swollen lips.
and finally, youâd be his.
A/N: started writing kuna and it ended up long and a bit smutty welpp
you were good. you were sweet to him, more than anyone before had been.
you didnât ask too many questions, nor did you get irritated in silence, then proceed to go behind his back and do something petty. you didnât really talk to anyone else, never had a wandering eye problem since seeing him.
but that didnât mean you were naĂŻve.
you knew of the treatment he used to get from people heâd seen before you. youâd heard of the crazy exes, stalker exes, use-him-for-his-money exes. you knew heâd never had someone like you before.
still, you noticed it when you asked him where heâd been today. you rarely asked, and toji considered himself lucky for that reason.
âout.â he shrugged callously, not even sparing you a glance as he took the leftover pizza from the fridge.
the kitchen went silent for a moment like it usually would whenever youâd ask him a question, just to be hit with a dead end and give up. well, mostly silent, save for the sound of the Tupperware container cracking open.
then your lips parted, treading uncharted waters. âout where?â
tojiâs hands slowed, the action so brief you almost missed it. your questions never got this far, and you could swear his shoulders tensed.
âwith the boys.â
your jaw twitched.
normally youâd be more composed. youâd remind yourself that you didnât care, that this wasnât supposed to be serious. but something was reigning you right into a potential argument, a truth you wouldnât admit to yourself.
âwhat boys? i thought shiu was on holiday.â
âshiuâs not the only friend i have.â he muttered, his voice clipped.
you rolled your eyes internally, extremely unconvinced. outwardly, you simply hum, not wanting to sound like you cared yet. âwho then? i thought i met all your friends.â
ââŚyou donât need to know them. not the best company, yâknow? iâd only bring you around guys i trust.â he answered smoothly. or at least, he thought he did. but his evasiveness was only pissing you off, and you wanted to press deeper.
âsoâŚyouâre happy to spend a whole day with people you donât trust? and go without even call me?â toji clocked your hawk-like gaze, could feel your eyes digging into his back. still, he refused to face you.
âhuh.â you mumbled. âmust be some special friends.â
his hand slammed down on the counter, the sudden bang causing you to jump. âcanât i just have one night of peace?â the scarred man raised a brow, tossing the plate of pizza into the microwave before harshly closing the door.
the hum of the machine was low, doing little to fill the silence. you cleared your throat.
âyeah. you can.â
toji whirled around at the sound of departing footsteps, watching you leave the kitchen wordlessly. âhey- whereâre ya goinâ?â he called out, sharp brows drawn to a frown. when he got no answer, his scowl intensified. giving one last glance at his pizza, he let out a sigh and abandoned it.
the pizza could wait. what may be the best thing in his life, unfortunately, could not.
he stalked you to your shared room, long muscular legs catching up to yours quickly.
âi said, where are you going?â
âwhy? you said you wanted peace.â you huffed, fingers reaching for the overnight bag you kept in his cupboard. you hadnât used it in a while - toji liked waking up next to you so most of your stuff was unpacked.
the man in question watched you, his expression only growing more sour once he realised you werenât kidding. so he wasnât the only avoidantâŚ
a sense of unease started to bud in his chest. if you really did plan on going, how long would you be gone for? would you return?
when you opened his small cupboard, now a joint cupboard with your dresses mixed in between the hangers of his clothes, he closed the distance and grabbed your wrist.
âyouâre not going anywhere.â he grunted.
the grip on your forearm was strong; fingernails dug into skin. you winced, unprepared for the way your chest collided with his when he spun you to face him.
at your apparent discomfort, toji relaxed his grip on you, eyes searching yours. he wasnât expecting to lose you so abruptly. he wasnât expecting to hate that thought as much as he did, either.
but he did. he hated this new distance, your changed behaviour. the uncertainty he never felt with you before. he already missed when you looked at him like he could do no wrong. maybe you still could. maybe youâd still be sweet.
his voice was gentle when he next spoke. âyouâre not leaving me.â
ââŚwhy not? itâs not like weâre together.â the evenness of your voice was abrasive. detached.
the scar on his lips stretched as his lips pressed together. was that the only thing left keeping you tethered? a label?
he knew he hadnât been clear with you. hadnât set the record straight about many things since meeting you. but the words that had left your lips sounded so blatantly wrong to his sharp ears. you were wrong. and heâd be damned to let you go just because he was too pussy to say something.
âwe are.â he corrected you swiftly, his conscience clearing the second he said it. yes, that sounds right. âtogether.â he added.
you blinked, surprised by his audacity.
âwe are?â
âwe are.â
you parted your lips to speak, hating the way his bluntness made you feel. all of your brewing annoyance, the desire to show him your mean streak quelled the second he revealed his cards. cards that showed he wanted this. you. more than you ever thought possible for an emotionally unavailable man such as himself. the thought made you gulp.
ââŚs-so tell me who you were with.â you muttered, brows furrowed as you finally betrayed your frustration.
and gods did toji find it adorable.
his arm snaked around your waist as he held your gaze. âyou really wanna know?â he raised a brow. âyou canât tell a soul.â
âyeah, yeah. just fuckinâ tell me already.â
his lips curled into a smirk, low eyes watching you. ââŚyou know I do bad things, babe.â he murmured into your ear, the gesture unintentionally sending heat straight to the pit of your belly. âhad to meet some pretty messed up employers. got another job cominâ up involving some bratsâŚitâs might get bloody.â
right. you remembered his job. how occasionally heâd come home with a few patches of dried blood - never his own. he wouldnât go into detail about what he did exactly, but one night when he was especially exhausted and vulnerable heâd let a small truth slip.
toji could be evasive and withhold information from you, butâŚhe never lied. it only made you hang onto his every word even more.
âand you were with them the whole day?â you tilted your head, not sure whether to fully believe him. his shoulders relaxed when that seemed to be your main focus, and not his target.
ânah. first half of the day, yeah. second half i was at the tracks.â the raven-haired man muttered, burying his nose into your scalp and taking a slow inhale.
âtracks?â you questioned, mind running. you glanced at the tiny cupboard holding your duffel. ââŚthat where your paycheque go?â
he raised a brow by your brazenness. part of him was even more surprised to be turned on by it, to see this side of you, his angel. âokay smarty pants.â he chuckled.
your arms wound around his torso, palms resting by the deep line of his back. âshut up. i thought it was atâŚlikeâŚthe club or something.â you scowled, letting your head rest on his firm chest as your mind wandered.
maybe, just maybeâŚyouâd get him to open up all the way. tell you everything about his past, his jobs. make him want to tell you.
ânope. the tracks. i want big returns.â toji mumbled, lips grazing your hair as he peppered small kisses across your crown. he was relieved to see you staying, and that relief hit him harder than he anticipated.
a moment of silence passed. unlike before, this was a nice quiet, one he could get used to. as long as his arms were around you, and you fitting perfectly against him.
âyâknowâŚyou owe me Giuseppeâs for that.â you half-joke.
âthose fuckass heels with wings?â
âyes.â
âso demanding.â he sighed, shaking his head. âwhich colour?â
a/n: if he makes you second guess, make his pockets hurt <3
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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jjk atsuya kusakabe as your bf! (semi-explicit, mdni)
atsuya sits on one end of the couch, letting you use his lap to prop your feet up as you lay down beside him. in his right hand he holds todayâs paper up, his eyes skimming over the headlines. he kisses his teeth. journalists love exaggerating things.
every now and then his idle hand alternates between one of two things. his coffee mug steams steadily atop the hawaiian coaster youâd brought from your baecation together, dark and sweet. itâs in comfortable reach at the coffee table; everything in your boyfriendâs apartment has been optimized for his laziness minimal effort.
when heâs not sipping on his beloved pick-me-up, howeverâŚ
you bite your lip, muffling your moans. âpleaseâŚâ
âyouâre being noisy againâŚcanât read over your whining.â he sighs, but makes no move to stop your torment despite this going on for an hour.
âbabyâŚp-pleaseâŚâ
the corners of his lips tug downwards as he presses his lips together. âwhat a painâŚâ the dark-haired man huffs, snapping the pages together. âthis wonât do.â
you think heâs about to let up and give you mercy when he clicks the third setting of the device connecting his free hand to you, tossing the newspaper over his shoulder with the other. coffee also apparently long forgotten. now he looms over you, brows drawn together, eyes very much serious.
you gulp on air.
atsuya had worked hard the past week, being assigned to strenuous missions that you knew he hated. on the rare occasions heâd be tasked to deal with a special-grade, heâd kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, your nose, your chin, your knuckles then finally your lips before leaving wordlessly. brown eyes staring into yours one last time like they wanted to say something more.
then heâd proceed to feel shy about it when he eventually got home in one piece.
it was rare for a reason. heâd reject assignments until it was absolutely necessary. and afterwards youâd smother him with care. youâd massage his shoulders. run him a bath with rose petals and plenty of candles. curl up on the couch and watch his favourite show until the late-early hours.
that was when heâd start to get chatty and youâd see his more vulnerable side peek through. youâd listen.
other times the two of you would have lazy sex. not necessarily vanilla. just nothing too physically demanding on either one of you.
so when he gives you that look, the look thatâs saying he could eat you alive - that look? you throb. your eyes water. your thighs clench tighter together, while you squirm under the intense pressure of the device heâs holding you hostage with.
âyou got my attention now, dove. know what this means, hm?â his knuckles graze the side of your cheek as he tuts, low.
youâre on the brink of tears - no, scratch that - youâre past it, overstimulation hitting you like a freight train. but you wonât say the safe word and he doesnât mind taking liberties.
atsuya wipes the pearls halfway down your cheeks, his sleep-deprived eyes locked with yours. his tongue flicks out, swiping at the salty drops on his thumb as he brings it to his lips. âah-ah. if i can put my life on the line for the whole of humanity, you can take it a little longer.â
you nod your head weakly in response, pulling him closer.
âthatâs right.â your boyfriend hums. âyouâre not done until i say so.â
a/n: this is my apology to atsuya kusukabe for totally forgetting to write his sexy ass :(
having thoughts about (bigd)bf!toji measuring how far he would reach inside u. . . cws. smut, pwp.
one thing toji loves to do before fucking your brains out is to ask you âwhere you want himâ. and each time without fail, your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide his large, callused and manly hand to your lower tummy.
âmhmmâatta girl,â toji coos and his dick throbs, the bulge painfully obvious through his black boxers. it nearly drives him to the edge as his fingers trail up and down your stomach.
his signature smirk tugs at the scarred corner of his lip. âwhereâddya think iâll reach this time?â toji asks.
heâs so nasty with it, in a good way. his tongue darts out to wet his lips as the pad of his index finger prods at the skin near your belly button.
âhere?â toji hums thoughtfully, knowing this was making you drip onto the sheets below.
he knows heâs bigâhe knows he can rearrange your insides properly and make you cockdrunk without even sticking his dick in your needy cunt, and he thrives off the fact.
âor maybe up here if i put yâr sweet little ass in a mating press,â toji teases while his index finger slides a centimetre upwards. his dirty words are making you moan and buck your hips; a sign of your rising desperation.
he palms his cock through his boxers for a couple times before hastily tugging at the waistband.
âkeheh, guess thereâs only one way to find out, doll.â