HORROR

( 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ⋆ 𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 ⋆ 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 ⋆ 𝖺ç 𝗄𝖺𝗉ı𝗒ı )

YES i adore him sooo much to the point where its painful

"ouu... heavy… sooo big and heavy..."

the king of curses is, at the moment, a drowsy wreck sprawled on the stone floor of his shrine, unfairly gooey for a monster that just slaughtered an entire village.

he’d found some pathetic, bulbous little curse lurking; and it had looked so fucking ridiculous, floating there like a bloated, purple eye that he’d popped it into his belly mouth just for the laugh.

he didn’t expect the damn thing to act like concentrated liquor.

now his brain is tilting sideways, making him feel unnaturally giddy as a stupid grin forms across both his faces. his four bulky arms are thrown out carelessly at his sides because right now, his bottom mouth has decided it has a muuuch better plan.

the thick lips of his stomach mouth open wide, a muscly, deep pink tongue slathered in saliva sliding out to swipe languidly over his groin. he’s already rock hard, both of his veiny cocks pulsing against his abdomen for attention, dark tips glossy with pre-cum.

for sukuna, who expects the entire world to bend and break under his heel just to satisfy his slightest boredom, it's surely ridiculous how eager he is right now, giggling and and kicking his feet as his belly-mouth leans down to take the first cock.

he sucks on himself deep, the flesh of his stomach contracting around his own meat with a wet squelch, and a whimper rips from his throat. he’s never felt this warm in his entire a-hundred-year-old life. his lower mouth pursues with a sloppy hunger as his tongue swirls around the sensitive mushroom heads of both dicks until they throb in tandem and the dripping strings of spit is pooling on his beefy thighs.

he chuckles under his breath—a bubbly one that belongs on a child, not heian's great disaster. "mmm... 'm gonna break something... heheh..."

his hips begin to snap forward keenly, bucking into his own torso with a haphazard rhythm. his belly tongue wraps around both of his cocks, practically inhaling them into the meaty cavity of his inner cheeks until his balls are smacking sharp. the friction causes an extreme hotness, making his tattooed skin tingle and flush a beautiful ruby. he’s right on the edge, his erudite brain fried due to intoxication.

another wet slurp pushes him over. his thighs twitch violently as he comes; thick, pearly seed launching straight into his own waiting mouth and messy across his abs. his belly mouth gulps down the musky liquid greedily, massive tongue cleaning up the stray drops, pleased by his own taste.

sukuna lets go of himself completely, body sinking back against the stone with a long, heavy sigh. the horrifying spirit of the legendary sukuna is nowhere to be found, exchanged to a drunken lethargy and a satisfied smile plastered across his tattoed face as he drifts off to a much needed sleep.

on the cluttered bed, satoru idly flips through a worn album, slender fingers tracing the silver-halide contours of polaroids from his youth. at your soft behest, he’s finally granted himself this solitary reprieve during the oppressive countdown to his clash with sukuna. yet the quiet between you is far too heavy, fraught with the desperate yearning kindles within you to anchor this ephemeral version of him to something immutable.

“let me take a few photos of you, satoru. just a couple,” you implore, tugging gently at the hem of his knit sweater.

he doesn’t offer you his gaze, merely turning a page with a dismissive hum. “no pictures, princess. i’m off the clock.”

“come on, just one,” you insist, leaning into his side to peer at a snapshot of a teenage him grinning brashly at the camera. “it’ll be nice. look at how much you’re enjoying looking at your baby pics right now. when you’re an old, wrinkled man, you’re gonna want to look back at how pretty you were.”

satoru scoffs, a mirthless chuckle escaping from his lips as he finally snaps the album shut. he tilts his head back against the headboard, his dark blindfold resting on the bridge of his straight nose, concealing those celestial eyes that hold erupting supernovas' divine might every time they look at you.

“bold of you to assume i’m looking at these for nostalgia. i’m just making sure my past self didn’t have better skin than i do now. besides,” he adds, a sarcastic snicker twisting his lips though it fails to illuminate his features. “i’m not feeling particularly pretty today. the lighting in here does terrible things to my complexion, and the world isn't ready for a subpar gojo satoru.”

you roll your eyes, willfully suppressing the sudden dread that stirs within your chest at his deflection. you let it drop, sinking into the comfortable rhythm of his teasing, choosing to believe there would be a thousand more mundane afternoons just like this one.

but human memories are fragile things, easily shredded under mother earth and its ruthless rules. now, staring at the empty expanse of your room, the realization presses against your ribcage until you can barely suck in air.

he lost. the strongest is gone, leaving nothing but an cavernous quiet for you to put up for the rest of your miserable life.

hands shaking, you scramble through your phone, through desk drawers, through old boxes, only for your heart to drop into a bottomless abyss. there is nothing. no recent photos, no digital proof of the man he was in those final days.

Why did I block you?

you fit the basic dni criteria / you're a minor.

you write smut for underage characters without even aging them up.

you use ai to write your fics. i genuinely have zero interest in ai-generated slop.

you write smut about real people & use actors' faces as gooning material.

you dislike suguru / post slander about him. aren't we all adults here? why are we hating on a 3D man who is not real?

you use "wallahi, i swear to Allah" as a meme. taking an oath in Islam is serious. Muslims are taught to reserve these phrases strictly for matters of immense importance such as life or death situations. using them for everyday jokes is highly disrespectful.

i don't like your writing style. simple as that.

hii omg i love your theme too! it looks so cunty

you’re not stupid. you know exactly what suguru is doing.

the first time, he does it so carelessly that you persuade yourself it's nothing at all. he’s carrying heavy grocery bags into the kitchen, veins bulging on his thick forearms that are currently straining against the plastic handles, and then, right as he passes your chair: “nnnhh—ahhh, fuck.”

it’s a soft, breathy purr, like he just couldn’t hold it back. you seize up, surprise and confusion hitting you at the same time as your face heats instantly. and he has the nerve to peek at you over his shoulder, mauve eyes wide and feigning surprise. “ah, sorry 'bout that. heavy bags.”

then there’s the mornings. he wakes up unrushed and lifts his arms above his head with a sluggish yawn, his back arching into a curve that hoists his shirt up ever so slightly, making him utter the most sinful sound has ever graced the earth.

“mmhh—ohhh god… yeahhhh.” and he does it without an ounce of shame too, as if a porn soundtrack in your bedroom at 8 a.m. is nothing extraordinary.

you choke on your breathe, clutching to the blankets a little too hard. when you glare at him, he only shushes you with a patronizing little tsk from across the pillows, cutting off your irritation before it can even start. “what? felt good to stretch. can't blame a guy.”

after that, it’s constant. sighs that sound just a little too much like wet moans, throaty hums when he pulls his raven hair loose from its man bun, even a breathless "ahhh—fuck” when he drops his bulky build onto the couch. each and every little sound is intentional and well-calculated. you can’t prove it, but god—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

the worst, though, is when you’re massaging his shoulders after a tiring day spent battling with curses. he’s sitting on the floor between your legs, head slumped forward to expose the long line of his neck, letting you release the thick knots in his back.

“oh-ohhh fuck, yes. right there—god, you are so good with your hands.” he drags the words out like they belong in a private bedroom, pitching into a whinier, petulant cadence which makes your pulse spike immediately.

you pause, your fingers paralyzed. “suguru. stop.” he turns his head for you to observe his lazy smile, his bottom lip jutting out just the tiniest bit in a petty pout. “whattt? i’m talking to them, not you. your hands just have a mind of their own, baby.”

you press harder into the muscle, trying to punish the smugness out of him, but the heel of your hand just forces another whimper out. “ahhh, mhhnn—yes, baby, harder... right there—”

that sly fucker.

“you're—you're doing that on purpose!”

“doing what?” he cranes his neck to look at you, eyes all wide innocence while he fights to maintain a solemn facade. “i can’t control how good it feels, no?"

his head tilts back into your lap, chasing the press of your thumbs like a curious puppy begging for attention; a satisfied, wet hum spilling from his throat.

“mnhm… don’t stop. they’re the only ones who are ever nice to me after a long day.”

his weight leans more densely into your hands, forcing your thighs to squeeze together to steady him, and that’s when you notice the tiny tilt of his hips. the thin cotton of his grey sweatpants is tenting just slightly, flimsy fabric straining with the pulsing outline of his cock. every touch of your fingers drags the material tighter, causing a dark patch to bleed across the cloth.

“you’re absolutely disgusting.” though, your voice lost all of it's footing already.

suguru lets out a throaty laugh at that as if it's the most funny thing he'd ever heard today, foxy eyes crinkling even further with humour. “am i, really? or are you just finally noticing?”

as though to back up his claim, suguru junior twitches violently beneath the thin cotton, a long ridge pressing boldly against his right thigh, to be exact. he tips his head all the way back, presenting you the elation of the smirk actively feeding his handsome face.

thank you so much dear 🫶🏼 i'm hoping to go back on grind when my finals are done.

thank you precious !! can confidently say the same about you ♥︎

wait that sounds so incredibly accurate and well-characterized. toji really wouldn't be thinking about sex 24/7 like some people portray him to. honestly, i think it’s probably the last thing on his mind outside of a few rare occasions. i really dislike the over-the-top fanon where people write him saying things like "beg for it, slut" and being overly aggressive for no reason whatsoever. (no shade to writers who enjoy that, it’s just not my thing)

don't worry babe i gotchu

try as he might, nerdjo never could have guessed that he had a pain, or worse, humiliation kink.

he knew he was a pathetic simp for you—that was just a gross fact, like the way his words would stumble whenever you pressed the feeblest kiss on his cheek. but he hadn't walked into this hoping to get off on you hating his guts. that was too sick, even for him.

it was a complete tragedy when it first happened. you were screaming your head off over his constant postponement of your shared group work, and your hand just swung out, smacking his cheek. it wasn't even a hard hit, but the shock of your rage confused his sensations.

his vision swam, and an instant heat burned his face alongside an odd twinge. he readjusted his askew glasses with a defiant hand, trying to scoff and mutter something about you being "unreasonably dramatic and prissy" when he felt that ugly, sudden pressure straining his jeans.

when you eventually realized, you went stone still, eyes dropping straight down. “satoru, are you..?”

he just shriveled up, trying to wiggle away, shifting his hips sideways to hide the evidence. "w-why are you looking there? it's a perfectly normal response for a guy!"

meanwhile, he was praying silently to an almighty power, begging for you to just look away. but by every contrast, you did the cruelest thing you could think of. you pressed your thigh against his groin, grinding firmly. a tiny "oof" escaped satoru's lips, his hips giving a needy twitch.

“you’re hard?” your words felt like a court's final sentencing order that scared the living shit out of him. “you seriously get off on this?”

the horror washed over his pale face, suffocating him severely, but even then, he tried to push your shoulder back with a weak laugh. "get off on you? please, as if your awful temper could ever—ah!" he cut himself off as you rubbed yourself on a particularly sensetive area, his eyes flaring up wide. the most disgusting part of his messed-up self was exposed bright-lit under your rage. his whole face was red with embarrassment.

and yet, he got impossibly harder against your leg, a fat lenght twitching in his jeans.

your hand shot down, crushing the denim with all your strength. all your anger, all your nasty frustration went into that squeeze on his cock. why couldn't he just shut his big mouth and agree that he was a smug asshole?

meanwhile, an erotic moan tore out of satoru's throat, the kind you'd stumble across on some cheap, exaggerated porn. his whole body arched, hips bucking into your merciless hand. "a-ah! let go—" he gasped out, his muscly body moving against his own voluntarily decision, pleading for more of this sweet torture. "it's—it's not about you! i already told you that!"

he was really quivering now, sweat dampening his hairline and down his forehead while his hips kept stuttering against your fist.

“a few slaps and you just get a hard-on?” you spat, not easing up the grip for a second. "you really are a freak, still denying it while your dick’s telling on you. disgusting.”

satoru hissed out a breathy whimper, azure eyes squeezed shut behind his overly expensive frames. his body slammed back against the wall, an intense rapture rushing through his entire body. a dark, wet patch bloomed fast through the fabric, right under your palm, moistening your fingers. a reedy whine escaped him as he came into his pants, his legs buckling before he slumped against the wall, completely spent.