#levitoru

♭ HEIAN!SUKUNA ( 両面宿儺 ) ─── mdni. dírty talk, talk abt óral (f), husband!sukuna & his very drunk wife . . . ’ ‗ㅤㅤ𔗌

sukuna should have known the silence from your chambers had been too perfect, too idyllic.

the king of curses had been called away for some bullshit impromptu meeting, some snivelling curses begging on their knees. what an utter waste of time, he mused, his shadow hulking behind him in the dim corridors.

he'd left you on your plush futon, assuming you had dozed off. that had been his first mistake.

for his wife was not in her chambers. you were in the hallway outside the receiving hall, and you certainly were not alone. those fussy old men, the lords jiro and kenji were standing there, their faces a mixture thunderous and painful disapproval, mingled with profound discomfort.

and between them, swaying gently on your feet, was you. his wife, his queen of curses.

your kimono was slightly askew, and your cheeks were clearly heated as you beamed sweetly. and in your hand, you clutched the delicate porcelain cap of his prized, asuka-period sake decanter. you were giggling, a loose and uninhibited sound that echoed in the solemn hallway.

". . . and then, he put my legs right over his big, strong shoulders," you were slurring to the utterly horrified worms, "and he just went to town! i was screamin' so loud, i think i saw my ancestors, bless their souls, am i right?"

sukuna moved. he crossed the space in three long, silent strides, a storm contained within the king of curses.

"his tongue is like, magic . . . you know? like a really talented little eel, although, i wouldn't say it's that little – heh, oh!" you continued, before a large, tattooed hand clamped over your mouth.

you squeaked in surprise, hazy eyes blinking up at him. the scent of high-quality, tragically wasted rice wine wafted from your robes.

lord jiro found his voice first, sputtering, "sukuna-sama! this . . . is indecency! this drunken harlot – "

sukuna's russet gaze snapped to him, and the old vermin's words died in his wizened throat. for the look in the eyes of the king of curses promised a slow, and deliciously painful death.

"get out of my sight," sukuna suggested mildly. it was not a suggestion.

without another word, the king of curses bent down, hooking an arm under his wife's knees, and hauling you up over his shoulder. that poor sake cap clattered to the floor, and sukuna tried not to wince.

"wheeeeeee!" you giggled, dangling down his backs, your soft hands patting his shoulder blades, "hello, husband. your ass looks nice from here!"

sukuna didn't respond. he simply turned, spinning away from the speechless elders, carrying his drunken, crude burden back towards their chambers, like a merchant's sack of rice.

"you're so strong," you mumbled into his back, voice muffled by his robes, "strong enough to fuck me through the wall . . . we should try that, bet those old idiots would hate the noise."

sukuna unceremoniously dumped you back onto the futon. and you landed with a soft oof! and immediately rolled onto your back, grinning up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes.

"you're mad," you declared, poking a finger in his direction, "you got that grumpy line right here." you tried to point between your own eyebrows, but missed spectacularly.

"you," sukuna said, his voice a low growl as he loomed over her, "got into my four-hundred year old sake. and then you described the specific workings of my . . . tongue to the clan elders."

your grin widened, "they probably needed the advice. their wives probably haven't cum since the day rice was first cultivated on the archipelago."

sukuna's mouth twitched, staring down at his ridiculous, tipsy, filthy-mouthed wife. the anger warred with a powerful, overwhelming surge of fondness that he would always deny.

you reached up, your movements clumsy, grabbing the font of his kimono, pulling him down, "don't be mad," you whispered, breath sweet with sake, "i'll make it up to you. i'll be your good girl. your real good girl. i'll suck your cock so good you'll forget your own name, ryomen."

sukuna sighed, ignoring the twitch of his dual-cocks beneath his robes. he captured your grabbing hands, pinning them gently to the futon on either side of your head. you blinked up at him, expression suddenly soft and so needy.

"no, little bird," he murmured, leaning down until his forehead rested against hers, "you are going to drink a flagon of water, and go to sleep."

you pouted, lower lip trembling in tragic disappointed, "but i wanna' be good for you . . ."

♭ NERD!GOJO ( 五条悟 ) ─── mdni. dírty talk, cowgírl, talk abt cùm. unprotected séx ’ ‗ㅤㅤ𔗌

"fuck, baby!"

the air in your boyfriend's dorm room was thick, humid with sweat and the sharp, electric scent of his cologne that always clung to him — where he had been wrestling with some quantum field equations for hours.

his thick-framed glasses were slightly askew, fogged at the edges, and a single droplet of perspiration traced a path down his pale temple, down the corded line of his neck.

gojo's immaculate white hair was a wreck, clingy strands plastered to his forehead as his head fell back against the cushioned headboard with a dull thud.

your own breath came in ragged pants, matching the frantic rhythm of your hips as you rode him, the slick and hot clasp of your pussy milking his thick cock with every downward grind. his physics textbook lay long forgotten, splayed open on his stomach, and the pages crinkled beneath your grasping fingers.

you leaned forward, tits brushing against the crisp and starched cotton of his stupid lord of the rings shirt, your nipples perked and hard against the fabric.

"satoru," you breathed, your voice a husky whisper against the shell of his sensitive ear. god, you could feel the shudder that wracked his frame, a full-body tremour that made his abdominals clench beneath you, "are you still thinking about . . . what was it? that dumb mid-sem?"

gojo groans, a low and guttural sound torn from deep in his chest. his large hands, which had been gripping the sheets desperately until now, flew to your hips. those long, clever fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising pressure.

"f-fuck. no! the numbers . . . they're just static now."

your boyfriend's voice was strained, cracking on the last word. he was trying to look at you, to drink in the sight of your torso up against his. but his brilliant jewel-blue eyes were hazy and unfocused behind the smudged lenses, "pussy like heaven, baby."

♭ ACADEMIC!NANAMI ( 七海建人 ) ─── mdni. dírty talk, attempted tít-sūcking, fiancé!nanami, kento gets tipsy at a gala . . . ’ ‗ㅤㅤ𔗌

the annual university faculty gala was a special kind of hell nanami usually endured with stoic silence and strategic positioning near the exits. this year, however, the new dean of humanities had insisted on a personal toast with every department head.

three glasses of surprisingly potent champagne later, nanami found the edges of the world had gone pleasantly soft.

you, his fiancée, had been charming a linguistics professor with stories of your own post-grad research. you felt a persistent tug on the back of your dress, turning to find nanami standing unusually close, his posture not quite its ramrod-straight self.

his hazel eyes, usually sharp enough to cut glass, were hazy and slightly unfocused.

"sweetheart," nanami said, his voice a low and plaintive murmur right by your ear, "i want to go home."

you blinked, covering your surprise with a smile for the other professors, "soon, ken'. the dean just started his speech."

his large hand slid from your back to encircle your waist, his grip possessive and a little clumsy. nanami buried his face in your hair, his breath warm and tinged with the faintest hint of alcohol, "no, no. now. i don't care about his speech. i want to be alone with you."

a slow, dawning realisation crept over you. nanami, your perpetually composed, grimly efficient boyfriend, was drunk. not falling-down drunk, but unspooled.

you managed to extricate yourself and him with murmured apologies to the bewildered academics, steering nanami towards the coat check. in the taxi, he slumped against the window, and then immediately shifted to slump against you, his golden head heavy on your shoulder.

"you smell good," nanami mumbled into your neck, "mmm, like vanilla and . . . you. i want to taste you."

the driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as you coughed, feeling a hot blush creep up your neck and tickle your ears, "baby, shhh."

"why?" nanami murmured, the whiny sound so utterly unlike him, it was almost comical, "it's true. i think about it all the time. you bitin' your lip. i think about what it would feel like to have you bite me. there . . . you know where."

your eyes widened, for the filter between his brilliant mind and his mouth had apparently been dissolved by champagne. nanami continues, nuzzling you, his lips brushing against your perfumed skin, "i want you to ride me until i can't remember my own name. i want to make cum so hard, you forget to form words. i want to fuck you on my desk. i want – mmph!"

"nanami!" you hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth. he licked your palm, eliciting a startled yelp as you pulled your hand away. your fiancé looked up at you, his expression one of wounded, drunken confusion.

"you don't want me to say it?" he asked, his voice thick with genuine hurt, "but it's all i think about when i look at you. all the things i wanna' do to you. all the places i want to be inside you."

this wasn't the controlled, dominant lover you knew. this was a raw, needy well of desire, and nanami was pouring it all out in the back of a taxi. but somehow, you got him upstairs and into the apartment.

nanami leaned against the doorframe, watching you kick off your heels with a look of such profound, drunken adoration it made your heart ache.

"you're so beautiful," nanami slurred, pushing off the frame and stumbling towards you. he wrapped his thick arms around you, his body heavy and warm, even through the fine dress shirt you had picked out earlier that evening, "my beautiful girl. please don't make me waist. please. i need to feel you. i need you to touch me. i'm so hard for you, it hurts."

he was begging. professor nanami kento, the terror of the business and accounting department, was pouting and begging because he wasn't being pawed right now.

you gently guided him to the bedroom, your mind reeling as you helped him out of his suit jacket and yellow tie, and his own large hands fumbled with the zipper of your dress, uncoordinated and frantic.

"i love your tits," nanami announced with drunken solemnity as he finally managed to push your dress down, already lowering his mouth to lave at your peaked nipples, "i love how they fit in my hands. i love the sounds you make when i suck on them."

you didn't think it was that hard to miss the taut, perked buds but somehow nanami's balance wavered, and his lips collided with your sternum instead. you sighed, letting him fall back boneless on your king-sized bed as his eyelids drooped. already half-asleep as he pulled you down with him, your tits still bare in the cool night air.

and with his face buried in your stomach, nanami let out one last, drowsy mumble, "i wanna' marry you," he was slurring into your skin, "and then i want to fuck you on the chancellor's desk. in that order."

your fiancé began to snore softly.

laying in the dark, you stared at the ceiling, aware of your dress was only half-way pushed down. go figure . . . but you gently carded your fingers through his thick, sandy hair, pressing your lips to his warm forehead.