Top Posts Tagged with #sukugo

PEACHES & CREAM(PIE) ୨୧

pairings. bowser!sukuna x princesspeach!reader x mario!satoru

summary. you’ve been “kidnapped” by sukuna again—but the castle’s luxurious, you’re not exactly restrained, and every time satoru storms in to “rescue” you, you’re a little less willing to leave. they think they’re fighting over you… but you’ve always liked being in the middle.

content warnings. 7.1k words (super mario if it was peak), explicit sexual content, threesome, sukuna tops satoru AND YES THEY KISS yay!, power imbalance, possessive behavior, jealousy themes, bratty reader, light dubcon/kidnapping roleplay, oral sex, fingering, face sitting, creampie, spit sharing, degradation and praise kink, voyeurism, competitive bickering during sex, mild humiliation, overstimulation, spit roasting, lowkey dom-ish reader?, emotional manipulation played for comedy, lowkey crack so don't take this super srs.

author's note. got violently high last night and watched the super mario movie w my boyfie then this was born (my excuse to write yaoi)

you don’t know how this keeps happening, except you do. it’s always the same: the soft pull of teleportation magic or whatever the fuck he calls it now, the slow blink of disorientation, and then pink silk sheets or marble floors or a three-person bath sunk into the center of the room like a stage.

the castle is always the same, too—lavish in a way that feels intentional, like it’s been redecorated for you, like someone keeps hitting “reset” and changing the theme just enough to pretend it’s not a pattern.

last time it was rose petals. the time before that, champagne on ice. this time it’s cherries. purple and cold and split in half like he knew you’d complain about the seeds. there’s a gold tray floating nearby, embossed with little star motifs that glow faintly when the steam rolls over them.

“open,” he says, and of course you fucking do.

the bath is hot enough to sting. the steam’s curling your hair at the edges. your face is tight with that honey-clay-fancy-shit mask he special ordered from the capital, some absurd royal apothecary with a logo shaped like a mushroom crown, and there are cucumbers on your eyes that you didn’t ask for but now can’t remove without effort, so here you are.

dripping wet. blind. mouth open. being hand-fed by the most dangerous man in the empire. again.

this isn’t a rescue mission. it’s a spa day.

there’s a small brass bell by the tub, too. he told you it was decorative. you rang it once. servants appeared instantly. you’ve never touched it again.

and yet—if satoru gojo kicks down the castle door one more time while you’re soaking in a three-foot-deep lavender salt bath, you are going to commit an act of treason yourself.

“chew princess,” sukuna says lazily, and you chew, because arguing while topless in cucumber-blindness never works out in your favor. his fingers graze your lips. cold and wet. it doesn’t feel like a fruit offering. it feels like a game. a game you’re pretty sure he keeps winning on purpose.

“i should lock the door this time,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “fucking idiot’s probably already scaling the south wall.”

you snort. inelegant. a sound unbecoming of a captive princess. “you say that every time.”

“and every time, you let him ruin our date.”

you flick one cucumber slice off. barely crack an eye. he’s sprawled by the edge of the bath, arm balanced on the porcelain, hair up, chest bare, tattoos coiling, like this is his personal brothel and you’re the treat he summoned.

there’s a throne in the corner of the room you’ve never seen him sit on. he prefers this instead. he pops a cherry into his own mouth and chews like he invented the concept of pleasure. he probably thinks he did.

“i wouldn’t call it a date,” you mutter, and he tilts his head.

“you’re naked. i’m feeding you. he’s jealous. feels like a date.”

somewhere far below, a pipe groans as magic reroutes through the castle, like it’s bracing for impact.

you roll your eyes and sink deeper, the water sloshing over your collarbones. the tub is too big. the room is too warm. the air smells like fruit and whatever spell he always sneaks in when he thinks you’re not paying attention—the one that makes your legs feel floaty and your mouth dry. the one that makes you stay.

“he’s not jealous,” you lie.

sukuna laughs like you’re adorable. or pathetic. you’re not sure which one is worse.

you hear the splash before you realize he’s serious.

one thick leg, then the other. the water sloshes violently like the bath itself is trying to escape, and you almost lose one of the cucumbers off your eye again, but you don’t move—won’t give him the satisfaction. you lay there, blank-faced, toes wrinkling, cucumber-blind and bath-drunk while the warlord of five provinces and serial homewrecker of your peace slides into the tub like he fucking owns it.

because he does. because this castle was built to keep people out, and redesigned to keep you in.

“you have no boundaries,” you mumble, voice thick from heat and honey-mask goo and emotional exhaustion.

he hums. does not disagree. doesn’t say anything at all, actually—just settles in at the foot of the tub, lounging like it’s a throne, arms spread along the rim like he’s posing for a painting, and stares at you like he’s about to ruin something again.

you’re pretty sure this is how he waits between boss fights.

"this was supposed to be me time,” you mutter. more for yourself than him.

“it is,” he says, “i’m here.”

like that helps.

somewhere, a distant alarm chimes once. not loud. not urgent. just enough to say someone has entered the level.

you feel him hook one finger under your ankle and drag your leg toward him slow, indulgent, like he’s hauling in a catch, like your foot is a prize he won. the water parts, slick against your skin, and suddenly it’s his lap your heel’s resting in. he starts. thumb to arch. palm to sole. pressure applied just shy of pain. and you hate him for how good it is immediately.

"relax," he says, all fake-softness and amused mockery, "you act like i’ve never touched you before."

“you’ve never touched my feet before.”

he squeezes the ball of your foot just right and makes you groan through gritted teeth. “maybe that’s your problem. ungrateful. high-strung. too busy pretending you don’t love it here to let yourself enjoy anything.”

"i enjoy silence."

"never met a brat who didn’t lie for sport."

you hate that he's good at this. hate that you didn't know he could be good at this. hate that you’re not stopping him. that the bath is still hot, that his hands are still rough, that your other foot is already twitching in anticipation and he hasn't even touched it yet.

“yeah,” he mutters, low and satisfied, “there it is.”

"if you're gonna rub my feet like this every time, you should just kidnap me more often," you mutter, trying to sound bored and failing spectacularly.

"princess," he says, digging his thumbs in deeper, "you say that like you're not the one who keeps showing up."

his hands drift.

not immediately. he massages your other foot like he’s not planning anything—like he’s just being generous, like the ache melting from your calves isn’t calculated, like the bath isn’t a trap he set and walked straight into with a hard-on and a god complex.

but then his thumbs start creeping up. past your ankles. into your shins. up the backs of your calves where your skin’s the most sensitive. and you're still laid out, stretched and floaty, letting it happen. he's rubbing slow, like he has all night, like no one's coming to save you.

which they aren’t.

not yet.

you’ve been here enough to know the stages: the soak. the rubdown. the corruption. the bonus round.

his hands slide higher. up to your knees. your thighs. a palm braces against the bend of one leg and eases it open under the water, like that’s normal, like this is a trust exercise and not the prelude to filth. your cunt clenches like it knows what’s coming and wants to pregame the panic.

"i don't think this is in the massage manual," you say, voice dry, throat hotter than the bathwater.

he doesn’t answer. just leans forward. plants one lazy kiss on the inside of your knee like you’re something worshipped. like you’re a feast. like he’s already decided how you’ll taste.

and you—god help you—you don’t stop him.

you should. you know that. you should sit up and slap him and demand to be returned to your kingdom of overpriced skincare and mediocre royal suitors. but instead you let your legs fall a little wider. let him shift forward in the water. let him hook your knees over his shoulders like he’s done this before—has done this before—and let him drag you down the sloped edge of the bath until your ass is half out of the water and his mouth is hovering right there.

"say please,” he says, because of course he does. “go on. be cute for me.”

he grins, and then—boom.

the door slams open with enough force to shake steam off the walls.

the lock was enchanted. doesn’t matter. the hero always finds a way.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER—!”

you don’t even lift your head. just sigh, high and long and put-upon, like your favorite face mask just got interrupted by a meteor. again.

“hello, satoru,” you say flatly. “nice of you to warp in after the cherries this time.”

there’s a faint squelch behind him as the castle seals the pipe he must’ve dropped out of. the scent of ash and ozone lingers in the air.

sukuna laughs. satoru is already halfway into the bath chamber with his stupid sword glowing and his white hair damp from rain and his eyes wide and horrified like he just walked in on a war crime.

and to be fair, he kind of did.

your legs are still over sukuna’s shoulders. your throat is still tight. your cunt is still pulsing like a fire alarm. and sukuna doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t retreat. just flicks his tongue out once, once, against the softest, most humiliating spot of you—as punctuation.

“oh,” he says, lazily. “you’re early.”

“you kidnapped her again,” satoru snaps, storming fully into the room like he pays the rent here, like he didn’t just walk in on you spread open in a royal bath.

“i invited her,” sukuna says.

“you never asked—”

“she never says no.”

“he’s got you under a spell,” satoru gasps, like this isn’t the eighth fucking time. “he’s—he’s doing something to you. you would never stay here willingly—”

“she asked for a refill,” sukuna says, not even glancing up from your inner thigh. “and a massage.”

“that’s not what this looks like.”

you bolt upright, peel the other cucumber slice off your face, dripping and humiliated and pissed off in five different directions now.

“oh my god,” you mutter, voice raw from heat and water and the whiplash of almost getting your pussy eaten into the astral plane. “both of you—shut the fuck up.”

sukuna doesn’t move. still lounging. big and broad like a final boss screen, steam curling around his tattooed chest like smoke from a fire-breath trigger, gold rings glinting at his fingers like coins from a chest you weren’t supposed to open. his shoulders are sharp. his jaw sharper. there’s something beast-shaped about the way he takes up space—even wet and lazy in the bath, he looks like he could wreck half the kingdom if you gave him a reason.

you shove sukuna off and stand. the bathwater crashes back into place. you step out, dripping, glistening, glowing with leftover soap and fresh vengeance, and snatch your robe off the heated hook like you’re the only adult in this cursed castle.

“you’re not rescuing me,” you snap at gojo, tying the sash. “you’re not corrupting me,” you shoot at sukuna. “you’re both just horny and dramatic and in love with the sound of your own arguments.”

satoru sputters. “i—i care about you—”

“you want to win me,” you correct. “like a sword duel or a fucking cake contest.”

“not everything is about your pussy,” sukuna drawls from the water, licking your taste off his lips like a challenge.

his tongue is sharp when it flicks out, forked at the tip like some kind of demon king parody of affection. his eyes glow just slightly—red and cruel—like he’s gearing up for his next form. like if you say the wrong thing, he’ll shift. claws, maybe. a shell. something ancient that drags you into him no matter how many times you run.

the castle hums again, and for a second, you swear the tub jets pulse in sync with your heartbeat.

“but you always make it about that,” you bite back. “so what’s the truth, huh? one of you wants to save me. the other wants to ruin me. but both of you are stuck in this dumb, pathetic tug-of-war and i’m the only one smart enough to say it.”

they’re both quiet now. dripping. wet. steaming in different ways.

you cross your arms.

“you don’t want to fight over me.”

you pause. drop your voice.

“you want to share.”

the silence is heavy.

you step forward, slow. drip across the floor. eyes locked on satoru first, then sukuna. neither of them flinch. neither of them breathe.

“and maybe if you two would stop acting like enemies and admit what you really want,” you murmur, “you’d both get to cum.”

sukuna stands.

and god, it’s a final boss animation.

he rises from the bath like he was spawned, not born—huge and horned at the shoulders with muscle and menace, black tattoos flaring like molten paths across his chest, glowing faintly gold under the water like lava veins. his aura crackles. the air bends. if he roared, you’d flinch. if he laughed, you’d cum. his dick is out like it belongs on a pedestal, and you’re not entirely convinced it doesn’t breathe fire.

you stare. satoru stares harder.

"what the fuck are you doing," satoru blurts, instinctively taking a step back like the sheer audacity is contagious.

“what’s it look like?” sukuna shrugs, climbing out completely, no towel, no shame, not even a flicker of modesty. he walks across the marble like he was born to stalk enemies and lovers barefoot and naked in his own castle. “i’m giving the lady what she asked for.”

he even leaves scorch marks in the water where he stood. not literal ones. just hot enough that your skin remembers them.

“she said kiss,” satoru says, face full panic, eyes full don’t make this real. “not—whatever this is.”

“you scared?” sukuna smirks. “it’s not gay if it’s for her.”

“that’s literally the most gay justification I’ve ever—”

“do you want to fuck her or not?” sukuna snaps, suddenly louder, stepping into his space, wet and steaming and mean. “because if we’re gonna fuck her, we’re doing it my way.”

he’s close enough now to smell like fire. not smoke. fire. heat from the source. it clings to him like sweat, like magic, like a dragon-shaped threat that decided it wanted you instead of treasure.

satoru's mouth opens. closes. twitches at the corners like he’s trying to glitch out of the conversation entirely. like if he blinks fast enough, he’ll wake up in a normal situation where he hasn’t just been pressured into gay chicken by the demon lord of wet arrogance.

"this is coercion," satoru mutters.

"this is teamwork," sukuna corrects.

you lean against the wall. robe loose. "tick-tock," you sing, "someone kiss someone or i’m going back in the bath, alone."

sukuna doesn’t break eye contact.

he steps in closer.

his hand curls around the back of satoru's neck, slow and tight like a threat dressed in silk. satoru flinches. exhales. and stares at sukuna’s mouth like it’s a moving target.

“just a kiss,” sukuna murmurs, voice low. “then you can pretend you hated it.”

his fangs flash. not cute little vampire points. canine. beast. prehistoric.

you’ve seen him bite before. once, during a sparring match, a rival ended up with puncture marks through enchanted armor. that rival never came back.

satoru doesn’t mean to do it. that’s what he’ll tell himself later. he didn’t want to. didn’t plan to. didn’t lean in.

sukuna did. sukuna always does.

but his mouth is right there—wet and hot from the bath, and his hand’s already on satoru’s neck like he owns it, like he could snap it or kiss it or both—and there’s something about the way he says just a kiss that makes it feel like a dare.

so satoru folds.

he doesn’t tilt his head, doesn’t breathe, just stands there frozen while sukuna leans in—and kisses him like he’s trying to win something.

and fuck, does he.

it’s not sweet. not gentle. not curious.

it’s filthy.

it’s tongues first, lips second. teeth clacking, spit everywhere, heat rolling off both of them like a second bath was summoned just from the sheer friction of hate-fucking a kiss into place. satoru grunts, shocked and breathless and already grabbing at sukuna’s arm like he’s going to shove him off, like he should, but his hand stays. fingers digging into wet muscle, other hand on sukuna’s hip like maybe he needs to keep him steady, like maybe he wants more leverage.

sukuna groans into it. obscene. hands everywhere—cupping satoru’s jaw, dragging down his ribs, gripping his waist and pulling like he wants to fuse them. he kisses like it’s combat. like he’s breaking satoru’s mouth in. like he wants you to watch.

and you do.

robe open. chest heaving. eyes wide and wet and locked on the way satoru’s knees are buckling slightly, the way he breathes like he forgot how to, the way he moans when sukuna sucks his tongue just to be mean.

satoru gasps. sukuna doesn’t let him go.

hand in his hair now. tongue deep in his mouth. hips angled forward like if this keeps up he’s going to grind on him, and maybe he is, maybe that’s the point, maybe he wants to be rutting up against his rival’s thigh while you stand there wet and smug and choosing which one of them you’re gonna ride first.

when sukuna finally pulls back—strings of spit between them, both of them flushed and panting and glassy-eyed like they just got head in a thunderstorm—he laughs.

"see?" he pants, mouth red. “teamwork.”

satoru stares at him. you stare at them. no one says anything for a second.

“again,” you say, eyes bright, mouth sticky-sweet with command. “this time—on my bed. chop chop.”

you clap your hands once, like they’re stable boys and you’re the duchess of debauchery, and then turn on your heel like you expect to be followed.

they do. of course they do.

sukuna grabs a towel off the bath hook like it’s a weapon and slings it low over his hips, still smirking, still red in the mouth like he just fed on something divine. the towel looks absurdly small on him. more like a concession than coverage. like if he flexed wrong it’d be gone.

sukuna follows last. heavy footsteps that make the stone beneath the rugs shift like the castle’s recalibrating for his weight. every torch along the corridor flares brighter as he passes, flames bending inward like they recognize their source. the air stays warmer behind him, heat lingering like a warning sign you ignore on purpose.

you lead them barefoot through the hallway, robe swinging open, dripping water on the tile floors of the castle like a trail of sins you dare someone to mop up. the room you step into is ridiculous. all blush pink and soft textures and filigree mirrors. a bed so fluffy it looks like it would absorb a body whole. silk pillows with lace trim. a plush throw with your initials embroidered in gold thread.

sukuna scoffs. satoru blinks. you climb up onto the mattress like a throne.

“both of you,” you say, voice light, like you’re calling dogs to heel. “on your knees.”

they hesitate. for half a second. then obey.

sukuna throws the towel. satoru swallows like his soul’s leaving his body. and then they’re there—crawling up the edge of the bed, one on each side, eyes locked on your legs like they’re being drawn in by gravity.

you spread them.

you don’t even have to say it. they both move at the same time.

sukuna’s mouth goes to your inner thigh, tongue dragging slow and cruel up the softest skin, teeth brushing just enough to make you jolt. satoru kisses the other side, open-mouthed and reverent, like he’s trying to cancel out every filthy thing sukuna’s ever done to you with sweetness.

but it’s not about balance. it’s about devastation.

their mouths meet in the middle.

tongues brushing. lips sticky. spit mixing against your cunt like you’re the altar and they’re fighting for prayer rights. one sucks your clit. the other fucks you with his tongue. and then they switch. again and again. passing you back and forth like a dare, like a game, like if one of them makes you cum first it means something bigger than it should.

sukuna groans when you grab his hair. satoru moans when your thighs twitch around his ears. neither of them can breathe and neither of them care. they’re loud. messy. competitive. syncing up without meaning to.

you whimper. they grunt. you twitch. they dig in deeper.

you are dripping. soaking the sheets. arching into both of them like a spoiled royal, and they like it. they want it. they want to make you cum while staring at each other across your cunt just to prove they can do it better.

and you? you let them.

of course you do.

they’re exactly where they belong.

it hits you all at once, the way you’re being devoured, the way their tongues never stop, the way sukuna grips your thighs like he’s trying to carve his name into the bones underneath while satoru makes these fucking noises like he’s praying into your cunt. they don’t stop. they don’t breathe. they act like this is the final round of a competition neither of them wants to lose.

and you let them go until your hips stutter, until your fingers clutch the sheets, until your voice breaks in that perfect little way that makes them both glance up like they just heard the bell ring.

“switch,” you gasp.

they blink.

“want both of you,” you breathe, dragging one arm behind you, looking over your shoulder, “in me. now.”

it’s not a request. it’s a fact.

and god, do they scramble.

sukuna grabs your hips first. of course he does. palms you like he’s measuring the curve for fit, like he’s already imagining the drag of his cock inside you. satoru moves to the front, eyes wide and stunned and already hard like he knew this was coming and still wasn’t ready.

“on your knees,” you murmur, breath shallow, voice fucked-out and full of authority you didn’t earn but own anyway. “both of you.”

you turn over. press your face into the pillows. arch your back like an offering.

you feel sukuna’s cock drag through your folds first—slow, like he wants you to remember every inch. and satoru’s in front of you now, hand in your hair, cock flushed and leaking and twitching under your breath.

"open up, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just before you do. and then his cock is pushing past your lips, warm and salty and soaked, like he’s been ready to fuck your throat since the moment you told them to kiss.

sukuna sinks in at the same time.

you choke around satoru’s cock the moment sukuna bottoms out.

both of them groan. like your body was built for this. like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to ruin you together.

you can’t breathe.

you don’t want to.

there’s no rhythm, just need. sukuna’s hips slap against your ass, unforgiving, relentless, fucking you deep like he owns you. satoru holds your head like he’s afraid he’ll fall apart if he lets go, fucking your mouth with this desperate, whimpering pace like he’s sorry but also not stopping.

it’s spit. and heat. and suction. it’s tears down your face and drool down your chin and the brutal, gorgeous fullness of being used by both of them at once. your hands grip the sheets. sukuna’s fingers dig into your waist. satoru moans when you gag, tells you you’re doing so good, so fucking good, fuck—just like that.

you are choking. soaking.

and you never want it to end.

you can feel them in stereo.

sukuna buried in your cunt, hips snapping like a weapon, groaning every time you clench down like your pussy’s trying to keep him. satoru fucking your throat in short, desperate thrusts, hand curled tight in your hair, saying your name like a prayer he’s breaking on.

you’re dripping. crying. choking. perfect.

you don’t even have to look up to know they’re watching each other. you can feel it—the tension, the breathless, biting rivalry still simmering under all the moaning. they’re trying to pretend this isn’t what it is.

you ruin it.

you pull your mouth off satoru’s cock with a wet gasp, drool stringing from your lip to the head of him, your voice wrecked and raw and still smug when you gasp:

“kiss again.”

satoru blinks. panting. flushed to his ears.

sukuna doesn’t stop fucking you.

“she likes it,” he pants, slamming into you harder. “go on. be a good boy. give her a show.”

satoru groans. confused. humiliated. hard as fuck.

“what, you don’t want to kiss me when your dick’s in her throat?”

you swallow him again on instinct, just to watch him twitch. he gasps.

“you’re such an asshole,” satoru pants.

“then kiss me like you mean it.”

and he does. god, he does.

it’s brutal. hot. confusing and primal and way too much spit, but their mouths crash together over your body like it’s a battlefield, like they’re using each other’s tongues to claim you without saying it out loud.

you’re drooling around satoru’s cock again, the moan in your throat vibrating against him as sukuna fucks into you harder, deeper, one hand tangled in satoru’s white hair now, pulling him in to keep the kiss going.

they’re kissing over you while you’re getting fucked within an inch of your life.

spit and teeth and groans, tongues sliding, lips parted, their bodies rutting into yours at perfect opposite angles and still finding the time to moan into each other’s mouths like it’s a contest.

your cunt is clenching so tight it makes sukuna swear, low and hot, like he’s about to break.

and you? you’re soaking the sheets.

you wanted this. all of it.

and now you’re watching them fall apart for you. together.

you pull off satoru’s cock again with a gasp—spit trailing down your chin, your cunt dripping down your thighs, breathless and soaked and ready to be worshipped—and you look up at him like you’re about to give him his final test.

but before you can say a word, sukuna speaks behind you.

“lay down.”

and satoru does.

no hesitation. no backtalk. just drops back onto the mattress like his bones dissolved, like the command short-circuited something in his brain. his cock bounces against his stomach, red and wet and aching, and he looks up at you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks.

sukuna catches your wrist. leans in close.

“sit on his face.”

he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s inevitable.

and you move like you were waiting to be told.

satoru blinks up at you, already sprawled on the mattress, already halfway gone, cock flushed and twitching, lips wet from the last time he kissed sukuna like he forgot how to hate him.

“wait,” he breathes. “what are you—”

you crawl up. your knees land on either side of his head, and you hover—just long enough for him to look right at your pussy, glistening and dripping and open for him, so close he could lick it without moving.

“what are you…” he tries again, voice cracking now. “what are you doing—”

and then you sit.

his tongue doesn’t even wait.

it lunges.

like he can’t help it. like you just landed on a pressure point and released something primal. he groans—loud—mouth already open, tongue licking up your slit like he’s parched, like he’s sorry, like he’ll make up for every mistake he’s ever made if you just keep grinding down like that.

you moan. roll your hips. grab the headboard for balance.

and in front of you—you hear sukuna laugh.

a hand wraps around your waist. the other grabs satoru by the hip.

“don’t stop licking,” sukuna mutters again. “or i stop fucking.”

“wait—what—” satoru tries, voice muffled under your pussy, tongue still twitching, mouth still moving, breath already shaking.

sukuna doesn’t wait.

he never does.

sukuna grabs a fistful of satoru’s ass like he owns it. spreads him open. wide. rough. mean. just enough to make satoru twitch under you like he knows what’s coming and it’s already too much.

“you wanna eat her out so bad?” sukuna growls, breath hot across your spine. “do it with my cock in you.”

you hear it more than you see it.

the spit.

wet. thick. dragged right from the back of his throat and hawked down directly onto satoru’s hole like it’s a claim. loud and disrespectful, like he’s not even trying to be subtle about it, like this hole was made for him, and he’s just taking back what was already his.

it lands with a wet splat, stringy and hot.

satoru moans into your pussy. like it turned him on. like he hates that it did.

“fucking tight,” sukuna mutters, spreading his cheeks wider with both hands now, spit glistening on that perfect pink ring, watching it flex like it’s trying to run and take at the same time.

you don’t stop grinding. your thighs are shaking. your cunt’s soaked. satoru’s tongue keeps twitching under you like he can’t focus, like he’s trying to eat you out while processing the spit sliding down his crack, pooling where he’s already so sensitive it hurts.

sukuna spits again. harder.

watches it drip down. watches it stick.

then he lines himself up.

no warning.

just one filthy, stretched-out second of silence—then the slick, press of the head of his cock right against that spit-slick hole.

satoru gasps. tries to lift his hips. can’t. you’re on his face. sukuna’s got his ass spread wide like a fucking offering plate.

then sukuna starts to push.

you feel the way satoru shakes beneath you. feel the tremble in his hands on your thighs. feel the moan rip out of his chest and into your cunt, his tongue fluttering against your clit like he doesn’t know if he’s overwhelmed or about to cum untouched or both.

sukuna hisses through his teeth. forces himself deeper. grabs satoru’s hips and pulls him down onto his cock like he’s shoving the last piece of something perfect into place.

“fuck,” sukuna grits. “you feel that, princess? this tight little bitch clenching around me while he eats you out?”

you moan. it’s not a word anymore. not even a sound with meaning. just a shudder dragged from your ribs because satoru won’t stop licking, won’t stop moaning into your pussy while sukuna ruins him from behind like he was made for it.

sukuna leans in.

his hand comes up your spine, slow and steady, and then across your chest, fingers rough and wet from satoru’s skin, trailing up to your jaw to pull your mouth to his. he’s panting. flushed. still thrusting into satoru in long, brutal strokes. and then he kisses you.

wet. loud. hungry.

he kisses you like he owns the air between your teeth. like he wants to eat the sounds right out of your throat. you kiss him back with your whole body—mouth sticky, tongue filthy, your hips grinding harder on satoru’s face because you want him to feel it while sukuna devours your mouth.

“look at him,” sukuna growls, breaking the kiss, voice wrecked. “fuck, look.”

he grabs your chin. turns your head down.

and you do.

satoru’s face is soaked in your slick. lips swollen. nose shiny. tongue still out. his eyes are wet, desperate, fluttering like he’s already on the edge. you can feel his moans inside you, against you, vibrating straight up your spine.

“he’s gonna fucking cry,” sukuna mutters, grinning. “and he’s still hard.”

you slide off his mouth slowly. his lips chase you for a second—instinct—but you’re already shifting down, dragging your cunt over his chest, your hands planted on either side of his face. sukuna keeps fucking him, cock slamming in deeper, rhythm rougher now that you’re watching.

you lean in.

satoru gasps, eyes wide, and you kiss him.

you kiss him like he’s already lost, like the only thing left is how thoroughly. your mouth is still wet from him, from sukuna, from everything, and when your tongue slides in he makes this broken little sound in his throat like he didn’t expect you to want him after all that.

you do.

your hand slips down between your bodies. wraps around his length. he’s hot and slick and so hard it’s almost embarrassing, like he’s been holding himself together on sheer adrenaline and your approval alone. you jerk him slow at first, thumb brushing the slit just to feel him twitch.

he moans into your mouth.

and that’s when his hands come up—hesitant for half a second, like he’s checking if he’s allowed—and then he pinches your nipples between his fingers, not mean. not gentle. just enough to make you gasp against his lips and grind your hips down without realizing you did it.

“fuck,” you breathe, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at him.

he looks wrecked. pupils blown. mouth open. chest heaving. still being fucked, sukuna’s hips snapping in a rhythm that never stops, never slows, like a reminder that satoru doesn’t get to forget where he is or what he’s being used for.

you jerk him harder now. faster. wrist flexing. spit-slick sounds filling the room. he whines—actually whines—and pinches you again, thumbs rolling like he’s trying to hold onto something, like the sensation is the only thing anchoring him.

“don’t stop,” he says, voice cracked, stupid, desperate.

you smile.

“i wasn’t planning to.”

you kiss him again, messy and open-mouthed, teeth bumping, tongues sliding, your hand working him steadily while sukuna fucks him deep enough to make his whole body rock. he’s trapped between it all—your mouth, your hand, sukuna’s cock—and it shows. his breathing is wrecked. his hips keep trying to thrust up into your grip even though he can’t go anywhere.

you pull back just enough to look at him again.

then you shift.

not fully. not yet. just enough to line yourself up, to let the head of him brush against you, to feel that hot, stupid pressure that makes his breath catch and his fingers dig in harder.

“look at you,” you murmur. “so fucked out already.”

his eyes flutter.

and you start to climb.

you do it like it’s yours to take. like his cock belongs to you, and you’re just coming back for it. you slide up and over him, knees planted firm on either side of his hips, one hand braced on his chest, the other still slick and wrapped around his shaft. you line him up. tease. not because he needs it—but because he can’t do anything about it.

you’re dripping.

you’re still open from earlier, still twitching, still needy, and the second the head of his cock catches on your entrance, you feel him twitch under you.

“fuck—” satoru pants, voice high. “please—i—”

you cut him off with a moan of your own.

and then you sink.

slow. tight. wet.

you feel every inch. you make him feel it. the way you clench down just to see his jaw lock. the way his breath stops in his throat halfway through. he tries to lift his hips—instinct—but he’s still full of sukuna, still being fucked, still being used, and he can’t do shit except take it.

you bottom out.

his eyes roll back.

you sit fully on him, hands planted on his chest, the weight of your body and the stretch of his cock and sukuna’s cock inside him making him shake like he’s about to cum untouched.

and sukuna—he grunts behind you, still buried in his ass, pace faltering just slightly.

“fuck, look at him,” he growls. “he’s gonna cum just from this.”

you roll your hips. slow.

satoru chokes on a moan.

“you like that, huh?” you murmur, leaning in close, your cunt pulsing around him. “being split open, used like a toy.”

he nods. once. quick. like he’s ashamed to admit it out loud. like it’ll make it worse if he says yes and you believe him.

his mouth opens. nothing comes out.

sukuna fucks into him harder.

your whole body jolts from the force of it, your hips sliding down, satoru’s cock pressing deeper inside you just as he lets out this little choked-off gasp against your mouth, like he doesn’t know how to hold it anymore. his hands are trembling where they cling to your waist, his chest rising too fast under yours, his eyes wide and wet and full of it—heat and pressure and disbelief. he’s shaking. so are you.

you kiss him again. open-mouthed and soaking in it, tongue messy, noses bumping, the two of you completely unraveling against each other while sukuna ruins him from behind.

“he’s gonna cum,” sukuna grits out from somewhere close, the sound of skin on skin louder now, sharper, his hand gripping your waist again, fucking into satoru like he can’t stop even if he wanted to. “he’s gonna fucking cum like this. you feel him?”

you do.

you feel everything. the way satoru’s cock kicks inside you, leaking and twitching, every muscle in his stomach flexing like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. the way his moans have gone quiet now—small, desperate, breathless little exhalations against your cheek like he can’t catch a full one anymore. he’s crying a little. you think. or sweating. or just overwhelmed. it doesn’t matter. he’s close. you can feel it in your spine.

you grind down on him harder. not even bouncing anymore—just moving in slow, tight circles, keeping him deep, dragging out the friction, letting the rhythm build slow and cruel and perfect while sukuna keeps fucking into his ass like he owns it.

your voice breaks before you mean it to.

“cum,” you whisper. not loud. not sweet. just necessary. like a spell you know will work.

and he does.

so hard it punches a sound out of him that he’s never made before. his whole body spasms under you, legs shaking, back arching off the bed like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. his cock throbs inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep while you’re still pulsing around him, still grinding down, still clenching like you need it to keep going just a second longer.

it’s enough.

your orgasm hits like a wave slamming into concrete.

you shake. full-body. your mouth open but no sound coming out now, not really, not when you’re gushing around him, cunt fluttering, thighs locking up around his waist like you’re trying to drown him in it. your head drops to his shoulder. you don’t even know if you’re breathing.

behind you, sukuna groans. it’s low. fucked-out. the sound of a man hitting the edge with no brakes.

he grabs your hips—hard—and drives into satoru one last time, deep enough to shove satoru back up into you, your body jolting on top of him as sukuna growls and spills inside him with a hiss.

you can feel it. the way satoru flinches. the heat. the mess. the way he groans through it, lips brushing your jaw, body still twitching.

nobody moves.

sukuna stays there, cock still buried in satoru’s ass, chest pressed against your back, breath ragged. satoru is wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut, lips wet and open. your body’s still twitching. your cunt still fluttering every time he shifts under you, too sensitive now, too full.

you don’t say anything.

you just stay like that.

you roll your hips once more. slow. indulgent. squeeze him just to feel him twitch. sukuna hasn’t pulled out yet. satoru’s cock is soft inside you now, slick with his own cum and sweat and whatever’s still leaking out of him from behind. everyone’s breathing hard. everyone’s quiet.

you blink down at him. stretch your spine. adjust your hips like you’re just getting comfortable.

“you’re both so easy it’s disgusting.”

satoru twitches. sukuna snorts.

“the fuck does that mean,” satoru wheezes, voice cracked, hands still shaking on your thighs. “i just got spitroasted for like an hour—”

“and you liked it,” you mutter, already reaching for the nearest towel. “you fucking loved it.”

“she’s not wrong,” sukuna grins, pulling out of him slow, messy, mean, one hand dragging down your spine like he knows he’s about to say something that’ll start another fight. “you were moaning like a little bitch the whole time.”

“you kissed me first,” satoru snaps.

“you came while i kissed you,” sukuna snaps back.

satoru’s whole body jerks like someone slapped him with a wet cloth. “i came because she was riding me—”

“with my cock inside you,” sukuna interrupts, smug. “say it slower.”

“that’s not—no—that’s not what happened, you manipulated the timing—”

“oh my god,” you groan, flopping back against the mattress. “are you seriously arguing about whether or not that was gay now?”

“it wasn’t,” satoru insists immediately. “it was about her.”

“you tongue-fucked me.”

“you grabbed my face.”

you blink at the ceiling. “you literally moaned into each other’s mouths while i came. like.”

“okay but that’s not gay, that’s—” satoru starts, voice a little too high.

“—collaborative,” sukuna finishes, grinning. “a shared project.”

you roll off him.

“oh my god,” you mutter, flat on your back now, towel draped over your stomach, one hand over your eyes. “can you both shut the fuck up.”

they don’t.

you know they won’t.

satoru’s already gesturing with one limp arm, trying to make a point about tongue placement and emotional sabotage. sukuna’s flexing like he didn’t almost fall over two minutes ago. you’re pretty sure there’s still cum drying on the sheets. no one’s moving.

“guess we have to go through this again.”

the room goes quiet.

you peek through your fingers.

they’re both staring at you.

satoru’s mouth is open like he forgot how to argue. sukuna tilts his head, eyes already darkening again.

“totally kidding guys.”

you’re not.

and they know it.