Vox, he/him, queer adult. Your local friendly void—ignore the red eyes and tentacles. Posts are arbitrarily tagged, often NSFW, and mostly queued. Current fandom is JJK; I'm a top!Yuuji haremist, but I'm mainly into goyuu. My inbox is always open to asks, especially if it's about writing/fanfic. You can find my list of JJK WIPs here. I'm voxofthevoid on Ao3 and Reddit.
This fic is now 8.6k, two chapters, and counting. Progress will be slower this month, I think, since I'll also be editing the July Project fics—including the first chapter of this fic—alongside writing. But the current plan is for this fic to be just three chapters. None of the planned scenes or their length should get too out of control (famous last words).
And now we step into what I'd label deeply unserious rape territory. Modulo Yuuji is what the scientific community calls cuckoo for coco puffs, and Sukuna is...Sukuna. That leaves teen Yuuji the sanest of the trio, which means the overall sanity quotient is dismal.
Onwards ✨
“You want me to rape Sukuna?!”
Itadori blinks, then shrugs. “If that’s how you want to see it.”
“There’s no other way to see it!” Yuuji yells hotly. “You’ve got him strung up like—like—like some sort of—” He tries desperately to search for a word that isn’t hentai chick, but his brain is blank. No, it’s full of the wrong images and thoughts. He shakes his head like that’ll help. It doesn’t. “You know what I mean!”
Itadori looks slowly from Yuuji to Sukuna and then back and then back again. Sukuna, the bastard, seems a lot less bothered by this than Yuuji is. He looks…bored.
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Itadori says, and his hand squeezes Sukuna’s crotch like it’s demonstrating the point.
Sukuna’s lips twist into a sneer. “Desperate whore.”
“Not yet,” Itadori says placidly. “But you will be.”
“The years must truly have addled your mind,” Sukuna drawls, “if you’re mistaking me for Gojou Satoru.”
Even from this distance, Yuuji can see how Itadori’s hand clamps down on Sukuna’s groin. But Sukuna just laughs like Itadori isn’t crushing his cock.
Itadori yanks, his arm sweeping to the side like a conductor’s grand gesture. For a moment, Yuuji thinks he’s ripped Sukuna’s dick off, and he can’t help wincing, even though Sukuna doesn’t deserve his sympathy. Yuuji’s gone for the crotch a time or two when fighting too, mostly when he thought the other guy really deserved it, but a punch or a kick to the dick is a lot different from—
Then it registers, the unbloodied scrap of white fabric dangling from Itadori’s fist, and suddenly, Yuuji’s not sure if he wouldn’t have preferred a severed cock.
“Hey!” he protests, except it sounds weak and wavering even to himself. And then he sees what Itadori’s newest bullshit has exposed. “Why the hell does he have two dicks? And why are they hard, you bastard?!”
“Stop blathering, boy.” All four of Sukuna’s eyes throw Yuuji a scalding glare. “You’re an eyesore through and through.”
Yuuji gapes at him for a moment. Then he turns to Itadori, finding him watching Yuuji with a faint smile.
“You want me to fuck that?” Yuuji asks him, gesturing wildly at Sukuna.
“I’m asking if you want to,” Itadori corrects. A corner of his mouth quirks sharply up. “Aren’t you tempted though? You could finally shut him up.”
“I can just break his jaw.”
“This one talks too,” Itadori says, tapping the thick lower lip of Sukuna’s belly mouth. It snaps at him, monstrous teeth clacking shut around thin air. “He’d heal anyway. And no matter how badly you hurt him, he won’t change. I guess we’re a lot alike that way.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sukuna says flatly.
“It’s different when it’s pleasure,” Itadori continues, ignoring Sukuna again. He also stops groping him, even walking backward until he’s no longer between those splayed legs. But his hand’s quick to return to Sukuna, clasping an ankle. “And you’re all about pleasure, aren’t you, Sukuna?”
“Bold of you to think you can please me,” Sukuna says, his tone and his expression all imperious in a way that clashes terribly with the state he’s in. “You might be willing to fuck anything with a pulse, but I have far more discerning tastes.”
Itadori hums thoughtfully. “A pulse isn’t strictly necessary. Technically, we don’t have one down here. These bodies are just simulacra—our souls copying the shapes we know.”
“That is so not the point,” Yuuji mutters, dragging a hand over his face.
Whatever Sukuna might have replied with is lost to the sudden violent movement of the ropes of blood binding his legs. Yuuji startles a little as they squirm and shift and tighten, crushing the loose hakama between their coils to emphasize the sheer thickness of the legs underneath. Then a bunch of smaller tendrils shoot up from the apparently endless pool of blood below, their tips weirdly sharp—like spearpoints.
They pierce the fabric and slide inside, the coils wrapped over the hakama loosening to let the new invaders move freely, and even knowing what’s coming, Yuuji still gasps as Sukuna’s pants are shredded from the inside.
The scraps fall to the ground, soaking up the blood and sinking right in. Or maybe they’re just vanishing. Yuuji can’t quite tell. He spends an extra second half-heartedly trying to figure it out, just so he can avoid looking up.
“Stop fighting,” Itadori says, sounding half amused and half chiding. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll peel off your skin and feed it to you charred.”
“You won’t even cook it properly? Wow, it’s almost like you hate me.”
“Hatred,” Sukuna says tightly, “doesn’t capture a fraction of my loathing for you.”
“That’s fine.” Itadori’s voice is very soft. Almost tender. Yuuji continues staring blankly at the blood below. “I decided a very long time ago that I’d chew up every single curse in your belly.”
Sukuna makes a noise then, thick and dark with fury and other writhing things, and Yuuji finally looks up, freezing when he realizes that he’s somehow a lot closer to the other two now, even though he has no memory of taking those steps.
Itadori is standing beside Sukuna’s hip now, with his right hand resting idly on the space right under the mouth on Sukuna’s stomach. Yuuji tries not to look, but his eyes still slip to the two thick cocks jutting out side by side near that hand. They’re still obscenely hard, and the whole visual is even more lewd now because Sukuna’s legs are naked and also all bent, the calves pressed flush to the underside of his thighs, a dozen thick tendrils of fresh red blood binding them tightly together. They’re spread so wide too, and Yuuji doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that he can’t see between them from where he’s standing.
Sukuna makes another noise, mostly a growl, and Yuuji drags his eyes to less guilty lands, except that also backfires when he sees Itadori dig his fingers into Sukuna’s underbelly like he plans to tear those curses out of his stomach by the fistful, and the violence of it wouldn’t have bothered Yuuji, not when Sukuna’s the victim, but there’s something about the taut curve of Itadori’s knuckles that makes him think of naked bodies and clasped hands, and the heat it pours into his veins is festering with filth.
I’m not gonna get hard about this, Yuuji tells himself. I refuse.
His cock throbs like it couldn’t give less of a shit what he wants or doesn’t want.
At least the other two aren’t in any danger of noticing. Itadori’s stopped trying to claw into Sukuna’s stomach and is sliding that hand upward, right over the massive mouth that tries and fails to take a chunk out of that hand, again, and along the impossibly broad chest above it. It drifts to the side, with an ease that’d have looked casual if anything about this was normal or even sane. As it is, Yuuji just feels a dull set of resignation as that hand closes around a narrow slab of muscle that Yuuji first thought was part of Sukuna’s abs but is now being forced to realize is a second, smaller pair of tits. There are nipples and everything.
And Itadori’s merrily squeezing it.
Sukuna’s watching his hand like he’s imagining it flayed open and probably fried or something. The expression doesn’t change even when Itadori’s hand graduates to the larger, more familiar-looking pec above it.
Still, Yuuji doesn’t trust that expression either. Sukuna’s cocks are still hard.
Itadori’s hand moves again, ghosting over the curve of a collarbone and sliding more firmly up the side of that thick throat. It settles on the side of Sukuna’s face, cupping it and tilting it toward Itadori.
Sukuna bares both sets of teeth.
Itadori bends down to kiss him on the mouth.
Maybe, if Yuuji tries really hard, he can swim back up to his body and leave these two to fuck in his soul. It can’t dirty the thing more than Sukuna already has.
Not that Yuuji’s any less guilty.
He doesn’t actually try to leave. Something keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps his eyes fixed on the mouths slotted together only a few feet in front of him, and he doesn’t look away even as blood starts to sluice down Sukuna’s jaw.
Itadori rises from the kiss with blood smeared all over his chin, and below, Sukuna’s teeth are still bared, now with blood bubbling between them as he hisses something incomprehensible at Itadori, and Yuuji’s so sure that Itadori lost a lip or maybe a tongue to that bastard’s mouth, but then he looks, really looks, at Itadori’s face and—
There’s a tongue clutched between his teeth, wet and red and twitching.
Itadori tilts his head back and opens his mouth, and the tongue vanishes down his maw. His throat swells as it swallows.
Yuuji’s stomach churns, heat and bile mixing together into an unholy mess.
“I still remember what your fingers tasted like,” Itadori murmurs. His head is still tipped back, his eyes still closed. There’s a smile on his face, beatific and eerie. “Grave wax and rot. You’re so much sweeter fresh.”
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This fic is now 8.6k, two chapters, and counting. Progress will be slower this month, I think, since I'll also be editing the July Project fics—including the first chapter of this fic—alongside writing. But the current plan is for this fic to be just three chapters. None of the planned scenes or their length should get too out of control (famous last words).
And now we step into what I'd label deeply unserious rape territory. Modulo Yuuji is what the scientific community calls cuckoo for coco puffs, and Sukuna is...Sukuna. That leaves teen Yuuji the sanest of the trio, which means the overall sanity quotient is dismal.
Onwards ✨
“You want me to rape Sukuna?!”
Itadori blinks, then shrugs. “If that’s how you want to see it.”
“There’s no other way to see it!” Yuuji yells hotly. “You’ve got him strung up like—like—like some sort of—” He tries desperately to search for a word that isn’t hentai chick, but his brain is blank. No, it’s full of the wrong images and thoughts. He shakes his head like that’ll help. It doesn’t. “You know what I mean!”
Itadori looks slowly from Yuuji to Sukuna and then back and then back again. Sukuna, the bastard, seems a lot less bothered by this than Yuuji is. He looks…bored.
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Itadori says, and his hand squeezes Sukuna’s crotch like it’s demonstrating the point.
Sukuna’s lips twist into a sneer. “Desperate whore.”
“Not yet,” Itadori says placidly. “But you will be.”
“The years must truly have addled your mind,” Sukuna drawls, “if you’re mistaking me for Gojou Satoru.”
Even from this distance, Yuuji can see how Itadori’s hand clamps down on Sukuna’s groin. But Sukuna just laughs like Itadori isn’t crushing his cock.
Itadori yanks, his arm sweeping to the side like a conductor’s grand gesture. For a moment, Yuuji thinks he’s ripped Sukuna’s dick off, and he can’t help wincing, even though Sukuna doesn’t deserve his sympathy. Yuuji’s gone for the crotch a time or two when fighting too, mostly when he thought the other guy really deserved it, but a punch or a kick to the dick is a lot different from—
Then it registers, the unbloodied scrap of white fabric dangling from Itadori’s fist, and suddenly, Yuuji’s not sure if he wouldn’t have preferred a severed cock.
“Hey!” he protests, except it sounds weak and wavering even to himself. And then he sees what Itadori’s newest bullshit has exposed. “Why the hell does he have two dicks? And why are they hard, you bastard?!”
“Stop blathering, boy.” All four of Sukuna’s eyes throw Yuuji a scalding glare. “You’re an eyesore through and through.”
Yuuji gapes at him for a moment. Then he turns to Itadori, finding him watching Yuuji with a faint smile.
“You want me to fuck that?” Yuuji asks him, gesturing wildly at Sukuna.
“I’m asking if you want to,” Itadori corrects. A corner of his mouth quirks sharply up. “Aren’t you tempted though? You could finally shut him up.”
“I can just break his jaw.”
“This one talks too,” Itadori says, tapping the thick lower lip of Sukuna’s belly mouth. It snaps at him, monstrous teeth clacking shut around thin air. “He’d heal anyway. And no matter how badly you hurt him, he won’t change. I guess we’re a lot alike that way.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sukuna says flatly.
“It’s different when it’s pleasure,” Itadori continues, ignoring Sukuna again. He also stops groping him, even walking backward until he’s no longer between those splayed legs. But his hand’s quick to return to Sukuna, clasping an ankle. “And you’re all about pleasure, aren’t you, Sukuna?”
“Bold of you to think you can please me,” Sukuna says, his tone and his expression all imperious in a way that clashes terribly with the state he’s in. “You might be willing to fuck anything with a pulse, but I have far more discerning tastes.”
Itadori hums thoughtfully. “A pulse isn’t strictly necessary. Technically, we don’t have one down here. These bodies are just simulacra—our souls copying the shapes we know.”
“That is so not the point,” Yuuji mutters, dragging a hand over his face.
Whatever Sukuna might have replied with is lost to the sudden violent movement of the ropes of blood binding his legs. Yuuji startles a little as they squirm and shift and tighten, crushing the loose hakama between their coils to emphasize the sheer thickness of the legs underneath. Then a bunch of smaller tendrils shoot up from the apparently endless pool of blood below, their tips weirdly sharp—like spearpoints.
They pierce the fabric and slide inside, the coils wrapped over the hakama loosening to let the new invaders move freely, and even knowing what’s coming, Yuuji still gasps as Sukuna’s pants are shredded from the inside.
The scraps fall to the ground, soaking up the blood and sinking right in. Or maybe they’re just vanishing. Yuuji can’t quite tell. He spends an extra second half-heartedly trying to figure it out, just so he can avoid looking up.
“Stop fighting,” Itadori says, sounding half amused and half chiding. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll peel off your skin and feed it to you charred.”
“You won’t even cook it properly? Wow, it’s almost like you hate me.”
“Hatred,” Sukuna says tightly, “doesn’t capture a fraction of my loathing for you.”
“That’s fine.” Itadori’s voice is very soft. Almost tender. Yuuji continues staring blankly at the blood below. “I decided a very long time ago that I’d chew up every single curse in your belly.”
Sukuna makes a noise then, thick and dark with fury and other writhing things, and Yuuji finally looks up, freezing when he realizes that he’s somehow a lot closer to the other two now, even though he has no memory of taking those steps.
Itadori is standing beside Sukuna’s hip now, with his right hand resting idly on the space right under the mouth on Sukuna’s stomach. Yuuji tries not to look, but his eyes still slip to the two thick cocks jutting out side by side near that hand. They’re still obscenely hard, and the whole visual is even more lewd now because Sukuna’s legs are naked and also all bent, the calves pressed flush to the underside of his thighs, a dozen thick tendrils of fresh red blood binding them tightly together. They’re spread so wide too, and Yuuji doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that he can’t see between them from where he’s standing.
Sukuna makes another noise, mostly a growl, and Yuuji drags his eyes to less guilty lands, except that also backfires when he sees Itadori dig his fingers into Sukuna’s underbelly like he plans to tear those curses out of his stomach by the fistful, and the violence of it wouldn’t have bothered Yuuji, not when Sukuna’s the victim, but there’s something about the taut curve of Itadori’s knuckles that makes him think of naked bodies and clasped hands, and the heat it pours into his veins is festering with filth.
I’m not gonna get hard about this, Yuuji tells himself. I refuse.
His cock throbs like it couldn’t give less of a shit what he wants or doesn’t want.
At least the other two aren’t in any danger of noticing. Itadori’s stopped trying to claw into Sukuna’s stomach and is sliding that hand upward, right over the massive mouth that tries and fails to take a chunk out of that hand, again, and along the impossibly broad chest above it. It drifts to the side, with an ease that’d have looked casual if anything about this was normal or even sane. As it is, Yuuji just feels a dull set of resignation as that hand closes around a narrow slab of muscle that Yuuji first thought was part of Sukuna’s abs but is now being forced to realize is a second, smaller pair of tits. There are nipples and everything.
And Itadori’s merrily squeezing it.
Sukuna’s watching his hand like he’s imagining it flayed open and probably fried or something. The expression doesn’t change even when Itadori’s hand graduates to the larger, more familiar-looking pec above it.
Still, Yuuji doesn’t trust that expression either. Sukuna’s cocks are still hard.
Itadori’s hand moves again, ghosting over the curve of a collarbone and sliding more firmly up the side of that thick throat. It settles on the side of Sukuna’s face, cupping it and tilting it toward Itadori.
Sukuna bares both sets of teeth.
Itadori bends down to kiss him on the mouth.
Maybe, if Yuuji tries really hard, he can swim back up to his body and leave these two to fuck in his soul. It can’t dirty the thing more than Sukuna already has.
Not that Yuuji’s any less guilty.
He doesn’t actually try to leave. Something keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps his eyes fixed on the mouths slotted together only a few feet in front of him, and he doesn’t look away even as blood starts to sluice down Sukuna’s jaw.
Itadori rises from the kiss with blood smeared all over his chin, and below, Sukuna’s teeth are still bared, now with blood bubbling between them as he hisses something incomprehensible at Itadori, and Yuuji’s so sure that Itadori lost a lip or maybe a tongue to that bastard’s mouth, but then he looks, really looks, at Itadori’s face and—
There’s a tongue clutched between his teeth, wet and red and twitching.
Itadori tilts his head back and opens his mouth, and the tongue vanishes down his maw. His throat swells as it swallows.
Yuuji’s stomach churns, heat and bile mixing together into an unholy mess.
“I still remember what your fingers tasted like,” Itadori murmurs. His head is still tipped back, his eyes still closed. There’s a smile on his face, beatific and eerie. “Grave wax and rot. You’re so much sweeter fresh.”
Apologies in advance but I have to get serious here for a minute about the subject of "being intimidated by fanfic authors." This is more con-oriented than Tumblr-oriented but the sentiments are applicable to both.
It makes me so upset whenever I think of all the times I went to a con and couldn't seem to find anyone to talk to. After being on a few panels where I made jokes about the joys of writing about dicks and butts, I would walk around, and it just seemed like folks were all doing their own thing, not inviting me to join them. I would always think, Oh, story checks out, everyone is put off because I'm a weird freak, it's just like in high school. Then I'd go back to my hotel room and wonder what I spent all this money for, coming here to be lonely.
Then, in the days after the con, I would see posts from other con-goers, or receive messages: "omg berlynn i was too shy to say hello at the con but i just want you to know that your fics mean everything to me and you're so amazing."
I really do appreciate those kind words, but...it would have been cool to actually hang out with you, you know?
One time I had the opportunity to chat with with a trio of folks who were the guests of honor at this con because they were screening their gorgeous and charming fan film, and they confessed to me that the day before, they had walked into a room, seen that I was there, and walked out because they were too intimidated at the very idea of being in the room with me. (So I sat alone and silent in that room for 20 more minutes.)
The thing is, even if I was the most popular fanfic writer in the history of the world, connecting with other fans and forming friendships is the only compensation I get. I don't eat better because you liked my fic. I don't get a swag bag worth $5,000 when I check into my hotel room at a con because I wrote that one omegaverse fic that everyone read. I do what I do and I write what I write because I want to be part of a community of fans.
But I should note that all is not loneliness and misery for Berlynn. I have had some of the greatest moments of my life making connections with people who actually did speak to me at cons. Sometimes it was just a hug and a few happy tears, sometimes it was deep philosophical discussions about writing dicks and butts while sitting on the floor of a party suite at two in the morning...but several of my IRL friends are people who were not afraid to just reach out to me after a panel, or say hello at the bar.
Here's how it might go when you connect with your favorite fanfic author: One of my closest friends is someone who was a big fan of my work, introduced to me by a mutual friend. Sitting across from me at a restaurant not too long after our introduction, this person had to point out to me that, whilst gesticulating exuberantly over my meal, I had gotten some macaroni and cheese on my sleeve. After that, they were not so starstruck anymore, and now we live in the same building, which makes it easy for us to hang out and giggle over old TV shows together a couple times a week.
Probably there are fanfic writers who don't want to be bothered, who don't want to be messaged, who aren't in it for the social connection...but they are not the ones following you on social media. They're not the ones with their inboxes open, anonymous messages on. And they're not the ones strolling through the common areas at cons looking for an empty seat at a table.
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this is what’s so crazy to me when people try to moralize about gothic literature. like all of you people complaining about porn brained-ness in bronte novels are making the EXACT SAME ARGUMENTS that old misogynist victorian white men were when the books were first published!!!!!!
I'm sorry for ever doubting you, horrendous creature. you absolutely could, with ease, fit a small human into your mouth. I acknowledge your mouth is in fact a convenient and comfortable size for a baby to nap it. due to extenuating circumstances, i will not be enabling such a situation,
hey did ya'll know that ed sheeran is working on a series of 6 albums named after media player buttons and the first one released last year and the last one is to be released posthumously on the day that he dies
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Women can write m/m. Men can write f/f. Asexuals can write filthy smut. Lesbians and gay men can write m/f. It's all arbitrary anyway. Who give a shit.
"Oh but they don't have an experience of-" I don't have any experience committing or solving murders either but that's still mostly what I read and write about.
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