the voxofthevoid blog got nuked, so here we are

Not my most inspired pseudo-title, but the alternative is something something double penetration and who knows if that part will even make it into the WIP Wed snippets 🤣 The chosoita fic was on the verge of getting another entry, but then I was out of commission that week.

Anyway, I've only started this fic. It's the most thoroughly outlined of these oneshots. You'd think that means I can guess the approximate word count, but nope, especially since two-thirds of the ship are characters I've barely written before. I suspect it'll be a couple thousand more words before Hakari shows up.

Also, random note: Kirara's eyes/pupils are pretty unique even among all the freaky eyes abundant among JJK characters, and working in arousal responses with them has been pretty fun!

“You know, Yuu-chan, if you keep doing that, I’ll start getting ideas.”

Yuuji blinks at the screen, then at Kirara. “Huh?”

She stares pointedly down the length of her leg. Her foot flexes in Yuuji’s fist,  and he realizes he’s been squeezing and stroking it this whole time like it’s some sort of stress ball.

“Sorry,” he yelps, snatching his hand away.

Her foot arches in its wake—and slides up, right onto his crotch. “I didn’t say you had to stop.”

The fic's premise is this: Satoru keeps stumbling upon his new favorite student fucking his family members on school grounds. Naturally, he decides to wriggle his way into the dickquation.

The snippets below are, in order, sukuita, chosoita, and kenita—oh, and it's Kaorijaku 🌈

Satoru can’t see their faces, not properly. One has been pressed roughly against the guard rail, luckily turned away from Satoru. The other’s buried in a shoulder—or maybe the throat—and something about the gesture looks vicious.

It takes him several long seconds to figure out which one’s Yuuji.

His colleagues have a long list of complaints about Itadori Sukuna, but the tattoos are mentioned with frankly ridiculous frequency. They seem the least concerning trait of a boy who’s been suspended thrice during the one year and change he’s been in high school, with stories from middle school days that seem to be half exaggeration and half cold truth. Satoru does remember thinking the parents must be unusually permissive. Or simply neglectful. Yuuji, whose own reputation mostly revolves around his sports skills and uncanny ability to reel in his brother, wasn’t enough of an answer; parents don’t necessarily treat all their children the same.

The tableau in front of him isn’t exactly answering the question either, but maybe Satoru’s finding out exactly how Yuuji handles his brother.

The thick wrists pinned to the guard rail have plain dark bands inked into the skin. The hands keeping them there are rough-looking and a little bloody around the knuckles, but there’s no ink on them.

The real story’s happening a bit below, in the clothed hips rutting into a naked ass.

Sukuna’s pants are pooled on the floor, baring thickly muscled legs a shade darker than Yuuji’s skin. Well, darker than Yuuji’s face. For all Satoru knows, Yuuji’s legs look just like this. He can’t see them. Yuuji’s clearly opted for the time-honored tradition of unzipping just enough to whip his dick out—and right into his twin brother.

Chōsō’s still in his uniform, though not much of it is left on him. The standard dark pants are draped over the lone sink on the other side of the door, in what Satoru assumes is a half-hearted attempt at hygiene, and his shirt appears to have been unbuttoned all the way, the sides swaying violently in the air with the movement of their bodies. From Satoru’s vantage point, Chōsō looks like he’s naked—hairy legs are clamped tight around Yuuji’s hips, and slightly less hairy forearms are wrapped around his shoulders, the fists clenched tight. All he can see of Chōsō’s face is a dark tuft of hair. He’s hiding in the crook of his own arm, not that it does much to muffle the noises he’s making.

Satoru can’t judge him. Yuuji isn’t a gentle lover.

Chōsō doesn’t seem to mind. Sukuna claimed to, but Satoru is quite familiar with how little people like him mean those sorts of protests.

Satoru must have been standing there for a good five minutes when something—instinct or a particularly hard thrust or maybe just an animal need to move—makes Chōsō raise his head. His hair is dark and wild, gathered into two spiky buns that have been mussed up, probably at his brother’s hands. His face is pale and blandly handsome, made distinct by what looks like smoky red eyeshadow, and as Satoru watches, those painted lids flutter open, revealing dark eyes that stare out at nothing, glazed and unfocused.

Then they focus, snagging on Satoru and widening almost comically.

Satoru brings a finger to his lips, soundlessly shushing the boy.

“Fuck.” It’s from Yuuji—the first articulate sound he’s made in a while. “Chōsō, you got really tight right now.”

Satoru opens the infirmary door without knocking, stepping inside and closing it soundlessly behind him.

He’s not even surprised to find the nurse spread out on their half-naked son’s lap, their tight white uniform unbuttoned and hiked up for unmistakable purposes.

They catch sight of Satoru immediately, but instead of shock or trepidation, there’s a smile—dark red lips curling slowly into a sharp, toothless grin.

Kenjaku’s arms slide sinuously along Yuuji’s bare back, hugging him closer, and the motion pushes his face more firmly into their tits, and judging by the way Yuuji’s hands are clamped on them, holding them close and tight against his face, he’s quite happy with that state of affairs.

He seems even happier when they start to move, their knees digging deeper into the white bedding as their body ripples with rhythmic bursts of motions. Yuuji’s back and shoulder muscles flex and shift, especially when their nails dig into his flesh, but he’s not moving much, apparently content to sit there suffocating in tits while his mother rides his cock.

At least Satoru’s pretty sure that’s what they’re doing. He can’t see the details. Yuuji’s broad back eats up Kenjaku’s smaller frame, leaving only their head and limbs visible, but what Satoru can see is telling enough. Kenjaku’s uniform is still covering their shoulders and arms, but the sides are flapping in the air with the rise and fall of their body, and their legs are bare up to the upper thighs, but there’s white fabric rucked up right above them, probably kept in place by the splay of their legs.