rot

when your site started taking off, you immediately thought of osamu to ask for help- he was really good with that tech stuff and you trusted him with everything.

at first, he started behind the camera, managing comments, setting up automatic payment systems, all that jazz, but recently he’s been making guest appearances when the time called.

he’d tie your bonds for you, try out a new paddle gifted by a fan, and he’d even be the lucky guy you got to suck off while your cunt was stuffed by a tip-based dildo machine.

before every show, you and osamu would look through your inbox together, particularly for a comment from who you could call a “generous viewer.” their requests were sometimes extraneous…but it had to be worth the money considering you kept accepting.

so once a week, you see a familiar name pop up in your long list of requests.

it starts off with edging, then overstim, then pet play, step sibling role play, bondage, anal, impact play, etc. at this point, you wondered what even else was there to try?

and of course, osamu is there to help you through it all- strap you up to the spreader, slap you down your sopping cunt, tug at the leash attached to your collar, truly, he is the bestest friend you could have.

and at the end of the day, he’s able to split the profits with you so it’s a win-win for everyone!

you stared at your tv, a tub of ice cream in hand while watching the ridiculous boxing match play on the screen. and just like clockwork, the pink haired man won, pumping his fists into the air while everyone cheered him on.

sukuna fucking ryomen.

your pathetic ex, the sad sloppy excuse of a man (or so you liked to tell yourself), the self centred prick who still thrived off of the chaos and adrenaline of a good fight, was unfortunately still as hot as ever. sweat slicked down his back, his tattoos catching the lights around the ring while he was declared the winner. it was all the same until you noticed the fresh letters carved onto his chest.

pretty letters that unmistakably spelled out your name. and knowing his body and every inch of it, you knew that that wasn’t there before. this fucking loser. had you permanently etched on your skin. and just as you were about to frantically dial his number to give him an earful, he looked riiight at the camera—

“hey y/n. i know you’re watching this. stop ignoring my calls, baby.”

oh he was dead fucking meat.

you knew that it’d be mere minutes before he showed up at your doorstep—the same cycle of him begging to have you back, only to go back to his theatrically crafted suave persona.

and just like clockwork, about an hour later—riiiing!

you opened the door only to find sukuna, still drenched in sweat, standing at your doorway with a comically large bouquet in hand.

“are you fucking insane?”

“i take it that you saw my tattoo.”

you eyed him up and down, barely hiding your distaste—until he dropped to his knees before you.

“what the fuck are you doing. GET UP.”

“please, baby please i’ll do anything to get you back.”

he was down on the ground, your neighbours whispering while the renowned boxer hugged your legs, his head buried in your thighs, the bouquet he got long forgotten on the floor.

“please.”

he was begging now, kneeling before you while his eyes brimmed with tears. and a sick sick part of you made your heart skip a beat.

he was desperate, your name etched on his chest, on his knees, hugging your legs as if that’d ground you to him.

“is this because no one wants to fuck you anymore?” you snorted and he looks at you almost as if you slapped him across the face.

“c’mon doll, you know that’s not true.”

“pathetic.” you spat out, his face flushing a deep shade the moment you said it.

“you still have they repressed degradation kink i see. stupid fucking masochist.”

fuck.

“please—.”

“your begging needs improvement. we’ll see how good you do when i have you gagged and sobbing.” you cooed and you swore you could see his sweats tent just the slightest.

you were going to turn the boxing ring’s forbidden ryomen sukuna, into your pathetic, whiny little slut. and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

GRAAH. i like pathetic men. hehe. @yoonsucks @yorikae @rosiestrudel

dividers: @/pixopix .

POV: I found a page in your sketchbook... I think you have a crush on a certain middle blocker~

Just a character sheet of rough sketch Kei Tsukishima. Our favourite tsundere!

A @nightingalewrites333 original.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎O18 ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ፧ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‏‏‎‏‏YOU AVOIDED THEM TO HIDE YOUR ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‏‏‎FEELINGS ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏☆ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎

✶ users! › denji, a. hayakawa × m!reader.

✶ cw’s! › hc’s & lil scenarios thingy‎‏‏‎, light angst as well as arguing ofc, still gonna say ‏‏‎‎‏‏‎possible ooc.

✶ notes! › (nov. 2022) fixed grammatical errors that i ‎‏‏‎somehow did not notice before 💀

warnings: suggestive mentions, kind of crack

"you want to kiss me?"

denji nodded his head enthusiastically. "i've never been kissed before and i want some practice before i have sex."

"didn't you have a vomit kiss with himeno?" you smirked.

"that doesn't count!"

you couldn't lie, it was a strange request. then again, denji was a strange guy. he was sat on his knees in front of you. there had been a few times you had seen him beg before but never like this. he seemed both unfazed and desperate. a walking contradiction.