dazedin2d

[dazedin2d]

Caught Between a Wall and a Hard Dick (Grayson) (DC Nightwing - NSFW) - Kinktober 2022

Description: 

(First posted on Pa*t*reon (pls see link in pinned post)! - early access Sept 25/22)

Kinktober 2022 Prompt #1: STUCK IN A WALL (aka kabeshiri - yeah, I had to look this one up LOL)

Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language and mature themes - reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings include: outdoor sex (in a sense lol), being stuck in a wall/"glory hole" type situation, some bits faintly wavering towards dub-con, mentions of masturbation, brief mention of edging

Word Count: ~3700 words (I promised myself I would keep these to 1500 words max.  Didn't happen.  Story of my life 😂)

Author's Note:

Hello lovelies!

Hope October is treating you well so far! 💕 Since we are dealing with more mature topics (Kinktober being the name of the game and all 🤣), please check out the warnings listed above!  That being said, please know that this fic is absolutely ridiculous, and I laughed myself silly writing it.  All in all, a good time was had.  I hope you will have fun reading this one, my friends!

-XOXO, Otonny 🥰💕

PS: Please suspend your disbelief and just imagine for one hot second that triple woven kevlar can be ripped by the bare hands of one super horny superhero.  Thanks! 🤩🤣

“Okay, on the count of three.  One, two, three!“

“Ow…ow!  Ouch!  Stop!  Nightwing, stop!”

“This isn’t working.  Thank god Batman isn’t here to see this.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if Batman were here in the first place.  He’d use the door, like a relatively normal person would, not try to show off by somersaulting through a hole in the wall.  Stop laughing, Dick!“

“All right, I’m sorry,” Nightwing wheezes in between peals of laughter, broad shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath.  “To be fair, no one told you to follow me through the hole.  Also, ‘Batman’ and ‘normal’ have no business being in the same sentence together.”

“I thought I could make it.  Clearly, I was wrong.  Damn these birthing hips!”

You struggle some more, kevlar gloves gripping onto brick for purchase as you attempt to push, pull, do anything to free the lower half of your body from the wall it was currently stuck in, your ego now thoroughly bruised in light of your previous declaration that you could do anything Nightwing was capable of doing.

So when tonight’s training consisted of you keeping up with him as he raced across the rooftops of Blüdhaven, you followed close behind, fighting to keep your breath even and steady as you ran, swung, flipped and jumped, doing so well at keeping pace that even you were surprised until Nightwing jumped — no, glided — through a hole in a wall on the rooftop of an apartment building, his form so perfect, he made it look like child’s play, so easy that anyone could do it…

…or so you thought until you got stuck, reality hitting hard in the form of a vice-like squeeze about your hips by brick and cement that refused to budge.

And now, your ass was literally an easy target, vulnerable and exposed to the dark night beyond while the upper half of your body fumed at one costumed Dick Grayson, still snickering in the stairwell of the decrepit apartment complex.

“Okay, so I need a bit more training before I can come out patrolling with you.  I get it.  But can you please stop laughing and help pull me out before someone comes?!  I don’t want to have to fabricate some weird sex fetish to explain why I’m wearing a mask and cape.”

“All right, just relax.  I’m moving.  Guess I’ll have to use the door this time.”

Dick draws out of sight and then you hear a click and thud, the heavy steel door echoing down the stairwell though Nightwing had done his best to let it close softly behind him.

You can sense his approach: the faint vibrations of his footsteps on the tarmac, the quiet rustle of limbs heard so faintly through cracks in the wall one might have missed it if one hadn’t been trained to listen.

You imagine Dick, his blue eyes behind the mask trained intently on your ass and you cannot keep a sudden rush of heat from rising to the surface of your skin, cheeks burning in a way you wanted to think had absolutely nothing to do with how close he was likely standing to you now, the sharp V of his hips level with your jutting rear end, scratching his chin as he contemplated how best to free you short of blowing up the wall and waking up everyone in a three-mile radius.

“Hey Nightwing, everything okay out there?” 

You try to keep your voice as low as possible, but cringe at the way it still echoed in that stairwell, the acoustics absolutely perfect for a Black Canary performance.

“Ahem, uh, yeah.  Just, uh, trying to figure out the best way to…dislodge you.”

“Not to seem ungrateful or demanding, but could you please hurry it up?  Believe it or not, this position’s not exactly comfortable.”

And it was true.  Just not necessarily in the way it would seem.

It wasn’t so much the physical strain of being bent over and stuck that presented a problem; Dick had trained you well enough in the gym and out in the field that maintaining this position for an extended period of time wasn’t an issue.  Rather, it was the thought that his undivided attention was now focused on your ass; that he would have to put hands on your hips and thighs in order to free you from your prison.  Even thinking about this set your nerves on edge, reminding you of the time Dick had accidentally touched your breast in the midst of practicing an aerial maneuver. 

At that time, he gave no indication he had even noticed what had happened, occupied as he was on making sure he caught you before you had the chance to fall to your death on a pile of overflowing trash bins sixteen stories below.

But you, you had burned red beneath your mask, thanking god all the while for the fact that it was too dark for him to really see your face.

Although, you suppose he could with those infrared cameras he had built into his mask…

Never mind.  

You weren’t going to think about that.  And you definitely weren’t going to ruminate on the excitement you felt to have his hand on your breast.  Or how large and manly they looked whenever he peeled his gloves off at the end of a long night of patrolling, right before reaching into the cupboard for a box of sugary kid’s cereal as a snack before collapsing into bed.

No, you were determined not to think of those twilight hours spent lying awake in the room next to his, wondering if Dick could somehow sense your heart pounding through paint and drywall as your fingers traipsed beneath the waistband of your pyjama bottoms to pretend your hand was his, rubbing insistent circles over the wetness that would inevitably pool between your legs every time you thought of him:

Dick Grayson.  Nightwing.  Your mentor and partner in the fight against crime.

NO.

Now is neither the time nor place, you scold yourself, steering your thoughts towards the more pressing matter of why you could no longer hear him on the other side of the wall.

“Um, Nightwing, is everything okay?  Are you all right?!” you ask, panic starting to set in to think that somehow, unbeknownst to you and the upper half of your body, trouble had come calling for your partner and booty.

Though presumably, you would’ve heard something.  The wall did have a hole large enough for a person to slip through (albeit not one with hips that Shakira would’ve been proud of).  And Nightwing was more than capable of taking care of himself in any situation.  So what, then, was the cause of the radio silence?  The fact that you could no longer sense any movement behind you?

“You’ve torn your suit.”

“What?!”

Voice catching in your throat, your strangled reply echoes like a ghoul in the night.  It wasn’t so much your outfit that you were concerned about — that triple woven kevlar could somehow rip without your knowledge.  What you did find concerning however, was the way Nightwing was now behaving: strangely out-of-character.

“Right…” he continues, voice barely audible on the other side of the wall. “…here.”

GASP!

You clap a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the sound that escaped the moment you felt his touch: one long finger running along the seam that joined your skintight suit down the middle, sliding down the small of your back and over the curved crevice of your backside to close in on the heat between your legs.

You start to sweat, temperature suddenly spiking in reaction to the weird turn of events — as if the night could get any more bizarre. Holding your breath, you wait for Dick to crack a joke; say something lighthearted to ease the tension like he could always be counted on to do.  Except this time, he doesn’t.  This time, he says:

“This is dangerous.  Your suit is compromised.  We need to fix this.  Immediately.”

Different.  Darker.  Dick’s voice is even lower now in both tone and volume, so much so that you have to strain your ears to hear him. The measure of his words is slow and sure, and it makes you twitch, hips shifting in an animal inclination to wiggle your ass in order to please him.

“Wh-what do you suppose we do?” you ask, palms planting on your side of the brick wall so as to exaggerate the curve of your back.

In your mind’s eye, you imagine Dick’s breath catching — much the same way it did that time he accidentally caught you running naked from the shower to your bedroom because it was laundry day and you had forgotten to replace the towels in the bathroom you shared as roommates.

For a moment, he had stood frozen: mouth open and blue eyes fixed to your bare breasts, the creamsicles he had left the apartment a few minutes ago to procure for the two of you dripping down both hands. And then, he had abruptly turned his back to you, muttering something about chasing down ice cream trucks that didn’t want to stop.

But you had caught it: the desire in his eyes.

Undeniable, like the flush creeping up his cheeks or the tent in his jeans before he spewed “Sorry-i-didn’t-see-anything” and ducked into his room, pulling the door closed behind him with his foot because he was still holding on to two melting lumps of citrus-flavoured ice cream.

It was the elephant in the room.  The big, unspoken cloud that constantly hung over the two of you when you weren’t preoccupied with discussing training plans or the moves of petty criminals and supervillains, a topic neither dared to broach because it would make things way too messy, too complicated…

…too good to be true? 

Was it really too good to be true?  And if so, how good? you can’t help thinking, having left the ball in Dick’s court and waiting with bated breath for his next move.

“I think there’s only one thing to do to get you out of this sticky situation.”

More rustling of limbs behind you.  Perhaps your partner moving in close, kneeling to get a better look at what he was dealing with. Which could only mean one thing:

Dick’s face was now in your ass.

He touches you and you jolt, feeling the slip of his finger through the rip in your suit, right at the junction of your thighs.  You wonder if Dick could feel it — the soaked gusset of your panties.  But the suspense lasts for all of a second before he mutters,

“God, you’re wet,”

and adds a second finger to the first, Nightwing gripping onto your suit to tear it down the middle in one swift motion, exposing your flimsy panties to the night.

Throb.

Legs growing weak, you lose your balance for a moment, falling into the brick at the waist.  Your clit pulses at what had just transpired, ushering in a new wave of wetness that threatens to spill down your thighs.

“There.  Now that part of your suit has been removed, try squeezing through the hole on your side.”

It was bullshit and you knew it.  The suit was thin to begin with; shaving off a few millimetres wasn’t going to do much.  But you obey regardless, moving your hips from side to side in a manner so suggestive you felt your nipples harden to think of the effect it must’ve been having on Dick.

“Like this?” 

Laying it on thick, you feign innocence in an attempt to see how far the charade would take you.

“Yeah, just like that.  But it’s not good enough.  I think we ought to get rid of this too.”

And just like that, your panties fall away with another unceremonious rip.

“There.  Spread your legs.  Wider.  Yes, like that.  Try moving now.”

It was insanity.  

How his instructions aroused you so, even with Dick’s voice muffled and muted behind a brick wall.  You couldn’t see him, and he had barely even touched you aside from doing what he needed to do to tear off your panties and the bottom half of your suit.  And yet, he had you on edge, every shake and tremble of your body foreshadowing a climax so intense it threatened to make you scream so loudly it would wake everyone in the building.

The evening air blew cool across your skin, a contrast with the wet heat radiating out from between your legs, obediently spread for your mentor’s inspection; a crude reminder that you had an audience.

So you put on a show, exaggerating the arch of your back as you walk your hands further down towards the base of the wall, playing up the angle of your ass in an attempt to beckon, to entice…

…to prod Dick into crossing the tension-filled line the two of you had been toeing for months now.

“It’s still not working.  I think I need a push.  A thrust from behind.“

There.  The final nail in the coffin.

All Nightwing needed to move.

You can hear it, sense it; the flurry of activity as a half-step brings him towards you: the cool sensation of Dick’s dark suit as he pressed his hips into your bare skin, the familiar sound of a glove slipping off before his palm is resting on the small of your back, a shudder of breath rising from the cavity of his chest, escaping in a soft hiss the moment he feels the touch of you, skin to skin.

He really was so obvious.

“Are you sure about this?  I-I can always try the explosives, if you want—“

And a gentleman through and through.

“Just fuck me, Dick Grayson.”

Another intake of breath, sharp this time, and Nightwing’s moan transforms into a growl, low and guttural.  You bite down hard onto your lower lip, doing your best not to draw blood though it was imperative that you did not scream.  But the feeling of Dick’s lips on your body — tracing kisses in arcs that rounded the flesh of your ass before traversing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs — made it difficult not to, especially when they grew in urgency, his tongue extending to lap the length of your slit, the heat of his breath combining with an appreciative hum that you felt more than heard, thrumming through your core.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmy—“

You barely recognized the sound of your own voice: pitched high and growing in desperation by the second in a way you knew would make you cringe later on to remember when you were dressed more casually in a t-shirt and jeans.  Because there was no way you’d ever forget the way this felt: Dick’s tongue laving slow before flicking fast across your swollen clit, the man’s mouth on your pussy nothing less than pure magic in the way he brought you just to the edge of orgasm before backing off, teasing you in this way over and over again.

They said he was a pretty boy with a face too handsome to shoot, a man who had no trouble scoring even after having made some bad life decisions, like wearing green pixie boots, or even sporting a mullet.  It didn’t hurt either that he could easily count his rear end among his best “ass”-ets: pert and ample and shapely enough to fill out his suit like nobody’s business.  But it was only now that you were realizing that when it came to Nightwing, looks were only a tiny part of the equation.

Because the way he worked you over was almost criminal — sinful with how good it felt to be at his complete mercy that you were actually thankful to have gotten stuck.  Having sat himself between the wall and your thighs, Dick ate you out with gusto, his fingers busy kneading the flesh of your ass when they weren’t sliding into your pussy, taking turns in competing with his tongue to see which could elicit the most salacious moans from your lips.

“Better keep it quiet over there.  Don’t wanna wake the neighbours.”  

The smirk is obvious in the voice of the hypocrite who shamelessly chose to ignore the wet sounds he himself was producing with his head between your legs, Dick lapping with abandon as his fingers gripped onto your hips, encouraging you to rest more of your weight onto that handsome face.

Your breasts ache within the confines of your suit, sorely missing the action on the other side of the wall.  In desperation, you touch yourself, trying in vain to feel pinches and caresses through material that just refused to give.  Frustration mounting, you accidentally let out a petulant whine — much to your horror.

Whining was never your thing.

But then again, neither was having sex through a hole in a wall.

“Baby, if you wanted more, just ask.”

Baby? BABY?! Did having midnight sex on a rooftop in the heart of Blüdhaven mean that you and Dick were at the point where terms of endearment were allowed?  Also, how was it possible that the word sounded a million times sexier coming from his mouth?!

Dick pulls away and there is more shuffling, more movement.  You imagine him pulling down the bottom half of his suit until it sits below the diamond-cut V of his hips, the sleek black second-skin hugging the rounded curves of his perfect glutes.  You imagine his tights bunched around the bulky musculature of his thighs, the same ones you covertly juiced over every time it was leg day at the gym.

You had always wondered whether he wore underwear beneath that unforgiving suit, and if so, how it was even possible for him to hide those lines.  For now, however, you were content with settling for the image of Dick Grayson pulling out his, well, dick, and slowly stroking from base to tip and back again, a smile on his lips as he contemplated the messy smear of your wet pussy, spread wide and waiting beneath the hazy glow of the city’s ambient light.

“You ready for your second lesson of the night?” he asks.

“Second lesson?  What was the first?”

“Not to jump through holes in walls unless you’re absolutely sure you can make it.”

You’re so lucky I’m horny as fuck right now, you grit your teeth.  “Right, of course, Professor Nightwing.  And what’s the second lesson?”

“I’m gonna teach you how to be quiet in any situation.  Now get ready for a pop quiz.”

THRUST!

Gasp!

You almost choke on it; the air that catches in your throat the moment Dick enters you fully with a single thrust of his powerful hips.  You can feel him, the base of his cock flush against your body, your walls pulsing in reaction to the sudden intrusion of his length, his hardness, his girth, Dick’s fingers spreading your cheeks wider as he attempted to bury himself even further.

“Keep quiet now.  Not a peep, understood?  Or else it’ll be an F for you.  And I know you don’t like to fail.  Isn’t that right, teacher’s pet?  Yes, that’s what I thought.  Such a good kitty.”

Dick reaches down as he says this, hand between your legs; petting and teasing as his fingers skirt over your clit in an attempt to see how wet you could get, how tightly your walls could squeeze around him.

He settles index and thumb in a crescent about the circumference of his cock as he picks up speed, savouring the feel of your delicate skin stretched thin and wide around his body, every stroke dislodging more and more of your mutual arousal, the creamy evidence eliciting a guttural moan from the man that you considered entirely unfair when you were forced to keep quiet in a stairwell that possessed the acoustics of an opera house.

“This feels incredible.  You are incredible,” Nightwing sighs, stopping to pull back for a moment, as if to admire the sight of your pussy trembling from his administrations, right before diving back in with renewed speed and vigour to make you clench both hands into fists, biting your lower lip until it was blanched of blood.  “God, I could fuck you all night.  All day too, for that matter.”

Dick Grayson had always been chatty.  Apparently, sex was no exception.  It made you blush; every sweet, filthy word falling from his lips adding so much to the lasciviousness of the situation that you weren’t sure which turned you on more: the way his cock managed to hit just the right angle at just the right time, or the way he played with your mind, his verbal calisthenics every bit a match for his physical prowess.

And though you did your best to stay quiet on your side of the wall, the lower half of your body was a different matter — arousal made obvious to your partner with every slick slide of his cock in and out of your body, the wet sounds of your copious juices dripping down to smear the insides of your thighs and across the hard, muscular plane of Dick’s groin.

Nightwing was right.  It felt incredible.  Even when stuck in a wall, he could’ve fucked you all day and night and you’d still want more, eager and willing to take him deeply into yourself, to have Dick do whatever he wanted with you.  Because you trusted him like you trusted no other:

You trusted him with your life.

And perhaps it is this very thought that sends you, makes you feel free to let go; stepping off the ledge of control to let the most intense orgasm of your life take you. 

Dick fucks through it: pushing through the clenching pulse of your walls around him, your pussy milking his cock as he neared his own completion.

But not before he gives you one hard, final thrust from behind.

Because Nightwing — always dutiful, always resourceful — would never leave his partner hanging, stuck in a brick wall with her bare ass exposed.

And right before you pass out from the arrival of a second orgasm coming fast on the tail end of the first, you feel it:

Your hips finally sliding through the hole…

…and your head meeting the ground.

And one Dick Grayson muttering:

“Oh shit.”

Ahahahaha!!  Hope y'all enjoyed that ending! 🤣 Thank you so much for reading till the very end!  Much love to each and every one of you! For more juicy reads, please check out my P*a*t*reon page (please see link in pinned post)!

👀👉🏼 Feel free to peep the Masterpost here!

-XOXO, Otonny 💖🥰

"Caught Between a Wall and a Hard Dick (Grayson)" is copyright 2022 Otonymous, all rights reserved.

(Illustration taken from Nightwing Cover #88 by Bruno Redondo)

[dazedin2d]

crown of ruin

𝐭𝐚𝐠���� / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW !! (18+), sexual themes, MDNI, dark romance, lots of blood and violence and death (no major characters), true form sukuna, smut (lots and lots of smut whoops), cockwarming, public sex, creampie, fingering, sukuna is a munch

a/n: this fic is focused on heian era sukuna bc i am begging to be railed by him. It is a BEAST like so long and lots of fuckin buuuuuut not proofread so pls forgive me. Let me know what you liked!

word count: 13k

— reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated.

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The palace doors groaned open, revealing a figure draped in ceremonial silk, chains clinking with each hesitant step. You were presented as a tribute, a concubine offered to the King of Curses to appease his wrath.

The humans made you kneel. 

Not out of reverence—never that—but as a show of submission. Your wrists were bound with golden chains, your ankles tethered loosely beneath your ceremonial silks, the pale fabric dragging like smoke across the polished stone of his throne room. You had been painted and perfumed like a gift, lips stained red and lashes darkened with soot. A walking offering. A living seal.

But you were not here to be adored. You had not been bred to rule. There was no hope of that. You were here to survive– and maybe not even that.

The guards flanked you in silence, shoulders rigid beneath their imperial armor. The courtiers along the walls refused to meet your eyes. Even the high priest, who announced your presence with shaking hands and a voice laced with dread, couldn’t keep from swallowing the tremor in his throat.

“Ryomen Sukuna… receives the offering of House Kosei,” He began. You watched the subtle shake of his hands, the harsh bob of his adams apple, “A daughter of noble blood. A token of peace.”

A token of peace, you repeated in your mind, resisting the urge to laugh. The daughter of a minor noble house too cowardly to face war– no, you were bred from birth to be beautiful, silent, and disposable. A token of peace? No. A lamb for slaughter. A body wrapped in silk, trained to kneel, to smile, to die.

And then he said—nothing.

Not even a breath left the priest's lips.

You felt him before you saw him. A presence. A pressure in the air. Like the gravity of the world had suddenly shifted around one axis—and that axis stood at the far end of the hall, sprawled upon a throne of black stone and lacquered bone.

Ryomen Sukuna.

The King of Curses. The Demon Lord. The god no temple dared house.

He sat as if he ruled not just this palace—but time, life, and death itself.

Four arms. Four burning eyes. Ink-black markings crawled across every inch of skin, tracing down the thick cords of muscle on his chest and arms, coiling like serpents around the mouth carved grotesquely into his stomach. His hair was disheveled, unkempt, a ceremonial blood crown resting crooked atop it. The light hit him like fire—casting shadows that moved when he did not.

He did not speak for a long time. Only watched you, each of his eyes blinked independently, slowly.

You didn’t flinch. You refused. You would not back away from this destiny of yours. You hadn’t cried when the court stripped you of your freedom. You didn’t wince when the priests had carved blessings into your back. You hadn’t begged when the nobles used you like currency.

Because it wasn't the curses you feared. It was humans—the ones who smiled as they broke you.

Your jaw clenched, spine trembling, but you remained unbowed as his eyes raked over you like a blade.

He shifted.

One hand rested beneath his chin. Another draped lazily over the armrest. The two lower arms hung over his knees—casual, yet coiled like vipers. Ready to strike.

“This is the offering?” he said finally.

His voice was rough silk, soaked in blood and smoke. It rolled through the chamber, making the walls seem smaller and the air heavier.

You didn’t answer.

Not until he rose.

The hall shuddered with it. No one breathed.

He stepped down from the dais slowly, like a predator choosing not to pounce. He was massive—towering above everyone, barefoot and shirtless beneath his ceremonial haori, his clawed feet silent against the floor. You could feel the heat of him as he drew closer.

You lifted your chin.

His smirk was slow and sharp. One of his right hands lifted—fingers touching your jaw, tilting your face toward the light.

“Hm,” he mused. “You don’t tremble. Not even now.”

“I would rather die with my spine intact,” you said, soft but steady. Your eyes betrayed you, though, of the years of rage buried deep within. Rage against humans, against the gods, against yourself.

He laughed. A rich, vicious sound that echoed like a death knell. “You have rage,” he said. “I like that.” His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, and you hated how your skin tingled under his touch. “Unchain her.”

The guards hesitated. You could feel them hesitate. Sukuna didn’t speak again—he didn’t have to. With a flick of his fingers, one of the men fell, throat slit by an invisible force.

The chains fell immediately after.

You rose slowly, shackles clattering to the floor. You did not rub your wrists. You met his gaze instead. His eyes roamed your face again—this time, slower. Hungrier. Not the hunger of flesh, but the hunger of ownership. Of choice.

“From this moment,” he said, loud enough for all the court to hear, “you belong to me.” Your breath caught. “You will reside in my inner chambers. No one is to speak to her. No one is to touch her.” His voice dropped, teeth bared. “Anyone who does… will die screaming.”

Gasps echoed across the hall. You stood rooted to the floor, heart racing.

“She is mine,” Sukuna said. And then he turned. Without another word, he walked away—leaving behind blood, silence, and the weight of a throne that had just become your prison.

Or perhaps… your crown. 

The guards who escorted you didn’t speak.

They kept their eyes lowered. Their steps were precise, nearly soundless, even on the polished black stone of the inner corridors. The palace shifted around you as you walked deeper into its heart—past gilded columns shaped like twisted bone, past incense braziers that smoldered with a smoke too sweet to be natural, past murals depicting war and ruin and sacrifice. No one explained anything.

They wouldn’t dare speak Sukuna’s will aloud.

You had no idea how long you walked. You stopped counting turns after the fifth gate—each one guarded, each one more elaborately carved than the last. It felt less like entering a palace and more like descending into something ancient, something hollowed out by power and filled with blood.

At last, they reached a pair of doors unlike the others.

They weren’t painted or gilded like the ones before.

They were red.

Deep crimson wood, stained with something darker at the base. No handles. No guards.

The older of the two men who had accompanied you stepped forward. He bowed deeply—not to you, but to the door itself.

Then he turned and left.

The younger one glanced at you once—just once—before following.

You were alone.

The silence pressed in around you. You stared at the red doors.

Then, slowly, they opened.

Not by your hand.

But his.

The doors didn’t close behind you– they sealed.

Soundless and final, the weight of them locking like the lid of a tomb filled the room. You stood just inside, the echo of your chains still clinging to your ears, your breath shallow as your eyes adjusted.

This was the inner palace.

No windows. No servants. No escape.

Only him.

Sukuna stood a few paces away, his back to you, the firelight from the pit ahead throwing shadows across his shoulders. You could see where his markings dipped beneath his loose robes, where the muscles of his back flexed as he rolled his neck once and exhaled.

“Come forward.”

You didn’t move at first.

Then you did—slow, measured steps across the stone. You had no shoes. No chains now. The sound of your bare feet felt louder than it should have.

He turned when you reached him.

Eyes met eyes.

“Strip.”

The word landed sharp and quiet.

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you lifted your hands and untied the sash at your waist. The ceremonial silk pooled at your feet with a whisper, baring the skin the court had painted, perfumed, and marked for death.

You stood tall. You didn’t cover yourself.

You had been naked before gods far more cruel.

Sukuna didn’t speak. He stepped forward, slower this time, letting his gaze drag over every inch of you. There was no lechery in it. No kindness, either. Only assessment.

Ownership.

Curiosity.

Like a man staring into a fire and wondering if it would burn him. One of his lower hands reached out—just barely—and traced the scars on your back. Not the kind left by whips or knives. The kind carved with intention. Ritual. Control.

“Humans did this to you,” he said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“Not curses.”

“No.”

His mouth curled—something between rage and amusement. “They tried to break you before giving you to me.”

“They failed.” 

His eyes lifted to meet yours. A pause. Then— “Do you know why I claimed you?”

“Because I didn’t tremble.”

“No.” He stepped closer. Until the warmth of him crawled across your skin like smoke. “Because you looked at me,” he said, “and I saw myself. I’ve ruled for centuries. I’ve torn emperors apart. Dismembered gods. But you stood in front of me and refused to fall.” He reached out again—higher this time—and cupped your chin between two fingers. His thumb brushed your bottom lip. 

You stared back. “Am I a prisoner?”

His mouth twitched. “No.” His fingers traced the edge of your throat. “You’re a thing I kept. Not because you’re weak.” He leaned down, his voice like a threat and a confession. “Because I don’t share.”

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The chamber was large but dim, lit only by braziers of ghostly blue flame and a single window covered by a screen of painted silk. The walls were lined with hanging scrolls, each depicting monstrous scenes—curses devouring armies, palaces in ruin, gods begging for mercy. And yet the center of the room was quiet. Comfortable, even. A low bed of black furs. A lacquered table set for one. Shelves lined with ink pots, blades, and things you did not wish to name.

He watched you take it all in. You didn’t speak again after you dressed. He liked that.

“This is where you’ll stay,” Sukuna said, after a long pause. He was walking past you, each step slow and loud on the stone floor. “Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Until I decide otherwise.” He stopped before the furs. Turned to face you again. “Is that clear?”

You met his gaze. “Perfectly.”

Something flickered across his face. The top right arm twitched slightly. A small tic, easy to miss. “Most would cry,” he said, crossing two arms over his chest while the others relaxed at his sides. “Or beg. Or pray.”

“I’m not most.”

His lower hand lifted, slow and deliberate. He gestured to you. “Take that off.” You didn’t move. “Your robes, once more,” he clarified, voice thick now. “They smell like someone else’s fear. It’s nauseating.”

Still, you didn’t obey. Not at first. And then, you reached up—slowly—and untied the sash at your waist. The silk pooled at your feet once more, revealing the shift beneath. Thin. Pale. Decorative. His eyes moved over you, slowly. Not with lust, but with claiming. With calculation.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he murmured. “Even now.”

“I should be,” you said.

“But you’re not.”

You shook your head. Sukuna stepped closer. The air changed with his proximity, warmer, heavier. His hands didn’t touch you—but the weight of them hovered near your skin, palpable, charged. He stopped behind you. You could feel him there as his lower hands slid to your waist. Not squeezing. Not hurting. Just holding.

“You intrigue me.” A beat of silence passed. Then he leaned in. His mouth brushed your ear. “But don’t confuse that with kindness.”

The words seared across your skin. You turned your head just enough to glance back at him. “Would you kill me if I did?”

His smile was slow. “I’d fuck you first.”

Heat bloomed across your chest—but you didn’t let him see it. He stepped away then, just as suddenly as he’d come close, and moved toward the window. “The concubines before you didn’t last long. Pretty, but dull. Greedy. Weak.” He looked over his shoulder at you. “Do not bore me.”

You crossed your arms, standing barefoot in his silence. “Then keep watching.”

Another beat.

Then he laughed—low and dangerous and pleased. “Oh, I will.”

He turned back to the fire, leaving you alone in the center of the room.

Still standing.

Still unbroken.

But more bound than ever.

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You didn’t sleep the first few nights. Not really. The furs beneath you were impossibly soft, and the room was warm enough. But you couldn’t close your eyes. Not when he was still awake. Not when he was still watching.

The inner palace is silent, but not empty. Its hush is the kind that listens—like the walls are waiting for you to scream, or cry, or break.

You do none of those things.

Instead, you sit on the edge of the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest, robe falling off one shoulder as the nights bleed into nothing. He hadn’t left, not once since you’d been brought to this place. Across the chamber tonight, Sukuna lounges near the firepit, shirtless still, two of his arms folded lazily behind his head while the other two toy idly with a blade.

He hasn’t looked at you in over an hour. But you can feel him thinking about you. He’s dangerous even when still. More so when quiet.

His cursed presence fills every breath of air. It’s not magic—just him. A pressure. A watching. Something ancient and unmovable, as if the gods had carved his existence into the bones of the world and then regretted it.

He hasn't touched you once since that first day. Not when the flames burned low each night. Not when you met his eyes again—and again—and again. But the desire was there. It thickened the air between you like ash in your lungs. And it made your skin feel too tight around your body.

Still, you didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Until the fire cracked—and you shift off the bed. The moment your foot touched the ground, he speaks. “Stay.”

You freeze. “You told me I could move freely,” you reply, not turning around.

“I said no one else may touch you, woman,” he says, voice calm. “I never said you could leave my sight.”

You glance over your shoulder, slowly. His lower right hand now holds the blade against the light. A short, curved thing—simple but wicked. His thumb traces the flat edge, back and forth, back and forth.You wonder how many people have died by it. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet. You wonder how many people have died by it. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet.

“They thought I’d tear you apart the first night.” 

You turned your head on the pillow, meeting his gaze. “Why didn’t you?”

Sukuna didn’t smile. But the tilt of his head sharpened. “Because I don’t tear apart what I haven’t figured out yet.”

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” you ask softly.

A beat.

Then his eyes—all four of them—lift to meet yours.

“No,” he says. Then he rises. It’s too smooth. Too silent. His body unfolds like smoke and menace, muscles rippling under marked skin as he steps forward, one hand twirling the blade, the others falling slowly to his sides. “I want you to know exactly how much I could destroy you,” he continues, “and choose to stay anyway.” You don’t move, even as your pulse jumps. Not even when he traced the edge of your shift where it slipped off your shoulder with his eyes. “That fabric wasn’t meant to last long,” he said. “They wanted me to break you in it. To ruin their little offering.”

You met his gaze head on. “You still can.”

His hand froze. Then dropped. “Don’t tempt me, brat.”

“Why not?” you asked. “Isn’t that what I was made for?”

“No,” he said immediately—sharper than before. “You were made to survive them. And they hated you for it.”

You blinked. Slowly. Carefully.

“And you don’t?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches you in two steps, stopping before the bed. You tilt your chin up, in curiosity, in defiance; you’re not sure which yet.

He’s massive like this—closer than he was the night before. All ink and god-borne-flesh and bloodstained power. The mouth on his torso opens in a lazy smirk, breathing something you can’t name. He tosses the blade aside.

Then—he lowers to his knees. Slowly. Intentionally. Not like a servant— never that. But like a beast—settling. Four hands come to rest on you. Two on your knees, two on your calves, his eyes level with yours now, expression unreadable.

“I haven’t knelt for anyone in over a century,” he says without breaking eye contact. You swallow hard.

“Why now?” You ask, voice hoarse.

His hands on your knees slide slowly up your thighs. Not demanding. Not even coaxing. Just there.

“Because you haven’t begged,” he says. “Because you haven’t cried.” He leans in—his mouth inches from yours. “Because I want you to. And I can’t decide if I’ll hate you or worship you when you finally do.”

The silence crackles between you two. You don’t lean back, you don’t press away from him. You allow his hands to roam. Your back stays straight, eyes still unwavering as they gaze into his.

“I might never give you that,” you say, finality in your words.

“Good,” he growls. “Then I won’t grow bored.”

His lower arms shift. One hand settles on the small of your back. The other wraps around your ankle, gently tugging until your foot rests against his thigh. His other hands press, spreading your thighs apart. You don’t react, don’t give him a gasp or a shiver.

Instead you breathe carefully. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whisper.

“No,” he says. “I’m claiming what’s mine.” His mouth brushes the inside of your thigh—slow, reverent even. “But I’ll wait,” he says while he presses a kiss there.“Because when you break,” another kiss—just above your heart now—“I want it to be for me.”

You tremble. He pulls back. Stands again, all that brutal height and heat towering above you once more.

The days that followed after that blurred. You were not locked away. But you were always watched.

Sukuna summoned no other consorts. No priests. No guards. Only you. The room stayed yours. The food arrived without ceremony. And he… he never left. Some nights, he sat near the fire and painted symbols in blood. Other nights, he slept on the furs across the room—bare-chested and sprawled, as if daring you to run.

But you didn’t. Because running would have meant giving your clan what they wanted.

And he was not the one who broke you.

You learned his silences first. How the tension in his shoulders eased when you didn’t flinch under his gaze. How his mouth curved slightly—just slightly—when you ate without asking permission. You learned that he liked to watch you read the scrolls. That he liked to sit closer every day. That sometimes—when he thought you were asleep—his fingers hovered near your skin, not touching, just trembling with the urge to.

You learned what made him angry. When you said the name of the house that gave you away or when you mentioned the temple that blessed your back. 

When you asked what he did to the last woman who failed to hold his interest, he didn’t answer. He only stood, stepped behind you, and whispered against the shell of your ear— “She didn’t last long enough to make me bleed.”

You didn’t ask again. But part of you wanted to be the reason he bled.

Not out of vengeance.

But to prove you could reach him.

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On the seventh week, he offered you a choice. “Stay beside the fire,” he said. “Or sleep beside me.”

“Why offer?” you asked. “You could take.”

“Because I want you to choose me.”

You stared at him. He didn’t look away. And for the first time, you saw it clearly. It wasn’t about power. It wasn’t about sex. It was about control—not over you, but over himself.

You’d become the thing he denied himself.

The thing he hovered near. The heat he refused to touch because he didn’t know what it would mean if he burned.

You didn’t answer with words. You crossed the room instead, and knelt before him on the edge of his furs. You placed your hand—light, soft—on his knee and tilted your head. “What now, King of Curses?”

His eyes darkened. “Now,” he murmured, “you begin to understand.” He pulled you into his lap—not to fuck. Not yet. Just to hold.

Your legs curled across his. Your head pressed to his chest. And his hands—all four—settled on your body like armor. No priest had ever held you like that. No man had ever dared.

But he did. And for the first time, you felt it. Not safe. But wanted.

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The summons came without words. Just a servant with shaking hands and wide, fearful eyes—holding out a folded piece of parchment sealed not with wax, but blood.

Yours.

You recognized the smear instantly. It was from the ritual two nights ago. When Sukuna had taken a dagger and pressed it into your palm—not to hurt you, but to bind you. A quiet offering. A drop into the brazier. A mark only he would ever use.

You didn’t flinch then. You didn’t now.

“You’re to come,” the servant stammered. “To court. At his side.” His side. Not the gallery. Not the shadows.

You looked down at your hands. You had dressed yourself that morning plainly. Soft silk in deep black, no jewels. But the fabric clung to your shape in a way that felt deliberate. Honest. Unapologetic.

You let your hair fall loose down your back, untouched by oils or paint. You didn’t belong to the palace.

You belonged to him.

And now, they would see it.

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They dressed you in red.

Not the soft crimson of courtly elegance, but deep, bleeding scarlet—rich as fresh blood and twice as heavy. The robe dragged behind you in a dark ripple of silk, embroidered with black thread that shimmered like ink in water. Every movement reminded you who had ordered it to be made.

Sukuna’s colors.

Sukuna’s claim.

You hadn’t asked to be summoned. No one in the inner palace spoke to you unless necessary. The servants moved like ghosts, careful not to look directly at you. Since the night you were brought inside, no one dared speak your name.

Only one voice ever reached you clearly now.

And it belonged to him.

“You will attend the court this week,” Sukuna had said not long ago, brushing a thumb across your shoulder as if to mark you anew. “Let them see you. Let them learn.”

So now you walked. Unarmed. Alone. Into a den of lions who knew only too well how beautiful you looked in red.

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The throne room was exactly as you remembered it. Cavernous. Cold. Drenched in gold and silence. The room was filled when you arrived. Courtiers, generals, advisors, priestesses, emissaries from the lesser provinces. All in their finest silks. All pretending not to stare. But the silence was unnatural—thick with tension, like the hush before a storm, a clear marker that something had shifted.

It was in the way the guards avoided your eyes—not with pity, but with caution. It was in the way the nobles stilled when they saw you walk beside him. Not behind. Not several paces away. Beside.

In the center, high upon his throne, sat Sukuna. He said nothing when you entered. He didn’t look at you– didn’t need to. You felt his presence first, like heat licking down your spine. He was sprawled on his monstrous throne like he owned not just the room, but every breath inside it.

Then your eyes met. Four of his. Two of yours.

And the rest of the room ceased to matter.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t look away. You didn’t even hesitate. He smirked as you approached and offered you his lap. No words exchanged, no grand gesture.

Just one lower hand outstretched, palm open. Waiting. An invitation only you could see. Only you would understand.

You walked the length of the hall in silence, your sandals clicking softly against the polished stone. Each step was a challenge, a sentence, a vow.

I am here. I am not afraid. I am not hiding.

You kept your eyes on him. Always on him.

You stepped onto the dais and sank into his lap like a queen descending into her rightful throne.

You hadn’t kneeled. Hadn’t even inclined your head. Anyone else would have died on the spot at the hands of the King of Curses.

Instead, his arms curled around you. Two across your waist. One across your thigh. The last resting loosely around your shoulders, his fingers playing absently with the ends of your hair.

You felt the shift. In him. In the court. The pressure in the room changed like the drop before a storm.

You were not supposed to be here. And you were not supposed to look like you belonged.

The whispers started near the back. Soft at first.

Then one—braver than the rest—spoke. “Is she allowed to—”

He didn’t finish the sentence because as Sukuna’s arm tensed around your middle, the brave one collapsed before the statement was done—his tongue severed, his throat seizing, his body limp.

Sukuna never looked away from the front of the hall.

But his voice was low in your ear. “Your pulse quickened when he looked. Your arousal scented the air when he bled.” You didn’t breathe. “Your body betrays you, little queen.”

One of his lower hands slid up, slowly, pressing just beneath your ribs. You were fully clothed. Seated on him. You could feel him, twin headed and hard beneath your lap. The press of him between your legs—begging to be inside you.

He had wanted to fill you since before you walked in. Had wanted to split you open across his cocks. Keep you.

Instead, he remained aching between your thighs. And now, before all of them, you remained where he put you. Soaking, aching yourself. Surprised at your own desire. You were warm. Silent. Ruined. But regal.

“They think I’ve gone mad,” he whispered, dragging his teeth lightly across your shoulder. “Let them.”

Another voice rose. Another died. No one protested.

Not when you shifted slightly in his lap, not when his breath caught at the movement, not when your eyes stayed forward—serene as a goddess and twice as terrifying. You weren’t crying. You weren’t cowering. You were wanted.

After a heartbeat, he spoke. His voice came slow. Controlled. Deadly. “Do you see her now?” The throne creaked beneath you both. The entire court shifted with a breath held too long.

No one answered. He rose, allowing you to remain seated comfortably on his throne.

He stepped down the dais. One slow, deliberate pace at a time. Each step echoed like thunder. “Do you see what I’ve kept? What I’ve chosen?”

Still no answer. He reached the floor. Towered over them all, still. “There are and will be no others.” The words were calm. But the promise beneath them was anything but.

You could hear the gasp ripple through the room—see the heads of the courtiers drop. In fear. In realization. “She is the only one who enters my chambers,” Sukuna said. “The only one who touches me. The only one whose name I will remember.”

He turned his head, eyes scanning the crowd. “I don’t care if you whisper. Whispering is safer than speaking.”

Then, he looked back at you. “You stand beside me. Not behind.”

Your throat tightened.

“Anyone who touches her,” Sukuna said, voice low and final, “will die screaming in both this life and the next.”

You didn’t flinch. The court stood frozen, silent, bowing without instruction. And for the first time since you arrived at the palace. You felt taller than the throne itself.

When the session ended, and the court dismissed with their lives intact but their pride gutted, Sukuna, who had placed you back in his lap the moment he returned to the throne, did not let you rise. He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slow. Possessive.

Almost reverent. 

“They’ll whisper for weeks,” he murmured.

“Let them,” you echoed.

He chuckled. But there was weight in it. A roughness he didn’t show anyone else. His hand slid down your side. “You trembled when I killed the second one.”

“I liked it.”

He froze. Then groaned, low in his chest, his grip on your hips tightening. “I will destroy the world for that mouth.”

“You already have.”

Later, when he carried you out of the throne room—still seated on his lap, your head tucked into his throat—you didn’t care who saw.

Because you weren’t the girl they gave away all those months ago anymore.

You were the curse that came back crowned in red.

And Ryomen Sukuna?

Was the fool who knelt for you.

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The court did not breathe for three days.

Not after the throne room. Not after you sat—draped in red and ruin—in his lap, calm as divinity, while Sukuna carved death from silence.

The whispers began the moment the doors closed behind you both. Not among the nobles—they were too wise, too afraid.

But in the shadows. In the fringe halls. In the harem wings and temple courts, where women cloaked in incense and envy once waited their turn for the King of Curses to glance their way.

Now they waited for something else.

For your fall. You could feel it. The way the air changed when you entered a corridor too quietly. The way the servants bowed too deeply, voices too sweet. The way offerings began appearing near your chambers—gifts you had not asked for. Gilded fans. Silken sashes. Candied fruit. None of it was meant to please.

All of it meant to undermine.

To remind you what you were not.

You were not born here. You were not chosen from the noblest of stock. You had not been trained to please him. You had been trained to die.

And yet, you had been kept.

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The first attempt came quietly.

A teacup.

Jasmine, sweet and subtle.

Poisoned with something colorless. Meant to numb. Meant to silence. The taste never reached your lips. Sukuna caught the scent the moment he entered the chamber.

He said nothing. Simply raised the cup to eye level, turned it once in his fingers, and smiled.

The kind of smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

The kind of smile that said death had already happened.

By evening, five concubines were dead.

Not burned.

Not torn apart.

They were found frozen mid-step—mouths open, limbs curled into themselves like they had screamed so loudly the sound shattered them from the inside out.

No announcement followed. No explanation.

Only a single scrap of silk hung from the gates of the inner palace:

A bloodstained sash. Crimson. Identical to yours.

The second attempt came as a cup of wine.

Sweet. Slightly chilled. Delivered on a silver tray by one of the senior attendants of the court.

She bowed as she offered it. She didn’t speak. You didn’t drink it. Not because you knew.

But because you’d learned. Sukuna had made it clear—no one enters your chambers without his permission. No one touches you. No one feeds you. Not unless it was him.

So you let the wine sit, untouched, until the servant was gone.

And then you took the cup and walked it straight to the inner sanctum, where he waited. 

He was sharpening a blade when you entered. Not because he needed to, but because he liked the sound.

You set the wine on the floor beside him. “A gift,” you said.

He didn’t look up at first. But you saw the moment his shoulders shifted. Subtle. Controlled. “From whom?”

“The woman with the burn scar on her cheek. The one who used to wear blue.”

His hand paused. Then, slowly, he smiled. The kind that makes men bleed.

“Them, then.” He said nothing else. Only stood. “Stay here,” he told you.

You didn’t.

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The throne room was already full when you arrived, though no summons had gone out. The rest of the concubines—dressed in court finery, eyes gleaming with venom—were lined up near the dais. Each held a practiced smile. Each looked ready to speak the moment he entered.

But Sukuna didn’t let them. He strode in like a storm, blood still crusted on the blade he didn’t bother to sheath.

“You touched what is mine.”

His voice shattered the air. No warning. No preamble. Only judgment.

The eldest of them stepped forward—chin raised. “We only offered her wine. A gesture of welcome. You mustn't think—”

“I do think,” Sukuna growled, stepping closer. “That you all lived far too long under the impression I am merciful.” One of the others stepped back. Only one. It wouldn’t save her. “You conspired. You whispered. You dared to poison her.”

He gestured to you. You stood at the edge of the room. Unarmed. Silent. Not hidden.

He wanted them to see you.

“She is not one of you,” he said, circling them now like a beast. “She is not replaceable. And she is not yours to threaten.” No one moved now. No one breathed. “You were pretty things. Something not even worth putting my cocks into. That’s all.”

He stopped. Tilted his head. Smiled that same cruel smile. “Now let me show you what I do with pretty things that turn to rot.”

And then—one flick of his hand.

Screams. The bodies collapsed, their heads rolling across the throne room floor like broken dolls, eyes wide with fear that came too late.

Blood pooled across the stone like ink on parchment.

And the silence after?

Deafening.

You did not look away. Neither did he. He turned to you, eyes burning brighter than fire, blood still dripping from his blade. Then—he walked back to the dais. He stepped up and held out his hand. “Come.”

You did. You stepped barefoot through the blood until you stood beside him again.

He placed his hand over yours, then raised them both for all the court to see.

“There will be no others,” he said. “There never were.”

And no one—not priest, not general, not noble—dared speak again.

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That night, Sukuna did not ask you to come to him again. Instead he came to you.

You found him already in your shared chambers—seated in the corner by the firepit, still blood-damp, still barefoot, his haori discarded and the ink on his skin streaked from the heat of whatever power he’d unleashed. 

The fire was low. The room smelled of smoke and sandalwood. The silk of your robe slid open at your thighs as you stood before him, a single hand braced on the bed post, your pulse drumming hard under your skin.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. All four of his eyes simmering. Dark. Raw. Possessed.

“You knew it would happen,” you said softly.

“They dared touch what’s mine,” he replied.

“But they didn’t touch me.”

“They wanted to,” he growled. “And that is enough.” He stood, slow and silent, and walked toward you with the tension of a beast still riding the edge of violence. You didn’t flinch when he reached for your face—one hand cradling your cheek, the others ghosting down your arms.

His forehead pressed to yours. “Next time,” he whispered, “I won’t wait.”

You let your hands rest on his bare chest, fingers tracing the faint lines of dried blood. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I like killing for you.”

“It makes you hard.” You said, a fact made evident by the way his cocks stood at attention in his state of undress. His mouth curved.

“It makes you wet.” You didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, for you are many things, but a liar is not one. You simply sat back on the bed, bare before him– an understanding of what you wanted clear in your movements. 

He dropped to his knees in front of you like he had done once before, all those months ago, but this time with less restraint. With less reverence– more hunger. 

“Say it,” he growled, voice cracking against the quiet. “Say you’re mine.”

“I don’t have to,” you whispered, fingers curling against his shoulder. “You already know.” He kissed you like a curse. Like a storm breaking open in his mouth.

Four hands pinned you to the bed before you could draw breath—one tangled in your hair, the others gripping your thigh, your waist, your throat, just enough to hold. Not hurt. Never that.

“They tried to kill you for your place,” he rasped. “And you sat still.” You gasped as he dragged your robe from your shoulders, baring your chest to the firelight, lips trailing heat down your collarbone. “You didn’t scream.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You wanted them to see.” His voice was like gravel as his mouth worked against your breasts.

“I wanted you to.” He groaned—a sound ripped from his chest like it cost him something—and then he ran his fingers between your folds. Not gently. Not roughly.

Like he needed to feel you break apart around him just to remember what peace felt like.

You were already soaked. Already aching as he rubbed between your legs, making you cry out at the feeling. He was not a man who cared much for the pleasure of his partner during sex– but with you, it was different. He wanted you to feel good. He wanted to devour every sound that fell from your lips. You came as he pressed his fingers into you, but that did not stop him. He curled them, playing with you until you fell apart more times than he could count.

And when he filled you—with both of his cocks, slow at first, careful despite the tremble in his arms—you arched back into the furs with a cry you didn’t try to muffle. “There,” he hissed, watching your face, your throat, your chest. “There’s the sound I wanted.”

He moved slow—deep. Each roll of his hips measured, dragging pleasure from you like confession. You clenched—tight, shameless—around both lengths, and his head dropped to your shoulder.

“You like this,” he whispered against your throat. “You like being full. Split open. Marked.”

“Yes,” you gasped.

“Just as you like it when I kill for you.”

You shuddered. “I like that you only do it for me.”

He fucked you slow and hard—like prayer, like ritual, like vengeance. Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, each stroke hit something deep and sacred and no longer just yours.

When he lifted you again—straddling him now, seated fully on his twin cocks, your nails clawed into his shoulders—he said nothing. He only watched. Watched you ride him with desperation and power. Watched your mouth fall open with gasps he devoured between kisses. Watched your body tremble and tighten until you broke around him with a cry that echoed off the chamber walls.

He spilled inside you with a groan that sounded like surrender—hands fisting in your hips as his body shuddered, buried deep, staying there as if he could keep you, keep this, forever.

“You’re mine,” he said again. Not as a threat. But a vow. “And I’ll kill the sun if it ever tries to touch you.”

The next morning, a new seat appeared on the dais. Not a second throne. Not yet.

But a chair. Black and red. Carved from the same cursed wood as his own. Etched with serpent runes and lined with wolf-pelt cushions.

Your place.

No one dared speak of the change.

But everyone saw it. Because you sat in it.

And the silence that followed?

Was yours.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The palace was quiet in the days after the executions.

Not just hushed—but hollow. Like the very air held its breath. Servants passed silently through the halls. Courtiers bowed deeper, eyes lower. No one spoke your name, but everyone knew it now.

You were no longer the offering.

You were the choice.

And that terrified them more than the corpses.

He hadn’t spoken to you since the night you became one. Not directly.

Not even after he took your hand and raised it like a banner before the nobles who had once mocked your presence. Not after he bathed in their blood and kissed the top of your head like you were something sacred. Not after he made you come apart dozens of times, filling you in a way that you never thought possible.

He had just returned to the inner palace. In your room he sat in silence by the fire, and said nothing at all. So you waited.

You watched the light flicker across the mouth on his stomach, saw the tension still in the curve of his shoulders, the way his lower arms flexed restlessly while the others tried to stay still.

You didn’t ask him about the concubines, even now.

You didn’t need to.

You only asked the one question that had been haunting you since the first time he looked at you and didn’t kill you. “Why me?”

The words fell quiet. Almost too soft for the room. But not for him.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he tilted his head, four eyes narrowing—like he hadn’t expected the question, and hated how much he wanted to answer. “What are you really asking?” he said at last.

You swallowed. “Why do you look at me like that?” He turned his full attention to you then.

And it felt like burning. “Like what?”

“Like I’m not just something you own. Like I’m something you chose.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Taut. He stood. Not fast. Not threatening. Just inevitable. He crossed the room in three slow steps and stopped in front of you. Then, quietly, Sukuna lowered himself to one knee. Not as a servant.

As a man.

One hand—just one—reached out and rested lightly on your knee. “Because I did choose you,” he said, voice low. “And I don’t choose lightly.” You looked down at him, searching his face for the part that wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t king. Wasn’t cursed.

“But you don’t love,” you said. His mouth twitched. Not in amusement. In something sadder.

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t. I ruin. I keep. I devour.” He leaned forward. Just enough to press his forehead to your thigh. “But if I could love,” he whispered, “it would feel like this.”

You froze. Your hand slid down instinctively, fingers threading through his hair—soft despite the violence it had known. “And the others?”

He laughed once, breathless. “They were noise. Pretty distractions. You…” He looked up again. All four eyes burning. “You’re the silence that stayed.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. You simply pulled him closer. And he let you.

The man no one dared touch, worshipped and feared by all, let you hold him. Not because you were weak. But because you never asked him to be anything but this. And now—he gave it.

To you alone. His forehead pressed to your thigh like a vow he didn’t know how to say.

Your hand moved through his hair again, slower this time. Deliberate. Testing. Wondering how far he’d let you go. He didn’t stop you. Not when your fingers curled behind his ear. Not when your legs shifted, parting just enough to invite him closer. Not when you whispered: “Show me what it feels like.”

His eyes lifted. Dark. Wrecked. Yours.

“What?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“If it would feel like this,” you said softly, “then show me what it would feel like to be loved by you.” The shift in him was instant.

Controlled. But feral. He stood—slowly, silently—and you did too, until you were face to face, breath to breath. Two of his hands cradled your waist, firm and grounding.

The others? They moved with reverence—one curling behind your neck, thumb brushing your jaw… the other dragging slowly down your side, over the curve of your hip, until it settled at your lower back.

He tilted your chin up. And he kissed you. No command. No force. Just him. It was devastating.

His mouth was hot and slow, sliding over yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of every inhale. His lips pressed deeper—tongue coaxing, teeth barely scraping—until your knees wobbled. He caught you. Of course he did.

And when he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was wrecked. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“That you want me.” You met his eyes. All four of them.

“I want you.” His grip tightened.

You were lifted in an instant—legs wrapping around his waist, your back pressed against the carved wooden pillar of the chamber wall. His mouth returned to your throat, hungry now, biting softly, then harder. You gasped.

“You don’t get it,” he growled against your skin. “You’ve been mine. I just finally decided to take you.”

“Then take me,” you whispered. Something snapped in him.

He dragged the fabric off your shoulder with a single, brutal tug—his lower hands already working the sash at your waist, the robe falling around your thighs in a pool of silk and heat. You arched into him, half from instinct, half from need.

His mouth found your collarbone again. Then lower.

He dropped to his knees before you like worship—mouth pressing between your thighs, tongue sliding up with a growl that rattled your bones.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, hips bucking helplessly against his face as he devoured you—slow, like you were the offering now, and he the starving god.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His hands pinned your thighs open, his mouth dragging moans from you like secrets. And when you came—sharp and sudden—he didn’t pull back.

He held you through it. You sagged into his grip, dazed and shaking. But he wasn’t finished.

He stood again—towering over you, cocks already hard beneath the loose fabric of his robes. Both of them—thick, flushed, already leaking, and twitching with restraint.

You reached for him. “Let me—” He caught your wrist. Pressed it to his chest again.

“No,” he said. “This time, I’m the one who begs.” He aligned himself with you—both cocks pulsing with need—and slid into you in one long, deep, devastating push.

The first stretch stole your breath. The second took your mind. You cried out, body arching into his as you took him—both of him. Full. Overwhelmed. Ruined.

He groaned against your mouth—shaking with the effort to go slow. “So fucking tight—so perfect—”

His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he began to move, dragging out and pushing back in with maddening rhythm. One cock thrust deeper, heavier, the other grinding perfectly against the sweet spot that made you sob into his shoulder.

You had no words. No air. Just him. Just this.

His kiss was savage now. Possessive. His mouth swallowing every moan, every broken whisper of his name. He fucked you into the wall like he meant to carve himself into your soul.

“Say you’re mine,” he growled, voice shattered.

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Sukuna—all yours.”

He cursed low and dark, hips stuttering, grip tightening as he fucked you harder, faster—then slammed in and stayed, pulsing inside you as he came with a groan that shook through both of you. You felt every twitch. Every spill of heat. Every claiming. And still, he didn’t let go.

He held you there—stuffed full, trembling, marked—forehead pressed to yours, breaths shallow and ragged.

“If I could love…” he murmured, voice hoarse, “it would still never be enough.”

But you held him anyway. And he let you. Because no one else ever had.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The court looked different now. Or maybe it was you.

Your seat beside the throne had been carved in silence and painted with blood. It was not a throne, not quite—but it was not a chair for decoration. It was meant to be sat in. To be watched.

To be feared. 

But today, you didn’t sit in it. Because Sukuna had already reached for you—one lower hand outstretched, palm resting on your hip with subtle weight as he pulled you, again, into his lap.

There were no protests. No murmurs. Only the creak of the throne beneath his weight as you settled sideways against him, your back to his chest, your legs draped over his, your bare ankles resting against the smooth lacquered stone. You wore red again. Silk, thin and soft, clinging to your skin like smoke.

And you were not wearing anything beneath it.

He knew.

He’d made sure. He said nothing at first. Only held you. Two hands on your thighs. One cradling your waist. The fourth rested low on your abdomen, unmoving—for now.

You sat in silence as the first petition was brought forth. A border dispute. Something inconsequential. Sukuna barely listened. His voice was cool. Dismissive. Words thrown like bone fragments. But beneath you?

He was hard.

Thick. Hot. Pressed against the split of your thighs like something promised and long withheld.

You didn’t dare move. And then, without a word—

He shifted you. Lower.

Down.

You gasped—so softly no one else heard—as he pushed the silks aside and filled you, both of him sinking in slow, unforgiving.

Your hands curled against his chest.

Oh.

No warning. No ceremony. No shame. Just possession.

He growled in your ear. “Stay still.”

You swallowed. “Sukuna—”

“You sit on my cock like I am your throne, little queen. Keep me warm while I burn the world.” You could barely breathe. The fullness was too much. The stretch too sharp. But your body—traitorous and hungry—ached around him. Clenched. Welcomed.

And he felt it.

A new case was brought forward. A noble accused of harboring curses in his province.

Sukuna spoke with boredom. But every time his voice dropped—into that low, merciless timbre—you tightened. Every time he said “Execute him,” you clenched around both lengths buried inside you, soaked and open and throbbing with need.

He noticed. Of course he did.

His hand pressed down slightly on your stomach, fingers splaying wide across your navel as if to feel every twitch inside.

“You like this,” he whispered against your neck, breath hot. “The weight of me. The risk of being seen. The threat in my voice while you sit there—full of me.”

You couldn’t answer. But your body did.

It squeezed him again. And he groaned, barely audible, but real.

Then the foreign emissary arrived.

A man from the south. Clad in gold-thread robes, dripping with false smiles. He bowed. Half-hearted. Arrogant.

“Your majesty,” he said. “I bring word from the coalition.” You didn’t look at him at first. Not until he said it. “And I see the whore you’ve let believe she has been crowned. The swine meant for slaughter. You kept the offering, I see. How curious. Most men discard such spoils when the war is won.”

The court stilled. Even the braziers seemed to go silent.

Sukuna didn’t move.

Not immediately. But you tightened—so sharply, so suddenly—around him that he hissed between his teeth.

And then—he stood.

With you still on his lap.

He rose like a mountain lifting from the earth, your legs locked around him, your face pressed to his shoulder. He cradled you easily, like a weapon half-drawn. Like a fire he was willing to unleash.

His gaze snapped to the emissary.

“Kneel.”

The man scoffed. “You will order me—”

Sukuna didn’t speak again.

The man dropped to the floor with a wet crack. His knees hit the stone like anchors. Blood wept from his mouth before he even screamed.

“Say it again,” Sukuna said, voice like winter. “Let my queen hear you.”

The emissary whimpered. “P-please—”

“No,” Sukuna said. “You called her swine. You called her nothing. Now I  let her decide how you die.”

He turned to you. Eyes on fire. Cocks still buried deep.

“My love,” he growled, “choose.”

You didn’t blink.

You met the emissary’s panicked gaze. Watched the blood pool under his hands.

“Strip his tongue,” you said, voice smooth. “Let him drown in silence.”

Sukuna smiled. Proud. Devastated.

“As you wish.”

The scream didn’t last long. But the blood?

It sprayed across the stone like a blessing. Droplets landed upon you and Sukuna. And inside you—Sukuna throbbed. His hands gripped your hips.

“You got tighter,” he groaned, lips brushing your jaw. “Watching me ruin him while you hold me so fucking deep—gods, you’re mine.”

“All yours,” you gasped, trembling, soaked.

Then his gaze shifted. From the crumpled, whimpering body of the emissary—

To you. To your lips, parted and flushed. To your eyes, heavy with heat.

To the soft tremble in your thighs as you clenched around him.

He didn’t wait.

He turned, still holding you in his arms, and strode back up the dais with the ease of a king and the hunger of a man who had long since abandoned patience.

The throne creaked as he sat back down, pulling you with him. But this time—he didn’t tuck you sideways. He didn’t hide you in his lap like a secret.

He lifted you. Held you above him, silk slipping down your thighs, your legs spread around his waist, the court still watching in paralyzed silence. You didn’t look at them.

You only looked at him.

And he looked worshipful.

“Ride me,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “Here.”

“Sukuna—”

“Let them hear what I keep.”

You sank down slowly—too slowly—as his cocks stretched and filled you again, deeper now, angled perfectly with your knees braced against the arms of the throne.

You couldn’t bite back the moan that broke from your throat.

He smiled. Dark. Hungry. Awed.

All four of his hands found your body—two at your hips, guiding your pace, the third tangled in your hair, the last pressing against your lower back to keep you arched just right.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take me like you were made for this throne.”

And gods help you, you did. You rode him in front of the court—slow and sure, your body glistening with heat, your skin flushed and slick with want.

He didn’t rush you. He watched you.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” he asked, voice hoarse. “A queen. A curse. A god’s punishment made flesh.” Your thighs shook. Your breath hitched.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasped. “Sukuna—you.”

He snarled. Thrust up into you once—hard—just to hear you cry out.

The court flinched.

You didn’t.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, and whispered, “And they’ll never forget it.”

You came first. Trembling. Writhing.

His name breaking from your lips like prophecy. He followed—groaning low and dark, burying himself so deep inside you, you thought you might burn with it.

His arms locked around you.

Tight.

Possessive.

Like he could fuse your bodies together and call it eternity. When the silence returned, as you came back to earth, you realized you were still in his lap.

Still joined. Still full.

And the court?

Still watching.

He kissed your temple. Again.

Then whispered—

“Dismiss them, my queen.”

And you turned your eyes toward them. Still breathless. Still glowing. Still seated on the god they feared.

“You heard him,” you said. “Go.” And they ran.

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It began with incense.

Burned too heavily outside the temple wing. A smothering cloud that made your throat itch and your skin crawl.

Then came the offerings—bowls of ash, lotus petals folded into symbols of chastity, white cloths soaked in rosewater placed outside your chamber door.

And then, the summons. Written in gold leaf. Signed by the High Priestess herself. 

“She is to be cleansed. Reclaimed in the eyes of the gods. Washed of the filth that has claimed her body and throne.”

They did not name Sukuna directly. They didn’t have to. The temple wanted you back in white.

You didn’t answer.

You tore the summons in half and fed it to the fire.

Sukuna said nothing when you showed him the ash. But one of his upper hands curled into a fist, the knuckles cracking.

“Do they think me blind?” he said, voice low.

“No,” you said, meeting his eyes. “They think I’m still theirs.”

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The temple priests arrived the next morning. Nine of them. And at their head: her.

The High Priestess. Shrouded in pale silk and false holiness, face painted like the carved icons of the old gods. She walked with her chin lifted, her gaze sweeping the dais where you sat—where you sat—on your throne beside Sukuna, high above the court.

You wore black today. Fitted, sharp. A blade in silk. You didn’t stand. You didn’t bow.

You only watched.

“We come to retrieve the offering,” she said.

The court froze. Even the air seemed to tighten.

Sukuna didn’t move. His fingers curled around the arm of the throne, his gaze fixed on the priestess with the weight of an avalanche just waiting for a slope.

You didn’t wait for him. You stood and descended the steps yourself.

The priestess’s mouth curved as you approached. “Child,” she began, lifting a hand as if to touch your hair. “You were never meant for this throne. Come now. Wash away what he has done to you. The gods will forgive—”

You struck her. Open-handed. Sharp. Clean. Her head snapped to the side. A gasp rippled through the room. Blood bloomed from her lip.

You stepped forward. “I was never meant for this throne?” you whispered. “Then why am I the one standing on it?”

The priestess staggered back. “You are filthy. Claimed. Ruined. No god would have you now.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you understood—” your voice rose, cold and divine, “mine is not a god you can bargain with.”

Sukuna stood behind you now. Silent. Reverent. Like he was watching something sacred unfold. Without so much as a word, he killed each of the temple priests except her. She shook, covered in the blood of her kin. 

You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to. “You think purity is white silk and sealed legs,” you spat. “But I know what real purity is. It’s surviving every man who tried to break you and still looking your enemy in the eye.” You leaned in close, lips nearly touching the priestess’s ear.

“You let them breed me for sacrifice. And now the sacrifice is queen.”

The priestess stumbled. Sukuna caught your hand—lightly. Just a touch. Like an offering.

“Should I let her live?” he murmured.

You didn’t even look at her.

“Let her run. Let her speak. Let them all know: the temple no longer owns what it cast away.”

That night, you found him on the balcony. The wind pulled at his robes. The moon painted him in silver. He stood like a monument—bare-chested, hair tousled, four hands at rest for once. He didn’t speak as you approached. Only looked out over the horizon.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said.

“I’ve been… remembering.” You waited. And then—he turned to you. “Do you know what I did after you were delivered to me?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I waited. I watched. I studied. And then—when I knew they had sent you to die—I burned your province to ash.” You went still. “Not because you were weak,” he said. “But because they were. Because they used you. And because no one who hurt you will draw breath while I still reign.”

Your breath caught. He stepped closer. “You asked me once why I chose you.”

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Now I’ll give you a better answer.”

He dropped to one knee again.

And pulled a blade from the folds of his sash.

It was small. Ceremonial. Its hilt wrapped in dark silk. Your silk.

He placed it in your hands. “The consort’s oath is sealed in blood,” he said. “In vow. In fire.”

“You want me to take it?” you asked, voice trembling.

“No,” he said, rising. His eyes held something far too close to love for one who could never feel it. “I want you to wear the crown.”

The palace slept beneath clouds of incense and rose ash, the corridors lit only by oil lamps that flickered like nervous hearts. Servants had fled to the far wings. The priests had locked their doors. The court was silent, for once.

But your chambers were not empty.

He was already there.

Waiting for you in the dark, sitting at the edge of your bed, arms draped across his knees, robes loosened and chest bare. His eyes—all four of them—found you before your feet even crossed the threshold. And they burned.

“Close the door.”

You did.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak again as you crossed the room, as you slowly untied the sash at your waist and let the robe fall away. You were bare beneath it. You knew he liked that. Knew he expected it.

He still looked at you like it was the first time.

“Do you know what the consort’s oath requires?” he asked finally.

You nodded. “I’ve read the rites.”

“No,” he said. “I mean do you know what it means.”

You tilted your head. “Tell me.”

He stood then. Slow. Deliberate. Until he towered over you in the low firelight, the shadows licking across his inked skin like secrets. “It means no one touches you but me. No one sees you like this again. No one speaks your name unless I allow it. It means your blood binds to mine. Your soul, too. It means if you leave me—,” his voice dropped, “I will tear kingdoms apart looking for you. And in all lifetimes after this– I will not be kept from you.”

You stepped closer. Close enough for his breath to touch your cheek. “Then bind me,” you whispered.

He groaned. Low. Deep. Reverent. His hands didn’t grab this time.

They cradled. All four of them. One to your back. One to your hip. One to the nape of your neck. The last ghosting between your thighs, not pushing, not taking—just feeling how soaked you were already.

“This body will be mine in the eyes of gods and monsters,” he said.

You nodded. “Then show them,” you murmured.

He lifted you to the bed like something sacred. Not fragile. Worshipped.

He pressed you down into the furs and crawled over you with slow purpose, the heat of him brushing your inner thighs, the weight of him between your legs already making you whimper.

But he didn’t push in.

Not yet. “Let me taste it one last time,” he said, voice dark. “Before the gods claim it too.”

And then his mouth was on your cunt.

Devouring you. Not like a man.  Like a king.  A king about to anoint his queen.

His tongue moved like a ritual. His fingers held you open like prayer. And when you came—shaking, gasping, crying into your fist—he stayed.He licked you through it.

Moaned into you like he was drinking down every tremor, every twitch. And only then, when you were ruined and panting, did he rise above you and say:

“Now they can watch.” And he pushed into you. Both of him. Deep. Hot.

Final.

He fucked you like you were his already. Because you were.

Slow at first, then rough. One hand at your throat, the other gripping your hip, the third pinning your wrists above your head while the last slid beneath your thigh to keep it high and open for him.

“Say it,” he snarled, hips snapping. “Say what you’ll vow tomorrow.”

“I’ll be yours until eternity,” you gasped. “Your queen. Your consort. All of it.”

He groaned. Pressed his forehead to yours. “You already are.”

You came once. Then again. And again—until you were sobbing, begging, broken open around him and full of his heat, your legs trembling, your body pulsing.

He didn’t stop.

Not until he had carved it into you with every thrust.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

When it was done, he didn’t pull away.

He wrapped all four arms around you, tucked your head to his chest, and whispered: “Tomorrow, they will watch you kneel. But after?” He chuckled darkly. “They’ll kneel for you.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The day of the oath dawned red.

The sky bled into the horizon like a prophecy, smearing gold over the bones of the palace rooftops. Bells did not ring. Drums did not sound. The people were not called to gather.

And yet, they came. Nobles in layered silks. Generals in war paint. Temple elders with waxen faces and fearful hearts. They filled the throne hall to bursting. Not for celebration. But for fear. For awe. For the spectacle of watching a woman no one could kill ascend to the place no one believed she’d earned.

They came expecting a coronation. But what they got—

Was a rite.

You stood in the center of the dais. Barefoot.

Draped in shadow-black silk trimmed with blood-colored thread, a ceremonial blade strapped to your thigh and your wrists painted with sigils drawn in your own blood. The ink wasn’t dry. The gods hadn’t decided yet.

And behind you, towering like a storm, stood Sukuna. Bare-chested. Four-armed. Eyes alight with power and purpose. His gaze never left you. He had dressed you in silence that morning. Tied the knot of your sash himself. Kissed your collarbone once.

And then said: “They’re not ready.”

Now they were here.

Watching.

Waiting.

And you didn’t tremble.

The High Priestess was gone. Fled.

In her place, a trembling young acolyte read from a scroll written in a forgotten tongue. “She who takes the oath binds her body to the throne,” he said, voice shaking. “Her soul to the king. Her blood to the law. Her death to the land.”

You stepped forward. “And if she does not die?” you asked aloud, voice ringing clear.

The boy looked up. “Then she becomes the land.”

You knelt. But not in submission.

In claim.

You drew the ceremonial blade from your thigh. You held it high. Then you pressed it into your palm. And carved. Not once.

But twice.

An X.

A severing. And a vow.

Blood dripped onto the stone. Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist. His own palm was already bleeding.

He pressed it to yours.

Your blood mixed.

The runes on the floor ignited.

“She is mine,” he said, voice shaking the walls. “By blood. By vow. By fire.”

The court fell to their knees. Even the generals. Even the old gods painted in flesh.

A servant stepped forward then, trembling. She held the crown.

It was not a delicate thing. Not a pretty one.

It was iron, twisted into the shape of serpents and fangs and horns. Blackened in flame. Polished in war.

Sukuna took it.

And placed it on your head himself.

“This,” he said to the room, “is no consort. This is no offering.” He pressed his lips to yours. “This is my queen.”

The hall trembled with reverence and fear. But not all eyes were lowered. At the back of the room—among the temple delegates and lesser nobles—you saw the flicker of movement.

Whispers. A glance passed. A nod. Too quick. Too practiced.

Treason.

Not today.

Not now.

But soon.

You would bleed for this throne again.

And so would they.

After the ceremony, Sukuna did not speak until the doors were sealed and the court was dismissed. When it was just you and him in the sacred chamber, with blood still drying on your joined hands, he turned to you. And smiled.

“You didn’t hesitate.”

You looked up at him. “I would’ve carved more if it meant they’d never question me again.”

He touched your cheek. “They will,” he said, eyes gleaming. “And we’ll bury them together.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The feast began at sundown. They called it a celebration.

But the room smelled more like a funeral.

The nobles lined the banquet tables in tight silk and tighter smiles. Gold glinted from every wrist, every throat. Wine was poured, too much of it, too fast. Laughter came sharp and nervous. No one met your eyes directly. But they watched you.

All of them.

Just as Sukuna intended.

The hall had been transformed. Red lanterns swung from blackened beams. Fire pits lined the walls. Beast bones adorned the high tables, symbols of the empire’s wars and their only king’s victories. Music played faintly—a single string instrument, low and mournful, almost drowned by the crackle of flame.

And at the head of the great hall sat the throne.

Two seats.

His.

And yours.

You stood beside it as Sukuna entered.

He did not walk. He stalked. Adorned in black and red, his upper arms sleeved in molten armor, the lower two bare, still marked with the oath sigils in your blood. He stopped before the throne and looked at you.

Not a word spoken.But the command was there.

Come to me.

You obeyed. You always did.

And as the room watched—breath held, wine forgotten—he lifted you into his lap.

You were already slick for him. You hadn’t even realized it until he shifted your silks aside beneath the table. One finger. Then another.

“Still open from this morning,” he murmured, loud enough only for you. “Still mine.”

You bit your lip as he dragged those fingers through your folds, slow and teasing.

“Ride me,” he said again.

“Here?” you breathed, even though you knew the answer.

“You warmed me during war,” he said. “Now warm me in peace.”

You sank onto him in silence. One slow inch at a time until he was buried so deep you couldn’t breathe right. Your legs trembled where they curled around his, hidden under the long spill of your coronation robes. The stretch. The heat. The fullness. It made you dizzy.

And when you finally stilled—stuffed full, thighs pressed together, hands braced on the throne’s arms—you felt it: All their eyes.

They couldn’t see what he’d done. But they knew. They saw how you sat straighter, how your fingers flexed against the wood, how your chest rose and fell too quickly.

And they heard his voice—calm and cool—commanding the room as if nothing had changed.

“You may begin your toasts.”

Nobles rose. One by one. Each voice louder than it needed to be. Each declaration of loyalty thicker with wine than conviction. No one dared insult you—not after what happened to the emissary. But you saw it in their eyes:

Resentment. Hunger. Rage.

And you felt it—

Sukuna’s cocks twitching inside you every time they did.

Every subtle insult. Every backhanded compliment. Every time your title was said a beat too slow. You clenched around him instinctively. He rewarded you with a low growl against your throat.

“You feel every lie, don’t you, little queen?” You nodded once, breathless.

He rolled his hips just slightly. Barely enough to move. Enough to remind.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’ll remember them when we burn their bones.”

He kept you there for the entire feast. Wrapped around him. Unable to move. Unable to forget how full you were.

And by the end—when the final toast was given and the tables were cleared—he finally turned to you.

“Still wet for me?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

He smiled. A slow, dangerous thing. “Then let them watch you leave dripping from my cock.”

He stood, holding you in his arms like he had in the temple, your head resting on his shoulder, your thighs trembling around his waist. The room parted.

No one dared speak. But everyone heard it. The slick sound of you pulling off of him. The soft gasp you didn’t hide. And the way his thumb brushed between your legs to push his seed back in. “Mine,” he said simply.

And then walked from the hall without looking back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

They waited until nightfall.

They always do.

Cowards.

The scent of blood still clung to the throne hall’s stone, faint beneath incense and perfume. The last of the feast’s wine had been drained. Servants had cleared the bones from the table. You and Sukuna had retired, robes damp with arousal, skin still hot from the ride home on his cocks and his pride. And yet—

You couldn’t sleep. Neither could he.

His body was warm behind yours on the bed, chest pressed to your spine, arms heavy across your waist. His breath ghosted over your shoulder in slow, even waves.

But you knew he was awake. Because so were you.

Because something was coming.

The attack didn’t come through the door.It came through the walls.

Painted hands. Chanting lips. A ritual spell—one lost to time and shadow—that forced open the warded chambers with a sound like bone splitting.

The room didn’t scream. But you did.  “Sukuna—”

He was already up.

Already armed.

And you were already on your feet, blade drawn from beneath the furs where he kept it tucked—just in case.

Three men in priest robes entered first. Two wore temple seals. One wore the sigil of your birth house. “We were wrong to offer her,” one spat. “We should have destroyed her.”

“She is cursed,” another hissed. “Tainted by your cock and your throne—”

The blade flew from Sukuna’s hand before he even finished the insult.

It took the man’s jaw clean off.

The fight was short. Violent.

You moved like prophecy, like fire licking dry grass. You cut one down yourself—blade through the gut, twist, rip—his scream cut short by the heel of your hand against his throat. Sukuna tore the last one apart with four arms and a growl so low it shook the walls. Blood spattered the marble. Ritual oil caught flame in the corner. The chamber burned like a pyre of old gods. And then it was just you again.

You and him. Your robes torn. His chest rising and falling.

A room filled with smoke and ash.

He turned to you. His face a mask of rage. Not at the priests. At himself.

“I should’ve slaughtered your bloodline to the last fucking child,” he said, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—”

“You did enough,” you said, voice shaking. He looked at you then. Saw your hand trembling. Not from fear. From fury. “They came for my crown.”

“They came for what’s mine,” he corrected.

“No,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

You stepped over the bodies. Lifted your robe from the floor. Tied it clean with blood still drying across your chest. “They didn’t come for yours. They came for what’s mine.”

“And now?” he asked.

“Now,” you said softly, “we finish the cleansing.”

It began with your bare feet on the blood-warmed stone. The floor of your chambers was slick with it. Old blood. Fresh blood. Betrayal in every streak.

The bodies were still being dragged away when you stepped over the threshold. Not dressed in mourning white. Not even in the red of ritual.

You wore black. Tight at the waist. Split high at the thigh. Lined in gold thread shaped like thorns.

Your hair was unbound. Your wrists were painted in blood. Sukuna followed. Not ahead of you. Not beside you.

Behind.

Because today, you were the blade.

The palace did not sleep that night.

The word spread faster than fire.

“The consort is awake.”“The queen walks the halls.”“She’s wearing blood.”

You didn’t need an army.

You had your name.

Your presence.

And the weight of the god behind you who didn’t dare touch you until you gave him permission again.

You began in the eastern wing.

The temple priests were gone—fled or burned, their robes left in puddles of wax and false gold. But a few remained.

Whispers in corners.

Loyalists in shadows.

You cut them down with your own hand.

Not because Sukuna couldn’t—but because he stood behind you with four blades drawn and not a single one moving.

He watched.

And let you do it.

Let you cleave through the liars who once blessed your back with false sigils and carved obedience into your skin.

“She was made for worship,” one of them cried before his death.

“Then die praying,” you said, and slit his throat clean.

By dawn, the inner sanctum had been purged.

The old tapestries burned.

The temple seals peeled from stone.

The shrines to false gods torn down and thrown to the dirt.

And at the highest balcony of the throne hall, you stood—

Bathed in ash.

Bathed in gold.

The people gathered beneath you. Nobles. Servants. Soldiers. Even children. Some stared in awe. Others wept.

But all knelt. All but one.

Sukuna.

He stepped forward from the shadows of the hall. And dropped to one knee before you.

His four arms outstretched.

His head bowed.

The crown that once belonged only to him sat in his lower palms, offered to you again.

“You do not kneel,” you said, voice cracking.

“Only for gods,” he said. “And now, you are one.”

You took the crown. And placed it back on your head yourself.

Later, he found you in your chambers—half-dressed, blood-warm, still pulsing with fire. He didn’t speak. He only knelt again.

This time to wash the blood from your feet.

And when you touched his cheek, he pressed a kiss to your ankle with something too close to reverence to name.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The palace was quiet. Not with fear this time. Not with expectation. With reverence.

The kind that settles in the bones of a place after it’s been burned clean. The kind that follows after gods have touched the earth and left it changed.

The shrines had been torn down. The court restructured. The traitors buried or burned.

And the crown on your head no longer felt heavy.

Not when it had been claimed in blood and upheld in fire.

Not when he wore the marks you gave him like armor.

They’d whispered about it at first. The scratches on his neck. The bite along his shoulder.

The bruises at his ribs where you’d dug your nails in the night after the coronation, desperate and clawing, crying out his name like salvation while he ruined you again and again—

But Sukuna didn’t hide them.

He didn’t wear robes high at the collar. Didn’t cover his chest with armor or silks.

He let the marks show.

Proudly.

Because he wasn’t ashamed of who he belonged to.

And now—neither were you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The first time he said it, it was quiet. Late. A moonless night.

You were curled in his lap, robes loose around your shoulders, the warm breath of summer filtering in through the balcony’s open doors. Your crown was on the table, your dagger beside it.

And his hand was splayed across your thigh, thumb brushing mindlessly along your skin.

“Do you love me?” you had asked, half-asleep. He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then—

“I have said it to you once before that I am not made for love,” he said, voice quiet. “But whatever this is? Whatever I’ve become? It’s yours.”

He turned your face to his. And kissed you like a man still learning what it meant to worship.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Ruling beside him wasn’t easy. It never would be.

There were always wars to end, borders to redraw, enemies to burn.

But it was no longer just his empire. It was yours.

He no longer made decisions without asking your voice first. You no longer stood in his shadow. And every night, when he held you, it was not possession. It was proof. That you were not a weapon. Not a consort. Not a sacrifice.

You were the fire that stayed.

He still called you his queen.

Still kept you in his lap during court, still made you warm him beneath your robes, still kissed you like you were something holy and unspeakably his— but he also did something else now.

Something new.

When you came apart beneath him, wrecked and whispering, trembling in his arms and shivering with aftershocks—

He would press his mouth to your ear. And say the one thing no one else in the world would ever hear from his lips.

“I love you.”

Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to.

Because it was true.

And because he knew you would never ask him to be anything but yours.

And when the people looked up at the throne now, they did not whisper about the consort. They did not fear the queen. They worshipped you both. 

In violence.

In gold.

In love.

The throne no longer ruled you. You ruled it.

Together.

Always.

[dazedin2d]

chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

PAIRING: duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader SUMMARY: dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion? WARNINGS: nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly CHAPTER SUMMARY: you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-claire for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

masterlist | next (soon!)

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character.  Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.  

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.” 

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!" 

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than  the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you? 

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up. 

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice. 

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile. 

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator. 

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones. 

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there. 

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.  

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.  

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”  

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered,  “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Takuma seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere. 

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course." 

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious. 

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.” 

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk. 

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms,  with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

 There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims. 

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[dazedin2d]

Halloween Specials start now 👻 GOJO AS GHOSTFACE SCREAM

•more on my patreon linked in bio!

[dazedin2d]

“WELL, WE SHOULD PROBABLY FUCK, RIGHT?”

♡ — SUMMARY; you & gojo are both sealed away in the prison realm. with nothing else to do, you might as well start fucking, right?

♡ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem! reader, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), missionary, degrading nickname, best friends to friends with benefits, bickering, slightly jealous gojo, you & gojo are both the strongest sorcerers in the world.

♡ — A/N; based on this drabble (: I love this man sm, I’d do his taxes for him btw // also, pls don’t repost my gif!

♡ — WC; 3k

“This is all your fault, Satoru.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay, so I was distracted,” Gojo kicked up his feet, placing his black boots across a pile of dusty skeleton heads as if he was at home, relaxing on his plush couch, and not trapped inside of the prison realm. “If I remember correctly – and I do remember correctly because it happened thirty seconds ago – you were distracted too. Who knew that seeing your dead classmate would throw you off?”

“Throw me off?” You frowned, moving around a pile of bones to sit down somewhat comfortably. “You nearly passed out. I saw it with my own eyes, Satoru.”

“Oh,” Giving a small chuckle, Gojo tilted his head a bit as he smirked. “So you could see that, but you couldn’t see the weird guy with the two short ponytails almost obliterate you?”

“I don’t remember that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“See this?” Gojo lifted a skull pressing against his right leg, and he dangled it in front of you. “This would’ve been you if it wasn’t for me.”

“You dumbass,” you paused, rolling your eyes, “because of you, we’re both gonna end up exactly like that skeleton. You do realize we’re trapped in here, right? No way out?”

“Calm down. Someone will save us. I have faith, don’t you?”

“Hell no,” a small sigh fell from between your lips, “and you know what? I hope we don’t get saved. The fact that we let ourselves get captured like this is embarrassing. I absolutely cannot leave this stupid box and look another sorcerer in the eye after this. I’d rather die.”

“You’re pretty dramatic,” Gojo sighed. “I hear you, though. We really screwed this up. We should’ve picked different careers. I could’ve been a really nice basketball coach.”

“I would’ve been a coffee shop owner.” Distracted by your own what-if daydreams, you mistakenly leaned back on a pile of skeletons, nearly jumping out of your skin once you remembered that you were indeed lying on a pile of skeletons. “Shit! I gotta get outta here, I can’t do this.”

“Just calm down, it isn’t so bad.” As Gojo adjusted himself, he grunted. “Remember when you dressed up as a skeleton for Halloween? You manifested this.”

“I should’ve never taught you that word,” frowning, you stood up, glancing around the dark inner workings of the prison realm. “How can you relax in a place like this? Aren’t you uncomfortable? Or at least a little bit scared?”

“Hmm, no.” Gojo grinned.

“I shouldn’t have asked. You’re too stupid to know when to be scared.”

“Ouch,” Gojo said dramatically, a hint of amusement coating his words. “Ya know, I’m glad you’re not a coffee shop owner. You’d probably toss random shit in someone’s coffee, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, please shut up.”

“You shut up,” Gojo retorted childishly.

Deep breathing exercises had certainly come in handy during moments such as this one.

Although years upon years had passed since you and Gojo were kids, running around in Halloween costumes and splitting popsicles, it felt as if no time had passed at all whenever you two held a conversation.

Even so, how exactly did it come to this?

Gojo never truly had an ordinary childhood — you were the only normal thing in his life at the time — but you grew up rather unextraordinary.

A normal girl, one who went to school and did her classwork before sneaking off to a secluded lake in the late afternoons with Gojo, skipping rocks and eating sandwiches together.

It was a beautifully plain life. One that was ripped away from you by curses and sorcery.

The only silver lining that truly existed was your old classmates; the dear friends you made once you attended Jujutsu High all those years ago, and in particular, a dark-haired, mellow guy.

“Must’ve been really hard for you,” Gojo suddenly mumbled, “seeing Suguru again. You two had gotten pretty close, right? Up until he . . . left?”

“What’s up with the mumbling? Now isn’t the time for you to get jealous.”

“I’m not,” Gojo mumbled once again, turning his head away from you. “It’s not like that was the real Suguru anyway. Our Suguru is gone for good.”

“Yeah.” The sad tone of your voice is what grabbed Gojo’s attention. One thing that was stronger than his jealousy over you and Geto’s old fondness for one another was his deep concern for you.

“Hey, c’mere,” Gojo smiled softly, facing you once again.

“Huh?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I said come here.”

Hesitantly, you walked over to where Gojo was stretched out among the bones, sitting down on the ground beside him as best as you could with all the skeletons around. As you looked at him, it was rather impossible to understand how he could relax so comfortably.

“Come closer,” he held his arm out, waving you over.

“Why? What for?”

“‘Cause I wanna hold you, so just come here.” Suddenly, Gojo leaned up a bit, grabbing ahold of your wrist before pulling you on top of him.

With his other hand, he gripped the back of your thigh, moving your leg over his hips as he leaned back. He sighed with contentment once you were fully on top of him. Releasing your wrist, the white-haired man touched the side of your face, slowly guiding your head to his chest. “See? Isn’t this better than laying on those skeletons?”

“I guess so,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Why are you so tense?” Gojo guided his hand across one of your shoulders, and he started to rub it.

“Hard to relax when you’re trapped in the prison realm,” you paused. “Not to mention I’m literally laying on top of you.”

“So? We hug and stuff all the time.”

“This is more than hugging, and we’ve barely done that,” you smiled softly. “Kinda nice, though. You’re pretty warm.”

“You’re pretty warm too. And really soft.” With his other hand — the one that never left your thigh — Gojo slowly stroked you, gliding his hand up and down, but not daring to touch your ass just yet.

But he wanted to. Desperately.

Suddenly, Gojo shifted his body, squirming just a bit.

“You okay?” You questioned, lifting your head off of his chest to look at his blindfolded face. “Want me to get off?”

“No, not at all, everything’s fine,” Gojo lied.

Truth be told, his dick was starting to harden in his pants, and he could barely stand it.

“Oh, okay,” laying your head back down on Gojo’s chest, you spoke once again. “Satoru? What are we supposed to do until someone saves us? Just sit here and wait?”

“No, that’s a bad idea,” Gojo said.

“Then what should we do?”

Before he answered, Gojo placed his finger underneath his blindfold, pulling at it playfully.

“Well, we should probably fuck, right?”

It took a moment for Gojo’s sinful words to fully sink in. Upon realizing that you had heard him correctly, your head snapped up, your eyes widening with utter shock.

“What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart,” Gojo smirked. “No need to make such a big deal out of it. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but . . .” You paused, darting your eyes across the vast, skeleton-filled, dark space. “Here? Of all places?”

Gojo shifted once again. He gripped his pants, but he truthfully wanted to grip his cock instead.

“I’d fuck you anywhere,” Gojo said lowly. “I just think it’s time we finally fuck each other, don’t you?”

Suddenly, his large hand gripped the back of your head, and your best friend shoved his lips against yours.

“Hmm,” Gojo moaned softly, kissing you passionately with those sweet, feathery lips of his. Kissing you — finally, after so many years of dreaming about it — was a magical experience. Before, he never believed in soulmates or seeing fireworks when kissing someone — until now.

“Shit, you’re so . . .” His words trailed off as he pulled away, his warm breath patting against your pretty face.

“Satoru,” you mumbled against his lips, “I didn’t know you thought of me this way. I didn’t think that I’d be someone you’d wanna sleep with.”

“Really? Why’s that?” As Gojo spoke, he took off his blindfold, staring at you — then your lips — with those vibrant, ocean-blue eyes of his.

“We’ve barely even hugged,” when you frowned, just a little bit, Gojo wanted to kiss your pouty lips over and over again until his mouth was sore.

God, he wanted you in ways he couldn’t even begin to vocalize.

But he’d certainly try.

“And I thought I was being obvious this entire time,” Gojo paused. “Whenever we would fight together, side by side, do you know how hard it was to concentrate? All I could ever focus on in the middle of battle was trying not to let myself get distracted by you. Hearing you grunt and groan, just watching the way you’d move. I’ve always wanted to take you home with me once the fight ended, toss you on my bed, and find out all the noises you can make; see how loud you can get. I just gotta hear you moan for me, baby. I have to.”

Running his thumb over your soft mouth, he slightly pulled down on your bottom lip, all before he leaned in again, moving his thumb away and replacing it with his lips.

This time, when he kissed you, he didn’t hold back. That sweet tongue of his entered your mouth as if it was on a mission, and he swirled his tongue around yours, enjoying every little surprised noise you made just as much as he enjoyed tasting your delicious mouth. He’d kiss you forever if he could.

A small part of him hoped that the two of you would never get released, and he could spend eternity with his tongue sloppily flicking against yours.

A pair of large hands suddenly gripped your ass. When you gasped, pulling away from Gojo’s lips, he smiled. You were just too cute.

Who knew that the prison realm would actually turn out to be heaven?

“You’re so tense,” Gojo said with a hint of a teasing tone. “Has no one ever touched you like this before?”

“People have — I mean, I’ve done stuff before, it’s just . . .”

When you failed to finish your sentence, Gojo took it upon himself to finish it for you.

“It’s just that no one’s ever made you feel good before,” his sly grin only grew. “Right?”

“I-” you stammered, “that’s none of your business.”

“Lay down.”

“Why?” You asked, your curiosity at its peak.

“I wanna eat you out, sweet girl. Now lay down.” Gojo’s hands moved from your ass to your hips, and he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down next to him.

He then flipped over on top of you, giving you another kiss — a little, quick one — before he started to impatiently unbutton your pants.

“What kinda best friend would I be if I just let you keep living your life without having had a proper orgasm?” He said, shrugging off your bottoms. “Told you not to waste any time with all those shitty guys. You should’ve been with me from the start.”

“Yeah, yeah,” rolling your eyes, you sat up on your elbows, looking down at the sorcerer between your thighs, who slowly pulled down your underwear and held your legs open. “You’re not the first guy who has said a bunch of hot things to me, but then failed to deliver-”

You were interrupted by your own unexpected gasp, as it was elicited from your throat thanks to Gojo’s skillful tongue, which had swiped right across your clit.

He was such a tease; that tongue of his could work wonders. And it did. He flicked at your clit rapidly, and during every quick stroke, his eyes never glanced away from your face.

You started to squirm, but he held onto your thighs, convinced that absolutely nothing in this world could make him want to stop eating your pussy. Not when it tasted so undeniably good.

“Had no idea this pretty pussy was so damn delicious,” he pulled away, mumbling against your wet folds. “Should’ve done this a long time ago, baby.”

When he dived back into your pussy, he licked and sucked, sucked and licked. Good god, you tasted amazing. So, so amazing. He couldn’t help but moan as he made a mess of your pussy; your juices and his spit decorating his face.

“Oh my god, Satoru,” you moaned, “I’m close-”

Once again, your words were cut off by your own uncontrollable moans. That sweet orgasm was brewing right in the pit of your stomach.

You expected him to pull away once you warned him about your approaching orgasm, but he didn’t. Instead, he pressed his calloused fingertips into your plush thighs even harder, and he ate your pussy as messily as possible. Licked at it more rapidly. Sucked on your clit more hungrily.

“Cum in my mouth,” he moaned out in between licks. “Don’t hold back; I want it all. Cum in my mouth right now.”

“Gojo!” You called out. Last warning.

Instead of pulling away, he reached forward, grabbing ahold of your soft tits. With his fingers, he flicked at your hard nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.

And with that, you arched your back off of the hard ground, moaning his name over and over again like a sinner praying for forgiveness.

Gojo lapped up your juices as if he was dying of thirst. He’ll be damned if he missed even a single drop of it.

“Damn it,” he said as he detached his lips from your swollen clit. “I wanna eat you out over and over again, but I gotta fuck you. I just gotta know what it’s like to be inside of you.”

Gojo sat up on his knees. He unbuttoned his pants. When he pulled them down, along with his boxers, his hard dick flung out.

You couldn’t help but stare at the mesmerizing large dick. The tip of it was red and swollen, precum dripping from his aching hole. Two long, thick veins ran along his member.

“You’re so big,” you stated, darting your eyes between his hard cock and handsome face.

“It’s okay,” Positioning himself in between your legs, he said, “I’ll make it fit, baby.”

When he pressed the tip of his dick against your awaiting hole, it felt like he was stepping through the gates of heaven.

One hand was placed next to your head, holding himself up, while his other hand gripped your hip.

His dick slid inside of your soaking wet pussy as if it belonged there; pieces of a puzzle coming together. The sinful moan that fell from between his lips was beautiful.

He couldn’t help it.

Not when your pussy was so tight, wet, and warm.

“Hmm, hey baby?” Gojo whispered, his warm breath patting against your ear, soft white hair tickling the side of your face. “You called me Gojo instead of Satoru earlier when I was eating your pussy. I want you to moan it again for me, over and over again. Can you do that?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Such a sweet girl,” he gave the shell of your ear a quick little lick. “So, so sweet.”

He didn’t wait too long to start thrusting in and out of you once your pussy had adjusted to his size. He simply couldn’t. Not when you felt so utterly amazing.

With his lips still close to your ear as he fucked you, the chatty man whispered all sorts of dirty things. And it only made you moan even louder.

“I could fuck you just like this forever. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He grunted, slamming himself inside of you at a quicker pace. “Sorry if I’m being too rough. I can’t help it, baby. Your pussy’s driving me crazy, just like I knew it would. I knew my best friend would feel this good. Who else other than me would know what to do with a pussy like this? Hm?”

“Gojo,” you called out, gripping his shoulders for dear life. “Gojo, I can’t- I’m gonna cum again!”

“Already?” He smirked, pulling away from your ear, his face only a few inches away from yours. “Gonna cum all over my dick? Make a mess?”

You didn’t respond — you couldn’t respond — not when he rhythmically fucked you like a doll, the tip of his dick reaching all the right spots inside of you.

“Shit,” Gojo suddenly groaned. “Think I’m gonna cum too, baby. I can’t hold it . . . Can’t fucking hold it much longer. I’m gonna fill you up. Stuff that pretty pussy with my cum. No one else will get to.”

“Please do it,” you stammered out with a whine, struggling to speak from the way your body was being pounded into. “P-Please!”

Suddenly, Gojo felt your pussy tighten around his cock. A wave of pure bliss washed over you, making your toes curl as you moaned his name in broken syllables.

The prettiest tears started to fall from your eyes. Gojo kissed them away.

His own orgasm was approaching quickly, building up in his lower stomach, dick, balls, and even his thighs.

“I’m so close — I’m right there, baby. I’m right there. Shit — I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum right inside of you, baby — there’s so much of it. I’m cumming-”

Feeling your cum coat his cock as your pussy milked him pushed him right over the edge. He moaned so loudly, it would have been entirely unsurprising if someone could have heard it from outside of the box.

He shot ropes upon ropes of warm, thick, pearly cum inside of you. His dick throbbed with every pulse, spilling every last drop of his semen into your stuffed hole.

“Baby,” Gojo whined lowly, attempting to catch his breath. “I didn’t think I’d ever stop cumming. You drive me crazy.”

“Can we go again?” Looking into his eyes with a pleading glance, you said, “I need more, Gojo, make me cum again. Please?”

“Did I just turn my best friend into my little slut?” Smirking, Gojo leaned down, kissing your lips once again. It was his favorite thing to do. ��I’ll make you cum as many times as you want, sweetheart. We might be here for a while, so why not?”

Suddenly, Gojo lifted you, switching your positions until you were sitting right on top of him, his dick still inside of you.

“The prison realm doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” you grinned.

Gripping your hips, Gojo’s eyes scanned over your beautiful body, admiring the perfect view as you started to ride him.

Perhaps, he would have to thank Kenjaku someday.

🏷: @allofffmypeaches @manjiroswifo @yourusernames @armani78 @darkphoenix3432 @komonika

[dazedin2d]

👁️🫦👁️

18+ MDNI

Pairing ✩ — Fem!Reader X Satoru Gojo, Toge Inumaki, Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuta Okkotsu

WARNINGS ✩ — unprotected group sex in classroom, overstimulation, teasing, praise, size difference, Fem! Receiving oral, anal, vaginal sex, cream pie, chocking, tit-fucking, multiple Fem!Reader orgasms

BONUS ✩ — Reader gets fucked in a skirt

Word count ✩ — 7.3K

Summary ✩ — THIS IS PART 2 (you don’t need to read part 1 if you don’t want to) The school changed the living situation for the students and they have to live in shared apartments. The reader is living with Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuta Okkotsu and Toge Inumaki. She is being shared among those three as their girlfriend. Satoru Gojo figures out what’s going on between the four students and (for his own selfish desires) decides to give them a lesson on how to please the Fem!Reader.

A/N ✩ — I tried linking part 1 on here but wasn’t able to figure it out. Not sure where my mind went when I wrote this… I hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing from multiple view points.

“How long have you been standing there?” Questioned Megumi as Yuji leaned against the island casually.

“Oh, you know. Like 10 minutes. I’m surprised none of you heard me come in. Yuuta was taking too long to grab his running shoes so I came up to see what the hold-up was. Gotta say I’m impressed.” Yuji smiled eying all of us with approval. “It was like I was watching a porno in real life!” Megumi let out an irritated groan at his friend's choice of words, while Yuuta face-palmed himself “Oh right I completely forgot you were waiting for us! Sorry man kinda got distracted.” He flushed as he picked his t-shirt up off the floor. Toge pried me from Megumi’s lap and covered me up more efficiently with the blanket. Not liking the fact that Yuji eyed me with such lust. He pulled me into his arms protectively and led me upstairs to our bedrooms.

“Aww so is that a ‘no’ then? It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone about your guys’ interesting relationship!” Called out Yuji from the kitchen, I let out a little giggle. To be honest I never thought of Yuji in that way before. But if I was ever given the chance, would I let Yuji do me? I pushed the thought away as I shakily walked up the stairs, hanging on tight to Toge’s hand as Yuuta followed close behind with his hand on my lower back for support. Toge led us to his bedroom and personal bathroom. I’ve showered in his bathroom a couple of times before, after sleeping and having sex in his room. The smell of his sandalwood-scented candle always made me feel invited. Toge got the bath ready for me and added the bubbles. Yuuta pulled me into him for a sweet hug, “You did so well taking all three of us for the first time.” I felt his smooth voice through his chest. He pulled away to smile down at me fondly, but then a shocked gasp left his lips. “Inumaki, look what you did to her!” Toge brought his attention from the bath's temperature towards us, his expression changed to an excited one. He quickly got up and turned me to face the mirror, there on my face I had his matching cursed speech markings on my cheeks.

My cursed technique allows me to digest any curse user's DNA and mimic their abilities (to a lesser extent), depending on how much DNA from someone I consume the effects of their techniques will vary. The more I take in, the longer and stronger their technique will be. I’m able to call upon more than one ability or choose which ones to use. A downside is that if I use their cursed technique a lot, I too will suffer the same limits and drawbacks that they go through. With Inumaki’s ability, I prefer not to use it cause it hurts my throat so bad, plus I feel too shy to put my will over someone else’s… I’ve only ever used his ability in battle against real threats. I can get DNA from, sweat, blood, or even a strand of hair. After I consume any of those types of matter, it takes my body about 10-20 minutes to process it and successfully copy their abilities. A drop of blood lasts me about 25 minutes, a drop of sweat 10 minutes a small piece of hair 15, and even swapping saliva through a quick kiss can do the trick. But I haven’t timed myself on that one, since I’ve just recently started kissing more frequently... I’ve noticed after making out with Toge for about 10 minutes, I’d get his marks on my face shortly after, and then they’d fade away 20 minutes later. This was the first time I’d given him oral and swallowed such a copious amount of cum. I wonder how long his curse speech technique would last inside of me.

Toge eyed me proudly and tilted my chin upwards to his face and opened my mouth to look at my tongue. He nodded as a gorgeous smile formed across his face, I’m guessing his viper seal was on my tongue just like his. He pulled me close to his lean porcelain-colored chest and gave me a gentle kiss.

Toge and Yuuta carefully removed the soft blanket from my naked body and led me to the nice warm bath. They took turns washing my sore body as carefully as possible. They treated me as if I was a delicate doll. I felt so relaxed I snoozed off a bit in the bath, I groggily remember Toge carrying me to his bed after my bath, and then Yuuta kissed my forehead before he left. I woke up slightly when I felt Inumaki’s smooth hands run all over my body as he rubbed lotion on me. Not a single part of my body was missed. His fingers ghosted over my nipples, across my flat stomach, and dipped down between my sensitive thighs, causing me to shiver.

“Toge, I’m cold. Cuddle me.” Your words melted his heart, he could never say no to you, especially the way your soft voice sounds extra cute when you’re sleepy. He covered you up in his dark gray comforter and pulled you into him. Snaking his arms around your waist, while resting his lips on the back of your neck.

Megumi felt guilty about how marked up your neck was from him, but secretly he couldn’t help but feel a flash of pride knowing he was the one who left them on you. He let me wear his uniform shirt since it had a turtle neck to help hide the hickeys. It was extremely baggy on me because of how petite my figure was. My school uniform was a black skirt that fell midway down my thighs with black thigh-high socks and a black button-down short sleeve. His turtle neck covered my face partially, but when I’d move slightly or speak, Toge’s curse speech marks would become noticeable. During class, I got a few curious glances from the girls, Satoru even flashed Toge and Megumi a proud and knowing smirk.

“And that’s it for our lesson today,” Gojo said clasping his hands together, we all stood up and began to grab our belongings. I was about to head out of the door when Gojo spoke up once more, “Y/n you wouldn’t mind staying a little later to chat, would you?” I froze right in my tracks; Megumi, Toge, and Yuuta all shared shocked looks for a split second. “Don’t worry boys, she’s not in trouble,” Gojo smirked at their reaction.

“Uh- yeah, that's fine Sensei,” I spoke out in my normal cheerful tone, the same tone I use when I speak to higher-ups or strangers when I want to be polite.

Once everyone else was gone and the door closed behind my boyfriends Gojo leaned back in his chair as he eyed me through his blindfold. “So, how are things going?” He said nonchalantly with the smirk on his face never faltering.

“Good.” I found myself fiddling with the waistband of my skirt nervously.

“And your living situation? It looks like those three are treating you well.” His smooth voice rang out.

“Y-yes, they’re all very nice to me.”

Gojo let out a hearty chuckle, “Oh, no need to be so mousy.” He stood up from his chair and placed both of his hands on his desk, leaning towards me, “Like I said you’re not in trouble... Do you have any idea why I asked to speak to you?”

“No-” I said shortly, but then changed my mind “Well, is it because of my... appearance?”

Satoru snickered once more, “Right on the nose!” He praised, “My first question is-“ He lifted his index finger to represent the number one, but then he hooked Megumi’s collar at my neck. He pulled down the fabric to expose my neck covered in possessive love bites along with Toge’s cursed speech marks on my cheeks. I gasped in shock. “Did Megumi leave those on you? Hmm?” I was appalled, he then gently gripped my neck and tilted my head side to side as he inspected me further. His presence was so dominating, I felt too nervous to speak. A familiar feeling in my stomach began to stir up in me, am I getting turned on by him? “Aww, cat got your tongue?” Gojo cooed with fake pity. “That’s ok, you don’t have to answer me. It’s written all over your pretty face. But please answer this next question; Toge emptied himself in your mouth, didn’t he?” His dirty words caused me to shudder.

I felt so flustered, “Yes, he did.” Gojo’s smug look increased.

“I’m guessing Yuuta’s involved too?” My sensei hummed as I felt a faint blush creep across my cheeks.

I nodded shyly. With his grip still on my chin he placed his middle and index fingers against my lips - they looked so kissable to him. “Are you able to use your cursed technique through saliva? I’m curious to see how long it can last through a kiss-“ he cupped my face firmly and brought his hot lips to mine, his tongue snaked its way into my mouth for a split second. I was too shocked to move or believe that this was happening!

Just then my phone in my skirt went off, someone was calling me! I tried grabbing it but Satoru beat me to it. My phone screen had said that Yuuta was calling, he slid to answer with his thumb as he kept his fingers on my lips.

“Hello?” He hummed smugly, bringing my phone close to his face and putting it on speaker for me to hear.

“Oh, uh- hey Gojo, I’m guessing that you and Y/n are still talking then?” Yuuta said in a confused tone.

“Yeah, we’re still talking,” Gojo said smoothly, with a wicked smirk. If he wasn’t wearing his blindfold he would’ve winked at you.

“Um, well are you guys almost done? Just wondering, since I’m outside waiting for her.” Yuuta explained.

“We’re just finishing up, don’t worry.” Gojo paused, “Are Megumi and Toge waiting out there as well?” Yuuta went silent briefly, “Yeah, we are.”

“Perfect! Why don’t you three come back inside I just realized that I have something I need to talk to you guys about.” He said in a casual tone.

Gojo had you shirtless in seconds, the younger men were baffled at how effectively he undressed you down to nothing but your school uniform skirt. Your bra was particularly flung off by the flick of his fingers. They watched captivated as the experienced man stripped you; as if he was a skilled magician showing off an elaborate trick right before their eyes. He’s done this countless times before.

All of their mouths water for you. The energy in the room shifted immensely. I could feel their longing eyes staring me down as if I was a delectable meal.

I felt so vulnerable sitting on Gojo’s desk with nothing on but my skirt on. He had me bring my feet onto the edge of its hardwood surface, and he gently guided my torso back with his large suave hands, so I was leaning on my elbows. “I’m having her in this position, so you can all see clearly what I’m about to do.” Explained Gojo in a matter-of-fact tone, he had all three of them sit at desks up close to his. “Make sure you pay attention to her reactions and her facial expressions.“

Satoru stood behind me so he was facing his students, he placed both of his warm hands on my shoulders, and he massaged them lightly, “no need to be so nervous,” He whispered down into my left ear, “Relax...” I tried my best to ease my nerves, but I couldn’t help but feel anxious. Gojo’s skilled hands helped relieve the stress I had in my shoulders, causing me to ease up a bit and melt to his touch within seconds. ”Good girl.” He uttered under his breath. Gojo’s seductive scent filled my senses with how close he had gotten to me.

His hands then slid across my collar bones and then he ghosted them down to my perky breasts. Groping them gently from behind me, I held back a quiet moan as he teased my nipples delicately.

“Don’t hide your cute sounds darling, let them hear you enjoy this.”

He then gave my breasts a rough squeeze causing me to tense up in pain, “Did you guys just see that? She doesn’t like it when I’m rough with her tits, be gentle with them from now on.” He then caressed my breast’s again but this time much gentler. He moved his torso closer to my shoulder as if he were a snake enveloping its prey. He lowered his head down to my collarbone to give it a fluttery kiss, causing ferocious shivers to wake in its place. He grazed his lips up to my hickey-covered neck to place another kiss. “Ahh…” I sighed at the feeling.

“Her neck is extremely sensitive, Megumi you took advantage of that. Good job.” Gojo praised against the crook of my neck. He tested the waters and licked up my neck, earning another sigh to escape from me.

He loved how reactive you were being to his touch. And your cute little moans made a tight feeling swell in his chest (and in his pants), oh he will take his time and savor you for sure.

With his hands still lightly teasing and caressing my bouncy breasts, he brought his lips to my right ear, licking the lobe ever so fluently, causing me to arch my back instinctively. A lazy smirk made itself known on Gojo’s handsome features. No one has ever done that to my ear before and the heat from his breath alone gave me goosebumps. Right before everyone’s eyes, I felt my nipples grow even more pebbled. Satoru delicately kissed my ear making me squirm with bliss. I felt my voice get caught in my throat at this new sensation. The neediness between my thighs increased tremendously. He hasn’t even touched me down there but I could feel the dampness in my underwear skyrocket. As if the feeling wasn’t exquisite enough Satoru amplified my emotions tenfold by whispering in a voice too soft for anyone else to hear. “I bet you’re a soaking mess right now. You want me to take of that?”

“Okaka.” I heard Toge growl under his breath, I flashed my attention over to see him sitting at his desk with his arms crossed, his hardened gaze staring directly at his teacher.

“Don’t worry Inumaki, I’m just giving her some words of encouragement.” Gojo sighed lightheartedly. “Words are just as crucial as actions when it comes to the art of seduction.”

Satoru then placed his hot mouth back to my ear once more, initiating for me to arch my back without thinking. He then removed one of his hands from my nipples and brought his index and middle finger to my lips, “suck 'em.” He ordered. I obediently parted my lips slightly, and his long fingers pried their way into my mouth. They immediately went down my throat, my breath remained calm as I gently sucked them with ease. My gag reflex has improved tremendously, compared to the first time I deep-throated.

It was with Yuuta’s dick. He was so sweet and patient while I got used to the feeling. “It’s ok, you don’t have to suffocate yourself.” Yuuta gasped out as I choked on him, his fists tightened around the sheets to try and calm down at the new wonderful sensation he was experiencing. I was curious to see how far he could go down my throat, so I forced myself deeper into him. I felt happy to give him so much pleasure with my saturated mouth, I felt a few tears escape from my eyes, and then shortly after my nose began to run. I loved the way Yuuta’s sweet dark eyes rolled to the back of his head. “You feel so good…” he struggled to say while I slurped his rod.

Remembering that now as I sucked on Gojo’s fingers, caused my panties to dampen even more. I flickered my eyes over my boyfriends, making eye contact with Toge first, you could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted you. Megumi had a similar look on his face but was still curious to see what else Satoru planned on doing to you. While Yuuta had such a needy look on his face, he was turned on and fought the urge to run up to the desk and snatch you from his teacher's grasp. Gojo’s words brought my attention back to him, “I’m impressed that they were able to corrupt an innocent beauty into such a little slut.” I naturally sucked on his fingers a little harder when he called me a slut. I’ve never been degraded before, but when he said that I felt even more turned on. Gojo chuckled, “Oh? Do you like being called a slut?” His voice sounded deeper than usual.

Satoru then moved to my other ear to tease me with his viper-like tongue, I pictured his tongue down between my legs and I couldn’t help but whine onto his fingers. Gojo was drunk with power at the moment, he got off to the thought of doing you right here and now in front of your boyfriends. His cocky smile not leaving his face throughout the whole ordeal.

He reluctantly removed his fingers from my mouth and got up from behind me. He kneeled at the front of the desk but still made sure everyone could see what he was doing. I felt his large hand sweetly touch my ankle and then ghosted his fingers up my shin and to my thigh, lifting my skirt to expose my drenched underwear. “Aww you gotta little excited, didn’t you?” He announced, I felt so lewd when everyone’s lust-filled eyes stared directly at my wet panties.

To my disappointment Gojo didn’t even touch my underwear, I felt him place a hand on the inside of each of my plump thighs. He gave them a gentle squeeze causing me to gasp with delight.

“Yep, my suspicions are correct. Not only does your girl have an extra sensitive neck but her thighs are just as bad.” The way Satoru talked about me, reminded me of the way expert mechanics talk about cars. “Please tell me that at least one of you knew that?” He directed his attention to my three boyfriends.

“Shake-shake,” Toge spoke up, causing Megumi and Yuuta to whirl their heads towards the cursed speech user’s direction. No one except you could notice the proud glint in his eyes.

“Oh? Do care to elaborate.” Satoru said to me as he gently rubbed my soft skin, erecting a sigh of delight to come from my lips.

“Toge likes to give me full body massages from time to time, which most of the time leads to…“ my cheeks growing hot as if I wasn’t already fired up.

My thoughts drifted to when Inumaki discovered my sweet spots on the inner parts of my legs, I was on my tummy in his bed watching tv as he massaged my naked ass. He started with my neck and shoulders and worked his way down. I enjoyed the feeling of my ass being massaged by his slick lotion-covered hands. As soon as he slid a hand down onto my thighs a loud gasp of satisfaction came from me. Toge immediately pulled his hand away with the fear that he hurt me, “Takana?” His voice rang with concern as he brought his face in front of mine.

“It’s ok! You didn’t hurt me, it felt good but also sensitive at the same time.” I blushed.

The look in his eyes got what I meant, so he situated himself back behind me to rub my thighs again. He managed to make me whimper uncontrollably with his teasing hands. His curious fingers were delicate at first, but then increased pressure- which drove me wild. My entire body twitched as I flung over to close my legs. I was greeted to see a sly smile and a playful look in his gorgeous violet-colored eyes. “Inumaki, be nice.”

His reflexes were slightly faster compared to mine and managed to get a hold of my right leg pulling me into him, dragging my back across his sheets in the process. He flung my leg over his shoulder as his lips came crashing down on mine for a heated kiss.

Megumi fought the urge to fuck you on that damn desk himself. His pants felt unbearably tight as his dick grew harder for you. How did Gojo manage to get you so turned on when he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet? The desperate way you looked at him as Gojo teased your overly sensitive thighs, made him ache for you so badly. He knew that Satoru was experienced and was helping you guys unlock new ways to get their girlfriend rilled up, but he felt impatient watching him tease you so blatantly.

I became a squirming and whiny mess because of Satoru’s hands on my soft skin. I felt my walls crumbling from the inside as I lost my self-control. I felt too hot, too turned on, and too empty. “I-I…” I want you to fuck me. I couldn’t muster up those dirty words, so I babbled uncontrollably.

“Hmm? What is it dear?” Gojo’s lazy smile irritated me, he knew what he was doing but chose to keep me in this desperate state.

“You’re not- ahh,“ another wave of pleasure hit me hard, his damn hands were so close to my soaking core. “You’re not doing a good job.” I managed to say between my pants.

“Oh? Be more specific hun, what am I not doing a good job at? Is there something else you want me to do?” That bastard knew what he was doing.

Toge couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the blindfolded man. Yes, he did have good tricks that he planned on teaching them; but Inumaki wanted to be the one responsible for those cute gasps and moans coming from your mouth. While at the same time, he was intrigued at how unraveled you’ve become.

“I…” I trailed off once more, in my desperate state I still felt too shy to say it. His skilled hands were so close yet too damned far away. A sudden wave of bravery overcame me, I shifted my weight onto my right elbow and leaned forward with my left hand. I snatched one of Satoru’s hands and set it on my drenched panties. “Touch me here,” I begged.

Your beautiful pleading eyes and words melted Gojo’s heart, you sounded so adorably horny to him and he loved it. He ghosted his fingers along the line of your pussy lips causing you to grind your core onto his fingers for more friction. “You want me to touch you here?”I nodded, my voice caught in my throat with excitement. “Tell me that’s what you want.” Satoru taunted.

I glared at him when he pulled his hand away, “Please sensei.” I pouted, “Make me feel good.”

That’s all Gojo needed to hear, in one skilled motion he removed your saturated underwear. Yuuta’s mouth watered at the sight in front of him, it took all of his strength and willpower to remain seated and watch his teacher at work.

My dripping pussy was now exposed for all to see, Gojo slid his fingers against my folds to gather some of my juice onto them. He brought his slick-covered fingers to his mouth to have a taste, as if he was trying a delicacy. “Heavenly.”

He then directed his attention to his students, “So when it comes to pussy worshipping there are three ways to go about it. Eating. Fingering. And fucking. I’ll demonstrate in that order.”

He placed his warm finger on my clit, prodding it gently, making me whimper with anticipation. His fingers suddenly swiveled around my bundle of nerves with such speed and pressure causing me to moan embarrassingly loud. All I could feel was a hot white pleasure, I came immediately onto his fingers.

“Oh fuck.” Gojo groaned as he ripped his blindfold down around his neck and brought his handsome face down between my thighs to drink up my squirting liquids. I can’t believe I came that fast and that suddenly.

Megumi, Toge, and Yuuta watched astonished as you came onto Gojo’s fingers. They didn’t know you could finish that suddenly, they all wondered what else their teacher was capable of.

The feeling of Satoru’s skilled mouth drinking you up made you feel so hot. You never would have thought that something so lewd and inappropriate as this would ever happen with him, which made you enjoy it more.

He kept his sultry mouth on my pussy, expertly zigzagging his tongue over my wet folds. I saw his brilliant blue eyes looking up at me friskily. His hands gently rubbed and gripped both of my thighs. “Instead of directing your attention onto one part of her body at a time, it’s crucial to stimulate more than one area. This will make her a slutty mess for you.” He hummed against my slick privates, the vibration of his voice feeling so good I clenched my tight hole yearningly.

As if he knew my hole craved attention, right on cue he plunged his tongue inside of me. “Mmh, Satoru!” My pussy practically squeezed his tongue further into me, begging him to tongue fuck me. His skilled mouth sent me over the edge once again, I instinctively gyrated my hips as I rode out my second orgasm. His eager mouth enveloped my pulsating cunt as he drank from me once more.

Yuuta was awestruck when he so you come undone again, he didn’t even know that it was possible for you to cum twice in such a short amount of time. He made sure to memorize the way his sensei moved his mouth on you.

Once Gojo finished drinking from you he reluctantly pulled his face away, revealing that the lower section of his face was glistening from your overly saturated cunt. He looked over towards his male students, they were all clearly turned on by how he made you so wet and ready. “All of you are going to eat Y/n out, Megumi you’ll go first.”

Megumi immediately got up from his desk with a starved look on his face, he was more than willing to help contribute to making you feel good. His teacher scooted over and now Fushiguro was situated between your legs. “Show me what you know.” Satoru’s lustrous voice rang out into the quiet classroom.

Your boyfriend slid his tongue up your folds and onto your clit, erecting a sigh of bliss to come from your lips. He could grow addicted to the taste of your sweet arousal. He swiped his tongue over you again, but this time faster and with slightly more pressure. Fushiguro remembered how you became when Totality’s fast tongue slid across your clit so he copied that method. You squirmed underneath his hot mouth. Gojo smiled at how fast his young pupil was able to move his tongue on you. Without thinking Megumi brought two fingers up to your dripping cavern, but Gojo grabbed them with a knowing smirk, “Not yet, let’s give Yuuta a turn.” Megumi obeyed and forcibly pulled his mouth away from you, as Yuuta hurried over, practically kicking his desk out of the way.

“Fushiguro, why don’t you give your girlfriend some love while Yuuta eats her out?” Satoru purred as I felt his large hand stroke my thigh in a comforting manner.

Yuuta settled between my legs with a ravenous look in his dark eyes. Megumi leaned against the desk and kissed me passionately. I could taste myself on his lips. The sudden feeling of pleasure woke through my body once more as I felt Yuuta’s tongue zigzag across my folds, in a manner similar to Gojo’s. “Mmm.” My moan was swallowed by Megumi’s avid kisses.

Yuuta then lowered his mouth so he could tongue fuck me, while his slender fingers stroked my sensitive nub. He burrowed his face between my legs as if he didn’t need air to breathe. Gojo was impressed by how enthusiastic Yuuta was about eating your pussy. The thought of teaching you to sit on Yuuta’s face while he ate you crossed his mind for another day of teaching.

“Let’s give Inumaki a turn before she cums Yuuta.” Satoru chimed while prying the dark-haired boy away from your soaking cunt. Yuuta moved to the other side of the desk to kiss my neck, while Megumi and I frenched feverishly. Yuuta’s slick mouth trailed kisses up to my ear, making me writhe in ecstasy.

Inumaki unzipped his face covering and grabbed both of my thighs towards his face, similar to the way Yuuta did. I always loved it when Toge would eat me since the heavy amount of cursed energy coming from his mouth felt like static. He latched his lips onto my clit and sucked hard “Inumaki!” I whined onto Fushiguro’s lips, the sensation was too much for me to handle. I felt overstimulated; with Inumaki’s buzzing mouth down on me, Satoru’s eyes raking over my body, Megumi’s heated kisses, and Yuuta’s steamy mouth on my ear. All of which drove me to the edge completely. I arched my back and flung one of my hands into Toge’s platinum white locks, “Cum.” He mumbled against my sloppy cunt, I tried to clamp my legs down onto him from the intense feeling of my release but his strong grip on my thighs kept me in place. He drank from me as if we were a starved animal, his gorgeous face between my legs made me go weak in the knees.

After cumming three times now, I felt like a rag doll, they could all easily manhandle me if they wanted to, which I wouldn’t mind at all. My exhausted gaze drifted downward to see that Satoru had the largest tent in his pants I’d ever seen. The thought of him squeezing his huge member inside of me made me shiver with anticipation and fear.

Satoru took the initiative and stuck his middle and index finger inside my dripping entrance. “Ahh!” I moaned out enjoying the feeling entirely. Toge was still between my legs and began to lightly kiss and suck my thighs, little did you know he was leaving hickeys all over them.

Gojo pumped his long fingers in and out of me in a steady rhythm. He loved how your walls clamped down on him whenever he went a little too deep. He then arched his fingers so they were stroking my G-spot. He lifted his hand from his firm grip on my hip and announced “This is what I’m doing inside of your girl right now. That will make her cum for sure.” As his other hand in the air mimicked what he was doing inside of me so everyone could see. It was all too much for me, and I couldn’t take it anymore, with all this teasing and touching my overly sensitive body, “just fuck me already.” I whimpered quietly. Not sure if I directed my words to my teacher or one of my boyfriends; I was too overwhelmed to care who did the dead. As long as I could feel one of them fill me up. A dashing smirk came over Gojo’s face. While I sensed Megumi and Yuuta exchange a glance with one another.

Gojo’s fingers inside me went still at my lewd request. “Here Toge, take over.” Gojo took his fingers out of me and licked them clean as he walked to the other side of his desk. He stopped behind me, with his brilliant blue eyes looking down at me. “If you want me to fuck you, I’m going to need your mouth on my dick first.”

I felt Toge’s slender fingers begin to pump in and out of me, as he brought his mouth down to my clit. Megumi and Yuuta shifted their attention to my breasts, each licking and sucking my nipples as if they were a treat just for them. Gojo unzipped his pants and his massive dick sprung free, ready to play as ever. I gasped at his size but wasn’t surprised because of how tall he is. Satoru adjusted my head so it dangled off the edge of his desk. My mouth watered uncontrollably as he lightly guided his dick to my lips. I licked his velvety tip first and then his entire length. Making sure his entire penis was coated with my drool. I carefully took one of his balls into my mouth to suckle, he let out a little hiss of pleasure. “You’re doing so good.” He purred with approval as he placed both of his hands on my head. I mustered up as much bravery as I could to take him down my throat. Immediately I felt panic begin to arise in my chest, due to the lack of air; but that was soon replaced by my dirty thoughts, enjoying the fact that this was happening. I bet this looks so hot to him. And you couldn’t even be more right.

The sight before Satoru was a moment he will never forget. Your small throat squeezed him snuggly, causing his dick to twitch with pleasure. He was able to see the outline of his massive member in your throat. The way your mouth salivated uncontrollably, along with your tongue beckoning him further down made him crave you even more. He’d be satisfied finishing your mouth right here and now, but the greedier side of his personality wants to claim your pussy as his. And that’s just what he’ll do.

Gojo then took himself out of my mouth, and a long strand of my drool connected my lips to the tip of his dick. “Which one of you would like to take her ass?” Gojo asked with a deep voice.

Toge mumbled “shake-shake” through my cunt as he ate me. He lifted his head out from between my thighs, his lips shining with my wetness, while his beautiful purple eyes shone almost innocently.

“Perfect, coat your dick with her pussy juice before you shove it in. So it doesn’t hurt her as bad.” His wiser teacher instructed. Toge slipped three of his fingers inside my sloppy pussy to gather as much wetness as possible (which was pretty easy). He wiggled around inside of me, causing me to whimper uncontrollably. While his other hand unzipped his pants. He removed his fingers from me, making me feel suddenly empty and needy.

His lust-filled eyes stared at me as he stroked his dick with his wet hand. I was more than ready to get filled up. Satoru had Toge take my place on his desk so he was laying on it. Gojo picked me up as if I was weightless and had me straddle Inumaki in reverse. I gingerly settled myself onto Toge’s sprung dick. I’m grateful he was slick with my wetness, otherwise, it would’ve been a bit more painful. “Ahh.” I heard a small groan of satisfaction come from him. Inch by inch I let gravity take me down further onto him until he was in me completely, my skirt hiding what was going on below us. I felt Toge’s nails dig into my hips from his firm grip on me, I could tell he holding back the urge to pump into me. To calm himself, he began to gently kiss the back of my neck and ears. Making me shiver in response, my nipples instantly became pebbled.

Satoru had unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his well-toned muscles, his pants draped to his thighs and his dick stuck out proudly. He settled between my legs, lifting up my skirt, and guiding his massive member to my wet folds. The anticipation caused me to whimper as he slowly pushed the tip inside of me. Gojo clenched his jaw with concentration as he focused on not plowing into me just yet.

I became a mewling mess, “I don’t think you’re going to fit.” I cried as Satoru shoved himself another inch into my slippery vulva. I could already feel him rubbing against Toge’s penis lodged up my ass and he was not even halfway in yet.

“Don’t worry hun, I’ll make it fit. Megumi, put her mouth to use.” Gojo groaned as my walls clamped down on his extensive member. “Yuuta climb on top of her and fuck her tits.”

Megumi did as his teacher instructed, his dark blue eyes gleamed down at me as I opened my mouth for him. Sucking on him hungrily, enjoying the taste of his precum leaking into my mouth. Megumi loved how desirous I was for him, “Ugh... you’re such a good girl.” He groaned out as he caressed my head gently.

Yuuta agilely maneuvered on top of my torso, he put his weight onto his knees being extra careful not to squish me. He unzipped his pants to set his elongated member free. He spits down onto himself and guided my hand up to his dick to stroke him. I enjoyed his warm smooth texture in my hands. Pumping him quickly, earning a few gasps of pleasure to come from his lips.

Satoru couldn’t take it anymore, and plunged himself deep into you, instantly hitting your cervix. A cute and muted, “Ahh! Sensei....” came from your stuffed mouth at the sudden feeling, creaming onto him immediately. Your pussy pulsated around his rod with delight.

“Shit. Your slutty little cunt can’t handle me.” Gojo hissed under his breath, loving the fact that your body cums so easily for him. He settled into a solid rhythm, pushing in and out of your petite body. He made a note to get you for himself some time. He’d love for you to moan his name, and see your adorable face distorted in pleasure because of him.

Toge, felt your release drip down onto his thighs and penis, helping lubricate him. With the extra wetness, he increased his speed, rapidly pounding up inside you. He bit down onto your shoulder passionately, his hot breath initiating goosebumps to rise on your smooth skin. “Oh Toge...” you panted onto Megumi’s dick.

Yuuta then began to rub himself onto your supple bouncy breasts, his penis felt hot and hard against your skin. He was able to get a perfect view of your gorgeous face. The way your pretty eyes watered as you deep-throated Fushiguro, made him adore you even more. Even though what you were doing was incredibly lewd, he knew that in his heart he would protect you, he would kill for you, and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. The thought of love crossed his mind, but was afraid to say that word too soon. “Grip her neck Yuuta.” Ordered Gojo from behind him, snapping him out of his ogling over you, “she’ll like it.” He heaved as he shoved himself into me once more.

Yuuta tentatively brought his lean vein-covered arm up, and his fingers went around my throat, gently squeezing it. “Mmmhhh.” I moaned out, enjoying the feeling of being at his mercy - especially from my shy and sensitive boy. That awoke a dark urge inside of Yuuta, the thought of fucking you with his hand around your throat made him pump his dick a bit faster against your squishy and sensitive boobs.

The way Yuuta’s dark eyes looked down at me with such dominance caused me to clench my walls around Gojo and Toge suggestively. Erupting groans from both men inside of me. Gojo’s grand penis kept hitting my uterus with every stroke, he went in and out effortlessly because of how drenched he was from my soggy cunt. Satoru and Inumaki stimulated me simultaneously, their speed accelerated dramatically along with the power behind their hard thrusts. “You’re taking us so well hun.” Panted Gojo with approval.

My legs began to tremble, I could feel my release building up again. I felt Satoru’s skilled fingers run against the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs feverishly. The sensations they made me feel were too much for me to handle, and I came undone. Drenching Satoru and Inumaki in the process. I whimpered onto Megumi’s dick as his hips began to move a bit rougher against my mouth. Yuuta’s movements against my breasts had increased in tempo as well. “Ahh.” Yuuta sighed with pleasure, as strands of his cum squirted all over my breasts, painting me like a picture. I felt his grip on my throat tighten, causing me to clamp down a bit more on Megumi’s penis lodged inside. Earning a groan of pleasure to erupt from Fushiguro. He sprayed himself down my throat and I drank from him eagerly. Feeling his hot liquid rush down my throat.

“Shit, her pussy is too tight and wet. I’m gonna cum.” Gritted Satoru through his teeth. He cherished the way your petite body welcomed him in so easily. He was clearly much too big for you but got off to the sick thought of that at the same time. He gripped your little waist tightly as he shot his bountiful load of seed deep against your cervix, knowing it’ll reach your uterus in no time. Toge came shortly after, you could feel him pulsate through your ass as he released himself deep inside of your bowels. A delicious groan escaped his lips as he bit down on the back of your neck.

Megumi gingerly pulled himself out of my mouth and leaned down to give me a sweet kiss. Yuuta carefully hopped off of the desk as Satoru removed himself from my used sloppy hole, his cum spilling out of me like a waterfall. His gorgeous blue eyes raked over the mess he made in me, as he helped me up and off of Toge. My legs felt like jelly when I stood up, so I leaned against Yuuta for support. He tried to help me put my bra on, but couldn’t get the clasps figured out. So Satoru took over as he explained how the contraption worked. I felt Inumaki’s and Gojo’s cum drip down my legs from underneath my skirt. All of our clothes were a disheveled mess, but at least the walk from class to our dorm building was a short one. Toge sneaked his way over to me to hug me from behind, I rested my head on his shoulder sweetly. Satoru walked up to me with an affirming look in his eyes, he brought his face down to mine to kiss me tenderly, “You were exceptional dear.” He hummed against my lips. “If you ever need anything, ask me.”

Just then the door to the classroom opened slowly, “Here’s my late homework Gojo!”Said an all too familiar voice, Yuji Itadori stood in the doorway to the classroom with a can of soda in one hand and a packet of papers in the other. “Uhh, it stinks like sex in here!” As soon as the words left his mouth a knowing look flashed over his face, as he realized how messed up our clothes were, and the noticeable strands of gooey liquid falling down my legs. “Did you guys-?” He cut himself off with pure shock and then his expression changed to a sad one, “without me...”

“Oh right, I completely forgot you wanted to join us sometime!” Megumi sighed as he wrapped his arm around my waist protectively. “Sorry man kinda got distracted.”

[dazedin2d]

"Got held up at Shibuya, but I'm yours now."

[dazedin2d]

👁️👅👁️

(2) Cheater : dick grayson!version

third update today, damn it! I know I said I'll post it tomorrow, but it's done and I can't hold it anymore. God, I'm excited to post it! Therefore, I give you what you have been waiting for!

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: Sienna is obviously girlfriend's name

part 1

***

After that first time there was nothing holding them back anymore. Just a touch was enough for both of their bodies to want more of each other, oh,

So.

Much.

More.

and who were they to try and fight the desire and the need of pleasure?

That was why Y/N was currently straddling Dick’s hips, using him to get high, his hands caressing her back, scratching it lightly to ignite her fire even more. He wanted her to get addicted to him, to only think about him, to completely lose control. He craved to see the freaky side of her and nothing could stop him from getting that. Normally he wanted to be on top, dominant, but he way she looked at him with those pretty, lustful eyes, slightly swollen red lips and with a breathless whisper practically begged him to let her take control made his strong will crumble in an instant. He would give her anything she wanted as long as he could keep her  in the sheets longer, closer, tighter to his body.  Preferably forever. For what he cared the world might as well stop existing. She was his world now.

Judging by the way she moved her hips, grinding against him, arching her back due to all his touches and open mouth kisses, panting and moaning, he was her world as well.

“God!” he groaned, one hand squeezing her hips, guiding her movements with proficiency and changing the angle slightly, eliciting a whimper from her. “Can you imagine how much time we lost? Just because you were resisting?’ he smirked, kissing her neck “and why, baby? We could have been doing it for so long now…..”

“Shut up!” she gasped, pressing his head to her skin more and he got the hint immediately.

“You want harder, baby?”

“Yes, please, kiss me more. Touch me more. Go rough on me. Mark me. Mark my whole body. I want everyone to know I’m yours. Yours. Ah!”   

“Like that, babe?” he bit on her collarbone and it hurt. It hurt so fucking good, making her hotter, wetter, needier.  She melted into him, quite literally.

“Dick….” Her hand found a way to his shoulder, digging her nails there, leaving crescent-shaped marks “Come here.” she cupped his cheeks and guided his lips back to hers. “just come here.”

Yes. All her inhibitions were finally gone and he couldn’t help the shit-eating smirk in the kiss. He did it. He made her crumble and now,  she was all his. Good girl was now gone for good.

The kiss was animalistic, predatory, almost like they wanted to consume each other.  Hands roaming freely, everywhere at the same time, overstimulating each other, torn between the crave to cum and get the full pleasure and feel of each other and the need to make this last longer.

“I need you closer.” Dick whispered, breaking the kiss, the string of saliva connecting their lips, sweaty bodies making each slap of skin echo through the empty bedroom. The window was open but the cool night air did nothing to make them calm down. If anything it only made them go faster “closer” he groaned, pulling her hips even more onto him, his cock going deeper and harder with each thrust and movement. “Y/N…..”

“Yes!” she grabbed his shoulder blades running nails over the muscles which were flexing under her touch, throwing her head back, being so close, so close, so fucking close. She only had half the mind to move her body faster, regardless of the tearing pain in her legs. She needed this, she wanted this, there was no way she was giving up now. “Dick….. Dick, god! Don’t stop…..”

“I know baby. I’m close too.” His mouth brushed her exposed neck, thrusting harder, helping her get higher and higher, unlike his kisses that travelled lower to worship her perfect, bouncing breasts, sucking on the pebbled nipples.

“Baby! Dick! Don’t stop! Give it to me. Please! Ah! Yes! Yes! So fucking good!”

“Ladies first.” He smirked “cum for me baby. Now.”

With another cry of his name, that followed right into the night, she let go, squirting right on his cock. He fucking made her squirt and the feeling of her juices dripping on him pushed him over the edge as well. Using the last drops of self-control he managed to pull out and cum on her stomach instead of painting her insides. Such a shame all that load went to waste, but that was the only way she would allow him to love her without condom. None of them had a breeding kink.

Not yet, at least.

But who knew what might develop in the future. Dick was pretty sure that the more he made love to her, the less reluctant she would be towards going raw.

But he was patient, once he learned she was not going to run away from him again.

He had her.

“I love you.” he gasped kissing her. This time softer, slower, coming back down on earth. “I love you.”

“Dickie…..” she mumbled, letting him have that sweet moment, hands tangling in his hair, ruffling those silky strands. “Dick….”

“This just sound so right. I don’t think I can ever stop saying that.” He caressed her cheek gently closing his eyes and enjoying those three words. “I love you. “

“I love you too, boy wonder. Bird boy. My boy.”

“Yes. I’m yours. And you’re mine. Say it.’

“I’m yours Dickie.”

“God, I can’t get enough of you.” he was absolutely ready to go for round three but she laughed lightly, putting a hand on his heart and stopping him.

“Give me a little break, my vigilante. I know you have stamina, but I’m not as resilient as you. “ Y/N tried to push him away a bit, but he just grabbed her wrist, putting it to his mouth and kissing it gently, nibbling on the soft skin,  before moving to brush his lips over each of her knuckles, the simplicity and tenderness of this gesture making her insides melt. His every action being the testament to the words of affection from before.

“Don’t ever push me away princess. Not again.”

“I promise. No more.” she gasped, her voice trembling due to the sensation, barely holding it in.

“Good,” Dick kissed her forehead briefly and moved away, making her whine for him “I’m just gonna grab some water and towel to clean you up, baby. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He put on his pants and went to grab the necessary things.

In the meantime, she reached for the blanket, wrapped herself in the soft fabric and stood up to stretch a bit. Her body felt as sore as it was alive because of him.  The second she put feet on the floor, her gaze travelled towards that little thing that Dick threw there before they really started going. The one that “wasn’t important”. And the sudden realization of what it was made her tense at once.

Her picture.

Right….

Cause, technically speaking he still had girlfriend.

Oh, the bubble burst and the reality hurt when Y/N bend and picked the photo, inspecting the damaged frame and broken glass. There it was. The real way Dick felt about his girlfriend.” It’s nothing important…”  was what he said. But was it really? Or maybe he was just playing with Y/N’s feelings and emotions, just trying to get what he wanted?

“Baby?” speak of the devil. He was standing in the doorframe, glass in one hand, cloth in the other. God! He looked so hot with his perfectly chiseled chest and abs on full display, mess of a hair and boyish look on his face.  His voice was laced with honey until he figured out what she was holding. “No.” it only took him a second to put the things away and move towards her. Slowly, he took the picture from her hands “No, baby. Don’t.”

“But……”

“Look at me.” He put a finger under her chin, looking deep into her eyes “every word I told you was true. I love you. I want to be with you.”

“I know…. But I also know that a broken hearted girl can act unpredictable and ….. dangerous….  I don’t want you to give up on me…. on us…. when she goes crazy and …..”

“Hey. She’s not going to hurt you. I won’t let that happen. I promise.” He pulled Y/N closer, giving her all the comfort he possibly could. What he did not say out loud was that his girlfriend (or rather ex-girlfriend, even if she didn’t know that yet) actually could be a bit of a psychopath.  After a while of the fake relationship with her he was actually painfully aware of that. But he was not going to let anything happen to his only true love, Y/N. He would protect her, no matter what it took.  “I can’t believe you think so little of me….” He muttered.

“Dick?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Kiss me again.” Y/N whispered, suddenly becoming hungry for his touch afresh.

He didn’t need to be told twice, out of instinct unwrapping the blanket from her body and grabbing her ass, lifting her up, her legs and arms wrapping around him tightly, caressing his chest and back, almost like she was in a trance.  Apparently Y/N changed her mind and found some more strength in her.

“You’re mine.” He repeated, almost like he needed another verbal reminder of that little fact.

It was just so easy to get lost in her. Until…..

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!” unknown female voice cut into Dick’s and Y/N’s moans and groans and all their sounds of pleasure, making them freeze immediately.

“Sienna?” Dick managed to say “What are you doing here?” his first reaction was shielding Y/N with his body. Ever the gentleman.

This was not good. Not good at all.

To be continued?

Tags(I swear I am not tagging ageless blog in my smuts, so either put it in bio or suffer in silence): @miraculous-panic @mvchmp @xlatinaaxx

[dazedin2d]

tig bitties bag sruh

Yo titties super saggy 😷😷

Big titties sag bruh 🤷🏻‍♀️

[dazedin2d]

BESTIE HOW HAVE U BEEN!! Forgive me for disappearing for months as always but I had this sudden hc - How about atsumu x an older woman 🧍‍♂️ As in 6 or 7 years older ? The thought has me frothing 🧚 Maybe the reader is an executive in the sports team or you know the person who deals with all the legal issues? Idk if you're accepting asks rn or if u write fics with older!reader since I forgot to check😭 If you aren't then no need to write this one but just in case - it can be fluff and maybe a lil suggestive at the end ( with tsumu finally scoring a date)??? Just a soft one shot fic of atsumu trying to woo his pretty and more experienced crush😩 Also , remember to take care of yourself, stay hydrated and dream about me 🔫

A/n: HI BESTIE THIS IS VERY LATE IM SO SORRY I MADE IT VERY SUGGESTIVE TO MAKE UP FOR IT <33

Warnings: Female reader, NSFW, fingering, age gap

NSFW under the cut!!

"Tsumu, what are you doing?" you asked as he backed you up against the hotel corridor wall.

"I couldn't help myself, you were being too cute going on about budgets for the team," he tucked a strand go hair behind your ear and leaned in, "You chewing on your lip was super cute too," he whispered in your ear.

"I mean that it's inappropriate for you to go after someone like me," you huffed out and looked around to see if anyone was around. You were so worried people from the team would see you, "I'm one of your teams' managers, the press would have a field day if they knew."

"So? Let 'em," he snaked his hand around your waist and cupped your ass gently, "Shall we take it back to my room, babe?"

You rolled your eyes and prodded at his chest, "Is this how you speak to your seniors? Your senpai?" You chuckled, "Tsumu, you should really go for someone your age, not someone who knows what they're doing."

"Was that a challenge, senpai?" he grabbed your hand and led you towards his room which was coincidently on the same floor and less than a minute away from where you were.

"Let go of me, Tsumu!," you flung your hand out of his grip, "I can walk by myself, I'm not a baby like you," you said jokingly.

You could almost see the steam coming out his ears when you said that, he unlocked his room and opened the door for you, "Come in, Y/n senpai."

Not even two seconds after the door close, he had you pinned against the wall, both arms held in place by his left hand and his right making its way down to your throbbing pussy.

"Would someone your age be doing this to you?" he spat out as he slipped his fingers between your folds and started playing with your sensitive clit.

It felt so good. You kept having flashbacks to last time but your fingers were never as good as his, "No..." you replied shyly.

"God you're soaking already, did ya miss me that much?" he said cheekily and slipped both fingers in. You moaned.

"Tsumu, quit teasing me," you protested and broke free from his grip, you let your arms rest on his shoulders, "Let's have some fun, hm?"

"Get on the bed then, let's not waste any time, senpai," he teased, took his shirt off and locked his door.

a/n: lmk if you like the visuals or if I should leave it :p

[dazedin2d]

hii congrats on 100!

i’m a cis female who goes by she/her pronouns. i’m 5'1 and i play a lot of sports. i can play a bunch of instruments and i like to play videogames and go outside. i have dark hair and i wear contacts or clear framed glasses.

a self ship of mine is iwaizumi x me or tsukishima x me or kita x me (you can pick <3)

styles would differ tbf, maybe some light academia mixed in sports? or just light academia w/ a hint of cottage core :)

thanks!

A/n: Thank you for participating!! <3 i’m so so sorry for posting this two centuries later

100 followers event!

pairing: you x Tsukishima Kei

Ken loves music; everyone knows this so when he realised that you played instruments and sports? oh boy he fell so hard for you. He bullies you for being short and steals your glasses when you're wearing them. Ofc he's careful not to get any smudges on them because he knows how annoying that is. He'll play video games with you all day everyday and loves to give you forehead kisses. He always has a headphone splitter with him so you can both share music ;)

[dazedin2d]

Okay b I actually charged my IPad to get this done because boy oh boy I cannot miss out on this event because I am sooo proud of you and all that you have done!!!

I literally cannot choose who I would want to pair myself with but it would have to be Asahi, Oikawa, or Tsukishima and I would adoreee a dark academia theme because wow

I am a Scorpio with an attitude problem and I love my cacti and my puppy Oliver, I am super indecisive, brownies are my favorite dessert, I am American and talk like a hill-billy and say y’all not ironically but also ope and sorry like a walking stereotype, hmmm other things about me, I run a blog, I have no sense of direction, I love affection in private but hate pda, I am short and annoying, I can sound just like Elmo, I get sunburnt super easy and I am on level 2565 or something crazy of candy crush

Thank you so much!!! I am so so so so so proud of you and excited to see what you are going to do next!!! 200 follower event is going to be sooner than you know!

A/n: i’m so so sorry this is posted a century after Nat, take my left leg as a sacrifice <3

100 followers event!

pairing: you x Asahi

Asahi is the biggest softie around especially when you're around; he loves the way you can do anything when you put your mind to it. He adores your little quirks and he even absorbs some of them; he's got a little twang of your accent on some words. He doesn't like PDA either; he likes to save it for later ;). He'll hold your hand or waist and maybe the odd kiss hehe ;) He'll make brownies and all the goodies for you even at 2am when you message him about how you want some brownies and ice cream- you know he'll be there once they're done in the oven.

[dazedin2d]

Hi! I would like a tsukishima/oiwaka blurb. I lean towards the grunge aesthetic. I am a outspoken person who is REALLY blunt (I sometimes can come off as mean :/). I love volleyball, I'm a libero and the captain of my team. I am short, have tanned skin and curly mid length hair, I also wear glasses. I don't like phsycal contact but I love to do little things for the ones I love. Thank you beforehand :))

A/n: Thank you for participating!! <3 again i’m so sorry for posting this a century later

100 followers event!

pairing: you x Tsukishima Kei

Kei puts up with everyone but he truly loves you and how you make him feel. He might not show up front but he does little things like making you playlists, getting your favourite sweets and walking you home no matter what the weathers like. He definitely bullies you about being small but is careful not to knock or smudge your glasses because he understands how annoying that is.

pairing: you x Oikawa Tooru

Oikawa is so so proud of you being captain and flaunts it too; something about being a power captain couple. He’ll only be cheesy when the moods right and put you first no matter what. Hungry? He’s gonna be at the convenience store buyin your favourite stuff. Lonely? He’ll be there in 5. This boy absolutely adores you, you could even say worships you. Oh and he loves twirling your hair around his fingers.

[dazedin2d]

Alright. Hi! Congrats on you follower count love. It indeed is a nice achivement. My name is Erica and I would love to take part in the event please. As a character I choose Ushijima and cottagecore for the aesthetic. He is a farmer at heart and we all know it. So a house with some baby cows, bunnies and a little backyard with crops. Extra serotonin points if you can hint at my witchcraft. Like just a nice little cottagecore, farm life with Toshi. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Congrats again love!

A/n: Thank you for participating!! <3 and i’m so so sorry this is posted too many moons too late

100 followers event!

pairing: you x Ushijima Wakatoshi

Toshi is such a softie at heart; he knows exactly what you want and need at all times and is so so gentle with you. He’s absolutely adores running the farm with you and spending the evenings watching the sun go down with the soft breeze brushing through your hair. Ofc he loves watching you getting passionate about getting new crystals and doing tarot readings. He secretly finds it funny when you blame everything on mercury being in retrograde even though he understands nothing about it.

[dazedin2d]

Sailor Moon Crystal Eyecatchers

[dazedin2d]

iwaizumi: *likes/reblogs/follows/queues 100 more reblogs*

[dazedin2d]

Hi theree~ I just want to tell you that I really love it! Your idea are amazing🥺 I hope you have a nice day and don’t overwork yourself💞

Oh my gosh, you are so so sweet!! Please request stuff for me to write after the event's over! <3

Lots of love,

Bee <3