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l0ckw00d · 3 months

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟI'D GET YOU WHAT YOU WANT (SUPERSTAR STATUS) .ᐟ

: ̗̀➛ BILLED TO: s. ryomen, n. kento, g. satoru, t. fushiguro, g. suguru

summary modern au! how the jjk men spoil you rotten and take you down a lifestyle of luxury, opulence, and excess! a sneak peek into my upcoming popstar series.

cw 18+ mdni, fem!reader, criminal spending habits, self-indulgent, public sex, drunk sex, overstimulation, marking, sub!reader, oral!f and m receiving, angry sex, some eyebrow-raising power dynamics, mentions of nipple piercings, name calling, anal, sex toys, use of pet names, impact play, leaving marks, sukuna's his own warning, lingerie

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . club owner SUKUNA RYOMEN

last spotted at the hottest underground nightclub that sukuna is the silent owner of, deep in the city of angels, fittingly named, DISGRACE. papparazzi lined up in droves outside, cameras flashing as LA's finest and most notorious clamber to enter. that intoxicating feeling of being on top of the world, delirious off the knowledge that scorching red eyes have not left your figure all night, dancing until four am and knowing that he's gonna give it you hard later. your receipt? you've always known sukuna to have reckless taste, and you can bark all you want about his excessive lifestyle, but his ego often trumps yours, and he'd be damned if he doesn't have you dressed to the nines and dripping in diamonds, like that five-figure dior slip dress you're wearing and tantalizingly waving in his face just so he can see a hint of the expensive lingerie he gifted you before your little night out.

you know sukuna's probably fuming, but you can't really find it in you to care. you're still a little bit angry with him for the little stunt he pulled earlier, eating you out brutally to the point that you cried and drooled and became a mess all over the backseat of his bugatti, ruining your makeup just minutes before you had to make an appearance at the opening of his new club, where he knew dozens of papparazzi would be waiting. the worst part? he didn't even let you finish.

he had grinned as he took your hand and helped you out of the car as lights flashed in your eyes, but he's not grinning now.

you're on the dance floor, uncharacteristically far away from the VIP section, on top of the world and practically shimmering. you're a star, clad in all of sukuna's recent gifts, but you feel like being a little bit mean tonight, content to make him watch as you have the time of your life instead.

two can play at this game.

some trust fund baby finds his way behind you and you smile slyly, playing along with this little charade, letting his hands migrate up your hips until you're half exposed and the lingerie set that sukuna specifically picked out for his eyes, are barely visible, showing of smooth skin and tantalizing lace.

you're giddy and feeling victorious when he finally, finally marches over despite obviously being mid-conversation with some investor, storming over to you and wordlessly tossing you over his shoulder without paying mind to the pissed off man you've just abandoned.

sukuna hears you giggle, and you're swiftly silenced by a stinging slap to your exposed thigh. "you think this is funny?"

yeah, you do, but you don't tell him that. you've been pent up all night, and it's about time he got a taste of his own medicine.

when he sets you down, you're in a private, secluded alcove above the club, close enough that you can still hear the thumping music underneath your feet. in seconds, he's got you pressed up against the cool glass, opaque but you know there's still a chance that your shadows are still visible.

his hands are mercilessly pushing up the hem of your skimpy little dress and pulling down your panties, and your eyes widen at the realization that he's going to fuck you, right here, right now.

"greedy, little slut. you wanna show off what's rightfully mine?" you hear his belt coming undone behind you, his hot breath fanning over your neck. he talks a big game, but you know he's going equally, if not more needy than you. "you don't even deserve to get fucked, so fucking nasty. i should leave you here high and dry again. you'd fucking hate that, huh?"

"you—you—fuck—s... started it," you whine when he enters you in one push, hot and wet and pulsing around him. he groans, a low and dangerous sound, before fucking into you like a man starved. a hand snakes around you to play with your breasts, nipples hardening against the cold glass. "w—wanna cum, please, please, please—"

"you wanna cum?" his laugh is cruel, sending tremors down your spine. "i'm gonna make you cum so fucking much, you'll forget your name."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . ceo NANAMI KENTO

last spotted at the amalfi coast, vivid scenery straight out of a timeless oil painting, warm sunlight bathing your skin, the windows of your villa overlooking rows upon rows of sweet lemon trees flung wide open, salt air and cool marble, and on the table, a cappucino for him and a cornetto for you. your receipt? nanami's tastes have always leaned more towards the classic and timeless, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to show off what's his, what he can give to you from time to time. he gets you those vintage chanel sunglasses and dainty cartier bracelet you were eyeing at via camerelle, buys a yacht in your name without even batting an eye, starts contacting his assistant to buy the villa you're currently staying in so that you can come back whenever you want.

sometimes, when you wake up early enough, you don't see him as much as you hear him. your nanami's always been an early riser and it used to be something that perplexed you, rustling around the sheets in the morning only to feel the warm imprint of him instead, but then you hear the beginning dreamy notes of a classical song on the piano, and you're at home again.

you're still bare and just a little bit sore from last night, after he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your obliging body, whispering sweet, gentle praises in your ears as you were reduced to nothing more than a mindless heap on the bed. you follow the music to the grand living room, clothed in nothing but the sheets.

nanami always looks ethereal in the morning, eyes closed in deep thought, long, skillful fingers gliding across the keys. strands of his champagne blonde hair, usually slicked back, fall to the front of his face, and the show of vulnerability makes a side of your lips curl.

when you hum appreciatively, it's like he's awoken from a trance, eyes softening at the sight of you. he beckons you closer until you're behind him, warm and soft and still yawning your sleep away. "g'morning."

"good morning," he toys with the hands that you've got draped over his shoulder, plays with the new cartier bracelet he just got you and appreciating how it shines in the morning light. he presses a kiss to your wrist. "did you sleep well?"

he doesn't have to turn around to know that you're grinning from the rush of memories of last night. "yeah. yeah, i did. did you?"

nanami lets out a low sound in agreement, "wore me out, kid."

you giggle. "you hungry?"

"starving."

"how about room service? or maybe that cute little cafe we drove past yesterday—" you're interrupted with a gasp as he spins you around to face him, plopped down rather ungracefully on the piano as nanami gets to work unraveling the sheets you've got around you.

"think i'm a little hungrier for something else," his voice is husky and sends a trail of goosebumps down your skin, hoisting you up higher so that your legs can straddle his eager face. he kisses the length of your thigh, nibbling and sucking on the plush skin before pressing a teasing lick down the seam of your pussy, relishing the taste.

your thighs clench around his head, and you can feel the ghost of a smile before his tongue probes deeper, lapping at how wet you're very quickly becoming. he sucks on your clit, harsh and unforgiving, just as a stray hand reaches up to pinch and squeeze at one of your tits. "oh... oh! nanami!"

a couple of those slender, graceful fingers of his come back down to where he's making out with your cunt, pussydrunk but precise with the way he's hitting all the spots that bring stars to your eyes. you're sopping wet and needy when he enters you with two fingers all at once, head falling back as he fucks you with vigor.

"we'll get breakfast after, sweetheart. just let a man enjoy his vacation first."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . actor GOJO SATORU

last spotted at the swiss alps for another PR stunt orchestrated by your respective managers, but you can't really complain with the cushy arrangement they've got you in, a ski resort situated in the rocky mansions that celebrities are known to torment frequent, snowflakes landing on your tongue, wood burning in the fireplace, vanilla and cashmere in the air, flushed cheeks and icy blues following your every move around your suite, a wing built for two people with too much space and money in their hands your receipt? technically, gojo doesn't have to spoil you, it's not really part of the arrangement, no one's paying attention to where you get all your new digs from, but it matters to him. it's just instinct, he says, as he buys you everything you could possibly need, a loro piana salzburg cape with fur, la mer beauty products, tickets to the ballet you've been eyeing...

it's been a constant tug of war to see who breaks their composure first ever since the paparazzi retreated from the hills amidst an incoming snowstorm. it's always been like this between the two of you, even before this fake little pr relationship, like precious china on the precipice of falling over the edge and breaking.

as much as you hate to admit it, you're two sides of the same coin, prone to boredom after so much time in the limelight. you're no stranger to his games, and this might just be your most daring one yet.

"whoever breaks first," satoru's eyes gleamed, gaze traveling down the side of your neck to your ample cleavage and then all the way to your supple thighs, licking his lips slightly. "chooses where we go next for vacation."

it's a trick question. you're always the one who ends up choosing.

but he's been torturing you all day, accidentally leaving the bathroom door open so you can see his soaked, chiseled torso, half-concealed from the bubble bath he's drawn for himself, smirking when you yelp and close the door in a hurry.

but you've got more tricks up your sleeve.

you shed your robe in front of him, content to laze around the suite in little scraps of lace, lingerie that satoru specifically picked out for you ages ago. this probably wasn't how he envisioned you revealing it to him, throat drying up when you sit across from him with a hot cup of cocoa and a book you've been dying to read, paying him no mind.

he's been fidgeting for the past hour, and you know you're going to win soon. so when he leaps across the l-shaped couch and bends you over the coffee table, you're not surprised.

"holy shit, baby, you look so good, all mine, huh?" he fiddles with the strap of your bra as you're keening out from under him, other hand snaking around to play with your clit as he fucks deeper into you. "no one else gets to see you like this. just me."

gojo groans at the way you whine, and all of a sudden, you hear an all-too-familiar rip of lace coming apart. when you turn around to give him an admonishing look, he pounds into you as if to shut you up. "i'll buy you a new one, geez."

it fills you with pride, knowing you've got hollywood's darling at your beck and call, submitting to every one of your whims with just a bat of your lashes. though, he easily has the same effect on you as well.

you know your arrangement isn't real, not really, but when he fucks you so good like this, you can almost pretend.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . musician GETO SUGURU

last spotted at his luxurious bel-air mansion after a night of causing trouble around the town, high above the hills like an imposing shadow. he complains that it's too big, black marble and steel, walls adorned with vintage instruments played by musicians long past their prime, a studio reserved for recording your needy croons and whines, watching you with half-lidded eyes while he's got a cigarette in one hand. your receipt? suguru's thoughtful and takes time considering what he wants to give to you. he buys you all sorts of trinkets while he's on tour, a vintage saint laurent lighter, limited edition vinyls that feel criminal in your hands, archival pieces that you have no idea how he acquired, but they feel so perfect on your skin. when he's feeling a bit bold, a bit indulgent, he showers you with works of art.

suguru's always had a bit of a possessive streak.

the first thing you discover about him, is that he can't quite keep his hands off of you. his hands, his most treasured anatomy, known for producing the most heavenly musical pieces, renowned for its way with an electric guitar, and he's got them all over you at all times. veiny arms that ripple with strength and they always lead back to you.

doesn't matter if it's in the middle of a crowded club, the fucking grammys, or the comforts of his own home, he's engulfing you with his touch, underneath the hem of your skirt, on your shoulder blades, or, currently, on the soft plush of your chest.

suguru's got you squirming in his lap, fingers squeezing and pinching the nub of your nipples as he sucks and licks up a side of your neck, tongue hot and needy against you, and you can already feel the most delicious marks forming. "such a good girl, sitting so pretty for me."

his praises send a rush of heat straight to your core, and he knows it. he could spend hours just like this, barely even touching you where you need him most, completely at his mercy and pliant beneath his hands.

he hums appreciatively, rolling his hands over your tits, as if lost in thought. "how would you feel about piercings?"

"piercings?"

behind you, suguru nods. "some piercings to match mine on these," he pinches one of your nipples and your lips fall open in a silent gasp. "only the best, of course, since you're always so sensitive here... so needy.... god, you're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

it's something he's always wanted to do. he wants everyone to know exactly what you do to him, how you've brought him to his knees and how he would let you take him for everything he was worth, if only you'd let him. just wants to return the favor, wants everyone to know exactly who you belong to.

"one day," he murmurs against your skin, and the promise rings in your ears.

when you keen, arching your back in desperation to get him inside of you, he obliges, finally shucking off both of your clothes. you try to get into position under him, but he stops you, situating you right above his cock.

"you're gonna ride me until you can't," suguru whispers, breath ghosting over your tits. "and if you're a good girl, i'll let you pick out the jewelry later."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . TOJI FUSHIGURO (bonus!)

"i'm not like one of your prissy little rich boys," toji's voice is raspy and deep, just a hint of want that betrays that nonchalant nature of his. you feel his fingertips graze your bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in his wake. you're stark naked in front of him, while he's fully clothed. "'m not gonna fucking spoil you, gonna give you exactly what you need."

he knows that what you really need, is someone to bring you down to earth, someone to pull your hair and spit in your face and show you exactly how depraved you can be. you wouldn't be here, otherwise.

you're putty in his hands as he maneuvers you exactly how he wants, ankles going over your shoulders as your eyes widen. toji's wicked grin deepens. "you scared?"

"n—no! 'm not scared—" you're fiery and way too defensive and toji rolls his eyes, pulls you down on the bed so that your hips are flush with his. you can feel how hard he is even through layers of clothing, swallowing the lump in your throat as you realize, there's no way he's fitting inside of you, he's long and thick and—

toji snaps his fingers in front of you, bringing you out of your daze. "eyes back on me, doll."

"you like that feeling of fucking someone who's underneath you? who's underneath who now, huh?" he's always been so graphic and the way he talks to you, with no concern for your propriety, his end goal always to see you get flushed from head to toe.

the sight of you, debauched and needy, so far removed from your immaculate image, sobbing and scratching his shoulders as you lose yourself in the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you, a rough, padded thumb glued to your clit.

"been a spoiled brat your whole life, but not with me," toji doesn't stop even after you shiver through your third orgasm on the night, no signs of even wanting to slow down. "you're gonna take exactly what i give you."

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