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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 19 | 𝐃𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

pairing: gojo satoru x you

summary: your work crush on gojo satoru finally comes to fruition in the form of rough, angry sex in his penthouse apartment. you never thought you’d be so excited to be broken up with.

There’s something that you’ve always wanted to try. Being with your ex for so many years meant that you never really got the chance to explore yourself, at least not sexually.

He’s a nice guy. He’s rather quiet, rather reserved, and especially so in bed. Your sex life mainly consisted of the basic positions, where he’d climb on top of you and fuck you, and you’d accept it and... honestly remain unsatisfied at times. When he broke up with you, it was bittersweet.

Bitter, because spent the vast majority of your young adult life with him, and change is difficult.

Sweet, because you now have the opportunity to act on a teeny tiny work crush that you’ve developed.

Teeny, tiny, insignificant. You would’ve never acted on it if your ex hadn’t broken up with you.

But he did, and now you’re working up the courage to go into Gojo Satoru’s office and ask him for something.

He wouldn’t say no to you. Gojo always flirts with you, even when you weren’t single. He never cared for your boyfriend, always called him lame, unexciting, boring. When you were alone with Gojo, he’d often times refer to him as a side character, or an NPC.

“Stop that,” you’d say, after a day of Gojo’s teasing your poor boyfriend.

“You’re too hot for him, and you know it,” Gojo would argue, “he looks like the type of guy that would faint if you asked him to tie you up.”

“Gojo!”

“Oh my god, I’m right, aren’t I? Look at me and tell me that hasn’t happened before,” you couldn’t properly look at him, “holy shit. Oh my god. Break up with him, or I swear to christ I’ll do it for you.”

He was half right, half wrong. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t quite faint when you’d ask for something new in bed, but he would give you this bewildered, distant expression and ask what’s gotten into you?

“I’m not gonna break up with him. Don’t be like that,” you’d say, shoving your work crush down your throat and swallowing it.

And then Gojo would laugh a lot, because you could never deny his claims, nor validate them. You’d just sit there blushing, looking away from him, trying not to giggle at his mean-spirited jokes.

Sometimes you did, and he’d never let you live it down.

Regardless, you always knew that the crush was somewhat mutual between the two of you. At the very least, he’d fuck you, and you know that because he never hesitates to tell you.

The first time he subtly cued you in on it being mutual was when you were at the bar with him, Suguru, Shoko, and Nanami after work one night a couple of months ago.

“If you could-- if you could hook up with anyone from work,” Shoko slurred, after having enough drinks to down a grown man, “who?”

Gojo laughed, he wasn’t drunk at all, “I could hook up with anyone from work except you, ‘cause you’d be crying over Utahime the whole time--”

“Shut up,” she hissed, “that’s not the game, ‘n you know it.”

“Fine,” he relented, sitting back in the booth.

He gave you a sly look, blue eyes darting between your eyes and your lips for a fraction of a second, before sighing and saying, “Suguru, obviously. I mean, we’ve already--”

And then you heard a rather detailed story about how he and Suguru occasionally share women, and occasionally leave out the women and just share one another. He’d look right at you during the filthiest parts, lips curved up into a knowing smirk at the sight of your wide-eyed stare.

Satoru only got bolder after that. Meanwhile, you still can’t muster up the courage to just walk into his office and ask for what you want. It’s not like he’ll say no.

He won’t. Of course not. He’s so casual about these things, he’s not quite a whore, but he’s whore-adjacent. Satoru likes sex, he’s too self-indulgent to say no to an opportunity of fucking one of his best friends. Right?

You tap your nails on the desk, deliberating your options as you stare at the door.

Right.

After adjusting your hair a little, you make your way into his office, where he’s sitting with his feet reclined up on the desk, fucking around on his phone. You don’t know how he even sees the screen with his blindfold on, but that’s a question for another time.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses, fixing himself back upright instantly, “I thought you were Yaga. Come in.”

“Hey,” you say, closing the door behind you, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s up, baby?” He asks, smiling at you radiantly like he always does, even when he can tell that you’re stirring and brooding over something, like you are now.

“I-- I wanted to,” you trail off, stammering and refusing to look at him, “I was wondering if we could... if you could... fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re-- I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you, and...”

“Straight and to the point, I see,” he teases you, laughing at your nerves, “but I heard about you and Mr. Limpdick breaking up. Am I on the right track?”

“You know that’s not his name,” you argue shyly.

“Sure, I do. What I don’t know is why you’re still defending him when he couldn’t make you cum. I mean, I don’t really see the point, but whatever,” he refutes, shrugging, “but if you’re here asking me to fix that,” he leans forward, murmuring smoothly, “I wouldn’t say no.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Of course not,” he replies, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

Oh.

Oh?

“Okay,” you reply softly, barely able to cover the nervousness surging through your system, nor the way you’re having to shift in your seat when he says such bold, audacious things so casually.

“Wanna come over after work?”

“Yeah,” you reply, biting your lip, “and... I’ve never had... uh, can you... be mean to me? When we do it?”

He chuckles at your shyness, “How mean?”

“Really mean,” you murmur soflty.

“I can be mean to you. I can make you cry if you want me to,” he replies with a cocky smirk, “but we’re gonna need a safeword if you want it rough.”

“Stop wouldn’t work?” You ask, perking up with fear masked by enthusiasm.

“No,” he replies seriously, “anything other than the safeword is encouragement to me, baby. I’ll go harder if you say stop.”

You bite your lip, breathing in deeply at the way the room suddenly feels ten times smaller, “Alright... I’m okay with that. What should it be?”

He laughs, and then he says your ex-boyfriend’s name.

You tried to argue about it, giving reasons like “what if it’s muscle memory for me to say his name?”

Satoru just laughed at you, and then he told you that he knows it’s not, and that if you say anyone else’s name in the first place, he might have to take a breather so that he doesn’t actually hurt you.

He warned you that he can be rough, he can be too rough if he’s not careful, considering his infinite strength and stamina.

You’re excited. You’re unbearably, unreasonably excited.

When you arrive to his apartment later in the evening, you’re bubbling with anxiety and nerves about what’s going to happen, what you’ve been wanting to happen for months now.

You’ve thought about it, and you’ve thought about it a lot, but now that the time’s here you want to run away. Satoru doesn’t let you. Instead, he opens the door and grins at you.

“You want a drink?”

“Okay.”

“You nervous?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Good.”

And then things are relatively normal for a few moments. Though you’ve never been to his apartment before, it looks the way that you’d expect it to look. Impersonal, unused, cleaned professionally by people other than himself.

You get the odd feeling that he’s trying to make you more nervous, rather than to calm you down, like he feeds off of your bubbly, shy energy. He sits close to you but doesn’t touch you, he drags on a conversation about you and how you’ve been fucked before until you almost can’t stand him.

“He really missed an opportunity with you,” Satoru murmurs, sitting so close to you now that he can play with your hair while he talks, “you’re so eager to please, but he’s too stupid to see you for what you are like I do.”

“Are you trying to fuck me or date me?” You ask, teasing him back.

“I’m just reminding you of how much I like you,” he replies softly, “I really do like you.”

“You say that like I won’t think so after.”

He hums softly, “You won’t.”

You shiver, as he leans in and presses his lips to yours, so gentle that it feels disingenuous. Using his technique, he levitates your glass out of your hand to sit it on the coffee table, dragging you closer to him.

Just from kissing, from the way he cradles your neck and licks your lower lip, it feels more passionate and erotic than anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself needy, chasing after him more so than the opposite, until you’re about to crawl into his lap if he doesn’t offer you more.

He stops you, holding a firm hand against your hipbone, tracing circles on the bone with his thumb.

“Greedy whore,” he scolds you irritably, “you’ll get more when you earn more. Take your fucking clothes off.”

The sudden change in pace startles you, catches you off guard and leaves you fumbling for a response, staring at him confusedly.

“Did I stutter?” He asks, tapping his finger on his knee like he’s counting the seconds it takes you to listen.

You start to slip one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder, attempting to listen.

“Not like that,” he reprimands it, “stand up, and don’t be shy. I won’t like it.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter out, standing up in front of him gracelessly.

He chuckles, “That’s better, baby.”

Satoru sits on the couch with his arms stretched along the back of it, knees spread widely so that you get a full view of the hardness that sits along his thigh. He takes up so much space with his long limbs that it’s unnerving, as you slip the straps of your dress down your arms, reaching behind you to unzip it.

“Slowly,” he demands, hardly over a whisper.

You nod anxiously, as the fabric slips down your body like silk, revealing the matching lingerie set underneath. It’s all black, and you bought it just for him, eager to please-- just like he said.

“You look good,” he says hoarsely, as his cock twitches against the rigid confines of his slacks, “c’mere.”

You stand between his legs, as his hands trail up the backs of your thighs, and he hums affectionately at the feeling of your skin underneath his palms.

“Did you buy that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kisses your stomach, traveling from your navel down to the hem of your panties, “Good girl.”

You whine at his praise, as he kisses your sex through the lace, grabbing your leg to hoist it over his shoulder, as you grab onto him for balance.

He licks at you teasingly through the fabric, wetting it with his saliva even more so than it already is. Until you’re clawing into his hair, whining to beg for more than what he’s giving you.

“Be fuckin’ patient,” he rasps, slapping your ass, “or I’ll rip these off and gag you with ‘em.”

“Fuck,” you murmur, rocking your hips against his lips, impatient, just as impatient as he thought you’d be.

Little did you know, his cock is throbbing in his slacks, and you’re making it just as hard for him to be patient with you.

“Satoru,” you whine.

And his patience snaps with the waistband of your thong, as the room fills with the sound of him ripping it off of your body. He’s standing, tearing your bra off with just as much impatience, hoisting you up onto his hips to carry you to his bedroom, kissing you with every step.

Your back hits the mattress with a thud, as Satoru loses all composure. He’s unbuttoning his shirt, licking his lips as he stares down at you.

“Touch yourself. Get yourself ready for me.”

And you listen, thrusting your fingers between your legs to play with your clit. It’s been so long since you’ve had an orgasm, even longer since you’ve been this aroused, if it’s ever happened before.

Satoru unbuttons his slacks, unzips them, and you’re ready to cum right as he’s freeing his cock from his briefs, running his thumb over the leaky, red tip. He’s so hard that it looks painful, straining against his abdomen as his eyes rove over your body like he’s starving for you.

“Don’t fuckin’ cum,” he says, watching the way your breaths stutter, as he strokes himself to the sight of it.

You stop, unable to hold yourself back if you keep moving for even a moment longer.

He scolds you for it, making you feel like all of his requests have no right answer, like there’s nothing you can do that won’t lead to punishment.

“Did I say stop touching yourself?”

“No, sir.”

“Then keep going,” he says, climbing onto the bed, prowling up to you like a jaguar on all fours, “fuck yourself on your fingers, but don’t cum. A worthless whore like you can do that, can’t you? You can hold back?”

You want to say no, that you can’t, that any amount of stimulation while he’s so close and so threatening will tip you over the edge, but you don’t. Instead, you continue to touch yourself at the same rate, at the same speed, knowing that you’re destined for failure.

“Please--” you whine, as he sucks one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, closing his teeth around the hardened tip, “Satoru, I can’t-- I’m gonna--”

He bites down harder, dragging your hand away from your cunt so rapidly that you can barely perceive it, before he’s thrusting all the way inside of you, bottoming out against your cervix as you fucking fall apart around him.

A string of spit connects his lips to your nipple, as he looks up at you, watching your face with rapt attention as he grinds his cock inside of you to fuck you through your first orgasm. Your brows are bunched up in pleasure, lips locked into a silent “o.”

“I was gonna ruin it, wasn’t gonna let you have it,” he rasps, “but the thought of feeling you cum around my cock was so-- ngh-- god, so fuckin’ good. You feel so good for me, so tight.”

You’re so full of him that it’s indescribable, as he leans down to kiss you, spreading your legs until the backs of your thighs are even with his hips, your knees to your shoulders.

He’s relentlessly brutal, lost in the sensation of your cunt sucking him up and taking every inch with ease. Satoru holds the headboard with one hand, holds your throat with the other.

“Needy fucking bitch,” he growls, spitting into your open mouth, “swallow it-- thank me for it.”

The vowels in your words come out in time with his thrusts, “Tha-ank y-o-ou Sat-tor-u-u.”

His grip around your throat tightens, sweat slicks his bangs to his forehead before he leans up to brush them back. The bed bangs against the wal with every thrust, and you’ve never been fucked like this before.

Never, never, never.

Never felt a cock so big that it feels like he’s rearranging your insides with every movement.

Never cum so many times that it starts to hurt.

Never been choked, slapped, bitten. He does all three in spades. When you can’t answer him because you’re lost in pleasure or he’s choking you, he slaps you-- he makes you thank him for slapping you.

He bites down on your neck, sucks bruises into your skin, tells you that he hopes your fuckin’ ugly boyfriend sees each and every one of them.

“You’re my girl, aren’t you? Yeah? That’s why you’re letting me fuck you like a slut like this?”

You warble out a yes, s-s-sir, cumming around his cock so hard that you can’t speak well.

“Fuckin’ bitch in heat,” he growls, leaning down close to you. He doesn’t kiss you, he licks your outstretched tongue, licks a strip from your jawline up to your earlobe, and then he bites it.

“Want me to cum in this pussy? Want me to fuck you ‘till you’re mine?”

You can’t speak, can’t think, so you just whine against him and claw into his back. You’re drawing blood, it’s going to make him cum.

“God, you can’t even speak,” he taunts you condescendingly, “pathetic little bitch. It’s a good thing I don’t care if you say no.”

As if you’d ever say no, not with the way you’re locking your ankles around his hips to force him deeper, not with the way you’re using your nails in his back to force him to go harder, not with the way you can’t tell if he hates you, and it’s making you love him in return.

“God, plea-se--” you cry, as best you can.

“That’s right call me God, baby-- fuck, I’m gonna cum-- fucking take it, bitch-- fuck--”

Warmth spills out within you, as the lights flicker on and off throughout the apartment, and all of the furniture in the room moves a few feet from the bed in a reckless, unintentional expulsion of his power. You can feel the purple lightning behind your eyes, taste it on your tongue, like he hit you, too-- and he probably did.

“Fuck, are you okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum contentedly, as he peppers your face in soothing kisses.

“Was I too rough?” He asks, moving to your jawline and neck sweetly.

“Nuh-uh,” you hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts, “could’ve been rougher.”

He chuckles softly, “Good, ‘cause I wanna go again.”

“Mm, Satoru.”

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 18 | 𝐃𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚

dacryphilia: a kink where one derives pleasure or arousal from seeing their partner cry.

pairing: sukuna x reader

summary: the line between hatred and love is thin and nearly inconsequential. with each passing day, sukuna finds that it blurs further and further.

this is part 2 of my last sukuna fic… (feel free to read as a stand alone tho)

The party’s waning down, the night is ending slowly and leisurely, as these events always do. Now, only a handful of people are sat around your apartment drinking and talking amongst each other. Sukuna sits over to himself, drinking on the couch near Uruame, who is predictably quiet.

Sukuna should’ve left your apartment hours ago, he should’ve never come here in the first place.

Why does he keep doing this to himself again?

He directs his glare over to the curve of your ass in that dress, taking a drink of his beer, as your head turns slightly over your shoulder when you sense his eyes on you.

Hair falls over your shoulder, your eyes lock with his for a brief moment, and you smile at him, before turning back to your conversation with Manami and Choso.

He feels something twisting in the pit of his stomach like a knife. His own reasoning for torturing himself like this eludes him further.

The hours move through the night, and he stays. For no real good reason other than apparent masochism, he stays right here, near you. Not close enough to touch you, not close enough to even talk with you much, but close.

He hates that he wants to be close.

He’s still trying to come up with an explanation for it when you approach him, and he quickly notices that everyone else has left. Hopefully, you’ll ask him to leave, seeing as that’s the only way he can convince himself to do so and never come back.

“Would you like to stay a little longer, Sukuna?” You ask, sitting down onto the couch next to him gracefully, laying your head in the palm of your hand to look at him.

No. He would hate that, and he hates you for even considering that he’d want to do that.

“Sure,” he says, and he has absolutely no fucking idea as to why.

“I’m glad. You always seem like you’re brooding,” you say, still staring at him with a sidelong, affectionate gaze, “agonizing over something.”

Sukuna bristles up, taken off-guard by the way that you read him so easily. Most wouldn’t even approach him, much less inquire as to how he’s feeling. How fucking clearer could he possibly make it that he’s a sadistic asshole, and that he doesn’t need you to psychoanalyze him in the hopes of finding something meaningful?

There isn’t anything under the surface. He just is this way. And yet you insist on trying to find something that doesn’t exist. He’d like to punish you for it, to make you see how awful he can be. If he had it his way, you’d be crying and bouncing up and down on his dick, he’d fishhook his fingers into your mouth and make you drool all over the sheets while he fucks you from behind.

He’d make you beg for mercy, for god, for anyone, to come and save you from what he’d do to you.

“You think you know how I feel?” He huffs, offering you a devious smirk, “you have no fuckin’ clue what I’d--”

“It’s interesting that you feel things at all,” you hum contemplatively, cutting him off before he can even start to freak you out, “I’ve heard that you don’t, but I always thought otherwise.”

This is why he’s so angry with you, every fucking day. Why don’t you know what’s good for you? Are you fucking stupid? You must be blind to not see what’s right in front of you.

You make a soft sound, shifting next to him, as he looks over and sees that your eyes are closing, the most willing victim to ever exist. Not only are you undisturbed by the tattoos, the piercings, the temper, the willingness to bash someone’s skull in, but you’re so unbothered that you can fall asleep while he’s right next to you.

Sukuna is, yet again, lost for words when it comes to you. But he stays a little while longer, listening to the sound of you breathing evenly, staring at your face to see if you’ll startle and awaken when you feel eyes on you.

You don’t.

When he leans closer and runs his thumb along your jawline, you don’t move. He strokes your cheek, nothing. When his large hand is wrapped around your face, tucking your hair behind your ear so that he can look at you closer, you nuzzle into his touch just a tiny bit.

He has to kill you.

This insufferable feeling can’t persist any longer. Really, he has to murder you.

Blood all over the floor, teeth scattered about, bones breaking, flesh tearing. Yeah, that’s what he wants. Maybe not tonight, though.

Definitely not right now, even though it would be the easiest, simplest time to vanquish your existence from the back of his mind.

No, not quite yet.

Instead of wrapping his hand around your throat when you would never know who’d killed you, he leans forward, running his thumb along your lower lip. Instead of hurting you or maiming you or eradicating you, he licks his lips before leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to yours.

Masochist.

He berates himself internally, the knot in his stomach tightens as he’s shifting back to his original position. You stretch and take a deep breath like you’re starting to wake up. Finally, you realized how much danger you were in.

He could’ve done anything to you. Why would you allow a grown man that you don’t know very well to stay in your apartment while you nap on the couch? It makes no sense, how fucking ignorant of you.

If you’d let anyone else stay here, he would’ve had to kill them. So much effort for the both of you, and all because you had to be kind and innocent. Someone should train that out of you. It’s nauseating to Sukuna.

“Mm, I think I fell asleep,” you mumble, “you can stay the night if you want, S’kuna.”

You make yourself comfortable on the couch, not even bothering to look at the expression on his face of abject hatred for you and your pretty legs and your angelic face.

“I’ll go home,” he responds gruffly, standing up, “you shouldn’t let strange men stay over. Don’t ever do that again.”

“You’re not a stranger,” you reply, brushing him off, “oh, before you go-- I have something for you.”

You stand up groggily, bracing yourself on his shoulders before giving him a lopsided grin. Sukuna is lost for words, even as he holds you up while you reach down underneath your dress, sliding your panties down your legs.

What the fuck--

“Here,” you say, outstretching your hand and placing a pile of silky, black lace in his hand, “you can keep ‘em this time.”

“Why the fuck would I want those?” He asks, wondering why his face feels hot, and if this might be the first time he’s ever felt shame about anything before.

You shrug, “I dunno. Why would you?”

A knowing grin stretches across your face, as you lie back down onto the couch and cover yourself up with a blanket, so completely comfortable with him even after knowing what he’s been doing this entire time.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, as his heart hammers in his chest a bit harder at your overt acceptance of even the most fucked up parts of him.

This one time, you could’ve been repulsed by him, but no. Not you.

You give him an amused look, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I mean, you’re the one who’s been--”

“You’re what’s wrong with me,” he replies in an outburst of anger, “you’re so dense, or maybe you’re just a filthy little bitch who liked knowing how much you piss me off.”

He thinks he sees you frown, and it’s the most gratification he’s felt since he met you, but your lips curve up into a smile right after. That same wretched, loving smile that’s been carved into the back of his brainstem for weeks.

“I did like it.”

He hesitates, he doesn’t say anything at all.

“I could smell your cologne on my sheets,” you murmur sensually, “could feel that you’d been in my room, and I liked it. Did you see the sex toy in the drawer of my nightstand?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I fucked myself with it thinking of you the last time you were here,” you tell him easily, honestly-- the words flow from you like water, whereas they get stuck in Sukuna’s throat like concrete when he tries to do the same.

“You think you’re so terrible,” you scold him teasingly, as you lower the blanket down your body, “but really, you could be worse.”

He’s moving onto the couch with you before you get the chance, ripping the fabric off your half naked body.

“I’ll show you worse, you fucking bitch,” he rasps, thrusting two fingers into your cunt without care for whether or not you’re ready for it.

You are, and you love it, even though he wishes you’d hate it. He wishes you’d hate him, but you don’t. You lean up to kiss him, as he spreads your cunt apart to loosen you before he tears you in half.

His hand wraps around your throat instantly before you get the chance, slamming you back down onto the couch.

“You don’t get to fucking kiss me,” he growls, fingerfucking you faster.

Though your words are choked and strangled out, the smug fucking grin on your face persists as you whisper.

“You… kissed me.. first.”

He slaps you in the face with the same hand that’s covered in your juices, and you moan wantonly, shifting so that your cunt is pressed against his clothed thigh.

His cum-coated fingers are thrust into your mouth, as you helplessly grind yourself against his muscle, wheezing out gasps of his name.

Still fucking smiling.

“I’d like to fucking kill you,” he rumbles, watching you rock your hips up and down onto him.

He releases your throat before he actually does, and you suck in a long gasp of air, shivering as a red outline of his hand appears on the delicate column of your throat.

“Do it then.”

A challenge. A taunt. Has all of this been a tease for you? Have you been toying with him this entire time?

He’ll make you wish you were never born.

If only he could tug his jeans down quick enough to do so. Sukuna kisses you like he’s been in a desert for centuries, and the sweet, disgusting drool on your tongue is the only thing that could cure his thirst.

When he thrusts his cock into your heat, he feels like he’s coming home for the first time in his entire life. Your warm existence engulfs his cold, callous demeanor and swallows him whole.

And when you finally, fucking finally, stop grinning at him so smugly, he nearly cums right then and there.

“‘s too big,” you hiss, trying to run away from the length of his cock, as if he’d ever let you.

As if he wouldn’t chase you to the ends of the earth and fuck you there even harder.

“I don’t fucking care,” he says, “take it all or die trying.”

His hands cement themselves on your hips, as your mouth falls open with whimpers and complaints that he doesn’t hear. No, he can’t hear you, he’s driving his cock into you as roughly as he can manage to do so, hoping to see you torn apart by the time he finishes.

He leans back and pulls his shirt up over his abs to see the view, and god, you’re so fucking wet. You’re creaming all over his cock, and he’s hardly touched you at all. Hot and tight, he hardly fits inside of you without stretching you beyond all normal capacity.

Hatred is the venom he hopes he injects into your veins when he puts his teeth to your neck, biting and sucking your skin until it turns purple. You give it back to him by digging your nails into the muscle of his back until you draw his blood.

He bites you more than he kisses you, more than he licks you. His cock twitches inside you at the thought of someone else seeing you tomorrow covered in these dark purple love bites that are perfectly sculpted in the shape of his teeth.

Yes, let fucking Choso see who your real master is. Let Suguru see them and wish so badly that you could be fucked this well by anyone other than Sukuna, than the one you belong to, than the one who owns you-- mind, body, and soul.

“Sukuna-- I-- I’m-- I’m gonna---”

He slaps you again, a punishment for not cumming sooner for him. You should fall apart on demand for him, you should know that his touch is what you exist for, and you should cum anytime he even thinks it would look nice on your fucking face.

You whine and fall apart, your walls constrict and tighten around his cock, and pretty little tears well up in your eyes. Not enough, it’s not enough, he wants to see you cry.

The way that he tosses you onto the ground should be criminal, the way that he grabs a fistful of your hair and flips you over onto your stomach probably is criminal.

If he ever thought that he was being too rough with you, that you really did want to get away from him, all thoughts would be silenced when you gave him a devious smirk over your shoulder.

Is that all you got?

His hand flattens down between your shoulder blades, as he pulls your ass up to meet his hips and slams into you with every ounce of hatred inside of him. Your drool drips onto the faux-fur rug underneath you, as your head is planted against the floor, and he fucks you into another mind-breaking orgasm.

“’s too-- too much-- ngh--” you slur against the carpet as best you can, not complaining enough to stop him, but feeling like he might irreparably break you soon enough.

Maybe you’d like it. Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along.

“Shut the fuck up and take it,” he grunts, “I don’t care-- don’t care, goddamn-- fuck you. Take it for me, god you feel good.”

Another orgasm crashes into you like a tsunami when he reaches underneath your quivering body to mercilessly toy with your clit. You’re beyond overstimulated, you’re devastated, wrecked, defiled, broken.

The tears you were holding back well up in the corners of your eyes and fall down your cheeks, soaking into the carpet in little splotches. God, you fucking love it. God, you fucking love him.

Sukuna’s able to take his eyes off of his cock disappearing into your cunt for only a moment when he hears you sniffle and sob.

Finally, fucking finally.

“You’re crying ‘cause it’s too much? Pathetic whore, I knew I could break you,” he taunts you wildly, feeling his end nearing quickly, “‘m gonna get you fucking pregnant and really give you something to cry about, gonna make you mine, gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t cum for anyone other than me--”

He rambles and grips your cheek, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder. He watches the tears drip down your face, his cock swells and throbs, and the coil in his abdomen reaches its breaking point.

“Gonna carve my name into your fuckin’ thigh, gonna breed this pussy, gonna fuck baby into you-- you’re mine, so fucking mine-- god, I hate you-- I love you-- take my fucking cum.”

Sukuna’s body bends and bows as he reaches his climax, biting down on the junction between your shoulder and your neck hard enough to taste copper on his tongue. He laps at your blood and wraps his thick arms around your waist as he pumps you full of his seed, hoping that it takes.

He’s still holding you like that when he comes down from it, shivering in overstimulation when he pulls out of you. Cum dribbles out of you and stains the carpet just like your tears; the two of you made a wreck of each other and the apartment.

Everything smells like sex and sweat and hate so potent that it’s closer to love. You’re lying on the floor next to one another, and Sukuna gives you an irritable glare when you move closer, laying your head on his chest to listen to the sound of his heart.

He doesn’t stop you, though. And despite all earlier inclinations, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a little closer. He could never be close enough, not then and not now.

“Did you mean it? Calling me yours?” You ask, tracing the tattooed lines that outline his chest and abdomen, leading down to his cock.

He sighs in annoyance, “Don’t mistake me for someone who gives a fuck about you, but if Choso ever touches you again, I’ll rip his head off and eat it.”

“Sounds like you give a fuck about me, then.”

Sukuna pulls you on top of him abruptly, forcing you to straddle his stiffening cock. Your cunt is dripping with a mixture of your fluids, making a filthy mess on his abdomen that he likes more than he’d care to admit.

“Shut the fuck up for once,” he murmurs, as you bend down to press your forehead against his affectionately, kissing his tattoos one by one.

“Make me.”

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septembersums · 2 years

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ever since i was a kid, i was strong and would end up ruining my toys….. so i’ve always wanted a toy that wouldn’t break.

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 17 | 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing: sukuna x you

summary: summary: sukuna hates you, but more importantly, sukuna can't stop fucking thinking about you.

an: this one’s short and sweet bc i didnt have a lot of spare time today but i hope yall enjoy <3

| part 2 |

Sukuna doesn’t like you. He doesn’t really like anyone. The way that he sees people isn’t really as people, but more so as pets or objects. He can’t help that he knows he’s above the standard for regular people, it’s in his nature.

There’s a party tonight at your place. Sukuna is only attending to get drunk and to be generally debaucherous in your presence, not because he likes you. If anything, he’d rather scare you off than bring you closer than you already are.

He’d like the look on your face if you were afraid of him, he’d like the horror in your expression if you ran from him, he’d like it if you slapped him, dug your nails into his skin, he’d like it if you hated him.

But unlike any other woman he’s ever gotten close to, you don’t. You... seem to like him, to enjoy his presence, even if he’s mean and degrading. You always smile warmly to him, and when his temper peaks, and he gets angry with someone other than you, you don’t resent him for it. You accept him as he is, rough edges, narcissistic personality, and all.

It’s why he can’t stand to be around you. It’s why he always comes when there’s a get-together in your apartment.

It’s why tonight, he’s had too many drinks already, and he finds himself sneaking off down the hallway by himself towards the bathroom and then missing said bathroom entirely.

He takes a quick look over his shoulder back to the loud, raucous house-party in the distance, and then he turns the doorknob to your bedroom. He hates you, he’s sure of it.

That’s why he closes the door behind him so quietly that no one could hear it, and then he locks it. You’ll be too busy attending to the party to come and check on him, that’s for certain, and no one else would be coming in and out of your room throughout the night.

He hates you, and that’s why after looking over your cozy, tidy bedroom, he stalks over to a hamper in the corner of your room, opening it to see what’s inside. The hatred in his heart is what he feels when he sees a pair of your panties, lacy and pink, almost the color of his hair.

And said hatred in his heart sends blood rushing down to his cock when he picks them up, inspecting the fabric between his rough fingertips.

“Fuck,” he rumbles to himself, looking back to the door, as though someone’s going to be picking the lock and breaking in on him.

But he isn’t doing anything wrong, really. He’s just desecrating something that you like, something that you bought for yourself, because he hates you enough to do something so perverse as this.

He’s just unzipping his pants, freeing his cock, and stroking it smoothly, because he doesn’t like you.

Your warm smile, your caring eyes, your round hips, your thighs...

Gritting his teeth angrily, he strokes himself quicker, opting to sit on your bed as he does so, your panties wrapped around his fist. When he reclines, he can smell the scent of your shampoo and lotion on your sheets, it makes him grunt softly to himself.

He strokes himself quicker, bringing your panties up to his face. He inhales the fabric, exhaling through his mouth, as he imagines what you’d taste like, what you’d feel like, what you’d smell like.

“God, I fucking hate you,” he growls, before experimentally licking the fabric right where your pussy would sit, groaning when he tastes the slight residual leftover flavor of your pussy.

He might hate himself more than he hates you even, because this isn’t the first time he’s done this with a pair of your panties.

No there was the black pair, the red pair, and now the pink pair. He imagines what you’d look like in these as he runs his thumb over the sensitive underside of his tip, smearing his precum along the shaft.

He’s leaking, aching, hot, and hard in his own palm as he strokes himself, groaning wantonly as the fabric of your panties grows wetter with his saliva. He won’t last much longer with all of this hatred in his body, he’ll need to expel it.

He needs to spell out how much you irritate him in white, so he wraps your underwear around his length, leaning forward and panting. A drop of sweat on his forehead, because he needs to cum fast, he needs to cum now, before someone realizes that he’s gone, or worst of all that he’s here.

“Sukuna,” you’d say, walking in on him.

And you’d be confused, but then you’d be aroused that he thought of you so goddamn much that he had to resort to stealing your panties and licking them clean.

You’d help him cum, you’d lower yourself onto your knees and kiss and suck and lick the tip of his cock. Your lips would suction around the tip, and you’d wait for him to cum-- right here, right now.

He gives you what he wishes you were asking for, wet panties wrapped around his length as he cums all over them, all over his own hand. Some of it hits the bedsheets, he always cums hard when he does this.

“Can’t stand you,” he murmurs, either to himself or to the figment of his imagination which is you, as he cleans himself up with pink lace, throwing them back into the hamper as he tucks himself back into his pants.

He really can’t. Maybe this isn’t enough anymore, to get all of the anger out of his system.

Maybe he needs to fuck you.

Or worse, maybe he needs to date you.

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septembersums · 2 years

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kishibe

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 16 | 𝐎𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

ownership: a relationship where one person consents to being owned by another entirely within a dominant/submissive relationship.

pairing: gojo satoru x you

summary: gojo satoru likes you manicured, waxed, and massaged, dolled up in one of those tiny, expensive dresses he buys you. he likes your head vacant and your pussy filled with cum.

an: no thoughts head empty just dick and money i wanna be her fr

You know what Satoru wants from you, what he expects. He likes your subservience, your warmth, your docility. He likes that when he gets home from a long day of work, you’re there-- lounging on his couch in a skimpy outfit that he bought for you, or maybe lying out on his balcony in a tiny bikini taking in the sun rays.

He buys you anything that you could ever want, he takes care of you, calls you pretty and fucks you until you can’t think every night. He likes it when you don’t think, he’d rather you never had to.

When you first met Satoru, he told you that he wasn’t looking for a normal relationship. He doesn’t have the time, patience, or lifestyle to indulge in a deep, romantic connection with you.

“I’m not sure what to think of that,” you said, cocking your head to the side at him innocently.

He smirked, “What if you didn’t have to think at all?”

You were intrigued enough to give it a try, interested in him enough to agree to the relationship that you have now. No, it’s not a normal one. You don’t know what he does for a living, he said you wouldn’t believe him if he told you. His family? You don’t know if he has one, you’ve never met them.

And you don’t ask, because it’s not your role to think or worry or fuss over anything. It’s your job to look pretty for him, to run your fingers through his hair after a long day of work, to let him take you out shopping every weekend for whatever you’d look nice in, whatever you’d like to indulge in.

To let him fuck you, anywhere and anytime that he pleases.

If he comes up to you while you’re cooking dinner and slips his hand into your panties unexpectedly, you gasp and say thank you.

If you’re lying out by the pool in a tiny bikini, and he gives you a muttered “spread your legs for me,” you do so.

“Get on your knees for me,” he’ll say, right after you’ve finished your hair and makeup, and you’ll gracefully lower yourself down before him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out before he’s even unzipped his pants.

He’ll ruin your makeup like that, and he’ll never apologize for it. Instead, he’ll slap his cock against your cum-covered cheek, and say, “Good girl.”

You aren’t quite sure when you started living for subtle praises like that one, but now it’s all you think about. When you’re on top of him, bouncing up and down on his cock, you’re doing everything in your power to drag one compliment out of Satoru.

Usually, he just gives you a “faster, harder, make yourself cum,” and slaps your ass. He likes being ridden, he likes being pleased, he likes seeing you cum all over yourself-- not because he cares that it’s good for you-- but because the sight of it turns him on.

He likes seeing you lying across his lap, red ass up towards him. He likes seeing you cry, he likes making you cry. Not because you’re sad, but because he’s been leaving big, angry handprints on your ass and thighs for half an hour. That sight turns him on just as much as when you’re cumming and saying you love him, if not more.

He likes that he can do anything to you. Anything at all.

Give and take. He gives you anything you want, you take his cock and take his cum anytime he wants you to, and you don’t ask questions. It’s often that he wants you, he’s usually rough and degrading. Maybe that’s why you live and breathe to please him, just so he’ll call you a good girl, call you pretty, call you his.

Anything sort of gentleness or praise at all, you accept it. You beg for it. You need it.

That’s why he rarely gives it to you.

Satoru likes you needy, likes you whiny, likes you desperate. He’ll give an inch and take a mile, but he knows that you like it just as much as he does. You’d do anything he asked, you’d be his living, breathing sex toy.

Like today, when you’re going out shopping with him. He’s leaned back against the upholstery in his sunglasses, a blue button-down, and some slacks. He looks good, he smells good, and most importantly-- he’s not paying attention to you.

He can feel the glare you’re giving him in the backseat of the car, arms crossed over your pretty tits like you really have something to be angry about, even when you’re wearing a slutty little outfit that costs the same amount of money as a two-bedroom apartment in the city.

“Satoru,” you whine.

“Hm?”

You move a little closer, daring to cross the border between the two of you to lay your hand on his knee. He looks down at them, taking your smaller hand into his larger one. He needs to get your nails done again soon. Maybe blue this time.

“Pay attention to me,” You mutter softly, interlocking your fingers with his, “please.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, gazing at you intently, “Because you’re a greedy little whore, and you don’t deserve it right now. Earn it if you want it.”

With that, he goes back to a state of disinterest in your existence, putting his arm around your seat while he looks elsewhere. At his words, you perk up, and he resists the urge to smirk to himself, knowing that he has you exactly where he wants you.

It’s all part of the fun.

Denying you, cherishing you, denying you. It keeps you wanting and waiting for him, it keeps you pawing at him incessantly for a sliver of love and affection. It keeps you running your hand up his thigh slowly and deliberately, trying to turn him on even though you’ve already fucked twice today.

Greedy little whore, he had you pegged exactly right.

“Like this, darling?” You hum, pressing a kiss below his ear, murmuring against his skin.

“You know that you could do better,” he replies coldly, even though he feels his cock rapidly hardening at your delicate touch, “don’t fucking tease me.”

You huff indignantly, brattier than usual today, as you unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, freeing his cock. He bites his knuckle and pushes your head down onto his cock, as you suck him off messily in the backseat.

The car slows down to a stop, so Satoru knocks twice on the privacy divider between the front and back seats. It. means keep driving, and he usually does it in times like this, when your pretty mouth is smearing fenty lipgloss along the base of his dick.

His precum tastes salty and mild on your tongue, as you suck as much of him as you can into your mouth, stroking the rest with your hand. Satoru sighs softly, involuntarily thrusting up into your hot mouth a couple of times.

“Ass up,” he murmurs, pulling you up onto all fours in the seat. Thank god the windows are tinted darkly enough that a car passing by wouldn’t be able to see your pussy, though Satoru probably wouldn’t care too much if they did.

He pulls your short dress up so that it’s bunched around your hips, pushing your thong to the side so that he can feel your wetness on his fingers. Your pussy is bare and waxed for him as usual, it feels smooth to the touch, he pays enough to make sure that you’re just as he likes in every single way.

You’re wetter than usual, dripping onto his fingers and soiling your thong, as he decides to take care of it for you. Clearly, you haven’t been fucked often enough the past couple of days, he’s been neglecting you and your needy body.

He’ll make it right, just because he likes the feeling when you’re humming and moaning around his cock. He slides two fingers into your cunt easily, his thumb into your ass. It’s already prepped from when he fucked it earlier. If there’s any of his cum left inside, he wants to finger it out right fucking now and see it stain the leather seats underneath you.

You hum around his cock. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing your head down further, as his brows crease, and he has to bite his lip to keep from being too noisy.

The combined sounds of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt and you messily sucking his cock are already a bit much for an afternoon drive.

Fuck, you’re so good at sucking his dick. So good, so good, so good. He’d tell you how much he likes it when you swirl your tongue around the head, but you’d like the praise too much.

Right when he’s about to cum inside your hot mouth, he yanks your head off, breaking the suction of your swollen lips and his shaft. With a groan, he tangles your hair in his fist and pulls your lips to meet his, kissing you sloppily and tasting his own precum on your tongue.

“Ride me,” he demands, “and don’t be fucking loud.”

Without fuss or hesitation, you reposition yourself to straddle his cock, wrapping your arms around his neck. You sink down onto his cock easily and smoothly, he fills you up so much that it’s nearly painful, even after all this time.

Today must be a good day for him, because he kisses you again, groans into your mouth as you bounce up and down on him in short, quick little thrusts to get him off inside you.

Satoru always likes to cum inside you, likes to fill you up with his seed and then watch it dribble out of you, likes to make you walk around and go on expensive dates with him while wearing cum-soaked panties. When you shift uncomfortably, and he knows it’s because you’re fucked full, he gets hard again.

“Thank you for letting me-- hah-- ah, thank you, S’toru, thank you--” you whimper against his lips, pulling your tits out of your dress for him to see.

“Look at you being good for me,” he mutters back, grinning arrogantly at you as you struggle to keep your balance and your pace with his big dick inside of you, “is it ‘cause you want a reward? Huh, baby? Think you’ve been good enough to deserve it?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you beg, and plead with him, knowing that you need his fingers to make you cum, and that you aren’t allowed to use your own without permission, “please-- please, please, S’toru. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you, please let me--”

He slaps your ass once, hard, “I told you to be fuckin’ quiet. You want Ijichi to hear you cum?”

“No, baby, no, of course not-- just you, just you.”

“You’re such a naughty little bitch,” he replies, but he can’t bite back the grin on his face when you’re so desperate to cum that you disobey him.

He likes it when you break the rules, just a little bit.

“My dirty little bitch,” he breathes, massaging your breast with one hand, rubbing your clit mercilessly with the other, “all mine, aren’t you? Yeah?”

“All yours, all yours, all yours—“ you repeat, digging your nails into his hair as the coil in your stomach draws closer and closer to snapping.

“You live for me, don’t you? You’d do anything for me?”

“Yes— Yes, anything for you, anything, S’toru—“

“That’s it, that’s it— good girl, just like that. Cum on my cock for me, baby. Give it to me.”

He kisses you again when he feels your muscles tense and your rhythm falter, biting your lower lip to keep you quiet when you cum with a shivering gasp.

The feeling of your walls pulsing and tightening around him drives him over the edge. He grunts, driving himself all the way inside of you. You can feel him twitching against your cervix, flooding you with cum, breathing heavily underneath you.

He pulls you off of his cock, fixing your thong back into place with a cheeky grin, as you feel it grow wetter with cum.

“I was nice to you, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you reply, sated and sleepy, “always.”

He’s about to prove you wrong, but not in a way that you’d hate.

“You made a mess in my lap, baby. Don’t be wasteful,” he says, gripping your chin to make you look up at him, “lick it up.”

You’d do anything for him. He needs you to prove it every once in a while, just to make sure. With a small nod of your head and not a single thought other than yes sir going through your mind, you bend over and lick up the spilled cum.

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 15 | 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐱

pairing: nanami kento x reader

summary: nanami calls you when he’s overseas for a mission. maybe it’s because he wanted to debrief you on what happened, or maybe it’s because he was hoping the sound of your voice would help ease his incessant morning wood.

an: nanami just has the sexiest voice ever there’s nooo way i couldnt make the phone sex chapter for him

You wake up from a night of deep sleep to the sound of your phone ringing incessantly. You rub your eyes, annoyed that whoever’s decided to wake you at three in the morning has interrupted such a nice dream.

You wouldn’t answer a call in the middle of the night like this, but it’s your work ringtone, and you always answer when work calls (just in case it’s the horrible but not-so-rare instance that someone has died).

“Hello?” You ask sleepily.

“Hello,” Nanami replies, and your groggy eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice, “I’m sorry, were you sleeping? I must’ve miscalculated the time difference.”

Nanami’s on a mission overseas right now, and he must’ve just woken up given the rough sound of his voice. Your thighs involuntarily rub against one another at the sound of it.

“No, no, it’s alright,” you reply, waking yourself up a fraction to talk to him, “did something happen?”

He took this mission for you, so you feel a tinge of guilt when he calls to debrief you on what’s happening. Right when you were panicking about having to travel when you’re already so busy, he offered to go in your place.

He’s always so kind, so thoughtful, he provides anything that you need from him, even when you never ask him to do so.

Quietly and nonchalantly, in that subdued way that Nanami always speaks to you, he says, “Nothing happened. I dealt with it last night. I just thought you might want to hear the details.”

He dealt with it for you. There’s something so arousing about a man who takes care of things for you like he does, or maybe it’s just his deep voice in your ear that makes you feel like it’s erotic.

“Thank you so much, Nanami,” you reply, humming in relief that everything went smoothly, “I’d love to hear the details.”

He hums at your praise, before walking you through everything that happened last night. You hang onto every word that he says, not only because you’re interested in knowing how it went, but because the way that he speaks with his gruff, sleepy voice is so... hot.

If he were to quit his job as a sorcerer and instead start narrating erotic novels, you’d listen to every single one of them. When he’s telling you his story, you hear him slip in certain, subtle phrases that you could swear were meant to be taken the wrong way.

“I’m sure you could take it.”

God, you hope so.

“If I were back home, I would’ve given it to you.”

Please? Pretty please?

You don’t know when hearing him say such simple things started to turn you on, but now it’s an issue.

“That’s all of it,” he murmurs, and it sounds like he’s lying in bed, too, shifting around every once in a while, “I should let you get back to sleep. I’ve held you long enough--”

“Would you want to...” you aren’t even sure how to phrase it, “stay on the phone a little longer? I’ve missed seeing you at work.”

He pauses, sighing softly and contentedly at your words, “I’ve missed seeing you, too. I... wish I could see you now, honestly.”

The two of you have been colleagues and nothing more than that for a couple of years now, but it feels like something in the air is shifting, like both of you are suddenly deciding to act on something that’s always been there. That if your professional relationship were to become a bit more unprofessional, neither of you would mind that.

“I wish I could see you, too,” you reply softly, “the sound of your voice is so...”

“Yours is, too.”

You have to stop yourself from groaning at that admission from Nanami. Is he as affected by you as you are by him? He sounds like it, his breathing sounds almost labored.

“Nanami, stop me if I’m taking this the wrong way,” you murmur, biting your lip, “but if you wanted to-- maybe we could-- uh, I’m not sure how to-- I’ve always been attracted to you-- I just--”

“I want to do anything that you’re comfortable with. Hearing you say that is... driving me insane,” he utters, it’s a rambling sentence for someone as concise as Nanami normally is.

“Really?” You reply.

“Really, yes. I’ve been thinking of you since I woke up this morning, I dreamt of you last night. To be honest, calling you was impulsive because I just wanted to remember the sound of your voice when I...” He clears his throat, you can practically see the red flush on his cheeks in your mind, “I’m sorry if that’s too forward.”

“It’s not,” you reply, breathless, “do you want to see a picture? Of me, right now?”

He groans softly, “Yes.”

You bite your lip, teasing him a little more, “Are you sure? I sleep naked, Nanami.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, “show me everything. Let me see you.”

“Only if you’ll send me one back.”

“Anything. I’d give you anything.”

You hold your phone up above your body, capturing an aerial view of you lying in bed. You push your tits together a little to make them look perkier, spreading your legs so that he could just catch a small glimpse of your pussy.

When you send it to him, he lets out a groan that sounds more akin to a growl, “Your body is so fucking beautiful. When I get home I want to lick every part of you, you’ll let me. Won’t you?”

You moan quietly, reaching your hand down between your thighs to tease yourself, “Please, Nanami. Please-- I want you to. I want you to fuck me.”

“I love your begging,” he grunts, and you can hear the distant sound of his hand sliding up and down the length of his cock with his words, “I’ve been dreaming of it since we started working together. The sounds you’d make, the way you’d feel, the way you’d taste... I dreamt last night that you were sitting on my face, grinding your hips back and forth on my tongue.”

His admittance that he dreams about pleasing you drives you wild, it makes you so wet that your fingers are slipping through your folds with hardly any friction at all. You’re humping your hand listening to the sound of him sighing and humming as he jerks himself off.

He slows down for a second, breathless as he takes a photo for you. He’s lying on white, luxurious sheets in nothing but his briefs. His abs are hard and so defined that you can imagine exactly how they’d feel if you were riding him, grinding your clit against them with every thrust.

His face is flushed the same color as the tip of his aching cock, which he’s holding upwards for you. You can see precum starting to leak from the tip, veins running along either side.

“Fuck, you’re big, Nanami,” you rasp, speeding up the pace of your fingers on your cunt.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he breathes, speeding up his own pace to match yours, grunting softly at the pleasure shooting all throughout his body as he strokes himself to your picture, “I can’t wait to make you cum. I bet you look beautiful when you cum, bet you make the prettiest sounds on my cock.”

You moan wantonly, fingerfucking yourself and wishing you could be full of his cock rather than your fingers, wishing that he were here right now instead of hundreds of miles away, so that he could sink his cock into your cunt and make his own dreams come true.

He’d feel good inside of you, he’d make sure that you feel good, too. He’d kiss you, caress you, suck your nipples into his mouth, and he’d grind his hips against yours until you came, again and again.

“Nanami, Nanami-- Kento, I’m--” he moans at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue for the first time, “I’m gonna cum-- can I please? Can I cum for you?”

He shivers, thrusting up into his hand now involuntarily, “Yes, yes, baby-- cum for me, angel. Let me fucking hear it.”

Your back arches at the obscenity coming from his mouth, at the sound of him thrusting up into his palm, and you whine out his name when you fall apart. Stuttering and gasping as you coax yourself through the orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s it-- that’s it, that’s my girl,” he moans, “say my name, make me cum, fuck--”

You whimper it again as he moans openly, covering his hard abdominals in cum, thrusting up through his hand and pretending it’s your pussy. The warm liquid pools on his abdomen, dripping down his sides and onto the sheets. He hasn’t had such a release in a long time, since the first time he jerked off to the thought of you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, breathless and sated.

“Fuck,” he replies, “thank you for that.”

“… You know, I’d do more to repay you for taking the mission for me once you’re home.”

“I’ll book my flight right now.”

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septembersums · 2 years

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Update, How To Keep Seeing My Smuts & Other Writers'

As per Tumblr's New "Community Label" Update

Hello! I've seen other writers make a post about the new update, so I wanted to make one of mine to notify my readers.

As you may know, Tumblr is pushing a Community Label update in which users are allowed to filter the content they want to see. While this is highly beneficial for those who want to avoid seeing content they aren't fond of, this can make you stop seeing the smuts a lot of writers in this community create.

If you want to keep enjoying our smuts:

For Website:

Go to Dashboard Settings, and click the Show circle in the Community Labels section on Mature content. Do the same for Sexual themes. You can choose whether to tick the options of the other choices or not.

Image taken from @writerpeach <3

For Mobile:

Go to Account Settings, then choose Content you see.

Go to the Community Labels section and click the arrow beside Hide on Mature. Then, click Show for both Mature and Sexual themes. Again, it is your choice if you want to tick the Show button for the other choices.

Thank you for reading, and reblog to spread the word!

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 14 | 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

rope bunny: a person who enjoys being restrained, tied up, and/or immobile during sexual intercourse.

pairing: human!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna is the scariest man you know. maybe that's why you're so utterly infatuated with him.

an: this is a no curses au where yuji and sukuna are two entirely separate people. sukuna is yuji's older brother, and both he and reader are in their early to mid-twenties.

Sukuna Ryoumen is the scariest man you know. He's rude, he's arrogant, he's covered head to toe in tattoos. He likes to party, he likes beautiful women (especially when they're tied up and helpless, so you've heard), and he likes to fight.

Fight, as in, fist fighting. Bare-knuckle boxing in the street with random men who looked at him funny, asked him about his tattoos, asked him about the rumors that float around. There's no telling what exactly will set him off, but it happens often.

You've been at multiple parties that ended with him and some unfortunate person rolling on the ground covered in each other's blood.

Sukuna always wins.

It happened about a year ago, when your two social circles somehow intertwined and your paths crossed for the first time. You're about to graduate university with honors, he's rumored to be in the Yakuza or some other gang's equivalent.

Needless to say, you don't have much in common. You have your books and your pacisfistic nature. He has his guns, drugs, and piercings in places that you wouldn't dare ask about.

You know everything that's scary, dangerous, and threatening about Sukuna Ryoumen.

You also know that you are so fucking attracted to him that you find it hard to breathe when he's occupying the same space as you.

The attraction began the night that you met, when you were standing near the wall at the entrance of a house party that you weren't super interested in, and someone bumped into you hard.

Hard enough to almost knock you to the ground, if it weren't for pink-haired, devilish grin-wearing Sukuna, whose hands wrapped around your forearms tightly, yanking you back upright.

He towered over you, made you feel like you were shrinking into the ground as he glared down at you. Absolutely fucking terrifying, like he could've been a four-armed monster in a past life.

"Watch yourself," he growled, voice low, deep, and arousing.

He winked at you before heading back into the party and ignoring you for the rest of the evening.

That was the first time you saw him get into a fight. And by sheer coincidence, he just so happened to pummel the living fuck out of none other than the guy who bumped into you.

You've gone to more parties ever since, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Sukuna never pays you much attention, though. Sometimes he'll catch you staring, and his lips will curve up into this salacious, man-eating smirk.

Other times, he'll purposefully move around you a little too closely, splaying his big hand out across your lower back, murmuring "excuse me, sweetheart," right across the shell of your ear. It never fails to give you goosebumps.

One time, you swear that he pulled your hair when he was walking past you. Just a gentle tug, before turning back to look you up and down, snickering to himself at your surprised face.

You've never gotten up the courage to try to talk to him on your own. Tonight is the exception. You're about to graduate, this might be one of the last times you have a good excuse to be at one of these parties.

"You're really gonna do it?" Manami asks, chuckling at you as you order another shot from the bar.

"I think so," you reply unsurely, "can you make that a double?"

"You're brave for trying to hook up with the King," she says, using the nickname you've heard float around for Sukuna, "you think he really has his dick pierced?"

The bartender gives you your double shot of tequila, you look over at Manami, trying not to laugh as you pick it up, "God, I hope so."

She clinks her glass with yours, and you throw back the shot, grimacing and shaking your hands up and down at the burn of hard liquor in the back of your throat.

He's smoking alone outside when you find him, taking a deep drag of his cigarette as his eyes flicker to the side, meeting yours. His gaze alone nearly startles you, making you want to stop in your tracks, but you don't.

"You finally got up the nerve to talk to me?" He asks arrogantly, glaring off toward the other side of the road.

"I--yeah, I guess so," you stammer, feeling your face get much hotter, much quicker, "I guess we haven't really talked much before, I'm--"

He says your name to you, before giving you a sidelong smirk. It seems like he's had his eye on you for a while, too.

"You can cut the bullshit," he offers rather rudely, "what do you want from me?"

You didn't anticipate that it would move this quickly, or that he'd be so bold. Your nerve is evaporating-- you should've taken another shot before you came out here.

"Just, uh, to see if you wanted to talk, or something," you blurt out, and then you start nervously rambling about how you've always seen him around, how the two of you have never spoken much, and other things that never crossed your mind before he started questioning you.

Sukuna sees you exactly as you are. A cute little ray of sunshine that can't seem to stay away from the shadows. A nervous thing in a short dress that really needs a dick in her mouth to stop her from rambling and avoiding the topic that she came here to breach.

Nice legs and pretty tits, an innocent-seeming face, a sweet smile. You look breakable, you look so soft and so fuckable. He's been teasing you for months, but he doesn't like making the first move with girls like you.

Girls like you trigger this odd, protective instinct in him. Protective turns into possessive easily when you're someone like Sukuna. He didn't want to come to you.

He wanted you to come to him, just like this. Talking about anything other than how badly you want his dick down your throat.

"So, I just thought--"

He cuts you off, "You ever been tied up before?"

Your eyes widen, your mouth falls slightly agape, and then you bite your glossy lip at him, flushed from either the cold or from his question.

"No, I haven't," you answer honestly, as your eyes fill up with the eager hope that he'll keep going, that he'll cut the small talk short and force you into the fucking that you actually wanted.

"Would you like to be?"

A nod of your head leads you back to Sukuna's apartment, it leads you into his bedroom, out of your clothes and waiting patiently, as he ties your arms above your head. They're secured to his headboard, wrapped tightly there with one wrist crossed over the other.

It's all anticipation and desire for you. The music he's playing softly in the background, the feeling of his hands softly brushing your skin without ever really touching you.

He skims his fingertips over your breasts, over your hardened nipples, as he secures a red rope between them and around your waist. Despite all of his dangerous habits, his terrifying tastes, you feel safe and secure when he's restraining you here in his bed.

He wouldn't be doing this unless you wanted him to, and god knows you do want him to. After finishing your legs, which are tied bent together at your waist, spread apart, he sits back on his heels, admiring his work.

Your toes curl, and you feel yourself blushing at his lustful gaze roaming over every dip and valley of your naked body. Naked and bared to him, and he hasn't even kissed you yet.

He's been methodical, cool, and calculated since he got you home. Sukuna has yet to lose his composure, because he knows that there will be no getting it back once he does.

And he likes you, he likes you enough to make sure that you're comfortable and secure before he fucks up your perception of sex and aggression. He hopes that he fucks up your perception of men, of all people other than him.

The possessive part of him is already clawing at his insides, threatening to come out every time his cock jumps in his sweats at the sight of you like this.

"How do I look... like this?" You ask, desperate to hear every depraved thought that he has for you.

He crawls overtop of you, tugging on the restraints that hold your wrists to see that they hold. When they do, because he knows what he's doing, he leans down onto you, until his face is level with yours.

"Helpless," he whispers against your lips, not kissing you but just teasing you with the idea of it, "like I could do anything I wanted to you, and there's nothing you could do to stop me."

"Please," you murmur, reaching for him with what little you can move.

Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted. When he moves away, you chase him, you try to fill the gap yourself and kiss him first. You need the intimacy of it when you're just as helpless as you look.

Sukuna denies you, because it's not your turn to be rewarded yet. You've done nothing to earn it. You need to earn his softness, just like you need to earn his cock.

"What's your safe word?" He asks, kneeling between your legs, spreading your pussy lips with his fingers to take a closer look.

You tug against the leg restraints once, feeling the primal urge to close your legs when there's a dangerous man spreading your cunt with his fingers to just look at it.

"Will I-- ah--" you hiss, as his thumb smoothes over your clit once teasingly, "will I need one?"

Sukuna looks up at you like you're fucking stupid.

For some reason, it makes you wetter.

"Look at yourself right now. What do you fuckin' think?" He asks condescendingly, losing his sense of self-control inch by inch tonight. He presses down on your clit once, hard, and you jolt.

"Fuck, uhh-- tequila," you ramble off. Tequila got you here, after all, it might as well get you out of here, too.

Sukuna chuckles wryly, rewarding you for coming up with something by massaging your clit in gentle circles. You keen, rolling your hips to match his pace as much as you can, given your state of restraint.

"You get wet so easily," he murmurs, transfixed on the sight of your pussy, "do you cum easily?"

"I-- I don't know," you stutter, because trying to answer him in full sentences when he's giving your clit so much delicate attention is near impossible.

That, and you truly aren't certain of the answer. When you're alone, yes, but with other men... you haven't had that much luck.

You knew he'd be different, and you were so right, given that even with the lightest touches-- he has your pussy glisteningly wet, your stomach filled with butterflies that keep tightening and coiling around one another.

"What a pathetic answer," he murmurs, sliding a finger into your pussy and massaging the insides of your walls. His eyes snap up to meet yours when you shiver, whining and desperate for more already.

"Mm, you're sensitive, aren't you? I knew you'd have a greedy pussy when I first saw you," he rasps, looking right at you as he hones in on your g-spot with two fingers, "been thinking about having you just like this since that ugly motherfucker bumped into you the first night."

Your eyes widen, his fingers speed up. Steadily, the room is filled with the wet, pulsing sounds of his digits pumping in and out of your slick cunt.

"I thought about you, too--ah--" you moan, whining through your words as he pumps faster when you try to talk, teasing you.

He bites his lower lip between sharp teeth, sucking on them as he looks at you lustfully, "Yeah? Were you playing with this pretty pussy thinking about me?"

"Yes-- fuck--" you admit it.

Faster. He's rewarding you.

"Cumming for me before you were even mine, yeah? Show me how, bitch. Let me fuckin' see it."

Your moans raise in pitch in short, staccato bursts, as he tips you over the edge and lets you fucking fall off of it. Your toes curl, and your legs spasm, you grit your teeth and moan and wish you could move parts of your body, but you can't.

When pleasure fades into overstimulation, you want to close your legs around his wrist, but you can't. His smirk turns into a devious one, a feral one, as he watches you writhe and struggle to take what he's giving you.

"No, no--nononono, wait," you hiss, throwing your head back as he fingerfucks you through hell and back, "it's too much-- 's too much."

"Use the safeword if you mean it," he demands, testing your limits.

You look up at him, breathing heavily with furrowed brows of pain and pleasure, desire and agony, "No."

"That's my fuckin' girl," he growls, before leaning down to give you his tongue.

His tongue is pierced twice vertically-- it hurts like hell when he's overstimulating you with it, but it feels like heaven once the aftershocks where off and he's lapping at your clit with the metal balls.

You want to run your fingers through his hair, you want to hold his head down against your cunt as hard as it can go until he makes you cum again, you don't care if he suffocates. He's tonguefucking you with the precision of a god, you're crying his name and cumming on his tongue.

And then you want to close your legs as hard as you can and rip his hair out trying to make him stop as soon as the aftershocks fade. You cry out how sensitive you are, how it's too much, how you can't take it, but you never utter the safeword.

Pleasure to pain to pleasure to pain to pleasure, back and forth incessantly for an amount of time that you couldn't begin to quantify if you tried. He's turning your mind into a slurry of feelings and nerve-endings, yes's and no's.

Sukuna only stops when his face is covered in a red flush that extends down to his chest, and his dick is so hard against his abdomen that he isn't even sure if he's about to cum untouched or he already has.

There's something about the way that you look tied up in his bed, begging him for more, begging him to stop, that drives him fucking crazy. Your pussy is slick with spit and cum when he kneels back on his heels, and his face must look quite the same.

You look a wreck, with your pretty tits upheld by ropes, and your mascara running down your cheeks. You're teary-eyed, flushed with adrenaline and desire and lust.

"Fuck it," he groans, freeing himself of his fucking pants that are stopping him from being inside of you right now, "I'm gonna fuck you now-- gonna fuck you hard, okay?"

You have a glazed-over, sated look in your eye. He taps your cheek with the palm of his hand to make sure you're still with him. Like it's instinct, you nuzzle against the palm of the hand that just slapped you, smearing your own juices onto your face.

But what really wakes you up from your orgasm-induced haze is the sight of his cock. It's bigger than you imagined, harder too, with a leaky, red tip.

And you were so fucking right to come here, because it's pierced. Two sets of round, studs along the underside of his shaft, just to give extra friction when he fucks you.

"Please, Sukuna-- fuck me," you whimper, kissing his hand as he slips his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck on them eagerly while he lines his cock up with your entrance.

"You look so fucking filthy and depraved right now," he hisses, as his tip sinks into your pussy so smoothly that his eyes roll back, and his jaw tightens in pleasure.

"So fucking filthy."

Thrust. God, you can feel the piercings inside of you, and they feel good.

"Tied up like you're nothing more than a hole for me to fuck, baby. Like you're not good for anything other than this-- fucking-- god, you're tight."

He thrusts as deeply as he can go, all the way inside of you, shivering at the warmth of your cunt enveloping his long cock. He looks down, sees your cunt taking every inch of him with such ease that it's heavenly, incredible, so fucking good.

Sukuna loses all composure, he does something that he never does with girls that he fucks, and he leans down to kiss you. He pinches and rolls one of your nipples between his fingertips, cradles your head in his hand with the other.

He doesn't like to kiss during sex, its too intimate.

His tongue is down your throat.

He likes degrading far more than he likes praising.

"You're taking me so fucking well-- so fucking tight-- s'fucking good-- take my fucking cock, baby, take it just like that."

He doesn't catch feelings.

But when you give him a half-lidded, hazy stare right into his eyes when you cum, he thinks there are few things in the world that he wouldn't do for you at that moment.

Clear fluid gushes from your cunt onto his abs, and he realizes that there's nothing he wouldn't do for you at this moment. He already beat someone up for you, why not kill them?

"S'kuna," you whimper, leaning towards him to capture his lips in another kiss.

"Again," he murmurs, staring into your eyes intently, "say it again."

"Sukuna," your breaths speed up, your moans turn breathy and gaspy, "S--ku--na--ahh--"

He realizes it sounds so distorted because he's fucking you hard enough to break the mattress every time you moan his name. Tears stream down your cheeks, Sukuna spits into your mouth, and you fucking swallow like a good fucking girl.

You're his good fucking girl.

It's the thought of making you his, of really making sure that you belong to him, that finally fucking drives him over the edge. Killing any man that gets in between the two of you, fucking you wildly like this every night, keeping you like a fucking pet-- all to himself.

That's what makes him have to pull out abruptly, that's what makes him decide to cover your pussy in cum instead of aiming somewhere safer. He holds your thigh with one hand, stroking himself with the other, glazing your slippery pussy in white.

A long, relieved groan escapes his lips, as he slides the tip back and forth through the mess he's made of your cunt, spreading it around and even daring to push a tiny bit of it inside you.

And even though he's feeling disconcerted with all of the thoughts you just dragged out of him, he still unties you gently and leisurely, cleans you up himself, and then joins you in bed.

No, of course he didn't mean it when he said he'd make you his. He doesn't fucking do that. One thing that everyone knows about Sukuna is that he does not fucking date.

He also doesn't usually cradle girls against his chest after sex. He definitely doesn't play with their hair, or kiss their sore shoulders and neck to soothe the ache. He doesn't caress their skin and let them spend the night with him in his bed, he doesn't inhale the scent of their shampoo whisper sweet nothings to them about how soft they are.

And he absolutely doesn't ask them out the next day.

Even if he did all of those things, the other girls would know better than to get themselves involved with someone like him.

You, on the other hand, hopped up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss, smiled at him all sweet and cute, and said yes.

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septembersums · 2 years

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hi lovely, i don’t mean to be rude or offend you but as a fellow writer i would strongly advice you to stop using uncredited art to format your fics. it’s considered very rude and just not nice.

imagine how you would feel if someone screenshoted a part of your fics and posted it without your consent. you can always use manga panels, anime screen caps or original art.

again, i hope i didn’t offend you.

i'm sorry, but i don't really see where you're coming from here. i've credited every artist that i've been able to find for fanart; they're always right at the top with my masterlist and taglist.

that being said, there are a couple of pieces that i just couldn't find the original link for (even with reverse searching, etc) that have been circulating pinterest and tumblr for years. there's not really much i can do for those, but if the original artists of any of my posts were to dm me and ask for accreditation or removal, i would be happy to do so.

if i use fanart, i do search for the original artist so that i can credit them. sometimes it doesn't work, but that's not for lack of trying. thanks for sticking up for artists, but i can assure you that i'm not intentionally discrediting them. hope you have a good day/night!

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septembersums · 2 years

Note

ahsgsubsjd the picture you used for kinktober day 11! that looks veeery much like satoru is kissing suguru and im loosing my composure 🥴🥴🥴🥴 i would read the fic as well, but some of the tags are triggers to me, so I won't, but in sure it is a good fic, otherwise my friend who reblogged it from you wouldn't have reblogged it 😌😌💖 ok that's all, have a good day/night!

LMAO let me tell you a secret… it is suguru i just cropped it small 😭 shoutout to you for being the first to notice and i hope you have a great day/night too!! lmao

full sized if you wanted it^^ (artist)

#septemberanswers

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septembersums · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 13 | 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩/𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐒𝐞𝐱

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

summary: it was messy when the two of you broke up. it only makes sense that the make-up would be just as bad.

an: this is the kind of messy breakup and make-up that drives you both insane but like the sex is really good yk

Leaving him was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Gojo Satoru was (and probably still is) the love of your life. He’s adventurous, wild, spontaneous, he could read you like he wrote the book of your existence. You loved, and loved, and loved him, until he stopped allowing you to do so.

The day he asked you out, he teleported the two of you to the roof of a skyscraper to do it. He thought you’d like the view, and you did, but you were only looking at him.

(Partly because you were infatuated with him, but mostly because you were terrified of looking down).

“No pressure or anything,” he said, laughing as he held his arms around your waist, looking over at the city of Tokyo sprawling throughout the distance, “but do you wanna stop fucking casually, and I don’t know-- start fucking seriously?”

“No pressure?” You squealed, as your hair whipped around your face wildly in the wind, and you looked out over the plummeting drop before you, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend right now? I-- You’re basically holding me hostage. What if I say no?”

“Say yes or I’ll drop you,” he joked, giving you a mischievous grin.

“What the fuck!”

“I’m kidding!” He paused, “...mostly.”

“Oh my god, okay! Yes! Fine!”

Aside from his abnormal, scary way of asking you to be his girlfriend, everything seemed to go smoothly after that. Staying over at his penthouse apartment turned into moving in with him, and liking one another turned into loving one another.

And when two people are as fiery and passionate as yourself and Gojo Satoru can be, there are arguments. There are fights. There are nights where you’d rather cut your own eye out than have to look at him any longer.

The two of you reached the point of critical mass a month ago. He’s always been a bit aloof when it comes to love, and then he evolved to cold, to callous, and to cruel.

You have a temper, he buries his feelings so far within himself that not even your fire could drag them out of him. It’s a vicious cycle that only ended when the two of you got the fuck away from one another.

Though the tipping point seems insignificant in hindsight, you remember the feelings that accompanied it. You remember everything-- the rain that was falling outside, the distant thunder rumbling in the distance, the sight of Satoru glaring at his phone screen from across the room.

“And Suguru said--”

“Damn, why don’t you just fuck him already and save us both the trouble,” Satoru said.

“Why are you being like this lately?” You asked, bristling up at his icy tone.

“Because I’m not stupid,” He answered sarcastically.

“Really?” You scoffed, “well, you fucking sound like it if you think I’d cheat on you with Suguru.”

“You know what’s actually stupid? Hanging out with him every day when he’s so obviously in love with you. I mean, do you feel the same?” He laughs angrily, “Or are you just leading him on?”

“God, you’re right, you’re always right, Gojo! Maybe I will just fuck him.”

He laughed, and it was a bitter, pissed-off sound.

“You know what? Fuckin’ go for it, babe. I hope you do. I wish you two the best of luck.”

“I will!”

You moved most of your things out of his apartment the following day. And rather than fucking Suguru like you said you would, you took three days off of work to cry about the breakup, to think and stew and stir about how stupid it was, about how much you miss the beginning of your relationship, when he loved you.

Clearly he doesn’t anymore. It doesn’t matter how much you miss him. You’ll train yourself to stop aching for his touch with every night that passes, maybe not today, but someday.

Satoru, on the other hand, took overtime every single day for the next two weeks. Your breakup ironically made Japan a safer place to live for nearly a month.

Those who are denied things in their early life often manifest that denial as adults, by way of becoming greedy, possessive, and jealous. Satoru knows his faults, he knows his weaknesses, he knows what he does to people that he loves.

Gojo Satoru showed you love the only way he knows how.

By pushing you far, far away from Gojo Satoru.

Because when you started hanging out with Suguru, Satoru could never cope with it. Not because he thought you actually wanted Suguru in that way, but because he knew that Suguru would be better for you.

In all of the places that Satoru fails, Suguru succeeds, in vice versa. You’d be safer with Suguru, he’d be more emotionally available after all the therapy he’s had, he’s nicer, calmer, less argumentative and arguably more stable now.

Better. He’s the better choice.

Every time Satoru saw you joking around with Suguru, all he could see were his own faults manifested in the sight of his girlfriend laughing at a joke told by his best friend.

Could he ever find it in himself to tell you that? God, no. He still has his pride. And Satoru’s pride is bigger than either of you could ever hope to be.

Rather than working through his feelings, Satoru just did what he does best. He pushed you away until it worked.

Now, your relationship is nothing more than scattered memories shared between the two of you. It’s nothing more than the things you left in his apartment (that he keeps, and that he’ll always keep, and that he’ll never tell you about).

And he can scratch one of those out, because you just called and asked him to come and get the rest of your things. You’re moving in somewhere else now, with someone else.

Satoru gripped his phone so hard that his screen cracked when you told him the news. Partly because you’re going to be living with someone else, mostly because he’s missed the sound of your voice so fucking much.

You started looking for a roommate shortly after you began to get over the breakup. Staying with your parents wasn’t going to work forever, and you wanted to be back in the city sooner rather than later.

Suguru offered for you to stay with him for a while until you get back on your feet, but you declined, because-- well, there’s a tiny chance that Satoru would murder all three of you when he heard the news.

“Why not?” Suguru asked, frowning.

“Because... It would feel wrong,” you murmured, “and Satoru--”

Suguru clasped his hands over yours, staring into your eyes intently, almost as though begging you to reconsider.

Almost as if he were desperate.

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore,” he cooed, “I’d take care of you, I wouldn’t let him--”

Your eyes widened, and you excused yourself shortly after, because as he was giving his speech on how he’d protect you from the big bad villain who is his best friend, you realized that Satoru was right.

Now you find yourself standing at Satoru’s doorstep, hesitating to knock, because you don’t know what you’ll say to him, or what he’ll say to you. Some part of you wants to apologize to him for telling him that he’s ridiculous for thinking that Suguru has feelings for you.

But then he opens the door, and he’s shirtless and glaring at you, and you remember how he went about bringing up that topic to you, and you don’t want to apologize for anything ever again.

“Hey,” he says, staring down at you boredly.

“Hey,” you reply.

He just walks away from the door after that, and you follow him into your-- his-- apartment. You start looking through your things, separating and folding them, unintentionally remembering how it feels to be here. How it smells, and looks, and feels.

It looks, smells, and feels like home.

“So, you’re moving in with a window?” Satoru asks, standing in the doorway to your old bedroom. He’s leaned up against the doorframe, staring at you as you’re bent over folding some of your clothes.

You’ve only been broken up a month now. The wounds are still raw, fresh, unhealed and unscarred.

“Yeah, a window,” you reply, “he seems nice.”

Your new roommate is a guy you’ve known for a while as a sorcerer. He’s nice, he’s quiet, he keeps to himself. He also coincidentally just graduated from university and needs a roommate, which is the main reason that you agreed to it.

Satoru is silent on the issue for a moment longer than you expected him to be.

“You fucking him?”

“Satoru, that is none of your business,” you hiss without turning around to look at him.

“That’s a no,” he tells you, as he takes a few steps closer.

Satoru is able to resist you when you’re far, far away from him, when you aren’t in his apartment bent over and looking through boxes of things, with your nice ass up in the air like it is when you’re getting fucked from behind.

All of the cursed spirits in Tokyo have heard about how much Satoru misses you, but you haven’t. Clearly you don’t know, if you’re sitting here presenting yourself to him like he hasn’t ached for you every single day since he made you leave.

Have you missed him half as much as he’s missed you?

God, he hopes so.

“It’s a none of your business, Satoru,” you mock him, as he stands right behind you.

“I missed the way that you talk back to me like that,” he purrs, resisting the urge to touch you.

Barely, barely resisting the urge.

Your heart beats a little faster at his proximity, your body yearns for him to be closer, and you ignore it.

“Then you shouldn’t have been such an asshole to me,” you reply, throwing yourself back into the task at hand so that you won’t focus on him.

“Should’ve realized how irresistible you are,” he murmurs, “if I were that shitty little window you’re moving in with, I’d be trying to fuck you with every other breath.”

“That’s fucked up of you.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, Satoru! And why are you doing this now?” You ask, boiling over with frustration at his actions, “why not when we were still together, huh?”

He’s so fucking hot and cold. He wants you, he doesn’t want you, he’s jealous of the other people you talk to, he wants to break up. He wants you to stay, he wants to run.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, ruffling your hair with his hand.

You stand up, facing him with your arms crossed, “You’re sorry? Sorry for what? For trying to fuck me the second I see you again? Or for falling out of love with me and then pretending you didn’t?”

His jaw clenches, he looks you up and down like he’s desperate to keep his composure and failing.

Satoru takes a steadying breath, and then chuckles, “You think I fell out of love with you? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

The tears start to well up in your eyes, they’re threatening to fall. The air is tense and thick with regret and anger and pain.

The dam breaks, and you’re arguing, you’re both talking over each other and raising your voices and living out the worst parts of your relationship in full bloom.

You’re arguing over the things that matter, and then over the things that don’t. Over who loves who more, over who hates who more, who hurt who more, who’s wrong and who’s right.

In reality, you’re both wrong. It just takes you a few more minutes of hoarse-voiced arguing and fighting to realize it.

“Fuck you, Satoru—“

“Fuck me? No, fuck you,” he snaps.

There’s silence again, both of you breathe heavily and stare at one another, refusing to back down from any of the stances you’ve taken today.

And for the second time today, the dam breaks. The building comes crumbling down around the two of you at the exact moment that your back collides with the wall behind you, and his hands are on your waist, on your hips.

His lips are pressed to yours, his tongue is in your mouth, he’s lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, you’re moaning and panting and dry-humping one another like it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance to do so.

It might be the last time you’ll get to feel his teeth on your neck, his hands in your hair, his hard body against your soft one-- so goddamnit, you’re going to take it in.

He’s ripping your shirt off, and you’re pulling his sweats down, and you’re cursing one another with every freed breath you take.

“Fuck you.”

He’s ripping your bra off.

“I hate you.”

You’re freeing his cock from his briefs.

“We’re never getting back together.”

He’s crawling on top of you, you’re spreading your legs for him.

“Never.”

His finger slip inside of you, pumping and thrusting and curling against your g-spot, and even when you’re crying out his name, he’s coaxing you through an orgasm, you’re cursing the day that either of you was born.

He’s so hard that it hurts, he’s aching and gasping against your open lips, he’s pressing the tip of himself against your entrance. You’re slick with cum, begging him for more-- more of anything that he has to give you.

Pain.

He slides into your cunt.

Suffering.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his waist.

Agony.

He’s fucking you.

You tear into his back with your fingernails, penance for all the damage he’s dealt. He’s thrusting into your warmth with wild, reckless abandon. With all of the love and adoration of someone who almost lost you.

Almost, but not quite.

“I hate you, hate you-- fuck me harder, god-- harder,” you cry, bouncing up and down with each and every one of his movements.

Satoru lifts you up so that he’s sitting up, and you’re on his lap, bouncing up and down on his length while you hold one arm behind yourself to prop yourself up.

“You’re a fucking bitch sometimes,” he snarls, thrusting up to meet you, “but god, I fucking love you-- I fucking love you so much. Fuck you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing him down onto his back, kissing him while you lose yourself in the pleasure of his cock disappearing into your cunt. Your cum drips down his length, down his balls, stains your legs and the sheets. You hate him, and you hope that he cums inside of you.

You hate him, and you hope that he gets you pregnant.

“God, you feel good, you feel so fucking good,” he rasps, slapping your ass with one of his free hands hard enough to leave a handprint there, “so fucking good-- s’fucking tight, baby.”

“Want you to cum inside me, S’toru,” you ramble, maybe still crying a bit. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, “please-- inside, please-- pleaseplease--”

You’re riding him with short bounces up and down his cock-- just like he likes, tightening up just around the sensitive trip, trying to milk his cock for all it’s worth. Because despite how many times you say that you hate him, you fucking love him.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t,” he rambles against your lips, arguing with himself and the feeling of your walls tightening around him when you cum again, “shouldn’t-- shouldn’t-- fuck, I’m going to-- fuck it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum-- gonna fill you up with my cum-- gonna get you pregnant. You want it, baby? Yeah?”

You’re flipped onto your back, his teeth dig into your neck, you’re chanting fuck yes Satoru yes god like a prayer, and he’s filling you up with his cum.

“I love you-- love you, love you-- god, baby, fucking take my cum.”

“I love you more.”

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