julia

thinkin about Sukuna who doesn’t let you suck him off properly, doesn’t even bother fucking your mouth at all. he just slaps his thick cock against your cheek before he starts to rub it over your face all slow and lazy like. rutting back and forth in long thrusts, grinding each bumped vein over your brow bone until your cheeks are slippery and pearly little threads of pre are strewn over your face from your chin to your forehead. You peer up at him through clumped lashes, eyes glassy, winking whenever his heavy balls nudge at your chin. You lick and suck at whatever slip of skin your greedy mouth can reach just to hear his breath hitch above you, low rumbled groans just as unhurried as the slow rock of his hips. sometimes he drags the blushed tip over your lower lip, lets your tongue dart out to steal a proper taste before he lifts again just to rest his balls over the hollow point of your eye socket while he dribbles ropes of pre cum into your hairline.

never mind i hate this man i just saw the gojo death animated scene.

Design by @jennicatzies

(It's sooooooo coooooooooollllllllllllll I LOVE IT🥰

floral dividers

࣪˖ ݁Ი𐑼 ⋆ִֶָ་𝓕.𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 ִֶָ ་༘ ࣪˖ weakness is your messy eyeliner!?

The bedroom is still quiet as morning light breaks into your shared apartment, rays of sunshine filtering through the curtains. You stirred first, from sleep, hair spilled across the pillows and the faint scent of last night's jasmine oil still clinging to your skin.

Toji laid beside you. His massive frame taking up most of the bed. One heavy arm draped lazily over your waist. His breathing deep and even, as you blinked slowly. The familiar weight of sleep still pressed on your lashes.

He woke moments later. Those sharp green eyes cracked open and landed on your face.

Your kajal. Lined so carefully every night before bed. Now smudged in the most sinful way. Dark rings shadowed your pretty eyes, making you look wrecked already. Sultry. Like you had spent the whole night taking him deep and desperate.

At first sight! 💕⚡️🐺

Toji sketch

You know I'm spending every last minute in that class

𓍼ོ true form!sukuna who lets you ride his stomach mouth.

you straddle sukuna’s broad torso, thighs already shaking as you hover over the jagged mouth splitting across his abdomen. his four eyes gleam with cruel hunger, watching every twitch of your body.

the stomach mouth opens slowly, hot breath fanning over your dripping folds before a thick, ridged tongue drags out, tasting you like he owns every inch.

“go on,” he growls, voice dripping with mockery. “ride it properly. show me how badly that greedy little cunt needs me.”

you sink down with a broken whimper as the tongue pushes inside you, thick and relentless, stretching you open while the mouth’s lips seal tight around your clit. the suction is immediate and vicious, pulling at the sensitive bundle of nerves as the tongue curls deep, fucking into you with wet, obscene sounds. your hands brace on his chest, hips rolling desperately as pleasure slams through you.

it does not take long before your walls clenching hard around the invading muscle.

sukuna laughs, low and dark, the vibration making the tongue thrash even harder inside you. when you try to lift up cause it’s becoming too much, oversensitive and twitching, his massive hand snaps around your wrist like a vice.

sukuna yanks you back down forcefully, slamming your hips flush against his stomach so the mouth devours you completely again.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snarls, eyes narrowing. “you started this. now you finish it. keep riding.”

the tongue does not give you any mercy.

it pounds into you faster, twisting and dragging against every spot that makes your vision blur. the lips suck harder on your clit, relentless and wet, forcing another orgasm out of you before the first one even fades.

your thighs burn, body jerking wildly as you sob through the overstimulation, but sukuna’s grip on your wrist is iron. every time you try to pull away or rise even an inch, he drags you right back down, grinding you against the mouth.

“look at you,” he taunts, voice rough with satisfaction. “crying and shaking like a pathetic little toy. my stomach is soaked and you still can’t stop grinding on it.”

this is when a brutal wave hits you, your whole body convulsing as you cum, tears streaming down your face.

the overstimulation turns sharp and electric, every lick and thrust bordering on pain but so good you cannot stop moaning. sukuna’s free hand comes up to grip your hip, helping you move, forcing the rhythm faster and deeper.

you lose count of how many times you tired to get yourself off of him. your voice grows hoarse, legs trembling uncontrollably, slick pulling and sliding down onto his stomach as the mouth laps it all up greedily.

“kuna…” when you go limp, too exhausted to keep moving, sukuna simply uses his strength to bounce you on the tongue himself, wrist still locked in his hold so you cannot escape.

“that’s right. keep cumming for me,” he commands, another dark laugh rumbling through him. “this mouth is not done with you yet. you’ve pissed me off today, no stopping until you’re a sobbing, broken mess who forgets every thought except how full you feel.”

he keeps you there for what feels like hours, the tongue never slowing, the suction never easing, until your mind blanks out completely and all you can do is tremble and take it, trapped on top of him by his unyielding grip.

you swear you’d never end up here.

you swear on your GPA, your future, and your last remaining brain cell that you would never hook up with a frat boy. never. especially not satoru gojo.

yet here you are, in his messy room that looks like the last time he did laundry was during the obama administration, staring at six-foot-four of naked, insanely sculpted frat boy while he stands there like a proud exhibit at the penis museum.

his body is ridiculous. broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle carved from years of whatever sports he plays when he isn’t throwing ragers. pale skin that somehow still looks sun-kissed across his chest and shoulders, faint tan lines from sleeveless practice jerseys. a happy trail of soft white hair leads down from his abs—abs you could spend hours running your tongue over—straight to the main event.

and god… the main event.

thick, heavy, and already flushed dark at the tip, it curves slightly upward with an intimidating girth that makes your stomach flip. it bobs as he shifts his weight, veins standing out along the shaft.

“that,” you say, “is never gonna fit.”

satoru’s snowy white hair falls messily over his forehead as he grins, those bright blue eyes sparkling. “nah, it’ll fit. i’ll make it fit.” he wraps a large hand around himself, giving one slow stroke that makes your mouth go dry. “trust me.”

“it’s not gonna fit. this thing is massive. like… i’m actually concerned for my internal organs.”

“uhm. thanks?” he looks stupidly pleased, a faint blush creeping up his neck. the cocky frat boy actually blushes at the compliment. it is almost endearing.

almost.

thank u for the tag @oncasette ily <3

these all surprisingly suit each other very well LMAO

Thank you for the tag bby!

Can you guess my fav colour? I know Pinterest can lol

THANKS FOR THE TAG dawnnn

no idea why i got sua 🤕 this is very accurate suprisingly😭

tags: @satolune @yorikae @toruii @mimimochis @revolvingsaturn @kenyudotcom @suganoms @bloomflix (mb if you were already tagged btw..)

TY for the tag val (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

💌 @bbunsflix @katsuiki @kashun @bigtrashland @blushryo @torumaii @sugurusbeloved @indiewritesxoxo @pillsatoru + anyone else <3

husband!Higuruma coming home exhausted and fucking you slow in the bath (18+)

You swear you were just planning to collapse on the sofa when you got home. Maybe order some takeaway and watch some mindless TV show with your legs stretched across your husband's lap.

So, exactly how did you end up straddling Hiromi Higuruma in the bathtub, hot water sloshing over the edge as you sink down onto him?

"That's it, darling. Just like that."

Hiromi's voice is low and rough, strained in a way that makes heat slick down your spine and pool between your thighs. His hand grips your hips beneath the water surface, gently guiding you as you adjust to the stretch of him inside you.

You found him in here five minutes ago, tie discarded somewhere in the bedroom, shirt unbuttoned and abandoned on the bathroom floor. He'd been leaning back in the tub with his eyes closed, the water up to his chest, looking more exhausted than you'd seen him in weeks. The case he's working on is brutal, you know that. Long hours, impossible odds, the kind of work that wore him down.

"Join me?" he'd asked, opening one eye to look at you, and there was something so vulnerable in his expression that you couldn't refuse.

And that's how your own clothes joined him on the floor before you slipped into the bath with him.

Now his hair is wet and pushed back from his face, water droplets clinging to his jaw and the tip of his nose, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing that's keeping him from totally dissociating.

"Imissed you," you murmur, rolling your hips experimentally. The water makes everything feel different than it would be in the bedroom. More languid and slower, every shift and movement creating a ripple against your skin.

"Missed you too." His thumb traces circles on your hip bone, a tender gesture that contrasts with the way he's so deeply buried inside of you. "Missed you so much, I thought about you all day. I kept checking my watch, counting down the hours until I could see you again."

There's something unfairly attractive about him like this. His usually so composed in his suits and professional demeanour, now completely undone. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the bath, his lips parted as he watches you move above him, and those tired, dark eyes are filled with something that makes your heart flutter.

"You're beautiful," he says, almost reverent, one hand leaving your hip to cup your face. Water drips from his fingers down your cheek. "Do you know that? How beautiful you are?"

You lean into his touch, your own hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. "You might have mentioned it a few times today before work.”

"Not enough, then." He pulls you down into a kiss, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours as you continue to move. When he pulls back, he's smiling—that rare, genuine smile that transforms his whole face. "I should tell you more often."

The water sloshes dangerously as you pick up your pace, and Hiromi makes a low sound of appreciation, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and you gasp at the sensation.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. "Taking me so perfectly. You feel incredible."

There's something about the praise, the genuine affection in his tone, that makes everything feel more intense. This isn't just sex. It's comfort, connection, coming home to each other after a long day and finding solace in familiar touches.

"Hiromi," you breathe, your rhythm faltering as pleasure builds low in your stomach. "Fuck, I'm-"

"I know." One hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit with practised ease. The water makes his touch slippery, maddening, and you rock against his hand desperately. "I've got you. Come for me, darling."

His other hand tangles in your wet hair, pulling you down for another kiss as his hips start to move beneath you, meeting your movements with deep, purposeful thrusts that make the water splash over the side of the tub. But you just can't seem to bring yourself to care about the mess.

"So good to me," he murmurs against your lips. "So perfect. What did I do to deserve you?"

The combination of his fingers, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and his voice, fuck, that deep, sincere voice telling you how much he wants you, needs you, sends you over the edge. Your orgasm rolls through you in waves that seem to match the water around you, and you bury your face in his neck to muffle your moans.

"Beautiful," Hiromi groans, his rhythm becoming erratic as you clench around him. “You're so beautiful when you come undone for me."

He follows moments later, his grip on you tightening as he buries himself deep, your name falling from his lips like something precious. For a long moment, you stay like that, wrapped around each other in the cooling water, both breathing hard.

When you finally lift your head to look at him, his expression is soft, content in a way you rarely see. He reaches up to brush wet strands of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"For the sex?" you tease, though your voice is breathless.

"For coming home to me." He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For being here."

You settle against his chest, the water lapping gently around you both. "Always," you murmur. "Though we should probably clean up this mess before it leaks through to our downstairs neighbour."

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "In a minute. Let me hold you first."

And really, how can you argue with that?

Rule #1: Don’t flirt with Satoru’s girlfriend. (•̀ ᴖ •́)

The party had moved from the halls of the frat house out into the obnoxiously large garden, bodies danced along the grass while some brave souls dived into the pool in their underwear. It was clear most people were wasted.

You remember Satoru saying something about the party being a “housewarming” for the new pledges, although you knew it was just another excuse for his first bros to get shit faced and for him to stuff his own face with abnormal amounts of confectionery.

Glancing around, you notice that Shoko and Utahime had snuck off together and that Yuki was currently making her move in a very red and sweaty Choso. “Oh, for God's sake,” you sigh to yourself, “Can’t any of them keep it in their pants?”

Just as you were about to search for your boyfriend and unfamiliar raven-haired face blocks your path. He flashed a grin, “Hey, I don't think we've ever met.”

You smiled politely and shrugged, “Probably not.”

The man leans against a nearby tree, clearly swelling with pride as he continues to hit on you. “Well, it's nice to meet you. I don't get to see many pretty girls around here.” You laughed awkwardly, “I mean… I can name a few.”

His eyes flickered around before settling back onto you, “Let’s get out of here. Somewhere quiet, maybe?”

Choking back a laugh, you replied, “Well, I’m actually about to go look for my boyfriend.” To which he laughed, “Really? Who would leave a pretty girl like you all alone?”

“Hey, now,” the unmistakable voice of your boyfriend came from behind him, “That’s no way to talk about the frat president, oh humble pledge.” The man spun around so fast he looked blurry, sputtering a sad excuse for an apology while looking at his feet.

“I-I swear I didn’t know, Gojo!” But the white-haired man only grinned, “Ah, no worries, no harm, no foul. Right?”

You shot him a sceptical look as he slung an arm around you, hugging you into his side. Just as the raven-haired man turned to walk away, Suguru and Sukuna seemed to appear from thin air. The two guys grab onto his arms and legs and begin to hoist him towards the pool.

“Hey! Let go of me! I swear I didn't mean any harm!”

Gojo chuckled, watching as his friends launched the new member of the fraternity into the pool.

A loud splash! echoed the garden, water flew up and covered the pavement. The entire party seemed to freeze, then laughter erupted; even the now-soaking pledge seemed to resurface with a smile on his face. “Alright! You got me. Sorry, man.”

“Good!” Satoru yelled back, not before leaning down to press a wet kiss right on your cheek. You giggled as he pressed a couple more kisses around your face, trying to squirm out of his grasp. “You're so cruel, you know that?”

Satoru just scoffed, “What? As president, I believe reprimandations are in order.” You laughed again, “Is that even a word?” He simply shrugged, tugging you closer to the speakers. “May I have this dance?”

You rolled your eyes, “Only if you promise not to throw anyone else into the pool.” He pretended to think about it, tapping his chin with his pointer finger before answering, “Nah, at least not unless they keep their eyes off of you.”

Gojo lounged back against the headboard like he owned the entire fucking universe, phone held steady in one hand, that signature cocky grin stretched across his face. His blue eyes sparkled with pure mischief as he watched you straddle his pillow, already flushed and needy. "Look at you, baby," he purred, voice low and teasing, "so fucking desperate you’re gonna hump my pillow like a little slut. God, you’re gorgeous like this. Keep going. Show me how bad you want it."

You rocked your hips forward, the soft fabric of his pillow pressing right against your soaked panties, the friction sending sparks up your spine. Your clit dragged over the seam with every slow grind, the damp spot growing darker as your arousal soaked through. Gojo’s camera captured every second—the way your thighs flexed, the little gasps slipping from your lips, the way your back arched when you found the perfect angle.

"Fuck, that’s it," he groaned from behind the lens, free hand palming the obvious bulge in his sweats. "Look how wet you’re getting my pillow. Such a messy girl. Keep rubbing that pretty pussy on it. Pretend it’s my cock, yeah? Imagine how thick I’d feel sliding between your folds right now."

Your movements grew more frantic, hips rolling in tight circles as you chased the pressure. The pillowcase bunched between your legs, fabric clinging to your slick folds every time you lifted and dropped back down. "Satoru… please," you whimpered, voice already cracking with need. "Touch me. I need your fingers. I need your cock so bad it hurts."

He laughed, the sound rich and cruelly amused, still recording without missing a beat. "Aww, listen to you beg. So cute. But no touching yet, pretty girl. You’re gonna keep humping that pillow until I say otherwise. Look at how your clit’s peeking out every time you grind forward—fuck, that’s hot. Keep going. Show me how you’d ride me if I let you."

You whined louder, grinding harder, the wet sounds of your pussy sliding over the pillow filling the room. Your thighs started to tremble as the pressure built, but it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. "Please, Satoru," you begged again, eyes glassy, "I’ll be so good. Just let me feel you. I want your cock stretching me open. I want you to fuck me while you record it."

Gojo’s grin widened, but he stayed exactly where he was, phone steady. "Mmm, keep talking like that and maybe I’ll let you suck me off after. But right now? Keep riding my pillow like the desperate little thing you are. Imagine every ridge of my cock dragging over your clit instead of that fabric.

Bet you’re clenching around nothing right now, huh? So empty. So needy." He zoomed in slightly, capturing the way your hips stuttered when you pressed down harder, the way your slick left shiny streaks across the pillowcase. "Goddamn, you look so fucking hot like this. My perfect little pillow slut."

Your breathing turned ragged, moans spilling freely as you chased an orgasm that kept slipping just out of reach. Every roll of your hips made the pillow slide against your swollen clit, the friction maddening but never quite enough to push you over.

"Satoru, please," you sobbed, "I can’t—I need you. Need your hands. Need your cock inside me. Please touch me, I’m begging."

He hummed thoughtfully, still recording every desperate grind, every twitch of your thighs, every broken plea. "Not yet, baby. Keep going. You’re doing so good for me. Look at those pretty tits bouncing while you fuck my pillow. Imagine it’s me underneath you, letting you bounce on my cock instead. Would you cum all over me like you’re about to cum all over this pillow? Yeah, I bet you would." His voice stayed light, teasing, even as his own cock strained visibly against his pants. "Don’t stop. I want to watch this later and jerk off to how fucking wrecked you look right now."

You kept moving, hips rolling in messy, frantic circles, the pillow completely soaked beneath you. Your clit throbbed with every drag, your walls fluttering around nothing, the denial making everything sharper, hotter, more desperate.

Gojo’s praise washed over you in waves—"That’s my girl," "Look at you go," "So fucking pretty when you’re this needy"—but his hands stayed firmly on the phone, refusing to give you what you craved most. You were left grinding, begging, and dripping, completely at his mercy while he captured every second of your desperate, beautiful struggle.

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